A Family Affair (55 page)

‘Something terrible's happened! Oh, Joe, I don't know what we're going to do!'

Joe transferred the latest bean shoot from right hand to left and put his arm round Carrie's shoulders. She was trembling violently; he couldn't remember when he'd last seen her so upset. ‘Come and sit down and tell me about it,' he said soothingly.

He led her back to the house, depositing the bean shoots neatly on top of the compost heap en route.

‘Now then,' he said when he had closed the kitchen door after them. ‘What's upsetting you, m'dear?'

‘Joyce Edgell knows about our Jenny.'

‘Well, that's not the end of the world, is it?' Joe hadn't been happy about Jenny's pregnancy, it wasn't what he wanted for her, but these things happened and he couldn't see the sense in all the secrecy really, he merely went along with it because Carrie placed so much importance on it. ‘It'll all be over and forgotten in no time when our Jenny comes home and everything gets back to normal. You'll see.'

‘No!' Carrie was verging on hysteria. ‘I mean about Heather – and Jenny!'

Joe thought for a moment, frowning.

‘No. She couldn't know. How could she know about that?'

‘I don't know. But she was saying awful things – terrible – and hinting …'

‘There you are then. She doesn't …'

‘And then I let the cat out of the bag. If she didn't know before, she does now.'

Joe looked amazed. ‘What did you say then?'

‘Oh – I don't know – I can't remember exactly. I was so shocked it just sort of came out. Whatever are we going to do, Joe? We can't move again. Not now. And Heather … I mean, this is her home now. But if it gets round – and it will …'

‘You're making mountains out of molehills. It'll be just talk, that's all.'

Carrie turned on him furiously.

‘Oh, for goodness sake, will you take things seriously for once!'

‘It's no good getting worked up about it.'

‘How can you say that! Can't you see what it means? It's not just people talking, though that's bad enough …'

‘You worry too much about people talking.'

‘It's our Jenny. She'll get to hear, won't she? Somebody will make it their business to say something to her, you can be sure of that. Oh, Joe, I'm going out of my mind with worry!' And she burst into tears.

Joe sighed. He hated to see anyone cry, but most especially Carrie.

‘I always thought you were making a rod for your own back doing what you did.'

‘It was for the best! We agreed!'

‘No, m'dear – you decided. I just went along with it for the sake of peace.'

‘That's the same thing, isn't it?' Frantic anxiety was making her aggressive. ‘Our Heather was just a bit of a kid! It
was
for the best. I'd have done the same for Jenny if I was younger.'

‘And have this all over again? Lying's not right, Carrie. You always get caught out in the end.'

‘A fat lot of help you are!' she snapped. ‘What are we going to do, Joe?'

‘I don't know, m'dear. But I think you'd better have a drink and calm down. Getting in a state won't help anything.'

He went to the cupboard, hesitating over the quarter-bottle of brandy kept there for emergencies, changed his mind and went upstairs. He had a miniature of gin hidden in the drawer where he kept his odds and ends. He'd been keeping it for Carrie for when she heard that Jenny was in labour – remembering what she had been like when Heather was giving birth, he'd reckoned she'd need it. But as emergencies went, this was just as pressing.

He took it downstairs, fetched a glass and a bottle of bitter lemon. After drinking it, Carrie seemed to recover some of her equilibrium.

‘Well,' she said, pressing her fingers to her mouth and looking as tragic as if she had just faced the fact that the world was about to come to an end, ‘I suppose the first thing is I shall have to go down and talk to our Heather.'

Joe felt an enormous sense of relief. If Carrie was back to making plans, the worst was over.

‘There you are, m'dear. I told you you'd work something out.'

‘Well, somebody has to!' Carrie said, rather scornfully.

Joe ignored the jibe. He had accepted long ago that Carrie could be more domineering than he would have liked, and he was used to her organising ways. It was Carrie helpless that he really couldn't take. In a strange way he found it deeply disturbing, as if a sleeping giant was waking and shaking the foundations of his world.

‘It'll all come out in the wash,' he said comfortingly, ignoring the look of exasperation which Carrie shot at him.

David and his friends were drinking in the Miners'Arms. He did a lot of drinking in pubs these days, but it didn't seem to help him much. To the less perceptive, it might look as if he was getting over Linda's death, but that was simply because he'd stopped moping about and on the surface at least returned to some sort of normality. But in his heart it was still winter, bleak, never-ending winter. Sometimes, when he overdid the drinking, he could find oblivion for a little while, but next day the darkness of the soul was back, worse than ever. David thought it would never end.

Tonight he'd hidden the way he felt inside, downing a couple of pints of bitter whilst he and his mates had played a game of shove ha'penny, followed by a game of darts, and now they had decided to move on to the club, where there was a jukebox. As they emerged from the spit-and-sawdust bar, another gang of lads was coming up the steps. David fell back into the lobby to let them in, not taking much notice, until a cheeky voice said: ‘Oh look – it's David Simmons! Evening, David!'

It was Billy Edgell. David nodded, but otherwise ignored him.

‘Too big to speak to me, eh?' Billy taunted, planting himself right in front of David. ‘What have you got to be so full of yourself about?'

‘Get out of my way, Billy,' David said quietly. ‘I'm not looking for trouble if you are.'

‘
I'm not looking for trouble if you are
,' Billy mimicked. ‘Quite the gent, aren't you? But what's it feel like to have two fucking whores for sisters? That's what I'd like to know.'

‘You
what
?' David said. ‘
What
did you just say?'

‘You heard. A pair of fucking knocked-up whores.'

He never got any further. David's fist connected with his jaw and he went head first and backwards down the steps. For a moment he lay there, half-stunned, and David bent over him threateningly.

‘If you ever –
ever
– say anything like that about my sisters again, I'll break your bloody neck, Edgell.'

Then, his friends staring after him in amazement, he marched off along the street.

‘I gave Billy Edgell a bloody nose tonight,' he said to Carrie.

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my Lord! You did
what
? But why?'

‘I don't think you'd want to know,' David said.

‘Oh, you shouldn't have! I mean, you shouldn't fight with anybody, but especially not those Edgells. They can make a lot of trouble for us. I think I ought to tell you …'

‘Mum, don't,' David said. ‘There's things in this family you want swept under the carpet, that's up to you. Just leave me out of it. I know what you're talking about – or I can have a good guess, and I've done my bit. But I don't want anything to do with the tangles you've got yourself in. I've got enough to worry about without that.'

‘Oh, David.' Tears sprang to Carrie's eyes. She knew David didn't always approve of the way she stage-managed family life and his good opinion was very important to her. ‘You shouldn't upset Billy Edgell, though,' she said anxiously. ‘He's trouble, just like his mother, and he won't forget it.'

‘Shall I tell you something, Mum?' David said. ‘I've been wanting to give somebody a good hard punch ever since Linda died. Well, now I have, and I'm bloody glad it was that bloody Billy Edgell!'

‘There's someone to see you, Jennifer.'

Jenny, on her knees trying to retrieve the last bit of fluff that lurked beneath the old claw-foot bath, looked up at the sound of Sister Theresa's voice, hope flooding through her like warm spring sunshine. Someone to see her! She had had no visitors since coming to the home – visitors were discouraged as unsettling for the girls. So who could it be unless …
Bryn!
her heart shouted.

‘Where?'

‘In Sister Anne's office.' Sister Theresa was one of the younger nuns; she had a kind voice and a nice smile, but Jenny had noticed that when she showed any incipient friendship towards the girls the stricter nuns gave her black looks. Sister Theresa was probably given a talking-to and some kind of penance once they were out of earshot judging by the fact that after such an incident it was always a long time before she showed any signs of being friendly again.

Jenny followed Sister Theresa out on to the landing, tidying her hair as best she could. There were no mirrors in the home – mirrors smacked of vanity – but Jenny was uncomfortably aware that she did not look her best. The untidy hair, the puffy red hands, the lack of even the lightest touch of make-up and worst of all, the ungainly shape her body had become beneath the ugly voluminous grey smock that all the girls were expected to wear.

Her feet flew her down the stairs and along the flagged corridor, each stone of which she had personal acquaintance with so often had she scrubbed it. The door to Sister Anne's study was ajar; outside Jenny hesitated, then knocked.

‘Come!'

She pushed the door open, her stomach knotting with anticipation. Not Bryn in the hidebound visitors'chair. Had she really imagined for a moment it would be?

Heather.

Jenny's initial rush of disappointment was quickly replaced by pleasure. Tears pricked her eyes and she stood motionless for a moment. Then Heather was on her feet and the two girls were in one another's arms, oblivious of the disapproving gaze of the old nun.

‘Oh, Jenny … Jenny …' Heather was close to tears too, overcome with emotion.

‘What are you doing here?' Jenny asked, frightened suddenly that Heather had come to break bad news.

‘Control yourself, Jennifer,' Sister Anne said tartly. And to Heather: ‘Jennifer can show you to the library. You can talk there.'

Jenny couldn't let go of Heather's arm for even a moment. She hung on to it like a lifeline as she led Heather back along the stone flagged corridor.

‘What a weird place!' Heather said with a small shiver as she took in the oppressive atmosphere of the wood-panelled walls and the small statues on their plinths in the various niches, the mingled smells of incense and carbolic, the queer-shaped patches of light that crept in through the small vaulted windows and only managed, somehow, to make the surrounding dimness deeper and more shadowy.

‘It's supposed to be haunted.'

‘I'm not surprised! Are you all right here, Jenny?'

‘All right.'

She wanted to say it wasn't the ghosts she was afraid of. It wasn't the ghosts that made her existence here such an ordeal but the flesh-and-blood women whose sole purpose in life seemed to extract a penance from her and the other girls for their sinful behaviour. But she didn't want Heather to know how unhappy she was. In any case, it wasn't quite true that the ghosts played no part. They added to the aura of oppression – and not simply the spirits of the long dead, either. Since the manor had become a mother and baby home, the thick walls and the wooden panelling had seen too much unhappiness and despair, soaking it up like a sponge so that the atmosphere was thick with it.

The library had once been a drawing room. Shelves filled with religious and improving books lined three walls. The fourth was given over to a massive old fireplace surrounded with more dark panelling. No fire was ever lit here, even in the depths of winter, and the library was little used. Once or twice Jenny had tried to read here, but that same oppressive atmosphere which pervaded the entire house was intensified here by the smell of musty paper and disuse.

Heather and Jenny sat down side by side on the worn leather sofa.

‘Are you getting proper medical care?' Heather asked.

‘The doctor comes once a week.'

‘And you're keeping all right? He's happy with the baby?'

‘He's never said that he's not. Did you know they've found a couple to adopt the baby – as long as it's a girl? I wrote and told Mum.'

‘Yes, she told me.'

There was a small silence; Heather looked increasingly uncomfortable.

‘It's lovely to see you,' Jenny said, ‘but I never expected … I mean, Sister Anne doesn't like us to have visitors.'

‘I know.'

‘So – is there any special reason why?'

Heather dropped her eyes, catching her lip between her teeth and biting hard.

‘It's not Mum or Dad, is it?' Jenny asked, worried. ‘Nothing's happened to them?'

‘No.'

‘Gran, then? Or David?' It didn't occur to her to add Vanessa to the list. If anything had happened to Vanessa it wouldn't be Heather who was here.

‘No – it's nothing like that, Jen. But I do need to talk to you. There's something I have to tell you before you come home and hear it from someone else.'

‘You're not splitting up – you and Steve?'

‘No – no. It's, oh Jenny, I don't know where to start.'

Jenny waited, puzzled and apprehensive, and after a moment Heather said: ‘You remember when you first found out you were pregnant? And I suggested maybe I could bring your baby up – pretend it was mine?'

‘No!' Jenny said. ‘If you've come to try to persuade me to change my mind, the answer is no. I couldn't. It would be even worse than …' She broke off, gulping; her fingernails – what was left of them – were digging uneven crescents in the palms of her hands as she contemplated the awfulness of what was to come. ‘Don't ask me, Heather, please.'