Minerva's Stepchild

by Helen Forrester

  "Where is it, Mother?"

  "In pawn. "

  "Oh, my God! For how much?"

  "Three pounds."

  I gasped. "But I've got to return it in a couple of days!"

  "Oh, don't worry. I'll get it out in due course." She turned toward the front door.

  "By Friday?"

  "Oh, I doubt that."

  "Oh, Mummy!"

  "Don't be so melodramatic," she fumed irritably, as she opened the front door. "You must make an excuse to keep it another week. It's time Avril and Edward were put to bed. "

  "what shall I do if Miriam says she needs the machine?"

  She snapped back angrily, "That's your headache. You should be able to manage something like that."

  I stared speechlessly at her as she stepped out onto the pavement, slamming the front door after her. All the horrors that could possibly befall me if the machine was not returned flew through my head. Accusations of theft, court proceedings, loss of my job. I could tell Father, but what could he do? He had no money to speak of.

  There was no one to help me. I wished that the dirty, linoleumed floor would open up and swallow me, so that I did not have to face poor Miriam.

  My terror was so great that it blotted out everything else. I failed to hear instructions given to me in the office, and was constantly in trouble for forgetting small errands that the filing clerks pressed upon me. I forgot to take a voluntary worker a cup of tea. I accidentally put a "By Hand" letter into the post box; the firm it was addressed to telephoned to complain about having to pay the postage. I carried a big tea tray carelessly through a doorway and knocked the spouts of two teapots. I stood, appalled, while tea gushed all over the floor, and the cashier ranted that I would have to pay for new teapots. I nearly laughed at her. At night school, I sat at my desk and saw and heard nothing. The essays and assignments set me remained undone.

  "Whatever is the matter, Helen?" each teacher, in turn, demanded testily.

  Miriam reluctantly agreed to allow me to keep the typewriter for another week.

  At home, I moved like a zombie through the usual routine of baby-sitting, shopping, cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing. The children were used to my being quiet, except when embroiled in a fight with my parents, so I doubt if they noticed much change. Father lived in his dream world, went most evenings to the library, and on Saturday and Sunday went out for a drink with a colleague. I saw no point in asking Father's help; it would spark another family row. Only Mother knew, and she made no reply when I pestered her to redeem the machine.

  I had never considered that children might love their mothers. I alwavs feared mine.

  At the end of the second week, Miriam said she needed the typewriter. Her rich brown crown of shining hair swung around her pixiehke face, as she looked up at me with such a friendly grin that I wanted to cry.

  "Til bring it in on Monday," I promised, my voice strained with the cold and sheer terror.

  At home, Father was out, and I had a fearsome row with Mother to no purpose, and retired to bed crying hysterically.

  On Tuesday, Miriam, her expression a little puzzled, inquired again.

  I apologized for forgetting to bring the machine in the rush of getting to work. On Thursday and Friday, I muttered the same apologies. She just nodded and looked curiously and unsmilingly at me. Undoubtedly, she had begun to worry about her prized possession.

  I was saved from having to face her on Saturday morning. One Saturday each month was free, and I stayed at home and did the washing.

  Dressed in an old cotton frock, I was carefully washing my work skirt in the kitchen sink, when there was a polite rap on the iron door knocker. I went into the empty front room and peeped through the net curtaining.

  Standing on the pavement looking up at the decrepit brick house was Miriam.

  I flitted back to the kitchen. "Mother!" I whispered in a panic. "It's Miriam! She must have come for the tvpewriter. What am I going to do?"

  Mother looked up from her bread cutting, knife poised in midair. "Don't answer the door, " she said simply.

  "But she must have come all the way over from the north end of town specially. "

  "I said, 'Don't answer.' "

  I wrung my hands. "But, Mummy ..."

  She was implacable. "Don't answer."

  I was panting with fright and stared at her helplessly for a minute. Then I said angrily in a normal voice, "I will answer. I can't bear it anymore. I will tell her exactly what has happened." My voice rose in hysteria. "I just can't endure it any longer."

  Fiona, the only other person at home, came in from the lavatory in the back yard. She stared at us in scared apprehension.

  Miriam rapped again, louder. I started for the front passage.

  "Oh, no, my lady." Mother swiftly slammed the kitchen door and put her foot against it. She glared at me. "How dare you?"

  I stopped. I wanted to strike her to make her move, but it was so alien to me that I could not. In a fever of fear, I shouted, "I will tell them in the office on Monday, and then they'll know you stole it!"

  Mother went white. "You wouldn't dare tell such a lie, " she retorted, as the knocker sounded once again.

  But I did not care what happened, as long as the intolerable burden was removed from me, and I replied determinedly. "It is not a lie, and I certainly would dare. "

  "All right. I'll speak to Miriam. You remain here. " She was bristling with anger.

  She opened the door and marched through to the front of the house.

  I clung to the kitchen table, hardly able to stand, while the sound of the front door opening and then Mother's delicate voice echoed through the house.

  Mother and Miriam had not met before, so Miriam first explained who she was and then asked politely if she could have the machine back, because she had some work to do on it. Mother said enthusiastically how delighted she was to meet her and how grateful she was for her kindness to me. I closed my eyes and prayed, wondering what she would say next.

  The well-bred voice was explaining that she herself had ventured to use the machine yesterday. Unfortunately, one of the letters had fallen off and needed soldering on again, so she had taken it up to town to have it repaired.

  "Oh, dear," exclaimed Miriam. "Where did you take it?"

  "Um—you know that place on Dale Street? I took it there. They said it would be ready on Tuesday."

  Miriam sounded very relieved, as she replied, "Oh, that's not too bad. I could pick it up myself."

  Mother's voice chimed in with measured charm. "Oh, I won't hear of it. I must pay for it. I'll arrange for Helen to bring it into the office on Wednesday. I'm so sorry that she has been so

  delinquent about returning it. I'll make sure this time she doesn't forget."

  There was a mumble of polite, friendly argument, then goodbyes were said, and the front door was softly closed.

  I was so shaken that I wanted to vomit.

  "What was that about? " asked Fiona, as she took her skipping rope off a hook on the back door.

  I did not reply for a moment, and then I said wearily, "It's so complicated, Fi, I can't explain it. But everything is okay now."

  TWENTY-TWO

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  Mother had barely shut the front door, when the string on the atch was pulled and the door again swung open. Brian and Tony came bursting in, excited because it had begun to snow. They vere followed almost immediately by Avril and baby Edward.

  Since the children were there. Mother said nothing to me, but, as she picked up the bread knife again, her contemptuous ook spoke volumes. Feeling wretched, I returned to the sink full if washing.

  As I was hanging up the garments. Father and Alan came hrough the back door, laughing and shaking the snow off themselves.

  I must tell Daddy, I thought. I simply have to. Three pounds s a huge sum to raise. How does Mother imagine she is going to do t?

  Mother wa
s very quiet during tea. By silent consent nothing vas said about Miriam before the children.

  I had to give a shorthand lesson that evening, so immediately fter tea I prepared a protesting Edward for bed. I borrowed Fiona's mackintosh from her to put over my cotton dress. With a [uick glance at the clock, I snatched up my shorthand books and an to catch a tram outside the Rialto Cinema. To reach my pupil's lome, it was necessary to take a tram to the Pier Head and another >ne out again to his district. There was no question of being able to v^alk the distance in a reasonable time.

  The snow was coming down in great fleecy flakes, and my feet vere soaked before I reached the end of our street. The clumsy rams looked like glittering ghosts as they churned their way lowly along. Few people were about, and for a second I con-idered turning back. But I needed money so badly that when my ram arrived, I swung onto it without hesitation.

  "Lousy night," remarked the conductor as I tendered the are.

  At the Pier Head, the wind was driving the snow in whirling sweeps, ahnost obhterating the buildings. As if from nowhere, the soiuids of the foghorns and the harsh hells to guide the ferryboats eame floating around my head. One or two shadowy people scurried past me.

  Surrounding the tram superintendent was a tight knot of drivers and conductors, glowing cigarettes drooping from their mouths. They were arguing about stopping the service. I was shivering, and clutched the mackintosh collar around my neck to stop the snow trickhng down inside. The wind from the river seemed to penetrate my bones.

  The superintendent vanished in search of the telephone.

  I blew my nose on a square of newspaper, then shoved my bare hands into my mac pockets in an effort to keep them from freezing. The heavy flakes clung to my hair, and I brushed a rosette of snow off my bun. The drivers and conductors climbed back into their respective trams to get out of the wind. I did not dare to follow one of them for fear I missed my own tram, which had not yet arrived.

  Long before I saw the tram I needed, I could hear the driver pinging its bell, as he edged the great vehicle slowly around the curve. Between the sharp pings of the bell came the slap of the river water around the floating dock behind me, the sound of the Mersey which lay between Grandma and me. For a moment, I felt like chancing my tram fares on a ferry fare instead and running away to her.

  "Don't be a fool, " I told myself sharply.

  The supervisor, bustling with importance, came toward the newly arrived tram. The driver stepped down to meet him; he did not want to take the tram out again, but the supervisor irately insisted. After some argument, the driver reluctantly climbed onto his platform, and I thankfully clambered into the back, shaking myself like a collie dog. I sat down on the wooden side bench and lifted an almost solid crown of snow from the top of my head. It splashed all over the ridged floor as I dropped it. The interior of the vehicle was comfortingly warm, but I continued to shiver, and my feet were bitterly cold. I was the only outgoing passenger.

  The driver slammed open the intervening door, letting in a great gust of snow-laden air, and shouted down the length of the

  car to the conductor that they'd be lucky if they saw their beds that night. He was not going to be responsible if the bloody tram got stuck; he'd told the bastard back there that they would never make it up the hill. These remarks did not cheer me up. The tram was already far behind schedule, and I would be very late for the lesson.

  At Pembroke Place the points of the track were solid with ice and did not yield to the driver's poking at them with a metal bar. So the driver eased the brake off, and let the tram roll slowly backward down the hill for a few yards. Then he took the line up London Road. We were off the proper route, but not so far that I would not be able to run to my pupil's house.

  I was heavy with the cold which I had caught nearly three weeks earlier and had failed to shake off. As the chill from my waiting at the Pier Head wore off, I gradually began to feel stiflingly hot, and I almost envied the driver out in the wind. My head ached abominably, and I laid it against the cold windowpane and closed my eyes.

  After what seemed an interminable time of grinding noise, I was jerked awake. The tram had stopped. The lights were still on, and the motor was throbbing.

  The driver pushed open his door and came in. "Can't go no further, miss," he announced.

  "God spare us, " exclaimed the conductor, and threw his cigarette butt angrily on to the floor. "Where are we?" he asked.

  "West Derby Road, near Green Lane. There's two abandoned trams on the track ahead of us. I can't see no sign of drivers or conductors. "

  West Derby Road! I was miles from where I should have been, and at least three miles from home. I looked in alarm at the two men discussing what they should do. They seemed to be fuzzy around the edges. I got up from the seat. My legs wobbled, and I sat down again quickly. I was suddenly afraid of the bitter cold outside.

  The driver said, "We'd better all get home as best we can. If I can find a phone box on the way, I'll phone the boss to say where the tram is. " He took off his big scarf, as he spoke, and shook a shining cascade of snow off it. "Gould try taking the bloody thing in in the morning, when I'll be able to see better."

  Trams can be driven from either end and do not have to be

  turned, so I asked, "Couldn't vou drive it back again to the Pier Head?"

  "What for, kiv? There's nothing there but wind and water."

  The conductor peered ineffectually through a bit of window he had rubbed clear of steam. "Snow's so deep, we'd probably stick anyway. Best get home, like you say."

  I nodded, and the pain jabbed through my head. How was I to find my way through a maze of narrow streets, snow-choked and deserted? Yet there seemed nothing else to do. Once the driver turned off the power, the tram would quickly become very cold indeed.

  "Do you know how I can get to the Rial to Cinema?" I asked.

  They looked at me appalled. "Eee, you do have a way to go," exclaimed the driver.

  Again, a committee of two was formed. The driver lived in Holt Road, the conductor in Old Swan, which in normal circumstances was no great walk from where we were stranded. The conductor decided to leave us. He turned up his overcoat collar, said "Ta-ra, well, " very dolefully, cautiously stepped dovvTi into the street and plodded away into the night.

  The driver, sighing heavily, decided to drive the tram back along the route he had come to the nearest point to his home street or until the vehicle stalled. This would help me, too, and he said he could direct me home from where he lived. He floundered outside again and succeeded with difficulty in reversing the trolley on the overhead wires, and then heaved himself into the rear of the tram to drive it.

  He left the communicating door slightly ajar, so that he could talk to me, and I moved up to the end of the bench closest to it. We sailed slowly down the same side of the street up which we had traveled. I hoped we would not hit an oncoming vehicle. There seemed, however, to be no other thing moving in the city, and our tram finally refused to go any further after reaching Shiel Road.

  The driver slammed the vehicle's doors shut and took my arm. Together we struggled on foot along Shiel Road, while the wind blew the snow into our faces, down our necks, and up our coat sleeves. The driver had boots, an overcoat, a cap, a scarf, and gloves. I had on a cotton dress, a mackintosh, and a secondhand pair of walking shoes, which I had bought from the pawnbroker for

  two shillings My head and hands were bare, and rayon stockings did not offer much protection. I was also very thin, with no proper layer of fat to help ward off the cold. I regretted bitterly ever having set out.

  By the time we found the driver's house, with his wife peeping anxiously through the tiny bay window, the wind had eased and the snow was thinning.

  His wife invited me in to rest and shelter for a while, but my mind seemed to be fogged up, and all I could think about was the desperate need to get home and into bed. Stupidly, I said that the snow was easing, and I could manage to walk home.

  S
he nodded doubtfully at me, as her husband stamped about behind her in the narrow hallway, and she closed the door slowly as I moved away.

  Durning Road to Tunnel Road, from dim gas lamp to dim gas lamp, alternately freezing and perspiring, I struggled on, through totally deserted streets. This was not a district of private cars, but here and there a van or truck had been abandoned, and snowdrifts were rising around them. Each windowsill I passed held a neat tray cloth of snow, each doorstep an unbroken drift.

  I was beginning to think that I would have to knock at the nearest door and ask for shelter, when suddenly, through the unearthly silence, came the distant rumble of a tram. I looked quickly down the street and I saw the electricity spit and flash as its trolley crossed a wire. I half stumbled, half ran toward it.

  The driver was astonished to have a passenger suddenly emerge from the storm. He stopped, and let me on through the front of the tram.

  "Eh, miss. You must be frozen. Where you tryin' to get to? "

  "The Rialto, " I gasped, as I felt down my chest and eased out my little money bag, to get a penny from it. A pain like a knife wound was shooting through my back, and my throat was swelling in its old threatening manner.

  "Eh, you don't have to pay t' fare, " he said. "I'm trying to get that far for me own sake. But I reckon points will be frozen, so I won't be able to turn." He jerked his head to indicate the way he had come, and added, "It was bloody awful back there. I let me conductor off by his house."

  I nodded dumbly. In the warmth of the tram, my head was

  whirling as the snowflakes had been, and all I could think about was home.

  The snow had stopped when, about fifteen minutes later, I pulled the string on our door latch and stumbled into my father's arms.

  I have a dim remembrance of Father rolling off my stockings in front of the fire and putting my feet into a basin of lukewarm water, to restore the circulation; of Mother holding a cup of scalding hot tea to my lips, and of being surprised at the anxiety in her pale-blue eyes. Then I was in bed with Edward's hot-water bottle pressed to my back, and Father was cursing as he tried to make a fire in the bedroom fireplace.