3
On the bus, Mavis sat back against the seat for the five minutes to took to reach her stop. She realized that all her muscles were tense and she made a conscious effort to relax. She wasn’t sure she’d convinced her mother about Rita’s black eye, but for now, she’d avoided her questions. She had breathing space to decide what she was really going to do. Tomorrow she’d have to face her questions, but by tomorrow she’d have a wedding date and with luck Lily would be carried along on the tide of preparation.
Last night had been awful. Rita had refused to eat liver for her tea and Jimmy had lost his rag and knocked her off her stool. She’d smashed her face against the corner of the cooker, opening a cut on her forehead, and with a slam of the door, Jimmy had stalked out, leaving Mavis to deal with the blood and two screaming kids. She’d sent them both to bed, furious with Rita for provoking yet another row, and subsided into a chair, burying her face in her hands in despair. She was six months pregnant, always exhausted, and Jimmy still hadn’t kept his promise to marry her. He’d moved in, but no wedding date had been set.
When Jimmy finally came back home Mavis was slumped in her chair, half asleep. She started awake as he came in and plonked himself down opposite her. Now he looked across at Mavis. ‘Right,’ he said, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation, ‘tomorrow I’ll go to the registry office and you can go to the council and tell them you need a home for your kids.’
Mavis looked at him blankly for a moment and then echoed faintly, ‘Registry office?’
‘To sort out a date for our wedding. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, oh Jimmy, yes, of course.’
‘And you can go to the council and get your girls took in.’
‘Took in where?’
‘How do I know? They have orphanages, don’t they? They have to now, with this new welfare.’
‘But they’re not orphans.’
‘Half orphans, they are. They ain’t got no dad.’
‘But I want you to be their dad.’
‘Well, I don’t want to be, do I?’ rasped Jimmy. ‘And what’s more, they don’t want me to be, neither!’
‘They don’t know what they want,’ began Mavis, ‘they’re too young to understand—’
Jimmy cut her off. ‘Your Reet understands all right. She don’t want me in the house, and I don’t want her. Simple as that. She’d be happier living somewhere else. I expect she’ll get adopted, and she’ll be far better off adopted than living with us.’
‘Adopted!’ croaked Mavis.
‘Well, Mav, there it is. We’ll get married just like you want to, and you, me and the baby’ll be a family.’ He heaved himself to his feet. ‘God, I’m tired. Heavy work on the building site. Come on, upstairs.’
In the morning Jimmy’s parting words had been, ‘I’ll go to the registry office in me dinnertime. All right?’ He gave her a hard stare and added, ‘An’ you’ll do your bit, right?’ Mavis had nodded. She knew she couldn’t cope on her own any longer. She needed a man, a man who came home with a wage packet every Friday. A man to take care of the things men do take care of about the home. A man so she wasn’t lonely any more. She had Jimmy. And if the price of having him was sending her daughters away for a while… well, it wouldn’t be forever, would it? Increasingly it was becoming a price she was prepared to pay… for the sake of the baby. She hadn’t quite decided, she told herself, but it couldn’t hurt if she went to the council offices to see the welfare after she’d finished at Mrs Robinson’s, just to ask. Nothing definite.
At half-past twelve, Mavis left Mrs Robinson’s and walked the half mile or so to the Market Square. There, on the far side, were the council offices, housed in a grim, grey stone building, but today, with the sun shining on its windows, it seemed to Mavis to be more approachable. A sign, she thought to herself. A sign she should go in.
She crossed the square and taking a deep breath, mounted the steps and pushed her way through the heavy glass doors into the entrance hall. To one side was a reception desk, manned by a harassed-looking woman, typing. Mavis approached and the woman paused long enough to say, ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for…’ Mavis gulped and tried again. ‘I’m looking for the children’s department.’
‘Second floor, on the right at the top of the stairs. Room 21.’
The woman returned to her typing, and Mavis turned away. As she looked round to find the staircase, she glanced back through the glass doors at the sunlit square beyond.
I don’t have to do this, she thought. I can walk out of them doors, and everything’ll be like always.
Like always. No man in the house. A baby coming. No regular money. Reet behaving like a sullen little brat, fighting with Jimmy; Rosie starting to copy her. Shouting and screaming and hitting. If Rita wasn’t in the house there’d be peace. If Rita wasn’t in the house Jimmy couldn’t hit her. Rita would be safer somewhere else. And if Rita wasn’t in the house Jimmy wouldn’t get so angry and take it out on her, Mavis. It would be better for everyone if Rita wasn’t in the house… including Rita. Mavis turned and went up the stairs to find Room 21.
Room 21 turned out to be a sort of waiting room. It was very small, furnished with a couple of old wooden chairs, and on the far side was another door and a glass window with a sort of sliding hatch. Beside the hatch was a bell. Mavis rang it. There was a scuffling behind the glass panel and then the hatch slid open and a pale-faced woman peered out.
‘Yes?’
‘I want to see someone about having my kids took in,’ Mavis said.
‘I see,’ came the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Name?’
‘Mavis Stevens.’
The woman made a note. ‘Take a seat, please.’ The glass hatch slid closed again.
Mavis sat down on one of the chairs. She stared for a moment at the glass hatch. Is that all there is to it? she wondered. Give your name and take a seat?
Mavis waited… and waited. After half an hour she went back to the window again.
‘How long have I got to wait?’ she asked when the whey-faced woman reappeared.
‘It’s dinnertime,’ the woman replied. ‘Miss Hopkins’ll be back in a while. She’s the one you have to see.’ The glass hatch closed.
Mavis knew it was dinnertime, her own stomach was rumbling. She should have guessed the welfare lady might be out for dinner. She wished she’d thought of bringing a sandwich with her. She sighed and began re-reading the notices on the wall.
Miss Hopkins came back into the office a few moments later. She was a heavily built woman, broad in the hips and broad in the shoulders. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a rather untidy heap and secured with what looked, to Mavis, like two hat pins. She was puffing from climbing the stairs, and she paused on the threshold to get her breath. She looked across at Mavis, but gave no greeting, simply crossed to the door beside the hatch and pushing it open, spoke to the woman inside. ‘I’m back, Miss Parker.’
It was another quarter of an hour before Miss Parker appeared at the door and said, ‘Miss Hopkins can see you now, Mrs Stevens.’ She indicated a glass-panelled door on which were written the words, Children’s Officer.
Mavis tapped on the glass and opening the door cautiously, went in. Seeing the formidable Miss Hopkins sitting behind a desk covered with papers, Mavis almost turned and fled. But it was too late. She’d had all that waiting time to change her mind, and now, now it was too late. She edged into the room and Miss Hopkins, looking up from a paper she was reading, pointed to the wooden chair that stood in front of her desk.
‘Please sit down.’
Mavis sat.
‘Name?’
‘Mavis Stevens.’
‘Address?’
Mavis gave her address and Miss Hopkins made a note on a pad in front of her.
‘Husband’s name?’
‘I haven’t got a husband,’ stumbled Mavis, unnerved by the woman’s brisk efficiency. ‘I mean, I’m a widow
. He was killed in the war.’
‘I see.’ Miss Hopkins eyed the well-defined bulge of Mavis’s stomach. ‘Children?’
‘Yes, two girls, Rita’s nine and Rosie’s five.’
‘And another on the way,’ stated Miss Hopkins.
‘Yes, well, me and Jimmy, we’re getting married soon, and…’
‘And…?’ prompted Miss Hopkins, though she thought she knew what was coming.
‘And there ain’t room for us all in the house, not with the new baby. We need somewhere for the girls to go, just for a little while, while we get settled, like. Be difficult for us all being crammed in together… with the new baby an’ all.’
‘I see.’ Miss Hopkins sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers. ‘I see, so you want to move the girls out to make way for the baby.’
‘Just for a little while,’ Mavis reiterated, ‘just while, you know…’ Her words tailed off. Silence.
‘And where do you want them to go?’ enquired Miss Hopkins at last. ‘Why have you come to me?’
‘Well,’ Mavis looked a little confused, ‘well, you’re the welfare, ain’t you? I mean, you’re the children’s department. You have to look after children that don’t have no homes.’
‘But your children do have a home,’ pointed out Miss Hopkins.
‘Well, they do and they don’t,’ said Mavis, and when Miss Hopkins made no comment to this rather cryptic statement, she went on, ‘They do just now, but they won’t when Jimmy and I get married.’
‘You mean he won’t give them a home,’ stated Miss Hopkins bluntly.
‘He will, but it ain’t easy. They ain’t his family, are they? Not like the baby’ll be.’ Mavis leaned forward earnestly in her chair. ‘They ain’t his kids. He don’t feel about them the way I do.’
And you’d rather have him than them, thought Miss Hopkins. Aloud she said, ‘I see.’
She did see too, a woman at her wits’ end. Needing to get married to have support for the new baby, and for herself, but knowing that this was not going to happen unless her daughters were removed from the household. Well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Miss Hopkins knew of a place that would happily accept such children. Perhaps…?
‘Do the girls get on all right with… your fiancé?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, yeah… mostly… well, not all the time. Rita gives him a bit of cheek sometimes and he don’t like it.’
‘Does he strike her?’
‘No! Course not!’ Mavis filled her voice with indignation, but when Miss Hopkins’ eyes bored into her, Mavis dropped her gaze and said, ‘Well, not often. But I mean, she cheeks him… says he’s not her dad and that.’
‘Well, he isn’t, is he?’ pointed out Miss Hopkins. Silence again. Mavis stared at the floor. ‘So he doesn’t love them… the girls?’
‘Well, they’re not his, are they?’ Mavis demanded. ‘I mean, it’s natural that he don’t love them like he’ll love the baby. He ain’t never going to love them like he’ll love the baby, is he? ’Cos the baby’s his, ain’t it?’
‘You’ll have to fill in a form,’ Miss Hopkins said, ‘requesting assistance with housing your daughters, that’s if you’re serious about asking for them to be fostered for a while.’
‘Just till we’re sorted,’ Mavis said. ‘Shall I fill it in now? The form?’
‘It’s quite complicated,’ replied Miss Hopkins. ‘I think you should take it away and look at it very carefully. Go through it with your… fiancé. It’s not a thing to be rushed, you know. Once you’ve made your application it will be considered, but I must warn you this doesn’t mean that it will be granted. The decision will take time, but if accepted, places will be found for your daughters.’ Miss Hopkins rose to her feet. ‘It’s too important to be hurried.’
Mavis stood as well, clutching her handbag in front of her, a barrier between her and the formidable woman behind the desk.
‘No,’ she said. ‘All right, I’ll take it with me and bring it back tomorrow.’
‘Very well.’ Miss Hopkins rang a bell and Miss Parker appeared at the door.
‘Ah, Miss Parker. Please give Mrs Stevens application forms for temporary foster care and adoption.’
‘Adoption!’ exclaimed Mavis.
‘I think that’s what you’re actually asking for, Mrs Stevens, isn’t it? Someone to take Rita and Rosie off your hands so that you can start a new life with your new husband?’
Mavis didn’t reply, and Miss Hopkins continued, ‘In that case, please fill in both sets of forms and bring them back with the children’s birth certificates. We can take it from there. Good afternoon, Mrs Stevens.’
As the door closed behind her visitor, Miss Hopkins put down the paper and looked thoughtful. It was clear to her that the two little girls weren’t wanted at home. But she knew someone who wanted them, and if the mother returned with the right documentation, she was sure that she could hurry the application through. As the newly appointed acting Children’s Officer, with several years’ experience in welfare work, she was the dominant person on the new Children’s Committee and decisions she made were normally rubber-stamped by those who deferred to her experience. She reached for the telephone and asked the operator for the number she needed.
4
Emily Vanstone stared out of the window. It was raining and the garden beyond looked damp and depressing. On the desk in front of her was a brochure showing a wide and open landscape, basking in warm sunshine. At the top were the words, EVER-Care taking children to a better world and a better life.
It was ten years since she, Emily Vanstone, spinster daughter of the late George Vanstone, sister-in-law of Sir Edward Sherrington and pillar of the Crosshills Methodist Church, had set up a charity to rescue children whom she described as ‘Guttersnipes’ from their poor and feckless families.
When her father, George Vanstone, mill-owner and philanthropist, died, he left his money in four equal parts. One quarter went to each of his three daughters, Amelia, Emily and Maud. The last quarter of his substantial estate was in a trust to be administered jointly by Emily and by Maud’s husband, solicitor, Martin Fielding, ‘for the benefit of those in need’. And who could be in more need than children who lived in the gutter?
Emily had visited Amelia and her brother-in-law, Sir Edward Sherrington, to tell them of her grand scheme. Not to ask them to contribute financially, that would have been a pointless exercise, but to use them in an entirely different way. What was the use of having an aristocratic brother-in-law if you didn’t take advantage of the fact on occasion? She had told Amelia she wanted to discuss something with them and Amelia had, rather reluctantly, asked her to dinner.
‘My orphanage will give these girls a home,’ Emily explained.
‘Girls only?’ interjected Amelia.
‘Certainly girls only,’ replied Emily. ‘It’s girls who need rescuing before they are dragged into prostitution… or worse.’
‘Is there anything worse?’ wondered Amelia vaguely.
Emily ignored her and went on, ‘They will be fed and clothed, but more importantly, they’ll be taught good Christian values. They will learn to work and they will learn to pray. They will learn to behave as a good citizen should. They will learn their place in life. They will not slide into a life of crime like their parents. The home will be run on strict principles, there’ll be no laxity, only strict discipline will turn these street Arabs into upright and worthwhile citizens. Early rescue is the key. Haul them out of the gutter before it’s too late.’
Sir Edward looked at the middle-aged woman in front of him, her greying hair swept back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, her eyes holding a fanatical gleam, and thought, Emily’s a real chip off the old block.
Despite his superiority in education and social standing, Edward Sherrington had been in awe of his father-in-law, and though he would never admit it, even to himself, he was a little afraid of his formidable sister-in-law as well.
George Vanstone had had
no sons, but Emily was as shrewd a business woman as ever her father had been. The mills still turned and produced increasing profits, and Emily had refused to hand over the reins to either of her brothers-in-law. This suited them all. Neither man wanted to be linked to ‘trade’ and provided their wives received their share of the profits, they had little inclination to interfere, leaving Emily able to do much as she pleased. She had invested in numerous projects, and now, Sherrington thought, she’s investing in children.
‘I’ve talked to Martin about it,’ Emily continued, ‘and he agrees that I can set up an orphanage with the money Father left in the trust. I’ve already heard of a suitable house. It’s in Russell Green, just over Russell Bridge. Martin and I are going to see it tomorrow.’
Edward Sherrington shrugged. ‘Well, you’re the trustees,’ he said. ‘Just as long as you don’t expect me to put money into it.’
‘No, Edward,’ Emily said smoothly, ‘not your money.’ Not that it is your money, she thought, it’s Amelia’s, but she won’t put any in either. ‘Not your money, Edward, your name.’
‘My name?’ Edward looked startled.
‘I want you to be the patron. You know, with your name as patron on the headed notepaper.’
‘Well, I don’t know…’
‘A baronet would look very well on a letterhead, don’t you think?’ remarked Emily, turning to her sister. No harm in reminding Edward that he had traded his title for their money.
‘Indeed,’ Amelia agreed. She was far too clever to remind Ned what he owed her; she was quite happy with the bargain. Moving in the upper echelons of society as Lady Sherrington, she wanted reminders of her lowly origins as little as Ned did. However, she also enjoyed playing Lady Bountiful, and the thought of the Sherrington name on the letterhead of a charitable foundation was a tempting one.
‘You know, Ned,’ she went on, ‘Emily’s right. It would look very well.’
Edward actually agreed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you invite me to be your patron, I can hardly decline, can I? But,’ he looked at Emily over the rim of his wine glass, ‘it’s all I will do. I’ll have no other part in this venture. Is this understood between us, Emily?’
The Throwaway Children Page 3
