An Unsuitable Mother

by Sheelagh Kelly

  17

  Nina’s inauguration to the workplace coincided with the massive thaw, although the floodwaters came nowhere near the Kilmaster house, thus providing only mild inconvenience on her daily travels to the city.

  After only a matter of weeks, Nell was dismayed to learn that her stepdaughter did not really enjoy her work at the department store. However, her fear that Nina would be forever hopping from job to job was soon dispelled. It was better than school, admitted Nina, as she handed over her wage packet to her mother. The snobbery between departments made for a good laugh, and – the main thing in Nina’s book – it kept the money coming in. If only her allowance would stretch a bit further …

  And, naturally, the soft-hearted Nell fell prey to this lament, and was to slip much of it back into Nina’s hand during the week. So far as Joe was concerned, though, he was quite satisfied with the way his daughter had been contributing.

  So much so, that tonight he was polishing her shoes for her, prior to a concert. ‘I’ll bet Shirley doesn’t get this done for her,’ he told Nina, who was in the kitchen alongside him, sharing the washing-up with his wife.

  ‘I know – you’re such a good dad.’ She grinned back at him as she dried the last cup.

  ‘By the way, there’s the hair lacquer you asked me to get off the market.’ Nell indicated the clear plastic tube on the windowsill as she wiped down the draining board.

  ‘Thanks, Mam.’ Nina hung up her tea towel, then, for her father’s benefit, opened her purse and handed over sixpence, which an equally dutiful Nell accepted, both knowing it would probably be slipped back to her later.

  ‘A tanner?’ Joe raised his eyebrows at the plastic tube. ‘Are you sure it’s for your hair? Looks more like lighter fuel to me.’ Then, with an amused shake of his head, he broke off his polishing to fish a coin from his own pocket. ‘Here, have it on me.’

  ‘Aw, thanks!’ Nina patted him tenderly, then decanted the lacquer into a plastic puffer spray. ‘Is it okay if I wash me hair now, Mam?’ She reached for a packet of washing powder.

  ‘Daz?’ exclaimed Joe in wonderment. ‘You’ll end up like Yul Brynner!’

  ‘S’only thing that gets the lacquer out.’ Bending over the kitchen sink, she stuck her head neath running water. With his wife chuckling, a flabbergasted Joe watched his daughter’s strawberry blonde hair being scoured of the crust of lacquer it had accrued and asked couldn’t she get some decent stuff like her mother used. ‘At half a crown a can?’ came her reply, through the splashing of water.

  ‘Here!’ Joe added a florin to the sixpence already on the worktop. ‘Rather I be skint than you be bald.’

  Later, though, when his daughter was set to go out, he had to admit that the Daz had generated admirable results. ‘A pity you’ve sprayed it with that bloody lacquer again.’ He rose to give her hairdo an experimental tap with his knuckles. ‘Bloody Nora, it’s like cardboard.’

  ‘You cheeky bugger.’ His daughter hit him with a laugh. ‘I think I’ll go and live at Shirl’s.’

  ‘Pff! You know when you’re well off.’ Joe sank back into his chair. ‘I hate to tell you, but you’ve put your cardigan on back to front.’ At the teenager’s sigh, Nell explained that this was the fashion; making it double as a jumper. ‘What do I know – eh up!’ The click of a doorknob interrupted Joe’s banter. ‘Here’s your mate come for you.’

  But no, it was Beata, come to visit. ‘You’re too late, we’ve had our teas.’ Her brother’s joke was negated by courteous ascent from his chair.

  Beata clicked her tongue as if thwarted, then smiled and received Nell’s kiss, the latter telling her to take no notice of him, it was lovely to see her. As a child Nina would have run to greet her aunty with a kiss, though now she was too busy with last-minute touches to her hairdo. Informed she was off to a concert, Aunty Beata cautioned her niece. ‘I hope you’re not like them screaming lasses I’ve seen on the telly, are you?’ Nina denied it with a grin, and received one in return.

  Beata had just been settled with a cup of tea, when Shirley entered the living room, another girl hanging back behind her. Joe urged them all to come in. ‘Now then, Shirley, how’s work going?’

  ‘All right, thanks, Mr K.’

  ‘Must be – looks like a new coat you’ve got on.’ He eyed the emerald-green jacket over the black polo-neck sweater. ‘Very nice – Oi’ll give it foive.’

  Attracting scorn for his rather passe catch phrase, Joe turned to the bespectacled one in amber corduroy. ‘Who’s this then?’

  Nina heaved a sigh at his interrogation. ‘Bridget.’

  ‘Bridget Bardot, eh? Where do you work, love?’

  ‘Freeman, Hardy and Willis.’ She raised a grubby finger that had chipped nail varnish, and shoved her spectacles back on to the bridge of her pug nose.

  ‘Ah, I shall have to come and see you. I’m after some pointed-toed wellingtons – I like to keep up with fashion, you know. Can you get me discount?’ A wink was to douse her look of uncertainty, before Joe turned his attention to her chestnut coiffure. ‘Is your hair as rock-hard as it looks an’ all?’

  ‘Da-ad!’ chastised Nina, as she donned a red belted mac.

  Nell shook her head at Beata, who sat there issuing her throaty chuckle throughout.

  Joe continued to tease as he surveyed the trio, each in a coat of brilliant hue. ‘Blimey, red, green and amber – don’t all stand together like that, folk’ll think you’re a set of traffic lights.’ Warned laughingly by Nell, he too smiled, ‘Aye, I’m only kidding, you look fab. That’s the word, isn’t it?’

  His daughter sagged with embarrassment and began to rifle through her handbag. ‘I had a doff in here somewhere – ah, here it is!’ Having unearthed the squashed and discoloured stub from a pit of other rubbish, Nina put it to her lips. ‘Giz a light, Dad.’

  ‘Good God! The Castle Museum’d be interested in that.’ But he held out his lighter for her, and also the other girls, who extended whole cigarettes towards the flame.

  Nina pulled a face at the acrid contents of her throat. ‘Tastes like hair lacquer – but it’ll have to do.’

  Joe saw Beata’s hand go to her pocket, and stopped her with a look. ‘Er, she’s been indulged enough tonight!’

  His sister disobeyed, shoving her fist at Nina and pretending it held only rubbish. ‘Here, put that in the bin on your way out.’

  ‘Thanks, Aunty Beat – see you!’

  As the girls turned to leave, Joe bade them, ‘Enjoy your concert then – who is it you’re off to see?’

  ‘Roy Orbison,’ the sultry dark-haired one turned to tell him.

  ‘Is that the blind fella?’ Joe winked at Nell and Beata.

  ‘Shurrup, he’s great!’

  ‘And t’Beatles,’ added Bridget.

  ‘Aw, not them blokes with hair down to their backsides? Take a can of DDT with you. In at ten then.’

  ‘Drop off,’ bantered Nina, and left with her friends.

  Joe chuckled to his wife and sister, spending the next half an hour chatting with them until Beata went home.

  Alone with his wife again, he had a bright idea, saying eagerly, ‘I don’t see why them lasses should have all the fun. Nat King Cole’s coming to Leeds soon – do you fancy going? I wouldn’t mind seeing him meself.’

  Nell was directing her concentration on stitching a hole in the toe of her stocking, and did not match his zeal. ‘Oh, if he was in York maybe, but Leeds always gives me a headache.’

  ‘We can’t have that,’ ribbed Joe. ‘You have enough of them. Just thought I’d offer, that’s all.’ And, throwing her a smile, he retreated behind the Radio Times.

  Joe’s good mood over his daughter was not to last, though. A few months down the line and Nina had begun to take days off work, pretending she had a sore throat. ‘I don’t know what you’re moaning about,’ she said when he confronted her. ‘I still get paid.’

  Joe gasped at such audacity. ‘So the firm’s got an excellent system – is that
a decent reason to take advantage of it? It’s meant for people who are genuinely ill! Not little skiving buggers who want to lozzock in bed all day.’ Nell supported him in this, saying Nina didn’t see either of them taking a day off for no good reason.

  ‘Well you have to turn up in your job,’ Nina pointed out to her mother, ‘it’s a matter of life or death. But nobody’s gonna die just ’cause I don’t turn up to scribble a few numbers down.’

  Joe had had enough of this. ‘Aye, well, you’re getting your arse there whether I have to drive you there meself!’

  And, more out of fear of being humiliated than from duty, for a time Nina was to do as her father ordered. But her obstinate attitude was never far from the surface.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ Joe demanded of his wife, upon coming home from on early shift one sunny afternoon in August to find his daughter there too.

  ‘Er, it’s Wednesday, dopey.’ Legs slung over a chair arm to display stocking-tops, and a magazine in hand, Nina barely tore her eyes away except to issue retort. ‘Half-day closing.’

  ‘I’ll give you dopey.’ Joe slapped her feet off the chair.

  ‘Stop being so cheeky,’ added Nell, who had herself not long ago finished work. ‘Come on, get the kettle on for your dad. Then I might let you have one of my cigs.’

  Nina prised herself from the chair. ‘I’ve given up, they’ve started tasting funny.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ laughed Nell, ‘if they’ve been sitting at the bottom of your bag for months covered in hair spray.’

  Joe chuckled too, more amenable now that Nina had gone to make him a cup of tea. ‘By, it’s mafting!’ He took off his jacket and loosened his tie before flopping into the chair she had vacated. ‘What’s this you’re reading?’

  ‘Ousebeat,’ came the response from the kitchen.

  ‘Very intellectual.’ Flicking through the magazine, he found it crammed with, ‘Long-haired nancy boys – that un’s like bloody Rapunzel. I’ll give you good warning, don’t be fetching one of them home.’

  ‘Behave, you were young once,’ scolded an amused Nell. Picking up the magazine from where he had thrown it, she too had a quick perusal, at one point holding it at arm’s length. ‘What does it say they call this group?’

  ‘I warned you it’d eventually come to thee!’ Joe mocked her failing eyesight. ‘Get yourself some specs, you decrepit old bugger.’

  Nell used the magazine first to swipe him, then to fan her face, as their daughter returned carrying two cups of tea. Over the striped sleeveless dress, Nina wore a royal-blue mohair cardigan, for which her mother gave an affectionate laugh. ‘You girls and your fashion – you’ll be breeding maggots in this heat.’

  Nina replied quickly, ‘It’s to cover my skinny arms.’

  But her blush, and the look she had darted towards her father, caused Nell to have other suspicions. Very grave suspicions, which were to gnaw at her all the while she was sipping her tea, and beyond.

  It was shocking to contemplate, with Nina only fifteen. But, remembering her own trauma, Nell was determined not to react so hysterically as her parents, and to meet this with calmness and common sense. There was obviously something on Nina’s mind, so even if the misgiving turned out to be fallacy – and she hoped to God it would – it needed to be dealt with at once.

  Alas, it was not as simple a matter to broach as those other teenage vicissitudes, the prudery of Nell’s background causing her to shy away at every turn, and to use Joe’s presence as an excuse to shirk her duty. Deeming it vital that he not be there when she did finally confront Nina’s problem, she was to delay it for another week, waiting for his shift pattern to change, this also lending her time to watch Nina more closely.

  And the more she watched, and was to witness that faraway expression, the more concerned she grew. Yes, Nina had always had a habit of drifting off, but this was different. Different, but familiar – for Nell had seen that worried glaze in her own reflection many years ago.

  A hoar frost crept over the mother’s thoughts, her heart soon encased by crystals of ice. Wandering up to Nina’s empty room, she looked around as if seeking answer. Such a conflict of styles here: the three pale blue walls of childhood almost obliterated by pin-ups, the fourth side clad in Beatles wallpaper; the dressing table with tubes and pots of make-up, amongst which grazed favourite horses from her cowboy days; shelves stacked with encyclopaedias, a dictionary, fairytales and the lurid tomes of Harold Robbins and Frank Yerby; library books on the bedside table, which used to be a miniature kitchen dresser, made for her as a child. Moving thoughtfully across the blue carpet, picking up stockings along the way, Nell untangled the ball of clothes left on the floor, throwing some on the landing to wash, hanging the rest up, and using this opportunity to cast a troubled eye over the jumbled contents of the wardrobe.

  Was that a diary peeking from the top shelf? Nell fought her inclination to pry. Then, balancing her curiosity against the thought that it was for Nina’s own good, she took down the handmade volume, lifted the cover and read the first page:

  It was a dark and stormy night, when the stranger rode into town …

  With a sigh, she put Nina’s secret novel back where she had found it, and closed the wardrobe door; though not on her problem.

  It was Joe’s complaint that finally prompted action.

  ‘Aw, who’s eaten all the sodding aspirins?’ came his loud exclamation from the bathroom, prior to departure for work. ‘There was half a bottle there the last time I looked, and now it’s empty. I’ve got a splitting headache …’

  Downstairs, Nell’s eyes flew to their daughter – and saw her guilt. My God, had she left it too late? Had desperation pushed her to attempt suicide?

  Then, ‘Sorry!’ Nina called back to her father, as she too made ready for work. ‘I’ve been using them to holding me stockings up. One of me suspenders is bust …’

  Almost tearful with relief, Nell scolded her. ‘You could have reused the same tablet, you didn’t have to be so extravagant!’

  ‘God, you’d think I was a Great Train Robber,’ muttered the culprit, as her angry Mum sprang up to provide Dad with aspirin from her own handbag.

  Even as Nell apologised for the over-reaction, it served to make her see how imperative it was that she put aside her modesty and challenge the problem. Today.

  Confrontation not being her style, Nell chose to be slicing greens on the worktop, a pan of potatoes already simmering on the hob for tea, and chatting about work to Nina, who stood beside her, as she summoned the courage to act. The other was meant to be helping on her afternoon off, but her mind was obviously on other things, as her listless gaze pierced the kitchen window.

  Today, this well-noted habit was to provide Nell with an inlet. ‘Wool-gathering again?’ She gave a warm sideways smile.

  ‘What?’ Nina looked dazed, then shook her head as if to clear the fog. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t catch what you were saying, a train went past.’

  ‘Ten minutes ago, maybe – you were miles away.’ But Nell’s voice remained gentle. ‘I was just on about old Mr Coffey grumbling about the man in the next bed.’ She put on her doddery voice to relate the occurrence. ‘Nurse, he keeps throwing Maltesers at me, and he knows I don’t like ’em!’

  The fresh face cracked into a grin, though Nina did not split her sides as she normally might.

  Her knife faltering over the cabbage, Nell hoped with all her heart that she was mistaken, and that her daughter would scoff in embarrassment when she broached the question. But much rather a few seconds’ embarrassment than what Nell feared. For all that, it was hard to come right out with her suspicions. ‘Neen … all these big jumpers you’re wearing, well, your arms don’t look that skinny to me …’ They did, pathetically so in this situation. ‘Is it something else you’re trying to cover up? You can tell me anything, you know,’ she added with sincerity.

  Nina’s face had turned white. ‘Has Dad noticed?’ came her hasty question. Nell shook he
r head, looking directly into her daughter’s eyes. ‘Not yet, but he’s bound to sometime. So am I right, you’re expecting?’

  With a great outpouring of relief, Nina nodded and burst into tears. ‘He’ll be that ashamed of me!’

  ‘Aw, I’m sure he won’t!’ Nell dropped the knife to grip the weeping figure, offering encouragement with her tone. ‘Your father’s a good, kind man.’ And, drawing the other into her arms, she held her for a while as the tears flowed, finally to take out her handkerchief and dab her own moist eyes, before handing it to Nina.

  ‘I’m really sorry!’

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right! I’m not angry.’ How could Nell explain that she was not upset for herself, but for the torment her daughter would have to suffer? She hated to think of that slender body racked by labour.

  After blowing into the square of linen, the distraught girl wiped her face, hardly able to meet Nell’s eye, but at last doing so as she begged, ‘Will you tell him, Mam? I can’t bear to see his face.’

  Nell sagged at the thought, but, presented with such woe, and knowing all too well what Nina was going though, she eventually heaved a sigh. ‘All right … I’ll do it after tea.’

  ‘Not while I’m here.’ Nina sniffed and looked anxious. ‘He’ll go mad at me.’

  Nell considered when was the time to break such news? There’d never be a good time. No man would react well upon hearing his teenage daughter was pregnant.

  ‘Have you been to the doctor?’

  ‘No, but I’m certain I’m expecting.’

  ‘We’ll have to take you. How far on do you think you are?’

  ‘Four or five months.’ Nina waited for an outburst, but her mother remained calm.

  ‘At least it gives us a bit of leeway then …’ Thoughtful of face, Nell pictured another young girl in a maelstrom of panic, in labour on the bathroom floor.

  Escaping this awful scene, she was to make a suggestion to Nina. ‘After tea, you go over to Shirley’s – I suppose she knows?’