by Annie Murray
‘Phyllis. I’ll have to get used to that. You can tell me all about everything later. I can see you’re in a fix, though God knows, he is your own flesh and blood. But I daresay you’ve got your reasons. Now look, I’ve been thinking – I’ll tell people he’s my sister’s child, a younger sister who’s too sick to care for him. Not that we see all that many people out here, except for the lads on the farm.’ She turned to Dolly. ‘And you can come and see him when you like. You know where we are.’
Phyllis was touched by the thought Nancy had put into everything. Unspoken between them was the sense that Nancy felt she owed Phyllis protection from things long past. She knew they needed to talk, in private, to know each other again. But not now, with her girls there. They did not need to know her, Phyllis thought, not her childhood and how it had been. She could explain Ethel away as an old neighbour, not right in the head. She’d think of something. They didn’t even need to know the half of it. All that could stay in the past.
Dolly, looking down at the little boy in her arms, had begun to cry quietly again. It felt as if everything was decided and that she had no say in anything. Being in this strange place, added to the shock of the baby and her sore, bleeding body, made it all feel overwhelming.
‘Don’t you worry, wench,’ her new auntie told her kindly. ‘He’ll be well looked after. I know you’ll see us right, Het, with enough to take care of him. After all, he is yours to care for really. But Lizzie here’s still feeding Susan so she can take him over and see he gets his milk.’
Dolly couldn’t help openly crying now.
‘Oh, you poor young wench,’ Nancy said. ‘Don’t want to part with him, eh? But your mother’s right, Dolly – you’re only a child yourself . . .’
‘I’m nearly seventeen!’ Dolly protested, looking up into Nancy’s face, the kindliness of which made her cry all the more.
‘My – you look younger,’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘Now look, Dolly, does your little lad have a name?’
Dolly shook her head wretchedly. They had held off naming him, none of them wanting to feel that he was Him, a real Someone they then had to part with. She saw that her sisters were both tearful too.
Lizzie brought a stool over and sat beside Dolly. ‘You feed him for today,’ she suggested carefully. ‘Then tomorrow he can come to me.’
Dolly nodded, her face wan. But she couldn’t help being drawn in by Lizzie’s earthy kindness. All the girls were happy to find that they had these new relatives.
‘We can’t let him go on without a name,’ Lizzie said. ‘What about christening him, for a start? What’re you going to call him, Dolly?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dolly said mutinously.
‘Well, you should name him,’ Lizzie insisted. ‘You had him – it’s yours to do.’
‘But he’s not mine, is he?’ Dolly burst out. She stood up, still holding the baby clutched close to her, her face creasing with distress. ‘I never thought I wanted him. I never wanted a babby! I didn’t know what it’d be like and . . . I never knew what I’d feel about it.’ She spoke to Lizzie. ‘Mom says we can’t keep him and that’s that. But –’ She was crying heartbrokenly now. ‘I don’t want to give him up. I don’t know as I want to keep ’im either . . . I just don’t know.’ She burst into sobs.
It was Rachel who got up and put her arms round Dolly, but Dolly pushed her away and went over to her mother.
‘Look, Mom –’ She held him out to her pleadingly. ‘You hold him.’
Phyllis found herself presented with the little boy, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping peacefully despite the storm around his head.
‘There he is,’ Dolly pleaded. ‘Look at him – properly for once. You can’t just pretend he’s not there, that he’s just a parcel or something!’
Phyllis felt the warmth of the small, milky-smelling body in her arms. The very posture of holding a child brought back so many memories. She felt a faint memory of tingling in her breasts. For the first time she allowed herself to look, really look at him. He was very much like Charles had been as an infant, the same colouring and expression of bafflement. The powerful feelings she had tried to push away started to rise in her.
‘I’m going to call him after our dad,’ Dolly said. ‘James. That’s his name. And his second name can be George, after the King. There.’
‘James is a nice name,’ Nancy said.
Phyllis felt a deep ache in her for the man she had lost. James – her James. How he would have loved seeing this little boy! What would he have done? She found herself thinking. ‘Be kind,’ that was James’s motto. ‘Better to be kind than to be right.’ She could hear his voice in her mind and her eyes filled. Her chest was suddenly bursting with emotion. His kindness had always softened her. She could feel her girls all watching her and she struggled to gain control. It was a moment before she could look up.
‘It is,’ she said. ‘That’s a very good name.’
The house Phyllis had chosen was a roomy villa in Erdington, not Smethwick as she had told her neighbours. When she walked in through the front door, into a vestibule instead of walking straight into the front room, Phyllis felt like weeping with relief and pleasure. It was all she had ever dreamed of.
As the four children explored the rest of the house and they waited for the van to arrive which she had rented to carry their things, she stood in the front parlour, the sun pouring in through the as yet uncurtained windows. She would buy some new, quality nets for those. She had an inner tremor of pleasure. How lovely all her things would look in here, arranged round the elegant little marble mantelpiece.
She heard the footsteps on the boards upstairs, her children’s voices. Susanna would be married and gone in the new year, she knew. But she wouldn’t be too far away. And for now, they were all here together. By evening they would have arranged many of the things in their places. They would sit together and eat a meal. Soon they would branch out. Charles would travel back to their old church on a Sunday for a time, as he had responsibilities there. But the rest of life was a fresh start: a blank sheet. No one knew them. Once little James was weaned, a few months down the line, he would be joining them. He was to be the child of Phyllis’s youngest sister, who had died tragically in childbirth. He would be hers to look after while Dolly went out to work. Phyllis’s fleshy face spread into a smile. Nothing like a child to give you a sense of the future, of fruition and purpose.
Phyllis looked out into the street. Strangers moved back and forth. Blessed strangers who knew nothing. And her family still knew very little about her – only a few sketchy details. The past was dead; everything was about now and the days to come. She took a deep breath of contentment, and smiling, went to call her children.
Seventy
‘Hey – they’re coming!’ Silas came tearing along the entry as if his shorts were on fire.
‘Mom’s back!’ the cry went up, and the welcoming committee – the Greens and most of the people from the Mansions – came out to see Jen return from the hospital.
One of the twins had been lying across the base of the womb and the doctor thought they would have to birth them by Caesarean section, but the babies made some last minute rearrangements and managed a natural, though arduous, birth. Jen stayed in the hospital, recovering. Everyone was very excited. She’d had a boy and a girl.
‘Are they gingers or brownies?’ Aggie asked when they heard the news.
‘The boy’s ginger and the girl’s another little May,’ Nanna said.
May looked up at her, big-eyed.
‘You’re a big sister now,’ Nanna told her. ‘You’re not the babby any more – you’ve got someone else to love now, bab. How’s that?’
Nanna was fully in charge again. She’d gone back to the factory, even though her wrist still gave her some ‘gip’ as she called it. But even with their mother missing, the Green children knew they were in safe hands.
And there was even more help on offer. Some surprises were being prepared for Jen. Since Mom had bee
n away, Mr Gates had been making himself busy. He was fixing the door which had been off its hinges for ages and nailing down floorboards, replacing one or two of them. He had put up a few shelves and mended the chairs which had loose legs, which was most of them. He was, as Nanna said, ‘very handy’. And he seemed to have a soft spot for all of them.
‘Heaven help ye,’ Mr Gates said, red-faced as he worked at fixing the door hinge. ‘Ye lot are gonna have yer hands stowed when they get back.’
Freda Adams and the children had grown used to the sound of hammering. They’d also grown accustomed to Mr Gates. Aggie, John and Ann got into the habit of waiting for him outside the Eagle, the way they used to with Dad, until he came out. He would laugh, seeing them there, and say, ‘Howay then, ye little monkeys – we better get ourselves home!’ And they would skip along the short distance back to the Mansions behind his large, lumbering figure. He had a habit of laying his beefy hand on their heads, and Aggie loved the warm feel of it when he did.
Jen arrived home by ambulance, and there were cheers as she got out, carrying the baby boy. A nurse followed with the little girl in her arms. Dulcie ran and put her arm round Jen’s shoulders.
‘Let’s have a look at him. Ooh, he’s so like you, Jen! They’re not a bad size, are they, considering?’
As Aggie followed her mother into the yard, she felt a thrill of relief and pleasure. It had felt so strange with Mom away and she looked thinner in the face now, but she was well, and smiling at the sight of them all. Soon everyone was gathering round, cooing over the babies and admiring them.
‘Let her get into her house!’ Dulcie protested after a time. The nurse, smiling, handed Dulcie the baby girl, wished Jen well and departed.
Inside, they all took turns to hold the new arrivals. Other children from the yard, Babs among them, came and wanted to look as well. The little girl was dark haired and as Nanna had said, very like May.
‘I thought we’d call her Lilian,’ Jen said. ‘And him –’ Fondly, she looked down at the little boy. ‘I know he’s nothing like Tommy in looks, but he’s got to be called after his dad.’ She filled up for a moment, but quickly wiped her eyes. Aggie felt a terrible pang. How Dad would have smiled and joked over these two. How proud he would have been!
‘They’re the last, that’s for sure,’ Jen went on. ‘So one’ve them had better be called after their father.’
‘They look very good, Jen, for twins,’ Nanna said and Aggie saw the tears of joy and pride in her eyes.
‘Oh,’ Jen said,’ they’re a couple of guzzlers. I’m at it morning, noon and night.’
Nanna had made tea and they’d all talked non-stop about the babies for some time before Jen said, ‘Hey – where the heck did those shelves come from?’
Aggie watched her grandmother’s face take on an amused, knowing look. ‘Ah – well, wouldn’t you like to know? And that’s not the only thing. See the door ain’t hanging off any more? And you’ll find there’s no more holes in the attic floor – or any other floor, for that matter. I think it’s safe to say that you’ve found an admirer.’
Jen stared at her, an obvious blush seeping right up her cheeks. ‘What d’you mean? Who?’
‘Who?’ Nanna teased. ‘Now don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. The man’s been here working like a dynamo for you all week.’
Ann couldn’t hold back and called out, ‘Mr Gates! He did all of it.’
Aggie was standing just inside the door, with the sun on her back. She could feel a grin spreading across her cheeks watching her mother’s face. She felt a bit funny about the way Mr Gates had taken so obvious a shine to her mother and was always helpful and protective towards her. He’s not our dad, Aggie told herself defiantly. He never will be. But Mr Gates was someone they were quickly getting used to. You couldn’t help yourself liking him: he was so reassuring and kindly. And he put a smile on Mom’s face.
Aggie slipped outside and sat down on the ground, drawing her knees up, her back against the warm bricks. The air was balmy and tinged with the smells of smoke and cooking. Some of the little children were playing out in the yard but they took no notice of her. She looked up at the clear late-afternoon sky, lit by a mellow sun, hearing the chink of teacups from in the house, and all their voices, Mom and Dulcie, Nanna, her brothers and sisters and Babs. There were so many thoughts she didn’t want to dwell on, that could take over her mind if she let them in. She tried not to think too much about sad, terrible times: about Dad, and Mary Crewe and what had happened to Mrs Southgate. Although Nanna said Mrs Southgate was getting better, so maybe things would be all right. Those afternoons she had spent in Mrs Southgate’s house already seemed a long way off, like another life in which she had wanted different things.
She heard Babs, her best friend, giggling and the others joining in. Nanna was better. Mom was safely home with the babbies. The sky was blue and, for now, what she could hear from inside was laughter.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Birmingham Rose
Birmingham Friends
Birmingham Blitz
Orphan of Angel Street
Poppy Day
The Narrowboat Girl
Chocolate Girls
Water Gypsies
Miss Purdy’s Class
Family of Women
Where Earth Meets Sky
The Bells of Bournville Green
A Hopscotch Summer
Soldier Girl
All the Days of Our Lives
My Daughter, My Mother
My Daughter, My Mother
ANNIE MURRAY
Two daughters. Two mothers.
The secrets of two lifetimes.
In 1984 two young mothers meet at a toddler group in Birmingham. As their friendship grows, they share with each other the difficulties and secrets in their lives:
Joanne, a sweet, shy girl, is increasingly afraid of her husband. The lively, promising man she married has become hostile and violent and she is too ashamed to tell anyone. When her mother, Margaret, is suddenly rushed into hospital, the bewildered family find that there are things about their mother of which they had no idea. Margaret was evacuated from Birmingham as a child and has spent years avoiding the pain of her childhood – but finds that you can’t run from the past forever.
Sooky, kind and good-natured, has already been through one disastrous marriage and is back at home living with her parents. But being ‘disgraced’ is not easy. Her mother, Meena, refuses to speak to Sooky. At first her silence seems like a punishment, but Sooky gradually realizes it contains emotions which are farmore complicated and that her mother may need her help. Meena has spent twenty years trying to fit in with life in Birmingham, and to deal with the conflicts within her between east and west, old ways and new.
This is the story of two young women discovering the heartbreak of their mothers’ lives, and of how mothers create daughters - and learn from them.
ISBN: 978-0-330-53520-5
First published in Great Britain 2013 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2013 by Macmillan
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Copyright © Annie Murray 2013
The right of Annie Murray to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The lines on this page are from ‘There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy’ by Frederick W. Faber, Oratory Hymns, 1854.
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