Authors: Annie Murray
Family of Women (31 page)
She smiled back. ‘Best go back in there, hadn’t I?’
But she lingered in the hall.
‘Where’s the other ’un?’ she heard Bessie ask, roughly. She never could seem to bring herself to use Linda’s name. There was the sound of cutlery being laid round the table.
‘Don’t talk to me about her,’ Violet said. ‘Got the sack, she did, this week – sent home with no pay, the lot!’
‘What’d they sack her for?’ Bessie demanded. ‘Looking a bloody mess?’
Linda’s pulse raced. She tried to bite her nails except there was nothing left above the quicks.
‘No – ’ere – put them cups round – they told her she was doing it wrong all the time. I mean it was electrics. Can’t have it going wrong, can you? Could be dangerous, that.’
Danny came out of the kitchen, carrying Carol in his arms as if she was a damsel in distress that he’d rescued. Carol was giggling.
‘All right, Linda?’ Danny said cheerfully.
Linda managed a smile back.
‘Coming in, then?’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Waiting for our mom. I’ve got to help.’
‘. . . she went and got another job, at least,’ Violet was saying. ‘In some box factory.’
P
‘Oh, it’s just a stage she’s going through. She’ll find a man, settle down properly, sooner or later.’ Joyce’s matronly tone grated on Linda so that she wanted to scream. ‘Anyway, everybody – where
is
Linda anyway? – I’ve got summat to tell you all.’
Seeing this as a moment when attention was directed away from her, Linda came and stood in the doorway. Joyce, who was looking incredibly pleased with herself, glanced at Danny as if for approval, then looked round the table to make sure she had everyone’s full attention.
‘I’m going to have a baby!’
Drowning out Violet’s gasp of pleasure, Bessie gave a crude laugh. She was in the middle of lighting another cigarette.
‘Well, you two didn’t waste any time! Conceived in wedlock, was it? Don’t want any bastards in the family, do we?’ And her shoulders shook.
Joyce blushed right down her neck. ‘Yes it was, Nan, as a matter of fact. What d’you take me for?’
Bessie blew out a mouthful of smoke. ‘No need to get on your high horse – I was only having a joke. Good for you, wench. Make a proper woman of you, that will. There’s a few I know could do with a dose of it, the way some of the girls carry on these days . . .’ She eyed Linda with vicious contempt.
Linda watched Marigold, whose face was a mask. She showed no reaction to the news at all, but Bessie saw the direction of her glance.
‘Yes, and she’s a fine one.’ Bessie spoke to Violet, but nodded her head at Marigold as if she was a wanton child. ‘Playing me up good and proper. D’you know, she’s started sneaking in and out, sly as anything, and I said to her, “What’re you playing at, Marigold Wiles? You needn’t think you can keep anything from me – I can read you like a book, I can!” And what d’you know but she’s been carrying on with some bloke she met down the Crown. Old enough to be a grandfather he is! I told her, I’m not having it, so she can pack that in right away.’
‘Oh but . . .’ Violet protested. ‘Surely he’s just a friend, Marigold? I mean why shouldn’t she have a friend to go out with – it’s nice for her.’
‘Nice be damned – it’s disgusting at her age, that it is – or any age, her being the way she is. No – I’ve told her, I’m not having it. You don’t know what she’s like, Violet, what with her drinking and carry-on. You have to keep her in sight all the time. Worn me out it has, all these years, looking out for her. Don’t think you know, ’cause you don’t . . .’
Violet hesitated, never up to arguing with Bessie. Marigold didn’t even blink, but Linda thought she saw something in her aunt’s eyes, a dark flicker, nothing more. She felt sorry for Marigold, but she was like deep mud – everything seemed to sink into her without trace. She wondered if Marigold had her usual stash ify PMof gin tucked down her bra.
Linda was about to sit down when Bessie snapped at her, ‘Don’t you go parking yourself. Help your mother bring the dinner in – you might as well be of some use in the family.’
As she left the room, Linda saw Carol look at her and give her a quick wink. Tears filled her eyes for a moment and in the hall she rubbed them away fiercely. She wasn’t letting Nana see she ever had any effect at all.
Throughout the summer she worked at the box factory in Witton, counting flat cartons into piles of fifty to be packe
d. There were some kind ladies working there, but at the beginning of one week she gave in her notice on a whim and left on the Friday. She didn’t tell Mom, not until she’d got a job at Wimbush’s bakery, where she had to wear a neat white overall and worked amid the smell of baked bread and cakes instead of breathing in the cardboard dust in the factory. She liked working in a shop better. It was more varied, people coming in and out and chatting. She’d cleaned herself up a bit to go and ask for that job – washed her hair and tied it back. They wouldn’t want someone dirty handling their bread. And it made her feel a bit better. She quite liked the work too – cleaning down the shelves where they arranged the bread and cakes, and bagging them up and selling them, chatting to the regulars.
Mrs Richards, the middle-aged lady who employed her, was pleased with her.
‘You’re good at working out the change,’ she said. ‘Bright girl like you. Why don’t you do something else? Learn to type or do accounts or something? You could get a good job, you could.’
‘I might,’ Linda said, without enthusiasm. ‘I quite like it here though.’
‘You could be a secretary, if you put your mind to it,’ Mrs Richards said. ‘You get a good boss in that, and you’re made. My cousin Doris did that. Worked for one of the top men at . . . what d’you call it? Some place to do with pensions.’ She tittered. ‘See? Wouldn’t have suited me – proper muddle head, me!’
Linda smiled. She liked Mrs Richards. She was kind and didn’t pretend to be anything she wasn’t. And she didn’t mind the work. In her long days amid the bread and cakes she had time to think. She thought about Rosina. And she thought, how can I get away from home?
Carol’s operation was in September.
‘I wish they could tell us how long she’ll be in there.’ Violet was up in their room packing Carol’s few possessions into a little bag. ‘They never tell you anything.’
It all depended how the operation went and how quickly Carol recovered from it.
‘I hate her being in there,’ she said to Linda while Carol was in the bathroom. ‘And she’ll be under that flaming nun’s thumb again.’
When they were getting ready for bed she cuddled Carol to her like a baby, tearful hersq Qnt.
‘My poor babby,’ she said, rocking her on her lap. Carol was still very small for her age. She snuggled up, enjoying the attention, but she was in a calmer state than her mother.
‘I’ll be all right. I’ll see Sister Cathleen and it means I’ll be able to walk better when I get back.’
‘You’re a brave girl,’ Violet said tearfully. ‘Isn’t she, Linda?’
Linda, sitting on her bed, nodded glumly. That was the one thing they were ever agreed on – their affection for Carol. With Carol gone for weeks, maybe even months, she was going to be the only one left! It was a horrible thought.
Soon the two of them were left alone in the half light through the thin curtains. Carol lay very quiet and still.
‘You all right?’ Linda whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Thought you’d fallen asleep.’
‘No – ’ There came another pause. ‘I was praying.’
‘Were you?’
‘Sister Cathleen taught me. She said if you talk to God he’ll always be beside you.’
Carol hadn’t talked about Sister Cathleen for a while. Now she was going back into hospital, it had reminded her. No one had ever told Linda about talking to God, not in her whole life. She wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Don’t you ever think, you having polio and that . . . That it’s not fair? I mean it isn’t fair, is it? You being in a wheelchair or on crutches all the time. Not like everyone else.’
‘I wish I could go swimming again. They said that’s where I caught it, didn’t they? And to go to the park and run about. And I’ll miss Joyce’s babby being born when I’m away. I don’t want to go . . . But I know I’ve got to.’
Linda was struck once more by her sister’s patience. They were so different! Sometimes she burned with so much inner energy she just had to run and jump. She couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a wheelchair, unable to run about.
‘Anyway,’ Carol said. ‘That’s why I’m having the operation, isn’t it? To make me better.’
After a few moments, Carol’s voice came again through the gloom.
‘Lin? Will you come and get in with me? Like you used to?’
‘All right.’
Carol wriggled across and Linda climbed in beside her, the bedsprings squeaking loudly. Linda lay on her back and Carol cuddled up beside her, in the crook of her arm.
‘Lin?’ Her voice was muffled.
‘Ummm?&rsion PQquo;
‘Don’t get our mom too cross, will you? She doesn’t mean it.’
‘I don’t mean to.’
‘I know you don’t. It’s Nana, isn’t it? The things she says . . .’
‘I
hate
her.’
She felt Carol raise her head, could feel her looking down at her. ‘Do you?’
‘I don’t want to stay here, not on my own.’
‘You won’t be – I mean, I’ll be back. Course I will.’
‘You’d better be.’ She tickled her, and Carol squirmed. She cuddled her arms round Linda. Such a skinny little thing, she was, like a fragile kitten.
‘Don’t worry, sis,’ Carol murmured. ‘Everything’ll be all right.’
The ambulance came for her the next day. Linda hugged her goodbye before she left for work, trying not to cry. Once she got on the bus she let the tears come and arrived red-eyed at the bakery.
‘What’s up with you, duck?’ Mrs Richards asked kindly as she buttoned her overall. She was a thin, gentle little woman. ‘T’ain’t like you to be miserable.’
Linda almost managed to laugh at this. She felt as if she was miserable all the time!
‘They’ve taken my sister into hospital today for her operation.’
Mrs Richards knew about Carol, and about polio. She had a niece who had been badly affected by it.
‘Oh dear, you poor thing. Well – it’s for the best, isn’t it? Come on – we’ll brew up a nice cup of tea at the back and you can choose yourself a bun. I bet you haven’t thought to eat this morning, have you?’
Linda shook her head. She’d forgotten all about eating and her mom hadn’t given it a thought either. She’d been in too much of a state fussing over Dad and Carol before getting out to work herself. It was lovely to be taken under Mrs Richards’ motherly wing and she felt like crying all over again, but managed not to as she knew the kind woman was trying to cheer her up.
The day after Carol had her operation, Violet went over to Coleshill and Linda was left to take care of her father when she got home.
She opened a tin of chicken soup for him and carried it through on his tray to the back room. Mom had gone out and bought a standard lamp to have next to him so he could see better. It had a wide shade with a fringe along the bottom and it was the newest, brightest thing in the dingy room. Harry sat in the ring of the lamp’s light, which made his sallow skin look even yellower.
‘Get us a drink, will you?’ he asked.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Pint of Ansells.’ He was so breathless he could hardly speak, but he tried to smile at the joke.
She smiled wanly at him and brought a glass of water. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Ta, wench.’
She sat with him as he ate, so agonizingly slowly. Linda saw as he held the spoon that the tremor in his hand seemed to get a little worse each day, so that he often cursed to himself when he got it to his mouth and there was very little soup left on it.
‘D’you want me to do it, Dad?’
He looked up at her, ashamed. ‘No. I can manage. It’s this stuff, see,’ he gasped between breaths. ‘Porridge don’t fall off the spoon.’
He laboured on for a few more mouthfuls.
‘Go on then – ’ Proud, he thrust the spoon at her. ‘You give us a few.’
She felt old, suddenly, as if in seconds he had become the child, she the adult. She helped him eat, holding the creamy spoonfuls of soup to his whiskery lips. He slurped loudly. After a few mouthfuls he said, ‘Not so fast.’ And they stopped for a rest.
He looked at her, considering her. She felt somehow as if he was really seeing her.
‘Don’t live like me.’
She stared at him, almost wondering if she’d imagined that he spoke.
‘D’you hear?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
He looked away, closing the door on a conversation that had barely begun, and left her wondering.
‘I’ll have a bit more now.’
She was scraping the last of the soup from the bowl when they heard the front door. Violet appeared with her coat still on, looking neat and pretty, but there were dark shadows under her eyes and she’d obviously been crying. Linda felt herself clench up inside.
‘Oh – you’ve done his tea,’ Violet stated.
‘Did you see Carol? What’s the matter?’ She got to her feet in alarm.
Her mother came and sank into the other chair, her tears coming again.
‘I saw her. They’ve done the operation, but they say it’s not gone right. I mean, they haven’t made her better . . . Oh, I don’t know . . .’ She put her head in her hands and cried, shoulders shaking.
Harry tried to say something but was overtaken by a fit of coughing.
‘What d’you mean?’ Linda knelt by her chair, willing her to speak. ‘Isn’t she going to be able to walk again?’
Violet gulped and wiped her eyes. ‘Thust P^ey say they need to let her recover and then do it again. I mean the doctor said . . . something . . . about plates in her back, her spine. Curvature or summat. I don’t know. I only know it’s not gone right.’
‘Did you see Carol? Was she all right?’
‘I saw her. She was all in a plaster case thing and having to lie there – I mean, you know Carol – she was cheerful enough. The only thing she was bothered about was that that
nun she’s always on about . . .’
