There was a pause and I wondered if I’d misjudged how upset she was, but fortunately she laughed.
‘Sod off, Helena,’ she said. ‘Let’s get drunk.’
A bottle and a half later, Immy remembered what I’d been telling her when Miranda arrived.
‘So what do you think the big secret is, with Lil?’ she said.
‘Elly at work thinks she had some illicit affair with a married colleague,’ I said. ‘Maybe a woman.’
Immy, who I suspected played for both teams herself though she’d never said as much, looked impressed, but Miranda shook her head.
‘Dishonourable discharge?’ she said. ‘Surely that’s too serious a punishment for just falling for the wrong person?’
I shrugged. ‘Different times,’ I pointed out. ‘But I can put in a request for the court martial documents. It’s easy enough to find out. If I want to.’
‘Do you want to?’ Miranda and Immy said in unison. They both fixed me with their gazes. I looked away.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I’m intrigued of course, but Lil clearly doesn’t want me to.’
‘Mum said she was upset,’ Immy told Miranda, who made a face.
‘We’re hardly a conservative bunch,’ Immy said. ‘We’d not be remotely bothered by Lil having an affair with a man or a woman, or both.’
I nodded.
‘So why doesn’t she want you to know?’
‘It doesn’t really matter why, does it?’ I said. ‘The fact is, she doesn’t want me to.’
Immy made a face, and Miranda frowned but I ignored them.
‘I don’t want to,’ I said again. ‘It’s not worth the fallout – Lil being upset, my job being at risk.’
‘What about Dad?’ Miranda said. ‘He wants to know.’
‘That’s what I think is so weird,’ I said. ‘Why does he want to know? I’m not even sure what he wants to know. He keeps making out it’s just idle curiosity, but he is willing to upset Lil, and go against what Mum thinks, to find this out. What’s going on?’
We all sat in silence for a minute, wondering what could be driving Dad’s determination to dig deeper into this mystery.
‘So this was all happening when he was a kid,’ Immy mused. ‘Maybe it’s something to do with his childhood? His parents? Perhaps Lil’s troubles affected him in some way.’
I felt a glimmer of sympathy for my dad, but not enough to change my mind. ‘He’ll have to ask Lil himself,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m out.’
Miranda shrugged. ‘You can tell him,’ she said. ‘He’s just walked in.’
Surprised, we all turned to watch as Dad looked round the pub until he saw us, then rambled over to our table in his familiar shuffly way.
‘Hello, girls.’
‘Everything okay?’ I said. ‘Is Dora okay?’
‘She’s fine,’ Dad said. ‘I just thought I’d come and have a drink with my favourite daughter.’
It was an old joke but we all smiled just the same.
‘Which one?’ we chorused.
‘You know,’ Dad said, tapping his nose meaningfully, in his well-rehearsed response. He sat down.
‘Why are you really here, Dad?’ I said.
He looked sheepish. ‘That obvious, eh?’
We all nodded.
‘I’ve not been completely honest with you,’ he said.
I rolled my eyes. ‘I worked that out. In fact, we’ve just been talking about you. Are you going to tell us what’s going on?’
‘Shall I get us all another drink?’ he said.
‘I’ll go,’ Immy said in a hurry, sensing my rising irritation.
She went to the bar, and spoke to the barman, pointing at our table and then came back and sat down again. ‘He’s going to bring them over,’ she said. She looked at Dad. ‘Now spill.’
Dad took a deep breath. ‘I think Lilian could be my mother,’ he said.
All three of us stared at him.
‘Dad …’ I began.
‘I know it sounds crazy,’ he said, talking over me. ‘But I’ve had my suspicions for a while. Years, probably.’
‘Why on earth do you think that?’ I said, bewildered. Obviously in my time on the show, I’d uncovered more than one family secret along these lines, but I’d never once considered it could have happened in our family.
‘When I was about nine, I heard my parents arguing,’ Dad said. It sounded like he’d practised what he was saying and I wondered how long he’d been rehearsing telling someone this story. ‘They hardly ever exchanged cross words so it was unusual. Mum was saying that I deserved to know the truth about my parents, and Dad said it was too difficult.’
I nodded. ‘So you thought you might be adopted?’ I said. ‘I thought that too for a while. After I’d read Anne of Green Gables.’
Miranda nudged me. ‘As if,’ she said. ‘You look exactly like the rest of us. Carry on, Dad.’
Dad smiled at her. ‘It was the family resemblance that confused me,’ he said. ‘I used to look at my dad’s face and see how much I looked like him. How could I be adopted if I looked just like my father?’
Dad paused.
‘It should have been enough to convince me that I was indeed my parents’ son. That I wasn’t adopted, and that I’d misunderstood what I’d heard. But …’
‘Go on,’ Immy said.
‘That little niggle remained,’ Dad said, a faraway look in his eye. ‘As I got older it stayed with me.’
‘But what made you think Lil could be your biological mother?’ Miranda asked.
‘When I was growing up, Mum and Dad – your grandparents – were always very keen to include her in my life,’ Dad said. ‘They sent her programmes from recitals I’d played in, and kept her up to date on my education and whatnot.’
I shrugged. ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ I said. ‘She could just be a doting aunt.’
‘Of course,’ Dad said. ‘And I didn’t think anything of it back then.’
He paused. ‘She had a way of looking at me,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘She’d take my face in her hands and stare right at me. When I was little, I thought it was funny, but she kept doing it when I was older; she still does it.’
We all nodded. Lil did do that to Dad, but not to any of us. I’d never questioned it.
‘It was like she was looking for something in my face,’ Dad said.
‘Still doesn’t prove anything,’ Miranda pointed out.
Dad shook his head. ‘I know,’ he admitted.
‘So when did you start thinking there was more to your relationship?’ I asked, still not convinced.
‘Years ago, I was writing the music for a TV show. The story was similar – the main character had found out he was adopted and the person he thought was his sister, was really his mother. I read the script and it was like a light going on in my head.’
‘And you never mentioned it until now?’ Miranda said.
‘I spoke to your mum about it,’ he said. ‘But I never wanted to rock the boat with my parents. I couldn’t upset them.’
‘You never said anything to Grandma?’ Immy asked.
Dad bit his lip. ‘I loved my parents very much,’ he said. ‘They were wonderful people.’
‘Wonderful enough to adopt you?’ I said.
Dad nodded slowly. ‘My father,’ he said. ‘Bobby, I mean. He was very protective of Lil. I’m sure he’d have done anything to look after her. And my mother adored her. They were a tight little family unit.’
‘If Lil was pregnant in 1939 it all makes sense,’ I said, running with the idea now. ‘She couldn’t have had a baby – she was just a teenager and who knows who the father was. Perhaps you’re right, Dad. Maybe Grandma Ruth and Grandad Bobby brought Lil’s son – you – up as their own.’
Immy sat up a bit straighter. ‘Maybe Grandma took Lil away, to Scotland. She had the baby – she had Dad – and Grandma pretended Dad was her son.’
Dad was sitting quietly, listening to us speculate.
/> ‘I’ve never seen your birth certificate, Dad,’ I said. ‘Do you have it?’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘But your grandma and grandad are listed as my parents. I’m not sure how they’d have got round that.’
Immy flapped her hands at him. ‘Lil is very enterprising; she’d have come up with something.’
‘They never had any other children,’ Miranda said. I’d been thinking along the same lines.
‘Maybe they had fertility problems and that’s why they volunteered to take Lil’s baby,’ I agreed. ‘Perhaps it was their only chance to have a child.’
‘Possibly,’ Dad said, blinking slightly as we all fired our ideas at him.
‘Lil had Dad, she had you, I mean, in 1940, then she handed you over to Grandma and went off to fly planes a couple of years later when she was old enough,’ I said. ‘Except something went wrong in 1944, and she got court-martialled.’
‘Maybe they found out she’d had a baby out of wedlock,’ said Immy, who was obviously loving this drama. ‘On the wrong side of the blankets.’
‘That’s the obvious conclusion,’ I said.
‘Helena,’ Dad said. ‘You need to request the court martial papers.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Please, Nell.’
‘No. God, Dad. No.’
‘But …’
‘This isn’t just a TV show, like when I do research for other people,’ I said. ‘This is our lives. Our family. It’s our lovely Lil, who looked after us when we were in trouble.’
‘But what if Lil is Dad’s biological mum?’ Immy said. ‘You can’t blame him for wanting to know the truth.’
I looked at Dad. ‘If you want to know the truth, then you need to speak to Lil,’ I said. ‘No more sneaking around.’
Immy tutted but Miranda squeezed my hand, letting me know she was on my side.
‘It’s not our story,’ she said. ‘It’s not our secret. We don’t have any right to poke about in Lil’s past.’
Dad looked upset but I wasn’t going to let him talk me into this.
‘I can’t, Dad,’ I said. ‘It’s not even that it could cause trouble at work. Imagine if Dora decided to track down Greg behind my back when she’s older. I’d be devastated. But if she came to speak to me about it, then it would be fine.’
Dad nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
‘We’re a family,’ I said, quite fiercely. ‘We shouldn’t keep secrets. If you want to know if Lil’s your biological mother, then you have to ask her.’
‘So no court papers?’ Dad said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No court papers.’
Chapter 29
Lilian
July 1944
Nothing fazed Jemima. Nothing. Not Ruth and I turning up on her doorstep with barely a week’s notice. Not me being pregnant when I was unmarried and wasn’t even quite sixteen. Not Robert’s birth one clear, cold wintry night. And not even Ruth claiming to be the mother of my baby raised an eyebrow.
Though she never really talked about it, I got the impression she was more relieved than sad when her husband died and from some things she’d mentioned it seemed he’d never treated her very well. Jemima was quiet and watchful, and – I knew – scathing about a society that would punish a woman for a man’s misdeeds. Ruth told her what happened between Mr Mayhew and me and she never once judged me, or criticised me, instead she was endlessly sympathetic and supportive. More than once I’d wondered what we’d have done without her. But she’d said the same to me – she’d been lonely up in Kelso, miles from her family, and had been thinking of moving away when war broke out. And then Ruth had got in touch and she’d decided to stay.
Now she pulled up outside the house in the battered van she drove and leaned out of the window. ‘Come on then,’ she called. ‘Best get going.’
I straightened Ruth’s dress, which was too long for me but hopefully didn’t look too much like a little girl playing dress-up, and stuffed the telegram into the pocket of my borrowed coat.
‘We’ll hopefully be back for supper,’ I said, kissing Ruth on the cheek and ruffling Robert’s hair.
It wasn’t a long drive to Edinburgh, but it felt endless. I wasn’t sure what sort of trouble Emily Page was in, or what state we’d find her in. Abortions were so risky – physically and legally – that her asking for help could mean she was bleeding or locked up. I wasn’t sure. I’d simply replied to Annie saying I was on my way, and now I was hoping we could be of assistance.
‘Do you think she’s been arrested?’ Jemima said, giving voice to my worries.
I’d been going over it in my mind since the telegram arrived, but now I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said slowly. ‘Because Annie gave me her home address.’
‘Infection then?’
I nodded, pinching my lips together tightly. I was terrified about what might have happened to Emily in the hours since she’d contacted Annie.
‘Lucky you were up here,’ Jemima said. We were into the outskirts of Edinburgh now, and she was peering through the windscreen looking for landmarks – it was hard to navigate without road signs.
I nodded again, checking the telegram for the address. ‘It’s one of these streets, I think,’ I said, pointing out of my window. ‘Yes, this one.’
Jemima swung the van left and we pulled up outside one of the Edinburgh tenement blocks that towered over us.
I jumped out of the van, almost before Jemima had turned the engine off and walked quickly down the street trying to find the right flat.
‘It’s this one,’ I called as I found the bell with Page written above it. But when I pulled the iron knob, and heard the ringing upstairs, no one answered.
Jemima had come up behind me. ‘Try one of the neighbours,’ she suggested. I rang the bell for the ground-floor flat and, to my relief, I heard the door open. An elderly man stood there in battered brown carpet slippers.
‘So sorry to disturb you,’ I jabbered. ‘My friend lives upstairs. She is ill and we need to get to her.’
Jemima was already halfway up the stone stairs. I followed, leaving the man standing staring at us from down below.
The door to Emily’s flat was on the latch. Jemima pushed it open and we both walked in.
‘Emily,’ I called. ‘It’s Lilian Miles. Annie sent me.’
The small flat was full of the detritus of shared womanhood and it reminded me sharply of the digs I shared with Flora and Annie. This could have been any of us living here. There were stockings drying on a clothes horse in the hallway, piles of unopened post on the floor by the door, and a half-empty bottle of gin on the sideboard in the living room.
‘Emily,’ I called again. This time I heard a quiet moan. I ran into one of the bedrooms and found Emily, chalky-faced, curled up on her bed.
‘Jemima, she’s here,’ I said. ‘Emily, I’m Lilian Miles.’
She looked up at me, fear in her eyes.
‘Annie sent me,’ I added and Emily started to cry.
‘I’m so scared,’ she said quietly.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. ‘Where are your flatmates?’
‘Work,’ she whispered. ‘Factory.’
‘Are you bleeding?’ I asked.
She nodded without lifting her head from the pillow.
‘Can I look?’ Jemima asked.
Emily nodded again, and Jemima gently lifted the blanket. The sheet beneath Emily, and her nightie, were soaked in bright red blood. I felt sick. Would she die?
Jemima looked grim. ‘We need to get her to hospital,’ she said in my ear.
I let out a juddery breath. I knew she was right. ‘Emily, we have to take you to the hospital,’ I said, stroking her hair. Her forehead was clammy but her skin was cold.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘We’ll say you’ve had a miscarriage. They won’t know.’
Emily closed her eyes.
‘Emily,’ I s
aid louder. ‘Emily don’t go to sleep.’
Moving quickly, Jemima pulled Emily’s dressing gown from the back of the door and I found her slippers under the bed.
‘We need to go,’ I said. Together, we sat Emily up – she was so weak and droopy that it was like putting clothes on a doll and for a moment I was reminded of how Robert had been when he was a tiny baby. I’d been so fortunate to have Ruth’s help back then, and not to have ended up in the same situation Emily was in now. Jemima pushed Emily’s arms into the dressing gown, and I put the slippers on her feet. Carefully we lifted her off the bed, taking care not to let her see the blood-soaked sheet in case she panicked, and half carried her out of the flat and down the stairs. The old man was still standing there.
‘Oh, Miss Page,’ he said, as we came down. ‘Oh, hen, what’s happened?’
‘Where is the nearest hospital?’ Jemima said.
I could see blood running down Emily’s leg and I felt icy cold as I realised she could die right here, and we’d probably be to blame. At least, Annie, Flora and I would be.
The old man gave Jemima surprisingly clear directions and we bundled Emily out into the cold street and into the van.
‘This isn’t your fault,’ Jemima said, reading my mind as I covered Emily with a blanket. ‘You did the right thing.’
I felt sick.
‘Here, put this on her finger.’ Jemima handed me a plain gold band she wore on her right hand. ‘Her ring finger.’
Carefully I pushed the ring on to Emily’s finger.
‘We’ll tell her to use a fake name,’ Jemima said. ‘It’s just easier if everyone thinks she’s married.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You’re a good person.’
Jemima put her foot down on the accelerator and the van sped through the deserted Edinburgh streets.
‘So are you,’ she said.
It only took a few minutes to get to the hospital. Once more we half carried Emily and then Jemima drew back.
‘I’ll wait in the van,’ she said. ‘It’ll get confusing if I’m here, too.’
I smiled at her gratefully as she ducked out of the door, then called to a passing nurse for help.
‘My friend is pregnant,’ I lied. ‘I think she’s losing the baby.’
The Hidden Women Page 16