by Maureen Lee
Sally gasped. “Shush, Martha. There’s no need for that.”
“I’m sorry,” Flo said brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”
“There, there, Sis.” Sally slipped off the chair and put her arms around her sister, but Martha wasn’t to be swayed easily by expressions of regret.
“And so you should be sorry,” she blasted. “You realise everyone will call the kid a bastard? No one will speak to it at school. It’ll be spat upon and kicked wherever it goes.”
“Martha!” Mam said sharply, from the doorway. “That’s enough.”
Flo burst into tears and ran upstairs, just as the front door opened and Albert Colquitt arrived.
A few minutes later, Sally came in and sat on the bed where Flo was lying face down, sobbing.
“You should have taken precautions, luv,” she whispered.
“I know what it’s like when you’re in love. It’s hard to stop if things get out of hand.”
“You mean, you and jock . . . ” Flo raised her head and looked tearfully at her sister. Jock Wilson continued to descend on Liverpool whenever he could wangle a few days’ leave.
Sally nodded. “Don’t tell Martha, whatever you do.”
The idea was so preposterous, that Flo actually laughed. “As if I would!”
“She doesn’t mean everything she says, you know. I don’t know why she’s so bitter and twisted. You’d think she was jealous that you’d been with a man.” Sally sighed.
“Poor Martha. Lord knows what she’ll say when she finds out me and Jock are getting married at Christmas, if he can get away. She’d have expected to go first, being the eldest, like.”
“Sally, Oh, Sal, I’m so pleased for you.” Flo forgot her own troubles and hugged her sister. Sally made her promise to keep the news to herself: she didn’t want anyone to know until it was definite.
After a while, Sally went downstairs because it was her turn to do the dishes and she didn’t want Martha getting in a further twist.
Flo sat up, leaned against the headboard, and rested her hands on her swelling tummy. She’d put off breaking the dreadful news for as long as possible, but it was October, she was four and a half months’ pregnant, and it was beginning to show. One or two women in the laundry had been eyeing her suspiciously, and the other day when she’d been hanging out sheets in the drying room she’d turned to find Mrs Fritz at the door, watching keenly.
Then Mrs Fritz had spent quite a long time in the office with Mr Fritz.
At first Flo had considered not telling a soul, running away and having the baby somewhere else. But she didn’t want to stay away for ever and there’d be a baby to explain when she came back. Anyroad, where would she run to and how would she support herself? She had no money and wouldn’t be able to get a job. She realised, sadly, that she would have to leave the laundry and it would be dreadful saying goodbye to Mr Fritz.
The door opened and Mam came in. “I’m sorry I walked out, girl, but I couldn’t stand our Martha’s screaming. Perhaps it would have been best if you’d told your mam first and left me to deal with Martha.” She looked at her daughter reproachfully. “How could you, Flo?”
“Please, Mam, don’t go on at me.” Flo began to cry again at the sight of her mother’s drawn face. Mam had seemed much better since the war began, as if she’d pulled herself together and was determined to see her family through the conflict to its bitter end. “I’ll leave home if you want. I never wanted to bring shame on me family.” Getting pregnant had been tar from her mind when she’d lain under the trees in the Mystery with Tommy O’Mara.
“The man, this Tommy O’Mara, he should have known better. Martha says he was at least thirty. He was wrong to take advantage of a naive young girl.” Mam pursed her lips disapprovingly.
“Oh, no, Mam,” Flo cried. “He didn’t take advantage.
He loved me, and I loved him.” The lies he’d told meant nothing and neither did the promises. It was only because he was worried she might not go out with him that he’d said the things he had. “If Tommy hadn’t died, he’d have left Nancy by now and we’d be together.”
This was altogether too much for her mother. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl,” she said heatedly. “You’re talking like a scarlet woman.”
Perhaps she was a scarlet woman, because Flo had meant every word she said. Perhaps other couples didn’t love each other as much as she and Tommy had. To appease her mother, she said meekly, “I’m sorry.”
“Anyroad, that part’s over and done with,” Mam sighed. “What we have to deal with now are the consequences.
I’ve had a word with Martha and Sal, and we think the best thing is for you to stay indoors until you’ve had the baby, then have it adopted. No one in the street will have known a thing. I’ll go round and see Mr Fritz tomorrer and tell him you’ve been taken ill and won’t be coming back. I hate to deceive him, he’s such a nice feller, but what else can I do?”
“Nothing, Mam,” Flo said calmly. She was quite agreeable to the first part of the suggestion, that she stay indoors until the baby was born, but there was no way she intended giving up Tommy O’Mara’s child, which was the next best thing to having Tommy himself. She wouldn’t tell Mam that, otherwise there would be nonstop rows for months. Once it was born, she would move to another part of Liverpool, a place where no one knew her, but not too far for her family to come and visit. She’d say she was a widow who had lost her husband in the war, which meant there was no reason for anyone to call her child a bastard. She would support them both by taking in laundry and possibly a bit of mending—Mr Fritz often declared that no one else could darn a sheet as neatly as Flo.
War had made little impact so far on the country and people had begun to refer to it as “phoney”. Lots of lads had been called up and ships were sunk frequently, with enormous loss of life, but it all seemed very far away.
There was no sign of the dreaded air-raids and food was still plentiful.
Flo passed the days knitting clothes for the baby: lacy matinee coats and bonnets, unbelievably tiny booties and mittens, and dreaming about how things would be when her child was born. Occasionally, she could hear Mam and her sisters having whispered conversations in the kitchen, and the word adoption would be mentioned. It seemed that Martha already had the matter in hand. Flo didn’t bother to disillusion them—anything for a quiet life. When she wasn’t knitting, she read the books that Sally got her from the library. Once a month, she wrote to Bel Mcintyre, who’d joined the ATS and was stationed up in the wilds of Scotland where she was having a wonderful time. “There’s a girl for every fifteen men,” she wrote. “But there’s one chap in particular I really like.
Remember I said once I’d never met a chap worth twopence? Well, I’ve come across one worth at least a hundred quid. His name is Bob Knox and he comes from Edinburgh like me dad.” Flo didn’t mention the baby in her letters. Bel had thought her daft to become involved with a married man, and she didn’t want her to know just how involved and completely daft she’d been.
Often, she wished she could go for a walk, particularly when it was sunny, and as the time crawled by, she ached to go out even in the pouring rain. The worst time was when visitors came or their lodger was at home and she had to spend hours shut in the bedroom. According to Martha, of all the people in the world, Albert Colquitt was the one who must remain most ignorant of Flo’s dark secret. If he knew what sort of family he was living with he might leave, and that would be disastrous, “seeing as you’re no longer bringing in a wage.” She sniffed. Sally thought Martha was mainly worried that he wouldn’t want to marry her, a goal she was still working towards with all her might.
“How do you explain that I’m never there?” asked Flo.
“He’s been told you’re run down, anaemic, and have to stay in bed and rest.”
“I’ve never felt so healthy in me life.”
She was blooming, her cheeks the colour and texture of peaches, her eyes bright, and her hair unusually thick and
glossy. She wondered why she should look so well when she felt so miserable without Tommy, but perhaps it was because she couldn’t wait to have the baby. Also, Mam had ordered extra milk especially for her, and Martha, for all her carping comments and sniffs of disapproval, often brought home a pound of apples and made sure there was cod-liver oil in the house, which was what Elsa Cameron had taken when she was pregnant.
“And look what a lovely baby Norman turned out to be.” Flo knew she was lucky: another family might have thrown her out on to the street.
It was on a black dreary morning in December that the Clancys’ lodger discovered the secret he was never supposed to know. Mam had gone Christmas shopping and Flo was in the living room, knitting, when the key turned in the front door. It wasn’t often anyone used the front door apart from Albert. She assumed Mam’s shopping bags were too heavy to carry round the back, and hurried out to help. To her horror, she came face to face with Albert.
“I forgot me wallet,” he beamed, “least I hope I did, and it’s not lost. It’s not just the ten-bob note I had, but there’s me identity card, and some photos I’d hate to lose, as well as . . . ” His voice faded and his eyes widened in surprise as he took in Flo’s condition. “I didn’t know, luv,” he whispered. “Jaysus, I didn’t know.”
Flo was stumbling up the stairs. Halfway, she turned, “Don’t tell our Martha you’ve seen me,” she implored.
“Please!”
“Of course not, luv.” He looked stunned. “Flo!” he called, but by then Flo was in the bedroom and had slammed the door.
She heard him go into the parlour, and a few minutes later Mam returned from the shops. “Are you all right, girl?” she called.
“I’m just having a little lie-down, Mam.”
“I’ll bring a cup of tea up in a minute, then I’m going round to St Theresa’s to do the flowers for Sunday.”
Mam was obviously unaware that Albert was in the parlour and remained unaware for the whole time she was at home. After she’d gone, Albert didn’t stir or make even the smallest of sounds. Flo wondered if he was still searching for his wallet. Perhaps he was contemplating handing in a week’s notice and finding somewhere more respectable to live.
Another half-hour passed, and still no sound. Then the parlour door opened and heavy footsteps could be heard coming upstairs. There was a tap on the door and a voice said hesitantly, “Flo?”
“Yes?”
“Would you come downstairs a minute, luv? I’d like to talk to you.”
“What about?” Flo said warily.
“Come down and see.”
A few minutes later she and Albert were sitting stiffly in the living room. She felt over-conscious of her enormous stomach and hoped Albert wasn’t intent on giving her a lecture, because she’d tell him it was none of his business.
She felt deeply ashamed when, instead of a lecture, Albert mumbled, “I’ve missed you, Flo. The house doesn’t seem as bright and cheery without you.”
“I’ve been . . . upstairs,” she said lamely.
He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, then, without looking at her directly, said, “I hope you don’t mind me seeming personal, luv, but what’s happened to the feller who . . . ?” Words failed him.
“He’s dead,” said Flo.
“I thought he might be in the forces, like, and one clay he’d turn up and you’d get married.”
“There’s no chance of that, not when he’s dead.”
“Of course not.” His face was cherry red, and she could see beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead. That be was sweating so profusely made his uniform pong even more strongly than it normally did. She wondered why on earth he was so embarrassed, when if anyone should be it was her. “It’ll be hard, bringing up a kiddie without a husband,” he said awkwardly.
“I’ll manage. I’ll have to, won’t I?”
“It’ll still be hard, and the thing is, I’d like to make it easier if you’ll let me.” He paused and his face grew even redder before he plunged on. “I’d like to marry you, Flo, and provide you and the little ‘un with a home. I earn decent money as an inspector on the trams, and it’s a good, secure job with prospects of promotion to depot superintendent. We could get a nice little house between us, and I’ve enough put away to buy the furniture we’d need. What do you say, luv?’
Flo hoped the distaste she felt didn’t show on her face: the last thing in the world she wanted was to hurt him, but the idea of sharing a bed with a middle-aged man with a pot belly and a dreadful smell made her feel sick.
“It’s kind of you, Albert—” she began, but he interrupted, as if he wanted to get everything off his chest.
“Of course, I wouldn’t expect to be a proper husband, luv. We’d have separate rooms, and if you ever wanted to leave, it’d be up to you. There’d be no strings. To make it easier, we could get wed in one of those register-office places. I’d just be getting you out of a temporary hole, as it were. You’d have marriage lines, and if we did it quick enough, the baby’d have a dad, at least on paper.”
He was incredibly unselfish, and Flo was angry with herself for finding his proposal so disagreeable. But she’d once dreamed of sharing her life with Tommy O’Mara, beside whom Albert Colquitt was—well, there wasn’t any comparison. On the other hand, she thought, as she leaned back in the chair and stared into the fire, would it really be so disagreeable? It would be getting her out of a hole, as he put it. No one would call the baby names if it had a father, and Flo wouldn’t have to take in laundry but would have a nice, newly furnished house in which to live. She wouldn’t be taking advantage of him, not in a mean way, because it was his idea. Of course, everyone would kick up hell at the idea of a Clancy getting married in a register office but, under the circumstances, Flo didn’t care. And Martha would be livid, claiming Flo had stolen Albert from right under her nose.
She was still wondering how to respond when Albert said wistfully, The wife died in childbirth, you know, along with the baby. It was a girl. We were going to call her Patricia, Patsy, if we had a girl. I’ve always wanted a kiddie of me own.”
If he hadn’t said that she might have agreed to marry him, if only on a temporary basis—he’d made it clear that she could leave whenever she wanted. But she knew she could never be so cruel as to walk out once he’d grown to love the baby he’d always wanted. She would feel trapped. It would be like a second bereavement and he would lose another wife and child. No, best turn him down now.
So Flo told him, very nicely and very gently, that she couldn’t possibly marry him but that she would never forget his kind gesture. She never dreamed that this decision would haunt her for the rest of her days.
Much to Martha’s disappointment, Albert took himself off to stay with a cousin in Macclesfield over Christmas, though Flo was glad because it meant she could remain downstairs except when the occasional visitor came. She wondered if he’d gone for that very reason, and said a little prayer that he would enjoy himself in Macclesfield and that the scarf she’d knitted him would keep him warm—the weather throughout the country was freezing cold with snow several feet deep. Before Albert went, he gave the girls a present each: a gold-plated chain bracelet with a tiny charm. Martha’s charm was a monkey, Sally’s a key and Flo’s a heart.
“I bet he meant to give me the heart,” Martha said.
“We’ll swop if you like,” Flo offered.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
On Christmas Eve, a package arrived from Bel containing a card and a pretty tapestry purse. When Flo opened the card, a photograph fell out. “Bel’s married!” she cried. “She’s married someone called Bob Knox, he’s a Scot.”
“I only met her the once, but she seemed a nice young lady,” Mam said, pleased. “You must pass on our congratulations, Flo, next time you write. Why not send her one of those Irish cotton doilies as a little present?”
“I wanted those doilies for me bottom drawer, Mam,”
Martha pouted.
Flo shook her head. “Thanks all the same, Mam, but she won’t want a doily in the Army. She’d prefer a bottle of scent or a nice pair of stockings.”
“And have you got the wherewithal to buy scent and nice stockings?” Martha asked nastily.
“I’ll get a present when I’m earning money of me own,”
Flo snapped.
Their mother clapped her hands impatiently. “Now, girls, stop bickering. It’s Christmas, the season of goodwill.”
“Sorry, Flo.” Martha smiled for once. “I love you, really.”
“I love you too, Sis.”
Later, Martha said to Flo, “How old is Bel?”
“Eighteen.”
“Only eighteen!” Martha removed her glasses and polished them agitatedly. “I’ll be twenty-four next year.”
Flo wished with all her heart that she could buy a husband for her unhappy sister and hang him on the tree. It didn’t help when, on Boxing Day, a telegram arrived for Sally, got licence stop got leave stop BOOK CHURCH MONDAY STOP JOCK.
“I’m getting married on Monday,” Sally sang, starry-eyed.
Flo whooped with joy, and Mam began to cry. “Sally, luv! This is awful sudden.”
“It’s wartime, Mam. It’s the way things happen nowadays.”
“Does it mean you’ll be leaving home, luv?” Mam sobbed.
“Jock doesn’t have a regular port. I’ll stay with me family till the war’s over, then we’ll get a house of our own.”
At this, Mam’s tears stopped and she became practical.
She’d call on Father Haughey that very day and book the church. Monday afternoon would be best, just in case Jock was late. Even trains had a job getting through the snow. At this, Sally blanched: she had forgotten that the entire country was snowbound. “He’s coming from Solway Firth. Is that far?” No one had the faintest idea so Dad’s atlas was brought out and Solway Firth was discovered to be two counties away.
“I’ll die if he doesn’t get here!” Sally looked as if she might die there and then.
