by Annie Murray
Heart thumping, she knocked. Please don’t let Mrs Southgate be back, she prayed. It was such a long time before anyone answered that she was turning away, relieved. Then she heard the door open. It was Mr Southgate. Aggie’s heart thumped harder.
‘Yeah?’ He looked sullen, but that was normal.
‘I came to ask Mrs Southgate—’
‘She ain’t in,’ he interrupted brusquely, and shut the door.
‘He said she weren’t in,’ she told the expectant faces in the house.
‘Is that all – dain’t ’e say anything else?’ her mother wanted to know.
‘No,’ Aggie said. She eyed the door. ‘Can I go out now?’
The women were giving each other significant looks.
‘It’s most likely just Dorrie being silly,’ Freda said, getting creakily to her feet. ‘Go on, Aggie – off you go.’
It was Susanna and Phyllis who stayed with Dolly. Rachel ran up and down fetching and carrying anything that was needed. She and Charles stayed out of the way, Charles trying to lose himself in a book and Rachel asking him questions to try and get him to talk to her to distract both of them from the sounds from the upper floor. All the time there came the movement of feet back and forth, of Mom’s and Susanna’s voices and an occasional muffled cry from Dolly. She was remarkably self-controlled.
‘D’you think anyone can hear her?’ Rachel asked Charles. Now the rain had stopped it seemed so quiet.
Charles listened, then said, ‘No – I don’t think so. Let’s hope not.’
Rachel got out some mending and tried to concentrate on that. The rain had made the atmosphere cooler and less stifling. But all the time she was full of nerves and a certain horror about all that her sister was experiencing.
‘Good God,’ she said to Charles after a sudden, anguished cry came through the floorboards. ‘When will it be over?’
Charles looked round at her, his pale face also tense, and Rachel realized that he was suffering with Dolly as well but did not know how to say so. He’d always had a soft spot for his baby sister, despite all her ragging of him.
‘It’s a natural thing,’ he said, trying to sound knowledgeable.
‘Or the curse of Eve,’ Rachel retorted. She felt angry suddenly, though she wasn’t sure why.
Charles stared ahead of him. ‘There must be a reason why God made it happen this way.’
‘If you say so.’ Rachel got up to put some more water in the kettle. All she could think of doing was making cups of tea. ‘I still can’t really believe she’s having a baby – a child, a person . . .’
Charles, suddenly vulnerable and uncertain, said, ‘D’you know what Mom’s planning to do?’
Rachel turned to look at him. ‘Get rid of it. Take it to this sister of hers out of the way.’
She was surprised by the conflict she saw on her brother’s face.
‘It seems all wrong, doesn’t it?’ he said. Then as if he had given too much of himself away he looked back down at his book.
Rose slipped out of the house in Oldfield Road and fetched some fish and chips for herself and Lily, while Arthur ate the meal cooked for him by Mrs Terry, as usual, even though he said he was going to find it hard to eat anything at all. Mrs Terry was furious with him. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her and say that Rose was a widow.
‘I thought you were a gentleman, Mr King,’ she said disgustedly. ‘I began to think of you almost like a son.’
When he had paid her an extra month’s rent, she was a little appeased, but added, ‘I don’t want to know anything about your life, or that woman who’s got her claws into you. I just want you gone.’
‘We shall be,’ he assured her. ‘First thing tomorrow. And I’m so very sorry for your trouble, Mrs Terry. You’ve been very good to me while I’ve been here.’
They had spent the afternoon hastily sorting out their things. Their plan was to walk to Brighton Road station very early next morning, to catch the first stopping train into Birmingham, then another on to Manchester. Much of their talk had had to be about practical things, which items were essential for their new life and which not. How much could they carry and what would they need first?
By the time the evening came, they were both exhausted by the strain of it all.
‘Come on, Lily,’ Rose instructed her daughter. ‘I’m going to make you up a nice little bed on the floor.’
Rose had lit two candles and stuck them on the dressing table, their light doubling in the mirror. They made the room very cosy.
But Lily was tired and fed up. ‘When’re we going home?’ she said miserably as Rose tucked her up, with a blanket for a mattress. There was a little space on the floor at the end of the bed where she would not have the light in her eyes while they were still up. ‘I don’t like it here.’
Rose knelt and cuddled her, feeling again that her whole being was involved in holding together the two people she loved and who loved and needed her.
‘Very soon, sweetheart,’ she told her, kissing her soft cheek and stroking her head. ‘The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner things will be better. We’re going on a little journey tomorrow, and then we’ll be home.’
And soon, feeling safe in spite of it all, because her mother was there, Lily was fast asleep.
Sixty-Seven
Rose and Arthur lay curled together in his narrow bed, he with his back to the wall, his arm round her and his hand resting on the gentle round of her stomach. For a moment she was nervous about this, but she soon knew that he would not guess. There was nothing showing of the child. Not yet.
They had decided on an early night – ‘Such an early start tomorrow,’ Rose said. And there was little else that they could do now, even though it was barely nine o’clock, except quietly undress in the candlelit room. Very sweetly and quietly, they made love together, wincing as the springs squeaked, determined not to disturb Lily. But she was exhausted and very deeply asleep. They lay in the warm night, with no covers over them for a time, their bodies sated, cooling down together.
Rose twisted round on to her back so that her face was nearer his.
‘My darling,’ she whispered, filled with tenderness, and reached her hand up to stroke his cheek. She felt, rather than saw, him smile. ‘Do you feel you’re in a dream, as if all this might just fade away?’
‘I certainly feel strange,’ he admitted. ‘And worried – but so happy, my darling.’ Thinking about it for a moment, he added, ‘It’s this strange feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen, even the next day. I remember feeling it in the war sometimes. You’d be on the move, travelling to a new place and not knowing where or what it was going to be like. So you have a constant feeling of life being a sort of blank in front of you – when in normal life you usually know where you’ll be the next day and what you’ll be doing.’
‘Manchester,’ she said, wonderingly. That was the whole feeling that night – one of wonder. That they were here at last, cleaving together as if they were husband and wife. They had done it! They had escaped! His beautiful face was here beside hers and they had made this gigantic step to be together. And tomorrow, first thing, they would go from here, walk away, and begin their new life.
‘D’you think we’ll stay in Manchester for ever?’ she said.
Arthur gave a low laugh. ‘I told you – I can’t even visualize tomorrow, never mind for ever!’
‘We might never come to Birmingham again.’
Arthur squeezed her tightly for a second. ‘Should you mind?’
‘I don’t know – I was born here. I’ve never been anywhere else.’ She moved even closer to him, her arm across his warm chest. ‘I don’t think where we go matters much,’ she said. ‘It’s being together, you and me – and Lily. If I went somewhere, however nice, and you weren’t there, then it would be miserable. I’m sure Manchester will be the best place on earth – because you’ll be there with me.’
‘Oh Rose.’ Arthur looked moved. ‘My dear love – you are so ex
traordinary. You’re prepared to risk everything – and not only that, to take me on. I’m a wreck – I’m not up to much.’
‘Arthur,’ she said seriously. She took his face in her hands. ‘Please – don’t keep saying that. I know your being blind makes things difficult in a way – for you especially. But it’s not the main thing. I love you so much. Why d’you think I’m here?’ She kissed and kissed his face. ‘Because with you I’m alive. That’s what it is – loving you and knowing that you love me . . . All this time with Harry, I felt only half alive, and even the half-alive part he was crushing, as if he stopped me breathing. But you . . .’
Arthur made a joyful sound and held her close. ‘You amazing woman! You’re just . . . you’re light for me, that’s what you are.’
They kissed and held each other, still with the same sense of miracle. Then Arthur said, ‘Let’s go over it all again. I had hoped to buy tickets in advance. It’s a shame I haven’t managed that.’
‘Never mind. Let’s get up very, very early. Get away before Mrs T is awake and get the first train. We shan’t meet anyone at that time. We can go to Brighton Road – then get our tickets to Manchester and . . .’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Off we go – free! Oh, it does feel strange.’
‘I’ll write to my mother and father,’ Arthur said soberly. ‘They’ll take it hard at first – but I think in the end they’ll understand. And they can come and visit – and we don’t need to stay away from here for ever, Rose. We just need to get ourselves sorted out.’
‘But how?’ Rose said. ‘Harry won’t divorce me – I’m sure of it,’ She looked soberly at Arthur. ‘I’d barely thought as far ahead as us getting married. How can we?’
Arthur pushed himself up on one arm, his optimism dented. ‘It may take some time, of course. We must . . . All I want is for you to be my wife . . . But if we can’t . . .’
‘Your wife,’ she said, overcome again by a sense of wonder. ‘Mrs Arthur King!’
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked, with sudden touching seriousness. ‘Rose – will you?’
Laughing in the face of all the obstacles in front of them, she pulled him down into her arms again. ‘Of course I will, you silly. I’d marry you tomorrow, if I could!’
A few streets away, in the Taylor household, Charles had been dozing. Rachel felt she could not have slept if someone paid her to do it, she was so on edge. It was nearly half past nine, but it felt as if the night had gone on already for several days. She felt a bit guilty that she was hiding down here, but told herself that she’d only be in the way and Susanna was older and a much calmer person. Rachel had been up and down, taking cups of tea and fresh candles, but as soon as she could she came down again, away from the sight of Dolly’s writhing, sweating agony.
Charles suddenly jerked awake at a cry from upstairs. He looked confused. ‘What was that?’
Another sound came, somewhere between a wail and a grunt. They heard Phyllis’s voice, low and urgent. There were more goings-on, and then a noise which electrified both of them: the outraged, grating cry of a tiny baby.
‘Oh, dear Lord,’ Charles said.
‘It’s here!’ Tears rushed into Rachel’s eyes. For a second she felt as if she could have sat and wept for ages, but she tore upstairs.
Her mother and sister were both bent over the bed, Phyllis in the middle of cutting the cord. Dolly was panting, half laughing, half crying, her eyes stretched wide with amazement.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed in amazement. ‘It’s real – it’s a baby! Look, a baby!’
Susanna was cradling the little fellow wrapped in a piece of towelling, tears streaming down her face. ‘It’s a little boy,’ she kept saying. ‘Oh, a boy – hello, little one!’ she addressed him emotionally.
Rachel bent over to see his bloody, wrinkled, indignant face roaring out of the towelling. Phyllis tied off the cord.
‘Give him here,’ Dolly said hungrily.
‘No!’ Phyllis’s voice was like a whiplash. ‘No holding him – not more than you need. You don’t want to get fond of him – he’s not staying.’
All three of them were silenced. They all stared at her, still as statues. Only now did they really take in the enormity of what this meant; the giving up of a baby. Dolly’s face was pale with shock.
‘But Mom . . .’ Rachel said. Here was a flesh-and-blood child, a person, a relative – and he was to be sent away . . .
‘No buts. She can feed him – for the moment. Keep him quiet. But that’s all. He’s not staying, and that’s that. First thing, I’ll be taking him to Coventry.’
Rose and Arthur, despite their keyed-up excitement, fell gradually into a doze, warm and intimate, wrapped around each other, her gold hair like a curtain on the pillow beside his curls. After a time she stirred. In such a narrow bed it was hard to move without disturbing each other. She extricated her arm from under Arthur’s and tried to turn over. He half woke, muttering.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’d best get out and blow out the candles.’
Someone was knocking on the front door. It was the hard aggression of the knock which alerted her. Whoever would knock on Mrs Terry’s door at this time? It must be gone ten. Her heart began to thud, blood pounding in her ears. The knock came again and after a moment she heard Mrs Terry moving about downstairs.
‘I wonder who that is,’ Rose murmured. She had a terrible feeling of dread. But no – it was impossible to take in. Not Harry coming here. He didn’t know where she was. Harry belonged to another life, another world now. Whoever it was had begun hammering again and even louder, but then Mrs Terry must have opened the door and it stopped abruptly. Rose gave a half gasp, half scream. His voice. She heard him, so familiar that she could tell, without hearing any clear words, that it was him.
‘What – what’s the matter?’ Arthur said, as she jerked to sit up beside him. But then she was paralysed. There was nowhere to go. She could hear him on the stairs, hear that already it was too late.
‘Where are they? Tell me where they are, woman – now!’
‘It’s him,’ Rose squeaked. She could hear all his rage, his pounding feet. She started to get out of bed.
Arthur was half sitting up as well when the door flung open and Rose saw Harry, his eyes, his body, so familiar, but his face was twisted with rage and there was something dark in his hands and it was pointing at them in the candlelight, it was straight and black and somewhere Mrs Terry was crying out something and Harry was screaming at the top of his voice, ‘Bitch! You bitch! There you are, you whore and you, you thieving bastard, there you are, I’ve got you – got you!’ And it was so fast there was a huge blast, a bang exploding round them in waves, and Arthur sagged beside her and she begged, ‘No!’ but a second later another blast and the last stunned light in her eyes and then blackness and she knew nothing more.
September 1925
Sixty-Eight
‘Aggie!’
Lily broke free from Muriel Wood’s hand and came running along the pavement. She flung her arms round Aggie’s waist and clung to her so tightly that Aggie could hardly breathe.
‘Hello, Lily!’ she said, laughing. ‘Hey – loose me a bit – you’re hurting!’
Lily obeyed but seized Aggie’s hand instead, her thin, strained little face looking up imploringly at her.
‘You’re coming with us, aren’t you, Aggie?’
‘Hello, dear,’ Muriel Wood said, reaching them. ‘Are you ready?’ She looked tired and sad, and she spoke very gently.
Aggie nodded. She had agreed that sometimes, as well as Sunday school, she would go to church with Mrs Wood and Oliver and Lily, who was now living with them.
‘It’s such a good thing for Lily,’ Mrs Wood had told Jen Green when she called round to ask if it was all right for Aggie to go. ‘She so needs to see familiar faces around her after all that’s happened.’
‘Poor little mite,’ Jen said. ‘Of course Aggie can come, if you think it helps.’
Mrs Wood had
looked at Jen Green, now hugely pregnant, her face and ankles swollen.
‘My dear,’ she said. ‘You have such an awful lot on your plate. If there’s any help I can give you, don’t hesitate to ask.’
Rather awkwardly, Jen thanked her, warmed by the woman’s unaffected kindness.
Aggie walked along with Muriel Wood, Oliver and Lily, who clung tightly to her hand. The little girl had lost so much weight after the shock she had experienced, that she looked waif-like, almost transparent. Everyone was concerned for her. Aggie loosed her hand and put her arm round Lily’s bony shoulders.
Lily looked up at her. ‘Will you be my sister, Aggie?’ she asked.
‘I’ll try,’ Aggie said solemnly.
Looking up at Muriel Wood, she saw that the woman was wiping tears from her eyes.
‘Is Mrs Southgate getting better?’ Aggie asked.
Muriel Wood tried to regain a cheerful demeanour. ‘I think she is,’ she said. ‘But it’s going to take a very long time.’
In the days after the shooting, there was no other subject of conversation in the street. The shock was total. Huddles of people stood casting glances at number fifteen Lilac Street, which now stood empty. Harry Southgate had fled from the scene as soon as he had finished firing the gun. He had not seen Lily, on her little bed on the floor, had not been thinking of her, so caught up was he in his own rage and agony. He had not tried to run away; he had simply gone home again. The police had no difficulty in finding him.
Poor, terrified Mrs Terry had found Lily cowering at the end of the bed, only inches from all the blood and the apparently lifeless faces of her mother and Arthur King. Arthur had died almost instantly. Rose, though bleeding grievously, was found to be still alive.
It had taken some enquiries to establish that Lily could go to Mrs Wood’s house, somewhere gentle and familiar, and Muriel Wood, good woman that she was, had not hesitated to say that she would care for her for as long as necessary.
