by Annie Murray
‘I don’t want anyone saying it smells bad,’ Aggie heard Mom say to Nanna. ‘I want him to look his best, whatever that wicked illness has done to him.’
They kept two candles burning each side of the stand which the undertaker brought to keep the coffin on, with a dark green pall underneath.
All the time he was in the house the children were very subdued. Aggie could not forget he was there, even though they closed the coffin because Dr Hill said it would be best. Every so often she crept into the room and made sure the candles were burning, that the flowers had enough water, and whispered to him.
‘You all right, Dad? Can I get you anything?’
One afternoon she went into the front room and found John in there by the coffin, his lips moving. When he heard her he whipped round, blushing furiously, but she didn’t say anything. She’d come to talk to Dad too. Everyone was in a state. Mom cried a lot, and they could hear her at night through the floor. It made them cry as well, when they heard it. It was such a lonely, desolate sound and sometimes Aggie, Ann and May all clung to each other sobbing. John wouldn’t cuddle Silas so he came and got in with them as well sometimes.
‘D’you want a love, Silas?’ Aggie would say, and his puppyish little body climbed in and curled up against hers.
For the first couple of days Aggie was haunted by the fact that they were going to come and take Dad away. It felt so final. But when Tuesday came, and the funeral, it was a relief because while at first Dad had been dead and still there, now he was about to be dead and not there. By then they had taken in the fact that he had really gone.
And while she felt sad at the funeral, and Mom was weeping and Nanna holding her arm, it was something far away that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the dad she remembered who was full of jokes and barely ever went to church in his life.
She had said her goodbyes to him as they carried the coffin out of the house to the funeral carriage. Standing with her brothers and sisters in the street, waiting, in her head she said to him, Bye, bye, Dad. I hope you feel better now and you ain’t got a cough now you’re in heaven.
And as they all stood there, she had a strong feeling that he was about somewhere, that he could see all of them and he was looking down with that mischievous, crinkly smile of his.
But it was then that their troubles really began. A few days after the funeral, Aggie and the others came home from school to find that a calamity had happened.
‘Your nan’s had a fall,’ Mom said almost before they’d all got in through the door. Aggie ran up to Nanna’s room and found her lying on her bed, grey in the face. She looked different, her features drawn and aged. Her right cheek was cut and bruised.
‘Oh, Aggie – I’ve been a silly old fool,’ she said, sounding upset. ‘I could curse myself, I really could.’ Her right arm was bent across her body and encased in a white plaster cast. Her other hand also had a bandage on it.
‘What’ve you done, Nanna?’ Aggie asked. The others had come up now and were all peering in through the door.
‘Hey, Nanna, you could knock someone out with that!’ John said, making moves like a boxer.
‘Thanks very much, young man,’ Nanna said dryly. ‘I wish I had the steam to knock someone out – that’d be summat, that would.’
‘Shut up, John!’ Aggie said. ‘Let Nanna tell us . . .’
‘Shut up, yourself,’ John retorted, cuffing her.
‘Pack it in!’ Aggie was livid. ‘When’re you ever any help?’
‘Right, that’s enough, the pair of you,’ Nanna said. ‘I’ll tell you what happened and a pretty poor story it makes. I fell off the kerb, that’s all. I was crossing the Stratford Road and one minute I’m on my feet, steady as a rock, and the next I’m sprawled out for all the world to see my petticoat . . .’
Despite her pale, shocked look, she told the story with a twinkle and the children laughed.
‘I put my hand out to save myself and lucky for me all that was coming was the milk cart . . . But I felt my hand go and then I fell on the other one –’ She held out her left arm.
They all came up close, into Nanna’s usual aura of mothballs and lavender with a lacing of booze, and examined the plaster cast.
‘Careful, Silas, you’ll hurt Nanna!’ Ann pulled him back.
‘Is it broke?’ John asked.
‘In two places, they reckon.’ Freda held up her left arm. ‘And this one – bruised a bit. They both flaming hurt, I can tell you.’ She lowered her arms and gave a deep sigh. ‘Truth is, I can’t go out to work like this.’
As the children drifted away from her room, Freda called Aggie back.
‘Here, bab – I’ve got a little job for you.’ With her good hand she reached, wincing, under the bedclothes and brought out her hipflask, with its shiny cup lid.
‘Go along to Auntie’s, Aggie, and get as much as you can for that. Make sure it’s at least half a crown.’
Aggie’s face fell. ‘Oh Nanna, no! That was Granddad’s – it’s your favourite . . .’
Nanna tutted impatiently. ‘Your father’s passed on – and now this silly old fool’s brought us more expense.’ She made a shooing motion. ‘Go on with yer – do as I say. And don’t tell your mother.’
Aggie swallowed. ‘I’ll run like the wind,’ she said.
‘Oh – faster than that, if you can,’ Nanna said.
Jen was in a dreadful panic.
‘What’re we going to do?’ she kept saying, pacing round the kitchen while the children were eating tea.
‘Won’t Nanna be better again soon?’ John asked.
‘Not for months! We’ll be on the parish! No – not that, never.’ She was thinking aloud. ‘The funeral’s cleaned us out and the hospital – Tommy dain’t ’ave the chance to pay in much. I’ll have to go out and look for summat. Oh, heavens . . .’
Desperate, she sank down at the table.
‘Should we move to the Mansions?’ Aggie suggested. That was what people said when they were struggling: They’ll have to move to the Mansions . . . Which round here meant any of the back-to-back courts at the end of the street, not just the two which were actually called the Mansions. Mom had always said that she’d move back into that sort of place over her dead body. Nanna and she and Dad had all grown up in decaying back-to-back houses and she was so proud of living here with her two rooms downstairs and a tap indoors.
For a moment Aggie thought Mom wasn’t listening. She seemed to be staring straight through her. But then, in a serious voice as if Aggie was suddenly a grown-up who had said something of consequence, she replied, ‘God knows, I don’t want to leave this house. We need the room and it’s where your father and I . . .’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’ll go and look for work, but how much longer’m I going to be able to do it – even if I can find anything?’ She laid a hand on her swollen belly. She was nearly six months pregnant already. ‘If it comes to it, we’ll see if there’s anywhere going in the Mansions. Anything but go crawling to the parish.’
Freda Adams was quite poorly for the next few days. Her fall really knocked her back.
‘I don’t bounce at my age,’ she said groggily, when Aggie went to keep her company. She had had the accident on a Friday so there was no school the next day. ‘If you live to sixty-four like me, you’ll know what I mean. Your poor mother’s going to have to find summat for the moment. I couldn’t get up and move about for all the tea in China.’
‘Never mind, Nanna,’ Aggie said. She loved sitting in there with her. It was cosy and reassuring, and unlike Mom, Nanna had always had time for her. ‘Mom’ll find summat and we’re all getting bits and pieces. John’s out finding stubs and Mrs Southgate’s paying me to run errands for her.’
‘Yes . . .’ Her grandmother turned, paying sudden close attention. ‘What’s going on? You’re as good as the Post Office for that woman!’
Aggie shrugged, feeling a bit awkward. ‘She just wants messages taken.’
‘Well, where to?’
‘A man, you mean?’
Aggie nodded. ‘He tunes pianos.’
A little smile appeared on her grandmother’s lips. ‘Not the only thing he tunes, by the sound of it,’ she murmured. ‘What, and he sends messages back?’
‘No. Just Mrs Southgate. She’s got a problem with their piano, only I don’t think Mr Southgate is s’posed to know that Lily’s having piano lessons. He doesn’t like it.’
‘Oh, doesn’t he?’ Freda said musingly. ‘I see. Bit of a dark horse that one, ain’t she?’
As they sat talking they heard footsteps hurrying into the house, then coming upstairs.
‘Mom?’ Jen came round the door, panting with the exertion, and sank on to the side of the bed. ‘Well, that’s summat. Mr Price says I can work for him for a few weeks, being as the girl’s just left.’ Mr Price owned the fried fish shop at the end of the road. ‘It ain’t much and I’ll stink of fish but there might be a bit of extra grub in it for us. Oh, he is a kind man, he is.’ She was quite tearful.
‘On what he’s paying me it still won’t be enough. And then when I ’ave these two . . .’ She looked down at her expanding belly. ‘Oh, Tommy, you bugger, you . . .’ Smiling and filling up at the same time, she said, ‘And Dulcie says Mr Paine at number one in their court is on ’is way out. They’re taking him into the infirmary. Seven bob a week cheaper than this.’
The two women looked at each other.
‘We’d best have it,’ Freda said. Then added gently, ‘Can’t be helped, bab.’
Jen shook her head. ‘God knows, Mom, you shouldn’t be the one keeping us. Not at your age.’
Freda looked at her arm with a shrug. ‘I ain’t keeping anyone for a while, not in this state. Don’t mither, wench, we’ll get by.’
Aggie saw her mother’s eyes fill with tears again. There was silence for a moment, then Jen rallied.
‘You know what? I’ve just seen them Taylor girls – the youngest two, I think it was, though I have a job telling them apart. They’re getting ever so big, the pair of them – broad in the beam, you might say.’
‘Like their mother,’ Freda commented.
Jen shook her head. ‘I dunno. That’s the funny thing. When the little ’un – Dolly, is it? – came back I said to myself, That one’s got herself into trouble. You know, bun in the oven. But I don’t know now. They’re all looking mighty bonny.’
‘You must’ve got it wrong,’ Freda said, grimacing as she shifted her position on the bed. Her face was drawn with pain but she wasn’t one to make a fuss. ‘They’re just getting stout like their mother – it’s bred in the bone.’
There was another silence.
‘So,’ Jen said desolately. ‘Looks as if we’ll ’ave to move down the road then.’
Forty-Eight
‘Right, I want you all in this afternoon,’ Phyllis ordered that Saturday. ‘We need to sort your clothes out.’
The girls were all in the kitchen. Charles had escaped to a church meeting. Dolly was immediately full of dread. They all knew what Mom meant by ‘clothes’ and she knew what her sisters were going to say to that! Mom was like someone running a military campaign.
‘Oh, no!’ cried Susanna, who had been on the point of leaving. ‘It’s my afternoon off – I said I’d go to tea with David’s mom and dad! What d’you think it’s like for me, having to keep my distance from David in case he finds out I’ve got all this . . . padding round me?’
‘I hope you’re keeping your distance in any case, my girl,’ Phyllis retorted. She came back out of the scullery with another bag of sawdust.
‘I might just as well not be keeping my distance,’ Susanna grumbled. ‘I look as much as if I’m expecting as Dolly does!’
Dolly stared sulkily at the tabletop. All she could do these days was keep her head down and wait for it to be over. No one was going to have any sympathy if she complained. Mostly she tried to make herself numb and ignore the insistent little kicks that had begun in her belly.
‘David must think I’m turning into a barrel,’ Susanna said. With the extra padding she looked definitely matronly. She peered in the little mirror on the mantel.
‘Has he said anything?’ Phyllis demanded.
‘No, but . . . Oh, my face looks so blown up and fleshy. It’s horrible!’
‘That’s all right then.’
‘But I can see him thinking . . .’
‘Thinking what?’ Rachel asked, on a chair by the table. She yawned, scratching round the edges of her bulging belly. ‘What can he be thinking?’
Even more aggrieved, Susanna said, ‘When he asked me to come over today, he did say his mom and dad would make sure there’s plenty of cake.’
Hearing Rachel snort with laughter, Dolly couldn’t help creasing up. Even Mom started to laugh.
‘I bet he thinks he’s marrying a right pig!’ Dolly giggled.
‘It’s not funny,’ Susanna snapped. ‘It’s all very well but you’re not walking about with a bag of sawdust strapped to you!’
‘What d’you mean it’s all right for me?’ Dolly erupted. ‘And I am wearing one anyway – remember!’
‘Much smaller,’ Rachel said. ‘Have you any idea how flaming hot it is carting about with all this on? Why couldn’t you’ve got a bun in the oven over the winter? Then we could’ve bundled up in all our winter coats. I’m sick of having to wear this great big cardigan to cover it all up. I’m going to pass out one of these days!’
‘I feel like passing out half the time anyway,’ Dolly said. ‘You don’t know what it’s like! Not that I’m expecting any sympathy from you lot.’
‘Good, ’cause you’re not getting any,’ Rachel retorted. ‘If you think—’
‘Anyway,’ Susanna interrupted. ‘I can’t see why we need to wear all this heavy stuff when we’re not with Dolly. If we’re on our own what difference does it make?’
Their mother cut her off, her voice low and intense. ‘You will wear it and you’ll wear it all the time, d’you hear? It may be embarrassing, my girl, and it may mean a bit of discomfort, but by God if it made any sense I’d be doing it too, make no mistake. You – we – are going to see this through. I’m not having my family dragged into the gutter with tittle-tattle from the likes of –’ She jerked her head towards the window. ‘Of them out there. Three more months – that’s all it’ll take. Stop mithering and get on with it.’
They were all momentarily silenced by her stern intensity. Then Dolly looked up at her. ‘But what about the babby? When . . . After, I mean?’
‘I’ve told you: Nancy will keep it. For a price.’
They all stared at her but something in her manner forbade any more questions. Dolly looked down again, full of confusion. Everything seemed to have been taken out of her hands and she was both upset by this and glad of it.
‘Now,’ Phyllis said, seeing she had them all where she wanted them. ‘Dolly’s six months gone – we’re going to have to give you some extra padding.’
Dolly slept most of Saturday afternoon, exhausted. Phyllis sent Rachel along to the shops. When she came back with her bags, she hurried round the back and tapped urgently on the door.
‘What’s up with you?’ Phyllis said, having hauled herself out of her chair to open it.
‘I dain’t want—’
‘Didn’t, how many more times?’
‘Didn’t then – I didn’t want to come to the front. That horrible old lady was out there again.’
Phyllis felt as if her blood had stopped pumping for a few seconds. She mastered herself, to appear casual.
‘What old lady?’
‘That one we met on the way back from church – I told you. She keeps going on about someone called Hetty. I met her down at the end of the road, in Larches Street. Ugh, she’s vile, and she stinks. I don’t think she’s right in the head.’
‘Well, what did she say to you?’
‘She didn’t – she was talking to a man outside the pub, but I heard her say the name again, Hetty something. She saw me go past and I was scared she was going to follow me, so I came down as fast as I could.’
Her heart pounding with anxiety, Phyllis lifted a loaf of bread out of the bag.
‘Hmm, strange,’ she said, as if moving on to something else. ‘Still, there’s some queer folk about.’
Once Rachel had gone upstairs, she hurriedly slipped into a cardigan, pulled her straw hat low over her eyes and went out through the back. Standing in the shadow of the entry, she leaned on the wall just inside, trying to look as if she had just come out to take the air. Twisting this way and that, she took in the whole street, to see whether there was any sign of Ethel.
A slow, shuffling movement caught her eye at the far end opposite the Eagle – but no, it was an old lady who lived in the Mansions. Of Ethel there seemed to be no sign.
Phyllis ambled out into the street and took a turn up and down. She stopped for a word with Irene Best, who was sitting sideways on in the doorway with Mr Best behind her, helping him smoke a cigarette. Irene was one of the few people in the street Phyllis had time for. It would have taken the hardest of hearts not to feel for the creeping martyrdom of her life.
‘Hello, Mrs Taylor?’ Irene looked up timidly, squinting into the bright sun.
‘All right, Mrs Best. How is he today? Enjoying a bit of baccy, I see?’
Irene gave a wan smile. ‘He’s going along, thank you.’
‘Well, you know where we all are . . .’ Phyllis passed on. She would have been perfectly willing to help if help had been required. At the present, things with the Bests seemed to go on much the same for month after month.
Poor cow, Phyllis thought as she ambled along in the shadow of the Mission Hall, then back home amid the milling children in the street. No sign of Ethel, any road. But she was filled with unease. How did Ethel have any idea where she lived? Had she managed to follow her from the Bull Ring that night after all? Whatever the case, it seemed guaranteed that Ethel would be back, and whatever it was she wanted, Phyllis was going to be ready for her.
