Untitled Book 3

by Susan Elliot Wright

  Marjorie looks blank and turns away.

  Eleanor keeps her voice low. ‘Actually, Peg, I was wondering if you were free for a bit of a memory session. She’s been emptying cupboards again, and I found a few photos to show her, but to be honest, I’m a bit . . . well, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. What do you think?’

  Peggy glances at Marjorie, who is noisily opening and closing the kitchen drawers.

  ‘Anything’s worth a try, I suppose.’ There’s a note of hopelessness in her voice that Eleanor hasn’t heard before.

  ‘I’ve got nothing on until this evening,’ Peggy says, ‘so I’ll stay for an hour or so. I’ll put the kettle on again.’ She turns to Marjorie. ‘What are you looking for now, Marje?’

  ‘A cutting thing,’ Marjorie says. ‘For that beer cake.’ She tuts. ‘This is my own kitchen and I can’t even remember where we keep the . . . the cutting things.’

  *

  Marjorie takes the photograph and studies it. ‘Ellie-belly,’ she says. She glances at Eleanor, then looks at the photo, then back at Eleanor. ‘That’s you, isn’t it,’ she says.

  ‘Yes, Mum, that’s right.’ Her mum had never used the pet name for her before; only her dad ever called her that. She hands her the next picture, the one of her and Peggy in their nurses’ uniforms. Marjorie turns to Peggy. ‘That’s you and me, the day we started.’ She looks back at the snapshot and sighs deeply. ‘We saw some shocking sights in that place, didn’t we?’

  Peggy sighs, too. ‘It wasn’t a barrel of laughs, was it?’

  Eleanor waits, but it’s soon clear that neither of them plan to say any more. She knew they’d done part of their training in a residential home, helping to look after children with profound physical and mental disabilities.

  ‘I don’t know how you stuck it for so long, Marjorie, I really don’t. I had to leave when I had the twins,’ she tells Eleanor. ‘But although I knew I’d finish my training later, I couldn’t ever go back to that sort of nursing. Your mum was much more dedicated than me.’

  ‘Had to do something,’ Marjorie mutters. ‘Next one,’ she holds out her hand impatiently.

  Eleanor passes her the sepia photo. ‘Do you know who these people are?’

  Marjorie peers at it. ‘I’m not bloody stupid, you know.’ She looks at it for a good thirty seconds, then taps it with her finger. ‘We used to go there every Saturday afternoon. There was a lovely little tea rooms there in those days.’ She glances up. ‘Your dad and I used to take you there, Eleanor, when you were tiny.’

  ‘Did you?’ She tries not to show how desperate she is for any morsel of information about the early part of her life.

  ‘You used to ask for the same thing each time, pink ice cream. Of course, it’s gone now, the café.’

  Peggy leans over to look. ‘Your dad was a handsome chap, wasn’t he? Quite a catch.’

  Marjorie smiles. ‘Yes, everybody said so. My mother was very beautiful too, before she was married. Wasn’t surprising she lost her looks, though. What with Maurice and everything.’

  ‘Who’s Maurice?’ Eleanor and Peggy say in unison.

  Marjorie looks up warily. ‘Not supposed to say.’

  Eleanor smiles, trying to make light of it. ‘It doesn’t matter now, Mum. You can tell us. Who was Maurice?’

  ‘No,’ Marjorie shakes her head. ‘Mother made me promise, you see. She said I was to forget all about it. I was never, ever to tell anyone, not even my father.’

  Peggy gives Eleanor a wry look. ‘Was he a friend of your mum’s, then, this Maurice? Is that why you weren’t supposed to say anything to your dad?’

  To Eleanor’s horror, tears spill down her mother’s face. ‘No one must ever know, that’s what Mother said. She wouldn’t let me see him unless I promised.’

  ‘She took you with her?’ Eleanor tries to process this. Her grandmother, wife of an undeniably handsome and reputedly charming man, taking her daughter along to some clandestine tryst? Is that what her mum is saying here?

  ‘I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,’ Marjorie sobs. ‘Don’t you see?’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself.’ Peggy takes Marjorie’s hand. ‘It can’t hurt anybody now, can it?’

  Eleanor catches Peggy’s eye and knows they’re thinking the same thing, that when Marjorie is like this it’s hard to reason with her, so the only way to move on is to change the subject, distract her. ‘Tell you what, Mum, shall we have a look at your new clothes now?’ Marjorie wipes her eyes. ‘What clothes?’

  ‘The summer things you bought this morning.’ She can still see the tears on her mum’s face, although she’s stopped crying.

  ‘No,’ Marjorie says, ‘I’ve not moved from this chair all day.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ Peggy says. ‘We went to Bromley. Remember? We had coffee at that Italian place in The Glades. You bought those four t-shirts in Debenhams. One in navy, one in—’

  ‘So I did.’ Marjorie turns to Eleanor. ‘A bit on the cheap and cheerful side, but they’ll do for indoors.’

  *

  The next day is one of Jenny’s days, so Eleanor takes the opportunity to go to the hairdresser’s. She isn’t complacent about her hair, but even though it’s still short, it’s definitely beginning to look like a normal style and she’s sure no one will stare at her this time. As she’s unlocking the car, the main front door opens and Peggy comes out wearing her new red summer dress and her red sandals.

  ‘Ooh,’ Eleanor smiles, ‘you look nice. Where are you off to?’

  Peggy looks slightly coy. ‘I’m off to meet my gentleman friend for lunch, if you must know.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a gentleman friend.’

  ‘His name’s Dennis – he helps out at the food bank with me on Fridays.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Eleanor teases, ‘tell me all about him.’

  ‘It’s early days yet, but he seems a decent man, and it’s nice to get out a bit more. It’s much easier now you’re around, and Jenny’s a godsend, isn’t she?’

  Eleanor doesn’t say anything for a moment. ‘You’ve done so much for us, Peggy. I’m sorry, I forget sometimes how much you’ve given up.’

  Peggy waves her words away. ‘Don’t give it a thought. Like I’ve said before, your mum was there for me when I needed her.’ She takes her car keys out of her handbag. ‘Before I forget, did you find out any more about the mysterious Maurice?’

  ‘No. I asked her again last night who he was, but it seemed as though she genuinely didn’t know what I was talking about. You know, I’m never surprised when I find out things she hasn’t told me, but I’m amazed she’s never mentioned him to you. I thought you two didn’t keep anything from each other.’

  Peggy smiles. ‘Yes, we used to tell each other pretty much everything. Although we all have our secrets, I suppose. I kept your secret from her for quite a while, didn’t I? Even though, in the end . . .’

  Eleanor feels her eyes fill. She nods. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you back then. I owe you so much, Peggy.’

  ‘Nonsense. Now, off you go and get your hair cut and let me go and meet my chap.’

  Eleanor: February 1983, Greenham Common

  Eleanor’s stomach was doing somersaults as she dialled Peggy’s number for the third time. Engaged again. She hung up and waited a few moments. Rain was lashing the phone box and she didn’t even have her cagoule, so she was glad there was no one waiting outside. At least she was getting used to the pissy smell. She counted to a hundred, then dialled again. At last it was ringing. Then there were the pips and her stomach turned again as she pushed her coins into the slot.

  ‘Six-nine-zero two-eight-nine-four?’

  ‘Hello, Peggy, it’s me. Eleanor.’

  ‘Ellie! Sweetheart, how are you?’

  She felt her face crumple. She’d imagined this conversation over and over in her head last night. She must have slept at some point because she remembered dreaming, but for most of the night she’d been planning what
she would say. Now all of that, all the sentences she’d carefully practised as she’d walked here, it all poured out of her head, disappearing like water down the plughole.

  She let out a weird wheezing noise and tears started streaming down her face. She bit her lip and dug her nails into her palm to try to get a grip on herself but she didn’t dare try to speak in case she couldn’t help crying out loud. She hadn’t cried about it at all yet, so why, when it was so important for her to be able to speak sensibly, was she in floods?

  ‘Ellie? Are you still there, pet?’

  She tried to say ‘yes’, but a horrible choking sound came out.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, what is it? Whatever’s happened?’

  Again she attempted to speak but was completely overtaken by a sob.

  ‘Ellie, darling, where are you?’

  She could hear the rising note of panic in Peggy’s voice.

  ‘No,’ she managed to force out. Peggy probably thought she’d been attacked or something, and the last thing she wanted was sympathy. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘You’re not hurt? Are you safe?’

  ‘No, I mean . . . Yes, I’m safe, I’m just . . .’ She was taking great shuddering gulps of air now, trying desperately to control herself. The sheer force of her body’s reaction had taken her completely by surprise; she couldn’t ever remember crying like this before, not even when she found out about Peter or when she lost her hair; not even when her dad died.

  ‘Thank heavens,’ Peggy murmured. ‘Now, take your time, pet. Take some deep breaths and try to calm down.’

  ‘I . . .’ But before she could say any more, she heard the pips again.

  ‘Quick, Ellie, read the number on the dial. Or ring back and reverse the charges.’

  She only got halfway through reading the number, so she dialled 100 for the operator and waited for the call to be put through. ‘I have a reverse-charge call from an Eleanor Crawford,’ she heard the operator ask. ‘Will you accept the charge?’

  She heard Peggy’s ‘Yes, of course’ and then the operator saying, ‘Go ahead, caller.’

  The break in the conversation was enough for Eleanor to regain her composure. ‘Peggy, I’m sorry I scared you like that. It’s so embarrassing – I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘You never mind all that. You’re obviously breaking your heart about something, so come on, tell your auntie Peggy.’

  She felt tears building up again. ‘Please, stop being so nice to me. I’ve done something really stupid.’

  ‘You’re pregnant.’

  Eleanor gripped the receiver. Her heart seemed to be beating in her abdomen. ‘How . . . how did you know?’

  ‘Lucky guess. Are you certain? How far gone are you?’

  ‘Just over two months. I did a test.’

  She heard Peggy sigh. ‘Okay. I thought you and Ray had split up.’

  ‘It’s not Ray’s.’ Shame flowed through her entire body. What on earth must Peggy think of her? ‘It was someone who . . . It was a mistake. It’s not that I was sleeping around. I was stupid. Drunk and stupid. I don’t want to see him again.’

  Another sigh. ‘Have you thought about what you want to do? Because if you’re only two months gone, you could still—’

  ‘No. I can’t have an abortion. I couldn’t. I . . . I want to have it, and I think I want to keep it.’

  Peggy didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she said, ‘Well, that’s a brave choice, but you don’t have to decide for certain yet. I take it you’re ringing me because you haven’t told your mum?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t tell her.’

  Peggy sighed again. ‘You want me to tell her for you. All right. Now, I think—’

  ‘No! No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant I rang you because I wanted to tell someone who would understand.’

  ‘I do, darling, of course I do. But your mum will, too. She was the one who helped me, don’t forget.’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s . . .’ Tears were rising again; what the hell was the matter with her? ‘It’s just that I can’t tell her I’m going to have a baby, can I? It would be like rubbing her nose in it.’

  ‘Oh, no, Ellie, that’s silly, of course it wouldn’t. Your mum’ll want to help you and support you, you know she will.’

  Not for the first time, Eleanor wondered whether Peggy knew her mum as well as she thought she did. ‘No. She might want to, but she wouldn’t be able to. I know she wouldn’t. I really can’t tell her. Please, Peggy. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t want her to know, certainly not yet. Maybe, in a year or two, if we’re getting on a bit better.’

  ‘A year or two? Oh, Ellie.’ There was a sigh. ‘How can you get on better with your mum if you’re not here?’

  ‘Please don’t be cross with me. I know you’re right, but I can’t face her. Not properly face-to-face, anyway. I’ve talked to her on the phone a few times, but she still . . . The thing is, I know she’s better off with me not there.’

  ‘No, that’s not—’

  ‘It is. As I say, in a year or two. If I can get myself straightened out a bit, perhaps then I can meet her again and, maybe, tell her about the baby.’

  ‘So let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to your mum – and bear in mind I see her most days – that I don’t know anything about the fact that her daughter’s having a baby?’

  ‘I know it’s a lot to ask.’

  ‘Too bloody right it is.’

  She didn’t say anything. Maybe she really was expecting too much. She hadn’t thought this through properly at all. ‘Peggy, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that part of it. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I didn’t. I’m being selfish, aren’t I? It’s just, well, Jill said I should tell someone at home, and when I said I couldn’t tell my mum . . .’

  ‘Sweetheart, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, but you’re putting me in a terribly awkward position. Look, tell you what: I won’t say anything yet, but you really need to think about this some more. I don’t see how you can not tell her, that’s all I’m saying. And, anyway, you can’t stay there, can you?’

  ‘That’s what Jill said. She said I should ask your advice.’

  There was silence for a few moments, then Peggy said, ‘Leave it with me. But Ellie, promise me you’ll give this a lot more thought.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Peggy, and . . . and sorry.’

  *

  Jill had been taking her out in the camper almost every day since she’d told her about the pregnancy, and then a few days ago, as they came to the end of another successful lesson, Jill astonished her by telling her that the old camper was hers if she wanted it. ‘She’s old and knackered,’ Jill said, ‘but she still goes. She’ll get you from A to B, and, let’s face it, you’ll be stony broke for a while once the baby comes. At least if you’ve got Doris you’ll know you can take off for a few days’ holiday somewhere when you need to. Alex has made it clear he wants a car instead, so . . .’ She shrugged.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Jill, but—’

  ‘Look,’ Jill said, putting her arm around her shoulders, ‘I’ve already bought a new one, actually. I’m fond of this old heap, and I was hoping Alex would want her, but it’s ridiculous to keep her purely for sentimental reasons. You can make use of her. It’s a different life once you can drive; more freedom, more opportunities. You don’t want to be stuck in a room on your own with a small baby for weeks on end.’

  ‘But how am I going to . . . I mean, I’m—’

  ‘Put in for your test now. You want to get used to driving before you get too big – and definitely before the baby comes. I know women who’ve passed their tests but have been too busy with babies to get behind the wheel. They end up losing their nerve and having to start all over again.’

  And with that, she’d handed Eleanor the keys, kissed her on the cheek and told her she’d drive to Chislehurst with her as long as someone there could give her a lift to Bromley, wher
e she was picking up the new camper.

  So now they were leaving Greenham, Jill to return to the commune in Camberwell, Eleanor to move into a place Peggy had sorted out for her. She was surprised at how easily she took to driving again. The trick was to wait until mid-afternoon, by which time the morning sickness had subsided. When she wasn’t feeling sick, she quite enjoyed driving.

  The journey from Newbury to Chislehurst took just over two hours, and it was the furthest she’d ever driven but she knew she’d done well. She still struggled with parallel parking, though. ‘Right, now turn the wheel back a touch, forward a bit, then straighten up. That’s it.’ Jill slid the door open and looked down at the kerb. ‘Not bad at all,’ she closed the door again.

  Eleanor turned off the ignition and took a proper look at the house. Laburnum Lodge, the sign said. Friendly, Family-run Hotel. They were early. They’d arranged to meet Peggy and Ken at eleven thirty – Ken had agreed to drive Jill to Bromley and was coming in his own car. Peggy had been thrilled to hear that Eleanor had been given the camper, and she’d immediately volunteered him.

  She looked in the rear-view mirror and pushed some strands of hair behind her ear but they just sprang back again. ‘It’s no good,’ she muttered. ‘It’s so obviously a bloody wig.’ Part of her wanted to tear it from her head, throw it on the floor and stamp on it, but she’d have to get into the habit of wearing it again. At the camp she’d only worn it for the first week or so, partly because it wasn’t practical but also because after a couple of days no one seemed to notice, so she’d worn woolly hats to keep her head warm. But on the drive down here, when they were briefly stuck in traffic, she was conscious of other drivers looking at her, so she pulled into a service station, clambered into the back and found the wig, now tatty from being shoved to the bottom of a carrier bag instead of sitting neatly on a polystyrene head as it had at home.

  ‘It looks fine,’ Jill said. ‘Stop worrying.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She sighed and looked at her watch. It was still only five past eleven.

  She hated having put Peggy in such an awkward position. According to Peggy, though she said it in a jokey way, she and Ken had nearly ended up in the divorce courts over this carry-on. Ken had come round now, though, Peggy assured her. But it was Peggy who saw Marjorie two or three times a week for coffee; went grocery shopping with her whenever they had the same day off; chatted with her in the garden as they pegged their laundry out on the shared washing line. It was she who was being forced to be economical with the truth. ‘Still,’ she said when she told Eleanor what she’d arranged, ‘as long as when you do tell your mum, you make it clear all this was on the understanding that you’d tell her eventually.’