Birmingham Friends

by Annie Murray

  ‘Don’t raise your voice at me,’ he said in an aggressive voice. ‘I’ve provided you with a child. What more do you want?’

  I looked up at him coldly. ‘Let go of me.’

  Douglas loosed my arm and I stood before him, turning the book over in my hands. The soft, leather cover of Angus’s gift to me made me feel choked with bitterness. What did I want? To be with someone who I didn’t have to tread round so carefully, who didn’t want to keep me in a box with a few holes punched in the lid. Someone who could love me properly and let me be.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I don’t want,’ I said, keeping my voice low. I was always conscious of my mother overhearing if she was in. ‘I don’t want to be treated like a Victorian wife, nor like a member of the regiment. If you want me to respect you then you’re going to have to stop being so mistrustful and childish about it. I’m not your mother, so there’s no need to behave like your father. I’m going to visit Olivia tomorrow. If you’re not happy about that, then I’m sorry, but she’s my friend and she needs me.’

  Douglas’s face had gone tight with fury. ‘Everybody needs you, don’t they?’ he sneered. ‘You’ll run round after anyone except me.’

  He slammed out of the room. Feeling immediately sorry, I ran down after him to the front door, but he was already off down the street, lighting a cigarette. I saw him bend his pale head to the lighted match, watched his painful gait, his jerking angry manner, and thought how much he felt like a stranger to me.

  In the railway station, among the unpredictable, jolting movements of the crowds, I felt already that I wanted to protect my unborn child. To warn off anyone who moved too quickly or advanced too close, shielding my stomach fiercely with one hand. It was a feeling I knew Lisa would understand and I longed suddenly to tell her about the baby.

  On the journey, rattling through the freshly ploughed Warwickshire fields, I sat sucking peppermints, wondering in what state I should find Olivia. I had observed no change in her during the summer. She remained withdrawn, frozen, and I seldom got her to speak about anything other than the immediate facts of her state or occasionally an event on the ward. I realized suddenly that Olivia and I had never discussed having children or how we might feel about them, and thinking back on that, it seemed a strange lack. I wondered what sort of parents Douglas and I would make. Surely he would see this child as a sign of my commitment to him, make him more able to trust? But I was already beginning to see how quickly communication could break down between us. I had to admit to myself that I was becoming miserable in my marriage.

  Olivia was brought in to see me not by the bacon-cheeked nurse this time, but a younger, less buxom woman with a gentle air and a very straight brown fringe between her eyes and her starched white cap. She seemed apologetic and didn’t impose a time limit on us, sitting herself quietly by the door as if trying to pretend she wasn’t there.

  There was something different about Olivia, a slowness, as if to move at all was unbearable for her. Most striking of all was the fact that her hair was now short, lopped in a rough pageboy level with her earlobes.

  I loathed asking her how she was. It seemed such an obviously foolish question, almost an insult. Instead I said, ‘I like your hair.’ In fact, had it been more expertly cut and more often washed, it would have suited her delicate features very well. ‘Did you ask them to do it?’

  She lifted one hand slowly to the back of her head and stroked her hair vaguely, as if wondering what I meant, and then shook her head. I looked round the room, already feeling desperate for something to say. I had a familiar feeling of wanting to shake her, to force her to talk to me but we had been so long out of the habit of talking, even if she were capable of it now.

  ‘Was there a show or something on yesterday evening?’ I asked eventually.

  Her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, before she looked dully down at the floor again, frowning. ‘I can’t remember.’

  I was frightened at the way she spoke. I had tried to hold on to her, believing she would somehow revert to the person she was supposed to be. That with rest and encouragement she would surface again, break through this blankness which was all she seemed able to present to us now. But she was becoming unrecognizable as the person I had known before. I didn’t know what to believe about her any more. I began to wonder whether she was really losing her mind, and whether she was, after all, in the right place.

  We sat in silence for a moment. Feeling nauseous, I fished a peppermint out of my bag and offered Livy one. She refused the sweet, but suddenly grabbed my wrist, gripping me tightly. Moving closer to her, I smelled a stale, sweaty odour coming from her. Her eyes were stretched wide, terrified.

  ‘You’ve got to help me.’ She spoke in an urgent whisper. ‘They’re doing things to my head. They took me to a room downstairs and put pads on me, here – ’ She let go of me then and pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘And electricity went through my head. It hurt worse than anything I’ve ever known and I couldn’t control my body. They held me down . . .’ She started to cry, not sobbing, but making high, mewling noises. ‘They’re going to do it again. They said every day. I can’t – I can’t – they’ll kill me.’ She was panting now, seeming beyond tears. ‘They can do anything they want.’

  I had heard of the new treatment, though never seen it. Electroconvulsive Therapy. The textbook definition: an attempt to stimulate the brain by passing an electric current through it.

  ‘Daddy must have told them to do it.’ She seized my arm again as if she thought I wasn’t hearing her, or that I might get up and run away. I held her hands, despair sinking deep into me. What could I do when she was in this state? There was silence.

  Then Olivia whispered, ‘They’re going to kill me. I shall never come out of here.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ I took her other arm with my free hand, so that we sat locked together. I wanted to keep her from moving about and attracting the nurse’s attention. ‘Livy, my dearest, dearest friend.’ Tears ran down my face. ‘Just hang on, please – please, darling. It won’t be much longer now . . .’

  For a few seconds she sat motionless, her cheeks very white. Her eyes moved across my face, as if searching me for solidity. But her gaze was so strange.

  The nurse walked across to us with apparent reluctance. She spoke calmly, with sympathy. ‘I’d better take her back.’

  Olivia sagged, exhausted. I wanted to make promises to her, but could think of none I could offer honestly. Instead I kissed her as she stood passively in my arms.

  As she left me, I said, ‘I’ll do something Livy . . .’ She didn’t look back as she was led away.

  Outside I took deep breaths of the cooling air, leaning against the wall trying to control my rising nausea. I failed, and vomited wretchedly into a tangle of shrubbery at one end of the building.

  I knew Douglas would be timing my journey back from Arden that day and, in spite of himself, adding each moment of what he considered my lateness to his catalogue of my wrongs. But I felt defiantly that his needs in this case were less important. I had to talk to someone. I also needed one of Lisa’s cups of sweet tea. I got off the bus early and walked through to Stanley Street.

  The light was going and in the narrow entry it seemed darker. I found the court unusually quiet. The children must have been inside eating. I could hear the sound of a wireless through an open window and cutlery clattering and voices.

  ‘Surprise surprise,’ Lisa said, opening the door to me. She was more relaxed now Don was home. She turned to him. ‘Look who’s come to pay us a call.’

  Don nodded at me as I peeled my coat off, raising his round, freckled face for a second from the job he was absorbed in at the table. He was dismantling the clock which had long sat silently on the mantelshelf. He was a quiet man with an easy manner and I never felt awkward in his presence.

  ‘We’ve just finished tea,’ Lisa said. She was in her apron still and the old slippers which by a miracle were still surviving. ‘Here –
’ she pulled a chair out from the table, ‘sit yourself down.’ She chased the boys outside but allowed Daisy to stay. I gave her a peppermint. ‘You look terrible,’ Lisa remarked, pouring tea.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Lisa stopped half way to the table with Don’s teacup. ‘You’re not! ’Ere – d’you ’ear that, Don?’

  ‘Course I ’eard – not deaf am I? Congratulations,’ he said, giving me a shy smile.

  ‘’Appy about it, are you?’ Lisa asked, sitting down wearily. She saw my face. ‘Course you are. Lovely.’ She looked across at her husband. ‘Shall we tell ’er, Don?’

  He gave her a mischievous grin across the table. ‘Tell ’er what?’

  Lisa tutted. ‘Tek no notice of ’im, Kate. I’m expecting as well.’

  We both laughed and exclaimed and compared dates. Lisa’s baby was due a couple of weeks earlier than mine.

  ‘A baby brother or sister for you, Daisy,’ I said to the little girl, who was standing beside me.

  ‘If it’s a girl I’m going to call ’er Alice,’ she said, cheek bulging with the sweet.

  Lisa shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. She’s just taken a fancy to it.’

  Don got up and lit the gas before carrying on with his job. It hissed quietly behind Lisa’s head. She sat with her teacup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. After a time I started to tell her about Olivia.

  Lisa listened, frowning. ‘Olivia Kemp?’ she interrupted. ‘You mean . . .?’

  ‘Councillor Kemp’s daughter, yes.’

  ‘You never said you was friendly with ’er!’

  ‘She was away most of the war. I didn’t see her.’

  Lisa let out her loud laugh. ‘Bit different from the likes of us, I’ll bet!’

  I was trying to protest at this when I saw Don looking up at us, frowning.

  ‘Kemp.’ He turned to Lisa. ‘Isn’t that – ?’ He gave a jerk with his head, eyebrows raised meaningfully.

  ‘You mean Kemp’s,’ I said. ‘His factory’s on Birch Street.’

  Don shook his head impatiently. ‘Anyone knows that. No, I mean that Joyce, up in nine court – you know.’

  Understanding spread across Lisa’s face in the form of a blush. ‘The one with the babby?’

  Don’s face reddened as well and he looked down again, realizing the full implications of what he’d said.

  Lisa’s eyes widened. ‘Come to think of it, I’ve even seen ’im round ’ere once or twice. Course, I didn’t put two and two together at the time.’

  My heart began beating faster. That foggy night towards the end of the war came back to me clearly.

  Lisa and Don both looked very awkward. ‘Sorry,’ Lisa said. ‘We shouldn’t be saying all this.’

  I put my cup down and sat forwards. ‘Are you saying that this woman – Joyce – has carried a child by Councillor Kemp?’

  Lisa grew flustered, her cheeks red. ‘Look, we don’t want to make any trouble. It was just ’earing the name . . . I believe ’e gives ’er money – takes care of ’er a bit. ’E puts ’isself about a bit round ’ere like . . . Only in ’er case there was summat to show for it. I s’pose ’er ’usband thinks it’s ’is.’

  ‘I see,’ I said grimly. I sat back and automatically stroked Daisy’s hair, my mind lurching from question to question. ‘Look, this is very important. Can you be sure that Alec Kemp is the father of this child?’

  ‘Well, no one can tell you that for sure, except Joyce, of course. But she ain’t normally one for – you know, you wouldn’t call ’er fast. And she used to work at Kemp’s before the babby.’

  Thinking aloud, I said, ‘I wonder how I can find out.’

  Lisa looked at me doubtfully. ‘If it was me I wouldn’t thank you for asking, but I s’pose you could go and see ’er.’

  I lifted Daisy on to my lap. ‘Oh, I will,’ I said with such determination that Lisa looked puzzled. ‘I shall be round there like a dose of salts.’

  By the time I got home it was after seven o’clock. I was two hours later than usual. My mother was waiting for me.

  ‘He’s out,’ she said drily. ‘I gave him a meal, and he’s gone to have a drink with someone from the paper.’

  I felt myself breathe easier.

  ‘Thank you, Mummy. I’m very grateful.’

  She looked sternly at me. ‘Why are you so late?’

  ‘I called in to see Lisa Turnbull on the way back.’ I tried to enlist Mummy’s support. ‘I needed to talk to her. Was Douglas getting very impatient?’

  ‘I think for your sake it’s a good job he went out. He was very short with me.’ She relented for a moment. ‘You look tired. It’s a lot, all this back and forth to see Olivia. I’ve got some soup over – would you like some?’

  I could have wept with gratitude. She sat with me in the kitchen as I ate.

  ‘How is Olivia?’

  ‘They’re giving her electric shock treatment.’

  Mummy winced. ‘What a terrible thing.’

  I nodded, my eyes filling. I looked down into my soup bowl, not finding it easy to show emotion in front of Mummy.

  Suddenly, not looking at me, she said resolutely, ‘It’s no good. If you don’t put Douglas and your marriage first you’re soon going to be in trouble. You can’t neglect him. He needs your attention . . .’

  ‘Look – I do want to put it first,’ I protested. ‘I do. But I love Olivia too. And Douglas – ’ I broke off, the frustrations of the past months welling up in me. Cheeks hot and red, I tried to talk. ‘He’s so possessive you see, and insecure. And it’s partly because – ’ I stumbled over the words. ‘We have – there are some difficulties . . .’

  My mother held up her hand abruptly. ‘Problems in the bedroom are between you and him. It’s your marriage. None of that’s anyone else’s concern. And anyway,’ she added, ‘he’s managed to get you pregnant at least.’

  I remembered Joyce Salter quite well. I had called to see her after the baby was born about a month before VJ Day. She lived with her mother in court nine, Stanley Street, and had told me that her husband had been called up for National Service. Thinking back to her delicate, pretty features, I could see what Alec Kemp would have found attractive about her.

  Nervously I waited at her door, trying to prepare what I might say. I understood how she’d feel about me barging in to ask the identity of her baby’s father. She would most likely find my questions odd and insulting.

  Fortunately she was alone with the child, so I didn’t have to contend with her mother, a mean woman whose features must once have resembled Joyce’s, but had since spread and roughened.

  For a few seconds Joyce looked very perturbed at seeing me. Then her face cleared. ‘Miss Munro, isn’t it?’ I didn’t bother to correct her. ‘Couldn’t think who you were for a minute then. Come in. Take no notice of the mess. It’s our Maureen.’ She indicated the crawling baby. ‘Shocker for mess she is.’

  I smiled. The small amount of confusion in the room was not such as could have been caused by the baby, who was in any case settled to play in an orange crate. Sitting down, I asked after Joyce’s health and had a good look over Maureen. She was a well-covered, healthy-looking baby, bar the catarrh which dogged just about everyone in the area. She gazed at me with interested dark eyes. I had a sudden instinct that she looked very much as Olivia must have done as a baby.

  ‘Joyce – I’ll tell you why I’m here,’ I said. ‘I need to ask you something which I’m sure you’ll think very strange and probably even rude, and I wouldn’t dream of coming here like this if it wasn’t very important. I’d like to assure you that I’ll keep anything you tell me in confidence.’

  Joyce looked very anxious at my serious tone, and took refuge in wiping Maureen’s face with a cloth. ‘Whatever did you want to know?’

  ‘I need to know the name of Maureen’s father.’

  Blood rushed across Joyce’s face. She pulled a hanky from her sleeve and stood worrying it between her hands. ‘My ’usband’s away
in the army. I told you . . .’ She was a timid woman, not the sort to throw me out like some would have. She had a persecuted look, conscious of having done wrong. Trying to stand up for herself, she dared to say, ‘What’s it to you, anyway?’

  ‘Look,’ I assured her. ‘Strange as this may sound, the reason I’m asking you this actually has nothing to do with you and I shan’t want to trouble you again. I’ll explain to you in a moment. What I need to know is – is Maureen’s father Alec Kemp?’

  Joyce grew very flustered, wringing the hanky, starting to cry. ‘My ’usband mustn’t find out.’ She looked into my eyes, her face stricken. ‘Who told you? No one was to know. I’ve never breathed a word. ’E said if I told a soul, ’e’d stop the money.’

  I stood up and walked round the table to her. ‘Joyce – I’m afraid people have a way of working things out. Look, please, I don’t want to upset you.’ Shyly I touched her shoulder and she gazed up at me, eyes wide, pleading for reassurance. ‘I can guarantee your husband will never hear anything from me. I’ll tell you what this is all about. Let’s sit down, shall we?’

  While Joyce listened, wiping her eyes, I explained briefly about Olivia. ‘I’m sure you can understand why I’m desperate to get her out of there. The only way I can think of is to force him into it. My knowing will make no difference to your position. He won’t stop the payments to you. You see, he’s well aware that my husband’s a journalist. We could make things rather awkward for him.’

  Joyce was watching me in bewilderment. ‘His poor daughter,’ she said. ‘What a thing.’

  ‘Do you know of any others?’ I asked her.

  She paused. ‘I know of others ’e’s bin with.’ She rolled her eyes to the ceiling with a hard laugh. ‘Thought I was the one and only, didn’ I? Jackie Flint – up at eight court. Lost a baby a month ago.’

  ‘And she said it was his?’

  Joyce looked at the floor, blushing. ‘She’s a pal of mine. We was both on the line at Kemp’s.’ She raised her eyes to me and they were red and filling with tears again. ‘I never meant for it to ’appen. ’E’s not like the others, you see. I can’t say ’e forced ’isself on me or anything like that. ’E just has a way of making you feel sort of special – like the only person in the world. I can’t explain it to you. I s’pose I were in love with ’im. I’d ’ave done anything ’e wanted.’