Family of Women (4 page)

When they got to Josephine’s house, Mrs Snell was out at the front talking to a neighbour. She was a small, sweet-faced woman, and very kind.

‘Mom – I’ve brought Vi home for a cuppa,’ Josephine said.

‘All right,’ Mrs Snell said easily. She nodded in a friendly way at Violet. ‘You the new girl at Vicars are you?’

‘Yes,’ Violet said shyly.

‘Go in – the kettle’s on, Jo. Cuppa tea’ll set us up.’

As she got to k>What pnow Mrs Snell, Violet found she was always doing little things to ‘set herself up’, a cup of tea being the chief among them. She was also a widow and had had a hard life.

Violet found herself visiting a haven of quiet, female company. She felt a pang of envy, seeing this gentle woman with her daughters and the obvious affection between them. And how peaceful and quiet their house was, not full of babies and all the washing and smells that went with them!

On the first day she had asked Josephine about the lad who was always singing. It always cheered her to hear him across the factory floor. He looked a good bit older than her and she felt rather intimidated by him.

‘You mean Warbling Willie?’ Josephine laughed. ‘His voice is quite nice really, isn’t it? That’s Harry – Martin, I think his other name is. Why?’ She asked coyly.

‘D’you like the look of him?’

‘Just wondered, that’s all,’ Violet said. She found she was blushing. She had barely known Jo then. Now they were better friends, Jo said, ‘I reckon that Harry’s taken a shine to you. He was asking about you today.’

‘What? He never!’ Violet really did blush then. ‘You’re having me on!’

To tell the truth she had barely thought about him. He seemed so much older and more superior to her – why would he even notice her?

‘Ah well, you never know.’ Josephine gave her a mischievous wink. ‘You wait and see.’

Violet kept thinking a lot about Harry Martin after that. Was it true he had been asking about her? She deliberately didn’t look in his direction or go out of her way to speak to him. She was very shy and blushed just thinking about
him, knowing that she imagined talking to him, or him saying her name or giving her a look just for her with his dancing eyes.

It took months before anyone noticed, because no one ever noticed Marigold.

Her belly started to swell. She was already a large girl, in the mould of her mother, and she wore loose, shapeless clothes. But one evening Bessie came panting up into the girls’ room and caught a glimpse of Marigold getting undressed in the narrow space between the beds, silhouetted in the candlelight.

‘Christ Almighty!’ she erupted.

Violet, who was just getting into the three-quarter size she shared with Rosina, turned to see Marigold’s swollen outline in the candlelight. It had crossed her mind once or twice that Marigold was getting a bit stout. Now her belly ballooned out, forcing her camisole up.

‘You filthy dirty little bitch!’ Bessie loomed over her, seeming larger than ever in her fury. She grabbed the back of Marigold’s vest and hauled her over to the door.

‘Ow – Mom, stop it! What you doing?’ Marigold whined.

‘What’s that when it’s at ’ome?’ Bessie ran her hand roughly over Marigold’s belly. ‘You’re five or six months gone at the very least, you little hoower!’ She gave Marigold a furious slap round the face.

‘What you doing?’ Marigold burst into tears. ‘Don’t hit me, Mom! Why’re you hitting me?’

‘I’ll cowing hit you, you filthy little bugger! Whose is it?’

Violet and Rosina sat side by side, both hugging their knees. Rosina’s hair hung loose down her back like a black shawl. In the gloom, Violet saw that her eyes were stretched wide with fright. Violet had a sick feeling in her stomach. What was Mom saying about Marigold? Rosina looked round desperately at her.
What does she mean? Why’s Mari in trouble?
her eyes begged.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Marigold was sobbing, knuckles in her eyes like a big, ungainly child.

‘You’ve got a babby in your belly – that’s what, and I want to know who the filth was that put it there. You’ve been with a man, Marigold – ’ Bessie lowered her voice a bit. Violet imagined Mabel Cameron listening slyly the other side of the wall. ‘Did ’e take advantage of you?’

‘What d’you mean?’ she wailed.

‘Did someone force you, you gormless wench?’ Bessie had Marigold by the shoulders and was shaking her.

‘No! It was Tommy – he’s my . . . We’re courting!’

‘Courting – you!’ Bessie laughed, cruelly. ‘Oh, very nice. You been out in the monkey run, picking up a fancy man, Marigold? I’d like to see that, that I would!’

‘He meets me in the Bull Ring, Sat’day nights.’ Marigold could never stand up for herself against the force of Bessie. Her mother could crush her to powder in seconds. ‘He’s my friend.’

‘Is ’e going to marry you then?’ Bessie demanded harshly. ‘You’d better get down to the Bull Ring and see what sort of friend he turns out to be.’

With utter loathing she shoved Marigold back on to the bed. ‘You filthy, disgusting little cow . . .’

Violet and Rosina sat, not moving as Bessie clumped heavily down the stairs.

‘Tommy’s my pal – he’s nice to me.’ Marigold’s voice came out all muffled. She lay on her side, hugging her swollen belly, and sobbed.

Bessie put a stop to Marigold’s jaunts to the Bull Ring. She wouldn’t even hear of Marigold going to find Tommy Kay to see if he’d do the decent thing and marry her.

‘You’re staying here, where I can see you my girl. I don’t want you out of my sight.’

Violet felt sorry for Marigold, but the clhe b Qut the clre was nothing any of them could do. Marigold was stuck, almost unmoving, at their mother’s side now, handmaid to her every whim. She wasn’t allowed to go out of the yard, but there was no hiding the fact of her ripe condition from the neighbours. She got bigger and bigger, had to resort to wearing dresses of Bessie’s, and walked leaning backwards with a slow, lumbering gait. Bessie brazened it out with the neighbours – even managed to get some sympathy.

‘Our Marigold’s so simple – a man took advantage of her. My poor, innocent girl. Wicked isn’t it, the things a man’ll stoop to?’

When Charlie found out he looked at his twin sister with pure disgust, as if she was a bad smell under his nose. Violet wondered how Marigold felt. She didn’t seem any different from usual, huge and passive, very little expression registering on her face.

Except once. One Saturday afternoon, in the heat of July, Violet went up to their bedroom to take her stockings off. It was too hot to stand them. Before she had even climbed the stairs she heard Marigold’s voice, and she went in to find her sister on her bed in a great big flowery dress of Bessie’s. Marigold was lying on her side, her chopped black hair a line across her chin and falling over her face. She was curled forwards, her hand stroking her belly.

‘. . . and you’re my little babby,’ Violet heard. ‘It’s all right, ’cause I’m your mom and we’re gunna be all right . . .’

‘Mari? What’re you doing?’ She found the sight disturbing.

But Marigold raised her head and her face was full of a shining joy Violet had never seen in her before.

‘I can feel it, Vi. I was talking to him. Here – ’ She rolled on to her back. ‘Feel him.’

The baby had pushed her body up like a steep hill. Reluctant, but fascinated, Violet put her hand on the hard drum of Marigold’s belly.

‘Move it around,’ Marigold ordered.

After a moment, Violet felt something, a little ripple, something independent of Marigold herself, moving in there.

‘Oh!’ Violet said. It was alarming. She hadn’t let herself think too much about how it got in there. ‘It feels funny!’

Marigold beamed, cradling her arms round herself. ‘It’s my little babby.’

‘Right, Violet – I want you over here today.’

Mr Riddle led her to one of the rows of Taylor’s lathes at the far end of the workshop, their belts all looping up to the pulleys high above their heads. ‘You’ve never worked this one, have you? I’ll get Harry to show you – hang on a tick.’

V>

Don’t be so silly
, she ticked herself off, even as her palms began sweating. It was a warm day, and she was all nerves.
He’s just coming to work the lathe for you. It’s work, that’s all.

She saw Mr Riddle coming back, and Harry’s striding walk and slick black hair. His dark eyes met hers shyly for a moment, then looked away. His face looked ruddy in the heat.

‘Get Violet started on here,’ Mr Riddle said. ‘She’s a fast learner – she’ll soon get the hang of it.’

‘All right,’ Harry said. As Mr Riddle went off, Harry gave Violet a wink which made her giggle. She was surprised to see Harry’s neck turn even pinker – did she imagine it? – and he turned quickly towards the machine.

‘Right – I’ll show you. Come and stand here.’

Harry was an expert. Violet watched in admiration as he turned out a perfectly drilled hinge, his fingers strong and precise, his movements quick and intelligent.

‘There – think you can do that?’ He turned to her.

‘Think so.’ She was a bit nervous but wanted to prove she could. She was also a fast, accurate worker and her first attempt was quite reasonable. Harry stood leaning over, watching her concentrate. She could feel his eyes on her. Her pale hair was tied back but she had to blow a strand of it out of her eyes, and shook her head back. Suddenly he reached forward and held it back for her.

‘Ta – I need a kirby-grip for that.’

‘That’s not bad.’ He turned her hinge over in his hands. ‘D’you want me to show you again just to make sure?’ And he winked again, his brown eyes full of laughter. Both of them knew she didn’t need showing again, she’d got it right the first time, but she wanted him to stay and he didn’t want to go.

‘All right. Just in case.’ She smiled back, cheekily.

Harry drilled the holes in another hinge, taking his time over it. He turned to her. Violet was watching earnestly. She liked Harry’s hands. They looked like hands that should be good at playing the piano, although she didn’t suppose he could. He looked round into her eyes and this time he was grinning.

‘D’you want me to show you once more?’

A smile spread across Violet’s face. This was handsome, cheeky-faced Harry Martin, going out of his way to stay with her!

‘Go on then.’

‘Blimey – ain’t she got the hang of it yet?’ one of the other girls shouted over to them. ‘You forgotten how to do it an’ all, Harry?’

‘If he ever knew!’ someone called with a ribald laugh.

‘Better be off,’ Harry said. ‘See you, Violet.’

‘See you,’ she said.

‘He
likes
you,’ Josephine told her as they poured out of the factory at the end of the day. The girls walked the pavement, taking their time, heads close together.

‘Who?’ Violet asked, blushing.

‘Harry Martin – who else?’ Josephine teased. ‘Look at your face – like a flaming beetroot! Want to know how I know?’

‘No!’ Violet protested, nudging Josephine in the ribs.

‘Bet you do!’

‘I
don’t
!’ Of course Violet wanted desperately to know every detail.

Josephine kept looking at her, eyes full of fun, until Violet could stand it no longer.

‘Oh, all right – tell me then.’

‘Cissy told me. One of Harry’s pals told her.’

‘Told her what?’

‘Said he thinks you’re really pretty and nice and he hadn’t plucked up the courage to talk to you until today when he had to.’

Violet swelled with excitement. Had Harry really been watching her, wanting to talk to her? It had taken him long enough to get round to it! She dug Josephine in the ribs again.

‘You’re having me on – he never said that!’

‘He did – I swear to you!’

‘I bet he’s been out with half the works already. What about that Mary Price?’

‘Well, he may’ve gone with her but he doesn’t want to any more, so what does it matter?’ They reached the corner of the street where the Snells lived. ‘You coming back for a cuppa?’

Violet hesitated. Josephine never questioned why Violet didn’t invite her back to their house. The Snells’ was on the way home, so it would have taken Josephine out of her way, but Violet sensed that Jo knew it was more than that and never invited herself. Violet was always glad to go to Jo’s house; anything, in fact, to stay away from home. Charlie was courting with a girl called Gladys and was hardly ever at home. Rosina played round at her best friend’s house as much as she could to keep out of her mom’s way. And Marigold stayed in the house nearly all the time, quietly, disgracefully, swelling. Violet didn’t want to go home.

‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘Just a quick one. If your mom don’t mind
.’

She went to bed that night with her head full of thoughts of Harry Martin’s laughing brown eyes.

Violet woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Marigold crying out.

‘My belly – oh, it hurts!’ This was followed by a frightening groan.

Violet went next door and woke her mother.

‘You can stop making that racket for a start,’ Bessie ordered grimly, standing over Marigold with a candle.

Seeing Bessie in disarray, in her nightgown, her plaits hanging down, felt almost as alarming as Marigold’s strange cries. Bessie was always up before them in the morning, dressed, hair coiled above her ears, ruling everything with an iron rod.

‘Rosina – run round to number fifty-one and get Mrs Barker.’

Wide-eyed, Rosina scampered off to do as she was ordered.

Marigold gave another moan of pain and Bessie tutted and yanked back the sheet covering her. It was a stifling, sticky night.

‘Get your bloomers off, wench. You’ll not get far in those.’ She stared down disgustedly at her daughter as she tried to obey. ‘Well – now you know. That’s what you get for being dirty.’ Bessie turned to Violet. ‘You’d best get off downstairs. You’ll only get in the way, as usual. Get the lamp lit and stoke the range – we’ll need water.’

There was a commotion as Mrs Barker arrived. Violet had the kettle on and was hurrying round in the gaslight to find cloths and rags, bowls for hot water, carbolic soap, string. She opened the door to the yard to get some air, but even outside the atmosphere was syrup thick. She started to hear little growls of thunder.