A Woman's Place (21 page)

‘What makes yer think I don’t love yer?’ he interrupted.

‘But you can’t,’ she flustered. ‘It’s silly, coming out of the blue like that.’

‘It’s common sense. And I’ve ’ad feelings towards yer for a long time.’

‘But you can have your pick of any girl. Why would you want to mess it up for someone who doesn’t have feelings for you? It’s just not right.’

Even as she spoke, it was becoming more real yet utterly irrational. Here she was being presented with a chance for her child to have a name, yet it still had to be an ill sort of joke. But what if it wasn’t? What if he meant it?

He’d been watching the dilemma and indecision in her eyes. Now he stopped her. ‘I’m the only rope you can cling to, and I do ’ave feelings for you. You caught me eye a long time ago. I’d look for you coming into the library. I wanted to ask you out but you went off with that posh geezer. I couldn’t match up to ’im. But I always hoped you’d turn yer eye towards me. Now I can help.’ He was trying hard to improve his speech but failing. ‘It’s what I would’ve done if we’d been stepping out together. That’s all it is.’

‘But I’m going to have someone else’s …’ She couldn’t bring herself to finish, but he gave a small quirky smile.

‘I can’t see no problems. All I’m asking is would you ’ave me? You could get to love me in time. Yer said yer liked me?’

‘I do,’ she managed to mumble.

He’d begun to grin, seeming to take that as a positive answer. ‘I ain’t got much to offer you right now but I ain’t that bad-looking and I ’ave got prospects. I’m earning a bit more money now and I’m studying ’ard to be a surveyor. One day I’ll pass the exams and be one, have a bit of security to offer you. What d’yer say?’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said weakly, almost too frightened to acknowledge that her entire insides were bubbling with immeasurable relief, overwhelming, boundless relief, one minute feeling this had to be an unkind dream and the next minute wanting only to believe him and say yes.

Closing her eyes to the unreal feel of it all, she heard herself whisper that very word and saw him nod. He reached out and took her hand gently in his, and she heard him say that they should name a day not too far off, and by the time her baby was born she’d be a respectable married woman,

‘I’ll start looking for a letting for us straight away. Nothing too expensive for the time being but in time we’ll find somewhere nicer for us.’

It sounded more like a business deal, leaving her to wonder how this had all come about so suddenly and that she might have done the wrong thing after all. But then he said ever so gently, ‘I’ll try ter be the kind of ’usband you ’oped you’d get in life.’ And suddenly she knew this was what must have been mapped out for her and she must accept it gratefully.

They left the cafe under the gaze of curious onlookers and walked home along the Bethnal Green Road, side by side, not holding hands, not with his arm about her. This wasn’t a courtship, or a love match; this would be a marriage of convenience, so to speak, and although gratitude was all but smothering her, Eveline wondered as they walked on home just what she had let herself in for, preparing to marry a man she didn’t love. Liked, but didn’t love. It still felt indescribably unreal.

‘You’ll be ’aving this in the next couple of days,’ Victoria announced. Still a bit shaky and panicky from the slow, dull ache that had come on this morning around her back and her waist, Eveline gazed up from the armchair at her gran.

Not knowing what to do, on her own with Albert at work, she’d gone to her neighbour across the way, the woman immediately volunteering to go and get her grandmother. By the time she’d come back with Gran, the ache had subsided, leaving her feeling guilty at having brought her out.

‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she explained as Gran handed her a strong cup of tea with lots of sugar in it. ‘I thought I was starting. I was frightened. I didn’t mean to call you out for nothing.’

‘You did the right thing, love,’ Gran said calmly. ‘It ain’t nice being on your own when it’s your first as well. You ain’t started but you could in a couple of days – p’raps even tomorrow.’

The words raised fresh alarm, and her gran eyed her closely. ‘I think it might be best for me to stay ’ere for the while. Your Bert won’t know what to do if anything happens. Men don’t. I’ll just go and pick up a few things, me nightclothes and stuff, and be back in a jiff.’ She smiled encouragingly as Eveline’s face registered fresh terror. ‘Your neighbour, what’s ’er name?’

‘Mrs Martin.’

‘Right, what I’ll do, I’ll ask her to stay with you till I come back. I’ll call in and tell ’er. Now drink your tea.’

Gran pressed the cup back into her hands; Eveline watched her go then gazed around her room, trying to forget that she was alone once more.

A Wilmott Street basement, it comprised this room, one bedroom and a kitchen and tiny lavatory. The soot-blackened brickwork of the five-storey blocks opposite reflected no light at all and prevented sunlight from ever reaching her windows. It was a bit brighter now the landlords had replaced the old brown wallpaper with something lighter, but even with flowery pink curtains it was a losing battle with the windows below street level.

It didn’t worry Bert, or Albert as she preferred to call him. His home had been a ground-floor letting with the opposite buildings also blocking out much of the sunlight and these winter and early spring months of their marriage had meant the curtains were drawn by the time he got home from work in the evening. It was now May and hardly any brighter; she thought of the sun pouring into her parents’ south-facing flat over the shop with its views across the railway. Gran’s second-floor flat, being in an end block, got just as much light. It made the lack of it here all the more noticeable. Even if the wedding had been a happier occasion this place would have spoiled it.

It had been a quiet affair, with a few sandwiches at Gran’s flat afterwards. The guests consisted of her parents, relieved that she was getting married, Connie and George, Albert’s mum, a small woman, broad-faced like her son, and his seventeen-year-old brother Jim as his best man. With so few present the church had felt virtually empty, their voices echoing as if in a cavern. It hadn’t mattered. The wedding had been a mere formality anyway.

At Connie’s little wedding the church had been even emptier but at least Connie had married for love, not in desperation with no other choice left to her.

It had rained on her own wedding day and blown half a gale as though the weather itself saw the lack of romance in this marriage. She wore a coat, her dad holding an umbrella over her as best he could in the high wind. It had been bad everywhere with floods in France and hurricane winds in England causing severe damage and several deaths.

Albert had arranged a church at short notice. She carried no bouquet, just the small white Bible belonging to Gran. Gran had made a wedding gown from cheap white satin bought in Petticoat Lane, making the thing loose with a high neck and wide sleeves, like a tea gown, disguising the normally pinched-in waist with some lace she had found so that the bride’s condition wouldn’t be so noticeable.

It had been an odd sort of courtship, with no engagement ring. When he made to kiss her she’d turn her cheek, unable to see him as anything but a friend. Such a short while had passed since the time she hadn’t really known him at all, even though he’d been her salvation which she silently thanked him for from the bottom of her heart. It hurt her that she didn’t feel love for him, that exciting love a young bride should feel for her husband. Whether it hurt him he had never said and she’d never been able to bring herself to enquire.

He’d said that he’d fancied her for a long time and she felt bad that she hadn’t the same feelings for him. Lately she’d begun to grow fond of him but it wasn’t the same as love. It could hardly even be called a marriage, since they were sleeping back to back in the double bed. If he turned over she would ease herself carefully to the edge of the bed. He must have noticed because he’d quietly withdraw his arm and she’d be left lying awake thinking how different it would have been with Larry while the tears would trickle from the corners of her eyes to dampen her pillow.

She tried to console herself that, even in a normal marriage, making love wouldn’t be recommended for a woman soon to have a baby. But what about once it was born? Surely Albert would expect her in time to honour her marital duties. Kind and gentle though he was, he wasn’t made of stone.

Eveline gnawed her lip as she looked about her. In a day or two her so-called happy event would occur. She’d had quite an eventful few months, Marriage, a home of her own, and of course the General Election ending in a dead heat between the Tories and Liberals dashing all hope of a favourable decision on female suffrage. She turned her thoughts to that.

Suffragette determination not to back down had led to increasing demonstrations, more arrests and growing unease at what was going on inside those prisons with women virtually tortured by forced-feeding. Often they would be released in a state of collapse and utter exhaustion to recover. She knew all about that, though her own experience hadn’t been half what some women were enduring, not once but six or seven times, being rearrested to go through it again. Their courage was indomitable.

Just as well her condition hadn’t allowed her to attend any of the demonstrations; both Gran and Albert had advised against it. He was however sympathetic towards the suffragettes and said he wouldn’t prevent her later as long as it didn’t interfere with her looking after the baby, which he knew full well would virtually stop her anyway. Sometimes he acted as if the baby were actually his.

The thought provoked a twinge of bitterness that was now mingled with envy. Connie too was pregnant. She’d come hurrying over to see her in March, full of her good news and glowing.

‘Isn’t it wonderful,’ she’d gushed.

Eveline had hugged her, trying to stem that feeling of envy that in fact had grown in strength as Connie began to glow even more. Somehow it seemed justified, though she knew it was wrong. Connie still had her savings despite her father’s allowance having ceased when she’d left home, whereas she and Albert were struggling on his earnings with a baby on the way. Often she wondered if Albert didn’t regret his move. She dared not ask him.

Connie had a lovely bright flat, and George was bringing in decent wages while all Albert could afford was this dismal basement. Connie’s baby had been conceived in wedlock whereas she’d had to accept charity from a man who was not the baby’s father no matter how selfless and good-hearted that offer.

She frowned as the ache around her middle began to make itself felt again, not severe but enough to tell her that Gran could be right, she could go into labour in a day or two. If it happened tomorrow, it would be a day to remember, not just by her but millions.

Tomorrow was the twenty-first of May, the funeral of King Edward. On the fourth of May the King had been reported seriously ill with pneumonia. Two days later he was dead. It had taken everyone’s breath away.

It was almost unearthly. An object called Halley’s Comet had become visible in the evening sky over London. Seen every seventy or eighty years and regarded as an ill omen in the past, it was now as bright as the brightest star, with a great long, ominous tail. Strange the King should pass away while it was still visible – the coincidence made the flesh creep, as people wondered what other ill could befall the nation.

As she waited for Mrs Martin she wondered whether this comet would affect the birth of her baby. Recollection of old wives’ tales that a woman in labour carried her own coffin sent a shudder through her as at the open front door she could hear Gran and Mrs Martin talking, no doubt about her. She didn’t want the woman sitting with her, poking around, asking questions.

Mrs Martin was a nice enough person, glad to help whenever needed. She was fortunate to have such a good neighbour but she didn’t feel at all like talking until Gran returned. The ache that had frightened her had faded and she now felt a fool, panicking and making such a fuss.

Helena was born three days later, Gran and a local midwife tending her – a painful thirty-six hours which afterwards she could recall only vaguely as she held her daughter to her breast for her first feed.

Albert, coming home from work, had beamed down at the child as if she were his, brushing away the fear Eveline had felt that faced with the reality of his actions he would regret them. But his smile swept away those fears and for the first time she felt she almost loved him.

The procession was huge. Despite being five months’ pregnant, with the baby due in October, Connie had made up her mind to be among the fifteen thousand here today. She still hardly showed and by tightening her corsets was able to get into last year’s summer dresses, probably because she had grown thinner since leaving home to get married. The dress was white and the green, purple and white sash helped to disguise any telltale bump.

Her hat too was white, the wide brim covered in tulle. She’d bought it with her own money but George’s reaction had made her feel guilty and certainly angry. When she told him what she was buying, he’d frowned as if it was his money she was spending. Yet he refused to touch hers.

‘It’s
your
money, darling, to use as you wish,’ he’d once stated with such finality that she knew he’d see himself as less of a man if he couldn’t provide on his earnings alone, but that slight frown had annoyed her and in retaliation she’d gone out and bought the hat anyway.

He couldn’t say she hadn’t been careful with her money. Nor had she ever relied on him to clothe her. She still had an extensive wardrobe. Her father had sent on all her belongings when she left – a declaration if ever there was one that all ties with her family had been broken utterly – but it
was
her money and the fact that George had stressed that it was, generous or not, was like saying that though it was hers it shouldn’t be frittered away needlessly. Had the hat been needless? She didn’t think so, not when everyone else was dressed so beautifully for this momentous occasion.