Family of Women (37 page)

‘That’s better. Let’s be having you then.’

Soon they were on Fred’s unmade bed with its wrinkly grey blankets, only half undressed. He rucked Marigold’s dress up, yanked her bloomers off, fumbling at himself.

‘That’s it,’ he grunted contentedly, steering himself into her. ‘Into the harbour – that’s my girl!’

Marigold snickered, then moaned as he jerked back and forth, fired with her own pleasure. This was a bit of all right. She always got what she wanted as well, whoosh, like a firework all down there. Nothing like it.

‘You’re a fine wench, Marigold,’ Fred said, kissing her affectionately when they’d finished. ‘Glad I found you, that I am.’

‘You’re all floppy,’ she giggled, eyeing his flagging manhood.

‘That I am . . .’ He yawned and teased at her nipple under her blouse. ‘Till the next time, anyway – eh?’

Half an hour later she left Fred snoring and crept back home. No one was stirring. Nearly half past twelve and Mom and Clarence none the wiser, once again. She took a swig of the gin as a congratulatory nightcap and lit a candle to get upstairs.

The boards creaked on the upper landing. She stopped for a moment, but heard her own loud breathing, nothing else.

Something made her go into her mother’s room. A sense of triumph, of wanting to crow. Creeping over to Bessie’s bed she stood over her. Bessie was on her back, her thickened face tilted to one side, mouth half open and snoring, oblivious to the fact she was being watched.

Marigold held the candle high and stood, looking down at her.

Joyce’s baby was born in Good Hope Hospital on a February day as the clouds sprinkled sleet upon the sodden streets. There was more falling later that evening when Linda got home.

‘Where’ve you
been
?’ Violet was in the hall the moment the door opened.

‘Out.’ Linda pushed the hood back and peered out at her mother between long curtains of hair.

‘She’s had it! Joyce – they’ve had a little lad! Danny came round earlier to tell us and he drove me over to the hospital to see her! He’s ever so bonny – just like Danny. He’s got footballer’s legs!’

Linda peeled off her damp coat, a smile coming over her face at the thought of a baby looking like Danny, with little football boots on. And it had distracted Mom from noticing how late she was. It was nearly ten o’clock.

‘Let’s have a drink . . .’

Violet led her through to thecur aaaa a dr heig kitchen and put the kettle on in a celebratory way.

‘Joyce’s doing marvellously. They told her she’s a natural mom – gave birth easy and that. She’s very pleased with herself.’

Yes, Linda could imagine. But she leaned up against the side in the kitchen, full of a sense of wonder.

‘Our Joycie a mom!’ Violet said. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. ‘Don’t seem five minutes since I was having her!’

‘You’re a nan.’

Violet looked solemn for a moment, then giggled. ‘Blimey – I am, aren’t I? God – it makes you think!’

Linda walked over to the flat on the Sunday morning. They’d been to see Carol the afternoon before and she was very excited about the baby. The nuns said Carol was doing exceptionally well and might be able to come home the next month. She’d finished the scarf she had knitted for Linda, a brown and yellow striped creation with a few missed stitches and wonky bits, but Linda loved it. It looked scruffy and in keeping with her look.

‘Goes with my coat,’ she smiled, indicating her mole-coloured duffel coat.

Carol beamed. ‘It’s cold out. I wanted it to keep you warm.’

The wool was a bit itchy, but the scarf was cosy to wear. She had it on, her hood up in the rain, as she walked round the Kingstanding circle and turned off towards Danny’s dad’s garage and the flat which was up a staircase at the back. Danny let her in, face dark with stubble and still in his pyjamas.

‘Oh – it’s you.’ He sounded a bit bewildered. ‘What time is it?’

‘Dunno. ’Bout ten.’

‘Little ’un’s been on the go all flaming night. I’ve lost my bearings.’ But he grinned good-naturedly. ‘He can’t half blart when he gets going!’

‘Who is it?’ Joyce called. She didn’t need to raise her voice too much. The flat was small – one bedroom plus a boxroom, a living-room, and tiny kitchen and bathroom.

‘It’s your sister.’ Danny was lighting the gas.

‘Come on in then, Linda,’ Joyce called regally. ‘You’ll have to take us as you find us. That’s how it is with a babby in the house.’

Linda went into the bedroom, most of which was occupied by a double bed. There was an oil heater in the corner and they’d got quite a fug up, bedroom stuffiness mixed with paraffin and an animal, milky smell. It was so warm, Linda took off the coat and scarf and put them on the floor behind the door on what seemed to be a pile of laundry. Joyce was sitting propped against a couple of pillows, in a nightgown with frills at the neck. Her hair was long and loose and there was something different about her, as if she, like the baby, had been under water for a long time and the water had washed her features looser in some way.

‘Here he is!’

In her arms was a bundle of blanket, at the top of which Linda could just see a crown of fuzzy dark hair. Joyce sat him up and the bundle gave out a sneeze.

‘Ooh – bless you!’ Joyce giggled.

Linda heard a tone in her sister’s voice that she had never heard before, a wholehearted tenderness towards something outside herself. She was humbled by it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and Joyce laid the baby across her arms. He was more solid than she had been expecting, with a swarthy complexion and strongly carved features, almost like a grown man already. His eyes opened a slit to show cloudy grey pebbles. He was the first baby she’d seen close up in a very long time and she was astonished. And it was Joyce who had produced this miracle of a creature!

‘God, Joyce – he’s lovely, isn’t he?’

Joyce beamed, gratified by her sister’s genuine enthusiasm.

‘He’s the most beautiful babby
ever
,’ she pronounced.

‘I mean – where did he
come
from?’ she stuttered.

‘In my belly, stupid!’ Joyce laughed.

‘No – but I mean – I
know
that . . . But it’s . . . I mean it feels as if he’s come from space – just arrived on a flying saucer or something!’

‘You been watching too much
Quatermass
?’ Joyce laughed.

‘Fat chance. Mr Bum won’t let us near that television again!’

‘D’you want a cuppa tea, Lin?’ Danny called from the kitchen. They could hear him clinking cups and spoons.

‘Yes, ta! Here – I’d forgotten. I bought something for him.’ She reached for her coat.

Danny came in then, with a mug for each of them.

‘Ta, love,’ Joyce said comfortably, taking the tea.

From her coat pocket Linda took out a beautiful pair of bootees she’d seen in a shop window, wrapped in white tissue.

‘
Ah
–’ Joyce seemed genuinely touched. ‘Aren’t they pretty? That was nice of you. Thanks. Look, Danny.’

Danny nodded. ‘Ta. Very nice.’

He came and perched wearily on the other side of the bed with his own mug of tea and leaned forward to look adoringly at his son.

‘Ya cheeky little bugger! You’re going to have to learn to sleep a bit better’n this!’

‘We thought we’d call him Charles – you know, after the prince. And then – ’ Joyce lookedth `,sMd to Danny for approval, ‘Harry. For Dad. Only we’re not sure yet . . .’

‘Eh, Charlie, what d’you reckon?’ Danny leaned over to tickle his son’s nose.

‘Careful – you’ll spill your tea all over him!’ Joyce chided.

‘No I won’t – don’t talk daft.’

Linda shifted the little boy in her arms so they could all see him properly.

‘Charles Harry Rodgers,’ she said. And she drew him close and kissed his bulging cheek, surprised at the affection she felt for him already.

She left Joyce, Danny and the baby resolved to go and see them as often as she could. She was so caught up with Alan that the visit to Joyce’s had been a surprise, like emerging from a darkened room. Alan was almost all she thought about, and every spare moment they had, they were together. He had become the centre of her life.

Alan had gone back to school after Christmas and she would see him after work, but soon after the baby arrived she went round there one afternoon to find him in a strangely excited state.

‘Well – guess what,’ he said after letting her in. She could smell drink on him and his eyes didn’t look right.

‘What?’ she asked, uneasily.

‘They’ve just chucked me out again.’ He flung the information casually over his shoulder as they went upstairs.

She was shocked. ‘Why?’

‘Oh – not turning up . . .’

‘But I thought you had been . . . haven’t you?’

Alan flung himself down on the bed, and looked up contemptuously at the ceiling. Beside him, Gary Cooper stared out enigmatically over his gun.

‘Not much. And it wasn’t just that. I had a skinful.’

She knew he was drinking, but hadn’t realized it was that bad. He didn’t drink much with her.

‘What – just today?’ She slid her coat off and flung it on the chair.

‘Today, yesterday, last week . . .’

‘Oh, Al . . .’ She sank down beside him on the unmade bed and took his hand. He shook her off at first, then his hand reached for hers and he looked up at her, hungry for reassurance.

‘Why d’you do it?’

He didn’t reply.

‘You’ve really torn it now, haven’t you?’

‘Come here.’ He pulled her closer and she lay down in his arms. She reached up and kissed him and she could taste the booze on him.

Within a fortnight, Mrs Bray was sent home from the mental hospital for a trial period.

When Linda went round one afternoon she was startled to find all the family there.

‘My mother’s here,’ Alan said at the door. His face looked different, as if something had loosened in him.

‘You mean – they’ve let her out?’

‘Yes – she came yesterday.’

Linda started to back away. She was muffled up in Carol’s woolly scarf, speaking through it. ‘I’ll go home . . . You don’t want me there . . ’

‘I do – please!’ Alan seized her wrist. ‘Come on – she likes a bit of company and I’ve told her about you. I want you to meet her.’

Linda was very nervous. She didn’t know what she expected Mrs Dorothea Bray to be like, but the idea of the ‘asylum’ struck fear and dread into everyone. She’d seen Nana shudder at the very mention of it.

To her surprise, she could hear dance music coming from the living-room at the back of the house. There was a radio in there, Linda knew, but Alan led her to the kitchen. Standing by the table was a slim, black-haired woman with Alan’s wide grey eyes. Linda had an impression of someone neatly dressed, in a calf-length skirt, pale blouse and a long black cardigan. Her hair was parted in the middle and taken back in a rough bunch at the back. What was startling was how young she appeared, almost girlish.

For a moment her face was blank and then, mechanically, as if having to recall how to do it, she smiled.

‘Hello. You must be Linda?’

Her voice was soft, well-spoken. Linda had to remind herself to free her chin from behind the scarf. She unwound it and took it off.

‘Hello,’ she said, feeling very shy and at a loss.

‘What a nice name,’ Mrs Bray suddenly spoke very fast. ‘Did you know Linda means “pretty” in Spanish? I expect you did.’

‘No.’ That was the truth of course. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Well – it’s very nice to meet you. I’m glad you’re a friend for Alan because his father works so hard and my poor boy is alone so much with me being . . . ill.’ She leant forward distractedly and picked up the tin of tea from the table. ‘You know I’ve been away?’

Linda nodded.

‘They did something to my head, you see, and now I’m back.’

Linda could feel Alan’s discomfort reaching her, almost smell it. He seemed younger suddenly, now his mother was here.

‘I can’t always . . . manage, you see.’ Dorothea Bray smiled brightly. ‘Would you like some tea? I can make tea now, Alan.’

‘Thanks – that’d be nice,’ Linda said.

As Mrs Bray turned to light the gas with slow deliberation, she whispered to Alan, ‘Where’s your daddy?’

Alan rolled his eyes upwards. ‘I think he’s working.’

It seemed to Linda very odd and unkind of Dr Bray to be up in his study when his wife had only just got home. But she was relieved he wasn’t here. He was so stiff and hard to talk to.