A Different Kind of Love

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Do you like fruit?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt.’ Beata gave an expectant smile.

  Juice spurted from Wyn’s mouth. ‘You should buy yourself some.’

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ muttered Beata to herself as she went to her other chores, thinking what an extremely odd person her aunt was.

  Only days later Wyn was to get all the fruit she could possibly desire when a crate of oranges was delivered to the door. Short arms stretched to capacity, Beata transported it to the recipient.

  ‘This has come from America, Aunt!’

  Wyn reached for the docket that protruded from the crate, exclaiming, ‘Oh look, Teddy, it’s from old Aunt Flora. She’s eighty-six now, you know. The last of her generation.’

  Teddy was unimpressed. ‘It’s coming to something when we have to be sent food parcels from abroad. MacDonald has brought this country to the brink of ruin.’

  Wyn was examining the note that accompanied the gift. ‘Why, how thoughtful. She wants to give me something to enjoy while she’s still alive.’ Then a worried thought occurred. ‘I hope this isn’t all she’s going to leave me.’

  Struggling under its weight, Beata set the crate down with a grunt, then waited. Surely Wyn would not be so mean as to keep this much fruit to herself?

  But this certainly looked to be the case for, after salivating over the oranges for a while, Wyn told her helper to put them in the box room, then spent all afternoon drawing up a chart which she pinned to the wall with an air of satisfaction. ‘There!’ She made a tick with a pen on the chart, removed one orange from the crate and dropped it into her pocket. ‘I’ll be able to keep tabs on how many have been eaten.’

  Beata was astounded and not a little hurt that her aunt could show such blatant distrust of one who had cared for her every need.

  But then Wyn made two more ticks, delved into the crate again, turned to Beata with an orange in each hand and, with a magnanimous gesture, handed them to her niece. ‘And these are for you.’

  Seeing her pass his room bearing the oranges, Uncle Teddy called genially, ‘I see Aunt Olwyn’s been spoiling you. Don’t scoff them all at once.’ Beata murmured that she would try and savour them, privately doubting that there would be any more on offer.

  Still she was luckier than Margaret, the cleaning woman, who got nothing at all and remarked upon setting her bulging blue eyes on the chart, ‘Does she think I’m going to pinch them?’

  Beata corrected this inference. ‘Don’t forget, there’s not just you working here. That chart’s for my benefit as much as yours.’

  ‘Well, you might stand for it but I’m not,’ retorted Margaret. She could ill afford to lose the wage but it did not prevent her from making the threatening gesture of unfastening her overall.

  ‘Oh, don’t leave,’ Beata pleaded with the frog-like face. ‘They’ll have me doing your work as well.’ Not to mention that Margaret was the only person here with whom she could share a joke. Thinking quickly, she announced mischievously, ‘Let’s have a laugh with her instead.’ And creeping away for a moment she returned to the box room with pen and ink, making several ticks on the chart.

  Margaret thought she got the drift and, grinning, started to remove oranges from the crate, but Beata said, ‘No, don’t, she might find out and you’ll get the sack for pinching. If we leave them there it’ll drive the old bugger mad wondering how she’s got more ticks than oranges.’

  And so it did, the two put-upon helpers sharing secret guffaws as they spied upon the mean old woman trying to work out how it was that her stock of oranges appeared to be expanding.

  * * *

  Gluttony aside, Wyn had also betrayed a greed for gossip, pestering Beata for any titbit she might have overheard during her shopping expeditions. Her niece disdained to feed this because she knew Aunt Wyn would use it to malicious ends. After guzzling only a few of the oranges Wyn was already slandering the donor, telling Beata how Aunt Flora had run off with someone else’s husband to America.

  ‘Yes, there’s certainly been queer goings on in this family,’ laughed Wyn, another skein at the ready. ‘And none so queer as Aunt Kit. Dear me, the things I could tell you about her when she was young. I wonder what that painted trollop of a daughter of hers is doing now. Have you heard?’

  Beata shook her head as she plumped up Uncle Teddy’s pillows whilst his wife sucked and slurped away in her bedside chair, rambling on between mouthfuls of orange. ‘I’d love to know what Kit said to her in that letter she left when she died. I wrote to Aunt Flora but she couldn’t tell me anything. I don’t suppose … ?’ She looked questioningly at Beata, who shook her head again. ‘No, I didn’t think you would. Nobody’s heard a thing of Serena since Kit’s funeral. Still, I can’t say I blame her for not wanting anything to do with us. It must have been a shock to find out Kit was her mother.’

  ‘It was,’ said Beata quietly, stopping to gather a pile of bedding to be washed.

  ‘Oh, that’s right you were there when it happened!’ Wyn was instantly alert. ‘I only ever got half the story – Come on then stop doing that and give me the details!’

  Wishing she had not said anything and not wanting to be disloyal to Kit’s memory, Beata made as if to carry the bedding away. ‘Oh, it’s so long ago, Aunt, I don’t recall. I just remember there being this big row and Serena storming out, refusing to believe that Aunt Kit was her mother.’ She went towards the laundry.

  Guessing that Beata knew more than she was willing to admit, Wyn was peeved. Leaning back in her chair, she spread her fingers, affecting to examine her gold and diamond rings, her tone casually malicious. ‘Well, I suppose you of all people must know how she felt, being illegitimate yourself.’

  Beata felt her whole body prickle. Still clutching the bundle of dirty linen, she turned. Aunt Wyn affected to be surprised by the look of devastation she had caused. ‘Surely one of them must have told you?’

  Frozen with shock, Beata shook her head and was forced to listen whilst her aunt divulged the awful family secret.

  ‘Your father committed bigamy by marrying your mother; he was already married to a woman whilst he was on foreign service. She was much older than himself and black as a chimney sweep.’ Wyn wore an expression of self-importance. ‘He was very young so he could have been forgiven. She must have lured him. Naturally, when he came back to England he left her behind and completely forgot about her till she turned up on his doorstep.’ Seeing tears in Beata’s eyes, she realized she must have gone too far and brushed at her skirts in discomfort. ‘Of course I only heard it third-hand from my sister Amelia. You must ask Augusta if you want the full story. I believe she answered the door to the woman.’

  Deeply hurt, Beata could not wait to leave the room. Without another word she went straight to her room where she dumped the laundry on the floor, then flopped onto the bed to ponder long and hard on what she had just been told. How many more people knew about this – was it even true? It could just be Wyn making mischief. She often reacted spitefully if one did not fulfil her request.

  There was only one way to find out. Snatching a notepad from her drawer she attempted to write to her eldest sister, but tears got in the way and she threw it aside in temper, her outraged heart thrumming fit to burst. This was not the sort of thing one wanted to commit to paper. If she was to learn the truth about her legitimacy she must go and see Gus face to face.

  Without informing Aunt Wyn of the true reason, just telling her not to panic for she would be back soon, Beata used precious shillings from what remained of her army pension and caught a train the following day. It was a long journey and an expensive way to travel, especially to hear such awful news as Gussie was to impart.

  ‘Yes, it’s true,’ she told Beata softly, the two of them in Aunt Lizzie’s scullery, washing up after tea. ‘I knew there was something up the minute you stepped through the door. It was wrong of Aunt Wyn to spring it on you like that.’

  ‘So we’re all illegitimate?’ Beat
a was shattered at having to utter the word in relation to herself.

  ‘Well, us older ones are, definitely.’ Gus played with her work-worn fingernails, her blue eyes downcast. ‘After the row when Topsy came, Mother and Father went to church and, well, I think they went through a kind of ceremony, then you were born the next year so I suppose to all intents and purposes they were married then…’

  ‘But not if the other woman was still alive,’ murmured a devastated Beata.

  Gussie shrugged. ‘I overheard Mother and Father talking about it once or twice. I don’t think they ever knew if his first marriage was legal or not.’

  Beata’s face creased in bewilderment. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want you being as upset as Clem and I were.’ Indeed, Gussie felt that she would never live down the shame. ‘I thought Mother and Father had kept it to themselves. If I’d known anyone else was going to tell you…’ Her hand darted out to grip her sister lovingly. ‘I’m sorry, Beat.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Beata looked far from all right. ‘But one of us’d better tell the others before anybody else does.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Gussie assumed responsibility. ‘But just remember, we both know that our parents loved each other, so don’t let this affect the way you think about yourself.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Beata smiled, but her thoughts were dark: Aunt Wyn had already managed to do that.

  29

  Upon Beata’s return, guessing why she had gone, Wyn tried to quiz her niece about what she had discovered but, still angry with her, Beata was not about to divulge a thing. ‘Gussie couldn’t tell me anything more than you did.’

  Seated in her usual position by her bedridden husband whilst her niece tended him, Wyn reached out to deliver a beneficent pat to Beata’s arm. ‘Oh well, it’s best forgotten.’

  Nostrils flared, Beata remained mute, could not bring herself even to look at her aunt as she underwent various tasks, pouring Teddy a glass of water whilst waiting for him to fill the bottle beneath his bedclothes, anything to keep her hands from Wyn’s throat. Receiving his signal, she withdrew the bottle of urine and carried it away, praying for a legitimate means of escape.

  She was therefore ecstatic when, a few weeks later, a letter arrived requesting her services elsewhere. Aunt Alice’s daughter was having another baby and could not look after her elderly mother as she usually did. Would Beata come in her stead? Aunt Wyn did not like it one bit, but Beata knew that most of her moans and groans were a sham and Uncle Teddy was almost well enough to leave his bed, hence she had no qualms about packing her case. She could not get out of there quickly enough.

  Old Alice seemed no burden at all for she appreciated a joke as much as Beata and the time spent looking after her was over in a flash, before it was on to the next relative, then the next.

  Finally returning to York, with no permanent abode, she went first to Aunt Lizzie’s. Accustomed to being in remote villages for the past year she was shocked that unemployment seemed even worse than when she had left. Of course she had read of the protest marches, the pitched battles between police and unemployed, but it had not truly registered until she was here in the midst of it. Deprived before, the people of Walmgate seemed positively destitute now, hordes of men congregating on street corners, young men who had never had a job since leaving school, whose expressions advertised that their lives had no meaning. There was laughter, yes, but it was hollow, falsely induced by beer they could ill afford but which was the only thing that kept them going.

  Against all hope, a hurdy-gurdy man was playing his repertoire. The little monkey extended his mug as Beata passed but all he received was a smile as she turned the corner. Yet another group of young men were to be found outside the Catholic clubroom waiting for a game of billiards. Noting one of the Melody youths, Beata spared him a glance of pity before limping onwards to Aunt Lizzie’s.

  Gussie wasn’t home but a neighbour kept the old lady company. Making a pot of tea for them all, Beat asked if her sister was at work. When Lizzie seemed confused as to Gussie’s whereabouts the neighbour replied for her. ‘She just nipped out to the Melodys. I said I’d sit with your aunt till she comes back.’

  Beata could not resist wandering over to her piano and tinkling a few of its keys. Then, after having a cup of tea and a chat with the old lady, she asked the neighbour if she’d mind staying on a while longer whilst she went to find her sister.

  ‘Oh, if you’re going out will you run a message for me?’ asked Aunt Lizzie. ‘I need some aeroplanes.’

  Beata could not help laughing. ‘Are you sure you’ve got the right word, Aunt?’

  Lizzie looked cross with herself. ‘Those things you put letters in, I can’t remember the blasted name—’

  ‘Envelopes.’

  ‘That’s the one. I need to write to Uncle Matt and ask when he’s coming home, only he hasn’t left me any money, you see.’

  Beata dealt Lizzie a look of compassion. It was no good reminding her that Matt was dead, she would have forgotten in ten minutes. ‘I’ll just have a look in this drawer … Oh, here I’ve found one.’ She handed over a crumpled envelope and a writing pad and, leaving her aunt happily scribbling and the neighbour in charge, she went out to find Gussie.

  On her way to the Melody house, she was to see her sister heading towards Walmgate, a little girl by her side. Hearing the call, Gussie turned, formed a wide smile and waited for Beata to catch up.

  After their initial greeting and a discussion of Aunt Lizzie’s deteriorating state, Gussie asked, ‘Is Mrs Cole still there? I daren’t leave her on her own nowadays, I don’t know how I’m going to manage when—’ Inexplicably she broke off, saying, ‘Well, never mind, I’ve just nipped out to take Elinor to be fitted for a dress. Are you coming with me?’ She pre-empted Beata’s objection, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘She’s only little, it won’t cost much, and look at the state of the poor bairn.’ Elinor’s present dress was little more than a rag.

  Beata acquiesced. ‘Has Mr Melody had no luck with a job?’

  ‘No, nor his lads neither and it looks like they might have their dole money withdrawn under this means test thing. Still, you have to look on the bright side, we could be living in Germany. Apparently they’re going to be paying off their war debts till nineteen eighty-eight.’

  ‘Mm, that’s two years before I’ve finished paying for my piano,’ chuckled Beata.

  But in the dressmaker’s shop Gussie’s laughter was exchanged for embarrassment. Whipping off the seven-year-old’s attire, she found to her horror that Elinor was completely naked, possessing not a stitch of underwear.

  ‘I didn’t know where to put meself!’ She hissed to Beata on their way home, the child now equipped with drawers and vest as well as the new dress. ‘I wonder if they’re all in such a fix? I’ve never had occasion to see what any of them had underneath.’

  ‘Oh, so you don’t go so far as doing their washing for them an’ all?’ came Beata’s wry comment.

  Gussie was barely listening. ‘The poor souls, it’s just as well I’ll be there to take them in hand.’

  Beata saw her sudden blush and immediately detected that there was something else happening here. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh nothing.’ Gus looked shifty. ‘Let’s just get Nell home first, then I’ll tell you.’

  Beata was obligingly silent as they returned the child to her bug-ridden dwelling, but the moment Beata had her sister to herself she prompted, ‘Come on then, out with it.’

  Looking abashed, Gussie slowed to a halt. ‘I was going to tell you … Mick’s asked me to marry him.’

  Beata stopped too, for a moment completely thrown. ‘Who’s Mick?’

  ‘Mr Melody.’

  ‘What! Good God, I know you feel sorry for them but isn’t that taking things a bit far?’

  Gussie looked most put out. ‘I’m not doing it because I feel sorry for them! You don’t know hi—’

  ‘I know he’s
twice your age. I know he’s got a large family he wants looking after. Don’t you think you’ve done enough for them? Christ, he must be sixty!’

  ‘He’s fifty-seven – and will you stop blaspheming? Age has no bearing how one person feels for another. I care about him.’ Though angry that her sister was allowing herself to be used like this, Beata studied her now. There was a definite bloom of romance to Gussie’s cheeks; in fact she had never seen her look so happy since … since Vincent. Casting her mind back she compared that young man with this old one. Notwithstanding the gap in years there was a striking resemblance between the two, indeed, Mick could have been Vincent in old age, the curly hair and blue eyes. Ah, so that was why. ‘But still, Gus—’

  ‘What?’ retorted her sister.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Do you think I’m so daft that I haven’t even thought about this?’

  ‘No, I just don’t like you being taken advantage—’

  ‘I’m not! I think the world of those kids and—’

  ‘But wouldn’t you like your own?’

  ‘Of course I would and I intend to have them!’

  Beata remembered then the time in the doctor’s surgery, the joy on Gussie’s face when she had learned that she could have healthy children after all. So this was what had been behind that secretive look. There had been something between her and Melody even then. Yet after all Gussie had been through, how could anyone deny her this basic right.

  ‘I’d better get meself back to that dressmaker’s then.’ Beata made as if to return up the street, then remarked on the other’s look of confusion, ‘Well, you’ll be needing bridesmaids, won’t you?’ Gussie laughed her relief, and linked arms with Beata. ‘I’m just concerned about how to look after Aunt Lizzie when I move out. I know I’m only round the corner, but—’

  ‘I’ll see to her,’ said Beata, privately thinking that Gus should be more worried what the rest of their sisters and brothers were going to say. ‘Have you told anybody else about this?’