Dream On (16 page)

Realising what sort of an impression she was giving, Dilys added hurriedly: ‘Not that I know anything about it, of course, but it's what everyone says. And she's got a proper rubber syringe and everything. None of that scraping and digging about.'

Ginny felt the sweat breaking out on her top lip. ‘No, Dilys. Please.'

‘Now you listen to me, Ginny Martin. It's a bit late to start acting up now.' Dilys was growing angrier and more desperate; surely the stupid cow wasn't going to change her mind and go through with having the bloody kid? That'd really mess things up. ‘If you'd had any sense in the first place, you'd have got yourself some Rendell's—'

‘Please, Dilys. Don't.'

‘Well, it's you what got yourself in this state, innit?' Dilys paused as something occurred to her and then, with an even more callous lack of sympathy than usual, she actually started giggling. ‘Here, d'you know old dozy-drawers in Dispatch? That Mary whatever her name is? Well, on her wedding night, she only thought she had to swallow the Rendell's, didn't she? Instead of . . .' Dilys raised an eyebrow and nodded downwards. ‘Sticking 'em up her you-know-what. Must have been foaming at the mouth like a sodding mad dog. Still it worked. She went bright green from the vile taste of it and spent the night with her head down the lav. Put her old man right off his stroke, that did. Never got up the duff that night, though, did she!'

All the talk about douches and scraping and swallowing Rendell's pessaries made Ginny feel worse than ever. ‘Dilys,' she wailed, ‘I feel so sick. Please, I wanna go home.'

Before Dilys could reply, Jeannie Thompson threw the street door wide open and stood there, looking like a gorgon. ‘What the bleed'n' hell's going on out here?' she bellowed.

‘We've come to see you, Mrs Thompson,' Dilys explained sweetly, shoving Ginny in front of her. ‘Sorry we're a bit late like, but me friend missed her bus, didn't she. I've been waiting for her for ages and was just giving her a right telling off for leaving me standing here on me Jack.' Dilys treated Jeannie to a charming little smile. ‘Right inconsiderate some people, ain't they?'

The back kitchen of the house was worse than Ginny could possibly have imagined, and so was what Jeannie Thompson did to her.

During the next few weeks Ginny suffered. She suffered more than when Ted had beaten her; more than when she was lying awake at night, pretending to herself that he wasn't off somewhere with another woman; more even than when she had lost her family in the Blitz. This time she was experiencing a new type of pain: that of knowing she was no longer carrying the child she had dreamed for years of holding in her arms. The child she had decided she could not have.

Although Dilys had been there with her on the day, and it was Dilys who had taken her to that awful woman's house, in the end it was she, Ginny, who had made the decision that her life was in too much of a mess to bring a child into the world to share it.

And that knowledge haunted her.

The first few days after Ginny's visit to Jeannie Thompson's were a nightmare of physical pain: the result of the wild-haired woman's rough and unhygienic attentions. But she was right when she told Ginny, as she had ushered her and Dilys out of her house, that a strong young girl like her would soon recover from a
little bit of discomfort,
as she had put it. Before long, Ginny was as fit as ever, but that wasn't the end of it, it was only the beginning. The distress she had felt very quickly spiralled down into a dark, frightening despair, and she realised she would never be – or feel – the same again.

At least Ted wasn't around – which, for once, was a relief – but Nellie, unfortunately, was.

In an effort to conceal what was really wrong, Ginny pretended she'd eaten something that had upset her, made her so ill, in fact, that she could hardly get out of bed, never mind go to work. But that wasn't good enough for Nellie. Night and day she nagged her to get back to the factory, griping and groaning about her daughter-in-law's idleness and how she, an old woman, was having to go without.

Not that she actually
was
going without, Pearl had seen to that, because, unlike Nellie, Pearl guessed right away what was wrong with Ginny and her heart had gone out to her.

Like so many others, Pearl had learned, with a combination of fear, guilt and overwhelming relief, of the women who would ‘help you out' if you were in trouble. During the hard times of the 1930s, having to feed and clothe the family they already had was difficult enough for most mothers and plenty found themselves paying discreet visits to their local equivalents of Jeannie Thompson. So Pearl could just imagine what young Ginny was suffering and was glad to do whatever she could to make things a bit easier for her.

But despite their neighbour's generosity, Nellie wasn't satisfied with being supplied with money for food and light. No, she wanted more. She wanted money to pour down her throat at the Albert.

When Pearl had just laughed at her request for a few extra bob for a drop of something to calm her nerves, Nellie had played her usual trump. She had gone along to the pub with her empty purse and played the old soldier, trying to mump drinks from Bobby's and Martha's more well-oiled customers. But this time it hadn't worked.

Nellie couldn't understand what was going on and said so. She wished she hadn't. It was pointed out to her, very clearly, that the reason she wasn't exactly welcome in the Albert was all down to her precious son. Using his black-market profits as a float, Ted had widened his ‘business' interests to include money lending. A lot of people now owed him money, many of whom could ill afford his sort of interest rates, but they were so terrified by his growing reputation for resorting to violence over the least little thing, that they found ways, desperate ways, to meet his outrageous demands. Nellie was no longer another old moaner who wasn't particularly liked, but who was tolerated and treated to an occasional nip of the hard stuff; she had become, by association with such scum, an unwelcome ponce.

She had stormed out of the pub and back to the house, her mood fouler than ever, and even more determined to make Ginny's life a misery.

Ginny could only be grateful that she had a friend as good as Pearl to turn to.

‘Ginny, love. You there?' Pearl stood in the hallway, a plate covered with a tea-towel in each hand, calling up the stairs. ‘I've brought a bit of supper over for you and Nellie. How about coming down and seeing if you fancy it?' She rested her broad forearm on the banister and added, ‘And don't worry, the coast's clear; I've given in and slipped Nellie a few bob to go and have a drink. Mind you, I think she's giving the Albert a miss for some reason, she was heading for the Aberdeen according to my George.'

Ginny sat at the kitchen table, picked up her knife and fork, and stared down at the boiled bacon and pease pudding. ‘D'you mind if I eat it later, Pearl?'

‘Course not. I'll put it in the stove with Nellie's.' Pearl covered the plate with an enamel dish and bent down to undo the cooker door. ‘So, how're you feeling?' she asked over her shoulder.

Ginny stared down into her lap and began weeping softly.

‘Don't upset yourself, Ginny, love.'

‘You wouldn't be so kind if you knew what I've done.'

Slowly Pearl closed the oven, straightened up and said quietly. ‘Don't be daft.'

‘But I ain't really been ill, Pearl.' She swallowed hard. ‘It was all a lie. I was expecting, and I . . .'

‘I know.'

‘I couldn't have it.' Ginny buried her face in her hands.

‘Ssssh. There, there, darling.' Pearl wrapped her arms round Ginny and held her close. ‘It's all right.'

Ginny pulled away. ‘No it's not. It's not all right. Nothing's all right. Not doing that, not living here with Ted . . .' Ginny lifted her chin and looked up into Pearl's concerned, motherly face. ‘And it's probably not right talking about my own husband, either, but I've gotta tell someone.' A shuddering sob ran through her body. ‘Pearl, Ted's not being very good to me lately.'

Pearl bit her tongue. Not being very good? The bloke was being a first-class bastard.

‘And when I found out I was . . . you know, I tried to think how I could keep it. I tried so hard. I even thought about getting a divorce. But how could I bring up . . . Not on me own. And I couldn't have it adopted. I couldn't give . . . If I still had me mum, maybe I could've had . . .'

‘Ginny, listen, you musn't punish yourself like this.'

‘But I—'

‘But nothing. It's like poor Violet Varney—'

Ginny's eyes widened with horror. ‘I've never done nothing like Violet did.'

‘Ssssh. Calm down, sweetheart.' Pearl pulled out one of the chairs and sat down next to her. ‘I'm not saying you did. What I'm saying is you ain't a criminal, you're a bloody victim. You've lived a life that would have driven anyone to breaking point. But you've survived, and now you've gotta start thinking about yourself for a change, not waste any more time doing what other people tell you. Throw the sodding monkeys off your back; stop letting them push you this way and then shoving you back the other. You're a grown woman, Ginny, not a servant or a kid to be ordered about.'

Ginny blew her nose noisily as her tears began to flow again. ‘It's easy for you, Pearl, you're lucky, you're strong and you've got your family round you, and . . . and, what have I got?'

‘You've got me for what it's worth.' With surprising tenderness, Pearl took Ginny's hand in hers. ‘But I dunno how you reckon I'm lucky. Look at me, I'm in me fifties and I look a right wrinkled old bat—'

‘No, you don't.'

‘Yes I do! I see myself in the flipping glass of a morning. But you're beautiful, Ginny. And you've got youth on your side. You've got time to be strong, but even a lorryload of Pond's wouldn't help me. Here, know what my mum used to say? If you didn't die from it, it made you stronger; whatever “it” was when it was at home.'

Ginny managed a weak smile through her tears. ‘You're my “it”, Pearl, you make me feel stronger.'

Pearl touched her on the cheek. ‘I'm glad, but I want you to promise me you're gonna start standing up for yourself a bit more.'

Ginny swiped away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I know you're right. I mean, look where being a doormat's got me.' She twisted the soggy handkerchief around in her fingers. ‘And I've gotta stop kidding myself that everything's all right. Gotta stop making excuses.'

Nellie appeared in the kitchen doorway and glared at Pearl. ‘What're you still doing here at this time of night?'

Ginny stood up and answered for her. ‘Pearl's been giving me some very good advice, Nell. And I've decided to go back to work.'

‘About time too. I could've starved if it—'

‘No, Nellie, you don't understand, I ain't going back so's I can give you more money to piss away up the pub,' Ginny told her now slack-jawed mother-in-law. ‘I'm going back to the factory to get away from your moaning.'

Now Pearl was also on her feet, she was enjoying Nellie's pop-eyed reaction to the worm so suddenly turning, but there was concern in her voice as she spoke to Ginny. ‘Are you sure you're strong enough to go back, love?'

‘She's only had a bit of food poisoning.'

Pearl ignored her. ‘Take another week off, eh?'

‘No, Pearl, I've decided. You know, I'll never forget what you've done for me. One day I'll pay you back for all your kindness. I swear I will.'

Nellie rolled her eyes in disgust at such a display.

‘The only paying back you'll do, Ginny love, is looking after yourself. Now you eat up that dinner I brought over and I'll see you in the morning.' Pearl turned to Nellie. ‘There's a plate made up for you an' all, Nell. I stuck it in the oven.'

Nellie dropped down on to one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Get it out for me, Ginny.'

‘No, Nell, you get it, I'm seeing Pearl out.'

Pearl bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and followed Ginny out along the passage. ‘That gave her a bit of a shock, Gin!'

Ginny pulled open the street door and stood aside to let Pearl pass. ‘Yeah, but the crafty old cow knows I'll still look after her.'

‘You're a good girl, Ginny, one of the best.'

‘Hark who's talking. You've stood by me, Pearl, and I can't tell you how grateful I am. But I meant what I said, I'll find a way to make it up to you. I'm gonna help
you
one day.'

It wasn't long before Ginny had the opportunity to do exactly that.

‘But, Dilys, you can't be.' Ginny looked from Dilys to Pearl and back again. She felt as though someone had whacked her in the guts. She'd only come over to collect Dilys for work, but instead of the usual morning performance of getting her friend moving she'd been presented with this.

‘Pearl,' Ginny said, trusting her to have a sensible explanation for what her daughter had just come out with, ‘has she gone mad or something?'

Pearl didn't say anything, she just sat there at the kitchen table, her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed.

‘Pearl?' Ginny said again, more loudly this time. ‘Tell her she can't be.'

‘You're right,' Pearl eventually answered. Her voice came out low and flat, as she stared down at the scrubbed wooden table top. ‘She can't be.' She gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘I mean, she ain't even got a regular feller, has she?'

Ginny nodded in urgent agreement. ‘That's right, Pearl. She ain't.' She turned to Dilys. ‘You must have made a mistake.'

Dilys shoved the last of her toast into her mouth and shrugged. ‘You can say I ain't; and you can say I can't be; and you can both say it till you're blue in the face. But I am and that's the strength of it.'