by Annie Murray
Forty-Two
Audrey woke from a vivid dream. She was leaving RAF Cardington, walking to the gates, bag in hand. The transport was waiting to take her to the railway station and away from there forever. She wept in the truck and, as she woke, she was sobbing. When she opened her eyes in the blacked-out room she could only sense, rather than see, where she was. Home. It wasn’t all a bad dream that she could chase away with the daylight and find herself back on the balloon site, happy and active. In fact it was not RAF Cardington that she had been sent home from, but a smaller balloon site on the north-eastern edge of London. But in the dream everything most precious to her had been brought together, only for her to have to leave it all over again.
Muffling herself in the bedclothes, she lay crying, quietly. In those moments she even missed Nick. They had both known that her time at Cardington was coming to an end. Nick made the most of her being there, and Audrey let him – it was as simple as that. The worst thing was knowing she only had herself to blame. She had allowed Nick to make love to her four times, and on one of those times she had caught for the baby. She cried a little, thinking of his good-looking face, his kisses. But she knew it was hopeless. She did not want Nick. She had wanted to prove she was a proper woman – she had used him just as he had used her. She knew that Nick was not the real source of her heartbreak.
The WAAF was a large part of it. The life she had loved, which had been snatched from her. But thinking back to her last days at RAF Cardington, her most painful memory was the hurt and bewilderment she saw on Dorrie Cooper’s face.
All that last month she had avoided Dorrie. It was for the best, she told herself. If Dorrie was one of those, then both of them had to face up to the fact that there was no future for them together. She certainly didn’t want anyone else getting the idea that she was one of those herself. The thought of being labelled as queer brought out in her a primitive dread.
But she felt so sad and ashamed about the way she had treated Dorrie. If she saw her on the base, she would turn and walk away. If Dorrie was in the NAAFI canteen or any other social meeting place, Audrey made sure she did not go in. She was on constant alert. She kept this up for most of the last month, going out with Nick on many nights, or teaming up to go out with other girls like Cora. Dorrie kept out of her way – she was not a fool. She had got the message quickly. Audrey was grateful for her tact.
But one night, during her last week of training, she did see Dorrie. Audrey came back to the hut one night, after going out with Cora and a couple of other WAAF girls. As they reached the door in the warm night, Dorrie suddenly stepped out of the shadows.
‘Oh, Audrey,’ she said, in a relaxed, friendly tone that did not attract the others’ attention. ‘I just need a quick word with you . . .’
Audrey stopped. It would have seemed odd not to. The others went on into the hut. Dorrie stopped in front of her in the darkness, and Audrey could feel the intensity of her gaze.
‘Just come for a stroll, will you?’ Her voice was dignified, but Audrey could sense a well of emotion behind it as she added, ‘Please.’
They turned to walk along the row of huts, past the bathhouse and down the road. Gaggles of service people passed them, talking and laughing loudly. Neither of them spoke until they were further on, in a quiet part. They walked out onto the open base, past the looming, shadowy hangars. Eventually, when they were in a space that seemed deserted, Dorrie stopped and turned to her.
‘You read my diary, didn’t you?’
Audrey felt ashamed, as if she had acted in a petty way. There was no point in denying it. ‘Didn’t you want me to?’
Dorrie looked away for a moment. ‘I didn’t leave it there specially, if that’s what you mean, no. But sooner or later we would have had to say something. I thought . . .’ To Audrey’s horror, her voice began to crack. She was not used to seeing strong, carefree Dorrie crying. It buckled her heart. ‘I thought,’ Dorrie went on, through tears that she could not seem to prevent, even though she was struggling against them, ‘that we had said something already. Not in so many words, but . . . I thought you understood, that you were . . . I love you, Audrey. You’re – I thought—’ She stopped, unable to go on, and put her hands over her face, weeping brokenly.
‘Oh, Dor.’ Audrey’s throat was aching with tears as well. She felt terribly guilty and regretful for the way she had treated Dorrie. ‘I didn’t realize . . . I mean, I was scared. And I didn’t know what you felt, not really. I just saw that word and I panicked. I’ve never thought of myself like that. I don’t know that I am one of those. I just . . .’ She thought of Nick. Nick was nothing, compared with this. But Nick had been impossible anyway. She had chosen Nick because he was impossible. Maybe she just needed the right man. How was she supposed to know? She stood watching her friend in helpless confusion. ‘Come here,’ she said eventually and they walked into each other’s embrace. Dorrie was trembling with long-pent-up emotion, and she sobbed and sobbed in Audrey’s arms.
‘I’m sorry, Dor,’ Audrey kept saying, feeling Dorrie’s hair against her cheek and all the emotion pouring out of her. ‘I just don’t know. I do love you – course I do. But I don’t know if it’s like that, or what. I’m so mixed up, I don’t know what I am.’
Dorrie calmed down after her first rush of emotion and wiped her eyes. ‘Oh God,’ she said, taking a deep breath. She put a hand on her chest. ‘I’ve been full of this ache ever since that day. Just here. I haven’t been able to get rid of it, as if I’d swallowed a stone.’ She looked at Audrey and gave a brave smile. ‘I’m sorry too – I rushed you. It’s just, I’ve known for so long . . . about me, I mean. I don’t really know how, but I just knew. I’ve just never found boys – or men – of any relevance. Some are nice, of course. I like some men a lot. It’s just that all my emotions seem to turn to women. Maybe some of us are just born like that, I don’t know.’
Audrey realized that she, growing up, had never once thought about it. The question had never crossed her horizon.
‘You’re going soon,’ Dorrie stated bleakly.
‘Yes – next week.’
‘I’d . . .’ Dorrie hesitated. ‘I’d hate to lose you completely. Write to me, will you?’
‘Course I will,’ Audrey said, relieved. She would have hated to lose Dorrie too. Now she’d be at a distance, and it all felt safer.
They hugged, friends again in a fragile way. As they parted, Dorrie reached up and kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks for all the good times,’ she said warmly, but with a hint of self-mockery.
Audrey lay thinking of this encounter now, her tears still flowing. She had left the camp without any more goodbyes to Dorrie. It was when she was working at the other camp outside London, with some of her fellow trainees and some new girls, that she started to feel queasy. The full horror of the fact that she was expecting a baby came upon her among strangers. Now that she was out of the WAAF, everything that had happened seemed to remove her even further from Dorrie. Here she was at home, disgraced, after an affair with a married man she never loved, and carrying his child. How was anyone supposed to understand that? How could she possibly write to Dorrie now?
What had kept her going so far was the thought that she would go back. She would rid herself of this baby, go back to the WAAF and pretend it had never happened. But what she had to face was that she could never go back to what she really longed for. Even if she gave this baby up to be adopted and went back to the WAAF, she would be sent to some balloon site somewhere among strangers. What she longed for so desperately was the WAAF at Cardington, with Dorrie. And, whatever else happened, that was gone forever.
Audrey felt a terrible sense of despair during those first days at home. Sylvia was working late that week, so she sometimes saw a little of her in the morning, but then she was out until late and returned home exhausted. At first Sylvia felt like her only ally. The men of the family just didn’t know what to say to her. Dad had not been unkind, but he instinctively wanted to leave all th
is sort of business to the womenfolk. Jack was so appalled he could hardly look at her. And Mom was no better.
Audrey moved round the house like a shadow, keeping out of everyone’s way. She knew her mother enough to realize that she had to let it all sink in. Things improved a bit the second day when Marjorie Gould called round. Unlike most visitors, she didn’t knock at the front, but appeared suddenly from round the back.
‘Pauline, you there?’ Her head appeared round the back door. ‘Ooh, hello, Audrey, I didn’t know you were home! All right, love – got a bit of leave, have you?’
Audrey smiled and her mother said quickly, ‘Come in, Marjorie. How’s Laurie getting on?’
Marjorie was wearing a dark-pink jumper and clutching her arms across her ample chest to keep warm. She perched on a kitchen chair, looking troubled. ‘Oh, I think he’s going on all right. I expect your Sylvia knows more than I do.’ She sighed and then looked round, smiling bravely. ‘I’ll just have to hope he’s all right. I don’t like to think about it.’
There was a silence, then Pauline said brusquely, ‘Well, Marjorie, you’ll have to know sooner or later . . . But don’t go canting in the street, will you? Everyone’ll find out soon enough, as it is.’
‘Goodness, Pauline, what’s happened?’ Startled, Marjorie loosed her arms and sat up straighter, as if preparing herself.
‘Shall I tell her, Audrey?’
Audrey looked down into her lap, nodding. She could feel the unpleasant burn of a blush spreading up her neck.
‘Audrey’s been let go by the Air Force,’ her mother said. ‘She’s in the family way.’
There was such a long silence that Audrey looked up and saw Marjorie Gould trying to work out what to do with her face. Whatever shock or horror may have registered at first, Audrey had missed it. By the time Audrey looked up, Marjorie was looking at her with tender confusion.
‘I take it he’s not going to marry you then, bab?’
Audrey shook her head. ‘Already spoken for, as it turns out,’ she said.
‘Oh, my . . .’ Marjorie said. ‘Oh dear. Well,’ she paused and her eyes filled. Smiling through tears she said, ‘You know, I’d never’ve said this before the war and all that’s happened . . . I know it’s wrong, not to be married and everything. I know Stan’ll carry on about it, and there’ll be others airing their opinions too, but . . .’ The tears escaped her eyes. ‘I’d give anything to have a little baby in the house these days. Now Raymond’s gone and Laurie’s away, and there’s just . . .’ She stopped to wipe her eyes. ‘Per’aps it’s wicked of me, but a new life to hold – ooh, Pauline, I almost envy you, I really do.’
To Audrey’s astonishment, she saw her mother’s eyes fill with tears as well. She put her hands over her face and her shoulders shook with grief.
‘Pauline?’ Marjorie leaned in to her, shocked. ‘Oh, bab – don’t take on so bad. We’ll all pull together, won’t we? Never mind everyone else and their tittle-tattle; it’s family that counts.’
Audrey watched her mother try and regain control of herself. What she later realized were long-buried sobs came forcing themselves out of her. Marjorie looked across at Audrey with wide eyes, grasping that there was something else afoot, because this was so unusual for Pauline. She stood up and put her arm round her friend’s shoulders. Pauline rested her elbows on the table, hands still over her face. Audrey felt tears pricking at her own eyes.
‘What is it, Pauline?’ Marjorie said gently.
Eventually Pauline wiped her eyes roughly. Still shielding her face with her hands, she said in a tight voice, ‘I’ll say this, just once. I don’t want you to go on about it – any of you.’ Very quickly she said, ‘My mother was a harsh woman. I’ve always tried not to be like her. I had a little sister. She was called Lena . . .’
Audrey stifled a gasp. Mom had always led them to believe she had two brothers and one sister, Jean. Who was Lena?
‘She caught for a babby with a man when she was sixteen. Our mother told her to pack her bags. She wasn’t going to face the shame of a bastard baby in the house. Lena begged her, but it was no good; Mother turned her face against her. She left, our Lena, with a bundle of clothes and ten shillings. I’ve never seen her from that day to this.’
‘Oh dear God.’ Marjorie sank back down onto the chair. Audrey sat in shock, unable to stem her own tears.
Her mother still didn’t look at her, not then, but she turned to Mrs Gould. ‘Oh, Marjorie,’ she said, reaching for her hand. ‘I’m finding this very hard to come to terms with. But you’ve just said the best thing a friend could ever say.’
At last she turned to Audrey. ‘I’ve never wanted to be like my mother,’ she said. ‘She was heartless and cruel and . . .’ She shook her head, fighting back more tears. ‘Somehow we’ll just have to try and make the best of it. And, Audrey, you’ll give that child away over my dead body.’
Forty-Three
Sylvia sat on her bed with the door closed, glad to have some time alone. It was her afternoon off and she knew that Audrey was asleep, or pretending to be, in the next room. There had been so much emotion in the house over the past few days that they were all exhausted. The girls were still reeling from the shock of what their mother had told Audrey and Marjorie, though she flatly refused to say any more about her lost sister or anything that had happened.
‘I’m not going over any of it, digging all that up,’ she said. ‘There’s no more to say – the past’s dead and buried, as far as I’m concerned.’
The sisters had gone over and over it, when they were alone together upstairs, wondering, guessing. But it was so upsetting to dwell on it. And Mom was adamant: they were to say no more about it. All Sylvia wanted to think about now was Laurie. She loved him so much, she longed to lie and daydream about him! How quickly things had fallen into place with him, so that he had become utterly important to her. All that bitter betrayal by Ian and Kitty had led her to this – that was how she had come to see it. It was her blessing.
She had a pad of paper in her lap, but sat for a long time staring out at the colourless sky. If only Laurie could walk through the door now. The thought of seeing his young, kindly face and feeling his arms round her made her ache with longing. She loved receiving his letters, which he usually kept as light as possible, relating stories of what he and he pals had been up to, pranks and jokes. He always ended by telling her how much he loved and missed her, and that he was counting the days until he could come back on leave again.
Sylvia sighed and began to write: ‘Dearest Laurie . . .’ Immediately she ground to a halt. If only she could talk to him face-to-face! She never found writing easy, at the best of times. ‘Since I last wrote, we’ve all had a bit of a shock,’ she wrote. ‘I want to tell you, and not keep anything from you.’ Briefly and straightforwardly she told him about Audrey’s arrival home and about the baby. Somehow it didn’t feel right to tell him about her lost auntie. That could wait until they were together.
I feel so sorry for Audrey. She’s had a terribly rough time, staying in the WAAF, trying to keep working. I really don’t know how she managed, because she just seems exhausted now. One of the good things is that she and I are getting on much better. Everyone’s having to try and get over the shock in their own way. Dad’s been okay really. Mom was more furious than I’ve ever seen her, quite nasty really and so harsh, though she’s calmed down now. And Jack can hardly look at Audrey. I do wish you were here to talk to him, because I know you could make a difference. It’s awful and shameful for Audrey, but it’s not as if the father is going to have to take the brunt of any of it – he doesn’t even know.
Maybe your mom’s already told you all this? She was so nice and kind when she heard what had happened, and it’s kindness that counts, isn’t it? How is punishing Audrey or being nasty to her going to help anything now?
She paused again, then wrote:
It feels so peculiar, the thought of a baby. And the thought of people gossiping about us. But, as your
lovely mother said to us, if your friends turn against you, then they weren’t really your friends in the first place, were they?’
I miss you so much, my darling Laurie. I hate this horrible war for taking you away, just when we have found each other, and for making you do such difficult and dangerous things – that’s how I imagine them anyway. I think of you so much: you’re with me in everything I do. Write to me soon, when you get time, dearest. I’ll be waiting.
With all my love, Sylvia
Once the first shock of the news was over, Marjorie said to Audrey, ‘What’re you going to do for the time being? You don’t just want to hide in the house for the rest of it, surely?’
Again Audrey was very grateful to Marjorie. She had already begun to think the same thing.
‘No, I don’t. I was thinking I might get a job.’
‘A job?’ her mother snapped. ‘What, with you sticking out the front, for all to see?’
‘But married women are working all over the place now,’ Marjorie corrected her gently.
Audrey took the first job she was offered, as a typist at an engineering works in Rea Street. It was an easy bus ride away. Before she set out to look for work, Audrey told Sylvia afterwards, Mom stopped her in the hall, when she was already in her hat and coat.
‘She looked me up and down and said, “Hang on a minute. I’ve got something you’ll need.” She went upstairs and came down with a brass ring. She said it had belonged to her own mom, that she’d never been able to afford anything better, and even that had been in and out of the pawn shop.’ Audrey’s eyes filled as she reported this. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me these days,’ she added, halfway between laughter and tears. ‘I can’t seem to stop crying!’
‘I’m nearly as bad,’ Sylvia said, wiping her own eyes.
‘She told me I should wear the ring and I should call myself Mrs something – I stuck to Whitehouse, so I didn’t get in a muddle. And then she said, you know, arms folded the way she does, “I don’t like what’s happened Audrey. I don’t like it one bit, being shamed in front of my neighbours. But you’re my – flesh and blood, and I’ll not turn against you – I’ve seen too much of that already. And that, that child in there, is the last one who’s to blame, the poor little thing.” I was just beginning to get emotional, thinking: Oh, Mom’s coming round to being all right with me. Then she gave me one of her looks and said, “You stupid girl” and waltzed off into the kitchen!’
