Family Chorus

by Claire Rayner

  The clauses ran on and on, each more unctuous than the last and then at the end there were the spaces for the signatories. Two signatories for Carter Enterprises. One for Miss Rowan. And there was Barbara’s signature, neat and upright, showing how heavily she had pressed with her pen through the carbon paper, for the image was much clearer than that of the others. In brackets, after her name, she had written ‘parent and guardian’.

  Lexie folded the flimsy paper very carefully, slid it back into its envelope and stowed it deep inside her bag. Outside it was completely dark, and she sat with her forehead resting against the dirty window and watched the reflection of the carriage fleeing over the shadowed landscape. Above her head the blue lamp burned dimly, for, relaxed blackout regulations or not, the LMS Railway had no intention of fitting their trains with better lighting until they were certain there was no further risk of air raids. It wasn’t possible to distract herself with reading; deciphering the contract had been difficult enough. All she could do was stare out at the patterned darkness and the occasional glimpse of a car’s dimmed headlights on the road and think.

  All through the long hours of the night as she slept fitfully, wriggling from time to time to ease her cramped limbs without encroaching too much on the space of her snoring neighbour, she tried not to think of what that contract meant, but by the time the daylight came edging slowly up the sky and revealed the carriage in all its bleary unsavouri-ness she gave up the battle. She had to think about it and she did, over and over again.

  Molly in Hollywood? Molly in films? She felt a sharp edge of anger rise in her and tried to persuade herself it wasn’t what it felt like. It wasn’t the anger she used to feel when other people in shows in which she had been cast seemed to have better numbers to sing, better choreography. It wasn’t like that; how could it be? She couldn’t be jealous of her own daughter, a child of only sixteen who’d done no more than dance in a few provincial shows over the past couple of years or so. It was ridiculous. It was because she was so exhausted that such hateful ideas came into her head. It was because she was so hurt by Barbara’s death. It was because of anything but the truth. She wasn’t jealous. Hollywood was hers as well, for the asking. It had been any time during the ten years she had spent in America. Why feel that edge of anger now, because it was offered to Molly?

  Because she’s too young. Because it’s a cruel place, a madhouse. They’ll spoil her, take her childhood away from her, turn her into some sort of simpering creature that men will leer at and want to handle and … She shook her head at the fields and patches of rough moor now speeding past the train windows in the thin light of dawn, and told herself to stop being so wicked, stop being so wicked, in time with the rattle of the train wheels. Stop being so wicked, stop being so wicked, stop being so —

  For the last hour of the journey she did manage to sleep, exhausted as she was, and when at last, late in the morning, the train slid wearily into Inverness Station she was able to leave her narrow seat feeling less poised on the edge of collapse. Her eyes were gritty and her face felt tense and swollen, but she was awake. She could face Molly and tell her the sad news and help her cope with her grief and be a mother to her.

  She managed to find a taxi to take her to the address that Bessie had given her, and had time to comb her hair and make herself look at least presentable. She had to look her best to meet her daughter.

  39

  ‘Och, no — it canna’ be true!’ said the little fat woman in the dirty overall. ‘Not yon Miss Barbara! A bonny wumman, a fair bonny wumman! Och, ’tis a wicked world, at that. an’ that puir bairn away up the stair mitherless! Och, ’tis a wicked world —’ She shook her cloth-capped head lugubriously and went waddling up the stairs to show Lexie the way to Molly’s room. She sounded so absurdly Scots that Lexie immediately thought of those caricature performances the comics used to put in the shows in New York; any moment now she’ll cry, ‘Hoots awa” and start a sword dance, she thought, and a laugh rose in her throat and threatened to escape her tightly closed lips. The hysteria was still in her, she realized. She’d have to work hard at being controlled and sensible when she started to talk to Molly.

  It was a small solid house, built of stone and good oak, with doors that were heavy and swung quietly on their hinges. She was able to go into the room without waking Molly and close the door behind her, much to the disappointment of the avid landlady.

  Molly was a hump in the middle of the tousled bed, a few wisps of curly hair emerging from the sheets, her breathing steady and peaceful in the quietness. Shall I wait till she wakes and just sees me? Lexie asked herself, and bit her lip with uncertainty. Won’t that alarm her more than being roused? And she stood there in the middle of the floor with the drift of Molly’s clothes around her feet, for the room was in a considerable state of dishevelment, and tried to decide what to do.

  But Molly seemed to sense in her sleep that she was no longer alone, for the hump in the bed heaved, more rumpled hair appeared and she said sleepily, ‘Wha’s ’a’ matter? ’s’at you, Barbie?’

  ‘No,’ Lexie said as gently as she could. ‘It’s me, Molly. It’s Lexie.’

  The hump remained very still for a couple of seconds and then slowly Molly rolled over and sat up, peering out from beneath her tangled hair and rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

  ‘I’ll open the curtains, shall I?’ Lexie needed something to do, and she went across the room to fumble with the drawropes of the heavy curtains as Molly stared at her, her mouth a little open.

  I can’t look at her, Lexie was thinking frantically. I can’t. I haven’t seen her for so long and now I can’t look at her —

  But she turned and forced a smile, and as she saw Molly’s small pointed face she thought — oh, my God, but she’s grown up! She’s a person. She isn’t a child any more — she’s grown up — and without thinking she said, ‘Oh, Molly darling, you look so different! You’ve grown so much!’

  ‘Where’s Barbie?’ Her voice had a deeper ring to it now, a richness that was disconcerting in its maturity. Lexie gazed at her and tried to see the child she had left behind in London four years ago and couldn’t find any trace of her. There was just a young woman in a white cotton nightdress that stretched across full young breasts and showed a slender neck and arms, a woman who seemed poised and confident, in spite of the fact that she was rumpled and still half asleep.

  ‘Where’s Barbie?’ she said again. There was a trace of shrillness in her voice that made Lexie feel less shy of her.

  She came and sat at the foot of the bed and said as steadily as she could, ‘I’ve got bad news, Molly,’ and then stopped. In all the thinking she’d done since Barbara’s death the one thing she hadn’t let herself consider was how she was going to tell Molly. She had shied away from it like a terrified child and now she had to face it; and with no resources to help her, no plans behind her to concentrate her mind, it came out as roughly as a blow, and she saw Molly actually flinch as the words hit her.

  ‘She’s dead. She was caught in a doodlebug raid at the Regent Palace Hotel, and died in hospital later. I came up because I didn’t want to tell you on the phone —’

  It was dreadful. Because she hadn’t thought about what she would say to Molly, Lexie hadn’t really considered how Molly would react, but even if she had, she could hardly have expected what happened, for Molly shrieked, a great cascade of sound, an eldritch wail that filled the room and struck Lexie’s ears with a shock that was like a physical blow. She sat bolt upright in the crumpled bed with her fists clenched on each side of her head and screamed steadily, hardly stopping to draw breath, over and over again.

  Behind the aghast Lexie the door flew open and the landlady came bustling over to plump herself down beside the shrieking girl and wrap her in her fat stubby arms.

  The noise went on and on, though muffled against the landlady’s billowing front and after a moment Lexie reached forward, tentatively, not knowing what to do, too shocked by the din
to be able to think. But Molly was totally unaware of her and went on shrieking monotonously as the landlady rocked her and crooned at her until it seemed to Lexie that she would rock her right out of bed and on to the floor.

  At last the screaming lessened as exhaustion took over, and then Molly began to cry, great tearing sobs that were piteous to hear. Lexie came to her other side, to try to get her away from the landlady, but the other woman made no effort to relinquish her grip and just stared at her with a malevolent gleam in her little eyes. Lexie was nonplussed: to fight over Molly would be stupid and undignified, but she couldn’t let this horrible interloper sit there and keep her from her child when she was so distressed, and she said sharply, more sharply than she meant, ‘Go and get some coffee. At once. I’ll look after her. Go on now —’

  The landlady glared defiantly at her as Molly went on and on with her great racking sobs, and Lexie was afraid she was going to refuse. But she stared her down, and at last the woman let go of Molly and went slowly to the door, her old slippers slap-slapping insolently against the floor in a way that made Lexie’s anger rise even more.

  But it wasn’t really anger, she knew, as at last the woman Went and she could wrap her own arms round Molly and hold her tight. It was her own grief that was threatening to overwhelm its boundaries, and as Molly rocked herself back and forth, fists still held to her head and elbows tightly against her sides, so that although Lexie had her arms round her she couldn’t really feel any response in her, she felt her own tears begin to fall. Barbara was dead, dear comfortable eager Barbara who had loved them both and looked after them so well for so long. Barbara was gone and the world was a grey and bad place to be in in consequence.

  But after a while she took a long breath and swallowed her tears, using every scrap of self-control she had to calm herself. Across the room there was a washstand with a blue china jug and bowl on it. She let go of Molly, who still showed no awareness of her presence at all, and went across to find a towel and dipped a corner of it in the stale water in the jug. She wanted to use it to cool Molly’s hot face, to soothe away the scalding tears that streaked her cheeks, but before she could turn back from the washstand the door flew open again and the landlady returned with a cup and saucer in one pudgy hand. She made unerringly for the bed and thumped herself down beside Molly with one triumphant glance at Lexie, and began to coax her to drink.

  The tears eased at last as Molly obediently sipped the muddy brew and Lexie, glad to see it, controlled the flash of fury she had felt at the woman’s encroachment. She sat down on the other side of the bed and watched her.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said gently. ‘I truly am. But you had to be told, and Bessie and I decided I should come and —’

  ‘’Oo are you, anyway?’ the landlady said pugnaciously. ‘To come here upsetting this puir wee bairn so — why did they no’ send her family, then? ’tisn’t fittin’ that strangers should —’

  ‘I am — Barbara was my cousin,’ she said icily. ‘Now, thank you for your interest, but we can manage perfectly well, thank you —’

  But the landlady ignored that, looking at her with her head on one side. ‘The cousin, are you? an’ never been near them all the three months they’ve been in this show and in this house? Not till now — tush, there’s a —’

  ‘She’s not my cousin,’ Molly said suddenly very loudly. ‘She’s not —’ And she began to weep again, noisily, clutching the landlady and turning her head to bury her face in her apron.

  Lexie stared at her, her eyes dilated with amazement. ‘Molly!’ she said in a breath and then, more loudly, ‘Molly! What do you — I don’t understand — what did you say?’

  Hope was lifting in her, a mad hope that after all Barbara had understood, had realized the time had come and told Molly herself, but then Molly pulled herself away from the landlady’s grip and stared at her, eyes wide and glittering in her white face.

  ‘Coming here and telling me Barbie’s dead — and all you can say is, “Molly, darling, you look so different, you’ve changed so much!”’ Her imitation of Lexie’s voice and speech rhythms was uncannily accurate, her own voice with its lingering trace of an American accent completely disappearing, and Lexie blinked at her, startled, and tried to speak, to explain, but Molly just rode over her.

  ‘With Barbie dead that’s the first thing you can say — that I’ve grown! It’s so stupid. I hate you, you hear me? I hate you — to tell me Barbie’s dead —’ The tears began again and she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms round them and buried her head in the curve of her own body till she was a bundle as small as it was possible for her to be.

  Never taking her eyes from her, Lexie spoke in a voice as low and controlled as she could keep it to the old woman who was sitting staring avidly at Molly. ‘Get out. Do you hear me? Get out. At once.’

  The woman opened her mouth to speak but Lexie went on more loudly, ‘If you don’t go, I’ll put you out —’ and the old woman went scuttling to the door.

  ‘As soon as ma man gets in, I’ll be havin’ you outa here, do you hear me? I’ll not be spoken to so in ma own hoose —’ she cried shrilly and then went slapping down the stairs muttering all the way. Lexie took a deep breath of relief.

  ‘Molly,’ she said quietly, and then, as there was no response, said it again, more loudly. ‘Molly. I’m sorry, truly I am, that I had to bring you such dreadful news. But don’t be angry with me, darling. I’m as bereft as you are. Bessie too. It’s a dreadful thing to have happened —’

  ‘I want Barbie,’ Molly said in a muffled voice. ‘I want my Barbie.’

  ‘I do too. I’m going to miss her dreadfully.’ Lexie put out her hand to touch Molly, but she pulled away, huddling back against the head of the bed and staring at Lexie with eyes as glittering as they had been before, but her face now flushed and damp.

  ‘No, you’re not.’ She almost spat the words. ‘You didn’t love her. You didn’t love me. You just went off and left us.’

  ‘Molly!’ Lexie looked at her aghast. ‘But it wasn’t like that! You wanted to go on the road with that children’s show and —’

  ‘You could have come with,’ Molly said. ‘You could have if you’d wanted to. But you didn’t. You stayed in London and —’

  ‘I had my job to do!’ Lexie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘My darling, you know that! And then I had to go abroad with ENSA. You knew that too. I wrote so many letters — I kept on writing — you hardly ever wrote to me, but I kept on sending you —’

  ‘Letters!’ Molly almost spat it at her. ‘What good are letters? People who love people don’t just send letters — you didn’t have to go abroad. You could have done what Barbie did. You could have come with. That’s what other mothers did —’

  There was a long blank silence, then Lexie said carefully, ‘Other mothers?’

  ‘Do you think I didn’t know? Do you think I didn’t know you didn’t want me? You gave me away, that’s what you did. You gave me to Barbie and now she’s dead and I haven’t got anyone —’ And the tears began yet again but this time they were piteous, the tears of a terrified child feeling herself completely alone. Lexie leaned forward and, despite Molly’s resistance, put her arms round her and held on to her. For a brief moment, as fragile as a bubble’s life, they clung to each other. But then, moving awkwardly, Molly pulled away and scrambled out of bed to the washstand, poured water out of the jug into the basin and began noisily to splash her face.

  Lexie watched her for a while and then opened her mouth to speak as Molly scrubbed her face dry, but Molly seemed to know what she was going to say and interrupted her.

  ‘Don’t you go thinking just because Barbie’s dead you can get mixed up in what I do. I won’t have it. I’m a grown-up now — no one’ll tell me what to do.’

  She lifted her face from the towel. ‘Did Barbie sign that contract?’ she said sharply. ‘Did she? It’s why she went to London.’

  Lexie bit her lip, thinking for one
wild moment that she could deny it, but she knew she couldn’t. Quite apart from the rights and wrongs of lying to Molly, there were the practicalities of it. Barbie had signed a contract with the Carter people and they’d want to enforce it. They’d tell Molly if she didn’t.

  ‘Yes,’ she said gently. ‘But —’

  ‘There’s no but about it.’ Molly turned her back on Lexie and reached for clothes that were lying scattered about the floor. She began to dress, making no effort to hide her nakedness, and Lexie saw the curve of her hips, the rich roundness of her belly, her long slender legs and knew what she said was true — she was grown up.

  ‘Barbie signed and that makes it legal. As soon as they can they’re taking me to Hollywood. I’ll be a star and you can’t stop me —’

  ‘It’s not a legal contract, Molly,’ Lexie tried to sound reasonable. ‘How can it be? You seem to know the truth — and it wasn’t a truth I ever meant to hide from you —’

  Molly whirled round, her face twisted into a sharp little sneer. ‘Not legal? When did you ever bother with legal? I saw it, you know, that birth certificate. When we were packing up the apartment to come to London. I saw it. You put a different name on it and everything — you never cared then whether it was legal to give me to Barbie and give me a different name. Well, you did, and everyone knew Barbie was my mother, and so she is, even now she’s dead. She signed that contract and if you try to — if you say anything to anyone and try to spoil things for me, I’ll tell everyone what you did. I will, I will, you see if I don’t —’

  ‘I don’t want to spoil anything for you, Molly.’ Lexie felt that she wasn’t really there; that she was sitting watching the whole scene played out on a screen. For a wild moment she thought that it had already happened: Molly had gone to Hollywood, and this was a film in which she was the star and in which she, Lexie, had a bit part, and there was a sick heaviness inside her that wouldn’t budge, that pinned her to her seat and made her very voice sound flat and dull.