by Annie Murray
It took Evie a moment to catch on what her mother was talking about. Gary. Mom thought it was Gary who . . .
‘Mom, no!’ She brought her arms down again. ‘It’s not Gary’s! Me and him never . . . He’s not . . . I mean . . .’ She stumbled over the impossibility of talking to Mom about anything in a reasonable way.
‘Well, that don’t surprise me,’ her mother said, while nevertheless looking surprised. ‘Bent as a nail that one.’ She stood upright, folding her arms in magnificent self-righteousness. ‘So if it ain’t that little runt’s, whose is it?’
Evie lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘You don’t know him.’
‘Ho, don’t I? Well, why not?’ She bent forward again. ‘Sounds as if you know ’im all too cowing well, though, yer saft wench! Who is ’e? You’d better get ’im over ’ere and I’ll tell ’im what’s what. ’E’s got to marry yer, or else!’
Numbly, Evie said, ‘He will. He doesn’t know – about the babby. He’s nice,’ she appealed, looking up at her mother at last.
‘Well, if ’e’s that cowing nice, why’ve I never set eyes on ’im, eh? You’m a sneaky little bugger, yow am. Our Reet ’ad Conn round ’ere every week. But you, oh no! I s’pose you think yower too good for us?’
‘No, Mom . . .’ Evie pleaded. She was feeling shocked and terrified herself. Only now had she fully grasped the fact that she was expecting a baby, that terrible thing that you were never supposed to do if you weren’t married. All this time she had tried to pretend to herself that it was nothing, that she was putting on a bit of weight, had a bit of wind, that this could not really be happening. Since she hadn’t told anyone anything, nothing about it seemed real.
If only Mom would be nice, just this once. Desperate for her mother to support her, to be kind, she said, ‘Look, I’ll get Ken to come over and see you. You’ll like him – he’s ever so nice. And I know he’ll do the right thing. He keeps talking about us getting married anyway.’
‘Well, yow’d better get ’im in ’ere to ask yower father – do it proper. And you, yer little trollop, you keep yowerself covered up. I don’t want them blobmouths out there canting about us.’
‘I will, Mom,’ Evie said humbly. She slipped away upstairs, thinking that over all, this had not gone too badly. The thought of Ken coming over was awful. She could imagine his face as he looked round, not just at the house, but at her family as well. Compared with Mr and Mrs Heaton, they were so rough. She didn’t think Ken would mind about that because he was so nice about people. But Mom? Mom was another matter. A shudder went through her as she climbed the stairs. It had to be done, though. There was no way out.
Once her mother had dressed, in between shouting abuse at her, she left for work. Evie was alone in the house. It was still early, the streets full of mist. She crept – out of habit, as if trouble might still be lurking – down to the kitchen and brewed another cup of tea from the lees of the last pot, stirred in three spoons of sugar and took it back up to bed.
As she sipped her tea, sitting back against the wall, she could feel the twitching from within her belly that had become harder to ignore. At first, in early summer, she had at times felt mortally tired, more than ever before. Her monthly periods were never very regular and she put it all down to evening work catching up with her and trying to keep her relationship with Ken a secret.
And there had been plenty to keep anyone else from taking any notice of her. On the first day of July, Rita gave birth to a baby boy. Conn’s mom had wanted to call him Joseph and Rita, who seemed to want to gain the approval of all of Conn’s family, agreed that Joseph would be his name. Evie had felt sorry for Conn and his mom, Mary Hennessey. Did they have any idea what they were taking on with Rita? But to her amazement Rita seemed to be going all out to be a true Hennessey and was talking about becoming a Catholic, something so beyond the ken of Mom and Dad that they barely even commented on it.
On the other hand, Rita was back and forth from Nelson Street, demanding attention for Joseph. She would settle herself downstairs on Dad’s chair, which she now seemed to think she had the right to occupy, and queen it over everyone. She ordered Shirley and Evie about and demanded bottles of milk to be heated up – none of that disgusting feeding it yourself business – and spent her time there generally being bossy. Rita had become even thinner having the baby, her cheeks gaunt and her body like a pole.
Evie drank the last of her fast-cooling tea, put the cup on the floor and sat back. Grey light seeped in through the window. She pulled up her nightdress and looked at her pale drum of a belly. There were twitches from within. She stared with astonishment. For heaven’s sake, she was big – really big! All this time she had been trying not to look, drifting along and pretending to herself that nothing was happening . . .
She and Ken had only made love a couple of times since their day out, back in the spring, because it was so difficult to find anywhere to go. She wanted it as much as he did, the closeness, the attention and excitement of it. They had managed it one summer evening in a park, quickly, in a scrub of bushes, breaking into giggles when it was over. Another time in an alley, standing up in the dark, which was not very good but better than nothing. Not once had they worried about babies, or trying not to have them. It wasn’t something Evie had given thought to, as if she was living in a dream. Starting a baby took ages, was what she thought, and she felt safe because she knew she and Ken were going to get married.
She pulled her nightdress down and lay back, wishing Ken was here now, the two of them alone. She cuddled her thin pillow. It hit her then. Now they would be together – like Rita and Conn! She would tell Ken and he would have to break it to his mom and dad, but they would promise to get married straight away. She had turned seventeen at her last birthday and Ken was a few months older. That would be all right, wouldn’t it? They could rent their own little place – even a room would do if she could only get away from here. And she’d be Mrs Heaton.
‘Mrs Eve Heaton,’ she said. Then added, ‘Mrs Kenneth Heaton.’
It was all terrifying, but exciting. And soon she would be a mother – a proper mother, not like Mom. She lay looking at the cracks along the ceiling, thinking, I want to be like Melly’s mom, Mrs Booker, or Mrs Waring. I’m going to give her everything. Somehow she knew it was a ‘her’. She was full of a sense of being grown-up suddenly and of wanting to make everything right.
She lay wondering about her own mother. Mom seemed to have no one. Why haven’t we got a Nanna, Mom? This had always met with a snapped reply: ‘’Cause you ain’t, so shurrit.’ Whoever Mom’s family were, over in Netherton, in the Black Country, she had no idea whether they were still alive. Whatever the case, Mom had left and never gone back. And now Auntie Vi and Uncle Horace, the only people Mom had ever turned to, had gone to Scotland. For a second she felt a glimmer of understanding of her mother’s feelings about her own birth. It had been years before she knew the reason why Mom was so bitter and hateful towards her – Dad’s unfaithfulness with Nance; Nance’s baby boy. Dad always wanted a boy, or said he did.
It wouldn’t have suited Dad having a boy anyway, she thought. A boy might have stood up to him. Dad wouldn’t have liked that; he enjoyed being the cockerel in a cage full of hens. It wasn’t nice for Mom, but none of it was my fault, was it? She didn’t have to hate me . . . I was only a babby . . . Tears swam in her eyes. All she had wanted, all her life, was for Mom to love her and show some warmth towards her.
She thought about Ken. Now she had someone who really did love her. Ken was good and kind. He was better than all of them. And when she saw him tomorrow, she’d tell him, and then they would be able to be together.
Twenty
All evening, as she worked at the Tower, she knew Ken would be there to meet her after her shift as he usually did, even though she finished quite late.
‘At least I get to see you,’ he often said. ‘And we get a chance for a chat.’ And a kiss and a cuddle as well, he could have added.
As the evening passed she grew more and more nervous. She kept practising in her head what she was going to say to him.
When she saw him wave to her, out in the cold darkness, her heart started pounding. She had fastened her coat round her swelling belly, wondering now how he could not have noticed anything.
‘Ken—’ she began to say as they set off, his arm round her shoulder. But he had news himself and broke in, excited.
‘Dad’s been helping me look into agricultural colleges,’ he said, a big smile on his face. ‘I reckon they’ll have to help me a bit, but they’ve come round to the idea that that’s what I want. Another year or so and I’ll be able to go – get some proper training.’
Evie hoped he could not see the tension in her face as she tried to sound encouraging. She was suddenly sick with worry.
‘That’s nice,’ she said, trying to control her voice. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Oh, it is.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’d hate to be stuck with this brewery job forever more.’
He’d go off to his new training and leave her! She was half choked by panic, but managed to fight it. Why was she being silly? If they were married and had a child, she could work, somehow, couldn’t she? They’d manage and pull together. She watched the dark shapes of her feet moving along the pavement with a feeling of unreality, not knowing how to begin to speak to Ken – about any of it.
He noticed that she had gone quiet and peered round at her.
‘You tired?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, keeping her head down. ‘It’s been a long day.’ Then she looked up abruptly and said all in a rush, ‘Ken, stop. I’ve got summat to tell you.’
They stood next to a workshop, all shut up and quiet by now. She drew in a gulp of air.
‘Hey,’ Ken said, seeing that she was upset. ‘Come on, what’s up?’
‘I . . .’ She looked into his eyes, pulled him close to her. ‘I mean, we . . .’ She stumbled. ‘Ken . . . we’re . . . I’m expecting.’
‘Expecting what?’ He seemed bemused. God, he didn’t even know the meaning of the word.
‘A baby,’ she whispered. ‘A baby – yours.’
He stood staring at her. She could just make out, if not his actual expression, the tense seriousness settling over him. He put his hands on her shoulders.
‘What d’you mean?’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Are you sure? How d’you know?’
Ken had no sisters or other family with children. Mr and Mrs Heaton were obviously not the types of people to discuss where babies came from with their only son – or at least not in any useful detail. Not that her mom and dad had ever gone into any of this either. Her only knowledge came from living in cramped, thin-walled houses. And Rita. Why had she not thought more about Rita?
‘It’s kicking me,’ she said. ‘It must have been that first day, when we went out to the . . .’ She didn’t need to remind him. ‘I’m well on. I never knew – not ’til just the last few days. But now . . . here, feel. I’m getting big.’
She took his hand and undid the button of her coat to slip it inside. Ken, like a man in a trance, pressed his palm against her swelling stomach.
‘See?’ She wanted him to say something. She was very scared. ‘Our baby, Ken. In there.’ She didn’t know if she was pleased, but she wanted him to be, for his face to light into a smile.
‘God,’ Ken said. Then again. ‘God. Oh Evie.’ He pulled his hand away as if afraid. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, wanting him to say all the things she needed him to: that he loved her, that they’d be together always. And at last he began.
‘Well . . . if that’s . . . I mean, we’ll have to get married, won’t we?’ he said. It came out like someone trying to sound as if he knew what he had to say.
‘Oh Ken!’ She was overjoyed, relieved, flinging her arms round him. ‘I love you, I do! I knew you’d be nice about it!’
As they walked to Inkerman Street, though, he went very quiet. He was shocked, she knew. It felt as if he had gone and left her all alone, even though he was still there.
‘Talk to me, will you?’ she said.
‘Well, what d’you want me to talk about?’ Ken snapped. ‘I’m just trying to . . . I mean, God . . .’ He stopped, a hand to his head. ‘What the hell are Mom and Dad going to make of all this?’
She felt chilled at the thought of Mr and Mrs Heaton’s tight, respectable household.
‘They’ll want us to get wed, won’t they?’ she said uncertainly. ‘They’re church people, so that’s the right thing to do.’
‘Well, yes,’ Ken said. But he sounded angry. ‘In a few years’ time, when we’ve been courting for a good while and . . . not when you’ve . . . Not with a baby already on the way. That’s not right, is it? We should never’ve . . . You said . . . I mean, you seemed . . .’ He sputtered into silence.
She felt he was blaming her. Was it her fault, all this? What had she said? Was there something else she should have done – refused and told him not to touch her when he had begged? She had a horrible feeling inside her, a shrivelling, as if she was dirty and small. They were on opposite sides again – he was good, she was bad. What was she doing walking out with a respectable lad like Ken anyway?
‘Sorry,’ she half whispered, a sense of despair settling over her. ‘But I don’t know what we can do now. It’s too late.’
‘No, look, sorry.’ Ken turned to her, contrite. ‘Come here.’ He held her, stroking her back. ‘It’s just a shock. Look,’ he said, pulling back after a while. ‘We’ll see this through together. Just you and me. I love you – I do.’ He paused, then said with great solemnity. ‘So, will you marry me, Evie Sutton?’
Mom couldn’t leave the subject alone. Evie was grateful for the loud babble of the television, otherwise it seemed the whole street would know.
When she came out with the fact of Evie’s condition in front of Shirley, while the four of them were all milling about downstairs, Evie saw her sister’s face crease with disgust.
‘What’re you looking like that for?’ Evie dared to say. ‘It’s a babby, not a lump of muck.’
Shirley was at the stove – now Rita had gone she and Evie took it in turns. She gave one of her slinky, film-star shrugs and turned away again, behind her hair.
Mom was getting warmed up, goading their father to join in, though he had just got in and was flat out in his chair by the fire.
‘Fancy that one getting a bun in the oven,’ she said, sitting complacently by the table. ‘I’d never’ve thought anyone’d go near ’er with that face on ’er. Is ’e blind then, this bloke? Oh, I know, I bet ’e’s some old bag o’ bones who can’t find anyone else!’ She gave her bellowing laugh.
Evie stood miserably by the fire. Her back was aching and her feet so cold she could hardly feel them. She saw Shirley’s shoulders shake in response to this but to her surprise, her father piped up, ‘Oh, leave off ’er, wench. Give it a rest, will yer? That wench is bonnier than you ever was and you know it so shut yer cake’ole.’
Evie straightened up with astonishment at this outburst and in the second or two it took before her mother erupted like a geyser, she stared at her father. Was that what he really thought? He was never the one who was mean all the time, like Mom. He just never took much notice of any of them.
But Mom was off. ‘Bonny – ’er? That little rat? And I s’pose you think that slag’s boy, Raymond’ – her voice dripped with contempt – ‘is “bonny” as well ’cause ’e’s of your stock, even if ’e’s got a face that’d stop a clock!’
‘Oh, shut yer gob, Irene,’ Dad said wearily. ‘Give yer arse a chance.’
Which did nothing to shut her up. Her parting shot as Evie took herself upstairs was, ‘And ’e’s supposed to be marrying ’er – huh! That’ll be the day!’
Evie turned at the bottom of the stairs. ‘He’s already asked me – yesterday,’ she announced. ‘And I said yes. So you’ll soon be shot of me.’
She saw the look of
shock on Shirley’s face. Her mother sobered up abruptly.
‘Wha’? You’re getting wed? You cor do that at your age without asking yer father, you know. ’E’d best get ’imself over ’ere. And I ’ope they’ve got a bob or two, with you in the condition you’re in.’
‘They’re very respectable,’ Evie said. ‘And they live in Edgbaston. In a nice house.’
She left the room with a feeling of triumph. Ken was going to speak to his mom and dad tonight. And then – she tingled with excitement as she climbed the stairs – Ken could meet Mom and Dad at last to show them what a nice boy she was marrying. They’d be on their best behaviour now if they thought they were getting her off their hands to a family with some money behind them. She and Ken could start making plans for their life ahead – and she’d be free.
Twenty-One
Evie expected Ken to come rushing back to her the next day, but she heard nothing from him. Nor the day after. It was the last days before Christmas and there was the usual rush on. What with work and their hours being so different, it was always difficult to meet. She tried to make excuses for him. But Ken usually would have managed it . . .
She began to panic, to lose faith in Ken. Where the hell was he? Surely she would see him before Christmas? He wouldn’t just not come? She remembered last year when all he could think about was when he would next see her.
On Christmas Eve a note arrived from him saying he was ill.
‘I’m so sorry not to see you before Christmas,’ it read. ‘I’m laid up – temperature’s been 104. See you very soon. Love Ken xx’
But the note made her worry more. It did not sound quite right. She was on tenterhooks waiting for them to resolve things now she had faced up to what was happening. They needed to be making plans. She told herself that the note was short and empty because he was ill. See you very soon. The two days of Christmas felt like an eternity to her. But at least once Christmas was over Ken would be better and they would sort everything out.
Mom had decided that her daughters were too old for even the minimal amount of effort she once used to go to, so apart from a bit of beef for Christmas dinner, there was not much in the way of a celebration apart from not having to work and being able to watch the telly. It sat on Mrs Garnet’s sideboard and was on almost all the time, the test card showing and music tinkling out much of the day.