by Annie Murray
‘They have theatres in Sydney, don’t they? We could do that, I know we could. Us girls together – we can do anything!’
Linda breathed in the sea air and gave a final, symbolic wave, as she could no longer see them, to Violet and Roy, to her old home.
Irene stubbed out her cigarette under her heel and threw it over the side.
‘Ooh, I hate goodbyes. I know we’ll see them all before too long but it’s bloody awful, isn’t it? Thank God that’s all over. Let’s go in and get a coffee, eh?’
Once the voyage was under way, the day sunny and calm, the ship fell into a slow, rolling rhythm. That first day seemed to last for ever, as they’d embarked early.
Late in the afternoon they were all sitting in one of the lounges, out of the tiring wind on deck, drinking cups of tea. Irene, already feeling queasy, was dozing. Vivianne was reading Harper’s, paying careful attention to all the dress designs.
Linda got her book out, a love story she had saved for the voyage, but it lay unopened on her lap. Her head was too full of real life to escape into a story! She could tell that Rosina, sitting opposite her, was restless as well. She smoked one cigarette after another.
‘What’re you thinking about?’ Linda asked.
Rosina smiled. ‘Just having to pinch myself. I was thinking about you, love, to tell you the truth. I mean look at you – twenty-two and gorgeous, with it all in front of you. You look fantastic, Lin.’
Linda blushed. ‘Well – ta! So do you.’
She had dressed up a bit to begin the journey – it was a special occasion, after all! She had a red and white scarf over her hair to keep the wind from blowing it wild, and round white clip-on earrings with little tan dots on that reminded her of toadstools in a fairy story. Her dress was white with a full skirt and big red spots – she’d watched Vivianne make it for her – and red shoes. All in all it looked very striking with her dark colouring and a splash of red lipstick. Rosina’s outfit was similar – in shades of emerald green and navy.
‘I mean it, though,’ Rosina said. ‘You’ve come out like a flower and it’s lovely to see. I was just thinking about that scruffy little kid who came to find me in Soho!’
Linda smiled fondly. ‘Seems like a lifetime ago now – but thank God I did!’
Rosina looked serious. ‘Yes – things were at their worst with Richie then. I’m surprised you caught me on a day when I didn’t have a shiner on one eye or the other. I was in control back then – but only just. Irene kept trying to get me to see sense. I can’t pick men, you know that.’
‘Your blind spot.’
Rosina put her head on one side. ‘You can talk.’
‘I know – I’m keeping right away from blokes for the moment. It’s only seeing Mom and Roy gives me some hope. And Joyce and Danny – I s’pose they’re OK.’
Over the past few years she’d had a number of brief, unhappy affairs. She always seemed to go for men who told her how much they needed her and then fell into possessive depressions and wouldn’t let her go. But she did go. Although they were bad experiences at the time, none of them had touched her anything like as deeply as Alan had. It was as if he had scorched her capacity to love into something charred and shrivelled.
Four months after she’d left him, when she was still working at Wimbush’s and going to night school, Mrs Richards greeted her with tragic eyes when she came into work.
‘I’ve got terrible news, Linda. That Alan Bray – your Alan – he’s in hospital. Tried to, you know, finish himself. He took a whole lot of pills . . .’
Linda always felt as if Mrs Richards was reproaching her over Alan, as if everything that happened to him was her fault for leaving him. What did she think was the right thing to do? Stay with him and be dragged down into hell as well?
Alan lived, and recovered, she heard, from a distance. She only saw him once more, years later, in 1958 in a pub. By then the Beat craze had reached Birmingham properly and there were groups of teenagers of varying degrees of education ‘dropping out’ or putting on a dropping-out pose, wearing the jeans and sloppy clothes she and Alan had worn early on, disapproved of by their parents, reading poems by Allen Ginsberg and dreaming of taking off on the road like Jack Kerouac. She and Alan had been Beats before Beats really arrived, she saw. They’d wanted out of their families, wanted to be different, to talk philosophy, tear down what they saw around them. Howl was the Beats’ favoured Allen Ginsberg book. Yes – that was it. They’d both felt like howling against all that was in their lives. Thing was – she didn’t any more, not by the time she saw him again. There was Alan, in the pub with a group of them, no one she recognized, and she hoped he’d found somewhere to be at home. He didn’t see her, or pretended not to. But by then she was working for a big firm, had started to take more pride in herself.
Rosina knew the full story of Alan, as Linda knew her aunt’s history, a pattern she now wanted to ‘clean up’, as she put it. They’d become very close over the years. Linda had finally got her to come home to the family.
She didn’t make it to Bessie’s funeral, but within two months Clarence went to bed one night and never woke up.
‘I s’pose Mom was his life-blood,’ Violet said. ‘Poor old Clarence. She was like a mom and a wife to him all in one.’
Rosina had always been fond of Clarence as a child. She’d been able to get round him with her charms. And by then she had gained courage. She arrived the day before the funeral and Linda and Violet went to meet her at the station.
‘I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m shaking,’ Violet said as they waited on the platform. ‘I mean, she’s only my little sister!’
Of course it was Linda who recognized Rosina and Vivianne. She’d been down to see them all several times by then. Clark was already away training for his pilot’s licence. Rosina looked terrified, though she was dressed up to the nines, hat and all, with a brim that dipped down half covering her face.
‘Come on – ’ Linda took her arm. ‘Mom’s more scared than you are.’
She watched the two sisters look each other up and down under the dim station lights. And then the tears came, and they were in each other’s arms.
Chapter Ninety
She hadn’t packed the album in her suitcase, because she wanted to keep it close to her.
That night, in the cabin, she sat on her berth and looked through it. Irene was already asleep in the other bed. She was not enjoying the voyage.
They’d bought the Brownie camera for the wedding, to have more photographs than the few professional ones. Linda had made sure of getting pictures of everyone, and arranged them, square white-edged images, carefully on black sugar-paper pages. Though she had not known, back in 1957, that she would be moving so far away, now the album was something very precious.
The main wedding picture was in pride of place on the first page.
‘I’m not going to wear white or any of that carry-on,’ Violet said. ‘It’s not right, not with how things are – and at my age!’
She wore a neat little suit in a soft cornflower blue, and in that picture, as she stood with her arm linked with Roy’s, their smiles echoed each other’s. Linda didn’t think she’d ever seen two people look happier. There was such joy there, in her mother’s eyes, in Roy’s gentle smile. They’d been through such a lot to get there, what with waiting for Roy’s divorce as well. Love hard won, Linda thought. Maybe that was the answer: you had to wait for it, long and slow.
Deep in her memory somewhere, like an old forgotten dream, she thought she did remember Roy. There was something familiar about him. When she found out that Carol was his, was only her half-sister, everything fell into place. It made sense of how Dad had been with her, how their mom had somehow withheld her affection, as if out of fear of how obvious it would be that she was favouring the child of the man she truly loved.
She and Mom got on so much better now anyway – understood each other better.
‘I should never’ve let your nana talk me i
nto taking you out of that school,’ Violet said to her one day. ‘I’m sorry, love. I was in such a state at the time, in a panic. I had no idea how much it meant to you.’
Linda turned the pages of the album, smiling. Pictures of herself and Rosina, of Clark and Vivianne. Clarkie was a handsome devil all right, though surprisingly shy. There were Charlie and Gladys, Gladys’s mouth open in the picture, no doubt nagging as usual. And Joyce and Danny and the kids, three little faces all dark-haired and like Danny! They’d stopped at three – so far as Joyce was concerned anyway. Two boys and a girl.
‘Danny’d have a whole nestful if I let him,’ she said. ‘But I’ve had quite enough of it, stuck here in the house all the flaming time.’
As soon as Charlie was at school, to the consternation of her friends she found someone to look after the children and went back to Bird’s, on the Dream Topping. The firm were building a new site near Banbury, and Joyce and Danny were full of the idea of going, if they could. They could get a nicer house and Danny could have his own business, not just work with his dad. They were going up in the world, Joyce said.
Those kids’ll be grown by the time I see them again, Linda thought, looking at Joyce’s little brood. And she felt a pang of regret.
But turning the page again, a grin spread across her face. There was Marigold, her swarthy face beaming out from under the brim of a huge pink hat, and swathed in an equally huge pink dress. Marigold was having a whale of a time.
Now both Bessie and Clarence were gone, she had the house in Spring Street all to herself. She’d gone and got herself a job in one of the new launderettes that were opening up, paying her own rent and free to do as she pleased. She’d bought a little gramophone and some records. And what’s more, she had Freddie nicely under her thumb. They went out and about together, to the pubs and clubs, the races or a show now and then. Freddie bet on the horses, winning quite regularly. Once he took them down to Rhyl with his winnings. They were, to all intents and purposes, a couple. Except, Marigold adamantly declared, ‘I ain’t marrying him and he ain’t moving in here. I’ve had enough of all that carry-on, fetching and carrying for everyone else. He can keep his slippers in his own house.’
‘Good for you, girl,’ Linda said to the picture. These days the thought of Marigold made her feel very cheerful.
Carol had been at the wedding, of course. It was before she went into the convent. In fact she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone by then. Linda realized it had always been on her mind though, beckoning. Her sweet, pretty face smiled out of the photo. The resemblance to Roy was so strong, seemed so very obvious, now they knew. It had been a hell of a shock to Carol, of course, when she first heard. It took time to come to terms with it and both of them had to work hard to get to know one another. And there was Roy’s Philip, of course, who came sometimes. His operation had not been so successful as hers, and she was able to relate to him better than anyone because of having polio in common.
She entered the Selly Park Convent as soon as she was sixteen, to ‘try her vocation’ as the sisters called it. To her joy, soon after she arrived, Sister Cathleen was appointed Novice Mistress. Carol explained to them that for six months she would be there as a postulant, to try it out and see if the life was really for her. Then there would be a year in the novitiate before her first temporary vows. Perpetual vows came after five years.
It was then that Roy became her advocate. Violet was completely horrified by the whole thing. She cursed Sister Cathleen high and low, saying she had always wanted to get her claws into Carol and the Selly Park Convent was a horrible creepy place and Carol might as well be walling herself up in her own tomb. Roy talked her round.
‘It’s what she really wants, love. You can see it in her. No one’s forcing her, are they?’
‘But it seems such a terrible waste,’ Violet sobbed. ‘My little girl in one of those dark, dreary places, praying all day or whatever they do. And she’s so pretty!’
‘Are you really sure about this, sis?’ Linda asked her the night before she left. They sat side by side on her bed. Carol reached out and squeezed her hand.
‘I’ve been sure for ages. I just know it’s where I’m supposed to be. I think God chose me, what with the polio and everything. He gives us all something we’re supposed to do. That’s why I can walk again.’
She wanted to be a nurse and work at St Gerard’s.
Nearly a year ago, they’d been to her clothing ceremony after she’d been in the convent for six months. The nine novices of that year all filed into the high Gothic chapel dressed in white, as brides. That set Violet off before they’d even started. Some of the other mothers were crying too, seeing their girls all with their heads bowed in the white veils.
‘You were given me as a surprise,’ Carol had said to her, trying to offer comfort. ‘Now you’re offering me back.’
Midway through the ceremony they all filed out again and returned dressed in their black novices’ habits, Sister Cathleen walking behind them. It would have been hard not to be affected by the solemnity of it all, and Linda found tears running down her cheeks as well. But at the celebration tea afterwards, Carol looked radiant. You could tell she knew she was in the right place.
Linda closed the album and lay back on the narrow bed with the book clasped to her chest. So the great adventure was beginning! It wasn’t all uncertain–Muriel and Dickie would be there to greet them in Sydney. That was almost like finding another mom and dad.
Violet had told her that Harry had dreamed of going to Australia when he was young, but of course he’d never made it. The thought of her father’s life, his broken dreams and shattered health, made her feel very sad.
I’m going for you, Dad, as well as for myself, she told him in her thoughts. We’re going to make it work, Rosina and me.
Lulled by the motion of the ship, she fell asleep, holding the images of her family in her arms as they sailed the ocean to their new world, and a future of lives and loves of which she could now only dream.
Family of Women
Annie Murray was born in Berkshire and read English at St John’s College, Oxford. Her first ‘Birmingham’ novel, Birmingham Rose, hit The Times bestseller list when it was published in 1995. She has subsequently written many other successful novels, including, most recently, The Bells of Bournville Green. Annie Murray has four children and lives in Reading.
Also by Annie Murray
Birmingham Rose
Birmingham Friends
Birmingham Blitz
Orphan of Angel Street
Poppy Day
The Narrowboat Girl
Chocolate Girls
Water Gypsies
Miss Purdy’s Class
Where Earth Meets Sky
The Bells of Bournville Green
There are always people who give generous help in the preparation for a book. On this occasion I would like to thank the following: Lewis Jones for his time, his wide-ranging knowledge, for the tour of the Kingstanding of his childhood – and for lunch! To members of the British Polio Fellowship who pointed me in the right direction, and especially to Sisters Maria Goretti Fitzgerald and Anna O’Connor of the Sisters of Charity of St Paul the Apostle in Selly Park, Birmingham, for help and hospitality.
First published 2006 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2010 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-0-330-53550-2 PDF
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Copyright © Annie Murray 2006
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.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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