‘Surely they’d give you the time off to enjoy a birthday party,’ Aunt Phyllis had written, sounding rather aggrieved that her offer to organise this for Nell had been summarily dismissed with such a lame excuse. ‘I know it might seem insensitive of me, when your parents were killed on that date, but I just meant to give you a quiet celebration with me and your uncle, and the girls. After all, you’re only twenty-one once …’
Twenty-one. The key of the door. What door? asked a bitter Nell, who felt as if she had died two years ago. What magic key could unlock this misery, and give me back my future? And she had despatched Phyllis’s letter to the wastepaper bin.
Be that as it may, a card had arrived on her birthday. Enclosed was another letter explaining that her father’s estate had still not been through probate, because of the backlog due to the war. Showing no interest, Nell disposed of this letter. But she was extremely grateful for the cheque for ten pounds, being the proceeds of the endowment policy, and an extra two pound notes from Phyllis and Cliff; grateful, too, that she had managed to intercept this and the other relatives’ cards from the doormat before Ma Precious got wind that it was her twenty-first, or she too would have organised some event. As it was, her landlady was forever making the same objection as Aunt Phyllis.
‘Eh, you’re always working!’ Ma would grumble, finally to make a stand one summer’s evening. ‘Always running round, never eating a thing – come on, honey, just have a bit of oxtail – tell her, Georgie!’
‘I do get fed at work, you know,’ Nell laughed this off, as Ma blocked her exit and signalled at Georgie to help corral their lodger into the dining room.
‘Well it doesn’t look like it!’ Cradling Milo, Ma reluctantly moved aside, but one hand shot out to squeeze the nurse’s arm as she came by. ‘Eh, what happened to the big strapping lass we used to know?’
‘Thanks, you make me sound like King Kong.’ Nell’s eyes flickered over the brooch and pearls that graced Ma’s large bosom, the ones belonging to Mother that she had given away in a fit of incomprehensible dudgeon. How she longed to have them back now. But Ma had been so good to her …
‘You’ll fade away, you will!’ Counter to this opinion, the big hand released her.
‘No danger of that with Queenie, is there, puss?’ Nell tried to sound flippant as she crouched to stroke the plump feline who rubbed against her ankles, tenderly ruffling the fur of its belly.
‘No, and we all know why!’ Ma spoke accusingly to the cat. ‘She’s been tomming – again!’
Suffering a pang, Nell turned deeply thoughtful as she murmured acknowledgement of the kittens that distended Queenie’s abdomen. Then, with William on her mind, she dealt the animal a final pat, and left for work.
With other things to consider, not the least of them the arrival of a new batch of soldiers, and American ones at that, the pregnant cat was to fade into the background over the next month. To Nell’s relief, her new housemates turned out to be much less rowdy than the last, meaning that she and Mr Yarker could eat their meals in peace, which in turn induced Mr Yarker to revert to his former habit of taking up the most comfortable chair in the sitting room afterwards.
At Ma’s resolution that she stay and get to know their new guests better – ‘They’re ever so interesting, and you’ve hardly even spoken to them!’ – she agreed to take a cup of tea amongst the GIs before the night’s shift.
Still fairly new, they were on their best behaviour, fresh out of the box in their expertly tailored uniforms, well-mannered too, though they were beginning to relax under Ma’s noisy influence. Nell found them especially agreeable as they were free with their cigarettes – obviously earning them points from Mr Yarker too, for he was less rude than usual. Whilst desultory chat took place between others, Nell merely listened, smiling politely and answering any questions that were put to her, whilst she enjoyed one cigarette, and then another.
‘Hey, sister,’ chimed one of the Americans, eyeing her legs. ‘I can’t help noticing you ain’t wearing nylons –’
Nell gave a shrug. ‘Me and most of the girls in York.’ Gone were the days when this was frowned on by employers, for stockings of any variety were in dearth. ‘Thankfully, Matron’s being very understanding.’
‘I can get you some! Come out with me tomorrow.’
Keen as she was to have this luxury, Nell felt there might be a high price to pay. ‘Thank you, but I’ll be working.’ Throughout the conversation, she had been more intent on something else. Now, after grinding a short stub into an ashtray, she reached down and hooked a hand beneath the mewing cat, dragging it onto her lap and attempting to stroke it. But Queenie was restless and refused to sit there for long, jumping off her to prowl the room with a piteous cry, a weird unnatural sound.
Never having heard anything like it, Nell became tense and now consulted the collection of faces, none of which seemed to be as anxious as hers. ‘Do you think she’s trying to tell us something? Perhaps there’s going to be a raid!’ Ever since that dreadful night, she had lived in suspense of a repeat, and indeed there had been other bombings since then, though none so severe. Despite this, the threat itself was almost as bad. Her brown eyes held a gleam of edginess as they followed the distressed cat around the smoky room. ‘They say animals can sense these things long before humans –’
‘Eh, will you stop worritting!’ blared Ma, feeding a titbit to the little dog in her arms, before propounding matter-of-factly, ‘It’ll be her kittens that’s making her act like that.’
‘Oh, she’s had them?’ Feeling foolish in the presence of the American strangers, Nell allowed herself a bashful smile, then began to crane her neck around the furniture and aspidistras, in search of babies.
‘Yes, this afternoon,’ announced Ma over Milo’s wiry head, the dog reaching up to lick her face, she kissing him back. ‘I had to get Georgie to drown them in the water barrel – she keeps going around crying for them. I think she misses them, you know.’
Temporarily concussed by this insensitivity, Nell soon recovered to issue a hot reply: ‘I should think she does!’
Afraid that her spleen might explode, blind to her astonished audience, she shot to her feet and fled the room.
‘Eh, she’s as soft as I am,’ sighed Ma to the GIs.
Without pausing even to visit the lavatory, Nell rushed straight from the house and marched briskly to the Infirmary, hoping to work off some of this all-consuming fury by the time she got there. But all this did was to make her heart race twice as fast, and she was still wrought up when she arrived, spilling it all out to Beata the moment she set eyes on her fellow nurse.
‘I can’t stay there, Killie! I feel so let down – how could she be so cruel? And for Georgie to do her bidding …’ Such a crime was unthinkable from this lovely old man. ‘I just can’t stay there!’
Beata could give no reason, but, looking into those moist, angry eyes, she guessed this whole episode went much deeper than the death of a few kittens, and told Nell shortly, ‘I’ve been thinking of moving out of our Gussie’s and looking for digs of my own, though it wouldn’t be up to much on the money we’re paid. But if we were to pool our funds we could maybe get something more decent.’
Nell’s reply was hurried, and her eyes still red with acrimony as she fidgeted over the tying of her apron. ‘Thanks, Killie, but I’m not fit to live with anyone these days. No, I shall have to find a place of my own, so that I can lock myself in and not be forced to speak to anyone if I don’t feel like it.’ She hoisted her palms in defensive mode, as if trying to keep the world at bay. ‘But how I’ll continue to live with Ma till I find somewhere …’ She shook her head in utter despondency and alienation. ‘I’ll never regard her in the same light again. I feel like throttling the woman.’
Beata thought she might have an answer. ‘Just to tide you over, I could ask our Gussie if she can squeeze you in for a week or two. Well, it’s not a case of asking, I know she’ll make you welcome, so you can just bring your bags ro
und tomorrow if you like.’
‘Why, you must be bursting at the seams!’ exclaimed Nell, who had heard many interesting tales from the large household. It was the second marriage for Gussie’s husband, and his grown-up children were also to be found in residence, alongside his new family and in-laws.
But Beata said, ‘You can share my bed as long as it’s only for a few weeks – that’s if you don’t kick, mind.’
And so, after only a few moments’ thought on Nell’s part, she being still so rattled and there being nowhere else for her to go, the deal was struck.
Upon arriving home from work the next morning, having calmed down, though still intent on her plan, Nell managed to slink up to her room without encountering anyone, and was able to snatch three or four hours’ sleep before having to face the uncomfortable task of informing Ma and Georgie. Without reference to the cat incident, and feeling slightly guilty that she had eaten Georgie’s lovingly prepared Spam fritters first, she let them know that she would be moving out that same afternoon.
Both were upset, though Ma obviously had no idea that she was to blame. ‘I thought you liked being with us!’ The sergeant-major was reduced to a lamb, her big face riven with bafflement. ‘What’s changed?’
‘Nothing,’ lied Nell, trying to appear unruffled and friendly, when this was far removed from her inner turmoil. ‘I’ll always be grateful for the way you’ve both looked after me – but it’s just that I’ve been offered a room that’s almost next door to the hospital –’ another lie, it was further away, ‘– and what with the long hours and everything – you do understand, don’t you?’
And of course, the Preciouses replied that they did, though their moans of disenchantment were to ring in Nell’s ears as she went upstairs to collect her luggage. But with the pitiful sound of the cat still resounding in them too, she knew she was doing the right thing.
There was perhaps a mile or more to walk, along a straight linkage of roads, from grimy Walmgate with its run-down shops and slums, under its medieval limestone bar, and along a dusty highway that was heavy with horse-drawn traffic and army vehicles, before she eventually turned into a quiet Victorian terrace. As Beata had told, the house was about halfway down, small but handsome, with a bay window to the lower storey, and a walled forecourt with a foot-wide patch of garden enclosed. Some of the other householders had not yet donated their ornate cast-iron railings to the war effort. The only evidence of such former glory here was the sawn-off stumps on the low front wall, which Nell glimpsed as she came through the gate, towards a door that was wide open to admit the summer, and anyone else who cared to enter. She tapped politely and waited.
Beata had instructed her eldest sister to wake her up the moment her friend arrived, and within seconds of seeing Nell there, Gussie was already heading back along the passageway to call up the stairs.
Nell swiftly prevented this as she came over the threshold with her hat box and case. ‘Let her sleep, I can sit and wait. It’ll be a long enough night for her as it is.’
Gussie stopped short, and turned to address her guest. ‘You look tired, love. Shouldn’t you be in bed as well, if you’re on nights?’
Upon first sight, Nell had thought Gussie quite dissimilar to Beata, for she was slightly taller, and her hair was a darker, richer auburn. Both had blue eyes, but where Beata’s were small and twinkly, Gussie’s were large and clear, and brimming with an almost unearthly virtue. Excepting the gingham overall and the shabby dress beneath, this woman could still have been judged quite beautiful, had her physical attributes not been wrecked by overwork. She was not yet forty, but looked a decade older. However, upon probing more deeply, Nell could detect a greater, more intrinsic similarity between the sisters: both harboured a deep compassion within their ample breasts. She responded to this show of concern with a smile, and told Gussie that she had managed to catch sufficient rest.
‘Right, well, just leave your luggage there, love, and we’ll have a cup of tea.’
Depositing her burden in the dim hallway with its brown varnished dado, Nell followed Gussie into the back living room, which had an old-fashioned Yorkshire range, and was plainly furnished yet clean and comfortable. There were already two other occupants: one, a little girl who was playing with her dolls on the hearth rug; the other an elderly man wearing a collarless shirt under a waistcoat, and seated in a fireside chair smoking a pipe. Both gave only slight acknowledgement of her entrance. There, in exchange for a cup of fresh tea and the promise of an evening meal, Nell was to sit and help her hostess peel vegetables. During this, she also sought assurance that her presence was not an intrusion. ‘It’s awfully decent of you to put me up at such short notice – do tell me if I’ll be in the way.’
‘Nay, one more won’t make a difference,’ came the blasé response.
‘How many do you accommodate at the moment?’ enquired Nell.
Gussie totted them up on her potato peeler. ‘There’s me and Mick …’ Nell glanced at the portly man in his fireside chair. Michael Melody had lovely smiling blue eyes; she could see how anyone would have fallen for him in his youth. But the silver hair and stubble implied that he was much too old for Gussie – perhaps thirty years older – and Nell had heard from Beata how huge a responsibility her sister had taken upon herself, with Mick’s large family plus the two they had had together.
Gussie was still tallying those who relied on her boundless generosity. ‘Our two little ones, three of Mick’s bigger lasses, and one daughter-in-law; then Beat, of course, and our Mims, who’s a widow – they’re all out at work, though some of them’ll soon be in for their tea, so I’d better get cracking.’ She resumed her peeling as she continued to list the inhabitants. ‘Let me see, who have I missed? Oh, our Mim’s little lad, he’s around somewhere …’
Nell had already counted eleven. It was a four-bedroom house, but with the married couple requiring privacy there would be little free space. ‘Are you sure –’
Gussie stopped her, adopting a bossy tone. ‘Be told! If the lads weren’t away at war it might be different, but you and Beata are on nights, so you’ll only be using the beds through the day – you can have one of your own, by the way. She said you were willing to share, but you nurses need your rest.’
Nell praised the other’s charity. ‘You’re an angel.’ It was no platitude: Gussie could rightly be termed one of life’s true saints – and not a wishy-washy one either, for even prior to this, Nell had guessed that any sister of Beata’s must be equally down-to-earth. ‘I won’t be in your hair for long,’ she added, then hesitated a while, pondering on something that appeared to concern her, before asking, ‘Did Killie, I mean Beata, tell you anything about my situation?’
‘She tells me nowt, love,’ chuckled Gussie, thereby shaming Nell. How could she have thought her friend would break her promise to keep baby William a secret? ‘None of them do, I’m just the landlady.’ But Nell sensed she was much, much more. Whilst they were chatting and drinking their tea, there was the sound of a heavy footfall coming along the passage, and, shortly, a middle-aged woman in an overall and turban entered the room. Actually, she passed through the room, merely nodding to Gussie on her way to the back door, and leaving by the rear gate.
‘Mrs Crow,’ explained Gussie to Nell, as if it were all perfectly logical. ‘She cuts through to the shop in the next street, well, it saves her going right round on the top road, you see – right, that’s that lot done!’ With great dexterity, she scooped the vegetables into two receptacles, one a saucepan, the other a steamer, then went to check on the meat in the oven.
‘That smells gorgeous,’ murmured Nell, wearing a look of enquiry.
‘Aye, a couple of bunnies,’ divulged Gussie.
‘Your own?’
‘Ooh, no – our Mick’s too soft-hearted to kill ’em.’ Gussie looked on her husband with love. ‘One of his pals got them for us – I’m not sure where from and I don’t want to know. Would you mind putting those few bits in the swill bin f
or us, love? It’s in the back lane.’
Nell jumped up and began to gather the inedible stalks. ‘Certainly, anything to make myself useful.’
Immediately upon exit from the back door, she saw that there was a pram in the yard, and a baby fast asleep in it, his little limbs bared to the warm day. Aching, Nell moved quickly past. But a couple of steps further on, she was alerted by the sound of weeping, and turned to see a little boy, of perhaps three or four, crouched in a gap between the lavatory and a shed. The sight and sound of him made her falter, but when he uptilted a face wet with tears she did not quite know what to do, and so she hurried onwards to the bin.
But once the handful of waste was deposited, she must travel past him again, and the sight broke her heart, conjuring immediately to mind her own son who would be only a little younger than this one. Unable to trust herself to speak to the woebegone child, she blurted un certainly, ‘I’ll fetch your aunty!’ Then she hurried inside.
But with Gussie vanished, she was obliged to consult the old man by the fire.
With what seemed like great effort, Mick removed his pipe to issue in a faintly Irish brogue, ‘Oh, that’ll be Mim’s lad …’ then he promptly stuck it back in his mouth, and went back to staring into the fire.
‘What should I do?’ Nell wrung her hands.
An Unsuitable Mother Page 23