by Annie Murray
‘Had a bad day?’ Sam casually asked Rose as he polished his boots. ‘Aren’t you going to tell us what wonder boy’s been up to today?’ Sam got a bit browned off with Rose’s adoration of Michael Gillespie.
Rose didn’t answer him. She took off her coat and hung it up behind the door and then went to go upstairs.
‘Grub’s ready so don’t go disappearing again,’ Grace said. ‘You’re late enough as it is.’
Rose ignored her.
‘Did you hear your sister?’ Sid shouted after her, throwing the newspaper down. ‘We’ve all been waiting for you as it is. You ought to be thankful our Grace lets you off so much of the work around here, you uppity little cow.’
Dora and the others held their breath as they waited for the explosion from Rose which would set off another of the increasingly bitter fights between them. Grace had had to intervene to pacify Sid on a number of occasions when Dora wasn’t up to it.
But Rose just said, ‘I’m not hungry,’ and went to her room.
She sat painfully on the bed, feeling the damp still on her clothes. Her mouth twisted for a moment with revulsion. Then she lay down, curling herself on the mattress like an unborn child. The pain throbbed inside her. She pressed her hand on her bruised private parts, and clamped her legs tight together with her hand still between them, trying to dull the ache of it. What she wanted overwhelmingly was to wash every part of her over and over, but she knew there was no chance of that with all the family sitting round down there. She screwed her eyes tight shut and wished she could fall down, down somewhere very dark and safe where she could be held and comforted. No tears came to begin washing away the shame and despair she felt.
And as she lay there she was overcome with loathing for herself. All the smells of Lazenby’s seemed to seep out from her clothes and her body. She smelt the foul stink of the hides, the bunkers of bones and rancid fat in the yard. She saw the maggots squirming among the grains of salt, the frantic greed of the flies; she saw the discoloured bulging shape of the goitre man’s neck and the soft, floppy cheeks of Mr Lazenby. She could see him kneeling with that horrible, trance-like expression on his face, his trousers unbuttoned and his hand busy on his penis.
She rushed over to the bucket in the corner of the room and retched over it, feeling the muscles in her bruised stomach heave painfully. She didn’t hear Grace coming up the stairs.
‘Are you bad, Rose?’ she asked sympathetically. ‘You should’ve said instead of just going off. I could’ve brought you a cuppa tea. Dad just thought you was being awkward.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ Rose said weakly, and she sounded so wretched that Grace said, ‘I’ll get our mom.’
Dora slowly climbed the stairs holding a candle stuck on to a saucer. She wasn’t feeling too good herself.
‘What’s up with you then, miss?’ she demanded roughly, sitting down on the bed, panting from the climb.
Rose had only intended to break the news that she’d lost her job, but when she began talking the tears started pouring down her cheeks again. She had to tell Dora what had happened. She couldn’t hold back.
The second she heard what Rose had to say, Dora was on her feet. With more energy than she’d summoned for weeks she slapped Rose hard on each cheek.
‘What did you do?’ Dora shouted at her, before remembering that on no account must Sid or the neighbours overhear this conversation. ‘You must’ve encouraged him,’ she hissed at Rose. She stood with her hands clamped to her waist, her elbows at sharp, hostile angles. Her shadow in the candlelight looked huge and menacing. ‘Going off to a place like that in all them clothes of Diana’s. You must’ve given him ideas, you silly little cow.’
‘I didn’t!’ Rose wailed. ‘I didn’t know what to give him ideas about, did I? He just went for me – held me down on the floor!’
Dora stood over her, her mind trying to take in the implications of what had happened. Then, as if bracing herself, she said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘We’ll just have to wait and see if you’re having a babby. If not, then there’s no harm done. You can go and find another job.’
‘A babby?’ Rose sat up, horrified. The thought hadn’t occurred to her.
‘If you didn’t know where they come from before, you do now,’ Dora said drily. ‘God help you if your dad finds out. I’ll tell you one thing though. Whatever he says I’ll stick by you. You’ll not be sent out on the streets like some. But you’d better start praying hard, Rose, that there ain’t no babby come out of this. Because you’re going to need all the help you can get.’
She gave Rose’s quivering body a rough pat. ‘When your dad’s off to the Catherine again I’ll send Grace up with a pail of water for you. We’ll just tell her you’re a bit feverish. It’ll have to be cold though – I can’t spare the slack for the fire this time of night. But if you want to wash a man off you that bad you won’t be bothered how cold the water is.’
‘So you’re nothing but a bloody little tart after all!’ Sid’s harsh voice ran through the house. ‘Even that Geraldine Donaghue ain’t poking out at the front and she’s been working down the factory. But you’ve been nothing but cowing trouble ever since you learned to open your gob.’
Rose noticed again the perverse triumph that came over him when he saw her put down. But she rode her father’s attacks more easily than anyone’s. She was used to them. And as she had promised, Dora stood like an immovable wall between him and Rose as he ranted at both of them. But even his insults felt as if they were true, she was in such an emotional state.
It was telling Grace and Sam that came hardest. One afternoon they went with George and Harry to Calthorpe Park. The two young boys ran on ahead as soon as they were released into the green space, little Harry trying to keep up with his nine-year-old brother. Sam, Rose and Grace walked behind, keeping them both in sight.
‘How could you, Rose?’ Sam demanded, rigid with indignation. He immediately fell into what Rose was beginning to recognize as his role of responsible citizen. His shoulders were pulled back and he clasped his hands behind his back, walking along with a rather ponderous stride. For a split second Rose wanted to giggle hysterically. She had only got as far as telling him that in five months’ time she’d be having a baby.
‘How could you lower yourself like that?’ Sam lectured. Beside her, Rose sensed, Grace had gone rigid with distress, but would not of course be judging her. Not Grace.
‘I’ve always had my suspicions about that Michael Gillespie bloke,’ Sam went on. ‘Always sounded like trouble to me. You shouldn’t be taken in by things that glitter, Rose. All that glitters is not gold, you know. And where is he now you’re carrying his child? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘It wasn’t Michael!’ Rose cried, bursting into tears. She was completely horrified that that should be Sam’s first thought. Sobbing, she told him who the child’s father was.
‘You must’ve given him some encouragement,’ Sam said. ‘That Mr Lazenby sounded like a respectable feller. You said yourself he lives in a road in Edgbaston, not a street like the likes of us round the Birch. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘Of course I’m ashamed of myself,’ Rose sobbed brokenly beside him. ‘D’you think I’ve felt anything but ashamed since the day it happened?’
‘Sssh, for goodness sake,’ Sam urged her. ‘People’re staring at you.’
Grace put her arm round Rose’s shoulder and with the other pointed across the park to the two boys. ‘Go and get them, Sam,’ she said icily to her brother. ‘And take your time.’
The two sisters sat down on one of the benches. Rose, beyond caring that she had chosen to tell them in such a public place, leaned on Grace’s skinny shoulder and cried and cried. From the evening she had left Lazenby’s she had felt only a leaden depression so that some days she could hardly drag herself around. But now the pain released itself from the deepest part of her. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, and Grace stroked her hair gently. Sitting there so close,
as Rose finally grew quieter, her body still shuddering from the sobs, she could hear the pull of her sister’s lungs.
‘Why didn’t you tell me sis?’ Grace asked her. ‘I’d never’ve blamed you, you know. This is the worst thing that could happen to anyone and I know you’re not the type to go looking for it.’
‘I couldn’t.’ Rose gulped. ‘I mean, I had to tell Mom – about why I’d lost my job at Lazenby’s and everything. But telling the rest of you – it made it real somehow. And I didn’t know about the babby at first. If there’d been no babby I could’ve tried to put it out of my mind and just got on with it. But now . . .’ She began to cry again, weakly. ‘I can’t do anything ever again, can I, except be like Mom and have kids trailing after me. Oh Grace – sometimes I could just finish myself, I really could.’
‘You mustn’t think that!’ Grace gripped Rose’s shoulders with surprising strength. ‘Don’t you ever think anything of the sort.’ She was crying herself now, and the two of them sat there frozen on the bench on that icy March day as Sam stood in the distance with his back to them, staring across the park.
Little Harry toddled up and stood there gazing worriedly at them, so the two girls picked him up and cuddled him to reassure him.
‘Can you feel the babby?’ Grace asked timidly.
‘I think so. Just a bit of a bubbly feeling at the moment, like wind!’ Rose said. She was grateful to Grace for being so matter of fact and kind. She only wished Sam could find it in himself to overcome his principles and be good to her.
‘Are you afraid it’ll look like him?’
Rose thought about it for a moment. ‘It’s a funny thing – it doesn’t seem to be anything to do with him somehow. As if the two things don’t tie up. It’s my babby.’ Suddenly she was speaking in a surprised, wondering tone. ‘Mine. I’m the one stuck with it inside me. As for him, I hope he falls under a bleeding bus. This babby’s nothing to do with him.’
They sat in silence for a while. A touch of warmth from the sun came and went as small clouds passed over its face. They watched families out walking in the park, some of the mothers pushing heavy black prams. It was as if Rose’s fate was being paraded in front of them.
Finally Sam headed towards them with George in tow and fell self-consciously into step next to Rose.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he announced as they walked to the edge of the park. ‘I won’t say anything else, but I’ll say this. I may not like what’s happened or how you’ve behaved.’ Suddenly he sounded rather bashful. ‘But you’re my sister and I’ll stand by you. The neighbours’ll no doubt have their say and none of us’ll like it. But you can count on me, Rose.’
‘I’m glad you said that,’ Grace said, and Rose was surprised to hear the strong edge of anger in her voice. ‘You’ve been a right preaching old gasbag lately and we’re all getting blooming weary of it. If you hadn’t said you’d stand by our Rose, I’m not sure as I’d’ve had much to say to you again, whether you’re my brother or not.’
Rather stiffly, Sam linked his arm through Rose’s, and they walked home close together along the cold streets.
The gossip threaded round Court 11 in a matter of an hour or so. There were two events competing for attention. Number two, otherwise known as Moonstruck House, was again standing empty. Like so many of the former tenants in that house, the Donaghues had vanished, lock, stock and barrel in the night and no one knew where to. Things had been bad for a while, but whether they’d sit it out or do a moonlight to dodge the landlord was anybody’s guess. Now the front door was swinging open and there were still a few things left inside from the hurry in which they’d had to load up the cart.
But even this piece of gossip paled when Gladys Pye put it around that Dora Lucas had told her Rose was expecting. Dora made a shrewd choice in telling Gladys first. While Dora knew Gladys would tell everyone the news as fast as breathe, she was also Dora’s friend. They had helped each other at the birth of their children and shared their worries day after day. Gladys, while full of twittering speculation with the other women in the court, would in the end come down on Dora’s side.
‘So who’s the father?’ Gladys whispered. The two women were standing in the brewhouse.
‘I’d rather not say,’ Dora hissed back. ‘It were a case of him forcing himself on her. There ain’t no airy-fairy feelings on her side, you know. She’s been bad ever since.’
Gladys saw Dora’s eyes fill with tears, and she made sympathetic noises. ‘And Sid . . . ?’ Gladys looked the picture of concern. She was a tiny woman, made even smaller by the bent bones in her legs.
Dora shrugged in reply to the question. ‘I stick by my own,’ she said. ‘He can moan and mither as much as he likes, but Rose is staying home and we’ve got to make the best of it. But I’ve hardly had a decent night since it happened, I can tell you.’
Gladys tut-tutted, saying, ‘As if there ain’t enough to worry about. I saw you was looking anyhow lately, but I thought it was just the babby.’
‘Babbies,’ Dora corrected her.
Gladys gasped. ‘No! You sure?’
‘Sure as I’ve ever been,’ Dora said. ‘And I can feel them both now. But I always know, and I’m just as sure our Rose is carrying a lad.’
When Old Lady Gooch heard the news from Gladys she said, ‘Well I never. That’ll take the little madam down a peg. Strutting about here with her airs and graces. Now she’ll find out a thing or two. I should send her off to the Church Army. She’d soon find out what happens to girls who ain’t careful with themselves.’
*
On the afternoon of the coronation, Rose lay on her back in the bedroom, seeing little white clouds move across the pale blue sky outside the window. She could hear the excited hubbub from the street as the party got into full swing. All the kids would be sitting along the tables with the grown-ups standing round, everyone in little hats and all enjoying the food and the rare day’s holiday. She knew this was a day of all days for Grace, who would be almost counting the minutes until the evening paper came out carrying the pictures. And then tuppence for the Weekly Illustrated on Saturday. A breeze blew through the open window and she heard snatches of a band playing somewhere.
Wish I was like you, Grace, she thought. Grace, who could live off other people’s exciting lives and not expect to have much excitement in her own.
Rose lay, not wanting to sleep but feeling tired and muzzy. The further the pregnancy progressed the more remote she felt from her life as it had been. Even her sense of despair, which had been most acute when she first knew she was to have a child, had dulled. She felt she was living in a kind of trance which would only end with the birth.
How could she have had dreams of becoming a teacher, of being a friend, let alone equal to someone like Diana? How could she keep in contact with her now? She wasn’t even equal to Geraldine who had, after all, held down her job. And when she thought of Michael Gillespie, sometimes she wept with shame. What would he say if he knew what state she was in?
She put her hand on her belly and felt the light twitching of the child inside her. She had no bad feelings towards it. It just seemed unreal and, as she’d told Grace, not part of Mr Lazenby at all. But its presence, its inexorable growth in there, and the certainty that one day she must experience what her mother had gone through, frightened her. She felt so helpless.
‘You were a stupid little fool,’ she said to herself. ‘Thought you could do great things with your life, didn’t you? Do better than your mom?’
She listened bitterly as a loud cheer rose from the street, and another and another.
Ten
There was a moment of complete silence as the three women waited. Then a snuffle and a cough, and finally the baby let out its first anxious cry.
‘He’s all right!’ Gladys cried. She was tying the cord as the baby lay between Rose’s legs. ‘You may’ve got here a bit too soon, my lad, but you’re going to be all right!’
Dora was sitting next to the he
ad of the bed, suckling one of the twins. The other lay asleep in a drawer on the floor. They had been born only three weeks earlier and Dora’s face sagged with exhaustion.
‘Well – you’ve done it,’ she said to her daughter, suddenly feeling choked with emotion. ‘So now you know.’
Rose lay back, hot and worn out. The labour had come on early and had been painful but not too prolonged.
‘Reckon you didn’t have it too bad,’ Gladys said. ‘Specially for a first. No need to’ve had old Joan in after all, was there?’
Despite Dora’s pleas, Rose had flatly refused to have ‘that old cow’ anywhere near her.
She lay looking at her tiny son lying curled in her arms. His hair was very pale, even though still damp from the dunking Gladys had given him. He turned his wrinkled little face and began to snuffle at Rose’s body.
‘He knows what he wants, anyroad,’ Dora said. ‘Give him a bit of titty, Rose.’
Rose was startled by the force with which the tiny baby sucked at her, and the pain which gripped her innards as he did so.
She looked down at his face. His eyes were tightly closed and he was already completely absorbed in feeding. ‘I’m going to call him Joseph,’ she said. ‘He looks like a Joseph.’
It took several days before she began to feel much for the child. He was very small, with the tiniest limbs Dora said she’d ever seen on a baby. Rose gradually understood just how much her life was tied to him, so that his slightest sound would set her heart pounding and wake her from sleep or make her leave whatever she was doing to attend to him. It was his fair hair and skin that at first had made him seem such a stranger. She had never seen a baby with such fair hair in the family, and it took some getting used to. But by the end of the first week she could look at him and find tears running down her cheeks at the realization of how beautiful he was, how small and helpless.