Читать книгу The Little Runaways - Cathy Sharp, Cathy Sharp - Страница 7

It was early on Boxing Day but already Alice could hear the bitter quarrelling going on in her parents’ room. Did they never stop this relentless bickering? She sighed, glad that she was going to her friend Michelle’s home that day. Like her, Michelle worked at St Saviour’s, though she was a staff nurse while Alice was merely one of the carers. She didn’t think she could have stood being here all day if her mother was going to nag them the whole time. She stretched and yawned as Mavis slept on in the bed next to her. Mavis was also going out later to spend the day with her boyfriend, because she had several days off from her job at the factory.

Alice had opted to work on Christmas Day, because it was better than being at home with her mother, who made life miserable for her family on every day of the year and saw no reason to be any different at this special time. So Alice preferred her duty to being at home with her brothers, Joseph and Saul, her sister, Mavis, her father, who would probably get drunk by lunchtime, and her nagging mother. Besides, she didn’t particularly want to sit down to a meal and be watched by Mrs Cobb’s sharp and knowing eyes. One of these days her mother was going to ask questions Alice didn’t want to answer.

She’d missed a couple of periods and because of that she was sure that she was carrying Jack Shaw’s baby. Alice felt a shiver of fear run through her as she thought about the future. Had Jack died in the fierce fire at the boot factory, or had he somehow escaped? Billy Baggins had been there and he’d told the police that it was Arthur Baggins, his elder brother, and Jack Shaw that had broken in and blown up the safe. Someone else had set the factory on fire while they were inside, and the newspapers seemed to think it was someone with a grudge against Arthur and Jack, or the factory owners. Most people believed it must have been Jack who had died, although something inside Alice wasn’t ready to believe that.

How could he be dead? Surely she would know if he’d died; she would feel it inside – wouldn’t she? The last time Alice had seen him, he’d dumped her outside St Saviour’s and gone racing off in his car after telling her the Lee gang was going to kill him. All she knew for certain was that he hadn’t tried to contact her since, and she couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been alive he would surely have come back for her or at least sent her a letter. Jack had known Alice believed she was having his baby.

How could she know what he’d felt about that? Jack had pursued her, never leaving her alone, throwing off all her attempts to rebuff him, until she gave him what he wanted. Had she been a terrible fool to let him make love to her? Alice had thought she was in love with him, rejecting the offers to go out with Bob Manning, a soldier she’d met at a dance with her cousin Eric. Bob was a nice steady bloke with a good job in the Army, but he didn’t excite Alice the way Jack had – and so she’d been stupid and given herself to the wrong man. Now she was frightened, scared of what her mother would do when she discovered her daughter was pregnant.

What could she do if her mother threw her out? Their home was only three rooms in a shared house; it smelled awful when the toilet in the yard stank and it was cramped and often damp and cold, but it was still her home. Where would she go – and how could she manage with a job and a baby? That’s if she still had a job when Sister Beatrice discovered the truth. It was unlikely the strict nun would keep her on once her condition became noticeable.

Alice thought about the previous day at work. After all the excitement prior to Christmas Eve and the fun of carols, Father Christmas giving presents to all the children – not forgetting their carers – and the party afterwards, Sister had decreed that the day itself would be spent quietly in order to reflect on the true meaning of Christ’s birthday.

Alice had been happy just to be in the peaceful atmosphere at the home. The children all seemed satisfied to attend church or chapel in the morning and to spend their time eating a special dinner and reading or playing one of the new board games they’d been given. She herself had been asked to do Sally the carer’s job after breakfast was over and gather the smaller children together in the playroom, where she’d read one of Mr Markham’s lovely books to them for a while, and given the others puzzles to keep them happy. It was as she was getting the children ready for tea that Nan came up to her.

‘Some of the older children are going for a walk before supper. Jean will be going with them to make sure they don’t get into any trouble. I want you to keep the little ones amused until it is time for their beds.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Alice said. She liked the head carer and often wished her mother was a bit more like Nan. ‘They’ve been good all day.’

‘Well, that takes care of the little ones.’ Nan hesitated, then, ‘Is something bothering you, Alice? You know you can come to me for anything – don’t you?’

‘Yes, thank you, Nan,’ Alice said, but there was no way she could tell Nan what was really bothering her. ‘I’ll find some sort of game they can play quietly, because I know Sister doesn’t want them running around today.’

‘Off you go then, Alice – but don’t forget I’m always here if you need me.’

Alice walked away, feeling a little easier in her mind. If the worst came to the worst and Jack didn’t come back for her, perhaps she would talk to Nan about her problem … that’s if she really was having his baby. Yet why was she kidding herself? She couldn’t ignore the signs and they were all telling her she must have fallen for a baby either in late October or early November and she would have to accept her fate and find a way of coping with it.

If she worked extra hours she could perhaps stay out of her mother’s way, and earn a little extra money for when she needed it, because she knew her mother would be furious when she found out that Alice was pregnant. She would probably throw her out on the street and the thought terrified her.

Lying in her bed beside her sleeping sister that Boxing Day morning, Alice turned the problem over and over in her mind. Silent tears trickled down her face in the faint light of early morning. She felt so alone, so miserable. What was she going to do when her condition began to show?

Even though Nan had been so kind, Alice respected her and it would shame her to confess what she’d done. Michelle wouldn’t scold her but she couldn’t help her to find a home for herself and the child – and Sister Beatrice would give her the sack. Alice couldn’t think of anyone who would help her to find a place to live and have the child.

Alice had heard of those homes where girls like her went to have their illegitimate child. She had a vague idea that they weren’t very nice, and they made you give up your baby. Alice didn’t know how, but she wanted to keep hers. Even if it was possible to get rid of it – a shudder went through her, because she knew of a girl who had died of blood poisoning after visiting one of those backstreet butchers who got rid of unwanted children – she would never do that. She didn’t want to die – and she wasn’t going to kill her child. There must be someone she could turn to for advice – someone who would know what to do … perhaps Angela Morton.

Alice didn’t know their Administrator well, but she admired her for standing up to Sister Beatrice when Mary Ellen had been banned from going to the pantomime. Alice had never been to one as a child, and she knew how much it would mean to a kid from a poor home like her. It was rotten to take the best treat away from the girl and Alice had been on Angela’s side when she took Mary Ellen to the pictures when the other kids were at the pantomime. Alice didn’t know, of course, but she’d bet Sister Beatrice had had a few words to say about that!

Angela smiled and spoke whenever they met and she knew she was very friendly with Sally – but would she be sympathetic if Alice told her what a mess she was in? Angela could have no idea of the sort of family Alice came from so perhaps she would be like Sister Beatrice and take the moral ground. After all, she probably had a perfect family life at home and would think Alice a stupid girl who was no better than she ought to be.

Angela stared at her father in disbelief as he showed her the things he’d taken from her mother’s wardrobe. Besides a lot of empty gin bottles, there was an assortment of dresses, handbags, perfume, soaps, scarves and hats – and many of them were stolen, according to her father.

‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why would Mother take things like this? The clothes wouldn’t fit her or me – it doesn’t make sense.’

‘I asked Mark about it and he said that she’s ill, Angela. Sometimes when she’s had a few drinks she goes out and takes things from shops: local shops, where we have an account. That’s how I found out about it. One of the managers telephoned me from his office in private; he didn’t want to go to the police and asked me to discover whether she still had the things she’d stolen. Of course when I found all this – I didn’t dare to ask if it all belonged to him. I simply arranged to pay for the items he’d lost, and then he asked if I would care to settle the account.’

‘Was it very bad?’ Angela asked, noticing the new lines about his eyes. No wonder he’d been looking worried the last few times she’d seen him. ‘I can help with money, of course.’

‘I’m all right for the moment,’ he said. ‘I’ve cancelled the accounts in her name and closed the joint account at the bank. I didn’t want to humiliate your mother, Angela – but I couldn’t let it continue.’

‘So the drinking isn’t the worst of it, then.’ Angela reached across the kitchen table to squeeze his hand. ‘I’m truly sorry – but what can we do? She needs help …’

‘Mark says there is a very good clinic in Switzerland that would help with all her problems – the only trouble is your mother will not hear of it. She insists that nothing is wrong with her and said she hadn’t realised she’d run up large bills and promised not to do it again.’

‘What about the stolen stuff?’

‘She absolutely refuses to acknowledge that she took anything.’

‘It makes things so difficult for you, Dad. What are you going to do?’

‘I can’t force her to go away. She is my wife and I must try to protect her as best I can. I’ve told her she can’t use the car in future and the bus only goes into town twice a week. I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t catch it unless I can go with her – what more can I do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Angela said. He’d closed his eyes, as if he found the worry almost unbearable. ‘What about you? Are you all right?’

‘Just a little tired,’ he said, but she had the feeling that he wasn’t telling her everything. ‘I’ve seen my doctor and he advises cutting down on work.’

‘You must try not to worry. If you need me I could come down at a couple of hours’ notice. You know I would stay if you thought it would help.’

‘I don’t think she would take any notice even of you, Angela. I had hoped that she would make an effort for Christmas – as she did for the dance she organised for your charity.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She used to have good days and I kept hoping – but her drinking is getting worse. She would only drink sherry or wine once, but now she will drink whatever she can get.’

‘I wish I could do more.’

‘Just being able to tell you has helped a lot,’ he said and smiled. ‘Mark has offered to advise her but so far she just refuses to listen.’

‘I see …’

Angela turned away to pour more coffee, distressed by the news of her mother’s illness. Mrs Phyllis Hendry was the last person to drink to excess or steal from shops – at least she always had been. Angela couldn’t imagine what had happened to change the rather snobbish, intelligent woman she loved but couldn’t quite like, into this person who drank too much and stole things. Yet Mark’s attitude had distressed her more – or perhaps hurt was a more apt word. Yes, she was hurt that he’d decided he couldn’t tell Angela in case it made her break down. Had he thought she would turn to drinking like her mother?

She felt a little diminished, too. She’d turned to Mark in her grief over John’s terrible death, sobbing out her pain on the shoulder he offered – but now she felt patronised. When he’d suggested the job at St Saviour’s she’d thought he trusted and respected her – but if he felt anything for Angela, he would not have hidden her mother’s secret from her. There was little Angela could do here, it seemed, but at least she could offer her father support.

‘If you need me – anything, you have only to call, Dad.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘Now go up and talk to your mother. She’s feeling a little fragile – and ashamed. Try to make peace with her before you leave, my love.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Angela said and kissed his cheek. ‘I do love you, Daddy.’

‘I love you,’ he replied. ‘You’re the light of my life and always will be. Please don’t worry. I’ll manage somehow. Perhaps in time she will agree to go somewhere they can help her …’