Family of Women

by Annie Murray

  ‘Well, you’re in for a shock, love, I’d better tell you that now.’ The woman laughed. ‘I can hear you’re from the same neck of the woods anyhow. Rosy still speaks like a Brummy even after all these years! My name’s Irene, by the way. Reeny, I go by, though. Tried to get ’em to call me Irene – sounds better, don’t you think? But I’m Reeny whether I like it or not – it’s stuck to me. What’s yours?’

  ‘Linda.’

  ‘That short for Be-linda?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh – just wondered. S’pretty, anyhow.’

  Linda had barely noticed where they were going, she was listening so intently to Irene, who took nervous little drags on her cigarette as she minced along on her heels.

  ‘Now – Rosy’s place is where we’ve just been. Her flat, I mean. She’s got it nice up there – you can’t tell from outside. But she don’t get home till midday usually. I live with her, see, look after Vivianne and Clarkie – least when they’re home from school. Almost like my own, those two. Not that she doesn’t pay me well – she’s a good ’un, Rosy is. We’ve been through some times, me and her – always stick together, see?’

  Linda didn’t see – not at all.

  ‘Working the way she does, she has to be a bit careful – who she lets on to and that. Bit of a double life, but she manages. Ever such nice schools she’s got those kids in. Clarkie’s away boarding now. A real gentleman he’s going to turn out. But all I’m saying is, she might be a bit put out to see you, just at first. You’ll have to promise not to let on – to look out for her – OK? Then she’ll be all right.’

  Linda nodded, feeling even more worried.

  ‘Whose wedding was it she went up for?’ Irene asked curiously. ‘Not yours, was it – you look too young?’

  ‘My sister, Joyce.’

  ‘Oh yeah, Joyce. Poor old Rosy – she got cold feet. Wanted to be there but she said she couldn’t face it all in the end.’

  After a time they turned left, and there was another line of very tall red-brick houses, rather wider than the ones in the last street.

  ‘We’re down the end here,’ Irene said. ‘Rosy’s Palace, they call it – dirty old sods.’ She gave a throaty chuckle. At the far end of the street, the last house, though not the smartest, still had an imposing air about it. All the windows were shrouded with curtains and blinds.

  ‘Come on – round the back,’ Irene said. She was clearly at home in the place.

  Up some steps at the back, she rang the bell beside a black door, and after a pause it was opened by another young woman, also with long blonde hair.

  ‘All right, Pol? Rosy up and about?’ There was a noise from inside, voices on a radio. Then Irene lowered her voice and looking warily upwards, hissed, ‘Is he about?’

  ‘Nah. Not yet, thank Christ. But he’ll soon come swanning down, no doubt. Rosy’s in the kitchen doing him some breakfast. Who’s this then?’

  ‘Her niece. Name’s Linda.’

  ‘Oh,’ the woman said, blankly. ‘Well – I s’pose that’s all right.’

  Linda didn’t understand the next part of the conversation.

  ‘Is Rosy . . . down?’

  Polly eyed Linda, and nodded. ‘Yeah. Well – pretty much.’

  Suddenly, Irene reached round and took Linda’s hand, in such a naturally motherly way that Linda was touched.

  ‘Right, love – come on.’

  They went along a tiled passage that smelt of cigarettes mixed with a sweet, cloying smell, and frying bacon. Linda suddenly realized she was ravenously hungry. She’d had a bit of toast before she set out, which now felt like several days before. Irene took her into the kitchen. It was almost all too quick then, as if Linda was suddenly unprepared for the sight of a woman standing at the stove with her back to them, in a long, peach-coloured robe, a woman who was both shorter and more fleshed out than she expected. Her dark hair was lifted into a bunch and she was smoking and jiggling the handle of a frying pan with the other hand.

  ‘Rosy!’

  The first impression of her aunt’s face, the brown eyes, strong eyebrows, still pretty, mischievous features was unmistakable, yet she was plumper in the face and older and she had a worn look, dark smudges under her eyes. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and frowned, though more with puzzlement than annoyance.

  ‘Who’s this, Reeny – brought me a new recruit?’

  Irene laughed. ‘No! Chrissakes, Rosy – this girl’s come to see you all the way from Birmingham. Says you’re her auntie. I couldn’t turn her away, could I?’

  She really did have Rosina’s attention then.

  ‘Here – ’ she jerked her head towards the pan of bacon. ‘Finish this off for his nibs will you? He wants a couple of eggs thrown in as well.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette on a saucer then came over, slowly, and Linda could feel she was being sized up.

  ‘My God,’ she said. ‘Now – which one are you? You one of Charlie’s?’

  What a long time Rosina had been gone, Linda realized. She wasn’t even sure who was who in her own family! Close up, her presence had a strong impact, fleshly, feminine, and perfumed.

  ‘No – I’m Linda – I’m Violet’s second girl. Joyce’s sister.’

  ‘Course you are!’ Rosina put a hand over her mouth and to Linda’s astonishment, she saw her aunt’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Oh – Reeny, get me a hanky, will you? I feel all . . . Oh blimey, look at me!’ And the tears ran down her face. She came close and leaned to kiss Linda’s cheek, wetting it with her tears. ‘Aren’t you pretty, darlin’? How old’re you then?’

  ‘Sixteen,’ Linda said. She suddenly felt like crying herself.

  ‘She’s the image of you, Rosy – I could see that straight away,’ Irene said, flipping the bacon over, then going in search of a hanky and handing Rosina a square of checked cotton.

  Rosina wiped her eyes and seemed at a loss for a moment. Someone else came in and asked her something about towels and she replied as if she had barely heard the question.

  ‘Did you come all the way down today?’

  Linda nodded.

  ‘What – just to look for me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She felt foolish.

  ‘Why? I mean . . .’ She laughed suddenly, good-naturedly. ‘Well, you’re a one, aren’t you? You might not’ve found me! Little thing like you let loose in the big city.’

  ‘Bit like you then, Rosy,’ Irene reminded her. She tipped the bacon unceremoniously on to a plate. ‘Does he want fried bread an’ all?’

  ‘Yes – anything . . .’ Rosina seemed to gather her thoughts finally. Almost formally, she said, ‘Look, Reeny – I want to spend some time with my niece. Get Barbs to hold the fort, will you? She’ll have to clear it with him. But this is family and it doesn’t happen every day. All right, Linda? Give me a few minutes to get my glad rags on.’

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Linda sat in the kitchen sipping a strong cup of tea.

  ‘Rosy won’t be long, lovey,’ Irene said, sinking down on to a stool with her cup. The plateful of food for ‘him’ had been despatched upstairs. Linda wanted to ask who ‘he’ was, but didn’t dare. She was glad of the tea, and realized she had been almost faint from hunger.

  Irene kicked off her shoes and rubbed her left foot. ‘Bloody kill me, they do. Look nice though, don’t they?’

  She chatted about Rosina’s children. Linda still had the picture in her mind of the two young faces in the picture tucked behind the jug on Bessie’s mantel, but of course Clark was barely a couple of years younger than herself and Vivianne was twelve.

  ‘Little beauty she’s turning out to be,’ Irene said. ‘Course, she’s a handful at times. Stormy, that’s our Vivianne. Little madam. But clever – all she’s learning at that school, sewing and that. Beautiful at it, she is. Rosy’s got them at good schools out in the country. She couldn’t have them round here – not with the business. Shame you won’t meet them. Clarkie’s a darlin’ – soft as butter and
always has been. He’s a clever one and all. She’s got high hopes for her kids, Rosy has.’

  Linda felt intimidated by the thought of Rosina’s children and their posh schools. How did Rosina afford it? she wondered. She had no clear idea of what Rosina did or of her life. She just felt overwhelmed and confused, sitting in this stark, high-ceilinged kitchen.

  Sooner than she expected, Rosina appeared, clad in an apricot-coloured frock and with her hair brushed and smoothed back into a stylish knot. Her heart-shaped face was made up, lipstick and powder, and she looked very pretty.

  ‘Here she is – quick-change artist.’

  ‘Is he taken care of?’ she asked anxiously, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘I’ll ask Pol to tell him where you are. You go on out, girl, and sod him.’

  Rosina smiled faintly. ‘Ready Linda?’

  ‘I’ll get back now then, Rosy.’ Irene pushed her feet, wincing, back into the shoes. ‘You two have a nice time!’

  ‘Bet you’ve never been to town before, have you?’ Rosina said as they stepped back out into the street.

  ‘No,’ Linda agreed. She had a floaty, unreal feeling now, as if this was all a dream.

  ‘You all right, bab? You look a bit peaky. I s’pect you could do with a square meal inside you. Come on – I’ll treat you.’

  She felt safer now, walking out there with Rosina, who knew the way. And she had liked her as soon as they met. They went back to the main street and Rosina stopped her, amid all the traffic and the great looming buildings and lights.

  ‘This is Piccadilly Circus,’ she said.

  ‘Down there’s the Houses of Parliament – and Nelson’s Column. Anyway – ’ She took Linda’s arm and looped her own through it. ‘We’ll go and see my friend Mario.’

  They took another turn, along a narrow street half blocked by stalls selling fruit and veg and a churning collection of people of different colours. It was all very lively and noisy. They squeezed their way through and reached a place with a big white sign saying, ‘Soho Café Restaurant – Food Served All Day’. Inside was a long room lined with bronzy tiles and yellow Formica-topped tables arranged all along one wall, opposite the serving counter. Most of the tables were full, a cacophony of voices speaking various languages rising above the red lightshades on the tables, faces reflected in the mirrors all along the walls. Amid all the noise, a radio was playing as well. The man behind the counter, black-haired, with mischievous brown eyes, greeted Rosy immediately. ‘How’re you this fine day – eh, Miss Rosy?’

  ‘Not so bad.’ Rosina spoke quietly, as if not wanting to attract anyone’s attention, but she smiled fondly at the man. ‘This is Linda – my niece. She’s come down to see me, all the way from Birmingham, and she needs the biggest meal you can make her – OK?’

  ‘Birmingham, eh?’ Mario gave a little bow. ‘That’s a long walk! What you want – eggs, bacon, chips?’

  Linda nodded avidly. ‘Ooh yes!’

  ‘Coming up – what you want, Rosy?’

  ‘Tell you what – I’ll have the same. Celebrate! I’m all in, I tell you.’

  ‘Sit – sit . . .’ He waved towards the tables.

  ‘We’ll go down the end.’ Rosina led her to the furthest table, down in the corner. ‘Have a bit of peace,’ she said, and indicated to Linda to take the seat facing back up the café. ‘You can’t hear yourself think in here sometimes.’

  Linda liked the place. She’d hardly ever eaten out in a café or restaurant anywhere and this one felt exciting, with its swivelling chairs and colourful décor. In the middle was a coat-stand, a trilby hat stuck on one of the arms, tilted at an angle. As they sat down the tune on the radio reminded her, with a pang, of Alan.

  ‘Sometimes they have a skiffle band in here,’ Rosina said, lighting a cigarette. ‘You know, with the washboards and that. I s’pect they’ll roll in later.’

  She sat back and looked very directly at Linda, turning the little tin ashtray round and round on the table. Linda blushed at this frank appraisal.

  ‘You look like your dad,’ Rosina observed. ‘How is he? Looked very bad at the wedding.’

  ‘He died – last year,’ Linda said.

  Rosina’s face changed. ‘Oh God – poor thing. Poor old Vi.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. Really all right, you mean?’

  ‘I think so. She works in a hairdresser’s, with Rita – she’s the owner. Mom likes it. She’s good at it.’

  She hadn’t realized that until she said it, but she saw that it was true.

  Rosina laughed. ‘Good old Vi. Time she had a life of her own. She was like a bleeding shadow at home with our mom. Hardly dared to breathe. None of us did.’ Her tone was very bitter. She took a drag on her cigarette and looked at Linda sharply, weighing her up. For a moment Linda saw a steely hardness in her aunt’s eyes.

  ‘How’s Marigold, poor cow?’

  Linda shrugged. ‘All right. The same. She’s got a boyfriend, and Nana doesn’t like it.’

  Rosina burst out laughing, a chesty, smoker’s laugh. ‘I bet she doesn’t! Christ alive – good old Mari. She must be gone forty now, ain’t she? And what about Charlie? he still with that harridan Gladys?’

  ‘Yes.’ Linda couldn’t think of much to say about him. ‘He’s all right. Norm’s getting married in a while.’

  ‘Little Norm! He was just a babby when I left.’ She sighed, flicking the cigarette at the ashtray. ‘Fancy that.’

  She asked about Joyce and Carol, and Linda told her about Joyce and Danny’s baby and Carol’s polio and her operations and Rosina listened, looking alternately pleased and interested and wistful.

  ‘Poor old Vi – she’s had a plateful, she really has.’ Then more quietly, as if broaching something difficult, ‘And how’s . . . Bess?’

  ‘Nana? Poorly. She had a bit of a turn, a while back.’

  Rosina digested this. Quietly, she said, ‘And is she still the same?’

  Their eyes met. ‘Yes,’ Linda said bitterly. ‘She is.’

  Without either of them having to say more, there was understanding. Linda didn’t know why Rosina had run away all those years ago, nor anything much of her life now, but she sensed that they were in some way the same, that there was something they both needed. It was an exciting feeling. It gave her butterflies in her stomach.

  They became aware of a thin man approaching the table. Rosina seemed to recognize him. Before she could stop him he unwrapped a piece of cloth he had taken from his pocket and showed something to Rosy. Linda couldn’t see what it was but she could see the panic on Rosina’s face.

  ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘Not now. Get lost, Pete.’

  Suddenly her aunt was strange to her again. What was going on? But the moment was interrupted by Mario swooping towards them with two plates of food.

  ‘Here we are, ladies! Here you – clear off and leave these ladies alone!’

  The thin man melted away. When Linda turned, she couldn’t see him anywhere.

  ‘Rosy . . .’ Mario tutted at her. ‘You gotta look after yourself better.’ No more was said, but Linda saw, in the looks they gave each other, his affection and reproachful care for her.

  ‘Thanks, Mario. That’ll keep us going all right!’

  He had cooked them a feast: rashers of bacon, two fried eggs each with perfect, gleaming yolks, sausage, fried bread and chips piled along the side. From under his arm, magician-like, he produced a bottle of ketchup. ‘You want tea?’

  ‘Yes – oh ta, Mario.’ Rosina laughed. ‘He’s good to me, he is.’ She smiled at Linda.

  ‘You ladies got to keep your strength up!’ He stepped back with a flourish. ‘Buon appetito! Tea coming up!’

  ‘He’s golden,’ Rosina said as he strode off again. ‘He’s been like a brother to me – no funny business, nothing like that. Got a wife and four kiddies and he’s good as gold. I’d trust him with my life, and the
re’s not many you can say that about round here. Eh – tuck in, girl!’

  Mario soon produced large mugs of tea, and as Linda ate, ravenously, she started to feel better. More colour came into Rosina’s cheeks as well, and after a short time they ate more slowly, talking between mouthfuls. Rosina did nearly all the talking.

  ‘Do they . . . I mean, back home . . . Do they ever say anything about me?’

  ‘Mom wanted you to stay – after the wedding. They wanted to know why you ran away again.’

  ‘I lost my bottle that day. Lost it bad.’ She hesitated, kept looking at Linda as if unsure how much to say.

  ‘Do they know you’re here today? Did your mom send you?’

  ‘No. I just came.’

  ‘Where d’you get the fare?’

  ‘I’m at work. It’s my money.’

  ‘You’re at work! Blimey, yes, I s’pose you are! So you just took it into your head . . .?’

  Linda looked up at her and nodded. There was another moment of unspoken understanding.

  Rosina leaned forward, elbows on the table, lighting another cigarette. ‘You want to know about me – is that it?’

  Linda nodded slowly.

  ‘Will you tell them?’

  ‘Dunno. Not if you don’t want.’

  Rosina laughed suddenly. ‘You’ve got a mind of your own all right, haven’t you?’ She sat back again, blowing smoke away at the ceiling. ‘All right. I’ll tell you. I’ve never told anyone – not the full thing. ’Cept Irene of course – she knows most of it. But you – ’ she jabbed the cigarette in Linda’s direction. ‘You’re a bit like me. Dunno how I know. I can just feel it. There’s some in our family can’t see over the wall and all they ever do’s sit on their hands. That’s Charlie, for a start, and Vi. God knows with Marigold. Probably she’d’ve been different, given the chance. And there’s those of us who get up higher and can see over and we want something of what’s over there. That’s me – and that’s you, Linda, isn’t it?’

  Goose-pimples came up all over Linda’s skin. She was filled with emotion suddenly, as if she wanted to cry. Someone could see her, see what she was like! But all she could do was nod again.