by Tania Crosse
She gestured towards her son and daughter, but Hillie shook her head. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t want there to be any secrets between us,’ she whispered.
‘Well, if you’re sure. But this goes no further than this room,’ Eva said sharply, gathering her wits again as she jabbed her head towards Gert and Kit. ‘Your dad’s always known, of course. But we was always sworn to secrecy.’
Hillie exchanged confused glances with her two friends. Whatever was this all about? Her heart raced as she waited for Eva to begin, the very air seeming to quiver with tension.
‘Your mum, my dearest Nell, was in love,’ the older woman spoke at last in a low, steady tone. ‘Stan and me was already married, living in this very house, and we already had you, Kit. Anyway, Nell was a pretty young thing. And she fell in love. Really nice young fella he was. And they got engaged. And everything was hunky-dory.’
A frown puckered Hillie’s forehead, and she shook her head in bewilderment. ‘And it wasn’t my dad?’ she questioned. ‘So… if everything was going so well, why didn’t Mum marry this chap? I don’t understand.’
She watched as Eva pursed her lips, and in the ensuing silence, listened to the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, the fire crackling in the grate. She was willing Eva to continue, and yet she was suddenly afraid of what the good woman was going to reveal. Hillie realised she was holding her breath, and Gert and Kit were waiting without a word, too.
‘It… it was the war,’ Eva finally continued, the words clearly coming with difficulty. ‘The chance to see another country. It’ll be over by Christmas. You’ve heard how it was. Nobody thought of getting killed. Leastways, the lads didn’t. Nell’s young man – Will Norton his name was – he joined up straightaway. Said it was his patriotic duty. Poor Nell was all overcome, and I suppose with her feelings all over the place, she… well, they… they did you know what before he left.’
Eva paused, her cheeks flushing, and she lowered her eyes for a moment before she looked up again and fixed her gaze, intense with compassion, on Hillie’s face. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you, dearie, do I? Ain’t you ever wondered where you got your height from? And them eyes? The colour of your hair?’
Hillie was staring blindly at her, Eva’s words becoming a fading jumble in her head. Her stomach turned somersaults as the fog began to clear and the truth clawed its way into her brain.
‘You… you mean…?’ she barely articulated. And something seemed to land heavily in her chest as Eva nodded slowly.
‘You was Will’s child. And he was killed right at the start of the war. Never even left British soil. Training accident it was. Terrible.’
The words tore at Hillie’s heart and she felt slightly faint as the strength seemed to drain out of her, leaving her lost and fragile. She glanced at Gert and Kit. Saw the same shock on both their faces. Her head swam and she could feel herself going limp.
The next second, Kit’s strong arm was about her, holding her up. ‘Get her some water, would you, Gert?’ she heard him say. And then, as he helped her to sip some of the cool, refreshing liquid, the room wavered back into focus.
‘And… and Mum?’ she managed to mumble, turning back to Eva. She knew there was more and was grateful when Kit still kept his arm about her shoulder.
‘Realised she had a bun in the oven same time she got the news,’ Eva went on slowly. ‘I think knowing I was preggers again made her realise. It was my second, of course, so I recognised it early on. And when I told her how I felt, she realised she felt the same. She was broke with the news over Will. And she panicked, I suppose. Didn’t think she had the strength to face the, what shall I say, stigma of having a baby out of wedlock. And she reckoned it’d bring shame on her parents. That customers’d boycott the shop.’
‘But… surely that sort of thing happened a lot during the war?’ Kit put in, his frown deepening.
‘It did. But people can be cruel. Too bloody righteous to put themselves in someone else’s shoes. And this was right at the start of the war, remember. Before people’d got used to things like that. I mean, I told Nell to take no bleeding notice of anyone else. Me and Stan said we’d take her in if it helped. And I’d’ve given what for to anyone what was nasty to her. But poor Nell was so grief-stricken over Will, she couldn’t think straight. And she was frightened, but more for her parents and the baby than for herself.’ Eva turned to Hillie, moisture glistening in her eyes. ‘She didn’t want you growing up being called a bastard. She could’ve gone away and had you in secret and then given you up. But she wasn’t having none of that. You was all she had left of Will. So she did what she thought was best for you. Something what I think took a hell of a lot more guts than facing vicious gossip. She married another man. A man what she didn’t love ’cos she was still in love with a ghost.’
Eva paused, her face twitching. Hillie watched her, a magnitude of sorrow and jumbled emotions heaving inside her.
‘My… my dad,’ she finally croaked.
Eva nodded with slow, disgusted reluctance. ‘Except he wasn’t your dad, of course. Harold had been after your mum for a while. Nell’d turned him down several times in favour of Will, even though he was blooming persistent. But, being Nell, she’d turned him down gently. Just as well, ’cos it made it more believable when she accepted his advances soon after Will was killed. They was married within a couple of months. As luck would have it, you was a small baby, and Nell wasn’t showing.’
Hillie blinked hard, her senses dropping away as realisation dawned. ‘You mean… he didn’t know?’
Eva met her gaze. ‘No. He was cock-a-hoop at getting Nell. Till he found out. And then he went mad. Called her all the names under the sun. The whole bloody street heard. And then he buttoned his lip. His pride was hurt that he’d let hisself be tricked, and he didn’t want no one to know. So, to the outside world, he behaved as if you was his.’
‘But in private, all he did was punish Mum and me,’ Hillie murmured as the truth sank in.
‘Oh, things wasn’t quite so bad at first. Your mum respected Harold for bringing you up as his own. I think she even did love him for it once, in a funny sort of way. And he always loved her. He was just eaten up with jealousy. He just couldn’t ever forgive her, if that makes sense.’
‘No. No, it doesn’t. If you truly love someone, you do so unconditionally. Even if they love someone else and not you, their happiness is all you want.’
Hillie’s eyes flashed at Kit at his words. Eva’s revelation had been swirling about her numbed brain in a mist, the words sinking in like drizzle, falling softly here and there, the full impact only slowly gathering strength. She was glad of Eva’s stream of speech, almost like a dream she had no need to interrupt. But Kit’s murmured comment broke the spell. She came back to reality, forcing herself to start making sense of Eva’s tale.
‘So… she stayed with him for my sake? Put up with all the abuse because of me?’
‘Well, as I say, it wasn’t like that at first. Once Harold got over the shock, they both seemed to come to terms with what they had. Made the best of it. And maybe things might’ve been OK if Harold hadn’t had to go off to war himself. Being made sergeant brought out the bully in him, and it never left him. And then Luke and the others came along, and Nell was trapped.’
‘But… she could’ve left him as we got older. God knows, I tried to persuade her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said it wasn’t possible to divorce him, and I think she was too frightened of him to try to escape. But I reckon there was something else, too.’
‘Oh, well, the lines between love and duty and familiarity can all cross over when you’re in a rut. And poor Nell felt she deserved all the punishment he meted out to her. But you didn’t. She married him ’cos she thought it was the best thing for you. But it wasn’t. That’s what she wanted you to forgive her for.’
‘Oh.’ Hillie’s brow compressed into deep folds as she slowly broke free from her shock. ‘Poor Mum. All those years. The man she really loved dead, and having
to put up with Dad’s cruelty instead. And to keep it all secret.’
‘Not your bleeding dad, remember,’ Gert put in fiercely, emerging from her own shock. ‘You need to forget he ever pretended to be, and double quick. He’s nothing but bloody Harold Hardwick to you now. To any of us.’
‘Ah.’ Stan came in just then, carrying Old Sal’s chamber pot. ‘You… told them, then? I’ll just empty this and I’ll be back.’ And he went through to the yard, leaving them all in pensive silence.
‘So, Mum,’ Kit said a few moments later, focusing all their thoughts, ‘Hillie’s real father, this Will Norton, what of him? What about his family? Maybe Hillie has grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, somewhere?’
But Eva shook her head sadly. ‘No. His parents was already dead. He had a sister what he never got on with, but she’d gone to Canada with her husband and they’d lost touch. That’s why Nell was down as Will’s next of kin. Why she got the telegram.’
Hillie hadn’t realised, but she’d clasped her hands in front of her. Now she rested her chin on them, her eyes lowered sightlessly. Her poor, poor Mum.
‘Could I… have that cuppa now, d’you think?’ a voice that sounded like hers asked as Stan came back in, washing his hands in the scullery sink.
‘Course, love,’ he answered amiably.
‘And then I’ll walk you home,’ Kit put in firmly. ‘You shouldn’t be alone tonight.’
‘Yeah. It’s a lot to take in. Oh, come here,’ Gert said, coming round to give Hillie such a tight hug, it almost squeezed the breath out of her.
It was half an hour later when Hillie and Kit set out together. Winter was coming on hard, and there was frost in the air, the pavements slippery with ice in places. Kit offered Hillie his arm and she took it gratefully, huddling close to him for warmth. It felt comforting and natural, for wasn’t Kit just like a brother to her?
‘You know, I could give your dad, I mean Harold, some money each week so that he could get in a proper housekeeper,’ Kit offered as they hurried through the bitter night air. ‘I’m getting a good salary, and I’ve only got myself to keep.’
Such a tide of gratitude surged through Hillie that the horrors of the day seemed to melt away. ‘Oh, Kit, you’re so kind,’ she answered. ‘I really appreciate it, but Harold,’ she enunciated with distaste, ‘would never accept. And he’d probably thump you one into the bargain. Besides, I’m not so sure the money’s not just an excuse. He probably could afford more, especially if he didn’t go down the pub every night. He’s just using it as another way to go on punishing me.’
‘Then he really is a bastard.’ They’d reached the front door to the house now, and Kit turned her round to face him. ‘But if you think of any way, any way at all, I can help, you just let me know, eh?’
Hillie smiled up at him, his face so familiar in the lamplight, and nodded. ‘Bless you, Kit, I will,’ she replied, and reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek.
He hugged her tightly, making her feel secure and safe. It was with reluctance that she pulled away, waving to him as he walked back down the pavement. He turned to glance at her over his shoulder and raised his hand as he rounded the corner of the street and disappeared.
Hillie let herself quietly in the front door, then padded up the two flights of stairs to the flat.
‘Jimmy?’ she called softly. For how she yearned for him to hold her, to drive away all the demons, soothe her stretched nerves. But to her dismay – and a little annoyance – he wasn’t there. So when she climbed into bed ten minutes later, she felt alone in the world and abandoned.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Sorry I was so late back last night, love,’ Jimmy apologised, coming up behind her the next morning as she prepared their sandwiches, and putting his arms round her waist. ‘So how did it go yesterday?’
Hillie glanced over her shoulder, then got on with spreading fish paste on the bread. ‘The funeral was all right. As you’d expect. Lots of people turned out. Even Jessica’s parents.’ She snapped the lid back on the little pot, her need to talk quelling her irritation with Jimmy as she swivelled round to face him. ‘It was what happened afterwards that was so awful. My dad says that the only person he can afford to pay to keep house for him and look after the children is Dolly Maguire. You don’t know her, but she’s the last house in the street, and she’s the one who… well, she’s basically a drunk and a prostitute, and I can’t bear the thought of her going anywhere near the girls. And then Mrs P told me my dad’s not my dad at all. My real dad was killed at the beginning of the war, and Mum tricked Dad – or should I say Harold – into marrying her. He made her pay for it for the rest of her life, and that’s why he treats me like he does.’
Jimmy’s face had visibly lengthened as he listened to her outpouring of emotion, and he blinked his eyes wide. ‘Blimey,’ he breathed incredulously. ‘And you never knew? And there was me not there for you. Oh, love, come here. I’m that sorry.’
He opened his arms and Hillie fell into them, her pent-up anguish bursting open as she sobbed against him. He held her tightly, hushing her and stroking her hair.
‘We’ll think of something, love,’ Jimmy assured her. ‘And look at it this way. It means you’re totally free of him now. And this’ll cheer you up. Look how much Mr Jackson gave me,’ he said, taking a wad of pound notes from his pocket and waving them under her nose. ‘Going to put this lot in our savings account at lunchtime, I am. And he says there’s more where this came from. Now I know that’s some pretty tough news you’ve had to take in, but we ought to get off to work. We’ll talk about it tonight. It’ll give me some thinking time and maybe I can come up with an idea for your kid sisters. Leave it with Jimmy, eh?’
He cupped Hillie’s face in his hands, tipping it upwards so that she was looking at him. Her trusting eyes met his, and his smile seemed to instil faith in her. She nodded, sniffing back the remnants of her tears.
‘Thanks, Jimmy,’ she mumbled with a watery smile.
‘You ain’t married to Jimmy Baxter for nothing, you know,’ he winked.
Hillie felt calmer. For now, at least. But what Jimmy could do, she had no idea. And the thought of Dolly Maguire taking care of Frances all day while the others were at school filled her with horror.
*
‘Right, you. Get out. Now.’
Hillie’s eyes flashed around the room. She’d let herself into her old home using the key that hung through the letter box on a length of string. Considering her sisters would be home from school, the house seemed much too quiet.
When Hillie opened the door to the back room, the sight that met her eyes made her seethe. Little Frances was on her hands and knees sweeping the floor with a dustpan and brush. Daisy, who wasn’t yet six, was sat at the table cutting up carrots with what Hillie knew was a razor-sharp knife. Out in the scullery, she could see Trixie standing on an old orange-box in order to stir something in a large saucepan on the gas stove, and Joan was dunking sheets up and down in the copper full of steaming water. Meanwhile, Dolly was sitting in Nell’s chair by the fire, feet up on the fender, sipping tea and eating cake while the girls slaved away at chores she should have done during the day.
Dolly slipped her feet from the fender and sat up with an affronted expression on her face. ‘Who the hell d’you think you are, barging in here like you own the place? This ain’t even your home no more.’
‘But these are still my sisters,’ Hillie retorted coldly. ‘Sisters you’re supposed to be looking after, not the other way round. Girls, stop doing all that at once,’ she commanded, and then turning back to Dolly, she spat accusingly, ‘How dare you get them doing all that when it’s your job! Boiling saucepans and sharp knives at their ages? Are you out of your mind, you drunken old sow?’
‘Don’t you go accusing me, young madam!’ Dolly rose to her feet with a malicious curl of her lip. ‘Or should I say, you little bastard? ’Cos that’s what you are!’
‘You can say whatever you like as long a
s you get out and don’t come back. Your so-called services are no longer required.’
But Dolly stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest and wrinkling her mouth. ‘I don’t know what you think your dad’s gonna say about this,’ she gloated.
‘It doesn’t matter what he says, ’cos you’re leaving of your own accord.’ Hillie came up to her now. She cringed at the unwashed smell coming from Dolly, but forced herself to put her mouth close to her ear in order to whisper, ‘I know the part you played in my mum’s death. If you don’t leave, I’m going to the police.’
She saw fear flash across Dolly’s face for a split second before the woman sneered, ‘But didn’t stick the needles up her. And your beloved mother conceived you the wrong side of the blanket. If you make me leave, I’ll make sure it’s common knowledge.’
‘Huh, go ahead,’ Hillie scoffed. ‘I know all about it, so you can’t hurt me. And you certainly can’t hurt Mum, so I wouldn’t waste your breath. Whereas if I go to the police, you could be charged as an accessory to my mum’s manslaughter.’
Dolly’s jaw fell open. ‘A… a what?’ she murmured before she could stop herself.
‘Means you were part of it, you ignorant old cow. So if I spill the beans, you could be facing a prison sentence. So I suggest you leave right now.’
‘B-but… this is the first proper job I’ve had in ages—’
‘And it’s going to be the last.’
‘But I ain’t been paid fer this week.’
‘How much was Harold paying you?’
‘Twelve and six. Precious little fer all what he expected us ter do.’
‘Well, it’s Wednesday today, so by my reckoning, that’s seven and six for this week,’ Hillie grated, taking two half-crowns from her purse and pushing them into Dolly’s greedy hands. ‘But I’m going to make that five bob. Not that you deserve a penny of it. Now get out before I throw you out. And remember what I said. It wasn’t a threat; it was a promise.’
She gave Dolly a shove towards the door and then followed her down the hallway. She grabbed the woman’s filthy coat from the stand and thrust it into her arms before she bundled her outside. Dolly tried to turn back in protest, but Hillie shut the door in her face and yanked the key from its string in case she tried to let herself back in.
