Family of Women

by Annie Murray

  ‘Well, no,’ Violet said. ‘You can’t do that, can you?’

  ‘Aye,’ Muriel said, without expanding on this any further.

  She sweet-talked the use of a ladder off a builder’s down the road and managed, from somewhere, to find several new slates for the roof. The next thing was that one Sunday morning in January, returned from Mass from which nothing short of an earthquake would keep her, Muriel was up on the roof, boiler-suit on, a green scarf holding back her hair, fixing the slates. It was drizzling lightly and the slates were dark and slippery-looking.

  ‘I can’t bear to watch,’ Violet shouted as Muriel reached the top of the ladder and set off towards the roof ridge on her hands and knees, holding on to the chimney stack, tools in a bag slung round her neck.

  ‘Don’t then,’ Muriel called down crisply. ‘Go and do something useful like making me a cup of cocoa – it’s cold enough to freeze a monkey’s tackle off up here.’ She twizzled round for a second. ‘Sorry – forgot the weans were down there!’

  Joyce and Linda watched, mesmerized, eyes full of sky. A few other people started to notice, the men shaking their heads in disbelief.

  ‘For God’s sake be careful,’ Violet said, heart in her mouth as Muriel’s wiry figure scrambled up the roof. In a moment she was straddling the ridge, making a thumbs-up sign.

  Violet was supposed to have climbed up and passed her the slates, but one of the neighbours wasn’t having that and insisted on doing it himself.

  ‘Can’t ’ave two of you killing yourselves,’ he muttered.

  But Muriel got the job done very proficiently and was soon sliding down towards the ladder, calling out, ‘Got that cocoa ready for me then?’

  Poised at the top of the ladder, she looked from her bird’s-eye vantage point along the street.

  ‘Oi, oi – new neighbours, look,’ she called, pointing to her left. A baker’s van had drawn up outside one of the houses and Violet saw two men begin unloading bits of furniture from in the back. She didn’t take too much notice, being far more interested in the moment when Muriel’s feet finally touched the ground and she felt herself relax again.

  ‘Lord – you’ll be the death of me,’ she said. ‘Can’t you stick to cake decorating?’

  They passed the evenings talking and laughing and telling each other about their families and Muriel’s exploits with ‘laddies’. Men seemed to like her and she was ever baffled as to why. Violet could see why. Muriel wasn’t the world’s greatest beauty, but she had such a lot of life in her. Her abundant energy and good humour lifted Violet out of her usual fatalistic and gloomy turn of mind. Muriel took life at the run.

  In March, Harry came home for what turned out to be embarkation leave. The notice he gave was very short.

  ‘Look – you don’t want me about if your husband’s home,’ Muriel said. ‘Let me see if I can find a place to stay for a couple of nights.’

  ‘No – don’t talk daft,’ Violet said. ‘Where’re you going to go? It’ll be all right.’

  Muriel looked very doubtful. ‘Well – at least let me take Joyce and Linda in to sleep with me.’ She rolled her eyes comically. ‘You’ll not be wanting company in the bedroom department, will ye?’

  In fact, Muriel and Harry got along very well and he seemed reassured that there was another woman in the house. As they lay in bed together the night before he went, Violet realized how different it would have been had Muriel not been there. She would have been insecure and grieved at his leaving again – this time overseas. Instead, she knew, guiltily, that although she was worried about where he might be going, she barely missed him at all.

  And Harry had a new light in his eye. The army suited him. He had lost the girth that too much ale and lack of much purpose in life had gradually accumulated round him. He was trim and fit, his hair clipped short. She could see he looked and felt younger.

  ‘Well – I never thought it’d come like this – all the ideas I had about seeing the world and that.’ He squeezed Violet round the waist. They were lying close and warm after lovemaking. ‘I’ll miss all you girls. I don’t even know where we’re going. The lads all think it’ll be out East. Got to be really, hasn’t it?’

  She nodded against him, unable to imagine it. He already felt far, far away from her.

  ‘Promise me – ’ He turned over suddenly and in the dark she could feel his face close to hers, feel his breath on her face. ‘You’ll be here when I get back . . .’ He ran out of words.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Course I will! Where d’you think I’m going to be off to?’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  March 1942

  ‘Right, you two – up oden hill!’

  Joyce and Linda, both ready for bed, were huddled close to the fire. It was a bitter night, the wind slamming against the windows and sucking the flames up the chimney.

  ‘When’s Muriel coming back?’ Linda asked. She was very taken with Muriel.

  ‘There’s no telling,’ Violet said. ‘Come on – shift.’

  Muriel was out with ‘Dickie’, a friend who she was being unusually coy about.

  The girls were already upstairs when she heard knocking on the door. In the blacked-out darkness she saw a long, rather melancholy face under a cap. He was holding it on to stop the wind lifting it away.

  I . . . I live at number two . . .’ He seemed distracted, or nervous. Violet recognized him – they were the family that moved in a few months back. She’d seen his wife about, a rounded, sleepy-looking woman. The man who stood in front of her was thin, and there was something gentle about him, but somehow intense at the same time.

  ‘Thing is . . . the babby’s sick – very bad. And the wife. And we’ve no coal. I’ve tried a couple of the houses, but . . . You got any to spare?’

  ‘I’ve got a bit. You’d better come in a tick.’ She shut the door. It was second nature now, the blackout, not letting light spill into the street.

  Violet fetched the coal scuttle. She felt sorry for him.

  ‘It’s mostly slack, but there’s a few bits in there. It’s a bad night out.’

  He took it absently, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. ‘Ta. Very good of you. I’m Roy . . . Keillor.’

  His voice was nice, she thought. Gentle and quite well-spoken.

  ‘How old’s the babby?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Three months. Don’t know if she’ll last. And Iris, my wife. Cough, cough, fit to break her apart. I don’t know what to do for her.’ He trailed off again. She felt for him, could see how worried he was.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Pneumonia, the doctor says. Look – I’d best go. Very kind of you.’ He tipped his cap. ‘We’ve no fire, else, and the other kiddies’re starving cold.’

  ‘Is there anything else I can do?’ Violet said, touched by this desperate picture.

  He shook his head. ‘No, ta. Can’t do anything now but keep ’em warm.’

  She watched his slim figure disappear into the dark street.

  A couple of days later she learned, from other neighbours, that a tiny coffin had gone into number two. The little girl hadn’t won her fight for life, but apparently Mrs Keillor was rallying. Violet felt for them.

  ‘Brings it all back,’ she said to Muriel. ‘I lost my first babby – a little lad. We called him Bobby. It’s rst feeling there is, seeing ’em go like that. He died in Harry’s arms.’

  Muriel shook her head, her eyes filling. ‘You poor wee thing. I could nae come through that, I don’t think.’

  ‘Well, there’s no choice, is there? D’you think I should go round and see Mrs Keillor?’

  But shyness prevented her. Later, she wondered if that might have made all the difference. In time, once Iris Keillor had recovered, Violet saw her in the street in passing and at first she made to pass the time of day. But Iris had a very shy manner. There was nothing haughty about her, she just seemed to go about in a kind of dream, although the neighbours on either side sai
d that when you did speak to her she was always nice enough.

  When Roy called the next time, Muriel was in as well.

  ‘I’ve had this a while – sorry.’ He held out the coal scuttle.

  ‘Oh – ta.’ Violet took it, expecting him to move away, but he just stayed, looking at her. She realized she had not said anything about the Keillors’ misfortunes.

  ‘Sorry to hear about your little girl.’

  ‘Oh – yes –’ He nodded. Again, this vagueness. Violet was starting to think that the Keillors were a pretty odd pair.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Muriel said.

  Violet could have crowned her. What on earth did she want to invite this strange man in for? They could have had a nice evening on their own!

  Roy Keillor hesitated. ‘Nice of you. All right.’

  Muriel made tea and chatted on in her friendly way about how the two of them were welders and their work at Midwinters. Roy Keillor started to relax and he laughed at one or two things Muriel said. When he smiled, his thin face creased up and came to life. Violet thought how nice he seemed. He had laid his cap on the table beside him. He was wearing a black gaberdine which he didn’t take off. Under it, Violet could just make out a maroon jersey.

  ‘How many children’ve you got, you and your wife?’ She sat down as Muriel brought the pot of tea over.

  ‘Three – well, we did have. Two now. Two lads – they’re twins aged three.’

  There was a silence for a moment, then Muriel said, ‘We’ve got twins at rks, haven’t we, Vi? Like two peas in a pod they are – and there’s no separating them. They’ll both need to marry the same man!’

  Roy laughed, and again Violet saw his features transformed.

  ‘Oh – ours aren’t like that. One’s like me and the other’s like their mother. No trouble telling them apart.’

  They chatted for a while, about the families and work. Roy told them he worked at Kynoch’s.

  ‘I nearly went there,’ Violet said. ‘But where we are’s smaller. Suits me better.’

  ‘It is a big works,’ he agreed. ‘But you know – you soon settle into one section of it and get to know people. There’s quite a few women now, of course.’ He laughed suddenly, his face lighting again. ‘Still can’t get used to the idea of you two being welders!’

  After he’d gone that night, Muriel said, ‘He seems a nice enough fella.’

  ‘Yes,’ Violet said. She’d been sorry to see him go. There was just something about him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Every Sunday they went to Bessie’s, pooling ration cards for whatever meal could be scratched together for them all. Everything revolved round Bessie’s house. Muriel usually came along too, now Bessie had accepted her. Muriel was always polite and entertaining, but sometimes she said things which later made Violet see her family through other eyes. When they were walking home with the girls one afternoon, Muriel said, ‘Why does your Marigold nae go out and get a job? She’s stuck there all the time. Would she nae like to get out? She’s the right age to be conscripted, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s twenty-nine this year,’ Violet said.

  ‘There you go.’

  ‘Mom won’t have it. Any road – I don’t think anyone’s ever asked her. It was like that when Mom took her away from school. No one ever came. It’s as if no one knows she exists.’

  ‘Well, she must have her own ration book?’

  Violet frowned. ‘I s’pose so.’

  Another time, Muriel simply said, ‘Your mother’s got all of you just where she wants you, hasn’t she?’

  Violet was so used to things as they were that she never gave it much thought now. Bessie was still taking in the babies from time to time and she relied on Marigold’s help. And where would she be without her mom? She minded Joycie and Linda – if it wasn’t for that Violet’d have to stay at home or give them to strangers to be looked after. She didn’t like the idea of that, and the thought of staying at home, without all the jokes and companionship in the factory, was a very bleak thought.

  She had a brief letter from Harry, written on a ship. He wasn’t much of a letter writer in any case and really didn’t have much to say.

  ‘I thought he’d at least tell me where he’s going,’ Violet complained to Muriel.

  ‘They’re not allowed to, nitwit,’ Muriel said. ‘Anyway – he most likely does nae even know himself yet.’

  Her married life with Harry already felt such a long time ago to Violet. She could barely even imagine it now. All those evenings spent in waiting for him, with his dinner, while he was at the pub, the loneliness of it, his outbursts of temper, were something she realized she didn’t have any desire to go back to. Thinking like this made her panic. Harry was her husband! The chances were he’d be back one day and they’d have to pick up where they left off. She didn’t like to think about how glum a thought this was. Life had been so much happier and more fun since Muriel had moved in. They’d enjoyed so many cosy, laughter-filled evenings with the wireless, the children safe in bed. With a shock she realized she had experienced more love and support from Muriel, certainly more help, than she ever had from Harry. But when the war ended . . . No . . . She didn’t want to think about it.

  She hadn’t given Roy Keillor any thought either, until one evening they met him on the bus on the way home. There were always queues waiting for the buses as the firm finished work. Now the spring had come there wasn’t the bitter cold wait in dark evenings, huddled there, collars turned up, and it all felt more bearable. But Muriel was impatient. She was meeting Dickie for a trip to the pictures.

  ‘Hurry up, will ye,’ she muttered as the awaited bus remained stubbornly absent.

  ‘Got your lipstick?’ Violet teased.

  Bert the Flirt had been outraged earlier to find Muriel fusing a broken scarlet lipstick together with her welding torch.

  ‘What the bleeding hell are you doing? Saints alive – I’ve seen it all now.’

  Violet giggled. ‘His face!’

  Muriel had turned, lifting up her welding mask, and with lips already well coated in red advanced on Gilbert, lips pursed as if for a kiss.

  ‘Red as a beetroot he was.’ Muriel laughed. ‘D’ye think he’s ever been with a woman?’

  ‘I dunno, do I? You’re awful!’

  The bus came swaying along the street then and they were among the last in the long queue to squeeze aboard. Muriel managed to push her way further down to the back and Violet was left standing near the front. At the last minute someone got on just as the doors were closing and a second later Violet found she was standing squeezed close to Roy Keillor.

  ‘Oh, hello!’ he said. He had evidently belted along for the bus and was panting hard.

  ‘This is a bit of a way from Kynoch’s.’ She found she was blushing. He was so close to her, his left arm and hip pressed to her. When he turned to her she had the strangest feeling, as if he could see deeply into her, and she looked down in confusion, focusing on the black weave of his coat.

  ‘I had an errand to run over here.’ He was still regaining his breath.

  ‘Oh,’ she said stupidly.

  ‘Where’s your pal?’

  ‘Along there.’ She jerked her head along the bus. She could just see Muriel’s arm, reaching out to hold on as the bus swayed along.

  They travelled in silence for a few moments and she didn’t look at him for a time, but then she said, ‘How’s the family? The twins and that?’

  ‘They’re all right. You’ve got girls, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes – two.’

  ‘What about your husband? In the army, is he?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know where he is for sure. Overseas, I mean, but he was on his way somewhere last time I heard. He doesn’t write much really.’

  He was listening intently. But so, she realized, were a lot of the people closely packed around them on the bus. It felt an effort to speak over the noise of the engine.

  Roy looked away
, then back again. ‘I just want to say, that night – when our babby was poorly, and Iris – you were the only one who found any coal for us.’

  ‘Oh. Well . . . I’d been at my mom’s. There was a fire there, see, so I hadn’t lit ours.’

  ‘But it was kind. You could’ve said you didn’t have any.’

  She frowned. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. ‘But you needed it.’

  When she looked up, he was smiling gently at her.

  They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey, except goodbyes as they got off, but all the way she was acutely aware of his presence beside her.

  ‘There’s someone at the door,’ Muriel called up to Violet. It was a week later and Violet was settling Linda into bed. After a moment she hissed, ‘It’s that Roy Keillor bloke again!’

  Violet felt a jolt go through her. She thought of his eyes looking down at her on the bus. What on earth was he calling for now?

  ‘What’re you looking like that for, Mom?’ Joyce said, leaning up on one elbow in bed.

  ‘Like what?’ she said crossly. ‘I’m not looking like anything. Get to sleep.’

  From the stairs she could hear voices, Muriel’s, joking as usual, and Roy saying something softly. It struck her then how different a man he was from Harry, whose voice always carried loudly all over the house.

  He was watching her as she came to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Oh – ’ she spoke rather abruptly, trying to cover the fact that his being there affected her in a way she was quite sure it shouldn’t. ‘Come for some more slack, have you?’

  He smiled nervously. ‘No – I er . . . Iris is getting the kiddies up to bed. I don’t know why, I just . . .’ He shrugged, and Violet noticed then that he was holding a thick little book with a worn leather binding.

  ‘Tea?’ Muriel asked. Behind Roy Keillor’s back she gave Violet a comical smirk as if to say, We’ve got a right one on our hands here!