The Factory Girl (24 page)

The benefits had begun. This nice house, the next would be fine shop premises in a respectable area even if it was a front for illegal activities. He had nothing to worry about. He was being a bit jumpy, that was all.

As shock or surprise often does, the impact didn't truly hit home until much later, the next morning in fact. After a good sleep Geraldine awoke to find herself amazed that she could have taken what Tony had told her so calmly, even to discussing it as if going over some ordinary daily routine. Watching him getting ready to go to his shop as he would until new premises were got for him, realisation flooded over her that she was the wife of a criminal, not just a petty criminal but getting into the big time.

Lying in bed, which she often did of a morning, she said nothing as he kissed her goodbye, told her to take things easy.

‘What are you doing today?' he asked casually as he straightened up.

‘I'm supposed to visit the doctor at eleven. Just to be checked over.'

‘Tell him about the pain you've been having in your stomach all day yesterday,' Tony advised, she having told him of it without mentioning the tumble she'd had. ‘Have you still got it?'

‘Just a twinge. It'll be all right. It'll go off.'

‘Well, tell him anyway.'

He'd been concerned but she had passed it off as indigestion. No point getting him all upset. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. ‘Yes, I'll tell him,' she obliged.

At the door to the hallway he paused, turned and looked at her. ‘I am worried about you, you know.'

‘Yes, I know,' she smiled at him, though the vague ache had returned to her stomach.

It was a strange ache, a pain yet not a pain, the baby like a heavy sack seeming to be sitting full square on her lower parts. Just lately it had hurt to walk at times even though she did not seem all that big compared to some she had seen the last time she'd gone to the doctor to be checked.

It had been a different doctor to the one she had now. She had still been living in Bow and had automatically seen the same doctor her parents saw if ever they needed one. She'd had to see a doctor prior to booking up for a maternity nursing home when the time came.

Mum had scoffed that idea. She'd had all her children at home, but Tony had been adamant about going into a proper nursing home.

‘I want you to have the best,' he'd said. ‘If I can afford to give you the best, why shouldn't I?'

This retort was because Mum had said in his presence, ‘Load of old nonsense goin' into 'ospital just to 'ave a baby! Women 'ave bin 'aving babies without all that fuss since anyone can remember. You youngsters are too soft. 'Aving a baby is the most naturalest thing in the world. Yer don't need an 'orde of doctors and nurses fiddlin' about round yer. 'Orspital! Huh!'

Geraldine had gone to that doctor only the once. With several other mothers-to-be in his waiting room as well as a full complement of patients with an assortment of coughs and sneezes and sore throats, sore eyes, sore spots and stomach pains, he'd given her the most cursory of examinations and had announced her in good health and perfectly normal with nothing untoward to be found. She'd left full of confidence in her well-being and hadn't gone again.

What a difference her new doctor was, one whom Tony had secured for her and whom she had so far seen only the once. Charging Mecklenburg Square fees, his surgery's décor tasteful, the furnishings expensive and unbelievably comfortable, everything had been so quiet and peaceful. She'd reclined onto a softly padded table, her dress above her abdomen while he, beaming, sociable, round-faced, slightly balding, and impeccable in white coat, pressed her stomach in several places with cool, smooth hands, all such a far cry from the first doctor's ramshackle surgery, and had listened through his stethoscope to the baby's heart, announcing all was perfectly fine, that it was beating nice and loud.

So what point of going to see him again, paying out several needless guineas when she had more on her mind to worry about, remembering all that Tony had told her yesterday?

He was looking at her with deep intensity of concern in his dark-grey eyes. ‘I do love you, you know.'

She nodded and sent him a kiss through pursed lips. But still he lingered.

‘I didn't get much sleep last night for thinking about what I told you. I shouldn't have said anything. With you in your present condition I shouldn't have said anything to worry you so. Being as I feel a lot better about things this morning, I wish I'd never said anything.'

‘I'm glad you did,' she said more easily. The ache seemed to be dying away again. It couldn't be the start of anything yet – she was still only eight months.

‘Are you all right?' he was saying.

‘Quite all right.' She felt a prick of impatience at his hanging back. ‘Off you go, darling. I'll see you tonight.'

‘You sure you won't get bored or anything.'

‘I've got lots to do.' She would sort out the baby things, gaze at them lovingly and tidy them gently back into the drawer, all the little things white so that, boy or girl, they wouldn't be caught out with blues or pinks.

While she looked them over, studied them, played with them, she'd think of her baby who would be in her arms four or five weeks from now. Her heart gave a leap of joy at the prospect, visualising Tony leaning over her shoulder, gazing down at the little face of their first child. It was a joy hardly to be contained. He seemed to read her thoughts.

‘Take care today, won't you? Look after our baby.'

‘Of course,' she laughed at him.

‘And you will see the doctor today.'

‘Yes. Now off you go, darling.'

‘And you won't worry too much about what I said yesterday, about what I've been doing and—'

‘NO! Tony, go!'

‘And you will mention that pain of yours—'

‘Yes, I will. Tony, darling, sod off!'

She laughed as he vanished as if plucked away by some unseen hand. But after he'd gone and the love his concern had burnished inside her began to fade, all that he'd told her yesterday came flooding back again. Sighing, she got out of bed realising that the heavy ache in her tummy had lightened considerably as though making room for this renewed anxiety. Slowly she went to the bathroom, relieved herself for the third time since waking, the baby squatting squarely on her bladder, then washed, dressed, combed her hair, powdered her nose and went into the kitchen to try to eat something.

Appetite seemed to have vanished. Gazing down at the one slice of toast she had made, she debated whether to keep the doctor's appointment or not. What she really wanted to do was to go and see Mum. Mum was the one person she most wanted at this moment, to pour out this new worry to her, have her give advice, at least share the weight that was fast descending upon her rather like some light fluffy cloud high in a blue sky; the way she'd felt on waking this morning began to darken and spread and lower itself down to the very crown of her head.

Geraldine pushed the toast away from her and gulped down the nearly cold tea she had poured ages ago. She had decided. She'd drop a note into the surgery saying she couldn't keep this appointment and would make another for the next day instead. Then she would take a taxi to Mum's – too near her time to fight with buses, nor was she prepared to be rattled around in a tube train.

She felt much better as she left the house, apart from the somewhat painful weight of the baby lying on her bladder all the time and feeling as though its main aim inside her was to prise the top of her legs apart.

As always, Geraldine made her way around to the back door of what had once been her home.

There was no horrid smell now. Dad was better, had been back working with his old gang in the docks for months now. Where there was still a million unemployed, Dad was bringing in decent money – not enough for what he'd like, but reasonable with so many lay-offs, though that had always been accepted in the docks.

Mum was able to keep the outside lav and its surrounding area as fresh as a daisy without having all her hard work thwarted. Apparently Dad was no longer compelled to creep down in the middle of the night, the chain being pulled to wake up the entire neighbourhood. Mum could now hold her head up with pride before all her neighbours.

Geraldine tapped on the back door, opened it a fraction, calling, ‘Coo-ee!' and heard her mother call from the back room, ‘Oo's that?'

She came fully into the kitchen. ‘It's only me, Mum, Geraldine.'

‘Oh.'

Mum appeared from the back room, broom in one hand, a battered, black metal dustpan in the other, full of grey fluff from odd corners and from the rug in front of the fire grate and brownish-white breadcrumbs from her family's usual hurried breakfast taken in relays as each got ready for work. Now she was the only one left in the house and well into her chores for the day. On a clothes horse folded clothes hung airing, having been ironed the day before and now ready for putting away in drawers and on shelves.

Geraldine leaned forward and kissed her mother's lined, narrow cheek, touching both arms in an apology for an embrace, aware that Mum with her hands full could not embrace her in any way, though even if she had been able to, she wouldn't have done so. As usual Geraldine could feel the coolness emanating from her into her own body.

‘How are you, Mum?' she asked as she took off her deep-crowned hat and dropped it onto the kitchen table, already cleared, the plain deal board already scrubbed and clean. ‘Been keeping well?'

‘Since yer last came, yes,' was the reply, stiff, cold, indicating that Geraldine hadn't set foot here for nearly three weeks.

‘I'm finding it a bit of a job travelling,' she said by way of excuse.

‘Yer managed today, though.'

Geraldine gave a laugh and took off her jacket in a gesture of her intention to stay awhile. ‘It's still a bit of a job. Shall I put the kettle on, Mum?'

‘Your Tony could of dropped you off in 'is car – he comes this way.'

‘He left early, well before I was up.'

‘When I was 'aving you kids, I was always up before yer dad, makin' sure I got 'im off ter work proper. I didn't 'ave anyone ter tell me ter lie around in bed 'alf the morning.'

‘Tony just worries about me, says I need me rest.' Automatically she'd slipped into the old speech. ‘D'yer want me to put the kettle on, Mum?'

‘If yer like.' Her mother went to the back door, beyond which stood a pockmarked, well-battered steel dustbin. There came the clash of metal on metal as the debris of the dustpan was emptied into it, the crash of the dustbin lid being replaced, speaking volumes to the listener as though Mum was working herself into a confrontation with her daughter.

Geraldine, with the kettle balanced over the sink, its lid taken off for the tap water to trickle into the aperture, listened to the sounds with a heart that grew heavier by the second. Why did Mum always have to be this way? How could she ever tell her what Tony was up to and hope for sympathy?

Tea was drunk in virtual silence, she asking the questions. How was Dad? How were Fred and Evie getting on at work? Mum's monosyllabic, monotonic responses. And were Wally and Clara doing all right?

For a moment or two Mum came to life, forgetting to remain on the defensive. Yes, they were fine, these days talking of nothing but the wedding next spring, saving every penny they made but still hadn't as much as they wanted and they yet had to find somewhere to live.

Another hiatus during which Geraldine sipped her tea and nibbled a biscuit she didn't really want. The house smelled of yesterday's ironing and the washing and drying of the day before. It seemed to hang around as though seeping from the very walls – a damp smell. There lingered a faint odour of yesterday's dinner too, unidentifiable yet persistent, and mingling with it a faintly pungent scent of mothballs.

She asked after Mavis, saying she'd not been able to get to see her, being near her own time as she was; was told Mavis was bearing up as best she could, that she (Mum) went round there several times a week to see if there was anything she needed to be done. This brought a stab to Geraldine's breast that Mum never hopped on a bus to her to see if there was anything
she
might need, but then of course she was further away and it meant a bus ride, and being
comfortably off
as Mum would have it, she could afford to pay for help, and didn't need her – all hurtful in its intimation.

She asked after Aunt Tillie, Mum's brother Frank's wife who hadn't been too well just lately with breathing problems, and was told she was a lot better; asked after Aunt Vi, Dad's sister who also hadn't been too well, was told she was no better, her husband Bill said it was her heart, which had got Dad worried. ‘If she goes, it'll be 'is first sister ter go. It won't 'alf upset 'im.'

Appropriate nodding of agreement, another cup of tea offered which she refused politely. She'd been here long enough trying to force conversation.

‘I'm going to have to go, Mum,' she said as her cultured tones returned. ‘I need to go off home and rest.' She gave a little laugh. ‘I'm supposed to rest in the afternoons.'

‘I worked right up to the last minute with you lot,' said Mum, also getting up as Geraldine got awkwardly to her feet. ‘And I didn't 'ave no trouble bringing you all inter the world.'

Geraldine smiled and nodded compliance. Mum had had one still-born and two miscarriages from what she'd heard. Perhaps if she hadn't had to work up to the last minute she might have saved those babies. Then of course her family would have been bigger still to have to cope with, the mother worn out before her time. Again, she, Geraldine, the third oldest child now living, might never have known this world, might never have been where she was at this moment, enjoying her life, worrying over Mum's attitude towards her, her parents' attitude, might never have known heartache or pleasure – ironic, but not to be thought of, in fact too fleeting to be clung to. In her place now, Mum might not have had so many children anyway.