EG01 - When One Door Closes

by Joan Jonker

  When Mary walked slowly up Moorfields towards Exchange Station where she’d arranged to meet the Wests, her tummy was churning with a mixture of excitement and fear. She knew they were longing to see the baby, but after what had happened would they be glad to see her?

  The large station was crowded with servicemen. Some in groups with their kit bags at their feet, others saying goodbye to wives and sweethearts. One young soldier caught Mary’s eye. He looked no more than seventeen and was glancing round with embarrassment as an older woman, obviously his mother, clung to his neck, crying. Mary could hear her saying, ‘You will look after yerself, won’t yer, son? And write to me often, d’yer hear?’

  Mary turned away, saddened that someone so young should be sent away to fight in a war.

  ‘Mary!’

  At first Mary didn’t recognise the elderly couple pushing their way towards her. It was only a year since she’d seen Bob’s mam and dad, but they’d aged so much she would have passed them in the street and not known them. They stopped a few feet away from her, unsure of their welcome. But when Mary smiled, they rushed forward to greet her with hugs and kisses. Tears flowed freely as emotions ran high, and it was Mr West who finally broke away to blow his nose. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, I couldn’t help meself.’

  ‘Can I see the baby?’ Lily West held her arms out and Mary passed Emma over. Her eyes moist, she watched the two people who, if it hadn’t been for the war, would have been her in-laws. The joy on their faces as they gazed down at their granddaughter dispelled any lingering doubt. This is how it should be, she told herself. It was what Bob would have wanted.

  ‘Shall we get a cup of tea at the cafeteria?’ Mr West dragged his eyes from the baby. ‘You’ve got half-an-hour, haven’t you?’

  Mary nodded. ‘As long as I’m home for Emma’s feed.’

  ‘I like the name Emma.’ Lily West held the baby tight. ‘Can I carry her?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ Mary took Bob West’s arm as they crossed to the busy station cafeteria. ‘How’s the job going?’

  ‘The job’s all right, but I miss all me old mates.’ Bob rushed forward to pull out a chair for his wife, who was holding the baby as though she was a fragile piece of precious china.

  ‘It’s like holding our Bob again.’ Lily looked into her husband’s eyes. ‘She’s the image of him when he was a baby.’

  ‘I know, love. She’s beautiful.’ Bob put his hand on Mary’s arm. ‘Thanks for writing to us, and for letting us see her. You’ve no idea what a difference it’s made to Lily. Since your letter came she’s been a changed woman.’

  ‘Did you know I’d had a baby?’

  When Bob glanced quickly at his wife before lowering his head and answering, ‘No,’ Mary knew he was lying. He did know, but had kept it secret.

  ‘I should have written to you long ago, but as I told you in my letter, I’ve got Harry to consider.’

  ‘We understand that, love! And we won’t make any trouble for you,’ Bob said. ‘I’ve known Harry for a long time and you’ve got yourself a good husband. He’ll be a good father to Emma, too.’

  Lily was rocking Emma gently as her fingers traced softly across the silky pink cheeks. ‘Bob’s right! We won’t cause you any trouble, I promise. But d’you think we could just see Emma now and again?’ Her eyes were pleading. ‘It would mean so much to us.’ A tear ran down her cheek. ‘She’s all that’s left of our son.’

  ‘Now, Lily, I warned you before we came that it wouldn’t be fair to expect Mary to jeopardise her marriage.’ Bob’s voice was stern until he saw the despair on his wife’s face. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I did warn you.’

  Mary looked from one to the other. Her head was telling her one thing and her heart another. Finally her heart won. ‘Of course you can see your granddaughter again, Mrs West. I don’t know how, but I’ll manage it somehow.’

  ‘Be careful, Mary,’ Bob warned. ‘I wouldn’t want us to be the cause of your marriage breaking up. It’s only natural for us to want to see the baby, especially Lily, but not at the expense of your happiness.’

  ‘Mr West, my happiness would be for all of us to be friends, and for you to be able to come to our house whenever you wanted to see Emma. But I’ve got to think of Harry. I can’t risk you coming to the house, so we’d have to meet like we have today. That means a long train journey just to spend half an hour on a station platform. It also means you taking time off work because I can only manage it when Harry’s on afternoon shift.’

  ‘It would be worth it.’ Lily was holding the baby to her breast as though she’d never let go. ‘Anything, as long as I can see her for a few minutes.’

  Mary found conversation difficult after that. She could think of nothing to say. For the six years she’d courted Bob, the Wests’ house had been like a second home to her. Bob had been the link that bound them together, but he was gone now and the link broken. Except for Emma.

  When Mary said it was time for her to get home to feed Emma, Lily became tearful. ‘Just another five minutes, please!?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs West, but I’ll have to go.’ Touched by the sadness on the two faces, Mary said quickly, ‘We’ll meet again soon.’

  But that wasn’t definite enough for Lily. Ignoring the meaningful look directed at her by her husband, she insisted on knowing when. So it was arranged they would meet again in three weeks. Same time, same place.

  When Mary got home Martha never questioned her, and Mary didn’t volunteer any information. The less her mother knew the less she would worry. But making her peace with the Wests made Mary feel more content than she’d been for a long time. A picture of their happy faces was imprinted on her mind, telling her she’d been right all along. The Wests had so little left in life, and if seeing their granddaughter brought them such happiness then surely it would be wrong to rob them of it.

  Lighthearted, and free from guilt, Mary found it easier to talk to Harry when he got in from work that night. And in the hour before they went to bed the tense atmosphere in the house was eased. But Martha viewed the change in her daughter with apprehension. One of these days the bubble would burst, and God help them all when it did.

  ‘You’re early this morning.’ Mary walked down the hall in front of Doris. ‘I haven’t even dressed Emma yet.’

  ‘I want to get to the shops early before they sell out.’ Doris grinned down at Emma who was lying on a blanket on the floor, still in her nightie. Little arms and legs waved in the air at the sight of the familiar face, in anticipation of being picked up. But Doris shook her head. ‘Not this morning, sunshine! Auntie Doris has got shopping to do.’ Turning to Mary, she asked, ‘Where were you off to yesterday? I was standing in the queue at the chippy when you passed. It’s unusual to see you carrying Emma.’

  The question was totally unexpected and for a few seconds Mary was shocked into silence. ‘I, er, felt like going for a walk round the shops, and it’s a nuisance wheeling the pram round.’

  ‘Shopkeepers are not very happy with prams in their shops, either, are they? Spoils custom for them.’ Doris was bending over tickling Emma’s tummy and didn’t see Mary’s discomfort. ‘Did you buy anything?’

  ‘I only went window shopping.’ Oh, dear God, Mary thought. What if Doris mentions it in front of Harry? He was still in bed but would be down any minute. ‘I’d better get Emma dressed before Harry gets up or he’ll think I’m a lazy beggar.’

  ‘D’you want anything while I’m out?’ Doris asked.

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll be going out meself, later.’ Mary’s head was screaming for her neighbour to go, now! If she could keep Doris from seeing Harry today, she’d have forgotten the incident by tomorrow.

  ‘I’ll say “hello” to your mam, then buzz off and let you get on with your work.’ While Doris knocked on Martha’s door, Mary walked down the hall to open the front door in readiness. She was being rude to someone who’d been very good to them, but she had to get Doris out of the house, quick. And while she waited with
bated breath, Mary told herself her mam was right. When you tell one lie, it leads on to others. And Mary had been brought up to always tell the truth. Her mam used to say, ‘Tell the truth, lass, and shame the devil’. Now she’d let her mam down. And she’d let Harry down, too! He was bound to find out sooner or later she’d deceived him and he’d be disgusted with her.

  When Doris had left, Mary filled a small bowl with lukewarm water and picked up the flannel and soap for Emma’s wash. She usually enjoyed the morning ritual, with Emma gurgling and kicking on her knee, but Mary found no pleasure in it this morning. Doris, in her innocence, had made her realise what a dangerous game she’d started.

  Mary broke into a cold sweat when she heard Harry’s footsteps running down the stairs. And when she handed Emma over to him while she cooked his breakfast, she was too filled with shame to meet his eyes. It was then she knew that in bringing the Wests back into her life, she’d replaced one burden of guilt with another.

  As the days went by the turmoil in Mary’s head grew. All she’d wanted was to make Bob’s mam and dad happy, but she knew now that would be impossible unless she told Harry what was going on. She couldn’t live her life telling lies to those who loved and trusted her.

  Mary threw herself into cleaning the house from top to bottom. Clothes that weren’t dirty were washed, furniture that was already shining was polished vigorously every day, and Emma was taken for long walks. But even tiring herself out to the point of dropping didn’t keep her worries at bay. Never once did she regret bringing the Wests back into her life, or consider telling them they couldn’t see Emma again. That would be too cruel. But she did regret deceiving Harry and bringing worry to her mam. The only solution was to tell Harry the truth and suffer the consequences.

  But knowing what she should do was very different to actually doing it. When he wasn’t there she would rehearse over and over how she would sit down with him when he came in and quietly confess everything. But it never happened. For the minute he walked in the door her courage would fly out of the window. She kept telling herself it was ridiculous to be frightened of him. But deep down she knew what it was that kept her tongue silent. It was the fear that when Harry knew she’d gone against his wishes and lied to him, his disgust might be so great he’d pack his bags and leave.

  ‘I’m taking one of my week’s holidays next month.’ Harry was tightening a loose screw in the kitchen cabinet while Mary was washing a few baby clothes in the sink. ‘I’ll be able to give this place a lick of paint and distemper the washhouse.’ He opened and closed the cabinet door a few times, then grunted in satisfaction. ‘That should be all right now.’

  Mary didn’t look round as she asked, ‘What week are you taking off?’

  ‘The third week in August. I think it’s four weeks on Saturday.’ Harry threw the screwdriver into a drawer. ‘And will I be glad! Working seven days a week is no good.’

  Mary’s brain was turning. ‘Wouldn’t you be on afternoons that week?’

  ‘Let’s see … what date is it on Saturday?’ Harry pressed his fingers to his head and screwed his eyes up in concentration. ‘Yep! I would be on afternoons.’

  ‘You’d have been better taking a week off when you were on mornings.’ Mary dug her fingers into the palm of her hand. How long was she going to have to go on scheming? She pulled the plug from the sink, and as the soapy water drained away she wished her lies and scheming could be drained away so easily.

  ‘All the other supervisors had booked their holidays ages ago, so I had to take what was left,’ Harry told her. ‘Eileen’s taking next week off. The kids start their summer holidays then.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Eileen for ages.’ Mary swished the clothes round in the cold water filling the sink. ‘I’ll take Emma up there next week to see her.’

  ‘She said she’ll be up the wall when they’re on holiday for six weeks.’ The cleft in Harry’s chin deepened when he grinned. ‘I’ll use her words because it wouldn’t be funny otherwise.’ His voice was a good imitation of the big woman’s. ‘I’ll get no bloody peace at all now! Bloody Jean Simpson in work, and the bloody kids at home! I’d have a quieter life if I was bein’ shot at by the bloody Germans!’

  Mary’s laugh rang out. ‘I can just hear her saying that! She’s a real case, isn’t she? I don’t half miss her when I don’t see her for a while.’ Mary took some pegs from the drawer. ‘I want to get this washing out. Will you wake Emma for us? She won’t sleep tonight if she’s left too long.’

  Harry didn’t need asking twice. Emma was the brightest spot in his life. Sometimes he asked himself if he’d still be there if it wasn’t for the happiness she brought him. When she was lying in his arms, her blue eyes gazing up at him, he was filled with contentment. And her smile never failed to tug at his heart strings. She was his princess and he idolised her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘Hey, missus!’

  Maggie rested her hand on the brass fender she was polishing and turned to see her daughter framed in the doorway. She sat back on her heels, rubbing a hand across the sweat glistening on her forehead. ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ve been havin’ a natter with Cissie Maddox, an’ we’re takin’ the kids to Southport tomorrer. We’re takin’ our eats with us … sarnies, cakes an’ a flask of tea.’ Drawing herself up to her full five feet four inches, Eileen squared her shoulders, pushing her enormous bust out. ‘Cissie’s makin’ the sarnies, and guess what she’s asked me to make.’ Maggie could feel the floor boards tremble beneath her knees as Eileen’s body shook with gales of laughter. ‘Eighteen bloody fairy cakes!’ Chubby, dimpled hands wiped at the tears running down her cheeks. ‘An’ yer know what my fairy cakes turn out like, don’t yer, Mam!? I asked if she wanted rock cakes, but she didn’t see the joke! No, she wants fairy cakes ’cos her kids like them!’ Eileen clung to the door for support as she doubled up with mirth. ‘Eighteen fairy cakes she wants, but eighteen rock cakes is what she’ll get! The kids won’t be able to eat them, but they can have a bloody good game of rounders with them!’

  Maggie pressed at the stitch in her side. ‘Stop making me laugh … I’ve got a pain now! Anyway, I’ll make the cakes. I’m not having the whole street thinking we can’t even make cakes.’ Maggie turned back to the fender and started to polish vigorously. ‘I want to get this grate finished. They said Mr Churchill’s speaking on the wireless after, and I want this place looking like a new pin by then.’

  ‘Why? D’yer think he can see it?’ Eileen crept forward and lifted her mother’s skirt. ‘Have yer put clean knickers on for ’im, too?’

  ‘Get away with you! If you want to make yourself useful, go and put the kettle on.’ Maggie screwed the top back on the Brasso tin and watched her daughter sway her way to the kitchen. People thought she was as hard as nails, but underneath all the swagger and the swearing, she was as soft as putty.

  ‘Tea up, missus!’ Eileen put the steaming cups down then ran a critical eye over the gleaming fireplace. ‘Not bad, Mam! I don’t think Churchill will have any complaints.’

  The sound of high-pitched voices brought Eileen’s fist down on the table. ‘Shit! Just when yer think yer’ve got five minutes to yerself, the three bloody Stooges turn up!’ She saw her mother’s lips tighten in disapproval and groaned. ‘I know! Watch me language! But honest to God, Mam, I’ll swear those kids of mine can hear me backside hitting a chair from a mile away.’ Her two daughters elbowed their way into the room, each determined to get to her first. Although Edna was two years younger than Joan, she could certainly stick up for herself. ‘Ay, Mam, can we go to the pictures tonight?’ Edna’s eyes were bright with excitement. ‘Clark Gable and Myrna Loy are on the Astoria, and Doreen’s mam said she’ll take …’ She broke off with a squeal and rubbed her arm. ‘Ah, ray, Mam, our Joan just pinched me!’

  ‘Serves yer right!’ Joan threw her sister a dark look. ‘Yer’ve always got to be first with everythin’.’

  ‘Watch it, hard clock!’ Eileen sh
ook her head. ‘In the house two minutes an’ fightin’ already! If yez don’t behave yerselves, there’ll be no Southport for yez temorrer.’

  There was a stunned silence, then two voices squeaked, ‘Southport?!’

  ‘If yez behave yerselves! Mind you, if yer’d rather go to the flicks, it’s no skin off my nose! Damned sight cheaper!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ the two voices chorused. Southport was definitely one up on going to the pictures. ‘Can Doreen come with us?’

  ‘Can she hell’s like! I might be a sucker for punishment, but three kids are more than enough for me.’

  Edna dug her sister in the ribs. ‘Come ’ed, let’s tell the gang.’ Differences forgotten, the two girls made for the door, only to be brought to a brief halt by their mother’s voice. ‘Hang on a minute, hard clocks! A lot of mams can’t afford to take their kids to Southport, so no swankin’, d’yer hear?’ Their running footsteps had no sooner faded than they were back again, ‘Oh, God, what is it now?!’ She glared at the two breathless girls. ‘Whatever it is, the answer’s no!’

  ‘Mary’s comin’ up the road, Mam!’

  Eileen shot from the chair. ‘Mam, will yer clear these two cups away while I go and meet her? Yours ’as no handle on, and mine’s more cracked than I am!’ Eileen was standing on the step when Mary approached. ‘Hiya, kid!’ She bent to smile at Emma who was sitting up with a pillow at her back jerking her arms to get to the crowd of noisy children gathered around the gleaming Silver Cross pram.

  ‘Can we walk her up and down, Auntie Mary?’ Joan asked, with her arm pushing the other children away in a show of importance. ‘We won’t go off the side with her.’ Seeing Mary’s doubtful expression, she wheedled. ‘Please? Only to the corner and back, no further.’

  Mary eyed the pleading faces and didn’t have the heart to object. ‘Only to the corner, then.’