by Anne Bennett
‘I was going to see him anyway,’ Tom said. ‘It will save me a journey.’
Just then there was a whoop from the kitchen as Kevin recognised his uncle’s voice, and the sound of a kitchen chair hitting the floor.
Molly commented wryly, ‘That’s the boyo breaking the place up to get to you,’ and then Kevin was through the door and launching himself at his uncle. Molly went into the kitchen and began filling the kettle and Aggie followed her.
‘You don’t mind us landing on you like this?’
‘No,’ Molly said, ‘I am delighted to meet you.’
‘Tom has told me all about you – how you found your grandfather had died and your brother was in an orphanage,’ Aggie told Molly kindly. ‘I thought it terrible news for you to cope with on your own.’
‘Of course that wasn’t the only thing,’ Molly said. ‘I suppose that Uncle Tom has also told you what happened when I first arrived in Birmingham?’
Aggie shook her had. ‘He said you had a story to tell, but wouldn’t say anything more.’
‘Well, as the whole of Birmingham eventually knew what happened to me, there is no point in keeping it from you,’ Molly said. ‘But instead of my telling it, I will let you read it because I have the cuttings from the newspapers upstairs.’
And so a little later Aggie sat on a chair in Molly’s kitchen and learned just what had happened to her young niece when she had arrived at New Street Station. How brave of her to pick up the pieces of her life, and then to have to relive that dreadful time in a court room, telling perfect strangers all about it. What fortitude she had shown. She could easily have gone the way of her aunt. Suddenly it was too much for Aggie and she put her head in her hands and sobbed.
Molly put her arms around her, awkwardly at first, and more naturally as the woman continued to cry.
The doorbell rang and a few minutes later Kevin was at the kitchen door to say that Paul Simmons was there.
He regarded the tearful woman with understandable curiosity. ‘What’s up?’ he asked and when Molly signed for him to leave them, Aggie roused herself.
‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I am being foolish.’
Paul, following Kevin, saw a woman he had never seen before trying to compose herself and he withdrew a large snow-white hanky from his pocket and said, ‘Would this help you?’
‘Thank you,’ said Aggie taking it.
Paul Simmons gave a start, for the woman’s eyes were the same colour and shape as Molly’s. In fact, she looked like an older version of her. This was explained a little later when Tom appeared. Seeing Aggie so upset, he put an arm around her shoulders, before saying to Paul, ‘This is my older sister, Agnes.’
Paul didn’t understand. Tom and Molly had talked a lot about the family and yet had made no mention of an Agnes.
Molly saw Paul’s confusion and said, ‘I have made the tea and it’s spoiling. Shall we go back into the living room and maybe we can explain things to you?’
Paul gave a brief nod and took the tray from Molly’s hands. As Kevin was about to follow, Molly stopped him.
‘Not you, young man,’ she said. ‘You have homework to do.’
‘Oh, Molly…’
‘Don’t “Oh Molly” me,’ Molly said sharply. ‘Get down to it.’
Tom smiled as a very disgruntled Kevin closed the kitchen door with a definite slam and Molly chided her uncle gently.
‘You make him worse laughing at him.’
‘He didn’t see.’
‘He probably did,’ Molly said. ‘You would be surprised what that boy sees and hears. Still, we didn’t come out here to talk about Kevin.’ She turned to Aggie. ‘All Uncle Tom told me was that you ran away when you were fifteen. He didn’t seem to know any more.’
‘Oh, he knew much more than that,’ Aggie said. ‘He kept quiet to protect me, but you have shared your experiences with everyone and perhaps now is the time for you to hear my story.’
Aggie told it simply and directly, and Tom found it hurt even more to hear it for the second time. Molly listened with astonishment and thanked God that she had managed to escape before she had been sucked in completely, as her aunt had been.
Paul was astounded. Before the business with Molly he hadn’t been aware that such things went on. He hadn’t thought much about prostitution at all and had always thought it rather a crude and seedy way to go on. He seldom thought of the women who did this sort of thing for money as real people, and certainly not real women. Like Aggie had thought first, he imagined them to be the dregs of society, born into that sort of life, perhaps, and so knowing no better.
Then he had heard about Molly and been angered and upset at what she had endured. Now he heard of another naïve country girl, this one being forced to flee her home because of the consequences of a violent rape. It gave him an actual pain to watch Aggie’s face as she relived her despair and desperation when she found the woman she had been sent to was no longer at the house.
He heard of the prostitutes who had been good to her, the Irish dancing, which had offered her a solution of sorts, of Alan Levingstone, who she had come to love dearly, and finally of Tony Finch. Paul burned with rage on hearing of the abuse she had suffered at his hands.
Aggie saw this. ‘I wasn’t the only one Finch was brutal with,’ she said, ‘although he really did seem to have it in for me. All the girls said so.’
‘But why?’
Aggie shrugged. ‘He was crazy and no one really understands him at all. But you know,’ she said, ‘leaving the abuse aside, the sex side of it used to affect me as much.’
The tears were brimming behind Aggie’s eyes, which were like two pools of sadness in her bleached white face at the memories of that terrible time. Paul felt as if his heart was breaking.
‘Do you want to stop?’ he said. ‘Is it too much for you?’
Aggie shook her head and almost whispered, ‘I am mortified that I allowed men to use my body in any way they chose to. And now, telling it as it was shocks me to the core.’
‘It shocks me too,’ Paul said. ‘Shocks me that you were driven to such measures.’
‘I thought it was partly my own fault too,’ Molly said. ‘I couldn’t believe I could have been so stupid. It was Paul who put me right.’
‘I did,’ Paul said to Aggie. ‘As I would you, my dear. There is nothing that I have heard so far that could be deemed in any way your fault. The only shame I feel is that society allows such things to go on.’
‘Well said,’ Tom agreed. ‘And, Aggie, there is no law in the land says that you have to tell us anything at all. If you don’t want to say any more, then we will all understand.’
Aggie thought for a moment or two. ‘No,’ she decided, ‘I have told you so much and now I will go on to the end and see what you think of me then.’
As Aggie continued, Paul went through a gamut of emotions – rage, shock and horror at the things Aggie had had to endure – and he often saw the anguish in her face and knew she was reliving it. And yet she never faltered or stopped, and the quiet calm way in which she recounted almost unspeakable cruelty made it even more distressing.
As her tale drew to a halt eventually, Paul said, ‘This man Finch, where is he now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Aggie said. ‘All I am scared of is him catching up with me.’
‘We need to go to the police,’ Paul said. ‘They will find him soon enough and if you tell them even half the things he has done to you…’
‘No, Mr Simmons,’ said Aggie. ‘There will be no police.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Paul cried. ‘We must have the police. The man cannot go unpunished.’
‘Mr Simmons, the man is rich and influential, and has friends in the police,’ Aggie said. ‘He would deny everything and paint me as a scarlet woman, one mad for sex and all. He would be believed before me, a street woman. I would probably be the one in the dock and could easily find myself imprisoned. And I would betray all the other girls in
the house who could easily find themselves in prison alongside me.’
‘But this is monstrous.’
‘Paul,’ Tom said, ‘we have to work with the system as it is, not as we would like it to be. Aggie is quite right.’
‘So the man is to just get away with it?’
‘He has so far,’ Aggie said.
‘The first thing to do is find out where he is,’ Tom said. ‘Then we can decide what action to take.’
‘Leave that to me,’ Paul said. ‘And meanwhile, Miss Sullivan, why don’t you return to Ireland? It would be safer for you.’
‘I can never go back to Ireland,’ Aggie said. ‘They would never give over about what happened to me. No tale I fed them would suffice, even if I could think of one, and if I was to tell the truth, they might put two and two together and then Tom might be in big trouble.’
‘Why?’ Molly asked in bewilderment.
Aggie looked from Molly and Paul’s puzzled faces to Tom’s red one and realised that they didn’t know about the business with McAllister. ‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ she said. ‘Me and my big mouth.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I didn’t think you would ever need to know this,’ he said, ‘but today seems to be the day for confessions, so here goes.’
Paul and Molly were so engrossed in Tom’s story as he described how he had caused the death of McAllister that none was aware of the click of the kitchen door, or Kevin coming into the room. He listened with open-mouthed astonishment.
Tom finished, ‘… and though I hadn’t meant to kill him, I am not sorry. Aggie was not the first girl he violated and had he lived she wouldn’t have been the last. Philomena knew that as well as me. When my time is up, I will let God be the judge of my actions.’
‘Golly!’ said Kevin.
Molly turned anger-filled eyes on him. ‘Kevin, don’t you creep into a room like that. What do you want anyway?’
‘I didn’t creep,’ Kevin protested. ‘I came to tell you I have finished my homework.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘I heard Uncle Tom say how he killed someone.’
‘It is not something I am proud of, Kevin,’ Tom said. ‘And I suffered guilt for years. Still do, if the truth’s told, and probably will until the day I die.’
‘But he was a bad man. You said so.’
‘Just because you consider a person bad is no reason to kill them.’
‘Bet you wouldn’t say that if he was a German,’ Kevin said. ‘People seem to have no trouble popping them off.’
‘We are not talking about Germans, Kevin,’ Molly said. ‘And you do realise that you mustn’t mention this to anyone or Uncle Tom will get into big trouble.’
‘And not me alone,’ Tom said.
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Kevin maintained. ‘I ain’t stupid.’
‘I am serious, Kevin.’
‘So am I,’ Kevin said. ‘Look, to prove it, I’ll do summat you did to me years ago. You meant it then and I mean it now.’ He licked his index finger and held it up. ‘See it wet,’ he said, and then rubbed it on his jersey. ‘See it dry.’ Then he drew his finger across his neck. ‘Cut my throat if I tell a lie or tell another living soul what I heard in this room tonight.’
Molly smiled. When the two children were forced to part, she had promised they would be together again one day using the same childish words. However, as Kevin had said, she had meant those words when she said them, and this was his way of making a similar and sincere promise that Tom’s secret was safe.
TWENTY-NINE
Four weeks later, a lot had changed. Tom had begun working in Paul’s factory because his savings were considerably depleted. He felt he couldn’t leave Aggie on her own, although Molly said she would look out for her and even offered her a room in the house. Tom knew, however, that Aggie felt safer being as far from Birmingham as possible. And he said as long as Joe was agreeable, he might as well stay in England until Molly’s wedding, and then maybe look at the situation again.
Paul had also come up trumps in locating Finch. He had his address and his place of work, and had even found out that he went a lot to a club just off Broad Street in Birmingham called the Flamingo Club. He gave the information to Tom at work one day. He didn’t ask what he intended doing with it. Tom was glad of this for he didn’t want Paul to be involved, for, as far as he was concerned, it was family business. That night he wrote a long letter to Joe.
Aggie was alone in the flat that Monday morning in late April when there was a knock on the door. That had never happened before and she was almost too afraid to open it until she heard the visitor shout, ‘Miss Sullivan, it’s Paul Simmons.’
Aggie, alarmed that something had happened to her brother because Paul had never called on her before, opened the door hurriedly. ‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘Is Tom all right?’
Paul was mystified. ‘Yes, he’s fine,’ he said as he stepped into the hall.
‘Then why are you here, Mr Simmons?’ Aggie asked. Then, realising that sounded rude, she went on, ‘It’s not that you are not welcome or anything but…’
‘I … I just wanted to see you.’
Aggie was completely nonplussed. ‘Oh,’ she said, and stood staring into Paul’s deep eyes for a moment or two. ‘Where are my manners? Come through to the kitchen and I will put the kettle on. You do want a cup of tea?’
‘Yes … no. Oh, go on then,’ Paul said, and Aggie laughed.
‘I’d best not ask you a more involved question if you get so confused over whether you want tea or not.’
She led the way through to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Paul sat down at the kitchen table and watched her, his senses reeling. He didn’t know what was the matter with him, but he had not been able to get Aggie out of his thoughts since he had first met her. He had fought the attraction, for he had little experience with women. He thought, apart from money, he had little to offer, because he truly felt that he was ugly and dull, and he had a limp so pronounced his cars had to be adapted to enable him to drive them. But he had been so moved by the account of Aggie’s life that he’d felt an almost overwhelming desire to enfold her in his arms and kiss the tears from her eyes. He had never had feelings like that before and they scared him rigid. It wasn’t as if Aggie had given him any sort of encouragement, though she was always pleasant when they met.
He had thought he would get over it, but instead of getting easier, the feelings had grown stronger with each passing day, until he was now unable to sleep. In the end, he thought he had to see Aggie and ask her straight out how she felt about him. If she rejected him, as he fully expected, then he would have to deal with it, but not knowing was driving him crazy.
If Aggie was asked, if she allowed herself to think of any man that way, she would have said that she didn’t think of Paul as ugly at all. His craggy face was interesting more than traditionally handsome, it was true, and his once fine head of black hair was now streaked with silver. His eyes, though, were beautiful, so very dark, deep and very expressive, and she liked his wide and generous mouth. More importantly, she knew him to be a kind man and a generous one too, because Molly had told her of the things he had done for her and Kevin after the death of her parents.
In Aggie’s book that was more important than looks, and he was anything but dull. Not that that mattered a jot to her, she told herself. At the end of the day, she wanted no truck with any man ever again.
She had made the tea and placed a cup before Paul, and still he hadn’t spoken a word. Aggie hadn’t known any way to break the uncomfortable silence. She had sat down opposite him, noting his brooding eyes and puckered brow, and she wondered what he was thinking so hard about.
‘Penny for them, Mr Simmons?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Your thoughts,’ Aggie said. ‘I said, penny for them.’
‘Sorry, my mind is on other things,’ Paul admitted.
‘Oh. Are they thoughts to share?’
Paul sighed. He was incredibly
nervous now he was here and sitting opposite Aggie, but he had promised himself that he would speak out so he said, ‘Yes, I think so.’ And then without any lead in at all he said, ‘What do you really think of me, Miss Sullivan?’
To say Aggie was surprised was an understatement. She looked at the man in amazement for a moment or two, then said, ‘What an extraordinary question, Mr Simmons. I like you, of course.’
Paul’s disappointment was apparent, though he told himself it was the reaction he expected. ‘Just like? Is that all?’ he asked.
‘Mr Simmons, what do you want me to say?’
‘I want you to say what’s in your heart,’ Paul said. ‘Could you do more than like me?’
‘Mr Simmons, I barely know you.’
‘All right then,’ Paul said. ‘Would you like to get to know me better?’
Aggie felt completely at sea, for she hadn’t the least idea what Paul was on about. ‘What are you saying, exactly?’
‘You really want to know what I am saying?’ Paul burst out. ‘Then I’ll tell you. Miss Sullivan, I am crazy about you. I have been able to think of nothing since I saw you that evening at Molly’s, and when I listened to what you had endured it nearly broke my heart. I have never felt this way about anyone and though I have little experience of it, I think I love you, Miss Sullivan.’
‘You must be crazy right enough,’ Aggie said almost angrily. ‘You know what I was. Dear God, I have had more men mauling and groping and having sex with my body than you have had hot dinners. If you have love to spare, then give it to someone more deserving than me. I am not worthy of any man’s love and, what’s more, I don’t want it.’
‘What are you saying?’ Paul cried. ‘Of course you are deserving. None of what happened to you was your fault. It was in the past and that doesn’t matter to me.’
‘Of course it matters,’ Aggie snapped. ‘The past shapes the people we are, the people we become. I was a whore, a street woman, and would lift my skirts for any who had the money to pay. That destroyed something inside me. It’s like I am frozen. There is nothing there any more. If I was to encourage you in this fantasy, I could offer you nothing, and in time you would come to resent the life I had and the countless men who used and abused my body. This is a form of madness, but it will pass and then you will thank me.’