by Annie Murray
It was Vera who was sobbing after this bewildering outburst, bent over with her elbows resting on the table, face buried in her hands. Katie stood numbed, in shock as the words poured out of her mother, not seeming to make any sense.
Vera suddenly flung herself away from the table. ‘Go on, I mean it – get out! Take your things and go – to him. And I hope he damn well wants you or you’ll be on the streets, my girl, and it’ll serve you right, and don’t think you can come running to me! You’ll find out what life’s about, won’t you, you stupid little bitch. Go on . . .’
She came across the room and Katie ran out, frightened that her mother was about to set about her. Up in her room, she stood at a loss. What was she doing? Surely her mother didn’t really mean her to leave, for good? She couldn’t mean that! In her panic, the only person she could think of whom she wanted to see was Simon. He felt like her rock, the only safe haven to which she could escape.
‘I’ll take my night things,’ she murmured, opening drawers with shaking hands and gathering a little pile of belongings on the bed, the tears now running down her face.
‘Are you ready yet?’ Vera’s voice grated up the stairs. She came up and stood in the doorway, arms folded, her expression as hard as iron.
‘Mother, surely you don’t mean . . . You don’t really want me to leave?’
‘Oh yes, I do. I’ve had enough of you and your kind – Judases all!’
‘But what d’you mean?’ Katie wailed. ‘Uncle Patrick wasn’t a . . . a Judas. And Daddy . . .’
‘Daddy,’ Vera mimicked in a nasty voice. She looked so strange, so completely possessed by rage, that Katie was frightened. It was as if Vera had become someone she’d never seen before. ‘What do you know about Daddy. You were too young to remember anything.’
‘But . . .’ Katie’s voice became a squeak. ‘What d’you mean?’
They stood staring at each other. Vera’s face was working, and for a few seconds Katie felt she was looking at someone deranged. Then her expression seemed to freeze. In a low, intense voice, almost a hiss, she said, ‘I don’t mean anything. He died. Left forever. That’s a betrayal – can’t you see that? Can’t you?’
Their words ran out and suddenly it was quiet. Repelled, Katie turned and stuffed her things into her little suitcase. Vera stood back to let her past. She didn’t follow Katie as she went down the stairs, put on her wet boots again, picked up her umbrella and walked out into the night.
It seemed to take forever to get to Kings Heath, though it was not very late. She felt punch-drunk and unable to think straight. On the bus she found herself wondering whether Vera had taken the carrots off the stove or whether they had boiled dry. This made the tears come again, but she tried to swallow them down, not wanting to cry in front of strangers.
At Simon’s door she prayed he would answer, and not one of the Welsh lads. It took her several minutes to get up the courage to knock, and when she heard footsteps in the hall she thought she might faint with fright.
Simon’s face appeared round the door, squinting into the gloom.
‘Squeak!’ he exclaimed. ‘How lovely to see you, darling!’ Katie was sure the cheerful welcome sounded forced, but then she had taken him by surprise.
‘Can I come in?’ she asked huskily.
‘Well, of course you can.’ He stood back and she passed him, not sure if he had noticed the holdall in her hand. ‘So I take it you can’t keep away from me?’
The hall was dimly lit and the house sounded quiet. She took a breath, even opened her mouth to tell him, but instead said, ‘I – I’ve had a bit of a falling-out with my mother. Can I stay here tonight?’
‘Ah!’ Simon laughed, sounding relieved. ‘I did wonder what the luggage was all in aid of. Of course you can, Squeaky. I know what you mothers and daughters are like. Come on in, I was just having some supper. Bangers – d’you want some?’
‘No, it’s all right, I’ve had mine,’ she lied. In any case she could not have eaten: her stomach was churning like a maiding tub.
She sat opposite Simon and accepted a cup of tea as he tucked into his sausage and mash, looking as handsome as ever, but completely unaware of her misery.
Just look at me, she thought. Look at me properly. But he was too busy tucking in.
‘I’ve been over to Coventry today – see about a new customer. That’s why I wasn’t in.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘What sort of day’ve you had – old Misery-Guts behaving herself?’
Katie told him a few bits and pieces about the office. She was sure Mrs Crosby knew that she and Simon were involved with each other – the woman seemed to have second sense. But though she gave Katie long, meaningful stares, there was nothing she could say. As they talked about the day-to-day life of the firm, and Katie tried to be as normal as possible, the day’s upset and even the reality of the baby faded a little into the background. It became more and more impossible to begin the conversation. She knew she was putting it off again. Mother would calm down, she could go back home . . .
But as they prepared for bed later, she was careful to keep herself facing away from him as she undressed, in case he noticed. She saw though, with despair, as he carelessly threw his clothes onto the chair and flung on a dressing gown to go and clean his teeth, that he wouldn’t notice. He was blithely oblivious to everything. His life was going along swimmingly, thank you very much. She watched his departing back with utter desperation. She had to tell him – had to . . . Please, listen to me – help me . . .
They cuddled up in Simon’s three-quarter-size bed, she with her back to him, Simon curled around her. As soon as they were touching she knew he was aroused, his hands beginning to explore her body in a lazy sort of way.
‘I think Mac and Les are going to be able to fix up a round of golf this weekend,’ he said through a yawn. ‘It’s a shame you don’t play – you should come and learn.’
Katie felt lonelier in that moment than ever before in her life. She said nothing. Simon’s hands were lifting the edge of her nightdress, his hands moving higher.
‘Goodness, Squeak’ – he stroked her bare belly – ‘I do believe you’re starting to fill out a bit. Is someone getting you extra rations from somewhere?’
Her breath caught in her throat. She turned in the bed so that she was on her back, half facing him.
‘BB – Simon. I . . . I need to tell you something.’
‘Umm?’ She could feel him pressing against her, hard and wanting.
‘No – stop, please!’ She was so emphatic that his hands stilled.
‘Hey, what’s up?’
‘I’m . . . I’m . . .’ Oh heavens, could she get the words out! ‘Oh, Si – I’m having a baby – our baby.’ They poured out, the sobs starting too.
He pushed himself up on his elbow and his boyish face was staring intently down into hers.
‘You are having me on, aren’t you?’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘I can feel it moving. It’s yours, Si – ours.’
He pushed back the bedclothes, drawing up her nightgown so that she felt cold and exposed, and touched her swollen stomach. His interest seemed detached, scientific, as if he was checking the pressure of a set of tyres.
‘And you’re sure?’ he said again. She could see he was completely stunned. That such a thing might really happen had not crossed his mind.
Fearfully, her tears running into her hair, she looked up into his face. ‘I’m certain.’
His left eye twitched. He looked away, across the room. Katie felt a coldness grow in her. He was not with her, she knew. He was far, far away. All he said, in the end, was, ‘Christ!’
Twenty
Katie woke the next morning after a terrible night’s sleep, sick with hunger. Of course – she had had no tea last night. It all came rushing back to her. She was here, in Simon’s bed, after the row with Mom, after his reaction: the fact that he could think of nothing whatsoever to say.
She was alone in the bed. The curtains we
re still closed and the room very dark. Somewhere she could hear movement in the house, the others getting off to work. Would Simon just disappear to the works and not even come and speak to her? Was that how it was? And she had to get to work as well – she couldn’t just lie here! But she felt sick and utterly drained.
What had he said to her last night? She thought back to what it was that had kept her awake, paralysed by worry, by a sense of abandonment. There had been no warm words, no loving reassurance. Yet he hadn’t exactly rejected her, either. He had been overwhelmed, she could see, and had nothing to give her when she needed to feel his arms close round her, reassuring her. Instead of which he had spoken in a strange, flat voice, not at all like his usual jaunty self.
‘Look, Katie.’ No fond nicknames now. That was all gone. ‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t sort this out tonight. Let’s sleep on it.’
He lay down, turned away from her and seemed to sleep easily, though she was not sure if he was pretending, just to avoid her.
Sort this out, he had said, as if she was a carburettor that needed technical adjustment. Had she known, in her heart, that it would be like this? That Simon had never truly loved her, and that in her turn she was not sure of him? She had felt herself shut down. She could not bear to let herself feel the bald truth of this. Still she longed to believe in love, that what they had made together was not all false and a terrible mistake.
Footsteps came up the stairs, slowly, reluctantly. He came in with a cup and saucer.
‘Are you awake?’
‘Yes.’ She sat up slowly.
‘I brought you some tea.’
‘Thank you.’
He handed it to her in the gloom, then sat on the bed, at the end, far from her. His mood seemed even more distant. There was silence for a few moments and she sipped the sweet tea, feeling detached and helpless.
‘Look, it’s no good,’ Simon said, all in a rushed, clipped voice. ‘I’ve been thinking. You’ll have to go – you can’t go into the works in that state. It’s just not on. You’d better give in your notice today – I’ll see to it that you get references for another job somewhere, when you’re ready.’
‘What d’you mean? Just go?’ Her voice rose in panic. Even if she did not expect much of him, she had at least hoped for gentleness. She had not thought he would be this brutal. ‘What about . . . I mean, this is our baby – yours and mine!’
‘Not mine.’
‘What d’you mean, “not mine”?’ She scrambled up onto her knees in outrage. ‘Of course it’s yours – who else d’you think . . . ?’
‘I mean, I’m not a part of this. Look, keep your voice down, for God’s sake. You can see my position, can’t you? I’ve got the firm to run – there’s a war on, in case you’d forgotten. I’ll be taking over the firm one day, and I suppose one day I’ll have to get married, bring up a family with the right sort of girl. I mean if the Old Man found out – God almighty!’ He gave something that sounded like a chuckle. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about. But I’m not ready for all that yet, anyway. I’m only just setting out on the road . . .’
The coldness gripped tighter round her heart.
‘The right sort of girl?’ She could barely get the words out. ‘What sort of girl am I then?’
‘Well,’ he tried to make light of it, ‘you know what I mean! There are certain expectations of the kind of person you marry. Look, I’m sorry about it, Katiekins.’ He reached for something and, unable to see in the dark, cursed and went to twitch back the curtain a little. He was dressed for the works, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his wallet.
Her rage and hurt were so deep that the words came out small and tight. ‘Do you realize I have nowhere to go? I have no one? This is your baby.’ Then she choked. ‘I thought you loved me. You’ve just been playing with me – all this time!’
‘Oh, now don’t start all that!’ He turned, the wallet in his hand. ‘Playing? Maybe a bit, yes. But what have you been doing? I’ve given you a good time – very nice being able to hop in someone’s motor and be whisked away for an evening out. I’ll bet you don’t know anyone else in a position to give you that. So don’t pretend I’ve been all take.’ He shrugged. ‘Fair dos, Katie – we’ve had some fun, but I can’t be seen to be hanging about with . . . Well, we’re just not each other’s type deep down, are we? Look – I’ll see you’re all right.’ He held out a wad of notes. ‘Here’s enough to look after yourself for a bit. You can either, well – see to it that there’s no child . . . or if you go ahead with the brat, that amount’ll keep you for a while until you’re on your feet again.’
Brat? This man who had talked so fondly of children. She stared at him.
‘You’re paying me off? Like a cheap tart?’
‘Well, not exactly . . .’
The cup left her hand before she’d even thought. ‘I always knew you were a shallow, spoilt, boring . . .’ She heard it crack against his forehead. The dregs splashed down his face. She hurled the saucer after it, but it missed and thudded on the floor.
‘Ow! Christ, woman! What the hell’re you doing? Look, if that’s the way you’re going to behave, I’m not even going to try and discuss it with you. But it just makes my point – my family expects me to marry a respectable woman, not some easy tart like you.’
Katie gasped, but before she could reply he had moved close and was looking threateningly into her face.
‘And don’t you go trying any cheap tricks, like going to the Old Man – he won’t have any cotter with you, I can tell you right now. Your word against mine is hardly going to wash, is it?’
She was shaking her head now. She would never have done that. She didn’t want revenge and trouble – only love, from somewhere at least; and his love, she could see now, she had never had. Her sobs broke into the room.
‘Oh, don’t start that. Look, I’m going to work. You make sure you come in and hand in your notice. And be out of here by the time I get back, as well. This is for you – luckily I had a fair wedge in the house.’
He put the money down on the end of the bed, picked up something from the chair and went to the door.
‘We’ve had some nice times, Katie. Good luck, old girl. You’ll be all right – you’ll see.’
She sat in the quiet after the front door slammed, hugging her knees.
‘You bastard,’ she whispered. ‘You cowardly bastard . . .’
Suddenly she was seized by the need to be sick and ran to the bathroom, bringing up a grainy stream of tea and curdled milk. Afterwards she walked back unsteadily and sat on the bed.
I am alone, she thought, exhaustedly. There’s no one – just you and me. And for the first time she had fellow feeling for the little life growing in her. Picking up the sheaf of notes, she counted it. He had left her a hundred pounds.
She walked through the old familiar streets in darkness that evening, carrying her little holdall, until she reached Enid Thomas’s house.
Thank heavens it’s so dark, she thought, groping her way to the front door.
‘Who is it?’ Enid’s voice came through to her.
‘It’s me,’ she hissed. ‘Katie – Vera’s daughter.’
‘Who? I can’t hear yer!’
Katie rolled her eyes. So much for trying to come in quietly. Eventually Enid opened the door, looking out cautiously. She was dressed in her old slippers and her hair was looking a bit dishevelled.
‘Oh, it’s you, bab.’ Her gentle voice reached Katie soothingly. ‘I wasn’t expecting any visitors. Come on then, quick – mustn’t let the light out.’
Seeing Enid’s familiar figure was a comfort after the lonely, agonizing day she’d had and Katie felt tears rising in her.
‘D’yer want a cup of tea, bab? I’ve got some on the go.’
‘Yes, please – I’d love one.’
‘Might be on the weak side – you know how it is.’
‘Enid . . .’ The tone of Katie’s voice stopped Enid in her tracks. She looked up, the tea
pot in her hand. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask this, but can you put me up tonight, please? I’ll sleep anywhere – I don’t need anything much, I just haven’t got anywhere to go . . .’ She was babbling, her anxiety spilling out.
‘Stay here?’ Enid put the teapot down and looked closely at her. ‘What d’yer mean? Oh, you are in a state – what’s happened, bab?’
It was no good pretending and making up some excuse. Enid would find out sooner or later, and Katie was desperate for her help.
‘Mom’s told me not to come home. She’s, well, she’s thrown me out. Truth is, Enid’ – she lowered her head, her face burning with shame – ‘I’m . . . I’m expecting a baby.’
Enid sank onto the chair by the table.
‘You? You’re expecting . . . ?’ Seconds passed as she tried to absorb the shock of it, her mouth open. No – not you, Katie, surely not? A babby? You’re not that sort of girl!’
‘Well, it seems I am, doesn’t it?’ Katie retorted bitterly.
It took some time to convince Enid that she was sure, and Enid eventually said, ‘Oh, my word, Katie – I’d never, ever’ve thought it of you, the way you look so smart and nice and all your books and reading . . . Oh my goodness.’ She brought her hands up to her face. ‘You poor, poor thing.’ At last she remembered to attend to the teapot, her instinct immediately motherly and kind, despite her shock. ‘Have you had your tea? Are you hungry?’
‘Yes – no, I’m not hungry, thanks.’ Katie had been to a cafe and had sat eating a meagre mutton stew in a corner, glad to be somewhere where no one knew her. She hadn’t wanted to put Enid out any more than she had to. She knew Enid got into a tizzy easily.
Enid looked carefully at her, and Katie was full of gratitude. Now that she was getting over her shock – one of the many shocks life had thrown at her – Enid was squaring up to what needed to be done. And it was such a relief to tell someone who was kind and might help.
