‘Not without us, I hope?’ Alexa said. She sat back in her chair, unhooked her evening cape, eased her feet out of her smart shoes. ‘I brought up a child on my own, remember. But I didn’t have to work while I was pregnant. I presume you haven’t told your father yet? You must face up to that soon. He’ll be shocked and disappointed, of course, but like all parents he will appreciate the truth from you, however unpalatable.
‘You must decide for yourself, of course, but, and I know Nancy will agree, I really hope you will want to stay here with us. We would endeavour to support you in every way.’
Nancy came in with cups of hot chocolate. It was almost midnight. She looked searchingly from one to the other. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked hesitantly.
Molly jumped to her feet. ‘Put that tray down! I’m going to hug you both. I don’t have to think about it, Alexa, I want to go on living here, working at Nagel’s as long as I can, however embarrassing that becomes! And I just want to say thank you for understanding, that’s all.’
‘No high kicks, mind,’ Alexa warned, but she smiled despite still reeling mentally from the shock. ‘Fetch me a tot of whisky will you, Nancy, please? I feel I’ve earned it tonight.’
*
Nancy couldn’t get to sleep. Would it have helped if I had told Molly what I went through in the past? she wondered. But that was – dirty. What happened with her and Rory was very different; it just went further than they expected . . . She’s brave, my dear friend Molly Sparkes. It’s not going to be easy for her, but I’ll do everything I can to help. I wish I hadn’t pushed Art away. I hurt him, badly, I know it. If it was me, carrying Art’s baby, I couldn’t keep it secret from him. I’d want to get married, to be with him. Girls like me don’t often get a second chance but Mrs Nagel gave me that. I owe it to her to get on at Nagels, not cry about what can’t be.
Alexa lay wakeful, too. She had looked in briefly at Molly when she made a trip to the bathroom. Molly, having told them all, slept like a baby herself.
Make the most of the next few weeks, Alexa thought. It won’t be easy, the letter to your father, but I’m positive he won’t reject you because I’ll write to him, too . . . People will talk, they always do. Will that bright spark of yours enable you to come through? You’re so young to be embarking on motherhood, alone. But if you look after your baby as you did my granddaughter, you’ll be a lovely, caring mother. I shouldn’t help you too much materially because you must learn to cope, as I did. Is Nancy lying sleepless – has it brought back all the terrors for her?
She pushed back the covers, padded silently in her slippers along the landing to the girl’s room.
‘Nancy,’ she said softly, ‘I thought you might want to talk . . . I certainly do.’
‘Oh, Mrs Nagel,’ Nancy sniffed, ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘It’s time you called me Alexa, I think,’ she said.
*
When her pregnancy had been confirmed, Molly duly wrote to her father. She made several false starts, but then decided to get the shock over at the beginning.
Dear Father,
I have something important to tell you.
Please forgive me for hurting you, but now I am getting used to the idea, I am actually glad. I am expecting a baby next summer. I must be honest with you; I am not marrying the baby’s father. He has not abandoned me, because he has no idea of my condition.
If you wish to cut off my allowance, I shall not blame you one bit. I shall work and save, as long as I can. Alexa has invited me to stay on here with her and Nancy, and I am very grateful for her kindness.
I have seen Alexa’s doctor, and all is well so far. He says I must really hope for a small baby as I don’t possess child-bearing hips! But I’m not going to worry for the next seven months about a forceps delivery! And nor should you. If little Florence Almond could manage, then so can I. Please don’t worry about me.
My love to you.
Your daughter,
Molly
The letter from Australia arrived before her father’s reply. Alexa had made Molly take time off work. Morning sickness was now a real nightmare. ‘At least,’ she joked weakly, ‘Minnie won’t put two and two together about my straining waistband – I’ve actually lost weight with all that throwing up!’
‘That’s just why you’re going to take it easy for the rest of the week,’ Alexa said sternly. ‘Put your feet up, as the doctor ordered.’
So Molly was at home when the morning post arrived and was presented to her by Mrs Moore the help who Molly guessed probably knew what was up, but could be counted on to be discreet.
She read it through several times in disbelief. Henning had been trying to contact her! She had an address at last for him, but she couldn’t respond – how could she? Not now, not ever.
‘Whatever’s wrong, duck?’ Mrs Moore asked, finding her in a real state. ‘Here, back to bed with you, and you just stay there while I take my chance with that telephone and call the doctor.’
‘Please, I’m not ill, just—’
‘Then I’ll telephone the Missus,’ Mrs Moore said firmly. ‘Something’s upset you, ain’t that right? She’ll have to deal with it.’
She can’t put the clock back, and nor can I, Molly thought as she obediently undressed and slipped under the bedcovers, clutching a flannel-wrapped hot water bottle. She was aware that the curtains were being briskly pulled to, that an extra quilt was being added to her bed.
‘You’re shivering, poor soul,’ said Mrs Moore, adding, proving she did know although she hadn’t been told: ‘Hope you ain’t goin’ to lose it, duck.’
*
It was another ten days before the doctor allowed Molly to return to work. Christmas would be here before they knew it. By then, she had suddenly begun to ‘show’ as Nancy put it. Practical Nancy set to in the evenings, sewing elastic inserts into the waists of Molly’s office skirts.
The only one who appeared not to observe the slight change in Molly’s shape, to guess the reason for her absence, was Mr Loom.
‘I shall have to tell him in due course,’ Alexa said. ‘But as you are sedentary in your work, not required to lift anything heavy, there should be no problems. Especially since the sickness has eased and you are eating properly again.’
‘More than that.’ Molly sighed ruefully. ‘I seem to be making up for what I couldn’t eat these last few weeks!’
On payday, Friday, she had an overwhelming desire for something really filling. ‘Let’s go to the pud shop, Nancy, for lunch!’
‘Fish tonight for dinner, you know,’ her friend reminded her as they emerged from the shop and set off up the road.
‘Precisely! Not much substance in that, ‘specially steamed which Alexa says is best for one in my condition.’
‘Shush!’ Nancy warned, for Mr Loom and Minnie were just a few yards behind, obviously going out to eat themselves.
‘Minnie knows,’ Molly hissed. ‘She told me to take care not to strain myself when stretching up to the top shelf in the stationery cupboard.’
‘That was nice of her.’
‘Oh, Nancy! You, of all people, know her better than that!’
*
‘I said,’ repeated Minnie to Mr Loom, who was looking rather bemused, ‘d’you fancy a proper meal today, seeing’s it’s so cold?’ She tapped her bag. ‘My sandwiches’ll keep for later. We could go to that place where they serve up a very good meat pudding. It’s a fair way to go, but worth it, they say. Art used to go there regular, I believe.’
‘Mmm?’ Mr Loom murmured. ‘Meat pudding? Sounds tempting, Mrs Gage. I know the shop: Mother liked the ham from there . . .’
‘Minnie,’ she reminded him archly.
‘I must just stop off and buy a paper, Minnie, I didn’t get a chance this morning. I do like something to read on the way home.’
His calling at the newsagent’s meant that Molly and Nancy were soon well ahead, and settled in the pudding shop before the others arrived ther
e.
I seem to be trapped into lunchtimes spent in the company of Mrs Minnie Gage, Mr Loom thought, as he rolled the paper and carried it under his arm. Where have the young ladies vanished to? I wonder. I’m not sure it’s such a good thing, my being so involved with Nancy at work since her promotion to the showroom. That’s all it is, of course, just our mutual interest in selling quality leather goods. I threw away my chance with her when I drew back, as it were, leaving the field clear for Art. That came to nothing. But I’m too old for her, too staid and set in my ways. I always was. At twenty years old, Nancy can take her pick. I can’t expect to be part of the selection.
Minnie poked him in the back. He’d been striding ahead, deep in thought, as usual. ‘Here we are, Mr Loom – there’s a table for two by the window. Hurry up before someone beats us to it!’
She felt thoroughly fed up. She’d splashed out on a nice new winter coat, navy with a velvet collar; she wore shoes instead of boots, but he never seemed to notice. She was climbing the ladder at work, not stuck in the mud like Walt and Aggie. Gage had passed away four years ago, a loss she’d quickly got over. She’d always had to work because the late unlamented was one for the gee-gees. The future Mrs Loom, if old Loom ever got round to asking her – and she was certainly working on it – would be treated like a lady, expected to stay at home, seeing to her husband’s needs. He wouldn’t be bothersome in bed, like the inebriated Gage, but would appreciate everything she did for him, she fancied. She said, as they duly claimed the table, sitting opposite, knee-to-knee, because of the cramped space: ‘My late husband said I made a wonderful meat pudding myself. I hope it comes up to my standard!’ She moved ever so slightly forward so that the pressure of her bony knees was intensified.
‘Keep your head down, Molly, look who’s just come in,’ Nancy advised. Unfortunately, although they were some way down the shop, she caught Mr Loom’s eye. He wore a pained, almost pleading expression. She turned her head, embarrassed; wondering.
None of them saw Art, but he saw them all. He sat among strangers, looking dejected, at a table near the rear of the shop. He had been watching out, waiting and hoping. If Nancy had arrived on her own – well, he might have approached her, but perhaps it was too late for that.
EIGHT
Christmas Eve, 1908: they would be closing the shop at noon.
It’s not going to be easy for Molly, Nancy thought, as she wrapped gifts in tissue then strong brown paper and tied them neatly with string. She really has no idea, bless her, how tongues will wag when that little curve becomes a great big bulge. She’ll find out how cruel folk can be to a young mother without a man to support her and her baby. She’ll feel cheated of all the excitement of working at what she really loves; she won’t be poor of course, and desperate, like I would’ve been if it had happened to me back in Australia, but some of the sparkle will go from her, that’s a sure thing . . . I can’t forget how she tore up that letter with Henning’s address on it, saying she couldn’t get in touch with him, not now.
‘Nancy,’ Mr Loom said, clearing his throat, suddenly standing beside her, ‘Mrs Nagel has unexpectedly, very kindly, asked me to join you both for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Would – would you mind if I said yes?’
‘Oh, of course you must come to us! I’m so glad Mrs Nagel thought of it. No one should be on their own on Christmas Day.’
Nancy was quite unaware of how attractive she looked, with her flushed face, shining eyes and spontaneous smile. It was a chance for them to become more relaxed with each other again, which would be nice. She did like Mr Loom, and it might brighten the day up for them, having company: Matthew would not be visiting them until the New Year, because his parents were home on extended leave, and naturally staying with their son and granddaughter at Wren’s Nest, so there would be no small girl to keep them entertained this year.
*
Nancy and Mr Loom were washing up the many dishes in the kitchen, while Alexa relaxed in the sitting room and shut her eyes for what she warned them would certainly be: ‘More than five minutes, more like an hour or two after that Christmas pudding! Really, I think it is one of the Army and Navy Stores best. You two young people can indulge in a parlour game or two no doubt, after you’ve put away all those plates. I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, say, at three-thirty?’
Molly had taken herself off, too, immediately after lunch, declaring that she was going to her room for a proper sleep. She had closed the door very firmly as Nancy, worrying whether all was well, began to follow her up but hesitated on the stairs. She quietly retreated at the unexpected rebuff.
‘Young people . . .’ Mr Loom said ruefully, putting his hands in the hot soda-laced water and feeling for the dishcloth. ‘I’m nearer Mrs Nagel’s age than yours, Nancy. Shall I let the plates drain in this wooden contraption?’
‘Mmm,’ she agreed. She’d had a go with Molly’s camomile solution, for her hair had darkened somewhat in the gloomy London weather. It was constant sunlight that had kept it childishly fair. She wore it tied back from her face, hanging down her back, all ringletty due to her diligence with the curling rags last night, with a moiré ribbon which went very well with the new dress, her Christmas present from Mrs Nagel. It was soft claret-coloured velvet, which Nancy couldn’t resist stroking from time to time. She was glad Mr Loom had decided on the soapy side of the job; she didn’t want to cover up her lovely dress with an apron.
She looked sideways at him as she carefully dried the silver cutlery and placed it on a tray ready to return to the presentation box lined with blue that was kept in the oak sideboard in the dining room. Yes, that quizzical expression quite transformed his face, she thought. He wasn’t to be feared at all, as she had imagined on meeting him that first day at work. They were certainly at ease with each other today.
She drew in her breath when his damp hand suddenly touched her shoulder. ‘Nancy, I can’t help it, I must say something. Not the right time, perhaps, but—’
‘Whatever is it, Mr Loom?’ she asked in some alarm. She realised that she was holding a knife towards his chest, and put it down with a clatter. Should she add: ‘Sorry’? But he obviously hadn’t noticed.
‘I – I have a deep regard for you. Well, I believe it to be more than that – ridiculous, I know, in one my age, nearly forty, and I can’t expect my feelings to be returned, of course, but—’ he floundered. He removed his hand and stood there, his head bowed.
I mustn’t hurt him, he doesn’t deserve it, poor chap, flashed through Nancy’s mind. He’s so different from those others; even from Art who gave me just an inkling of what love could be like before I panicked and made him think I didn’t really care. I’d feel safe with undemanding Mr Loom.
‘Leonard,’ she said softly, ‘the difference in our ages doesn’t matter to me. Was – was there something more you wanted to say?’
He took both her hands in his, his face suddenly alight with hope. He made no attempt to draw her closer. ‘Dear Nancy, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife? You don’t have to say anything now —’
‘Oh, but I will! I will marry you, thank you for asking me,’ she added childishly.
‘I expect to wait, of course, we will need your father’s permission—’
‘That won’t be a problem.’ He’ll sign me away like a shot, she thought. Knows I don’t ever want to go back home to him, even though I miss Australia more than I can say. ‘In the spring?’ she suggested.
‘My dear! That would be wonderful!’
‘D’you want to kiss me?’ she asked hesitantly, bracing herself just a fraction. She moved closer to him.
She was aware that he closed his eyes as their lips met in a brief, chaste kiss. She couldn’t bring herself to put her arms around him but he smelled nice: of shaving soap, bay rum hair spirit and toothpowder, she mentally added up. Then he turned his attention to the washing up. ‘We must finish this off before we celebrate! Whatever will the others say?’ he wondered happily.
&
nbsp; We’ll be married before Molly has her baby, she thought. When she wants to pick up her career again, I’ll be there, a respectable married woman with time to spare for looking after her baby, for it seems doubtful I’ll fall myself as I never did before. And anyway, will Mr Loom expect more of me than affection? I can’t imagine it . . .
*
Matthew and Fay arrived on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. Molly kept out of the way while the greetings went on in the hall. She wasn’t sure if Alexa had told him about her condition. Fay, of course, was too young to notice.
She was curled up in an armchair near the fire when the visitors came into the drawing room. Fay dashed over and leapt on her, smothering her face with wet kisses: ‘I love you, Molly!’ she shouted.
‘Careful, don’t be so rough,’ her father admonished her.
So, he knows, Molly thought. Above Fay’s mass of black curls, she looked at Matthew. There was something different about him; his own hair was slightly longer, she realised. It made him look younger, not like a soldier. He sat himself down in the chair opposite. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said. ‘But we miss all your cards from exciting places.’
‘I’ve nothing much to write about at the moment,’ she said ruefully. Don’t say you’re sorry for me, she pleaded silently.
‘You must come and see us – we’re really settled. I cook more scrambled eggs and soft roes on toast – nursery food – than steak nowadays, and I know at least twenty nursery rhymes off by heart. Why not come back with us for a few days? Fay missed you a lot while you were away – despite teaching games, I can’t walk on my hands or demonstrate back flips like the amazing Molly . . .’ He broke off, suddenly embarrassed.
‘I’d like to, but I have to work, Matthew. No school holidays for me!’
‘Well, Fay, we must make the most of Molly while we’re here, I suppose, eh? I can hear Granny calling you. Go and find out what she wants, there’s a good girl.’
Molly's Journey Page 15
