by Annie Murray
It felt terrible climbing down into the cold, damp-smelling cabin of Pearl. Evie lit the tilly lamp and the shadows flickered round them. They were full of Gary – his few possessions, the atmosphere of him, his whimpering dog. Carl got the stove going and she put water on for tea as the place gradually warmed up. Even in her shocked state, Carl’s knowing so surely what to do surprised her.
Neither of them thought of eating. She sat by the warming kettle while Carl took Rocket outside, trying to keep warm, and worrying. They had just run off – would the police be looking for them right this minute? Chasing them? They should have stayed, she knew. This dangerous idiot, Wally, what he had done? Her breath steadied. The ambulance men knew where they had come from. Would they send somebody after them? For a moment she felt frightened. But then, she told herself, it was not her fault, none of it. It was not as if she knew where Wally lived and she didn’t think Carl did either. That’s all they would be able to say anyway.
She could hear Carl outside, talking to the dog through his tears. His voice reminded her of Gary. Her mind started flashing memories – almost all of them sad ones. Gary and Carl as kids, ragged, grubby, uncared for. Gary and Pete – Gary’s wild happiness, his plunge into grief when Pete was found dead. Meeting him on the Bristol Road – the wrecked look of him, sweet still in the way of a boy who could barely look after himself but was always trying to look out for Carl.
‘Poor little bugger,’ she muttered. ‘You didn’t stand a chance, mate.’
She wept again, sobbing to the core of her; wept for Gary who seemed to show her at one remove all the hurt and neglect of both their childhoods, an everlasting pain which howled inside each of them, just as Rocket, outside, was howling her grief to the moon.
For a while she kept expecting to hear footsteps outside – the police coming to ask questions. But no one came. She settled Carl to sleep like a baby, which comforted her as much as him. He twitched and sobbed and she patted and talked gently to him, kneeling on the floor beside him as he curled on one of the little benches. The dog jumped up and managed to squeeze into the V of his bent knees.
As quietly as she could, Evie got up stiffly and put a little more coal into the stove to keep them warm into the night. She had still not even taken her coat off. She pulled her feet up, hugging her knees into her chest, and sat in the dim light of the lamp, trying to comfort her own raw feelings. Sleep would not come yet – not for a long time.
Now the first rush of shock and grief over Gary had passed, she felt wrung out and exhausted. She found sober thoughts arriving, found herself talking to him in her mind. We were the same, you and me – sad little things, weren’t we, as kids? Back in Ladywood? They’d call us ‘underprivileged’ now, wouldn’t they – those of us without much. She smiled for a second, thinking what Gary would say to this. Underprivileged? Yeah, we were underprivileged all right. Yes, we were, she agreed. But it wasn’t fancy houses and clothes we did without, was it? No one round our end had much. But we never had . . . Her tears rose again at this thought. We never had moms to love us, that was what. At least, she thought, Gary’s mom was dead. Dead and remembered with love and longing.
Her most bitter thought came then. Mine was alive and she couldn’t even manage to love me.
Thoughts began to pound at her, the full force of what had happened reaching her. Gary’s dead. Actually dead. Never coming back.
And worst of all, aren’t I dead to my own children? I could be dead – I tried to walk under that car.
Dead. Gone forever. Forever.
She played the scene outside the school over in her mind again. Tracy and Andrew coming out, holding hands like lost waifs; Tracy glancing at a stranger who happened to be positioned by the school gates. Tracy who hadn’t seen her mother in months, hadn’t heard from her, had no idea where she was. Tracy who was a little girl, looking after her little brother like a little mom.
The pain and shame that filled her almost overwhelmed her. She had taken their not seeing her as a judgement, as if they didn’t care, didn’t want her. Taut with pain, she pressed her fists against the side of her head.
They were just little children, blown about by the force of all the adults round them. Adults who made their decisions for them. And the one adult they needed most . . .
I could be dead, she kept thinking. Like Gary. Dead. Not here anymore. But I’m not. I’m here.
I’m here. She relaxed her hands and sat up straight, gulping in deep breaths. She had a life. She had a chance. And whatever it took, however much pain and difficulty it might cause her, she was going to go back to her children and fight for them. She was going to grab hold of that life and live it.
Sixty
‘Come on, Carl, wake up.’
He was like a giant baby, curled up on the narrow bench. Evie already had her few things bundled together. She was jittery with urgent energy. Every fibre of her wanted to get away from here now, to do the thing she knew she had to do.
The dog had been quiet in the night, but woke her before it was light, whimpering to be let out. She had got up and relit the stove.
‘Carl.’ She prodded him awake, holding out a mug of tea.
Carl opened his eyes and sat up. He looked around him, even more like a child, and started crying again, with great shuddering sobs.
‘Oh Carly.’ She sat down beside him, stroking his wide back, her own tears welling. He was so big, so unprotected. ‘Look.’ She reached out and turned his head to face her. ‘You can’t just stay here on your own, bab. And I’ve got to go and . . . Well, never mind. You need to go and find your brothers – get them to help you. You know where Paul lives, don’t you? And Ron?’
Carl rattled off an address in Quinton.
‘That’s Paul’s house, is it?’ She repeated it. ‘And d’you know what bus to get?’
Carl recited bus numbers.
‘All right. Well, you go and find Paul and tell him what’s happened, Carl, all right?’ They were family. They would have to sort things out. ‘It’s Saturday today so he shouldn’t be at work. And you’ll have to take her with you.’ She eyed the dog who lay at their feet.
He nodded, quietening, as if glad to have an action to hold on to. ‘Rocket,’ he said fondly. ‘You’re coming with me, girl.’
The dog got up and pushed her muzzle into his outstretched hand. Thank God he’s got her, Evie thought.
She fried them up some bacon and sliced hunks of bread, trying to slow herself for his sake. There was no point in her setting off too early anyhow, even if she was burning to be gone. She felt as if she had snapped, abruptly, into a different state where she could see everything in a new way, was acutely aware of being alive. She was suddenly full of energy. All she wanted now was to change, to make up for everything and begin again.
When it was time to go, they locked up the cabin. It was raining steadily, the drops stippling the surface of the cut. Carl stood on the path with Rocket at his side, his big parka on. Evie jumped down to join him.
‘Go and find Paul then, all right?’ she said, looking up at him, rain falling on her face.
‘I will,’ Carl said earnestly. ‘I’ll go now.’
He went to set off there and then.
‘Hey, hang on, what about saying goodbye!’ Evie pulled him back by the arm and wrapped him in a hug, his wet parka against her cheek. ‘I’ll see yer, kid. I will. Just got a few things I’ve got to do, all right?’
‘All right,’ Carl said.
She watched as he walked away through the thin curtain of rain, a lumbering bear with the dog beside him, at the edge of the dark thread of water, until he reached a curve in the path and she could not see him anymore.
She barely gave a thought to how wet she was getting, walking the towpath, waiting first for one bus into town, then another out. With no hood, no hat or umbrella, her hair was soon soaked. She rubbed the tickling drops of water from her face, felt it trickle down her neck. The cotton anorak was not much help and she sat in t
he steamy buses, legs encased in her wet trousers.
But none of this mattered. Nothing mattered now except for one thing.
When she reached the place, it was grander than she had imagined – one of a number of very sizeable, ornate houses along the street. Although Melly had told her that the family had come into money, she had still not been quite prepared for the size of it. The front garden was obviously lovingly tended. The windows looked huge to her, clean panes of glass, giving back the grey folds of sky.
Evie did not allow herself to be nervous. She went to the front door and, in the absence of a knocker, pulled on a metal handle beside the door. A mellow clanging noise came from within.
Would she be there now? Would she?
A moment later she heard noises and what sounded like the cry of a baby. Footsteps approached the door. The person behind it had to tug hard to open it.
‘Oh! Er . . . Hello?’
The woman was holding a child of about nine months old on her hip. It looked like a little boy, with a cap of fair hair. The woman was slender, with thick, iron-grey hair caught up into a soft bun and liquid brown eyes. It was a beautiful face – one of a woman who had been lovely at every age. Evie knew well who she was.
‘’Scuse me . . . Mrs Morrison?’
‘Ye-es . . .’ She seemed caught between caution and kindness. Evie heard other voices in the background somewhere. ‘Sorry, love, I don’t know you, do I? You look terribly wet.’
‘I’m . . .’ A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed it down, impatient that her emotions should not get in the way. ‘I’m Evie, Evie Sutton, and . . . well, Melly told me she lived here. I was looking to speak to her.’
Dolly Morrison’s mouth actually dropped open. ‘Evie?’ she breathed. ‘Little Evie! Well I never. Yes – I can see you now, bab, now you’ve told me. Course, she said she’d seen you . . .’ She took a moment to collect her thoughts. ‘Look at me! What’s my trouble, leaving you out there in the wet? Come in, darlin’. Melly’s not here at the moment – she had an early shift today. She works at the hospital, see. Well, of course, you know that.’ She stepped back to let Evie in, closed the door, then led her to the back of the house.
‘Come and have a cuppa tea – you looked half starved. Mo, look who’s come to see us!’
Warmed by the way Dolly made it sound like a pleasurable social visit, Evie took in the enormous, homely kitchen with a big table at the heart of it, on which was a flowery cloth scattered with plates and mugs, marg on a plate, a pot of jam, a big brown teapot and a lot of crumbs. At one end of the table sat Mo Morrison, a burly figure with short, grizzled hair, in shirtsleeves, his thick forearms furred with grey hairs. Evie remembered him vividly, fondly, as one of the adults she had known in the yard in Aston, where her family had lived before they flitted off to Ladywood to dodge the rent. With Mo were two young lads with blond hair, aged about seven and nine, tucking into wedges of bread. They stared curiously at her. They were very like the blond boys – little blond buggers, Melly had said – who had careered round the yard in Aston.
‘These are some of my grandchildren,’ Dolly said, waving her hand vaguely over the three boys. ‘Now, Mo, d’you know who this is then?’
Mo Morrison tore himself away from the paper he was reading and his fleshy face turned to Evie. He had pale eyes in a still boyish face. Evie felt such a mess, her clothes all clinging and damp. She was sure she must smell bad. But she felt both amused and foolish at Mo’s obvious bewilderment.
‘No.’ He looked back and forth between Evie and his wife, awaiting enlightenment.
‘It’s young Evie. You know, the Suttons – Irene and Ray.’ Dolly filled the kettle and set it on the big cooker, doing everything left-handed, the baby still stuck to her hip.
The light dawned. ‘Irene and Ray . . . Oh my giddy uncle,’ Mo said unguardedly, before realizing he was talking to the daughter of this much disliked couple. ‘Evie – you was the little’un, right? Little blonde thing?’
Evie nodded, blushing, aware that her hair hung in rat’s tails, stuck to her head, and worried that she was leaving a trail of wet across the floor. Mo peered at her. ‘For heaven’s sake, Dolly, the wench is soaked to the skin. You can’t sit about like that, girl – you’ll catch yer death! Get the wench a cuppa tea, Doll!’
‘I am, Mo,’ Dolly said. ‘I’m making tea. What d’you think I’m doing?’
‘What about a nice hot bath? D’you want a bath?’ Mo asked, to Evie’s astonishment. ‘A bowl of soup? We got soup, Dolly?’
‘Course you can have a bath,’ Dolly said. ‘Mo, go and run the girl a bath. You can have a cup of tea – I’ll find you summat to put on while we dry out your things. Go on, you can take a cuppa with you. Soup later.’
‘But . . .’ Evie said, deeply touched and amused by this kindly fussing. They had not even asked her why she was here. Mo was already on his way out of the room.
‘Not in a rush, are you, bab?’ Dolly asked.
‘No . . .’
‘Well, Melly won’t be back for a good while – her shift finishes at four – so you might as well make yourself comfortable. I’ll do you some toast, shall I?’
Some minutes later, she found herself sitting in a huge, claw-footed bath full of warm water and pine-smelling bubble bath, with a cup of tea and a plate of toast, hardly able to believe that this was happening.
Dolly had even left her a hairdryer and laid out some pyjamas and a dressing down and slippers for her to put on. The dressing gown and the slippers were both pink and fluffy. Evie felt as if she was living in a luxury hotel all of a sudden.
‘Oh yes, I can see you now!’ Dolly said when she went back downstairs. ‘You haven’t changed all that much really. Still the same baby face! Want another cuppa? Mo’s taken the lads down to the park – there’s a little place with a lake down behind here. You have to get lads out, whatever the weather, or they drive you barmy.’
Evie thought of Andrew and nearly said she knew this. But she kept quiet, and anyway, Dolly was in full flow.
‘My lad Reggie – he’s Melly’s husband; they live here, see, up at the top – he’s taken their two out, to the Science Museum or some such. It’s quite peaceful for once!’ She swirled the teapot round, eyeing Evie. ‘Those things belong to our Donna. Look, this is her. She’s on the London stage, you know.’ Evie heard the glow of pride in Dolly’s voice as she reached for a picture on the sideboard. Evie saw a chorus line of girls dancing, the dark-eyed one Dolly pointed to glowing with pleasure and prettiness.
‘She looks just like you used to, Mrs Morrison,’ Evie said. It was true – how she remembered her. But she could also recall Donna as a tiny, black-haired tot already gorgeous to look at.
Dolly laughed. ‘It’d be nice to think, but our Donna’s a lot better-looking than I ever was. She comes home whenever she can, see her old mom and dad, though.’ She sounded happy, surrounded by her family. ‘Come on, sit down,’ she added as Evie hovered by the table. ‘And tell me how you’ve been.’
Evie had never imagined talking to Dolly. Since that day in the hospital it was Melly she had clung to the idea of. Melly, a person who seemed to live on the bright side of the world, not the dark side of the damned where she had been and felt she belonged. And it had taken until now to find the courage to come and ask.
But now she was sitting in this warm kitchen with all Dolly’s pots and pans hanging from hooks near the range, the big table, the warm eyes of this woman opposite her, who she felt knew her, knew where she had come from, it all came tumbling out: everything, even Julie, because she knew Mrs Morrison would understand, and Jack and her children, the hospital, her own failure to care for them, Gary and Carl – everything. It was like emptying herself. Dolly’s face ran with tears as she spoke. She went on for a long time, but Dolly didn’t interrupt.
When Evie finally ran out of words, she sat back, wiping the tears from her own cheeks.
‘So I came to ask Melly for help. I know she tried
to come and see me . . . in there. I just couldn’t . . . Not then. I can’t go back there on my own. Dr Rose said I shouldn’t tangle with Mom. But she’s got my kids . . . I don’t know what to do, Mrs Morrison.’
Dolly sat forward, clearly very affected by what she had heard. She reached for Evie’s hand. She paused for a moment. At last, she said, ‘You know, Evie, your mother was not like any other mother I’ve ever met, I have to be honest with you. There were plenty who were rough and ready, or hardly holding their heads above water – but not like her, the way she was over you. We all tried to look out for you, when you were small. I know Rachel – Melly’s mom, d’you remember her?’ She saw Evie nod. Tracy Rachel. She must tell them about her daughter’s name. ‘She found you locked out in the cold one night.’
‘It wasn’t the only time she did that,’ Evie said.
‘I’ve never known a mother turn on a small child the way she did you. She wasn’t all that nice to your sisters, but even then I could see her turning them against you as well. And you . . .’ She shook her head. ‘She’s the one not right in the head, Evie. She never was. Your mother seemed to have no fellow feeling for anyone. Not that your father helped the situation.’
She didn’t go on, but they both knew what she meant.
‘Your children need you, Evie.’
‘I know.’ She looked down into the pink softness of her lap, her tears coming again.
‘Don’t think they don’t. Don’t ever tell yourself that. They want you more than anything, I’m sure. And they don’t need to be with her, however much she’s making up to them. She always wanted the whole world to dance around her. Evie . . .’
Evie looked up at her and Dolly tightened her hold on Evie’s hand for a moment, looking very seriously at her.
‘Melly told me she’d seen you, darlin’ . . . when you were first in hospital. She’s been fretting about you. When she gets home I know she’ll feel the same as me.’ Fiercely, she added, ‘What you need is someone on your side. We’ll help you. We will.’
