My demons were well and truly with me now. I spent days floating on a cloud of medication, anchored to the world only by the tightly tucked bedclothes. Other days were blunted and blurred by a dull pain that took over the whole of my body, making the weight of the sheets unbearable and the feathers in the pillows feel like needles against my face. I tried to ignore the pain, concentrating on David and Rose, working out what was happening between them.
David went about his business as calmly as ever but Rose seemed troubled and tense. She was never still, pacing about, twitching at the blankets, changing the water in my glass or wiping away non-existent dust from furniture that already shone from her constant polishing. Her conversation was vague and distracted. She watched David constantly, following every move he made. He seemed oblivious, even to the way that she blushed when he was near.
As the pain worsened, I grew tired of it all. Suddenly I didn’t care for secrets. I didn’t know what to believe. I had seen them in the garden. I had noticed the looks that they exchanged. I didn’t want to be the odd one out again, the one left in the dark. I decided to ask Rose directly.
‘What is it?’ I said.
She looked startled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Between you and that young man.’
‘Which young man?’
‘How many young men are there in this house?’
She hesitated. ‘You mean David?’
I nodded.
‘Nothing,’ she said, but her eyes darted in every direction except mine, suggesting otherwise. She kept piling up little folds of the sheet and then pulling it through her fingers, pleating and unpleating it, over and over again.
‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘You like him, don’t you?’
There was a pause.
‘I can see it in the way you look at him.’
She sighed. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I like him. I like how he is with Grace and with you. And how he is with me, as well. When he came here I thought he was taking over. I didn’t want anyone to tell me what to do. Do you remember how I tried to get out of that trip to the cinema? But we had such a good time. He made me laugh. That’s when I started to like him. But I can’t tell whether he likes me in the same way. I thought he did, but now I’m not sure.’
She shook her head. ‘I made such a mess of things with Grace’s father. I don’t want to make a fool of myself again.’
It was no surprise to hear that she liked him, but it was oddly painful, much more than I might have anticipated.
‘What do you think, Nora?’ she asked.
I played for time. ‘About what?’
‘About David. Do you think he likes me?’
I looked at her, waiting for my verdict, and I could have made it easy, could have told her what she wanted. The hope in her eyes almost persuaded me. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
I shrugged. ‘I haven’t noticed anything in particular,’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘He’s a very nice young man. But I suppose he’s paid to be nice to us, isn’t he? That’s his job.’
I saw the hope flicker and die and felt a nasty satisfaction.
My meddling didn’t end there. A few days later, when David was leaning over me to change a dressing, I smelled something that puzzled me.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, catching sight of my expression.
‘Nothing. It’s just that I can smell cigarettes. Have you been smoking?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sounding embarrassed. ‘I try not to, but sometimes I can’t help it.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I said, and it was true. I had missed my nightly ritual since I’d been confined to bed. ‘I like the smell,’ I went on. ‘I’d love it if you lit one now.’
‘What?’
‘A cigarette. It would make me very happy.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
He looked appalled. ‘Nora, you’re my patient. It’d be against everything I’ve ever been taught about nursing.’
‘Do you always follow the rules?’ I asked. ‘I wouldn’t smoke it. I just want to remember what it smells like. What harm could it do? I’m in a bad enough state as it is.’
‘What about Rose?’ he said. ‘She’d smell it. Then we’d both be in trouble.’
‘Why do you care what she thinks?’
He didn’t rise to my challenge. ‘You know, she’s very fond of you. She’d be furious if she thought I wasn’t looking after you properly.’
‘I’m very fond of her too,’ I said stiffly. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without her.’
There was a pause.
‘I’ve seen you watching her,’ I said. ‘You look as if you care.’
He was silent.
‘Don’t you?’ I persisted.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I know what happened to Rose. She told me about Grace’s father and coming to London and how you took her in. You’re right. I like her. But I don’t think she wants a new boyfriend.’
I could have told him he was wrong but I didn’t. I said nothing, waiting to hear what he had to say next.
He hesitated. ‘Do you know if they’re still in touch?’
His eyes were hopeful, just as hers had been, and once again I nearly faltered. But there was something inside me that wouldn’t let me stop.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said carefully. ‘Perhaps.’
He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘I’m going out for a bit,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘I won’t be long.’
Twenty-Four
The date was set. It would all be over soon, they said. Every day the voices on the wireless gave another piece of news; Hitler was dead, Berlin had fallen, German troops had surrendered in Italy. Every day was another day closer to the end of the war, the thing that everyone had wanted for so long. We had wanted it too but now it didn’t seem important. We could only think of what was in Grace’s belly and how to get rid of it. We wanted our own ending and Mrs Pitts would make it happen.
The night before, we went to bed early and lay close to one another, whispering. Somehow it was easier to talk in the dark.
‘I’m scared,’ said Grace.
So was I. I felt for her hand and held it tight.
‘I wish I knew what she was going to do to me. Do you think it’ll hurt a lot?’
I wished I had something reassuring to say. ‘I’ll hold your hand like this,’ I said. ‘All the time. I won’t leave you, not for a minute.’
She knew I was avoiding the question. ‘It will hurt, won’t it?’ she said.
‘Mary said Mrs Pitts has done it lots of times. She’ll be careful, I’m sure. She won’t let you come to any harm.’
I hoped I was right. Ever since I had made the telephone call, sweating and stumbling over my words, I had been worried about what would happen. Our efforts with the gin seemed like a game compared to this. The involvement of a stranger made it horribly real.
‘I can’t stop thinking about it. Do you think the thing will look like a baby? I couldn’t bear it if it looked like Bernard or me.’
The idea of a baby staring at us with Grace’s wide blue eyes made me shudder. ‘I don’t think it’s big enough to be like a person,’ I said quickly. ‘I mean, it takes a long time for a baby to grow. It’s not going to look like much of one yet.’
‘I hope not,’ she said quietly.
I suddenly thought of Mrs Rivers. If we asked for her help she was certain to give it, for the child she had lost and for the daughter she had left. But the next minute I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want her to be part of it. I wanted to be the one to help. I wanted Grace to myself.
‘You don’t have to do it, you know,’ I said. ‘If you want to keep it we’ll find a way to manage. I mean, the war’s changed things. And people here aren’t the same as in Kent. They don’t all know each other and they don’t know us. There wouldn’t be any gossip. You could say the baby’s father was killed in service. We’d be able to pull
it off, I’m sure we would.’
I didn’t know if I sounded convincing. But it made no difference. She was certain.
‘It’s the only way I’ll keep him,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t have a baby on my own and he can’t marry me. There’s nothing else for it.’
Neither of us said anything for a while, then she shuffled closer. ‘Nora, will you hold me?’
I put my arms around her. We slept curled around each other as if we really had been twins.
Mrs Pitts came the next night, late, after dark. She was a perfectly ordinary looking woman, not at all what I’d expected. She could have been anybody’s mother, small and round, her hair kept neat under a headscarf. She wore a gold wedding band that had worn thin and when she spoke it was like listening to Ma, soft Irish sounds. I found them a comfort.
‘So, girls,’ she said. ‘Which of you two am I here to see?’
Grace’s expression told her all she needed to know. She put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t be frightened, lovey. It’ll be over soon enough, and then you can put it all behind you. Tomorrow’s a new start for everyone. You’ll be right as rain by then. Just you wait and see. You’ll be dancing in the street with your sweetheart.’
Grace nodded but said nothing. We knew all about VE Day, Victory in Europe. Bernard had told us earlier that evening. He had been full of it. He would come again tomorrow afternoon, he had said, to listen to Mr Churchill’s announcement on the wireless, and then he would take us out to celebrate, me as well as Grace. We had tried hard to look enthusiastic.
Mrs Pitts rummaged in the bag she had brought with her and took out an old enamel saucepan, slightly chipped. ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ she said.
I nodded.
‘What’s your name, dear?’
‘Nora.’
‘Well then, Nora, would you boil me up some water in this? About half a pan.’
When I got to the kitchen I ran the tap and set the pan of water on the stove, then I leaned against the sink, trying to make myself calm. We were going through with it. We were about to kill the baby. We were about to break the law. I wondered how we had come to this. It didn’t seem so very long ago that we had been playing with dolls in Kent.
‘Nora!’ Mrs Pitts called from the other room.
I hurried through the curtain. She was laying things from her bag onto the table next to Bernard’s boxes.
‘Yes?’ I said.
‘Have you got a towel, an old one, to spread over the bed, in case there’s any mess?’
I didn’t like to think of what she meant by mess, but I went to the bathroom and took my towel from the hook on the back of the door. Mrs Pitts grunted approvingly. ‘That’s the ticket. Good and big.’
She took it over to the bed and laid it on top of the counterpane, smoothing it down. I watched her closely, feeling sick. It seemed wrong to be getting rid of the baby in the very place it had been conceived. I turned to look at Grace, still sitting in the armchair, shivering despite the fire, which was burning high in the grate. She looked wretched but determined. I had seen that look before, and I knew she would go through with it, however painful it was.
Mrs Pitts beckoned me over. ‘If you’ve a drop of brandy, or anything like that, it wouldn’t hurt, to steady her nerves.’
I pulled a bottle from one of the boxes, fetched a glass from the kitchen and splashed some of the strong-smelling liquid into it. I took it over to Grace. ‘Drink this,’ I said. ‘She says it’ll help.’
She drank it down without saying a word. In the meantime, Mrs Pitts had gone into the kitchen. A strange smell stole under the curtain, a combination of carbolic soap and disinfectant, like the smell that had always hung about Ma when she came home from her cleaning jobs.
I crouched down at Grace’s feet. ‘Are you all right?’ I whispered.
She nodded. ‘I’m scared,’ she said in a low voice. ‘How long do you think it’ll take?’
‘She seems to know what she’s doing. I’m sure she’ll be as quick as she can.’
‘Don’t leave me, will you?’ She took my hand. ‘No matter what happens. Please. Do you promise?’
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Mrs Pitts came through the curtain. ‘Nearly ready,’ she said. ‘Now dear, you go and empty your bladder before we start.’
When Grace came back from the bathroom, Mrs Pitts patted the bed.
‘Take your knickers off and hop up here.’
Grace looked at me doubtfully. I nodded, feeling as if I were betraying her. She reached under her skirt, pulled down her knickers, stepped out of them, picked them up and put them on a chair. She walked over to the bed and lay down, holding herself stiff. Mrs Pitts smiled at her.
‘Lie back,’ she said, ‘and put your feet together so that the bottoms of them are touching. That’s right. Now let your knees drop apart, as far as you can. That way I’ll be able to see what I’m doing.’
I moved to the head of the bed so I wouldn’t have to see Grace like that. She caught hold of my hand, gripping it tightly. I squeezed it back in a silent pledge that I would stay.
Mrs Pitts went to the table and picked up something the size and shape of a candle that looked as if it were made out of black rubber.
She fitted a piece of hose onto one end of it and then to the end of the hose, then went to the kitchen and brought back the pan. She dipped her finger into the greyish liquid.
‘Just right,’ she said. ‘Nice and warm, but not too hot.’
She came over to the bed, put her hands on Grace’s knees and pushed them apart. None of us said anything. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. I felt a pulse hammer hard in Grace’s wrist. I held my breath. Mrs Pitts took the black thing and put it between Grace’s legs. She seemed to be looking for something, pushing gently. Grace looked at me with wide eyes. I looked back at her, willing her to see it through. At last Mrs Pitts seemed to find what she was looking for.
‘Take a deep breath, lovey,’ she said, and I saw the tube slither across the towel as she pushed it into Grace, whose eyes grew wider still. She began to breathe hard through her nose, her lips pressed tightly together.
Mrs Pitts nodded, as if she were pleased. She picked up the pan and held up the funnel so that it was level with her chest. She poured the liquid into it slowly, keeping her eyes on Grace as she did it. Grace’s breathing quickened and her grip tightened on my hand. The strange soapy smell filled the room again. I tried to tell myself that we were just washing out the baby, but I knew she wasn’t feeling clean and neither was I.
Mrs Pitts kept on pouring the liquid into the funnel, tipping up the pan to get the last drops out. After a minute, she carefully pulled away the hose and carried it off into the kitchen. A new smell came into the room; boiling rubber, noxious and thick. I knelt by the side of the bed, my face level with Grace.
‘Are you all right?’ I said, knowing that my words weren’t enough.
She nodded. ‘Well, at least it’s done,’ she said. ‘We’ve taken care of it. That’s the important thing, I suppose.’
Mrs Pitts had come back and was standing at the end of the bed, winding the tube around the funnel. It seemed somehow indecent to see her touch the thing that had been inside Grace just minutes before and I looked away.
‘How are we?’ she asked.
‘What happens next?’ I said.
‘You just wait. Keep her quiet and make her rest. In a few hours she’ll start to feel things move down below and then a little while afterwards it’ll start to come out. There’ll be some blood but it’s nothing to worry about. After it’s all out she’ll be weak at first but she’s a good strong girl. Give her some meat, if you can get hold of it, and some greens to build her strength back up. She’ll be right as rain again in no time.’
‘But what if something goes wrong?’ I said. ‘How shall I find you? Shall I telephone the girl from before? Or have you got your own telephone? Can you give me the number?’
&nb
sp; Mrs Pitts’s easy manner slipped and her eyes became hard. Her voice was hard too. ‘Nothing will go wrong. If it does, it’ll be because you haven’t done as I’ve told you. Don’t try to find me. I wasn’t here and you’ve never met me, remember that. I could get into a lot of trouble for helping girls like you and so could you, for asking me to do it. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’
I stared at her in horror. She stared back, unblinking.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘if anything goes wrong, which believe me, it won’t, call an ambulance. For God’s sake, don’t tell them what’s happened. Say she fell down the stairs and you think she’s having a miscarriage. That should do.’
She left quickly, putting my savings into a small leather purse and pushing it to the bottom of her bag. When I came to clear up the table later on I found she had taken the bottle of brandy as well.
There was nothing to do but wait. We said very little, sitting in front of the fire and watching the flames dance until there was nothing left to burn. Grace seemed stunned and her eyes were troubled. When the fire went out, we went to bed and lay looking up at the ceiling, still waiting. Neither of us slept.
It was almost morning when it began. The birds were starting to sing and traces of light showed around the edges of the curtains we had put up the week before when the blackout had ended. Grace let out a little gasp, as if she were surprised.
‘Are you all right?’ I said quickly.
‘I feel as if something’s slipping,’ she said. ‘Slipping out of me, I mean, sort of slithering.’
I switched on the light, got out of bed and drew back the counterpane. Something very bad was happening. Grace was lying in a pool of blood, dark gobbets of it all around her.
I spoke without thinking. ‘Christ!’
Grace looked down and went pale. I picked up the towel that Mrs Pitts had used, then realized that I didn’t know what to do with it.
‘Pass it to me,’ Grace said. ‘Quick!’ She was sitting up now, staring at the mess that surrounded her. I passed her the towel and she pressed it between her legs, her knuckles clenched, very white against the blood. We looked at each other.
Days of Grace Page 23