Christmas Wish (32 page)

The pinched-faced woman ground the stub of a Woodbine underfoot and jerked her head, indicating that Magda should follow.

‘What’s Susan suffering from, Mrs …?’

‘Ruby. Call me Ruby. Women’s trouble.’

Magda didn’t press her for more information. She had an inkling of what that might be and was on her guard.

The dark streets of an area close to the docks and far meaner than Edward Street echoed to their footsteps. The flickering of gaslights made their shadows seem longer and almost monstrous, falling like giants up the fronts of flat-faced houses.

Life was all around. The sound of voices raised in violent quarrel fell from a bedroom window. Somewhere a baby cried and ahead of them cats yowled in close combat with each other.

‘In ’ere,’ whispered Ruby, the woman with the pinched face.

She pushed open a paint-scabbed door, strips of it hanging in ribbons. The smell of overcooked food and gangrenous walls greeted them.

‘Susan’s got the upstairs rooms. I got the downstairs,’ explained Ruby.

Just as they reached the stairs, something scuttled across the floor.

‘Mouse,’ said Ruby. ‘Place is bloody running with the little bleeders.’

She began to climb the stairs. Magda followed on behind.

The landing at the top of the stairs was tiny. There was a door on both sides and no floor covering – just bare boards.

Ruby tapped on one of the doors and called out, ‘It’s me, Susan. I’ve brought your doctor friend with me.’

Magda was about to remind Ruby that she was far from being a doctor, but didn’t bother. She certainly wouldn’t be doing any doctoring tonight; she hadn’t brought anything with her. All she could do was give advice.

The room was dominated by a double brass bed and lit by a single gaslight. The curtains wavered in front of the draught blowing in from around the ill-fitting window. The wallpaper
was dark, the wall-mounted gaslight fighting bravely against the gloom.

Besides the big bed, there was little other furniture in the room, all of it well used and dating from the last century.

‘Magda. Nice of you to come,’ said Susan.

She was lying to one side of the bed, bedclothes up to her chin. Even by the frail light, Magda could see that her old colour was sadly lacking.

She grinned, just like the girl she used to be. ‘Sorry about the place. Not exactly a palace but we do what we can, don’t we Rube? We do what we can.’

Susan’s ginger hair was like a squashed pumpkin behind her head. Her eyes were as lively as ever, though there were dark lines below them and blood at the corner of her mouth.

Magda felt her worst fears coming true. She knew how things were amongst the desperately poor, what lengths they would go to in order to improve their lot.

After placing her lecture notes onto a chest of drawers that she noticed had one drawer missing, she pulled up a stick-thin chair to the side of the bed and sat down.

Ruby, she noticed, had lit up another cigarette and stood on the window side of the bed. The draught whirled the smoke up into a thin spiral that circled around her head.

Magda stroked Susan’s hair back from her forehead. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t visited you before.’

‘You’re a busy woman. My word. Fancy a girl who grew up across the street from a whore house becoming a doctor.’

‘Susan, Ruby said you were ill. Women’s problems. What exactly is the matter?’

Susan’s merry eyes travelled to Ruby and stayed fixed as though sharing a secret. Still with her eyes on Ruby, she began pushing the bedclothes down.

‘I’ve got two kids asleep in the other room there. Billy comes home from the sea, knocks me up and goes again. I ’ardly know where the next loaf of bread is coming from. I can’t face having another kid.’

Raising herself up on her elbows, she turned imploring eyes onto Magda’s face.

‘Help me, Magda. For old times’ sake, please help me. I’m all ready. Ruby’s got everything you need to get rid of it.’

Magda stared at the turned-down bedclothes, the shabby cotton nightdress pulled up over meaty thighs. She was being asked to do exactly what she’d feared.

‘Susan, I can’t!’

‘It’s easy. Ruby’s seen it done, but it takes a proper doctor to do it properly. And you’re my friend, Magda. Come on. For old times’ sake. If Billy finds out …’

She stopped abruptly and Magda guessed she hadn’t meant to go this far.

‘You’re saying it’s not Billy’s?’

Susan shrugged and tossed her head, her pert nose sniffing.

‘I gets lonely. He’s away, and I gets lonely.’

It was as though an awful chill had descended on her shoulders.

‘Whose is it?’

Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and scared. Somehow she had an idea of what the answer would be.

‘Eddie. Eddie Shellard.’

Magda closed her eyes and turned her head away.

‘Oh come on, Magda. You’re my oldest and best friend. I need you to get rid of this kid. I don’t want it, and Billy certainly won’t.’

Magda looked at her, hardly able to believe that Susan had indeed been her best friend. In the past she would never have made demands on her like this.

But that was when we were girls, she reminded herself. Susan has other priorities now.

Magda shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you. My career …’

Susan swung her legs out of the bed. ‘Well, that’s bloody typical. Forgotten where you came from, Magda? Forgotten where the money came from to pay for you to become a doctor?’

Magda bridled and felt the heat coming to her cheeks.

‘My father paid for my education …’

Susan laughed. ‘Believe that if you like girl, but it ain’t the truth. I hear tell your old dad came looking for you some time back and a right state he was in. Not a penny in his pocket. I bet he had a pound or two though once he left your place. Old Winnie paid ’im off. Told ’im to scarper and leave her to look after you. That’s what I ’eard!’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Don’t you look down your nose at me, Magda Brodie,’ shouted Susan, pushing Ruby aside as she came round from the other side of the bed. ‘You’re the pet of a brothel madam. Old Winnie earned a bit of immoral herself. Reuben Fitts paid her off. She was his bit on the side, but when she got crippled, he took pity on her and gave her a little pot to set herself up in a living. I mean, no bloke was going to pay for the services of a crippled whore. So she became a madam. A whore managing whores. And that’s the truth of it!’

Being assailed with all this information, blasting at her like the heat from a furnace, was too much for Magda to bear.

A child began to cry. The smoke from Ruby’s cigarette seemed more noxious mixing with the stale, sweetish stench of decay. Small specks on the grimy wallpaper moved; bugs – lots of them.

Feeling sick to her stomach, she took off, her feet hammering
down the stairs, hurling herself at the door and leaving it swinging on its hinges. The sound of children crying followed.

Was Susan telling the truth? Why hadn’t Winnie told her that her father had been back?

The flash of moving lights and the sound of an engine came from somewhere behind her. The car came to a halt. The door flew open blocking her path.

‘Out a bit late, darling. Fancy a lift ’ome, Magdalena?’

The flame from a lit match touched to the tip of a cigarette illuminated the face of Bradley Fitts.

Her heart skipped a beat. Perhaps he would have grabbed her as he’d done before, but suddenly somebody shouted.

‘Hey! Doctor! You’ve left your papers behind.’

It was Ruby, waving the folder in which she kept her lecture papers.

She hurried back to Ruby, thinking of how to escape Bradley Fitts yet again. There was no lavatory window this time.

‘You got too carried away,’ said Ruby, a fresh cigarette jiggling at the corner of her mouth.

‘I’m sorry. I was confused. Upset too.’ She took the folder. ‘You will look after Susan?’ she said hesitantly, her attention alternating between Ruby and the stationary car. ‘I would have helped if I could – if I was more qualified …’

She saw Ruby’s eyes stray to where the car was parked. She chanced a glance, hoping it was pulling away; it was not. It was still there under the streetlight, its black bodywork gleaming.

‘My, but look at that! A motor car around here. If it had been daytime the whole street would have been out to take a look. Know ’im do you?’

‘No.’

A slow smile spread across Ruby’s narrow face. In this light her eyes looked non-existent, just black holes above that narrow smile.

‘Your fancy man is it?’

‘No.’

Ruby’s smile spread wider. ‘That’s Bradley Fitts’s car. Is it like father like son? Old Reuben had Winnie, and now the son’s ’aving you?’

Magda licked the nervous sweat from her upper lip.

‘No! But he frightens me. Can I come back inside until he’s gone?’

Ruby drew back.

‘Not bloody likely! The Fitts family rule the roost around ’ere in case you didn’t know. And I ain’t one to upset the apple cart.’

The crying of a child came from a downstairs room.

‘Gotta go,’ said Ruby.

The door slammed shut in her face. She was alone – and scared.

She turned, her heart pounding, her blood racing.

If she could leave the street another way …

There was a wall. From the other side came a cloud of steam and a clanking of goods trucks, the grating of metal wheels on iron rails.

There was no way she could get past Bradley Fitts without him dragging her into that car – and she knew that was exactly what he had planned for her.

She had no option but to face him.

Trembling with fear but ready to run, she began walking in his direction.

He’d got out of the car and was leaning against the streetlamp, the tip of a cigarette glowing red as he held it to his lips.

His eyes locked with hers and a triumphant smile twitched around his mouth. Since leaving the area, she’d made a point of not straying too near Edward Street and the scruffy streets
beyond where Susan now lived. One reason was that her life had taken a different direction; her friends had changed and she had aspirations she’d never had before. The other reason was to avoid the likes of Bradley Fitts.

Her breath steamed white and rapid from her mouth and although her legs were like jelly, she strode purposefully – just like her father had done when he’d dumped her at Aunt Bridget’s.

Her father. Could it really be that he’d come looking for her?

The question would keep. Concentrating her mind on appearing brave, even if she didn’t feel it, was what mattered at this moment.

The narrow street they stood in came off a larger one. Together they formed a ‘T’ shape, the houses on the major road as blank and dark as the terraced houses to either side of her.

Accompanied by the sound of slow footsteps, a giant shadow fell against the row of houses on the main road.

Bradley Fitts’s attention flipped from the shadow and sound to her and back again.

Magda stopped. Hopefully she was saved. Surely it had to be a policeman, a copper in uniform patrolling his beat.

Hugging her folder against her chest, she watched Fitts and watched also for the figure that was sure to turn the corner.

She crossed her fingers. It had to be a copper.

It seemed that Bradley Fitts was thinking the same. He got into his car, closed the door and proceeded to do a ‘U’ turn in the middle of the street.

The street was narrow; the car hard to turn. Fitts had kept the engine running whilst waiting to accost her, but now, suddenly, it cut out.

Although it was too dark to discern clearly, she could
imagine him slapping the wheel and cursing as he reached for the starting handle. He had no choice.

He got out of the car, went swiftly round to the bonnet, bent down and inserted the handle. It started on the third turn and once the engine sounded, he threw the handle back into the car and got in himself.

A tall dark figure had appeared on the left-hand corner of the street. The car appeared to be going left, but at the last moment turned right and drove off.

She reached an astounding conclusion; whoever the man was, Bradley Fitts had decided to veer away from him. And fast!

Four weeks before Christmas; the weather was wet and slate-grey clouds were tumbling across the sky as if they were in a hurry to go somewhere.

Venetia was on her knees scrubbing the black and white tiles running the length of the corridor outside the nuns’ quarters. All the inmates were there to learn self-discipline and domestic skills; this included the frequent scrubbing of the floors.

The swishing of heavy skirts announced the arrival of Sister Conceptua.

‘Your visitor is here,’ said the nun, her clasped hands white as marble against the dull black of her habit.

Elated by the news, Venetia struggled to her feet, rubbing her aching back as she did so.

Her back had been aching a lot of late; early, the nuns told her, for someone who was only some six months pregnant. ‘Wait until you’re nearer your time. Your back will be really aching then.’ This was usually said with a hint of glee, as though every discomfort was well deserved.

The sharp retort that a celibate nun wouldn’t know how it felt to be pregnant stayed locked inside. She wasn’t quite as flighty of speech as she had been. Finding herself pregnant had affected her plans for the future. She had so badly wanted that domestic position in a big city – wherever that city might be, though her heart had always been set on Queenstown.

The joy she felt that her grandparents had at last agreed to visit swept away all the bitterness she’d experienced at them placing her in St Bernadette’s. Her letter had got there.

‘Take off your apron and smarten yourself up,’ said Sister Conceptua. ‘And don’t run,’ she added when Venetia broke into a brisk trot.

Venetia felt a mix of trepidation and excitement. Her grandparents had come to visit her; had Anna Marie come too?

The visitors’ room was beyond a locked door to which only the duty sister and the Mother Superior had the key.