by June Gadsby
There were murmurs of surprise and one or two guffaws of sarcastic laughter, but Albert Robinson held up his hands and the look in his eyes made them fall silent.
‘The lad has good reason to be tea-total,’ he announced. ‘And we all know that reason. Now, Billy lad. How about a Sarsaparilla or a Dandelion and Burdock?’
‘Can I have a lemonade please?’ Billy gritted his teeth and waited to be ridiculed, for some of the men in the pub were his workmates from Palmer’s and he didn’t want them to think that he was some sort of pansy.
‘A lemonade for our hero, landlord.’ Mr Robinson slapped the palm of his hand on the bar counter. ‘Billy Flynn’s a bigger man than any of us gave him credit for and no mistake. Anybody disagrees with that, he’ll have me to answer to.’
The landlord raised an eyebrow, polished a tall glass and poured in a generous measure of lemonade. Still nobody spoke or jeered, so Billy took it and sipped the refreshing liquid.
‘Now then, Mr Robinson,’ the landlord said, looking pleased with himself. ‘What will it be. Your usual poison, eh?’
‘I think, Cedric, today calls for a change. Pour me a double whisky, will ye? Let’s celebrate in style.’
The drink poured, Albert Robinson suppressed whatever disappointment he might have been feeling at that moment in time and raised his glass to make a toast.
‘Here’s to Billy Flynn,’ he said. ‘Once too small for his boots, but now a real big man.’
‘Aye,’ the cry went up. ‘Good on ye, Billy Big Boots. Ye’re all right, son. Here’s to ye.’
Then the men started to sing to the tune of The Sun Has Got it’s Hat On. Good old Billy Big Boots, hip-hip-hip Hooray. Billy bagged old Neptune and it’s such a happy day!
The voices penetrated the walls of the pub, reverberating out into the morning sunshine.
‘Come on, Billy. Get out yer penny whistle. Give us a tune to sing to.’
Billy obliged and as he played he thought to himself that if only he didn’t feel so guilty over catching Mr Robinson’s pike it just had to be the happiest day of his life so far.
Chapter Nine
‘This is not the time to bring shame on your family!’
Laura sucked in her lips and bit down hard, determined not to give way to the emotion that was boiling up inside her. Her mother had been shouting at her for an hour or more, while her father sat slumped and without words, not even bearing to look at his only daughter who was the object of the family shame.
She had hoped, week after week, that it would come to nothing. A mistake in the dates, a physical dysfunction. Her monthly periods had never been very regular at the best of times. It was only when she started feeling sick every morning, her breasts hurt, and her clothes pinched around her waist that she allowed herself to accept the fact she was pregnant.
‘I’m sorry,’ Laura now murmured, her knees gave way from standing in the same spot for so long and she collapsed into a nearby armchair. ‘I’m really sorry, but...’
‘This kind of thing does not happen in respectable homes,’ Elizabeth Caldwell continued, her voice vibrant with anger and mortification. ‘Your grandmother must be turning in her grave at this moment. Laura, how could you cheapen yourself, going with somebody before you’re married?’
‘It...it was only the once,’ Laura pleaded, as if it would make things better .
‘Who was it? ‘
Laura bent her head over her lap, her cheeks suffused with the crimson colour of shame.
‘Charles Dawson,’ she whispered.
There was a stony silence before her mother went on. ‘But...but he’s married to someone else now. I’ve seen them in church on Sundays...!’
Laura’s face puckered up and her eyes filled with tears. One warm salty tear plopped onto the back of her hand. She stared at it hard as if it were a crystal ball that might tell her where her future lay.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, my God, Laura! Why didn’t you marry him three years ago when you had the opportunity. John, say something to your daughter, for goodness sake.’
John Caldwell shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His pale, lifeless eyes drifted from his wife to his daughter and then dropped to the floor between them.
‘I’ve heard of a woman who takes care of these kind of things,’ he said. ‘A Mrs Tanwell in Brook Street. Maybe Laura should go to see her.’
‘Lord in Heaven, John, what are you suggesting? Butchery ? I’ve heard some girls die after getting rid of babies like that.’
‘What choice do we have?’ John flapped at the air with a lily white, bony hand and his head sank down between his shoulders, making him look like an elderly tortoise. ‘It’s either that, or raise a bastard in your home.’
Laura looked up and drew in a sharp breath of stale air since it was summer and warm outside, but her mother refused to open windows to allow flies to come in and private matters to be overheard.
‘You can’t make me have an abortion,’ she said vehemently, jumping once more to her feet, clamping her hands protectively over the tiny unborn infant in her womb. ‘I won’t do it, I tell you.’
‘And what are you going to do, Laura? Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and her thin lips became even thinner. ‘Don’t think you can bring an illegitimate child into this house. I would die of shame. How far on are you?’
Laura swallowed with difficulty and did a rapid calculation, surprising herself at how far advanced her pregnancy was. How could she not have realized?
‘About four months,’ she said. ‘Maybe more. I...I’m not sure.’
Elizabeth’s expression was wild as she glared first at her daughter and then at her husband. She shook her head as if trying to dislodge the problem from her brain, then ran out of the room in floods of tears.
‘Father?’ Laura stood there helplessly, palms turned towards her father. Short of sinking down onto her knees before him and begging his support, she didn’t know what to do. ‘Please, Father...I don’t know what to do.’
John Caldwell averted his gaze. His hands gripped the wheels of his chair and he started out of the room in the footsteps of his distraught wife.
‘I’m sorry, Laura,’ she heard him say in muffled tones. ‘I can’t help you. Please make arrangements to leave this house and...well, just go away somewhere. I’ll see that you have sufficient to live on until...’
His words trailed off behind him and Laura was left standing in the silent room, echoes of her mother’s sobbing over her head and the squeak of the wheels on her father’s wheelchair fading away down the hall.
There was only one person she knew she could turn to, but even her grandfather might not wish to know about her unfortunate condition. And seeing the disapproval in the old man’s eyes would be too hurtful; far more hurtful than that shown to her by her parents. Laura heaved a sigh and regretted the one act of madness that had led to the conception of an innocent child. People always said you should never go back and they were right. She had never been able to get over losing the one man she believed to be right for her. Despite his many infidelities, Laura was still desperately in love with Charles. She foolishly chased him away and he had paid her back by marrying the first woman who came along. It was far from being a match made in Heaven. Eleanor Blenkinsop was years older than Charles, a widow with three children of her own. Everyone knew she was desperate to find another husband. Charles had fallen into her net, still bruised from getting his marching orders from Laura.
If only he had not come into the little haberdashery shop where she was buying some embroidery silks, Laura thought time and time again. It was looking up and unexpectedly seeing him standing there gazing down at her, as startled at the encounter as she was. He had forgotten completely what he was there for – probably to buy something intimate and flimsy for his wife for Christmas. Anyway, their eyes met, their fingers touched, and Laura was lost.
They had continued to meet, discreetly, over a number of weeks. Laura knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t
help herself. The last time, when she had given herself to him fully in the back of his big Austen automobile, he told her, on parting, he couldn’t see her again. His wife was carrying his child.
How ironic was that? Laura was too shocked by this revelation to consider the possibility that she, too, might be carrying his child. She had been a virgin and that had been her only physical encounter, apart from passionate but hurried kisses and unbearably urgent fondlings. If only she had been strong enough to withstand his more pressing advances that one time. If only! Life, Laura thought wryly, was so full of “if only”.
Laura glanced around her at the room she had known all her life. It was her home, yet there was no warmth, no welcoming feel about it. It belonged to her mother. Not even her father fitted in.
She picked up her hat and her scarf and walked, with heavy feet, into the hall. A cool breeze was wafting through the place, bringing the faint sound of people enjoying an amicable conversation. One of the voices belonged to Maureen Flynn. Or Mrs Hedley as she was now.
Suddenly the solution to all Laura’s problems seemed to cry out to her. Maureen was a rough and ready character, but she understood about life. She was just her mother’s cook, but was always on hand with good advice and friendly support when needed. Which was why the kitchen at Elizabeth Caldwell’s home was rarely empty, for people came to visit Maureen constantly. She was a long cry from the skinny little schoolgirl who had run off petrified at the sight of blood when her little brother was being born.
The doors between hall and kitchen were ajar and as Laura picked her way down the long corridor between her mother’s domain and the domestic part of the house, where her mother never went, she smelled freshly baked bread and cakes. Normally, it would have made her mouth water, but today she felt too queasy to appreciate it.
They didn’t see her enter, the three people sitting at the kitchen table clutching steaming mugs of tea, laughing and talking together. Laura felt a twinge of envy. She had never had a special friend to call her own, never felt the need for one, until now.
As she stepped further into the room, the door creaked and her shoes scuffed on the rough stone floor. Three heads shot up, their conversation suspended, the laughter frozen on their jolly faces.
‘Oh, Maureen...’ Laura gulped and fixed her eyes on the cook as pleadingly as possible. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but...’
‘It’s all right, Miss Caldwell,’ Maureen said, taking off her small reading glasses and giving them a wipe on her pinafore. ‘Come on in. Would you like a cup of tea? I could bring it to you in the lounge, if ye like.’
‘No...no, Maureen, thank you.’
‘A piece of cake? It’s carrot and cinnamon. Your favourite.’
‘Thank you...no.’ Laura’s eye flickered over the other two occupants of the room, recognizing Maureen’s brother, Billy, and the prostitute’s daughter, Bridget Maguire, who had done so well for herself, despite being dragged up by a woman with no husband and no morals.
‘What’s the matter, hinny?’
Maureen was on her feet and coming over to her, arms outstretched, ready to comfort her. It was only then that Laura was aware of how wretched she must appear. She felt a sob start deep in her chest and surge to the surface and then, as she fell against Maureen, the floodgates opened and she cried like a little lost child.
Behind them, chair legs scraped on the floor as Billy and Bridget got up and came over to see if there was anything they could do to help. Laura Caldwell had always struck them as being a strong person, not given to fuss or over-sensitive behaviour, so it must have shocked them to see her like this. Laura now wished she had simply left the house, alone in her misery.
‘Oh, Maureen,’ she gasped, meaning to break away from the woman’s hold, but found herself blurting out the reason for her emotional state. ‘I’m in such deep trouble and I...I don’t know where to turn.’
‘Oh, aye? Come on, pet, tell us what’s troubling ye ?’ Maureen pushed her into a chair at the table and pulled a second chair close to her, then sat there waiting, grasping both of Laura’s hands in her own.
Laura glanced up at Bridget and Billy and bit down on her lips. She didn’t say a word, but it was obvious that she didn’t want them to be there. Billy just stared at her, not budging an inch, until Bridget thumped his shoulder and pulled him away.
‘Come on, Billy,’ she said, pushing him out through the back door where the sun was shining on the little vegetable garden that Billy helped Maureen with. ‘It’s women’s business and Miss Caldwell needs a bit of privacy.’
* * *
‘What’s happening, Bridget?’
Billy was rocking from one foot to the other and trying to peer over Bridget’s shoulder as she listened at the door they had just come through. She left it open just a crack, obviously with the intention of listening in to Laura’s conversation with Maureen. Now, Billy’s own curiosity was getting the better of him. He hadn’t seen Laura Caldwell for months and he was shocked at how thin and deathly pale she had become.
‘Ssh, Billy. How can I hear anything with you muttering in me ear, eh?’ Bridget gave him a thrust with her behind because he was leaning on her heavily and there was a danger of them both falling headlong back into the kitchen.
Billy took a step back, but stood impatiently clenching and unclenching his fists, wishing he could be a fly on the wall. Wishing even more that he could be in there now, holding Laura’s hand, instead of his sister.
‘Oh, my gawd!’
Bridget turned from the door and put her hands up to her cheeks. Her green eyes were wide with disbelief as she stared at Billy.
‘What?’ Billy had had enough waiting. ‘Bridget! What’s wrong ? She’s not ill, is she?’
‘You could say that,’ Bridget said through her fingers, then grimaced and walked off down the garden path to the gate that led into the back lane and the wooded area that went down to the river.
Billy gave a quick glance toward the house then followed her.
‘Tell me, Bridget,’ he said, tugging at one of her arms that were swinging characteristically at her sides. ‘Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad...can it?’
Bridget stopped in her tracks and he bowled into her, nearly knocking her off her balance.
‘It depends who you are,’ she told him with another grimace. ‘Laura – Miss Prim – Caldwell has got herself knocked up good and proper. Can you imagine how her parents took the news?’
Billy shook his head and frowned at her. ‘What do you mean by knocked up?’ He couldn’t believe it meant what the lads down at the shipyard talked about when they got a girl into trouble. ‘Not...?’
‘Bun in the oven, so-so...’ Bridget stopped and grinned. ‘You are innocent, Billy. She’s with child, as the posh might say. Laura Caldwell is, you know - so-so. What’s worse is that she can’t marry the man in question.’
‘Oh, no!’ Billy’s eyes widened in shock as Bridget nodded slowly. ‘Not Laura. Are you sure that’s what she said?’
‘Not in so many words,’ Bridget informed him, picking up a twig with some dead oak leaves on it and flicking them off one by one. ‘She says she hasn’t seen anyone in four months or more and her father’s ordered her out of the house. Don’t look at me like that, Billy. It’s not my fault your precious Laura’s going to have a baby out of wedlock. Serves her right for being so snooty, that’s what I say.’
Billy glared at her reproachfully. It wasn’t like Bridget to speak ill of anyone, except jokingly. But she wasn’t joking about Laura and he wondered why. There had never been any bad feeling between the two of them, to his knowledge. And yet, there had been times, he recalled now, when Laura’s name was mentioned, that sparked something off in Bridget. Billy shook his head. He would never understand women.
‘I’m going back inside,’ he said, brushing past Bridget, who spun around and caught the tail of his shirt that had escaped from his dungarees.
‘Hey, Billy, what are you going to do? She does
n’t want the likes of you around when she’s talking about private matters. It’s family business and nothing to do with you, anyway.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Billy struck out for the house in long strides, Bridget running to keep up with him.
‘Billy? What do you mean? How’s it got anything to do with you?’ Then she stopped dead in her tracks and blinked at his disappearing back, all the colour draining from her face. ‘Eeh, dear God, Billy, it wasn’t you who fathered her bairn, was it?’ He didn’t stop; just waved a hand briefly. ‘Billy! Billy, tell me it wasn‘t you!’
When he burst into the kitchen, Bridget’s words were still ringing in his ears. Until she had called out to him, he had no idea what he was about to do. Comfort Laura in some small way, hold her close and tell her he would make everything all right, no matter what it took. But Bridget planted the seed of an idea in his head and it was with this in mind he burst through the kitchen door, snatching his cap from his head and standing stiff to attention before the two women.
‘Laura,’ he said through gritted teeth, and his sister and the woman he had always loved took a startled step back at the suddenness of it. ‘I know I’m younger than you, but at nineteen I’m a man and although I’ve been finished at the shipyard like all the others at Palmers, I’ve still got all me other bits and bobs that I do and I don’t mind working even harder. I already earn enough to feed a family on and...well, if you’re willing, I...’
‘Billy Flynn, what on earth are you on about?’ His sister was regarding him with a bemused expression, but he wasn’t interested in what Maureen said or thought.
Ignoring Maureen, Billy fixed his eyes unwaveringly on Laura and spoke out loud and clear from a heart that was nearly bursting with anticipation.
‘Laura, I’ll to marry you, if...if that’s all right with you, I mean...?’
As quickly as his courage had mounted, it was now departing as he saw the look of horror in Laura’s eyes and the way her mouth twisted as if he had suggested something vile. For a long while they stood there, staring at each other and Maureen staring just as hard at the pair of them, not knowing what to make of the situation. Then Billy swallowed hard and the noise of it could be heard by all.
