Secrets My Mother Kept (28 page)

‘That was the first time,’ Mary continued slowly, her eyes sliding away from my face now, as though she wasn’t sure whether to continue or not.

‘First time what?’ I asked, frightened that she was going to stop, just as all of the other people I had asked did.

‘The first time she was in prison,’ she continued, still averting her eyes. ‘Do you think we should help Colin with the dinner?’

‘No! Blow the dinner – tell me what you mean!’

‘Okay,’ she said quietly. ‘If you want to know, I’ll tell you all I can, but I don’t know everything.’

I waited while she sipped her tea, and then, swallowing hard, she carried on.

42

More Secrets Revealed

‘I think Mum must have met Reg Stevens when she was working as a waitress in London. At least that’s what Dot was told,’ Mary said, thoughtfully. ‘Apparently he adored her, fell head over heels for her, but he never knew she was already married.’

‘But how did she hide it? What about the children? Where were they? Sheila must only have been about eight, and the others were younger. Who was looking after them?’ I asked, my head starting to ache with that old familiar pain.

‘Well Granny was still alive, and Aunty lived there as well, so I suppose it must have been them.’

‘But Granny would have been in her seventies . . . Wait, that’s when they were taken into the children’s home, wasn’t it? How could Coates do that to his own children?’

‘I don’t know, but of course we only know one side of the story.’

‘What about Peter? Who was his dad?’ I asked. ‘Ron Coates or Reg Stevens?’

‘I don’t think it was either of them. I’m not sure anyone knows the truth about that, apart from Mum.’

‘But you said she was in prison again. What was that for?’ I asked, greedy for more information now, despite the throbbing in my head and sick feeling in my stomach.

‘Well, it was when you were about two and a half, not long after Margaret was born,’ Mary said, watching me closely for a reaction. I tried to hide my shock, but then distant memories began to surface.

‘The big building,’ I said suddenly interrupting her. ‘The big building where I went to visit her – I thought it was a hospital!’

Mary shook her head. ‘No – it wasn’t a hospital,’ she said sadly.

‘Oh God, poor Mum. How did she bear it? But what was she in prison for that time? I don’t understand.’

‘Slow down! We have to go back a few years,’ Mary said, twisting her hands in her lap. ‘So I was a little baby when she got out the first time, and Mum took me with her to stay with Uncle John in Birmingham.’

‘Oh yes.’ Again a memory flashed in my head. ‘Aunty said something about that, but she wouldn’t tell us any details, just that Mum did something bad to Uncle John.’

‘Yes it was something bad all right. She went up to stay with Uncle John and Aunty Betty. Dot was only young, about eight I think, the same age as Pat.’ Mary stopped speaking, and looked at the floor.

‘Go on,’ I encouraged, ‘I’m a big girl now.’

‘Okay, well Uncle John had his own painting and decorating company, so Mum offered to do his accounts for him. She’s very clever, you know.’

I nodded.

‘After a while, Uncle John started getting some complaints about overdue bills, payments that went missing, invoices that were returned as unpaid, that kind of thing.’

‘Oh God no,’ I said slapping my hand over my mouth, I could guess where this was heading.

‘Well, she was basically cooking the books.’

‘Not her own brother’s business!’ I said, knowing that I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been.

‘Yep that’s right. He ended up so much in debt that he had to be declared bankrupt; he lost everything, and basically had to start all over again.’

‘Oh poor Uncle John. No wonder we hardly ever saw him.’

‘Yep, Aunty Betty found it very hard to forgive Mum, but that’s not all.’ She hesitated.

‘Go on!’

‘After she had swindled him out of his money, Uncle John told her to go back to London, but the money was all spent, so he even had to pay her fare.’

‘No . . .’

‘But apparently before she left, Reg Stevens arrived in his navy uniform, desperately looking for her, and persuaded her to go back with him.’

‘So is he definitely your dad then?’ I asked.

‘Well yes, I’m pretty sure he is, and Marion and Marge’s.’

‘But not mine and Margaret’s?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Even though his name is on our birth certificates?’

Mary nodded.

‘So who is our dad?’ I asked. ‘And what about the second prison sentence? What was it for?’

Mary shrugged her shoulders, ‘I’m really sorry, but that is something that I’m afraid I don’t have the answers to.’

43

Scary Situations

By the time we heard Mum had been taken into hospital, Margaret and I were both quite heavily pregnant.

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ said Pat when she phoned me. ‘They’re just taking her in for some tests, but she’s fine.’

‘Well she can’t be fine if she’s having tests,’ I replied. I was feeling really tired now and work was becoming more and more of a strain.

Pat reassured me that Mum was soon going to be discharged and that I shouldn’t worry, and it was easy to be convinced, as things were quite hectic in my life at that moment.

Colin and I had both moved on from the school where we had met. Colin was working at a Special School and I was now working at an IT centre. It had nothing to do with information technology though! The IT stood for Intermediate Treatment and it was run jointly by Education and Social Services for young offenders, as a last stop before borstal. It was set up in a big old Victorian house in East London where there were a group of us – some teachers, some social workers – trying to keep about fifteen youngsters out of trouble, and hopefully teach them something as well! They were a good bunch, but could be very challenging. Many of them had been through a traumatic childhood, and had been offending for many years: TDA (taking and driving away), theft, burglary etc. We all grew very fond of them, although their behaviour could be exasperating, inconsistent and frighteningly volatile.

When they found out I was expecting a baby they became very protective. We would often take them for outings into the countryside and they would be so kind and caring, helping me down the steps of the minibus with such tenderness.

Then there were the other times.

I was almost at the point of going on maternity leave and the Easter holiday was fast approaching. It was hot that year, although it was only March, and my ‘bump’ seemed enormous! So much so that the hospital had sent me for an ultrasound scan to see if I was having twins. I was feeling very uncomfortable and clumsy, and so when Rob, the head of the centre, suggested taking the kids swimming, I opted to stay behind in the house with anyone that wasn’t going. Although we were fond of our charges, we were also realistic. Experience had taught us that if any of the kids opted to stay at the house it was usually in the hope of stealing some of the contents.

Freddy was fifteen. Despite his skinhead hair and bovver boots he could be the sweetest boy going. He was the apple of his mum’s eye, and she would always iron a sharp crease in his jeans in an effort to make him look presentable.

He wasn’t pleased when he realised I was still there after the others had left.

‘Why ain’t you f***ing gone, Kath?’

Using strong language was commonplace among the kids there – it wasn’t meant to be an insult – and they always called us by our first names. We tried to make the centre as much like a home from home as possible. These youngsters had pushed against authority most of their lives, and if we were going to get anywhere with them we had to take a different approach.

‘I don’t feel up to it, Fred.’

‘You don’t f***ing trust us, do ya?’ he said petulantly, pushing a chair out of his way.

‘That’s got nothing to do with it, Fred. You know we can’t leave you in the house on your own.’

Steve and Tommy were there as well. Steve was a tall, broad boy, and was usually quite sensible, but Tommy had a history of aggressive behaviour and I was obviously thwarting some plan the three of them had hatched.

‘F***ing ’ell, Kath,’ Freddie started to shout, getting into a temper now. ‘You lot, yer aw the f***ing same; yer say ya f***ing trust us but ya f***ing don’t, not really.’

I could see that the situation was starting to get out of hand and was very aware that I was on my own, heavily pregnant and facing three very angry young offenders. I tried to think how I could defuse the situation,

‘Look, why don’t we just have a cup of tea? Then we can cook some dinner for when the others get back. They’ll be starving.’

I started to turn towards the kitchen area, when suddenly Freddie said, ‘I don’t f***ing believe it. This is a load of bollocks!’ and pulling his hand from behind his back I watched, almost in slow motion, as a sledgehammer hurtled towards me. It clattered in front of me, hitting the table with an almighty bang, and the three boys, including Freddie who had thrown it, stared with a shocked look on their faces as I stood motionless in front of them.

Tommy broke the silence. ‘That’s f***ing out of order Fred; totally f***ing out of order.’

Fred turned and slammed upstairs, shouting, ‘Oh f*** off, why don’t ya? Bollocks to the lot of ya.’

Steve and Tommy came over to me.

‘You awright, Kath?’ Steve asked quietly.

‘Yes I’m fine, thanks both of you.’ I eased myself down into one of the room’s comfortable armchairs.

‘He didn’t mean to hurt ya, yer know Kath,’ Steve continued. ‘He’s jus’ annoyed cos ya didn’t go and leave us ’ere.’

‘I know, I know Steve, but he could have really hurt someone,’ I said, feeling quite shaken now it was over.

‘I’w make ya a cup of tea Kath, awright?’ offered Tommy, and I nodded my thanks, glad that I only had a few more weeks to go before I would be at home waiting for the arrival of my baby.

44

A Bittersweet Birth

When Mum came out of hospital she seemed more subdued than usual. Margaret began to wonder if there was something serious wrong, but Pat reassured us that although Mum had been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, there was nothing to worry about. She had been to the diabetic clinic and seen the nurse, and now knew how to adjust her diet to deal with it.

Mary had gone back to Australia a few months ago and we all missed her, but we kept both of our ‘Australian’ sisters updated regarding Mum’s health problems. I suppose when you have a family as big as ours there’s always someone missing, but we felt the loss of Marge and Mary all the time, even though it had been many years since they had emigrated.

Margaret had her baby, another beautiful little girl they named Rebecca. She was the model of Margaret as a baby – a shock of very dark black hair and enormous eyes fringed with curling black lashes.

I waited impatiently for the arrival of our baby. It had been a hot spring and was now becoming an even hotter summer.

‘I wish this baby would hurry up and arrive. I feel like a lump in this heat,’ I moaned to poor Colin as he kissed me goodbye before leaving for work.

The summer holidays were approaching when my due date, 21 June, came and went.

Colin suggested calling the baby Titania if it was a girl, after the fairy in ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’.

‘I hope you’re joking,’ I said laughing. I wanted a little boy and I already had a name in mind . . .

On Monday night as I was trying my best to relax and stay cool, I felt a twinge. Within a few minutes my waters had broken and I was in the first stages of labour. We travelled to the hospital in Chatham by ambulance, as it was quite a long distance, and our baby boy was born at 10.45 the next morning. He had a head full of wispy red-blond hair that glinted in the light and eyes the colour of bluebells. He was beautiful, and we called him Sam, just as I’d planned.

When I was offered a postpartum cup of tea, I drank it thankfully, smiling and still fuzzy-headed from the Pethidine and the gas and air I had taken. I didn’t really take much notice when the midwife took the baby, and used a suction tube on him. I knew that babies often swallow mucus during the birth. I still wasn’t alarmed when she took him out of the room saying, ‘I’m just going to get baby checked by the paediatrician. Nothing to worry about.’ This was my first baby after all, and I assumed that this was all perfectly routine.

When she returned a while later without Sam I began to feel anxious.

‘Is he all right?’ I asked, expecting to be reassured.

‘I’m afraid that he might have a little problem,’ the midwife answered kindly, not meeting my eyes. ‘Doctor just needs to do a few tests, and then he’ll come and talk to you.’

My head sprang up from the bed, ‘What do you mean a little problem?’ I whispered, not wanting to hear the answer. Colin held my hand tightly, a look of real concern crossing his face.

‘Let’s just wait for the doctor, shall we? Then he can explain,’ and with that she left us clinging on to each other, terrified that the tiny bundle we had held and stroked a moment ago wasn’t coming back.