by Juliet West
‘I suppose I must have.’
He wishes it could always be like this. Out in the fresh air together, no cause to hide. But all they can do is make the most of this evening. He strokes her dark hair, which still hangs loose around her shoulders, brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her fingers.
26
After one week the copper taste comes, so strong there might be a penny lodged under my tongue. A little girl, then. I had the copper taste with Alice, not with Teddy. With Teddy it was just the sickness.
After two weeks my monthly is due. I carry my rags to work, hoping I might be mistaken and it is just the thought of a baby that has upset my dates: my mind playing tricks.
After one month I cannot stand to drink tea. I take my rags from my handbag and stuff them back in the sack under the bed. Next day I take them out again, rinse a few, hang them out in the yard for appearance’s sake.
I’m queasy all the time, though I’ve not yet been sick.
Daniel is wondering, I’m certain, but we haven’t spoken of it. I’ll wait a couple of weeks longer, just to be sure. We have such little time together – just a few short hours on a Friday night. I can’t bear to ruin an evening. Daniel says I mean everything to him; he loves me more than his life. He’s telling the truth, I know he is, but who’s to say his feelings won’t change when he finds out there’s a baby?
At work I muddle through, do my best to be cheerful. Mrs Stephens doesn’t seem to notice, but she’s not in the cafe with us much these days. She sits upstairs with a magazine and cabbage leaves under her stockings to ease the pain in her knees. It’s a damp autumn and damp weather plays havoc with her rheumatism. We take her cups of tea when Mr Stephens is out. ‘Lovely as you like,’ she says, ‘but what I wouldn’t give for some sugar.’
Nettie asks would I fancy a walk down to the Island Gardens after work. ‘Promised I’d get some conkers for my little cousin,’ she says. ‘There’s a particular tree always full of them.’
We wander down Stebondale Street, our coats unbuttoned because the sun has come out and it’s ever so mild. We pass a factory where labourers are repairing a roof. ‘Aye aye,’ shouts a man from the top of the scaffolding. And then a chorus of whistles, until Nettie turns round, flaps open her coat and bobs a little curtsey. The men cheer and bang the wooden boards of the scaffolding. Nettie grabs on to my arm, laughing. I’m blushing even if she’s not.
‘You’ve got some nerve, Nettie.’
She squeezes my hand. ‘Just a bit of fun. You have to make your own these days.’
She’s right about the conker tree. There are schoolboys throwing sticks into the high branches, but there’s no need – there are tons of conkers just lying on the ground, fresh-fallen from their prickly cases, staring up all glossy amid the crumbling yellow leaves. I collect a dozen for Alice and Teddy, and stuff them in my pockets. Nettie chats away, but I don’t say much. I’m thinking things through, wondering if it’s worth the risk.
We walk back the long way, to avoid the building site. My idea, not Nettie’s. Nettie dilly-dallies, jiggling conkers the edge of Cubitt Town. A motor bus rumbles by, the driver peering up as he passes under the bow of a ship that overhangs the street. A rigger is working at the very end of the bowsprit, thirty feet up, maybe forty. It makes me nervous to see him there, nothing but the hard cobbles below.
Nettie is quiet suddenly. She sighs and tells me it’s her wedding anniversary coming up. One year ago, a warm autumn day just like this, she says.
‘Any word from him?’
‘Not a dicky bird. I might as well forget him, Mum says. It’s all very well, but where do I go from here? I can’t afford to divorce him. And meanwhile he’s free to swan around, sweet-talking the next poor cow who falls under his spell.’
‘It’s always the women that suffer, ain’t it, Nettie?’
‘Oh, we can’t do right for doing wrong. My mum as good as said it: if I can’t keep a man at my age, there must be something wrong with me. Nothing wrong with him, of course. Men can’t help themselves – that’s what she thinks. Shut up and put up is all a woman’s good for. If we get into trouble, it’s our own fault.’
Would she help me, if I tell her now? There might not be a better chance. ‘Actual fact, Nettie, I’m in a spot of trouble myself.’
‘Really?’
‘The thing is, well . . . I’m carrying.’
Her face is blank and for a moment I wonder if I’ll have to spell it out. Then she cottons on, stares at me in surprise.
‘I didn’t know your George . . . Did he get home leave?’
And there was me thinking she was so broad-minded.
‘No. The baby . . .’
‘It ain’t George’s?’ Her hand flies to her mouth and a conker falls from her pocket, bouncing into the path of a bicycle. ‘Blimey, Hannah, sorry. I just didn’t . . . I never thought . . .’
‘What? You never thought I was a tart?’
‘Oh, not that. It’s just a surprise, that’s all. Whose is it, then?’
‘Chap I was at school with,’ I say, the lie coming easily. ‘We were sweethearts years ago. I happened to run into him one evening and we got carried away, too much to drink, you know. He was . . . on leave from the navy. It was only that one night. He don’t know nothing about it and he ain’t going to.’
‘How far gone, Hannah?’ She looks down at my stomach, but she won’t find any clues there. If anything, the worry has made me thinner.
‘Not long, two months. And, well, I thought you might be able to do me a favour.’
She nods, a little wary. ‘If I can.’
‘I’m going to send for some pills, to bring it off. Dr Patterson’s.’
‘Yes, I know them. I’ve a friend who swears by Dr Patterson’s.’
‘I can’t have them sent to my sister’s, so I was wondering . . . Can I put down your address?’
She fiddles with her earring. ‘I don’t know. If my mum gets hold of the post . . .’
What was it she said that time? We girls have to stick together. ‘Forget about it, Nettie. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No, go on I’ll do it. I’ll think of something. It’s 71 Ernest Street, Stepney East – shall I write it down?’
‘I’ll remember. Thank you,’ I say, but I feel rotten all the same, dirty somehow, knowing I’ve confided my troubles and it’s made her so uncomfortable.
‘It’s all right. Now hurry up or we’ll catch a bridger.’
A steamer is heading towards the lock, a goat bleating from a wooden cage on the ship’s deck. Nettie takes my arm and we belt across. I’m queasier than ever when I reach the other side, the shock of running over like that. Nettie stops and turns to me with a smile. ‘I’ll be seeing you, then. Don’t you worry. You’ll sort it out. And I promise I won’t tell a soul. We’ve both got our secrets now, haven’t we?’
I smile and wave, watch her walk off towards Stepney. She’s a decent enough girl, but how I miss Dora. How I ache to share my secret with my only true friend.
The river laps at the lock gates, licking and gurgling like a chuckling babe. Of course, if Dor was here, I might not have any secrets to share. If she had lived, I might be respectable still.
Alice is skipping around in front of the house, waving something above her head.
‘Mum,’ she says, running up the road towards me. ‘A letter from Daddy!’
‘Give it here. It’s for Mummy, Alice. You shouldn’t have opened it.’ I try to take it, but she snatches her hand away.
‘It’s a letter for me,’ she says. ‘It says my name on the front, look!’ She displays the envelope as proof, takes out the letter and starts to read. ‘“My . . . dear . . . little . . . Alice . . . I . . . was . . . very . . . ple . . .” You read it, Mum. Too hard.’
She presses the letter into my hand and I squint down at the notepaper. George has tried to make his writing bigger for Alice, but it’s still an effort to read.
My dear little Alice,
<
br /> I was very pleased to get the lovely photograph from Mummy. Don’t you look grown-up in that pretty dress. Is it a new one? And Teddy too is a proper little lad sitting up on that wall. I was only sorry not to see Mummy in the picture. She said she was feeling poorly that day. I hope she is all better now and you are both being good to her. What is your new cousin like? I hope he is not keeping you awake with his crying in the night. Fancy Uncle Alec being a soldier! Now Teddy will be the man of the house. Do you think he is strong enough to shovel coal?
I am quite safe here, Alice, and do you know that some days you wouldn’t even know there was a war on.
Well, I’ll close now and hope that I will be back with you all soon. It might be a while yet, but don’t forget that I am thinking of you day and night.
Please thank Mummy for the package and her letters, and tell her that I will write again soon.
Daddy xxxx
‘A letter all for yourself, Alice. Ain’t you lucky?’
He took his time, mind you. I sent the package off with Ada’s husband back in June. This is the first we’ve heard from him in four months. Perhaps Cole took a while to get back to the regiment. Perhaps he was injured on the journey. I make up my mind to pop into the Steamship this Friday. About time I made an appearance.
‘I’ve got another surprise for you,’ I tell Alice. ‘Put your hands in my pockets.’
She delves in and pulls out the conkers. ‘All for me?’
‘You can share them with your brother.’
She nods slowly as she eyes up the conkers. She’ll be working out which are the biggest, the firmest, the most likely to smash the opposition. She’s no fool, this girl. Quickly she divides them into two uneven piles on the pavement. ‘Teddy,’ she shouts, ‘look what Mum’s got us!’
Teddy runs out from the yard.
‘Conkers!’ says Alice. ‘There’s yours.’ She points to his share with her foot.
Teddy scoops up his pile, delighted. He’s happy with what he’s given, little Teddy. Such a trusting boy, I feel I could cry.
Ada’s not in the Steamship, so I try the White Horse. I don’t want to be long. Every minute in the pub is one less minute with Daniel. Sure enough Ada is huddled round a table with a few of the girls: Daisy and Fran and a couple of others I don’t recognize. It’s the table Daniel once sat at with Dor, the night she wore her cream striped blouse.
When Ada turns round, I can’t hide the shock.
‘Well, look who it isn’t,’ she says, screwing her cigarette into the ashtray. Both her hands are bandaged, and her face is swollen and raw. There are scabs everywhere, even on her ears. I don’t know how she can step outside the house, let alone drink in a pub.
She smiles wide and a sore on her cheek cracks open. ‘How are you, Hannah? Honoured, we are, I’m sure. And if you’re asking, mine’s a barley wine.’
Same Ada. No point giving her any sympathy. She’ll just shrug her shoulders and trot out her line about duty.
‘I’m not staying, actually, just wanted to call in as I was passing.’
‘Got time for a quickie?’
I make a show of checking the clock above the landlord’s bell.
‘No. I was just buying a few bits from the market. Have to get back. But I wanted to thank you, Ada, for getting Cole to pass on the package. Finally had a letter from George this week.’
‘Not one for putting pen to paper, is he, your George? Cole must have given it him months ago.’
‘He’s all right, then? It crossed my mind that he might have been delayed. Torpedoed or something, on the way back?’
‘Oh, he’s all right. They’ve left Greece, though. You know that much?’
‘No, I didn’t hear.’
‘Moved to Egypt. They’re fighting the Turks now, in the desert.’
‘George plays it down when he writes. He says some days you wouldn’t know there’s a war on.’
‘Does he, now?’ She swigs a mouthful of her drink. ‘Well, they have to keep it sweet, don’t they, or the censors will have a field day. Anyway, how’ve you been, Hannah? You look peaky.’
She’s got a cheek, talking about how I look.
‘I’m fine.’
‘That’s good, then. So long as you’re fine.’ Ada stares up at me as she drains her glass, so that all I see are her small brown eyes above the disappearing liquid. She places the glass on a wet mat and winks. ‘You mind how you go, then, Hannah. We’ll have a drink another night, eh? When you can spare the time.’
I know she’s staring at my back as I leave the bar. And I know she’ll have something to say about me to the other girls. Is it just the usual – ‘Lah-di-dah, thinks she’s a cut above’ – or does she know something more?
The door opens the instant I tap on it and I slip into the dark hall. We don’t speak until we are in his room, the door locked behind us.
‘Could’ve sworn I heard the warning,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know if you’d come.’
‘I never heard anything.’
‘Turned out to be a fire engine, Limehouse way.’
I tell him about Ada in the pub. He puts a little finger to the edge of his mouth and chews at the nail. It’s a peculiar habit he’s started. He never bites the other fingernails, just this one.
‘There was something strange about her, Daniel. Like she knew.’
‘She always seemed strange to me. It’s just her manner. How can she know?’ He takes out a flask of beer and holds it over the gold-rimmed glass. ‘Drink?’
‘No.’
‘I can pop out, get something else?’
‘No, I don’t want anything. Tell you the truth, I’m feeling queasy.’
He sits on the edge of the bed and stares across the room at me. I’m in the armchair, still wearing my coat.
‘Don’t suppose we can keep ignoring it,’ he says.
I look down into my lap, my hands clasped and the knuckles white as ice.
I shiver. Wish he’d light the heater.
‘I’m getting some pills. Very reliable, by all accounts.’
‘And if they don’t . . . ?’
‘I’ll have to take care of it somehow.’
He gets up from the bed and stands behind the armchair with his hands heavy on my shoulders. The grip of his fingers is so strong I can sense his worry pressing down.
‘Take care of it?’ he says. ‘No, nothing like that. You know what happened to Esther.’
‘A natural miss, you said. She lost a baby, but . . .’
‘She tried to bring it off herself. Sam was only two, and Maddie was tiny – she didn’t see how we’d manage, three babies so close together. I didn’t talk her out of it as I should have done. I ignored the whole thing. Left her to it, Esther and her know-it-all friend – they said it was safe . . .’
I’m sorry for Esther, but this is a different situation, a different baby. ‘If the pills don’t work, I’ll have to do something, Daniel. If only George would come home on leave now.’
‘You want him home?’ He skits round the armchair, crouches in front of me and takes my hands in his.
‘Well, why do you think? It could be his baby then. I’d just have to say it was early. Pray for a small one.’
‘But it’s my baby,’ he says. ‘I’m the father.’
‘How can we bring up a child?’
His face lifts in hope. ‘We could move out of London. To Dorset, like we talked about.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s only the ship work keeping you from the war.’
He sighs, but the hopeful expression is still there. ‘All right, then, we’ll find rooms, move in together.’
‘What about my work? Minute Mrs Stephens finds out, I’ll get the sack.’
‘You’ll find another job.’
‘With a baby and no one but me to look after it? And I can kiss goodbye to the army allowance. That’s twenty-eight shillings a week. We couldn’t do it, not with three kids to feed. And there’s your two to think about. What do you give
them?’
‘Six shillings a week, thereabouts.’
‘Well, then. It don’t add up.’
‘There must be a way.’
‘Oh, there’s a way all right.’
He draws me to him and kisses my forehead. It is a solemn sort of kiss, like a promise, or an unspoken vow.
Nettie brings the pills to work on Wednesday. She slips the plain brown packet into my coat pocket as we’re leaving.
‘Take care of yourself,’ she says. She holds up both hands, fingers crossed for luck. ‘I’ll see you on Friday.’
I lock myself inside the privy as soon as I get home, tear open the packet quiet as I can in case Jen has come into the yard. Inside is a small brown bottle and a folded leaflet. ‘Dr Patterson’s Famous Pills,’ it says. ‘A boon to womankind. Guaranteed to remove all female obstructions, irregularities and ailments. Two to be taken three times a day after meals.’
I hold the bottle to the shaft of light at the top of the privy door. There can’t be more than three dozen pills in there – enough for a week or so. When I take out the cork stopper, a mustard smell wafts up. I swallow one dry; it sticks in my throat and it’s as much as I can do not to cough it up. I’ll take the other with a cup of tea. Mum’ll have a pot brewing inside, though the taste will make me gag. I stick the second pill under my tongue and stuff the bottle back into my pocket.
27
Last Christmas he spent the holiday at Ellen and Alf’s. It was only a year since Esther had died and Ellen said of course he must come to Kent to be with the children, mustn’t sit around moping in his lodgings. This year there was no invitation. Ellen had sent a card, saying they were all going to Alf’s family in Broadstairs. He could come in the new year, Ellen said, if he was able to get the time off work.
All day he has been walking. It was important to get out of the boarding house, in case Mrs Browne invited him down. He couldn’t face her chit-chat, the paper hats and the silly jokes. If he cannot be with his own children, or with Hannah, he would rather be alone.
He thinks of her sitting down to Christmas dinner at Sabbarton Street, chair pulled up close to the table to keep her belly out of sight. The pills were a waste of money, as he’d known they would be. She tried other methods: tinctures of pennyroyal washed down with gin; a scalding-hot soak at Poplar Baths. Last Friday she mentioned the surgical shop again, but, for now, he thinks he has talked her out of it. How would she pay for an operation, in any case, without his help? She can’t ask her family, and she has precious little to pawn.
