by Annie Murray
Violet swelled with excitement. Had Harry really been watching her, wanting to talk to her? It had taken him long enough to get round to it! She dug Josephine in the ribs again.
‘You’re having me on – he never said that!’
‘He did – I swear to you!’
‘I bet he’s been out with half the works already. What about that Mary Price?’
‘Well, he may’ve gone with her but he doesn’t want to any more, so what does it matter?’ They reached the corner of the street where the Snells lived. ‘You coming back for a cuppa?’
Violet hesitated. Josephine never questioned why Violet didn’t invite her back to their house. The Snells’ was on the way home, so it would have taken Josephine out of her way, but Violet sensed that Jo knew it was more than that and never invited herself. Violet was always glad to go to Jo’s house; anything, in fact, to stay away from home. Charlie was courting with a girl called Gladys and was hardly ever at home. Rosina played round at her best friend’s house as much as she could to keep out of her mom’s way. And Marigold stayed in the house nearly all the time, quietly, disgracefully, swelling. Violet didn’t want to go home.
‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘Just a quick one. If your mom don’t mind.’
She went to bed that night with her head full of thoughts of Harry Martin’s laughing brown eyes.
Chapter Nine
Violet woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Marigold crying out.
‘My belly – oh, it hurts!’ This was followed by a frightening groan.
Violet went next door and woke her mother.
‘You can stop making that racket for a start,’ Bessie ordered grimly, standing over Marigold with a candle.
Seeing Bessie in disarray, in her nightgown, her plaits hanging down, felt almost as alarming as Marigold’s strange cries. Bessie was always up before them in the morning, dressed, hair coiled above her ears, ruling everything with an iron rod.
‘Rosina – run round to number fifty-one and get Mrs Barker.’
Wide-eyed, Rosina scampered off to do as she was ordered.
Marigold gave another moan of pain and Bessie tutted and yanked back the sheet covering her. It was a stifling, sticky night.
‘Get your bloomers off, wench. You’ll not get far in those.’ She stared down disgustedly at her daughter as she tried to obey. ‘Well – now you know. That’s what you get for being dirty.’ Bessie turned to Violet. ‘You’d best get off downstairs. You’ll only get in the way, as usual. Get the lamp lit and stoke the range – we’ll need water.’
There was a commotion as Mrs Barker arrived. Violet had the kettle on and was hurrying round in the gaslight to find cloths and rags, bowls for hot water, carbolic soap, string. She opened the door to the yard to get some air, but even outside the atmosphere was syrup thick. She started to hear little growls of thunder.
Rosina settled in the armchair which was usually reserved for Uncle Clarence, his personal throne. But he and Charlie were asleep up in the attic. Violet thought Rosina would curl up and sleep, but instead she sat perched on the edge of the seat, bolt upright, biting her nails and cringing at every howl of pain from upstairs.
‘Here – ’ Violet gave her a cup of tea with plenty of sugar.
‘Ta.’ Rosina took it, with shaking hands. She looked scared, as if she was much younger than her twelve years and had woken from a bad dream.
‘Will she be all right, Vi? I don’t like it – it’s horrible!’
She’ll be all right. That’s just what happens, that’s all,’ Violet said, trying to sound experienced. She had never heard a birthing woman before either and it made her feel all peculiar. ‘Trust Charlie to sleep through it.’
The hours crawled past. Once they heard feet on the stairs and thought it was all over, but it was Bessie demanding more tea. The thunder grew louder, cracking across the dark sky, and so did Marigold’s groans. Every time she heard her Violet felt herself tighten with dread inside, and when it got louder Rosina started to cry.
‘I don’t like it! Why’s she making them noises?’ She kept putting her hands over her ears, screwing up her face.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Violet snapped, jumping violently when there came an especially sharp crack of thunder. ‘Oh God, Marigold, just hurry up and get on with it, will you!’
And then, just as Marigold’s shrieks were getting louder and louder, the rain came, the sky emptying itself in a great swish of sound and coolness, and soon there was water pouring out of the broken gutters and splashing on to the grimy bricks of the yard.
‘Let’s go outside!’ Rosina said.
They ran out in their nightdresses. In seconds Violet could feel hers clinging to her, and in the dim light from the yard lamp they could see the fast slant of the rain. She turned her face up, welcoming its coolness as it ran all over her face and neck, making her shiver as it trickled down between her small breasts to her stomach. She and Rosina were giggling and whirling round in the wet, nightdresses clinging to them. There was thunder still, but fainter, and the night’s intensity was being released by the storm.
‘What the hell’re you doing? What’s going on?’
Charlie had come down, was standing silhouetted in the doorway. They ran towards him, laughing.
‘Ssh – we’ll wake the neighbours,’ Violet gigled.
Rosina’s dark hair was like a dark, dripping cape over her shoulders. She was smiling now though.
As they stepped inside they sobered immediately. The screams from upstairs were high-pitched, horrifying.
‘Mari – ’ Violet said to Charlie. ‘The baby.’
‘Oh,’ he said grumpily. ‘Sounds like a pig being killed.’
Violet thought, not for the first time, that she didn’t like her brother very much.
‘I’ll go back to bed then,’ he said.
You do that, she thought. You useless item.
Soon after, there were more screams, even louder. Rosina grabbed Violet’s hand and they gripped each other tight, listening, standing in their soaked nightdresses. After a crescendo of terrible cries there came a silence. Rosina’s face was a mask of fear. Then came the alarmed squawk of a newborn child.
‘The babby!’ Rosina gasped. ‘She’s had it!’
‘Thank God – at last.’ Violet felt sick. The whole thing filled her with horror.
‘Can we go and see?’ Rosina was ready to run straight upstairs.
‘Best wait. Mom’ll only send us down.’
Some time later Bessie came down. Violet expected her to be all smiles, like she was when the orphanage babies (that was how Violet thought of them) arrived. Instead her expression was bitter hard. Violet shrank inside.
‘What’re you gawping at?’
‘Has she had the babby?’ Rosina asked.
‘It’s a lad, if you must know.’ Bessie went to the range, looking for something to find fault with, but the kettle was full and near the boil. ‘Could do with summat more than tea, I can tell you.’ She didn’t seem to notice the girls’ sodden state.
‘Can we go and see?’ Rosina asked. She always dared to ask for things, not like Violet.
‘No – best leave her.’
‘Oh, Mom – please! We’ve been up all night waiting!’
Bessie wheeled round. ‘I said no! Daint you hear me?’
‘Why not?’ Rosina persisted. ‘We want to see him.’
Violet held her breath, waiting for the axe to fall. But Bessie stood, hand on hips, in silence for a moment. Then she shrugged and turned back to the range.
‘Go on – go and see what happens to girls who don’t keep themselves nice.’
Violet climbed the stairs behind Rosina. When they got into the room, Mrs Barker was putting all the bowls of water and red-stained cloths by the door to go down. Violet averted her eyes from the sight. She couldn’t avoid the smell though, warm and bloody. It almost made her want to retch. She forced herself to stay in control and looked at her sister, propped
up in the bed, hair lank with sweat and with a smile on her perspiring face.
At first she couldn’t see the child because the sheet was pulled right up. When Marigold pulled it back, Violet felt another plunge of revulsion. Sucking on her sister’s breast was a tiny, monkey-like baby. She could see Marigold’s blue veins and the wet, slicked hair on the child’s head. It all made her feel funny. Rosina didn’t seem too sure either.
‘You all right, Mari?’
‘Told you it was a boy,’ Marigold said.
Violet leaned closer and saw the tiny face, eyes and fists clenched shut, cheeks sucking in and out. There was white stuff rimed above his eyes and he smelt like cheese.
‘What’s his name?’ Rosina asked.
Marigold looked severely at her. ‘Tommy,’ she said. ‘He’s mine.’
Chapter Ten
‘Fancy walking out with me – Saturday?’
It was the next morning, and after a night with no sleep, Violet had been flagging with exhaustion until Harry found an excuse to come and see her, and whisper to her. Suddenly she was full of beans!
‘He’s asked me out – properly!’ she told Jo during the dinner break and Jo’s eyes were dancing with interest. Violet thought she’d never been so excited. First a pal like Jo, then this!
‘Well, you said yes, didn’t you?’
‘Course I did – why wouldn’t I?’
She was surprised that Harry seemed a bit in awe of her. There she was, only fifteen and he was already nineteen. But she was very flattered. Violet felt she had never had so much attention. And Harry was considered a bit of a catch in the works – a strong, good-looking lad, full of life.
That Saturday they went into town to the pictures at the Futurist. Violet had a row with Bessie before she went.
‘What d’you mean you’re going to the flicks?’ Bessie demanded. ‘No you’re not – you’ve seen where gadding about lands you! You’re going to the Bull Ring to get the meat, and let’s hear no more about it!’
Violet was really fed up with spending Saturday nights traipsing back with heavy bags on the tram. She had had to take over this job once Marigold was not considered safe to be let out. For the first time, she found herself standing up to Mom.
‘Why do I always have to go? Charlie never does anything – he can go tonight instead.’
‘That’s no job for a man.’ Bessie was spooning a sloppy white gruel down one of the babies. Charlie was sitting by the door, jabbing idly at the sole of his boot with a penknife. ‘You’ll have to go, Vi.’
‘I’ve told you – I’m not going!’ She could hardly believe herself. ‘Let that lazy sod do something to help for a change!’
‘Don’t talk to your mother like that!’ Uncle Clarence’s reedy voice piped up from his chair. ‘Show her some respect!’
Violet felt as if she was going to explode.
‘I’ll go,’ Rosy said. ‘Let Violet go out.’
Bessie got up threateningly from her chair, slamming the money down on the table.
‘You’ll do what you’re told!’ She jabbed her stubby finger in Violet’s face. ‘And any more language like that and you’ll be washing your mouth out with salt. Shift yourself – now!’
‘I’ll come,’ Rosina whispered once Bessie had turned her back. ‘I’ll bring the shopping home.’
Violet was trembling with fury. She wanted to storm out, tell Mom to get someone else to be her slave for once, but she knew it was no good. She smiled at Rosina.
‘Ta,’ she whispered.
Snatching up her hat and the money she slammed out of the house. Rosina hurried after her. Violet was astonished at herself. She’d never gone as far as that before. But she was going out with Harry Martin. Nothing and no one was going to stop her.
She’s always on at you,’ Rosina said. ‘T’aint fair. Charlie is a lazy sod. Just ’cause he’s a boy.’
Violet felt a warm gratitude towards her little sister for being on her side. They scurried round the Bull Ring and Jamaica Row, getting all the meat and veg, and Rosina bravely took it off her, even though she could barely carry it.
‘Here – ’ Violet handed her a penny for the tram – ‘I owe you a favour. Thanks, sis.’
She and Harry sat through the picture at the Futurist, watching the flashing images through a fog of cigarette smoke. Harry lit up and offered her one. Violet shook her head. It was so strange, sitting here beside him. She realized she knew almost nothing about him, other than that he worked at Vicars. She kept snatching little glances at him in the darkness. Solid, she thought. He looks strong. He had a thick, strong neck and there was an urgent sense of energy about him. He was very different from her brother, who just sat about and did everything Mom told him. Harry had life in him. And she liked his wavy, dark brown hair.
After a bit, Harry slid his arm round the back of her shoulders. She didn’t know what to do so she just sat still, but she liked the feel of it. It made her feel protected. She didn’t turn to face him as she felt shy, but she was acutely aware of being so close to him, his muscular legs beside hers in the gloom. Later, once he’d smoked his cigarette, he reached across with his other hand and took one of hers. They sat holding hands for the rest of the time and his hand was heavy and hot.
Afterwards they stood outside, unsure what to do next. Harry looked at her from under his cap. His buoyant, joking manner which carried him round the factory was all gone for the moment and he seemed uncertain. It touched Violet to see him look shy, and gave her courage.
‘Shall we walk about a bit?’
Harry nodded. ‘Fancy some chips?’
Violet grinned. ‘Ooh yes! My tummy’s been rumbling. Did you hear it?’
Harry smiled. ‘Yes.’
He bought them a newspaper bundle of chips each and they walked across town, tucking hungrily into the chips, the smell of vinegar rising off them. Harry walked quite fast, with a restless kind of energy.
‘What’s the rush?’
‘Sorry.’ He slowed down, and once more she sensed he was nervous of her.
‘Where d’you live?’ Violet asked, and Harry told her the name of his street, not too far from the factory. She found out he was one of five children. She told him about her family, or the bits it felt all right to tell.
‘My brother’s an apprentice at Simmons,’ she said. Simmons was a firm of toolmakers.
‘Oh – our dad used to work there!’ Harry said.
‘Where’s he work now?’
‘Here and there – ’ Harry was evasive suddenly.
‘What’s his name? I’ll ask Charlie if he knows him.’
‘He won’t – it was quite a while ago.’ Harry seemed sorry he’d mentioned it.
They finished their chips and threw away the papers, and walking on, found themselves in the square by the Cathedral, looking up at its grand bulk in the darkness.
‘You ever been in there?’ Harry asked.
Violet shook her head.
‘We don’t go to church – only Sunday School sometimes when Mom wanted us out of the way.’
Harry said he’d never been in there either.
There was a silence as they looked up, trying to see stars, but it was too cloudy. The sky just looked like a great, featureless shadow.
‘I wonder if it looks like that in Australia?’ Harry said.
‘Why Australia?’
‘Right the other side of the world – that’s where I want to be. I’m gunna go there one day. Or somewhere. Just anywhere out of here. Don’t you want to see the world?’
‘Yes.’ She’d never thought about it, not until that moment. But to get out, away from here, from Mom . . . ‘I do.’
Harry slid his arm round her shoulders and she tingled at the feel of it. It made her feel excited and special. He liked her and that was a miracle! She wasn’t used to anyone taking any notice of her.
‘I’ve been looking at you,’ Harry said. ‘You’re so pretty, you are. Thought I’d be afraid to touch you.’
Violet laughed in amazement. ‘You’re not, though.’
Her stomach lurched as he turned to face her. She looked up at him and his expression was very serious.
‘Can I give you a kiss?’
Her eyes answered, and his face moved close to hers. With warm, vinegary lips, he gave her her first kiss.
Chapter Eleven
Marigold wasn’t well after she’d had Tommy.
For days she ran a high fever and lay in bed, her breasts running with milk. The doctor had to come, and he told them to help her feed the baby.
‘Trust her.’ Bessie cursed her high and low. ‘Always bloody trouble.’
She made Violet and Rosina help with Tommy’s feeding. Bessie didn’t seem to want anything to do with him or Marigold.
The two sisters were horrified at first, especially at the sight of Marigold’s engorged breasts. She moaned when they latched the baby on. But soon they were fascinated by him. Violet started to see why Marigold thought he was beautiful, the way his little mouth opened at the touch of the nipple and the smell of milk. And every day he looked less like a shrivelled monkey and more like someone they knew. ‘Little Tommy,’ they started to call him.
The fever lasted for several days before Marigold began to get a bit better. But when Violet came home from work on the fifth day, the house was strangely quiet. She walked in to find Clarence in his usual chair with the evening paper, and Bessie in the scullery. Mabel Jones from next door was sitting at the table with her long face on and Rosina was next to her, her eyes red from crying.
‘What’s up with you?’ Violet said, carelessly, thinking Rosy was having a blart because she hadn’t got her own way about something.
‘You tell her, Mom!’ The rage and grief with which Rosina spat out the words halted Violet. She’d never heard Rosina speak to their mother in anything like this tone before. ‘Go on – tell her!’
‘Now, now,’ Mabel Jones said, but she sounded rather uncertain.
Bessie came out of the scullery with a tin of flour. Her expression was hard, defiant.