The Doorstep Child

by Annie Murray

  Evie could not concentrate on anything. Even if they were all sitting there in front of Juke Box Jury or Billy Cotton’s Christmas Party, all she kept thinking about was Ken and the baby. She was in a fever of wanting to make plans but she became more and more terrified that Ken did not feel the same. That note he had sent – had that just been an excuse? Was he really ill? Her mood sank. Did Ken really want to be with her or not? She started to believe Mom’s constant goading.

  ‘Where is ’e then, this cowing Romeo? No sign of ’im, is there? I s’pect ’e’s cut and run if ’e’s got any sense.’

  Rita and Conn came round for a while but all Rita did was look down her nose when she heard about Evie and say, ‘Oh, is that so?’ And then she ignored her. Rita wanted all the attention on her and baby Joseph.

  The two days seemed eternally long and she was beginning to be taken over by a piercing sense of doubt. She wanted to run round to the Heatons’ house, but knew that would be a disaster. Had Ken abandoned her? That was what men did, wasn’t it? It was what Dad had done to Nancy when she had his child.

  Two days after Boxing Day she was once again alone in the house. Everyone had gone to work. She had just got dressed, slowly, in an old skirt which she could barely get round her now and a jumper, to do some chores in an attempt to keep busy. All she could think about was Ken. Surely he’d be better by now? He’ll come later today. He’ll come and meet me. He will.

  It was a freezing day of bright winter sunshine. She was sweeping out the downstairs room when she heard running feet outside and a hammering on the door as if someone wanted to knock it down.

  ‘Blimey,’ she said, going to it with the broom in one hand. ‘Where’s the flaming fire?’

  For a second she thought it might be Ken, but she already knew Ken would not bang on a door like that.

  Outside, she saw Carl, Gary’s brother. Carl was nearly fourteen now and was starting to grow tall but he was the same solid lad, a dark helmet of hair round his still childlike face. His trousers looked too big, the hems dragging on the ground. He was breathing hard, almost sobbing, and he could not keep still, his arms flailing, feet moving in agitation.

  ‘Eh, Carly, what’s up?’ Evie said. She propped the broom by the wall and stood back. ‘Come inside.’

  ‘No!’ Carl shook his head vigorously. ‘You gotta come, Evie.’ He came up the step and took her by the sleeve. ‘Come! Gary wants yer.’

  ‘Carl,’ she protested. ‘Stop pulling me, I’m coming. Just slow down and tell me what’s happened.’

  She managed to get the front door shut as Carl seized her arm and started hauling her along the street towards the Knights’ house.

  ‘Is Gary at home, Carl?’ She knew Gary was supposed to be at work at this time.

  ‘Yeah. Come on.’

  Evie had not been inside the Knights’ house for a long time. Carl kicked the front door open and before she was even inside, the stink of the place hit her and she could hear sobs from the back room. Gary had always been a blarter and now he was crying as if the world had ended.

  She had a moment to notice that the back room of the house was as squalid as ever. There was one remaining curtain slewed half across the window, chinks of light piercing through it. The table was strewn with things and the room stank of mouldiness mingled with urine and cigarette smoke. Gary was hunched on a chair next to the unlit grate, his hands over his face, fingers shoved up under his specs.

  Carl pointed at his brother in a stricken way, as if Evie might not have noticed the figure in front of her, shoulders shaking with sobs.

  ‘Gary? GARY!’ she almost shouted, when he seemed too lost in himself to hear her.

  She went and squatted by the chair, knees wide to accommodate her girth. She didn’t want to kneel because the floor near the grate was strewn with ash and who knew what else. Laying her hand on her old friend’s knee, she looked up at him.

  ‘Gary – look, calm down. It’s me, Evie. What’s the matter, eh?’

  Gary surfaced and took his hands from his face. He looked as if he was emerging from somewhere far away, his eyes red behind his wonky specs, cheeks wet with tears. He took off his smeary specs and pulled his arm across his face. For a moment he sat quiet, then, as if with memory dawning on him again, said, ‘It’s Pete,’ his face crumpling as he started to sob.

  ‘What about him?’ Evie decided her legs would not stand squatting down there. She hauled herself up and as Carl watched helplessly, pulled up a little stool from by the fire. She sat beside Gary and waited.

  ‘He’s . . . dead . . .’ Words jerked out between the sobs.

  ‘Oh Gary, no!’ She felt the shock. She had thought it was going to be Pete misbehaving again; moody, unfaithful, self-absorbed Pete. Another of their tiffs. But now she was moved by his grief. ‘God. How? Was it an accident on his bike?’

  Gary was shaking his head. ‘No. They don’t know.’ The words jolted out of him. ‘They found the bike . . . On Christmas Eve. No one’d seen ’im, not for days. And then . . .’ He cried again for a few moments at some new thought. ‘I only know because one of the other lads who knew ’im came and said . . . I mean, I was closest to ’im and I never knew ’e was dead for all that time. It’s wrong . . .’

  Evie put her hand on Gary’s back, trying to be comforting, not knowing what to do or say. She realized in those seconds that until now she had not taken Pete seriously. Not really seen that poor, hungry Gary was utterly devoted to him. She had never liked Pete so she had dismissed him from her mind. She thought, what if it was Ken? Worry knifed through her again for a moment. It was a relief to be distracted from her own life by the tragedy in Gary’s. She felt Carl’s presence, just standing there behind her.

  ‘D’you know where he was?’ she asked gently.

  Gary lit a cigarette with shaking hands, took a deep drag on it and blew the smoke upwards, the cigarette nipped between his finger and thumb.

  ‘Stourbridge. Near there somewhere.’

  ‘Stourbridge?’ She barely knew where it was.

  ‘They found him – his body . . .’ Tears rolled down Gary’s cheeks again. He took another drag then coughed at length. His lungs sounded bad. ‘He was in the river.’

  Evie gasped. ‘Oh my God, Gary. He was drowned? Did the bike go in, or . . . ?’

  Gary was shaking his head. ‘I told yer – the bike was just there, on the bank.’

  She didn’t like to ask the next question. Pete must have killed himself. In that split second she thought how every time she had seen Pete, with his swaggering, sulky appearance, he had looked unhappy.

  ‘They’re saying he done it – you know, topped himself. But ’e wouldn’t ’ave. ’E’d never’ve! ’E wouldn’t ’ve gone and left me. Someone done it to him, I know they did. Pete was murdered!’ Gary punched his own thigh so hard that he yelped. ‘’E’d never leave me. If ’e was gunna to top ’imself, ’e should’ve taken me with ’im!’

  ‘Oh Gary, don’t say that!’ Evie said, horrified by this extremity. She felt shut out by the force of his rage and grief. Gary was so upset there was no chance of a calm conversation with him. Had Pete been murdered? Did the police think so? Or had he taken his own life? She had no idea what to think and she could see she was going to get no sense out of Gary the state he was in at the moment.

  Carl suddenly moved in and wrapped his arms round Gary from behind, his own cheeks wet with tears.

  ‘Don’t cry, Gary,’ he implored. ‘Don’t. Don’t.’

  This, of all of it, brought tears to Evie’s eyes. These loveless boys in their rotten home. But then, Gary had had love – or thought he had. And now it was gone.

  ‘Look. Come on, you two,’ she said, standing up. She felt like their friend and mom all at once. ‘There’s no one in at ours. Come on over and I’ll make you a cuppa. Get you out of the house for a bit, Gary.’

  Gary gently pushed Carl off and stood up, obedient as a little child. ‘All right,’ he said in a tired voice.


  ‘You both s’posed to be at work?’ she asked.

  Gary shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Come on.’

  She led them across the street. Gary cried all the way, Carl holding his arm as if he were an invalid. Evie sat the two of them at the table, cut them a piece of bread and marg and brewed the tea. Gary made as if to refuse, but she insisted.

  ‘Eat,’ she ordered. ‘You’ll feel a bit better.’

  Gary looked up meekly at her. ‘All right.’ He took a bite, then another, then gave a twisted smile which did not reach his eyes. ‘Ta, Evie.’

  Twenty-Two

  ‘All right, lad, all right. I can see you’re upset.’

  Mr Hooper, the mechanic who Gary worked for, stood in the doorway of his little workshop, wiping his hands on a rag. He was a squat, middle-aged man in dark blue overalls, head thinly covered by faded ginger hair.

  ‘In the normal run of things, I’d er . . .’ He stopped, leaning against the door frame, seeming unable to think what he might do in the normal run of things. ‘But you’ve had terrible news, I can see. Just make sure you’re in in the morning.’ He looked at Evie. ‘Good job you brought yer girlfriend with yer, lad.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Hooper,’ Gary sniffed, tears welling in his eyes again. It would have taken a heart of stone not to be touched by his sagging, lightning-struck appearance. ‘I’ll be there in the morning, without fail.’

  The gaffer at the factory where Carl had a little holiday job as a sweeper-upper and general gofer told him to get started straight away. Carl did as he was told, with a backward glance at Evie and Gary like a puppy who has had a thrashing.

  ‘Ta, Evie,’ Gary kept saying as they walked home. ‘You’re a mate.’

  ‘S’all right,’ she said gruffly. Then she nudged him. ‘We’ve always been mates, eh?’

  ‘You’re my best mate,’ Gary said earnestly.

  She was about to say, what about Pete? but thought better of it. She must keep his mind off Pete. In any case, she could see now, as she had never quite seen before, that Pete had been something else altogether.

  ‘Can you stick around with us?’ Gary asked miserably. ‘I can’t stand being on my own. Or with the others.’ He nodded towards the house. ‘They don’t . . . you know, don’t get it. Except old Carly – ’e’s all right.’

  ‘I’ve got to go to work this afternoon,’ Evie said. ‘But it’ll be all right ’til then. Come on, let’s go down to Monument Road. I’ll treat you to some chips. I’m starving.’

  She didn’t tell him why she was so hungry – not then.

  As they walked along the street together Gary said, ‘I can’t stay here. I’ve just got to get out and go somewhere else. Somewhere which won’t make me remember him.’

  She spent every spare moment that weekend with Gary, trying desperately not to think about Ken. Why had she heard nothing more from him? Was he really ill or was that just an excuse? All she could do was to fear the worst. He had spoken to his mom and dad and they had told him never to see her again. This thought left her numb more than anything. It was what she deserved. All she had ever deserved. She had always known really that Ken was too good for her. But she didn’t want to believe it. What she would do if this was the truth of it, she could not think at all. As the hours passed, the more anxiety gnawed at her, though she poured all her sympathy into Gary, trying to take her mind off it.

  All Saturday she was torn between wanting to go out with Gary to distract both of them, and wanting to stay in because Ken might come. But there was still no sign of him.

  She was working that evening. She had gone to the Rag Market and bought a loose dress which she wore to the Tower now, hoping to goodness it would disguise her swelling front. Luckily she stood behind a counter. All that evening she worked to the sound of dance music, selling entry tickets, counting change, sick with anxiety. Surely tonight he would come and be waiting there for her?

  But she knew she could not believe in anything anymore. Nothing felt real, not even the baby, even though she could feel it kicking. One minute she expected Ken to turn up just as before, for everything to be as it had been; the next it felt as if she would never see him again, as if she had never had this good thing in her life and it had all been a dream. She was never meant to have anything good or be happy. Life was not good to someone like her.

  Even so, she left the darkening building that night with her pulse racing. That spot where he stood waiting – let him, please God make him be waiting for me . . .

  But there was no one there.

  By the day Evie was growing more frantic, not knowing what to do. She could not sleep. She kept imagining things. Ken had died of a fever. He had told his father and they had forbidden him ever to see her again. He had deserted her. Oh God, where was he? Why didn’t he come?

  Looking after Gary was a way of staying out of the house and away from Mom’s constant sniping at her. Where was this husband to be of hers then? It was like having a knife gouged into her every time Mom opened her mouth. She and Gary wandered about in the freezing evenings, had a drink or two while the pubs were open, the Christmas spirit passing them both by. Gary talked about Pete. She did not talk about Ken or the baby. While she was with Gary she could pretend none of this was happening. She just had no idea what to do next.

  But by the evening of New Year’s Eve, she could not stay out any longer. It was cold, she was tired out, her feet aching and frozen. Gary went home to his father and brothers, still swearing he was going to make the break and get away, though he seemed to have no idea to where that might be. Pete had talked about going to America but Gary thought this was a bit far.

  As soon as Evie got in, her mother started on her, shouting over the telly.

  ‘Oh, you’re back, are yer? Thought yow might’ve been out sorting out this gunshot wedding of yours. I s’pose yow cor find ’im? Run off from yow, ’as ’e?’

  Evie said nothing, forcing herself to keep her temper under control. Shirley looked up from her magazine and eyed her with what Evie chose to think might be sympathy, though it was hard to tell.

  Shirley had scarcely said a word to her since they had known Evie was pregnant. She was walking out now with an older man who had an Austin Cambridge which sailed up to the door to pick her up. Apart from the car, all Evie knew was that he had clipped hair and a sporty moustache. Shirley refused to tell anyone anything about him however much Mom kept on, even his name. This was an attitude Evie could well understand, even if Shirley was a smug cow.

  ‘Tea ready, is it?’ Mom demanded from her chair.

  ‘It’s already on,’ Shirley snapped, slamming her copy of Woman’s Own on the table. ‘The Queen’s thoughts on life today,’ Evie read on the cover. ‘It’s Evie’s turn anyhow. Get Evie to look at it.’

  ‘No,’ Evie corrected her, peeling off her coat. ‘It’s not my turn – I did it yesterday.’

  She was just hanging her coat on the back of the door when there was a knock. Unprepared, she went and opened up. Ken. He looked almost paralysed with fear. In those seconds Evie could see their house from the outside: the shabby door opening straight off the street, the frowsty stink, their cramped room with undies hanging for all to see by the fire. And this, set against his parents’ neat terrace, the little front garden with bits of box hedge in pots, the hall and the tidy rooms behind . . .

  ‘Evie, can you—’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Mom bawled. ‘Tell ’em to sod off – we’re ’aving our tea.’

  ‘No one.’ Evie grabbed her coat and stepped straight back outside again, slamming the door. ‘Quick,’ she said to Ken. ‘Let’s get down the road.’

  But she had seen the look of horror on his face.

  It was not until they were round the corner, in Reservoir Road, that they slowed at last. Ken touched her arm to stop her.

  ‘Evie. This is no place to do this, but I don’t know what else to do.’

  She just stared at him numbly. She knew already, by the cold, inevitab
le feel of things, that this was not going to be happy. He was not going to pull out an engagement ring and go down on one knee. Too many days had passed. But she could still not abandon hope, not yet.

  ‘Did you speak to your mom and dad?’ she asked, trying to stop her voice trembling. And then it didn’t work. ‘Oh Ken! Where’ve you been?’ She burst into tears. ‘I’ve been worried sick. I don’t know what to do, and Mom’s been on at me non-stop.’

  She wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right.

  Ken looked terrible. She saw how pale he was. He seemed thinner, as if in the past week he had shrunk, under some sort of torture. He did truly look as if he had been ill.

  ‘Are we going to get married?’ she asked. And then, a glimmer of anger lighting in her, ‘You’ve got to marry me, Ken! What’m I going to do? It’s your baby!’

  He seemed to wither before her. He put his hands in his trouser pockets and moved back from her, just a step, but that step said everything. He spoke staring at the ground.

  ‘I can’t.’ The words seemed to struggle out of his mouth, as if they were put there by someone else and did not fit. ‘I just . . .’ He looked up at her. ‘My father says, if I go off with you, they won’t let me go to agricultural college. In fact, they’ll cut me off altogether – throw me out, they said. So I won’t have anything – not for me or for any of us.’

  ‘You’ve got a job,’ Evie said. But already she could see it was hopeless.

  ‘But no future . . . not the future I want.’ His face creased and she thought he was going to cry but he fought it off. ‘I feel so terrible, Evie. They were so furious, Mom and Dad. I’ve never seen them like that before – even when I didn’t do well in the exams . . . So disappointed – heartbroken. It was awful. They said . . . they said awful things. About me – and about you as well. I don’t want to say. But can’t you see it’s hopeless? We can’t get married like that, with them feeling like that about us. We should never’ve . . . It’s not right . . . And you did . . . well, you led me on . . .’