‘Helen, you’re responsible for the girl, so stay with her,’ said Laurence. ‘The baby is my concern.’ He turned to Brenda. ‘Will you please go to the telephone in the gallery office and ask for the police and ambulance to attend an incident at the Whitworth Gallery. Then wait at the door and bring them in here as soon as they arrive.’
The baby was still in the bag on Laurence’s desk. Helen kept glancing over at it. ‘She’s probably concealed the pregnancy,’ whispered Laurence. ‘It could have been stillborn, or possibly it died shortly after birth. We won’t know until the results of the post-mortem. Why don’t you talk to her? Try and get her name and where she comes from. That might be helpful.’
Of course, she should be talking to her. The shock of seeing the dead baby had made her forget her training. No difficult questions, only name, address, age… She pulled up a chair next to her and took out her notebook. ‘I know your name is Susan. Can you tell me your surname?’
Susan wiped her eyes. ‘Matthews.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘And where do you live?’ She gave an address in Rusholme. ‘Who do you live with?’
She began to cry again then sniffed loudly and said, ‘Me mam and dad.’
‘We’re here to help you, Susan. Do you want to tell me anything else?’
She shook her head and fixed her eyes on the bag.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you.’
The ambulance man was the first to arrive and Laurence explained the situation.
‘Straight to the mortuary then, doctor?’
‘Yes, I’ll follow you there.’
But as soon as the man lifted the bag, Susan shot across the room. ‘She’s mine, you can’t have her!’
He held it above her head and she tried to reach it, but Laurence stepped between the two of them and caught Susan’s wrists. The ambulance man didn’t waste a moment, he was out the door in seconds.
Now she was hysterical, screaming for her baby, but by then two constables had arrived and between them they carried her, thrashing and screaming, into the police car. She calmed down a little when Helen got in beside her and they drove at speed to Bootle Street.
Susan was taken to an interview room while Helen went with Sergeant Duffy to her office. ‘So, tell me the story of Susan then we’ll set things in motion.’
Helen gave an account of what happened, from being asked to check on a girl acting strangely to the discovery of the dead baby.
‘What state is she in?’
‘Frightened, desperate to keep hold of the baby, but it’s been taken from her.’
‘Do we know who she is?’
Helen read the details from her notebook.
‘Good, good, we’ll get the parents in right away. Now, Harrison, at this moment, you’re the only person she knows so I want you to go to the interview room and stay with her until I arrive to question her. There’s a police constable with her at the moment, but I want a woman in the room.’
Chapter 28
By the time the interview had finished Helen was exhausted, drained by the emotional strain of the previous three hours. Susan had been almost incoherent, crying out for her baby and begging to hold it again. Bit by bit Sergeant Duffy coaxed the truth from her. She had met a lad working at the fair in Platt Fields. He was kind to her, gave her a goldfish off the hoopla stall for nothing. She’d sneak out of her house late at night to be with him. She knew what they were doing was wrong, but she loved him. A week later the fair was gone and he never even said goodbye. It was a while before she realised what was happening to her. She got a bit fatter, but not enough for anyone to think she was expecting.
The baby came when her parents were out at work. She was frightened. Her da would kill her, she said, so she ran away and took the baby with her. When asked if it was dead when it was born, she said she thought it was, but she wasn’t sure and she couldn’t bear to part with it. In the end she was charged with concealing a birth, but further charges could be brought depending on the post-mortem.
All Helen wanted now was to get away from the station. She had struggled to keep her emotions in check during the interview. Now the dam had burst and she was overwhelmed with sadness. Outside, the rain was beating off the street, but she didn’t take shelter, instead she set off running in a panic, tears mixing with rain on her cheeks, sobs thrown to the wind. She cried for the young girl giving birth alone, and for the dead baby, but there was more to it than that. She cried for Jim and herself as the anger raged inside her for her babies that might have been.
She didn’t see the car pulling up alongside her, didn’t hear her name being called, didn’t see him get out of the car to catch hold of her.
‘Helen, it’s me – Laurence. Wait, please.’
Her eyes were blinded by the tears and the rain. She pushed him away, not wanting him to see her like this.
‘Helen, for God’s sake, let me help you.’ He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her. She hit out at him, her flailing arm catching him on the side of his head. But still he held her, until her rage was spent and she slumped against him.
‘You’re in a state, Helen, and we’re both soaking wet. Look, I have the car here, we’ll get in out of the rain.’
In the car she was shivering and desperately trying to stem her tears. Laurence gave her a handkerchief and she wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so upset about Susan and the baby.’
‘I know you are, it was an awful shock for you to see the child like that but, you know, it’s all right to cry. We’ll sit here for a bit.’
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ she asked.
‘Waiting for you.’
‘Have you been here all this time?’
‘I was at the mortuary for about an hour. Then I came here. Your friendly desk sergeant told me you were still with the girl, so I thought I’d wait.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I was worried about you. You had a terrible shock finding the baby. It takes a while to get over something like that. You’ll be a lot better once you’re home. I’ll give you a lift.’
‘No! I can’t face the empty house right now.’
‘Why not? Won’t your husband be there?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be on my own. I’ll go to my godmother. She works in Stevenson’s Square.’
‘All right, I’ll take you there.’
‘Oh, wait! What time is it?’
‘Half past six.’
She couldn’t believe it. The showroom would be closed and she didn’t want to go to Pearl’s house in case Mr Fenner would be there. ‘It’s too late, I’ve missed her.’
‘Helen, listen to me. If you want, I’ll take you to my flat. It’s not far from here. We’ll have something to eat – you’ll feel better for that – then when you’re ready, I’ll take you home.’
‘I don’t know…’ It didn’t seem right to go to a man’s flat, what would he think of her?
‘Please, Helen, just come for a while,’ and there was something about his voice that made her realise how much he cared.
The house was a three-storey Victorian villa that had seen better days. She looked at it in awe. ‘You live here?’
He smiled. ‘Look up,’ he said. ‘See that tiny window in the roof? That’s where I live.’
The flat was small and warm inside and she immediately felt at ease. There was a well-worn brocade sofa in front of the fireplace and on either side of that were bookcases crammed full. A sink and two gas rings on top of a small cupboard served as a kitchen. A closed door was most likely a bedroom.
‘Make yourself at home while I cook us something.’
Helen wandered over to the bookcase and read some of the titles. ‘Have you read all these books?’
‘Quite a lot of them, when I was younger, but I don’t have the time to read these days.’
She looked out the window at the back garden, far below h
er. ‘It looks like an allotment, down there.’
‘That’s Jack’s work, he’s the old fellow who lives on the ground floor. He’s got a great vegetable garden and he shares everything he grows with the other tenants. I’m cooking some of his vegetables for us now.’
‘I like these film posters on the walls, where did you get them?’
‘When I was a kid, I was fascinated by films and I got to know the projectionist quite well. He used to save the posters for me. Nowadays, I just ask at the box office for the films I like. You see that one over there, Top Hat with Fred Astaire, that’s my favourite.’
‘I would’ve thought you’d like that King Kong one best.’
‘Oh, now…?’ He pretended to consider. ‘The artwork’s very good, I’ll give you that, but it’s a sad film, isn’t it? You can’t beat an Astaire and Rogers for the wisecracks and the dancing, and anyway, I like a happy ending.’
She sat on the sofa and Laurence talked about films and music while he cooked. ‘So what films do you like?’ he asked.
‘I loved Gone With the Wind.’
‘So, you’re a romantic as well. Right, food’s nearly ready, can you get the cutlery from the drawer?’
The omelette was good, packed with vegetables that took away the taste of the powdered egg.
She hadn’t realised how hungry she was, no wonder she had felt weak and weepy. ‘The beetroot tastes really good, never would have thought to put that in an omelette.’
They washed up together then Laurence put the radio on low and they sat on the sofa. ‘Do you feel better now?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t believe I got myself into such a state.’
‘You’d have been fine in the end. You’re stronger than you think.’
‘I don’t know, the sight of the baby was lodged in my head. I kept seeing it… that’s why I couldn’t face being on my own. What would I have done, if you hadn’t been there?’
‘Oh, I’m sure your husband would have taken care of you when he got home.’
Helen managed a smile. How complicated had she made things that day when she went for lunch with Laurence? Why hadn’t she told him then that she was a widow? Because it was none of his business. If she had told him then it would’ve been like saying ‘I’m available’, but she wasn’t available because she had no intentions of getting involved with any man at any time. Besides, she thought she would never see him again. But now she had got to know him as a friend, and he had been so kind to her, she could hardly turn round and tell him that she had lied – that she had no husband, she was a widow. What kind of message would that give him if she told him now?
‘You know, Helen, I’m glad you’re here. To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to be alone either.’
He looked so sad. ‘What’s the matter, Laurence?’
‘I’ve been away in Edinburgh looking after my mother; she’d been ill for a while. We buried her two days ago.’
‘Oh, Laurence.’ She touched his hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a mercy really, she was in a lot of pain, but it was so hard to say goodbye. You know your mother won’t always be there…’ His voice wavered. ‘But then she’s gone and everything crashes around you.’ He turned away from her.
There were no words to ease the pain of losing someone you love, she knew that better than anyone. In those dark days after Jim’s death, all she had wanted was someone to hold her, to stay with her so she wasn’t alone. She moved closer and put her arm around him. He laid his head on her shoulder. She could sense his despair. The room grew dark. She had no idea how long they sat there. He was first to speak. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Helen. You’ve calmed the grief and allowed me to think about her life and what a good mother she was, without getting overwhelmed. You’d have liked her. She was in the WRVS, you know. She believed in service in the community. I was telling her about you and your job.’ There was a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘She said she’d like to meet you some day.’
Helen was surprised that he had told his dying mother about her. Did he think more of her than she had realised?
‘I suppose you need to go home now,’ he said.
‘I could stay a bit longer if you like.’
His face lit up. ‘Will you? I could put on some gramophone records. Then later we could have supper, tea and jam butties.’
She felt so relaxed in the tiny flat, the horrors of the day had been set aside for now, and the company of Laurence had salved her loneliness. ‘That would be nice,’ she said.
He drew the blackout curtains and lit a small table lamp. They listened to the records and talked about all sorts of things. Inevitably, he returned again to his mother and childhood. It sounded idyllic and Laurence asked about her mother. ‘We don’t get on that well. She doesn’t approve of my job and I don’t see her very often.’
‘And what about your father?’
‘He died when I was three and I don’t remember him at all. My mother rarely spoke about him and there were no photos of him in the house. Only lately, I found out that they had separated and that explained a lot.
He didn’t ask about Jim – maybe, if he had done, she might have told him.
‘Will you stay in the police after the war?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes I think I will, but on a day like today I wonder why I put myself through all that.’
‘It’s hard, I know. The bombings are the worst for me: the cruelty of it, the waste of life.’
‘Why do we do it?’
‘Because somebody has to and we’re trained for it.’
She studied his face, so earnest and kind, and was struck by his common sense and decency.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Nothing.’
‘There is something, you’re smiling.’
She teased him. ‘Am I?’ But she was smiling, because she’d been wondering why Laurence made her feel good about herself. The only other person who had done that was Jim. Why not tell him about Jim? He’d understand. ‘Laurence, I—’
The sound of the raid alert cut across her words. ‘Hell’s bells,’ he shouted. ‘Come on, we’ve a shelter in the garden. I’ll just grab some blankets.’
The Anderson shelter was like a little home from home. The far end had been wallpapered and she couldn’t believe her eyes at an electric fire taking the chill off the damp underground. There were hurricane lamps too, hanging from the ceiling, and an old trunk in the middle, on top of which were games – ludo, snakes and ladders, dominoes and playing cards.
They were the last to arrive in the shelter and Laurence introduced her to the five other tenants. They seemed friendly enough but surprised to see her uniform. ‘Eh up, Laurence,’ said Jack the gardener, ‘is she here to arrest you for the lamb chops the butcher slips you from under the counter every week?’
There were wooden benches with comfortable cushions either side of the shelter. ‘This is where I usually sit,’ said Laurence. ‘Sorry it’s a bit of a squeeze,’ and he put a blanket round her shoulders.
Hetty, Jack’s wife, asked, ‘Do you play cribbage, love?’
‘I do,’ said Helen.
Laurence reached for the cards, shuffled them like a magician and winked at her. ‘Now watch yourself with this lot, they’ll fleece you.’
They passed an hour in good humour and she watched him with his neighbours. They were older, but he had time for them all and they clearly had a soft spot for him. By the time the all-clear sounded – there would be no bombing tonight – she and Laurence left the shelter with the neighbours inviting her to come and see them again.
Back in the flat she said, ‘It’s getting late, I’d better go now if I’m to catch my bus.’
‘Don’t be daft, I said I’d take you home. Unless…’ He bit his lip. ‘Look, Helen, if you’re going to be on your own tonight, you could stay here if you want.’ He quickly added, ‘Just for the company, of course. I’d sleep on the sofa. You’d be perfectly saf
e, I swear.’
From the moment Laurence had picked her up outside the police station she had not only felt safe, she had felt more alive than she had been since Jim died. The last place she wanted to be was in her own home. But staying in his flat, sleeping in his bed? She had only to say yes and they would have crossed a line.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested that,’ he said ‘but I want you to know that I’ve been drawn to you from the first moment I saw you at the supper club. Then again at the infirmary when you were so pale and frightened watching over the dead girl. There is something inside you so sad and I want to take it away, Helen, but I don’t know how.’
She could let this run its course, but…‘Laurence, you’ve been very kind to me, but I can’t stay. I have to go home.’
‘I understand,’ he said.
On the journey back neither of them said much. She was thinking about the hours they had spent together, how much she had enjoyed his company. She glanced across at him, a silhouette in the blackout, was he thinking about her too?
He parked the car outside her house and she felt him take her hand. ‘Helen, about tonight, I hope you didn’t think when I—’
‘Laurence, you don’t have to say anything. Thank you for turning an awful day into something lovely.’
‘So, will I see you again at—’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He was looking past her, out of the car window. Someone was coming down the path with a torch. The car door was wrenched open, the light blinded them, and she was pulled from the car. She realised immediately that it was Frank and he was yelling.
‘Where have you been, Helen? I’ve been sat on the doorstep two hours waiting for you.’
Oh God, with all the upset about the baby, she’d forgotten Frank was coming to see her after his late shift, expecting her answer to his proposal. By this time Laurence was out of the car, confronting him. ‘Let her go!’
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m a friend. I take it you’re her husband.’
‘Husband? No, mate, she has no husband, she’s a widow.’
The Girl from the Corner Shop Page 23
