Gull Island (3 page)

‘They all belong to Auntie Molly Carey, the neighbour I’ve been telling you about. No sense in any of them.’

‘Come on, Barbara, we might as well give them a hand since they’re going to do it anyway. Follow me,’ he said to Richard the leader. ‘I know exactly where the best spots are.’ He offered a hand to Barbara and helped her up the bank and into the field, then he lifted the still-sleeping baby from her blankets and cushions on the bogie and carried her across the bumpy surface of the field. The mist hindered their view but Luke knew the way and the rest – led by Richard – followed without question. Bemused, smiling, young enough to enjoy the unexpected, Barbara followed.

Luke worked hard, filling the small carts and even lending them a
wheelbarrow
which they also filled with some of the larger pieces that wouldn’t fit into the bogies. He walked with them to the end of their street, singing songs and making the children laugh when they showed signs of fatigue. His appearance was more piratical than ever when they reached the first of the street lamps. His thin face was streaked with dirt and sweat, his eyes gleamed and laughter showed the whiteness of his teeth against the tanned skin.

For part of the way, Barbara carried the straight-faced Blodwen and Luke gave a piggy-back ride to a very sleepy Richard. He encouraged the others with praise, smiling at Barbara, sharing his obvious happiness at being a part of a family group. Barbara was happy too and her imaginings were of a future filled with outings just like this one. Hers and Bernard’s with Rosita and her younger brothers and sisters.

‘Roy Thomas’s family is like this,’ Luke said. ‘They’re always finding new ways of enjoying themselves, content with simple things and always ready to burst into laughter.’

‘Your family are more serious?’

‘Sober sides, the lot of them! Mother was different, she was the sunshine of the house, but now she’s gone there’s very little to laugh at. In fact, laughter is considered to be rather “common”.’

Luke pushed the wheelbarrow to the Careys’ gate in the back lane, tipped the contents out in the small garden then, with a wave and a blown kiss, he left. His final words to Barbara were, ‘Look after Rosita. Keep her safe, she’s very important.’

Night had intensified the mist into an almost impenetrable blackness lit only by the filtered light from the occasional street lamp when the rest of the bedraggled procession trooped into the Careys’ house They were greeted by screams of relief followed by clouts and recriminations. Leaving them to argue their case, Barbara went home to face recriminations of her own.

The small living-cum-everything-else room of the Careys’ was filled so they could hardly move with them all in there at the same time. Somehow Mrs Carey made cocoa for them all and handed the eclectic collection of china around to stretching hands. First to be given his cup was her golden boy, Idris. She knew she shouldn’t have a favourite but he was so beautiful and so full of charm how could she help it?

Idris was very different from the other Carey children. His hair, instead of being a shade of brown, was almost yellow and thickly curled so his head was that of a cherub on a religious painting. His eyes were as blue as his father’s but with such a gentle and innocent expression that Mrs Carey stood for minutes at a time just admiring her creation with utter joy. The children were given two biscuits each and Idris was slyly handed the broken remains of a third. Richard saw this and smiled condescendingly. Idris was welcome to Mam’s special favours. He wasn’t a spoilt child like Idris, nor would he want to be. He was already his father’s partner, almost a man.

Outside the back gate, where one wall of the
ty bach
formed a part of the boundary, Barbara stood and listened to the lively chatter within the house. She knew that when she went home there would be no cheering welcome. She felt a surge of sympathy for Luke, the stranger who had come into her life and become a friend. She shared with him the isolation of a home where laughter was frowned upon as ‘common’. With a last look over the wall towards the lamp-lit room beyond the long garden, she moved away. Now she must think of herself and her baby and of course, Bernard, who loved her and would soon be returning to her.

She remembered the evening’s events and smiled despite the encroaching anxiety at the confrontation with her father that must be waiting for her. When she married Bernard, she would create an atmosphere of happiness and laughter just as Auntie Molly Carey had done. Perhaps Luke would be a regular visitor and help show her how.

F
OR THE SECOND
time that day, Barbara steeled herself to face her mother’s wrath. As she opened the front door of the terraced house she paused momentarily to listen to the sounds from within. Loud conversations were in progress and with a tensing of her jaw she recognized the deep voice of her father. He was either late going to the pub or home early. She wondered apprehensively if he had delayed his regular evening visit to wait for her – if so he’d had plenty of time to build up a rage.

‘Hello, Mam, sorry I’m late. Been gathering firewood, would you believe. Me and them daft Carey kids. Over by Gull Island. There was plenty on the beach after last week’s storm. Young Richard’s idea, it was, mind—’ Her attempt to allay the row that was quivering in the air was halted as her father stood up and raised his hand to strike her. He was stopped by her mother, whose pointing finger then told her to sit down. In the corner, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed and told to leave, was Barbara’s sister Freda.

Mr Jones was not a big man but in the small room he seemed, to a frightened Barbara, to be enormous. She had never seen him look this angry. Normally a mild, indifferent man, he was little more than the furnishings of her daily life but now he looked like a stranger and she
trembled
with fear.

His pale blue eyes were deep set, deeper now as he screwed up his cheeks to display his anger, becoming lost in the folds. The furious face loomed large as he leaned towards her, and she noticed how fat his face had become. His chin was surrounded by a tyre of fat from which pale bristles were obtruding. He shaved twice each week, on a Tuesday when he and Mam went to the pictures and on Friday when he went to the local pub to celebrate the receipt of his wage packet. She compared him, even in this frightening moment, to the beautiful dark leanness of Bernard Stock and felt a longing for her loved one soar inside her.

‘What have you been doing, girl,’ her father hissed, ‘disgracing us all. Disgusted with you I am! I can’t face my mates for the shame of it.’

‘No one knows yet, Dad,’ Barbara whispered, her voice quivering and sounding like that of a stranger. ‘I didn’t know myself till Mam told me this morning and I haven’t seen the doctor yet.’

‘You’ll see no doctor!’ her mother snapped. ‘Best for us all if we keep this to ourselves.’

‘But Mam, people are sure to see before long and—’

‘No one need know if you do as you’re told. You’ll see Mrs Block in the morning. I’ve already told the shop you won’t be in for a couple of days and we’ll see an end to it.’

‘What d’you mean? See an end to it?’ What Auntie Molly Carey had told her about getting rid of unwanted babies filled her mind with terrifying images. She looked to her father for support but he, seeing the
embarrassment
of women’s talk brewing, hurriedly prepared to leave.

‘You aren’t going to take the baby away from me,’ Barbara said defiantly when the back door had slammed behind him and she heard his footsteps hurrying down the garden path to the
ty bach
. ‘I – I talked to Auntie Molly Carey and she warned me this might be your idea. I’m going to have this baby and when he comes home from London my boyfriend will look after me.’

‘If that’s what you think you’re more stupid than I thought. Won’t want to know you when you tell him, you mark my words. Soiled goods you are and who in their right mind would want soiled goods? And what made you talk to Mrs Carey of all people? Fine one she is with her nine kids! And if she knows, then so will half the town by now, for sure!’

There was an uneasy silence as they waited for Barbara’s father to return from the garden and go out. ‘I’ll be back at ten and make sure she’s in bed,’ Mr Jones said, reaching for his cap. ‘If I see her again tonight I’ll swipe her good and proper for what she’s done to us. Listen to what Mam tells you, you stupid, ungrateful girl. Bringing shame on us all you’ll be if you don’t listen. Think of your sister if you can’t think of your poor mam!’ He pushed his way past the clutter of chairs, pouting like a spoilt child, and out into the street, slamming the door behind him.

With Freda still unnoticed and listening avidly, Barbara and her mother continued to argue. They were still at it an hour later when Mr Jones came back from The Anchor and, using the chance to escape further bullying, Barbara snatched the end of a loaf and a piece of cheese and ran to her bed. Eating under the covers, she brushed away the crumbs and curled up, trying to steady her whirling thoughts and be able to sleep. Freda would be up soon; she could hear the hum of conversation below and guessed her mam would soon tell her to get to bed. She screwed her eyes tightly shut. She didn’t want to fend off any more questions and certainly not from Freda.

She woke early the following morning and the house was silent as she combed her long hair and washed at the back kitchen sink. Mam was working early that day, cleaning at the munitions factory near the docks. Dad would be on his way to the soap factory, which was on the outskirts of the town, poor eyesight responsible for the army refusing to accept him into its murderous jaws.

He had a long walk before his eight o’clock start and usually left the house before seven. She was grateful for a reprieve from the nagging and her lips tightened as she determined not to give in. Bernard’s face came into her mind and beside it that of Luke. They would help her. Between them they would enable her to defy Mam and Dad and the rest of the world.

In a scolding voice remarkably like her mother’s, she called up the stairs for Freda to shift herself as fast as she liked and get up and ready for school. Without stopping for more than a sip of water and a crust of toast with a scraping of margarine and homemade damson jam, she left the house. The toast, she noticed with half her mind, was burnt again.

Her mood was different from the previous day. An excitement burned in her until her friends at the shop asked what was her secret. Had Bernard come back? Had he asked her to marry him? Barbara continued to smile mysteriously and promised to tell them soon.

By midday she was far from happy. The initial buzz of early-morning optimism had faded, the remaining smile and the air of excitement was a sham. She wondered how much longer she could argue with Mam and keep Mrs Block at bay, and how soon Bernard would be back to share the burden and reassure her all would be well. She stood staring into space, bringing him to mind. The neatness of his suit and the jaunty way he wore his trilby hat – not a flat cap like her father wore. And his eyes! Those dark eyes, behind tortoiseshell-framed glasses, that glowed when he looked at her and told her he would love her for ever. She needed him so badly now, needed reassurance of his love, needed his support.

Her job that day was to unwind lengths of cloth from the heavy bales and measure how many yards were left, marking the amount in her neat handwriting on the labels. She was strong and quite capable of
manoeuvring
the bales but today she hated the work, afraid that the tiny baby that she imagined to be like one of the stiff-legged celluloid dolls Freda had once had at Christmas time, with feathers for a skirt, would be distressed by the heaving and lifting.

She wanted to leave the work and sit somewhere quiet, like the beach near Gull Island, and dream of how it would be when she and Bernard had a little daughter to love. Rosita. She savoured the name and wondered anew about Luke, the man with the boat, who had named her.

She stayed out that evening, walking the streets, looking into windows and seeing family groups within and imagining being ‘Mam’ to a family of her own. Wandering without any real purpose, she walked right through the town and came to the Pleasure Beach. There she mingled with the
late-summer
crowds bent on having fun, sharing vicariously in their happiness. Buying fish and chips to ease her now voracious hunger, she sat on a bench overlooking the sand and ate with enjoyment.

It was quite dark when she slipped into the house and she hurried straight up to bed before her father came in. She ignored her mother’s demands to ‘Come down this minute, my girl – you and I have arrangements to make’ and lay unmoving until the house was quiet. Then she climbed over Freda’s sleeping form and went down and made herself some sandwiches of the cold boiled fish her mother had cooked for her earlier in the evening, covering it with salt, pepper and vinegar from the pickled onion jar.

The next day was Sunday and the day on which she helped her mother with the beds. Thank goodness Dad would be out in the garden. She went downstairs to find her mother already sorting the washing into piles ready for the copper that would be lit early the following morning. To the pile near the copper she added the bottom sheet taken from her bed, having put the top sheet to bottom in the regular manner, but her mother told her to stop fussing and listen.

‘Mrs Block will be over later and I want you here so she can decide when you can get the little problem sorted. Don’t think you can get out of it, mind, and don’t you leave this house for even a minute, my girl. You might not have another chance for her to help. In fact, it might already be too late, heaven forbid. She takes a bit of persuading.’

‘
She
takes a bit of persuading? What about me? I
won’t
be persuaded! You can’t make me. I’m going to wait and talk to Bernard. He won’t let you get rid of his daughter, whatever you say. I know he’ll want me and our baby and if he doesn’t then I’ll bring her up on my own.’

‘She? It isn’t a girl, it’s nothing at all – only a small shapeless “thing” and you’d best have it taken away so you can forget it ever happened.’

The first storm of tears broke from Barbara then and between sobs she shouted, ‘She is a girl and her name is Rosita and she’s mine!’ Running from the house she headed for the fields near the railway line where she could sit and not be seen, and think about Bernard. When she went home a few hours later her mother was furious.

‘Mrs Block has been and gone. Waited for hours she did and her busy enough for two. Where have you been to, wicked girl?’

‘Out!’ Barbara replied rudely, dodging her mother’s hand and sighing with relief at the reprieve.

A few days later she came home from work and the dreaded Mrs Block was sitting beside the fire. Before Barbara could react, Mrs Block shook her head.

‘She looks too far gone to me, Mrs Jones, far too much, but I’ll have a look at her and we’ll see if anything can be done.’

‘You’ll do nothing!’ Barbara said and giving a low scream of fear she escaped and ran towards the home of Bernard Stock. She had to see if there was news of his return, she had to have someone supporting her or Mam would wear her down until she agreed to accept the ministrations of Mrs Block like so many others had done.

She knew there would no longer be a job at the shop; as soon as her condition was clearly seen she would be asked to leave. Unless someone helped she would have to ‘get rid’ of Rosita, either before or after her birth. Fear made her tremble so her legs seemed unable to support her as, for the first time, she realized that Luke’s hint that Bernard might not marry her was a possibility. She increased her pace and was soon at Bernard’s back door.

She was surprised to see that all the curtains were drawn. Surely they weren’t all ill? The door opened to her knock and a woman she didn’t know stood there. She was dressed completely in black, with a veil of that sombre colour hiding her face.

‘Could I have a word with Mrs Stock, if you please?’ Barbara asked politely, wondering who this strange apparition was.

‘If you’ve come to offer condolences will you please come back later? The funeral is starting in a few minutes.’

‘Funeral? But who died? Surely not another of her sons? This war’s already taken two of them. There’s only Freddie and Bernard – and he’s safe in London, thank goodness. Is it Freddie? Oh, how awful.’ The beginnings of motherhood gave added horror to the thought of losing a child.

The black-shrouded apparition nodded her veiled head solemnly. ‘The poor woman has lost another son. This time her son Bernard. Up in London he was and now he’s dead.’

With a gentle cry, Barbara slipped to the ground in a faint.

She opened her eyes to find a group of strangers surrounding her. One of them, a man in a rather ancient, mildew-rimmed dresscoat and black hat, was patting her face and staring at her through small, thick spectacles. Warm, fat hands were chafing icy-cold thin ones. This was a lady who looked at her with eyes filled with sympathy. ‘She’s coming round,’ she said and other hands came to help her to rise.

‘I thought someone said Bernard was dead.’

‘Dead. Yes, miss.’

‘But he wasn’t a soldier. How could he be—’

Confused, she allowed herself to be led indoors but almost as soon as she had been seated and given a drink of water, the crowded room emptied, as horse and carriage arrived at the front of the house bearing Bernard’s body. The men dispersed and, standing with the women, she watched in disbelief as the cortege disappeared around the corner, carrying her hopes with it.

Food had been set out on the table and on legs that were still shaking, she walked slowly towards it, past the big Welsh dresser that had been denuded of plates and cups and saucers. Helping herself as there was no one to ask, she picked up some squares of bread pudding and some
sandwiches
, some cheese and, rather guiltily, some pickled onions and filled her pockets. Her muscles regaining strength, she walked from the house and, her mind a blank, headed for the lonely beach near Gull Island, where she and Bernard had walked and laughed and planned and loved, two miles away.

There was no sign of Luke as, almost an hour and a half later, she stepped into the cool living room of his cottage. She found the kettle and made herself some tea, which she couldn’t drink, and apart from the onions, which she ate greedily, she gave the food to the wheeling gulls. Appearing almost lifeless, she stared across at the island. The urge to walk across the causeway and jump off the cliffs on the far side occurred to her but only in a melodramatic way, seeing herself as the scorned and ruined heroine in one of Mam’s magazines.