by Maria Savva
‘I don’t want to frighten him off. How do I tell him? We haven’t known each other long. I’m not really sure how he’ll react, but I love him and I think he loves me.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to tell someone soon. It’ll be obvious you’re pregnant in a couple of months, and won’t you need to see a doctor?’
‘Yes, yes, I know all that. I’m just confused. What should I do, Cara?’ Beattie started to cry again.
‘I don’t know,’ was all Cara could offer.
That night, Cara asked her older sister for advice. Gloria was more worldly-wise.
As they were getting ready for bed, Cara told Gloria about Beattie’s problem.
‘Cara, I forbid you to speak to that girl,’ Gloria said as she brushed her long hair in front of the dressing table mirror.
‘But she’s my friend!’
‘She’ll be a bad influence. She shouldn’t be doing that sort of thing at her age.’
Gloria sounded cold. Cara would have expected such a reaction from her mother, not from her sister.
‘But she loves Robert, and he loves her.’
‘Huh! Is that what she thinks?’ Gloria scoffed, red-faced. ‘Robert doesn’t love her. He only loves himself. He’s got a reputation, you know. Sleeps with everyone!’
‘B-but Bea and Robert are in love.’
‘Cara, you’re so naive! Robert took advantage of her. He’s much older than her. He’s almost my age! Boys of his age are only interested in one thing. If she thought she could trap him by getting pregnant, she was so mistaken.’
‘She’s only sixteen. She didn’t want to trap him, and she didn’t want to get pregnant. She’s frightened, and she’s worried about what her parents will do if they find out. Robert doesn’t even know about it yet. What do you think she should do?’
‘She should have thought about the consequences before she got into bed with him.’ Gloria stood up.
‘She didn’t know she—’
‘Stop making excuses for her,’ snapped Gloria as she pulled back her sheets to get into bed.
‘Why are you being like this? You’ve had friends who’ve got pregnant.’
‘They were married at the time,’ Gloria retorted mockingly.
She got into bed and propped herself up on her elbow. ‘About five years ago, another young girl got pregnant out of wedlock. Rosalind. She was about Bea’s age. Do you remember the fuss everyone made?’ Gloria appeared quite excited at the memory.
‘No, I don’t remember.’ Cara screwed up her face as she racked her brain trying to recall.
‘When this gets out, Bea will be seen as a bad girl.’ Gloria smiled, but then her forehead creased. ‘You’ll have to keep away from her, Cara, for your own sake. You don’t want people thinking you’re like her.’
‘But Bea’s not a bad girl.’ Cara’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Huh! If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be unmarried and pregnant.’
‘Wh-what happened to Rosalind?’
‘Her family were forced to leave Huddlesea because of all the shame it brought on them.’
‘B-but no one will find out about this. Robert and Bea can get married.’
‘He won’t marry her!’
‘It’s the best option.’
‘When this gets out, Bea will have to leave town. Everyone will call her a whore.’
‘Glor, you can be so cruel. I only asked for some advice for Bea. She’s my friend and she’s desperate.’ Cara wiped her tears on the sleeves of her nightgown.
‘Well, my advice would be for her to grow up!’ said Gloria. ‘What she has done is a disgrace, and I don’t know how you can still be her friend.’
‘I wish I’d never told you!’ cried Cara. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you? She made me promise not to tell anyone. If her parents find out, they’ll make her give the baby up for adoption.’
Within a week, Beattie’s pregnancy was common knowledge in town. Gloria made no attempt to hide the fact that she’d spread the news. Beattie and her family were outcasts.
Late one evening, Cara went to her best friend’s house. As she approached the gate she considered turning back and going home. Beattie’s parents would be furious that Gloria had spread gossip about their daughter. It took all her willpower to continue walking to the front door.
She knocked on the door and waited.
The net curtain flickered and Beattie’s mother looked out at her from the living room window, glum-faced. As she turned to face her, Mrs Rogers shook her head and waved Cara away, as if in warning.
Just then, the front door creaked open and Mr Rogers, a tall imposing figure, stood glaring at Cara.
Warily, she took a step backwards. ‘H-h-hello, Mr Rogers,’ she stammered. Her voice came out sounding high-pitched. She was startled by the change in him. He usually greeted her with a warm smile and she was always treated like another member of the family. They’d often joked about how she spent more time at Beattie’s house than her own. Today, his arms were folded in defiance, and his scowl emanated anger.
‘I can’t believe you have the audacity to turn up here,’ he bellowed. ‘Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble?’ His large round eyes and bulbous nose—features she’d once found endearing—made him appear frightening now, ogre-like.
‘C-can I see Bea, please? I have to explain.’
‘She doesn’t want to see you.’
‘But she’s my friend.’ Cara trembled. If she could only talk to Beattie, everything would be all right, she felt sure of it.
Beattie’s mother joined her husband at the door.
Mrs Rogers was a quietly-spoken woman; Cara had often thought of her as a second mother. ‘Hello,’ said Cara, smiling, hopeful she’d receive a warmer reception from her.
‘Cara, you should go home. You don’t want people to start talking about you, do you?’ said Mrs Rogers.
‘Wh-what do you mean?’
‘Bea has been a bad girl. She’s going to have to leave town. She can’t stay here. If you’re found talking to her, people will think you’re bad too.’
Gloria’s words echoed in Cara’s ears then. ‘Bea’s not a bad girl; she just didn’t know what she was doing,’ Cara murmured.
‘Please leave, Cara,’ Beattie’s mother insisted.
Cara had never seen her so sad. Her eyes were black underneath, as if she hadn’t slept for days.
‘But please… I have to talk to her.’
‘Maybe you’re the one who led her astray,’ said Mr Rogers, stepping forward. ‘Our daughter was an innocent young girl until she became friendly with you.’ He leant towards her.
Cara took another step back and gazed at the two people standing at the door, whom she no longer recognised. Her mind boggled as to what he meant about Beattie being an innocent girl until they’d become friends: they’d been friends in school since the age of four and grew up together. The past had been obliterated, all the good times replaced with another version of events fabricated by bitterness and resentment.
Mrs Rogers’ mouth turned down at the edges when she saw tears form in Cara’s eyes, but she didn’t try to comfort her, just shook her head and then walked back into the house.
Mr Rogers took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief that he took from his shirt pocket. ‘Don’t come back. Ever.’ His voice broke slightly as he spoke.
Cara watched as he turned around and closed the front door.
She walked backwards and looked up at Beattie’s bedroom window, praying to see her friend. The curtain moved slightly. Cara craned her neck upwards. ‘Bea!’ she shouted, as loud as she could. ‘Bea! Please come out!’
The front door opened and Mr Rogers stormed towards her. ‘I’ve warned you to stay away!’ he boomed.
Cara cowered as he approached.
‘Go!’ he said, pointing at the gate. ‘Go on!’
Cara peered up in vain at Beattie’s bedroom window, one last time, before turning on her heel and running out of the
gate.
It started to rain.
Cara returned home distraught. ‘Why have you done this?’ she asked Gloria, standing in front of her in their bedroom. Cara’s hair, dripping wet from the rain, left droplets on the carpet. ‘She was my friend, she asked me for help. I told you not to tell anyone.’
‘She’s a whore, and now everyone knows it,’ Gloria said calmly.
Her sister had always been outspoken and strong-minded, and Cara usually respected her for that, but now she felt betrayed. ‘I didn’t know you hated Bea. If I did, I would never have told you. Why did you do this, Glor?’
The following week, Beattie was admitted to hospital. Rumours were rife in town: some people said her mother had tried to help her to get rid of the baby and it went wrong, others said she’d suffered a miscarriage.
One day, as Cara walked past the butcher’s shop, old Mrs Williams called out to her from across the road. She used to work as a dinner lady at Cara’s former junior school and often stopped for a chat. Cara hadn’t seen her since the scandal about Beattie’s pregnancy had become the main news among the town’s gossips.
‘Hello, Mrs Williams,’ she said hesitantly, not feeling in the mood for conversation or a lecture. The last two people who had stopped her to speak on the street that week—Rose Spencer from the grocery, and Angela Edgar who’d once worked for Cara’s father—both told her what a “bad” girl Beattie had been. Those women were about the same age as Mrs Williams.
Mrs Williams walked across the road using her large black umbrella as a walking stick, as she usually did, carrying a bag of groceries.
Cara smiled at her and Mrs Williams glared back through large oval-shaped glasses.
‘How are you?’ asked Cara politely, noticing Mrs Williams’ grimace.
‘I hear your friend Bea Rogers has got herself into trouble,’ said the old woman bluntly.
Cara coughed nervously. ‘I have to go.’ She started walking away.
Mrs Williams called out behind her: ‘She’s lost the baby because she committed a deadly sin; let that be a lesson to you! I hope you’re more sensible than she is, for your own sake.’
Cara quickened her pace, ignoring the stares from the local people who had heard Mrs Williams’ comments. She knew they were all thinking the same thing. They knew she and Beattie were best friends, and they all thought she must be a “bad girl” like Beattie. At that moment she truly hated Huddlesea.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she ran the rest of the way home.
In the end, Cara went to see Beattie at the hospital, uninvited.
Beattie appeared so pale and washed out, lying on the bed with its plain white cotton sheets almost the same colour as her skin. When Cara walked into the room Beattie opened her eyes, but it seemed to take an enormous effort to do so.
‘Bea, hello,’ Cara said, in a whisper, placing a bunch of pink carnations at her friend’s bedside.
Beattie loved carnations. Cara remembered the time when she and Beattie were about eight years old and they picked all of the pink carnations from Mrs Fennel’s garden. She hadn’t seen the girls take them but made such a fuss about it around town for the next two weeks, even calling the police to say there was a flower thief on the prowl.
Cara and Beattie had stashed the flowers in their tree house and used them to play at pretending to be bridesmaids. Images flickered in Cara’s mind of how beautiful Beattie had looked with those pink flowers in her hair. A lump formed in her throat and she held tightly to her friend’s hand; it felt cold and lifeless.
‘This is all your fault,’ said Beattie slowly, her voice so quiet it was practically inaudible.
‘Bea, I…’ She wanted to explain. She knew Beattie saw her as the person responsible for everyone finding out.
‘Please,’ said Beattie. ‘Just go.’ Her voice sounded louder, but the three words she’d managed to speak had apparently drained all her energy. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, two tears trailing down her cheeks. On opening her eyes again, she fixed her gaze on Cara.
‘Bea, I was only trying to help.’
‘I trusted you.’ Her voice grew louder, as if she had regained her strength: ‘You betrayed me.’ The words echoed in the room. ‘I told you a secret. You weren’t supposed to tell anyone. I was going to marry Robert, but his baby is dead and it’s all because of you.’
Cara shivered.
‘I hate you, Cara Hughes; you’ve ruined everything.’
‘But I—’ Cara stopped herself. She was going to say it was Gloria’s fault but could not deny that if she hadn’t told her sister, none of this would have happened. ‘I’m sorry, Bea,’ she said, wiping away hopeless tears. ‘I shouldn’t have told Glor, but I thought she could help.’
‘It’s too late,’ Beattie said. She appeared to be asleep, but her voice sounded clear.
Cara remained beside the bed, tears streaming from her eyes, until Beattie drifted off to sleep.
She left the room quietly, dragging with her the weight of her sorrow.
Beattie died blaming Cara. Gloria didn’t comfort her and never accepted any blame for what had happened to Beattie, not even as they watched her white coffin being carried to the cemetery.
Cara could not find it within herself to forgive her sister, especially when she recalled her last meeting with Beattie, in the cold hospital room with the too-bright lights. Her friend’s eyes had looked lost and haunted. ‘I hate you, Cara Hughes…’. Those words left a deep scar within her soul.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The outside of the house had hardly changed in the past thirty-odd years; the old iron knocker was still on the door, and the ivy still grew around the windows. Everything held connections to the past.
The last time Cara had been here was when she’d attended her father’s funeral. Gloria invited everyone back to the house for a drink. Cara was reluctant to go, but Billy persuaded her.
‘Cara, you have to go. What will all your relatives think if you don’t?’
‘I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck inside the same four walls as Glor. Haven’t you noticed she’s been ignoring me all day?’ Cara glared at her sister, who stood at the other side of their father’s grave. Gloria’s face was partially obscured by her hat’s black netted veil. She looked suitably upset, but Cara suspected her forlorn appearance was merely an act put on for the benefit of the rest of the mourners. In her mind, the real Gloria was a cold, hard-hearted woman.
‘Cara, I know you and your sister have had your differences in the past,’ said Billy, putting his arm around her, ‘but let’s go to the house and have a drink for your father’s sake. You don’t even have to speak to her if you don’t want to.’
So they had gone. Cara remembered sitting on the sofa in the living room of the old house, feeling out of place and holding a glass of red wine, of which she may have taken one sip. All she had wanted was to be anywhere else.
‘This is so annoying,’ said Catherine.
They had been waiting for Gloria to answer the door for a few minutes.
‘I’ve knocked on the door three times already.’ Catherine walked over to the window to the left of the front door and pressed her face against the glass, in an attempt to see inside.
‘Maybe she’s gone out, dear,’ said Cara, hopefully.
‘She knew we were coming,’ huffed Catherine.
Shortly, a shuffling noise could be heard from inside the house and the front door opened. Gloria looked as glamorous as ever, immaculately dressed in a smart navy-blue dress. Her thick, wavy hair was cut in a short, neat style and dyed dark auburn—similar to the natural colour of her youth—she was the picture of perfection.
All of Cara’s insecurities rose to the surface. She lowered her eyes and slouched as old feelings of inadequacy asserted themselves. Why had life been so good to Gloria when she was so cruel? The worst thing was, Cara felt quite sure she must look much older than her sister. Cara had stopped dyeing her own hair years ago; it was
now completely grey.
‘Hello,’ said Catherine.
Gloria didn’t acknowledge them, instead she turned and walked back through the hallway leaving the front door open.
‘Huh! She hasn’t changed. Do you see how rude she is?’ said Cara.
Catherine frowned and helped Cara into the house before returning to the car to collect her suitcase.
‘I’m going to have to leave straight away,’ she said, glancing at her watch as she carried the suitcase into the hallway. ‘I can’t leave the children with Tom for too long. You know what men are like; they have no idea when it comes to children.’
‘I’m sure you’re underestimating him, dear. It will be good for him to spend some time with them on his own.’ It was more of a plea for Catherine to stay.
‘No, I really have to go, Mum. Bye, Aunty,’ she shouted into the house, then walked towards the front door.
‘Wait,’ said Gloria, who’d suddenly reappeared in the hallway.
‘I have to go, Aunty.’
‘Can I have a word with you?’ Gloria asked sternly; it was more of a demand than a question.
‘Okay,’ said Catherine, twisting around to face her aunt.
‘In private,’ said Gloria.
Catherine looked at her watch again. Shrugging, she followed Gloria into the kitchen, leaving Cara in the hallway.
‘I’ve already told you it’s inconvenient for me to have her staying here.’ Gloria’s cheeks were bright red.
‘It won’t be for long, Aunty; I’m sure Penny and David will get back together soon,’ lied Catherine.
‘I’m not happy about this.’
‘Neither is Mum, but you don’t have a choice, so get over it!’ Catherine headed towards the door.
‘Well, I can see that you’re your mother’s daughter. How dare you speak to me like that in my own home!’
Catherine faced her aunt and let out a sigh. ‘Look, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have snapped, but we’re all stressed out. We didn’t plan this. Mum was very happy living with Penny, and if she had the choice she’d still be there.’