A Daughter's Disgrace (13 page)

Alison almost ran down Falcon Road, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the butcher’s as possible. She was glad it had started to rain – it made her tears less obvious. The few people who were out in it had their heads down, taking no notice of her. She hunched over more than ever, trying to stifle her sobs.

She turned off the main road and wandered on more slowly now, not caring that she was getting soaked. A few more turnings and she was by the river. She could see the hulking shapes of the wharves. The buildings across the water were shrouded in drizzle, grey masses against grey clouds. If she walked along the bank a bit further she’d be at St Mary’s church. Her family never went there but she had an idea that Fred did. She couldn’t see the point of it all. God hadn’t answered any of her prayers so far and she certainly wasn’t going to spill her heart out to a vicar. She remembered hearing that the church had homes for people like her – unmarried mothers who needed to give birth to their babies in secret, away from gossiping neighbours and shamed families. She shuddered. She didn’t want to go to any such place, but she didn’t want to go through this alone.

Should she trust Fred? As she grew calmer she thought hard about it. He’d been kind so far and even though he’d asked those intrusive questions he hadn’t ordered her to leave. But what could he do? He was a middle-aged man with, if her mother was to be believed, no experience of women except for an old harridan of a mother. Would he know about doctors who could help her? But Vera had said that was illegal. Even if her friend hadn’t told her what she wanted to hear, Alison believed her. The image came to her of a blood-soaked couch, sharp instruments all around, and a girl lying in the middle of it, rolling in agony. She didn’t think she had the nerve to risk it, let alone the money.

As the fine rain continued to fall she realised she was getting colder. Good. Maybe she could catch pneumonia and then she might lose the baby. Then she couldn’t be blamed for killing it but the result would be the same. Perhaps she could manage it so that her mother and Hazel wouldn’t find out. She could say it was a heavy case of the monthlies. She’d tell Fred he’d been mistaken and she’d been ill after all. That would mean Vera was the only other person who knew, and she wouldn’t say a word.

Alison opened her coat so that the rain would soak her apron and blouse beneath it but as fast as the shower had started it stopped again. The sun came out and instead of getting drenched, Alison began to dry out, steam rising off her coat. The weather was warming up with the advent of summer and usually she would have been pleased, but now it had spoiled her one desperate idea. She’d have to get something other than pneumonia, or else wait for the next heavy rainstorm. She shrugged. It was the best she could come up with.

Gazing over the churning water she decided she’d have to put a brave face on it and at least act more cheerful even if she didn’t feel it. If she went on like this even her mother might notice eventually. She’d stop wallowing in misery and get on with earning as much at the shop as she could, just in case her plan didn’t work. Then when it rained again she’d find a reason to be out in it for a long time and let nature take its course. Plenty of women lost babies when they were ill, after all.

Taking a deep breath she turned her back on the river and began to retrace her steps. The old lanes between the water and the main roads shone with raindrops and for a moment she stopped to take in how lovely they looked. The sun was out and the early summer greenery was swaying in a gentle breeze. If only things had been different. She could have looked at this scene and enjoyed it properly. She hardly ever took a moment to see what was around her. She was so used to her mother saying how awful the area was and Linda telling them how marvellous Kent was in contrast that she went along with them. But there were spots in Battersea that she loved, and this was her home. She just had to get through the next few weeks and hope that nobody noticed anything until she had a chance to put her plan into action.

‘You go on in and play, then Mummy will be back for you this afternoon.’ Linda was dropping off June at the home of one of her little friends. She was a sociable child and loved having friends round and now some were inviting her back to their houses. Linda was glad of the break sometimes although she was very particular about who June went to play with. She didn’t want her associating with just anybody. They might as well have stayed in Battersea if she mixed with some of the kids round here.

As soon as she’d turned the corner into her own street Linda’s smile faltered. She was trying to put on a good front but inside her emotions were in turmoil. For a few weeks she’d thought the longed-for second baby was on its way and she could hardly contain her joy. This is what June really needed: a brother or sister. Only children were lonely, it was well known. And it was so tempting to spoil her. She knew Terry would love a son, to play football with and teach all about lorries, though he’d be more than happy with another daughter as well. She’d been on the point of telling him last night.

Then she’d felt the dreaded cramp in the stomach and it had all come to nothing. She’d sat in the indoor, upstairs bathroom that they were both so proud of and wept in disappointment. She’d been so sure; she’d felt more tired, her breasts had seemed larger and more tender, her mood was different. She thought her appetite had changed too. Now she didn’t know if she’d imagined all of it and it was simply that her monthlies were very late or if she had just lost what would have been a baby.

She told herself not to be so silly. They had plenty of time. She was only twenty-four. Women far older than her had babies. She and Terry had years ahead of them and goodness knows they enjoyed trying. That wasn’t the problem. So why was she so depressed about it? These things happened.

Because, said a little voice in her head, if you were pregnant then Terry might not take all these risks storing the boxes. He wouldn’t dare to upset you. He knew how much she worried every time the consignments arrived, and how she’d noticed they were getting bigger and staying on their property for longer. The good thing was the payments went up each time. Yet she’d be quite happy to draw the line under what they’d saved. There was enough for a bigger place now. It wouldn’t be a mansion but it would have an extra room for the new baby when it came.

The sooner that baby showed signs of arriving the better. She hated the way it wasn’t under her control. She loved having everything go to plan. June had been conceived within a year of their marriage and had been born bang on time. That had lulled Linda into a false sense of security. Everything she’d wanted, she’d worked hard for and it had all fallen into place. Though she never admitted as much, even to herself, she’d assumed this would continue. Now it looked as if she was wrong.

Snap out of it, she told herself. Usually she had no patience with mopers. It’s just a minor setback. Don’t go making yourself a nervous wreck. Everyone says you have to be relaxed to fall pregnant. You’ve got to keep calm. Don’t make trouble where there’s none.

She laughed to herself. She had to be patient. And anyway, Hazel would have been furious if she’d fallen pregnant and couldn’t fit into her bridesmaid’s dress. So there was a bright side after all. Heaven help anyone who did anything to ruin her sister’s wedding.

Over the next few weeks Alison did everything she could to make herself ill while trying to behave normally. Every time it rained she managed to get soaked – but as the weather got warmer there were fewer and fewer showers. If a customer mentioned having a cold or a bug she made sure to serve them and to keep them chatting for as long as possible. She didn’t catch anything.

One Saturday afternoon she slipped out and went to the local library, where she checked all the medical encyclopaedias. Not surprisingly they didn’t give any clues to how to get rid of unwanted babies. She tried flicking through various novels instead, and that was more useful. There was something called a gin bath. Did that mean taking a bath in gin? It sounded expensive. She read on and saw that the heroine took a very hot bath and drank a bottle of gin while she was in it. That sounded more like it.

Having a bath at home was complicated, as there wasn’t a bathroom in the house. A tin bath hung in the outside toilet. This had to be moved into the kitchen and then filled with water heated on the cooker. Usually they didn’t bother and washed standing up at the sink. Still, it sounded as if it would be possible.

Alison walked for some while up the hill from the library until she found herself in an area near Stockwell where nobody would know her, and managed to buy a bottle of gin. She’d have to make up an excuse to Cora why her contribution to the household budget was less than usual as it took a big chunk out of her wages. She could say that Fred had made her buy some new aprons out of her own money. That would do.

By the time she got home it was early evening and Cora was slamming down a plate on the table in front of her almost as soon as she got through the door. ‘Where’ve you been? You can have this on your own. I’m going over to see Jill, as some of us are working hard for your sister’s wedding. We’ll be busy all evening so there won’t be no afters if you don’t make it yourself.’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Alison, hiding her bag behind the chair. ‘Where’s Hazel?’

‘Gone to see Neville. For once he ain’t working the late shift and they’re making the most of her having a day off tomorrow to have a night out and I don’t blame them. So you’re on your own, unless you got any other plans.’ She looked critically at her daughter. ‘Which I don’t suppose you have.’

‘I might have a bath,’ said Alison.

‘Well, wash your hair while you’re at it. See if you can do anything to make it less like rats’ tails.’ With that Cora picked up her handbag and headed out.

Alison was relieved. She quickly ate the spam fritters Cora had made and then set about putting water on to heat. She dragged the tin bath off its rusty hook and into the kitchen where it took up all the available space. While waiting for the water she tried her first sip of gin.

It tasted disgusting. She didn’t think she’d be able to manage much of it but wasn’t sure how much she needed to drink for it to work. She deliberately poured a glass to finish off before getting into the bath.

She started off by sipping it slowly but found it too horrible, so held her nose and gulped back the lot. It burned her throat and she thought it wouldn’t stay down but she steadied herself and waited. After a few moments she thought she’d be all right. She was very unsteady but somehow managed to tip hot water into the bath, strip off and sit in it.

Maybe this was why you had to drink gin. She’d never normally be able to stand it this hot. Her head swam. How long did she have to stay in here? It was sweaty and uncomfortable – if she hadn’t had the gin it would have been painful. She couldn’t bear to dip her head in it to wash her hair. Then a wave of nausea hit her.

Stumbling, she grabbed a towel to wrap around herself just in time and made it to the outside toilet. She vomited up the spam fritters and the gin in one agonising heave. Panting, she rested her head against the cool wall, thinking that she’d been sick more often in the past few months than in the rest of her life put together. She wondered if that meant it wouldn’t work. She ought to drink more and top up the water but she couldn’t bear it.

Eventually she made her way back inside and slowly emptied out the bath before hanging it back up. Alison desperately wanted to throw away the gin but realised she’d never afford it again so hid it at the back of a kitchen cupboard. Then she went upstairs and collapsed on her cramped bed, the tiny room going round in circles, as she waited for something to happen.

She woke in the morning with a pounding head. Cautiously she glanced under the covers. Nothing. It had all been for nothing. There was not a drop of blood to be seen.

Fred was at war with himself. He didn’t know what to do for the best. After Alison had run out in tears he’d vowed to keep his big mouth shut. By rights it was none of his business. Yet he didn’t really believe that. In some way he felt responsible for her. It wasn’t just because she was his assistant. It was more that she didn’t have a father to look out for her interests. Also, he admitted to himself, her mother and sister didn’t seem to like her very much or be inclined to help her. Furthermore he genuinely liked and admired the young woman, who’d become such an asset to the shop.

He noticed that the weight she’d lost had started to come back, and then that she’d begun to show a bump. As June turned into July it was definitely making an appearance. Perhaps he was more aware of it because he saw her tying her apron every morning. She fastened it more and more loosely as the weeks went on, but in that moment before tying the ribbons he could see the little curve.

Sometimes he would ask her if she’d been to see a doctor yet, but she’d shake her head and refuse to talk about it. He wondered if her mother knew. No, something would have happened if she did – Cora wouldn’t have accepted such a bombshell. But hadn’t she noticed? The girl’s hair was shining, her skin was blooming, and she was wearing clothes that were baggier and baggier. It seemed obvious to him and he was just a middle-aged man who knew very little about young women’s bodies. Surely her mother or her sister would spot something? Did they pay that little attention to her at home?

The one good thing was that the sickness seemed to have passed. Alison was back to her capable self around the shop, cutting up liver without a murmur. It was only now and again when he caught her staring into space with a hopeless expression that he’d have known anything was wrong. She had grown more and more quiet, chatting to customers if she couldn’t find a way out of it but not volunteering any comments as she’d begun to do only a few months earlier. It made him sad to see the change in her. She was closing in on herself again, just when she’d been doing so well.

Should he tell Cora, prepare her for the news? Would she take it better coming from him? But then again he didn’t know the circumstances or if there was some unknown young man waiting in the wings. Just because the girl never mentioned him didn’t mean anything. He could be away doing National Service. If he was going to have a conversation with her mother then he should find out the facts. Yet every time he tried to raise the subject Alison clammed up and after several attempts he was none the wiser.

On the surface they were nearly back to their old companionable ways. ‘What are you doing this weekend?’ he asked as one Friday afternoon drew to a close. Fred was quite pleased with himself. When he’d worked out how much it would cost to employ Alison, he’d found it cheaper to employ a lad on Saturdays, allowing Alison to have the weekend off. ‘Cinema, maybe? Have you seen
Funny Face
yet? They say that Audrey Hepburn’s marvellous in it.’

‘No, I haven’t been for ages,’ she replied. The truth was she’d hardly ever gone to the cinema. Her mother had never had the money to take them, she’d been too young to go with Linda before she left home, and Hazel didn’t want to be seen out with her. A handful of times some of the women from the factory had asked her along and she’d enjoyed herself, but the last thing she wanted was to see other people’s romances paraded in her face right now. ‘I’ll probably just stay in. Might treat myself to something at the market.’ She’d taken to buying men’s shirts in a large size, making sure they were from one of the stalls well away from Joe Philpott and his mates. If she chose plain ones they weren’t so very different to the blouses she’d worn before. As long as she did her own washing then Cora or Hazel had no reason to suspect anything. Somehow she’d convinced herself that she could keep up the pretence that nothing was wrong and that this would continue up to the baby’s birth. Beyond that, she hadn’t thought.

‘It’s got Fred Astaire in it too,’ said Fred. ‘I like him. I used to fancy myself as a bit of a dancer when I was young.’

‘Did you?’ Alison couldn’t hide her surprise. Fred was the last person she could imagine on the dance floor, let alone moving like Fred Astaire.

‘I did,’ said Fred, keeping a straight face. ‘Sadly nobody else rated my efforts. I knew all the steps but that wasn’t enough. Then the war came and Mother got ill, so that was the end of that. I used to love all that going out and dancing, it was a right laugh and took my mind off things, but her needs had to come first, it was only right. I had to hang up my dancing shoes once and for all.’

‘That’s a shame,’ she said. ‘You should try it again some time. It’s never too late.’ She smiled as she picked up her coat that no longer quite reached around her middle.

To hear her talk like that, thought Fred when he was alone clearing up in the shop, you would think nothing was wrong. He swept the old sawdust into neat piles and began to put down new for the next morning. It couldn’t continue. It was the calm before the storm.

Alison found herself alone in the house that evening. Cora had gone to see Jill, and Hazel needed to sort out some details about bridesmaid’s duties with Kathy, and had made it very clear that Alison’s views wouldn’t be welcome. ‘Kathy’s got common sense, which is more than you have,’ Hazel had told her, ‘so we’ll just let you know what we decide.’

Exhausted, Alison made her way back down the narrow stairs towards the living room. As she did so her foot caught on the edge of the tread and she had to catch hold of the banister to keep her balance. As she stood shakily at the foot of the stairs she wondered if this could be the answer to her problem. Hadn’t she read somewhere of a woman losing her baby after a fall? Would she have the nerve to try it? But what if she backed out now – would she dare to risk everyone finding out about her shameful secret?

Trying to think straight through her misery, she climbed back up towards the dim landing. She might never get such a chance again. The trick would be to fall far enough to cause a miscarriage but not so hard as to really hurt herself. When she was little she used to play at jumping from the stairs but that was a very long time ago. She’d twisted her ankle once and Cora had been furious. Cora’s anger would be worth it though. She could easily put up with the pain from the fall if this got rid of the baby. She shook her head. She’d have to throw herself from at least halfway up. In the half-light it seemed impossibly high up and her courage failed her.

Then she remembered the hidden bottle of gin. If she had some of that she would feel braver. Quietly, hoping that Cora or Hazel didn’t decide to come home early, she found where she’d tucked the green bottle and drank a slug straight from the neck. It tasted no better than the last time but she knew she had to manage it somehow. She made herself take another swig, and another. That was better. She felt very unsteady now. Carefully she returned the bottle to its hiding place.

Slowly she made her way back to the chosen step. The walls around her were starting to spin, so she tried to focus on the doormat. She’d aim to land there. Pushing away her growing despair she closed her eyes and launched herself forward as hard as she could.

There was an agonising crack as her knees hit the bottom step, then she felt the scratchy coir of the doormat against her face. She thought she might be sick but that passed. Alison lay there, staring at the patterns the streetlight made on the walls and lino, in an effort to stop her head from spinning. She lost track of time. Her legs and cheek were very sore but she couldn’t feel anything else happening. How long would it take?

Finally she realised she’d have to move. She was blocking the door where she was, and the last thing she wanted was for her mother or sister to find her collapsed on the doormat. Wincing at the pain in her knees she dragged herself back up the stairs and fell onto her mean little bed. Now she just had to wait. Slowly sleep overcame her and she gave in, utterly tired out with the emotional strain of pretending all was fine when inside she wanted to scream for help.

A noise from the street woke Alison in the middle of the night and she sat up, trying to work out why she felt so ill and why her head was pounding. Then it all came flooding back to her. Cautiously she felt between her legs and the bedsheets underneath but there was nothing. All that effort and no result, just like before. A sob burst from her throat but she choked it back, not wanting to wake anyone. She couldn’t afford for them to hear her distress. Her knees were on fire, her head was splitting and her stomach heaved at the unaccustomed gin, but the bump was still there.

‘Don’t you think you can lie in today,’ Cora shouted up the stairs. ‘You have to do my shopping this morning and then this afternoon you’re needed round at Jill’s. She’s cut out your frock and now she has to adjust it before sewing it up.’

Alison dragged herself out of bed with a groan, avoiding the sight of her swollen belly. Her headache had faded but her knees were stiff and bruised. Her face felt raw from where it had slammed into the doormat. She could barely stand to start with but after moving around a little they weren’t so bad. At least her skirt was long enough to cover them. If she hurried now she could get the grocery shopping over and done with and maybe manage to drop in on Vera to say hello. She’d done this a couple of times since they’d met in the café, only ever managing a quick conversation in between Vera’s customers, but it broke up the day. She felt she deserved this treat after the agony of the night before. To think she’d wondered about trying to get to know Vera when they worked together but had been too shy – and now they’d ended up friends thanks to the most unlikely of reasons.

Alison skipped breakfast as she was trying not to eat much, thinking she could keep the weight off that way. Also, she still felt sick from the gulps of gin. Cora didn’t notice or, if she did, never commented. She was probably just glad to have more bacon for herself and Hazel. Alison often felt the only way she’d really please her mother was to become invisible.

The queues at the baker’s and grocer’s were longer than normal and there was no time for a detour via Arding and Hobbs. She couldn’t move as fast as usual because of the pain in her legs. Disappointed, she returned with her bags of goods, to find Cora fussing round the kitchen. ‘Jill wants you over there at half two. If you’re quick you can have a sandwich, and make me one while you’re at it. Use some of that ham you brought back yesterday.’

Alison did as she was asked, making only half a round for herself. She was ravenous now but in her confused logic she hoped she could hide the growing bump by cutting down on what she ate. Resolutely she pushed away her plate. ‘All right, I’ll be off then.’

‘Hold your horses,’ said Cora. ‘I’m coming too. I know Jill will have done a good job but I want to make sure it’s all to Hazel’s liking, as she probably won’t finish at the café in time to see you.’

I can’t see Hazel hurrying to see me for any reason, thought Alison, as she sat at the kitchen table while her mother ate her ham sandwich. She stopped halfway through to add more Branston pickle.

‘I’ll give Fred his due, he does lovely ham.’ Finally Cora finished. ‘What’s got into you, ants in your pants? It’s only over the road. We’ll be there early.’

‘She won’t mind us being early,’ said Alison, anxious now to get the ordeal over with. She hated showing her body to anyone at the best of times and she certainly didn’t want her mother scrutinising it now. She’d have to think of a story to explain the latest bruises. Not to mention her growing waistline.

Jill was waiting for them in her front room, which was scarcely bigger than their own but was somehow much more cheerful. It helped that Mr Parrot must bring home a decent wage, but it was more than that. There were bright cushions everywhere, and a well-placed mirror made it seem lighter and brighter. It felt like a room where people were happy. Music sounded from upstairs.

‘More Elvis?’ asked Cora. ‘Hasn’t he grown out of it yet?’

‘I wish it was Elvis,’ sighed Jill. ‘Richie’s gone off him. He plays someone called Little Richard now – it’s even worse. He screeches along and we don’t know what to do with ourselves, it’s driving us crazy.’

‘I don’t know why he doesn’t like a nice British boy like Tommy Steele,’ said Cora. ‘I don’t mind him. And he’s from quite near here too. Lovely lad. Not like this American rubbish.’

Alison rather liked what she could hear coming through the ceiling but knew better than to say so.

‘Right, Alison, do you want to go upstairs and change?’ Jill asked. ‘Here it is – mind the pins. You can use Kathy’s room, that’s the equivalent of yours over the road. Will you need a hand?’

‘She’ll be fine down here,’ said Cora. ‘We don’t want to put you to no trouble. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before so she can change down here. You’ve got net curtains, so no one passing by can see anything. You won’t frighten anyone, Alison.’

Alison took a deep breath. This wasn’t what she wanted at all – there would be no chance to cover up. But she couldn’t see a way around it. Reluctantly she unbuttoned her shirt.

‘Is that new?’ asked Jill. ‘I haven’t seen it before. It’s quite plain, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, I got it for work,’ Alison said hastily. ‘No point in wearing anything fancy there. You never know what you might get on it.’ She undid the waistband of her skirt, which she’d stretched with extra elastic, hiding this as best she could.

‘Let’s try the frock, then. If you lift your arms up and bend your legs so you’re at my level, I’ll slip it on you.’ Jill picked up the turquoise fabric, carefully making sure the pins didn’t catch on anything. ‘Over we go … and just tug it gently. Ah, it seems to be a bit stuck. Nasty bruises you have on those knees – did you fall over? Hit your face as well, did you? Stand up straight and I’ll try again. No, it’s still not budging. I wonder if I cut it wrong?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Cora, her expression a mixture of horror and disgust.

A deathly silence fell. Alison knew she was blushing and stared at the ceiling, willing the thumping sounds of Little Richard to make it fall in on them.