by Martina Cole
‘Out on the street you might be hard men, but in here . . .’ she gestured around the room with her free hand. ‘. . . you’re just my boys. That’s all. And I never thought I would see the day when you raised your hand to your own sister.’
Sarah was aware that she was speaking for effect. She knew enough about her boys to know that they were greatly feared. She had found guns hidden in the coal house and had sat beside her sons in courtrooms. She had even read about them in the papers. The News of the World had had a big spread a few weeks earlier about the hostess clubs in Soho, and one of the clubs mentioned was owned by this great handsome son of hers. A son she was finding it increasingly difficult to love these days. And now on top of everything she had this - her only daughter, her pride and joy, being attacked in her own home. Just because she was seeing a policeman. A decent man more than likely. Yet she knew that her daughter’s lovelife was doomed.
She looked down into Maura’s tearstained face. ‘Is it true, Maws?’
Maura couldn’t lie to her mother so she nodded.
Benjamin, more alert now, said, ‘Oh my God!’
Sarah turned on him like a mad dog.
‘I’ll give you “Oh my God”, because your daughter’s decent. By Christ, it’s a wonder we haven’t got a whore on our hands, being brought up with you lot. You’re all whoremasters, the lot of you!’ Her voice was thick with tears. ‘I can’t hold me head up in the street because everyone knows about you all . . . everyone knows my sons are glorified pimps.’ She turned on Michael. ‘Well, my lad, I hope you get your just deserts in this life. That you pay for all that you’ve done. For the innocent lives you’ve ruined and for the death of my Anthony. I’ve always blamed you for that.’ She wagged her head at him. ‘If he hadn’t been working for you he would be at home with me now.
‘I also happen to know that you’re a queer, Michael Ryan. And I hear that they’re very good to their mothers. So perhaps you could make me a happy woman now by getting of this house and not coming back. It’s high time you left anyway, at thirty-one. Go and live with your boyfriend, and take that little snipe with you!’ She pointed at Geoffrey. ‘Yes, you. You always walked in his footsteps, tried to emulate everything he did. Well, you can follow him out of this house tonight. Go on. Get out, the pair of you.’
Michael was staring at his mother as if she had grown another head right in front of his eyes. He worshipped her, lived for her. If she turned her back on him he had nothing. He stepped towards her, his voice wheedling.
‘Mum? Don’t be silly, Mum ... I don’t want to leave you.’
Sarah cut him off. ‘It’s a fine thing we bred between us, Benjamin. A cruel, sadistic mummy’s boy.’ She put up her arm to push him away. ‘Get out of my sight, Mickey. You’re making me stomach turn. While you kept your violence outside this house I could ignore it, but to see you attacking your own sister . . . and her no more than a child. That’s finished you as far as I’m concerned. Now just get out.’
She turned her back to him and pulled Maura tightly to her breast. Michael stood there, dazed. Geoffrey went to him, taking him gently by the arm and leading him from the room. Neither looked at their father who stood staring at his wife as if she was a stranger. He had never heard her say so much in one go, in all their years of marriage. He heard the front door slam. Turning slowly from his wife, he went back to their room.
Maura and Sarah cried together.
‘Oh, Mum . . . poor Mickey!’ Even after what had happened Maura could still find it in her heart to feel sorry for him. She knew that her mother was the most important thing in his life. For her to say all that to him, and for him to stand and take it, spoke volumes. Anyone else would have been dead.
‘Don’t waste any pity on him, Maws. He’s no better than a wild animal. The thought of him with another man makes me sick to me guts.’
Sarah made herself comfortable on the bed and smoothed back her daughter’s hair from her face. She loved Maura. She admitted to herself that she had been overprotective towards her, had allowed Michael and the other boys to run her life. But when she had walked in this room and seen Michael attacking her, something inside her had snapped. Garry had been right all along. What she had done was try and take over Maura’s life, and this had been the outcome. Her daughter had found herself a man, a decent man more than likely, and the boys wanted to tear it apart.
She said softly, ‘Who’s the lucky man then?’
Maura sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘That’s the ironic part about it, Mum. As from today I’m not seeing him any more. He packed me in.’
Sarah smiled to herself. ‘Listen, child, you will meet a lot of fellows and think that you love them. It’s human nature, part of growing up. Don’t make the same mistake as I did and marry the first man that comes along. I’ve regretted marrying your father all my life. You get yourself a decent man with a decent profession. Let me sort out Mickey and the rest of them.’
Maura cried harder. ‘You don’t understand, Mum. Terry . . . he was the one for me. I really loved him. When he finished with me today, I wanted to die.’
Sarah did smile now. Maura sounded so young and naïve. ‘That’ll pass. And in a few months someone else will be “the one”. It’s all part and parcel of growing up.’
Sarah’s patronising tone made Maura angry. Rising up on her elbow she shouted, ‘In a few months’ time I’ll be out here!’ She gestured with her free hand.
Maura had a sneaking feeling of triumph when she saw the shock on her mother’s face.
‘Oh no, Maws! Never that. Is that why Michael . . .?’
Maura collapsed back on to the pillows. ‘No, Mum. He doesn’t know. I only found out myself today.’ Her voice broke. ‘I was gonna tell him . . . tell Terry everything. About the baby, Mickey . . . But before I got the chance he dumped me. Said he didn’t want to get tied down. Wanted to see other women.’ Her face screwed up into a mask of tragedy. ‘Oh, Mum! What am I gonna do!’
Sarah was stunned. She sat on the bed staring at her daughter, the word ‘pregnant’ echoing inside her head. It made her squirm inside. She had become pregnant at eighteen. Her father had gone round to Benjamin’s house and given him the ‘hiding of his life’, as he had boasted afterwards. Then the marriage had been arranged. Her life had been ruined because of a furtive, fumbling, sexual exploration up a dark alleyway. Well, that was not going to happen to her daughter. No, by Christ! Her only daughter would get a decent crack at life. She personally would see to that. She made a decision. ‘You’re going to get rid of it.’
‘What!’ Maura thought she was hearing things.
‘I said, you’re getting rid of it!’
‘But, Mum!’ Maura’s voice was shocked. ‘I can’t do that. It’s a sin!’
Sarah’s thin-lipped mouth set in a grim line.
‘It’s a pity you didn’t think of that when your knees were pointing at the ceiling. That was a sin as well! No, I’ve made up my mind. The child must go.’ Seeing her daughter’s sad face, her voice softened.
‘Believe me, Maws, you will thank me for this some day. Could you imagine the trouble this would cause with Michael? His sister pregnant by a policeman - of all things - who’d dumped her? There’d be murder done.’
Maura felt numb inside. ‘That’s why he dumped me, Mum . . . because of who I am. A Ryan. He never told me that - Mickey did. That’s how he found out about it all.’
Sarah kissed Maura’s forehead lightly. Suddenly she felt weary, old. ‘Get yourself off to sleep now. We’ll make our plans in the morning.’
When her mother had settled her down and left the room Maura lay for a while in the darkness. Everything had gone wrong for her. Now she was not only pregnant, she was the cause of Michael and Geoffrey being thrown out of the house. She felt the useless tears run from her eyes and thought, I’ll never sleep again. But she did. Only to be plagued by the old nightmare . . .
Downstairs Sarah had made herself a pot of tea an
d was on the second cup. There would be no sleep for her tonight, that much she was sure of. She finished her tea and settled herself into her chair. Closing her eyes, she began to pray to our Lady of Perpetual Succour.
‘ “Most holy Virgin Mary, who, to inspire me with boundless confidence, has been pleased to take that sweetest of name, Mother of Perpetual Succour . . .” ’ Sarah’s lips were barely moving in the dimness of the kitchen. ‘ “. . . I beseech thee to aid me at all times . . .”
Chapter Twelve
It had finally been agreed between Maura and her mother to use the address given to her by the little chemist. Old Mother Jenkins would normally have been the one chosen to perform the operation but her encroaching senility, coupled with the fact she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, had made Sarah chary of even approaching her. Though abortions were sometimes performed in the local hospital, the fact that the Ryans were a well-known family had put the damper on that idea as well. So it was that at three and a half months pregnant Maura finally went to the little flat in Peckham, accompanied by her mother. It was a high rise block, and Mr Patel lived on the tenth floor. Sarah had already visited the flat to arrange things. After the long journey up in the lift, she knocked on the front door.
Both women had been silent throughout their journey from Notting Hill. Maura felt sick with nerves. There was a part of her that was rebelling against all that was happening to her. Whenever these thoughts entered her head she reminded herself what Mickey would do if he knew, and the knowledge that he would commit a murder generally brought her back to her senses.
The door was opened by an Asian woman. She wore a canary yellow sari and smiled at them constantly, as if trying to make up for her lack of English with courteousness. Maura and Sarah found themselves nodding their heads at her like marionettes.
She showed them into the lounge. Maura had never seen so many colours in one room in all her life. There were greens and blues and reds of every shade imaginable; the walls had brightly coloured carpets hanging on them like paintings. Maura caught her mother’s eye and felt an irresistible urge to laugh. She wasn’t sure who was the more nervous.
A small untidy Asian man came into the room. ‘How are you doing, madams?’ He shook their hands and smiled at them so that the whole marionette game began again. ‘If you plis follow me?’ He led them through a small door into the kitchen.
The place stank of stale curry and there was a nasty undersmell that Maura couldn’t pinpoint. It could have been blood. She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it caught in her throat, burning it. The kitchen was small and in the middle was a large Formica-covered table. It was yellow with a small black pattern going through it. Maura stared at the table fearfully. To the right of her was a work surface and an array of stainless steel tools upon it. She was beginning to sweat. She felt her mother pull her coat and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall into her mother’s arms.
‘Please would you make sure your bladder is empty?’
‘Er . . . I . . . it is.’ Maura was stammering with fright.
‘Good. Please be removing your undergarments and get on to the table.’
‘What? You’re going to do it in here?’
The man looked at her, puzzled. ‘But of course.’
‘Come on, Maws. Slip off your drawers.’
Burning with embarrassment, Maura slipped off her panties. With her mother’s help she climbed on to the table. It wobbled under her weight and Maura had an awful vision of the whole lot collapsing underneath her. She closed her eyes for a second. On the ceiling above her she could see the naked light bulb. Years of cooking had left the flex with a coating of grease and fly droppings. She closed her eyes again. She must have been mad to come here.
‘Mum . . . Mum! I’ve changed me mind.’ Her voice was urgent.
‘There now . . . there now. Quieten yourself. It will all be over soon.’
Maura pulled herself up with difficulty and Sarah forced her to lie down again.
‘For goodness’ sakes, Maura! Will you behave yourself?’
She was a child again, in the dentist’s or the doctor’s. Only this time it wasn’t a filling she was having done, or a few stitches in a cut, it was to be the slaughter of her unborn child.
‘Money, please.’ The little Asian man had his hand outstretched.
Sarah took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to him. He ripped it open and took the money out. He counted it. Then putting the money back into the envelope, he pushed the lot into the pocket of his cardigan. He used such force he pushed the garment out of shape.
Sarah, watching him, was aware that his fingernails were filthy. She forced herself to look at her daughter. Maura was now gripping the sides of the table. Her long hair was hanging over the edge, nearly touching the floor.
Mr Patel smiled at his wife. He was happy now. He had the money, even if this silly girl changed her mind.
‘Put your ankles together and let your legs drop open.’
Maura did as she was told, fear taking over. Mr Patel stood at the end of the stable staring at the opened body for a long while. He was sweating. The palms of his hands were damp and he wiped them on his grubby cardigan. He parted her pubic hair with his finger. Sarah saw him lick his lips and turned her head away in disgust, the bile rising up inside her. The man picked up one of his instruments and slipped it inside Maura. She felt the cold intrusion into her body and stiffened.
‘Relax, madam, it will soon be over.’
Maura felt the stinging pain as the steel tip probed for the neck of the womb. When she felt the hard aching agony as he opened the cervix, she gasped. Picking up the curette, a long piece of metal with a strange-looking loop on the end, he began the scraping.
Sarah could hear the animal-like grunts coming from her daughter, could see large beads of sweat appearing on her forehead.
The man worked fast, scraping into the depths of her body. Sarah heard him mutter something in his native language as Maura tried desperately to sit up.
‘Oh, Mum . . . please . . . the pain! I can’t stand the pain!’ Maura’s voice was drenched with agony. Then she shrieked like a dog caught in a trap. The woman tried to clamp her hand over Maura’s gaping mouth. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and into her ears. She could feel the wetness as she rolled her head from side to side on the hardness of the table. Pushing harder now, the man carried on his scraping. Sarah and the woman held Maura’s shoulders to stop her rolling off the table. Sarah felt as if she was caught in some kind of nightmare.
‘Just relax, Maws . . . relax.’ Someone in the next flat turned their radio louder to drown out the screams. The strains of ‘I wanna hold your hand’ filled the little kitchen.
Maura tried to close her legs and Mr Patel forced them apart with his shoulders. ‘Goodness gracious, woman. Will you keep still?’
‘Mum . . . Stop him, Mum . . . I can’t stand it. Please!’
Maura felt herself urinating. A bubble seemed to have burst inside her. Then she felt the hotness of the urine and blood. The man yanked out the instruments and shouted to his wife in their native tongue. Mrs Patel went to the sink and, tipping the dirty cups out of the washing up bowl, brought it over to the table. Somehow, between them, the couple managed to get Maura to squat over the bowl.
She felt a lump slowly leave her body, looked down through her sweatdamp hair and saw a baby, about four inches long, lying in mucus and blood at the bottom of the Dayglo orange washing up bowl. It was perfect. Her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. She felt the hysteria rising up inside her like a tidal wave. That was her baby. She began to cry, harder now, a high piercing crying that was tinged with mania.
Snot was hanging from her nose in long fat lines that dripped into the bowl and mixed with the blood and urine. She could see her white thighs smeared with blood on either side of her baby’s orange coffin. She fainted, dropping forward on to the table, sending the washing up bowl and its grisly contents all over the kitchen floor. Sarah st
ared at the tiny foetus, her grandchild, and felt shame crawl over her body. It began in her legs and crept up her body to her heart. What had she done? Dear Lord, what on earth had she done?
Mrs Patel shook her arm and somehow Sarah was snapped back to life. She dragged her eyes from the tiny corpse and began to help the couple to clear up.
When Maura woke later her panties were back on and she could feel a sanitary towel between her legs. She felt dreadful. She noticed that she was lying on a strange bed in a strange room. She gazed around her, dazed. Then she remembered where she was, the scraping of the cold steel inside her, and felt the familiar panic return. The image of her baby rose up before her and she began to cry again.
Sarah, hearing that her daughter was awake, went into the room. She gathered her into her arms, her own heart breaking. Now she knew why her church outlawed abortion. Why it was considered a sin. She had been the instigator of a horrific deed. She had brought all this pain and suffering on to her daughter. She kissed Maura’s head softly.
‘It’s all over, my love.’ She helped her daughter to sit up.
‘Oh, Mum, I do feel rough.’
Her stomach felt as if it had been ripped open. She had just had an abortion without any anaesthesia whatsoever. Although neither of them knew it, Maura would never be the same girl after what had happened that afternoon.
Half an hour later she and Sarah were in a taxi, on their way back to Notting Hill. Both sat in silence until, once again tucked up in her own bed, Maura said: ‘I wish I’d had the guts to have kept it, Mum. Every time I think of it lying there . . .’ Her voice broke. Sobbing, she turned her face into her pillows.
Sarah left the room. She could not face her daughter. She went down the stairs and into her front room where she poured herself a large whisky. She would not forget this day’s work in a hurry.
Later in the evening, when she went to her daughter, Maura was asleep with the tears she had cried still glistening on her long lashes. Sarah pulled the blankets up around her daughter’s shoulders, praying that her child would find some comfort in her rest, would wake up restored a little. She knew that it would be a long time before either of them felt their old selves again. If indeed they would ever feel anything again.
