Daughter of Mine (36 page)

‘Is it true?’

Johnnie looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, and then realising it would be stupid to deny it, said, ‘Aye.’

‘So, it was a black man that assaulted her that time.’

‘Obviously. According to what she told me, the man could have been pink with yellow spots, for she could see nothing.’

‘Why didn’t she leave the child with the nuns?’ Tressa asked. ‘They find homes for them. According to Mike she wants to take this child back to Birmingham with her.’

‘She’s taken her,’ Johnnie said. ‘I left her at Dun Laoghaire yesterday. The nuns didn’t want the child. Apparently, there’s few homes for half-caste bastards, and Lizzie wouldn’t let them take her to an orphanage.’

‘Oh Jesus, Johnnie, they’ll crucify her.’

‘I know that and she knows that,’ Johnnie said. ‘But she’s been through the mill with those nuns and she said she couldn’t leave a wee, innocent baby in their clutches.’

‘Does she know Steve’s dead?’

‘She does now. How do you know?’

‘Mike told me. He had to collect his effects and the letter from Lizzie, telling him all, was on the bed.’

‘I don’t have to ask you to keep this to yourself?’

‘No,’ Tressa said. ‘I’ll not spread it around, don’t you worry, and neither will Mike. Steve just walked out of the city, you know, and was killed by a sniper. Many thought it was battle fatigue that sent him over the top, but when Mike read the letter he knew what had tipped the balance for Steve. He blamed Lizzie in
a way at first. I mean, Mike was his mate after all. But still, he thought she’d gone through enough and he resealed the letter, so Lizzie never needs to know Steve ever received it. I’m glad he did that, for she has enough on her plate and she is a great one for feeling guilty is our Lizzie.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Johnnie said. ‘Write to her, Tressa. I think she’d value your support.’

‘I will,’ Tressa promised. ‘I’ll tell you what, though, she’s one unlucky sod.’

‘You can say that again,’ Johnnie said. ‘I’m worried sick about her, and the bloody thing is I’m helpless to do anything about any of it.’

Lizzie and Celia came home in good humour, pleased with their achievements for the day, for they’d registered with Moorcroft’s on Bell Barn Road for their rations and Lizzie had also drawn some money out of the Post Office and picked up some lovely clothes from the clothes bank at the Mission Hall. They’d also been issued with new ration books and identity cards, and at the Town Hall Lizzie found she was entitled to a pension of fifteen shillings and sixpence. Although it wasn’t a fortune, Lizzie was glad of it. She would also be getting eight shillings and sixpence for Niamh, and six shillings and thrupence for Tom. ‘I’ll get that made up into postal orders and send it to my mother,’ she told Celia.

‘Will she accept it?’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. If she doesn’t I’ll open an account for the children here and put the money in.’

‘Do they know?’

‘About Steve?’ Lizzie asked. ‘They will by now. My mother was going to tell them. That was hardly the sort of news I could break to two weans by letter.’

‘No, I see that.’

‘I will write to them, though, and tonight if possible,’ Lizzie said. She gave a sigh. She knew she really should be there beside them to support them, but there was nothing she could do about that.

They’d dumped all their packages on the table and collected the grumbling, hungry baby from Violet’s. Lizzie was just about to feed her when there was a knock at the door.

Celia opened the door to Father Connolly. He made no greeting to her, but strode across to Lizzie where she sat in a chair with the baby on her knee. She would not hide her daughter away, and so when the priest’s long, bony fingers prised the shawl away from the baby’s face, she made no move to stop him.

She saw his lip purse so tightly that creases appeared each side of his long, thin nose, and in his eyes she saw blazing anger and disgust as they raked over Lizzie and the young woman behind her. He didn’t know who Celia was, and didn’t much care. His business was with Lizzie. ‘I was told,’ he said, his voice cold and clipped, ‘and I scarce believed it. There are women I wouldn’t have been surprised to find carrying on like that, as soon as their husbands were out of sight, but you…and then to give yourself to a black man.’

Anger coursed through Lizzie’s body. This was not to be borne. She stood up and handed the baby to Celia before facing the priest. ‘Look here, you. Don’t
you dare go around preaching and judging me. That wee baby is the result of the attack that you know all about.’

The priest cast his mind back and said, ‘I remember the attack, but you said nothing about any other type of assault.’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ Lizzie said. ‘That is, I was unconscious and I had no recollection of it. When I found I was pregnant, I went to my mother’s. The idea was to give my child up for adoption, but when she was born she was half-caste, as you see, and they could barely bear to touch her, never mind care for her. The man who attacked me I hate with a passion, and my greatest wish would be to have him before me this minute and a knife in my hand. But that isn’t the baby’s fault and I love her with all my heart and soul. I will rear her to be decent and honest and respectable and proud of herself for who she is.’

Father Connolly was struck by Lizzie’s words, for he guessed every syllable was true. If it was, the woman had suffered twice and would continue to suffer, he knew. However, it wasn’t in his nature to feel sorry for anyone, and to give himself time to collect his thoughts he turned to look at Celia. He wondered what her relationship was to Lizzie, was she a sister maybe, or a cousin? ‘And this is?’ he said, and his very tone annoyed Celia.

‘My name is Celia Hennessy and I’m a friend of Lizzie’s.’ The words were said as a challenge and Celia gave a toss of her head at the same time. She wasn’t privy to the priest’s thoughts, but she’d heard his rebuke and Lizzie’s heart-rending response. After her own
experience, she had little time for the clergy, and she owed this man nothing.

‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

‘’Fraid I can’t say the same,’ Celia retorted. ‘In fact, if you’ve said your piece you best go now.’

The priest had never been spoken to like that, and by a young girl too, and he bristled in annoyance. ‘Really, I…’

‘Celia’s right, Father,’ Lizzie said. ‘Everything worth saying has been said.’

The priest looked from one young woman to the other and decided he would leave. Nothing would be achieved by his insisting on staying. As neither woman opened the door for him, he opened it himself, and once there he turned back. ‘Will I see you both at Mass?’

‘No,’ Lizzie said. ‘Not at St Catherine’s anyway.’

‘Lizzie, I’m sure…’

‘Goodbye, Father,’ Celia cried and she sped across the room with the baby in her arms and shut the door with a resounding crash, almost before the priest was through it. ‘Sanctimonious prig,’ she said with venom as the baby’s hungry wails rent the air.

Flo awoke from her grief-ridden stupor on Sunday morning, feeling stronger than she’d done in a long time, and she decided to go to eleven o’clock Mass at St Catherine’s. Maybe she’d have a Mass said for Steve while she was about it; not that he needed it of course, and yet prayers never went amiss and maybe a mass said in Advent would have special significance.

The news about Lizzie hadn’t got as far as Pershore Road, and so Gladys encouraged her sister to go out into the air, seeing it as a positive measure. There were many, though, who’d heard the rumours about Lizzie and been disgusted by them. Seeing Flo at Mass, they made it their mission to tell her what that Lizzie Gillespie had been up to, in case she was ignorant of the fact. And Flo listened open-mouthed to the tale of her daughter-in-law, who’d seemingly opened her legs for a nigger when her own fine husband was doing his duty, fighting and dying for his country.

‘She’s up at the house, now, this minute, her and the child,’ one said. She didn’t mention Celia for she
didn’t know about her, but anyway, Flo was only interested in the little sex-crazed wanton her son had had the misfortune to marry. The brazenness of it, shaming the memory of Steve’s name in that way, caused Flo’s rage to increase with each step she took towards Bell Barn Road.

Those who’d told her and those who’d heard it told scurried home to spread the news. Even the women who’d not been told knew something was afoot when they saw the determined stride of Flo and caught sight of the malevolent look on her face. Few felt sorry for Lizzie, feeling she deserved all she got, and as Flo passed they came to their doors, arms folded across their chests, to discuss it with their neighbours, who’d done the same thing.

Flo thrust Lizzie’s door open with such force it crashed against the wall, waking the sleeping baby who began to cry. Lizzie was on her own in the room for Celia had gone upstairs to put the clothes away that they’d got the previous day. The crash alerted her, though, and she began to descend the stairs rapidly.

Lizzie had turned from what she was stirring on the cooker and she stared at Flo. This was the meeting she’d been dreading, and yet she knew it had to come. She almost welcomed it, and as she looked at the old woman she suddenly lost all fear of her. She saw her for what she was, wizened up with bitterness and badness and now bereft of the one person she held dear in life. She’d coped with nuns ten times worse than Flo and they’d not broken her, and neither would Florence Gillespie.

‘You dirty, stinking trollop!’

Lizzie allowed herself a sardonic smile. ‘Good morning to you too.’

Celia opened the stairs door but didn’t step into the room. Instead she just watched.

‘How dare you! I’m surprised you can hold your head up.’

‘It’s easy,’ Lizzie said, ‘for I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Nothing wrong!’ Flo cried, so angry she could barely get words out. She sprang over to the pram, but Lizzie had anticipated that and got there before her, scooping out the crying baby, which she laid against her shoulder. ‘You stand there, bold as brass, and tell me you ain’t done nothing to be ashamed of, when not only have you been playing fast and loose with your favours, you were left with a belly full of a nigger’s bastard.’

‘I never played fast and loose, never,’ Lizzie said. ‘I never willingly went with any man but Steve, nor wanted to. But I agree, the man who raped me must have been black.’

‘Rape! What’s this talk of rape?’

‘You must remember the attack on me?’

‘You said nowt about rape.’

‘No, I chose not to.’

Flo thought about this for a second or two and then spat out, ‘Come on, Lizzie, think I was born yesterday. Christ Almighty, if you’d been raped, as you claim, why bring the child back here? I’d have thought you wouldn’t want to even cast your eyes on it.’

‘Well you’re wrong, and what I choose to do or not to do is my business.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Flo said emphatically. ‘I’ll go
up and see the landlord in the morning. See what he has to say.’

Lizzie knew the threat was real. If the man thought she was living immorally she could easily be put out, but to portray fear in front of Flo was the very last thing to do. Lizzie knew this and so she said, ‘You do that, Flo. There is a police file on me about that attack, and of course a doctor’s report. I’m sure when he sees the documentation he will see I have no case to answer.’

Flo was silent. She didn’t know Lizzie hadn’t told the doctor about the rape. If the police and doctor confirmed the stabbing and bang on the head and went on to say Lizzie had been tampered with, she’d be the one to look the fool.

With a shriek of rage, Flo threw herself on Lizzie, and Lizzie tried only to protect the baby as the woman punched and kicked at her and raked her face with long, dirty nails. Suddenly, Flo’s arms were pulled from Lizzie and held firm behind her back and Celia said in a tight, no-nonsense voice, ‘Okay, you bloody old vixen. You’ve said your piece, so get going.’

‘I’ll go when I’m ready.’

‘You’ll go now and you’ll either walk out the door under your own steam or go with the aid of my boot up your arse,’ Celia said, forcing the woman towards the door that was still open, and Flo knew the girl meant every word.

‘This ain’t the end of this, Lizzie,’ she shrieked.

‘Oh yes it is,’ Celia said. ‘We don’t want to see you here again.’

‘Lizzie is my daughter-in-law.’

‘Well isn’t she the unluckiest bugger in the world
then,’ Celia commented grimly, and she gave Flo a push as she released her arms so that Flo ended up in the yard.

Flo stood rubbing at her arms, glaring at Celia. ‘You’ll pay for this, Lizzie,’ she screamed. ‘You’ll wish you’d never been born by the time I’m done.’

‘Oh bugger off, you old bag of wind, before I completely lose my temper,’ Celia snarled, and she shut the door with a bang and looked across at Lizzie, who was automatically rocking Georgia with tears rolling down her face.

But they were tears of laughter. ‘Oh God, I shouldn’t laugh,’ she said. ‘Really I shouldn’t, but I’ve never seen Flo meet her match before. Haven’t you a nerve in your body?’

‘No,’ Celia said with a grin. ‘They were all shrivelled up in that bloody convent. But, later, as Celia bathed the scratches on her cheeks, Lizzie knew that the encounter could easily have repercussions, for it would only have fuelled Flo’s anger and her need to get even.

The next morning, Lizzie went for the rations leaving Georgia in Celia’s care. The two women had registered with Gerald Moorcroft on Saturday. His wife Dinah had been upstairs and hadn’t been aware of this, nor had she heard anything about Lizzie. She knew now all right, though, for the news had flown around, and those in for their rations earlier had given Dinah Moorcroft a blow-by-blow account of their version of it, and so she stared at Lizzie as she came in the door as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Lizzie had never taken to the dumpy, plump woman, her head barely reaching her husband’s shoulder and her face hard and set with thin, pinched lips. But now, cold grey eyes flashed fire and two spots of colour appeared on her cheeks as she spat out, ‘What are you doing here? This isn’t the shop for whores and trollops. Get out!’

‘Now, Dinah,’ Gerald put in ineffectually.

Lizzie just stared at her for a moment or two, taken aback, and then demanded, ‘Who d’you think you are to call names?’

‘I think I’m the shopkeeper,’ Dinah sneered. ‘And I can choose who comes into the shop and who doesn’t, and we don’t want your sort in here, so hop it.’

‘But I registered here on Saturday.’

‘Well, un-register yourself.’

‘Like hell I will,’ Lizzie said angrily, and, appealing to the man who’d registered her and Celia without problem, she asked, ‘What d’you say, Mr Moorcroft?’

Before the man was able to speak, Dinah cut in. ‘I make the decisions here, and like I said, it’s my shop and you are not welcome.’

‘You make a mistake, my dear,’ Gerald said, his voice unusually loud. ‘This is my shop, as it was my father’s and his father’s before him, and I decide who comes in and who doesn’t. I registered Lizzie, who’s already been with us years anyway, and her friend on Saturday, because I wished to do so, and I will serve them.’

‘Don’t you get on your high horse with me, Gerald Moorcroft,’ Dinah snapped. ‘Fine shop you’d have left if I hadn’t taken charge of it. And if you serve the likes
of her, you’ll drive respectable people away.’

‘I doubt it, my dear,’ Gerald said mildly. ‘It’s not a straightforward job, un-registering. Few will want to bother doing that and then go further for their shopping. And now, if the sight of Lizzie so offends you, may I make the suggestion you go up and put the kettle on while I attend to her.’

The glare Dinah shot Lizzie’s way should have killed her stone-dead on the floor, but she didn’t argue further and Gerald just remarked quietly when he was sure Dinah was out of earshot, ‘It might be better for the next few days at least, till the gossips have someone else to discuss, if you only come into the shop when you can be sure I am here.’

‘I’ll take care to,’ Lizzie said. ‘And I’m sorry if I have brought trouble on your head.’

‘Don’t fret yourself,’ Gerald answered. ‘Trouble is never far away when you are married to a woman like Dinah, but her words roll off me like water off a duck’s back. Now, my dear, let’s see to your groceries.’

A couple of days later, Celia said to Lizzie, ‘What’s the matter with you? You’ve done nothing but sigh since you came in.’

‘Have I? Sorry.’

‘Well, what’s it over?’

‘Nothing specific,’ Lizzie said. ‘A bit of everything, I suppose. The way no one speaks to me when I pass in the street. Sometimes they stand on the doorsteps and stare, and other times they talk about me after I’ve passed. Today, I was coming along the top end of Bell Barn Road and a woman spat at me.’

‘Spat at you?’

‘Aye, a big blob of spittle landed on my coat.’

‘People like that are ignorant,’ Celia said. ‘I’ve told you, people like that don’t matter: their opinions don’t, nor their attitudes. Anyway, surely to God you knew what you were coming back to? Are you going to fall at the first post?’

Lizzie had accepted, in her mind, that many people might be shocked and disgusted by her actions, not knowing the facts at all, but she found coping with the reality of this and the animosity directed at her day in, day out was upsetting. She wished she was more like Celia and could shrug her shoulders about it all, but she found that hard to do and it was beginning to wear her down.

Lizzie and Celia had been back in Birmingham just over a week when one Sunday evening on the wireless they heard about the American fleet being annihilated by the Japanese at a place known as Pearl Harbour. America would now be pulled into the war they’d ignored so far. ‘About bloody time,’ most people said. But Lizzie wondered bleakly if it would make any real difference. The war seemed no further forward, and though the threat of invasion had been lifted, cities were still getting bombed, killing civilians indiscriminately, and the sight of the telegraph boy still brought terror to people’s hearts.

Many of the Royal Warwickshires came home on leave a week later. By then, Lizzie was used to getting her shopping in when it was at least dusky, and there was
less likelihood of her being seen skulking around outside Moorcroft’s till she could be sure there was no one in the shop but Gerald behind the counter, though she could never be totally sure through the shuttered window.

Mike, stopping off to see his mother before travelling to Ireland, went to see Lizzie as well. His mother had regaled him already with the loose morals of Lizzie that had caused her to stray from her wifely duties as soon as her man’s back was turned: ‘…and to lie with a black man no less…’

Mike had also heard about the young, aggressive hussy whom Lizzie had living with her, but, for all that, they were two women living on their own and Mike was glad Celia was there, for she was a stronger character than Lizzie. Celia refused to go out in the dark, and though most people knew she was a friend of Lizzie’s her step was firm and determined, her head held high and the look she cast on those glaring at her was defiant, even challenging.

Mike felt sorry for Lizzie, though he didn’t tell her this, knowing it would serve no purpose, and he was almighty glad he’d been able to get to the letter before anyone else had got hold of it. He no longer blamed her. ‘And the child is beautiful,’ he was to tell Tressa later. ‘Not black at all, just dusky brown and with the largest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. And she’s just begun to smile, and when she does it makes your heart turn over. I feel for her too, for all Lizzie is a great mother.’

‘She always was a good mother,’ Tressa said. ‘And if she could see Tom and Niamh now, she’d be
heartbroken so she would. I thought of writing to tell her, but what could she do about it.’

‘Nothing,’ Mike agreed. ‘Best say nothing.’

Someone else was worried about Lizzie’s children, and that was her brother Johnnie. Apparently, when Catherine had told them of the death of their father, they’d both suddenly gone very still. Neither could quite believe it. Their daddy had been big and strong and afraid of nothing. They hadn’t seriously thought any real harm could come to him. Niamh could only dimly remember the time after Dunkirk when he’d hurt his leg. He said he got it crushed between two army trucks and Niamh could see you wouldn’t feel that great after such an experience. But bullets! Hadn’t her daddy said bullets bounced back off him? That he’d catch them in his teeth and spit them back? But he couldn’t have, because her granny said her daddy had been shot.

Tom didn’t understand the finality of death, but he knew he wouldn’t see his daddy for a long time. He’d heard grown-ups around him talk about the cities bombed to bits, ordinary people going about their business and doing no harm at all to anyone, people like his mother. And, suddenly, he needed his mammy, wanted her arms around him, her hands gently pushing the hair back from his face, holding him tight and telling him how much she loved him, to know she, at least, was safe. ‘I want my mammy,’ he cried.