Ellie (48 page)

‘I’m sorry if it seems that way.’ Ellie put her hand over his. ‘I do like you very much, Edward. I suppose I feel a bit bruised by men at the moment. Haven’t you ever felt that way about girls?’

Whenever Edward looked at Ellie he was touched by her beauty. Her dark, soulful eyes, her plump fleshy lips. Sometimes he felt he wanted to trace those fine, high cheekbones, tilt up her little pointed chin and kiss her perfect nose. But it was something within her which moved him more, her deep understanding of people, her humour and strength. He needed Ellie: she was the only person he trusted, the only one who seemed to accept him just as he was.

‘You’re the only girl I really like,’ he said, dropping his eyes from hers. ‘I’ve never trusted anyone else.’

Ellie sensed there was something more he wanted to say. It hung between them like an invisible veil. ‘It takes time to build up trust,’ she said softly. ‘You have to be bold, ask someone out and get to know them first. I’m sure half the girls in the chorus would like to get to know you better.’

This was entirely true. All the girls thought he was handsome, and they were intrigued by his rather mysterious manner.

Edward took a deep breath. ‘Do you know what they say about me?’

Ellie had heard all the whispers, the innuendoes, but she had never given them any more real thought than she did about whether Lorenzo had run out on his wife, or whether Riccardo really did have a mistress tucked away in Knightsbridge.

Edward’s eyes caught hers and she saw his pain.

‘Is there any truth in it?’ she asked gently, squeezing his hand tightly. ‘It doesn’t make any difference to me, Edward. I like you just the way you are.’

‘I don’t know if it’s true.’ His voice dropped to a mere whisper. ‘Queer! That’s what they call me. A pansy, a nancy boy. But I don’t know if I am, Ellie. I wish I did.’

‘Oh, Edward.’ A lump came up in her throat: she felt moved at his courage in admitting such a thing. ‘I don’t know about these things. I’ve had one boyfriend and I don’t want another. How can I judge?’

‘That’s why I’m telling you, because you don’t judge,’ he said weakly. ‘But how am I supposed to find out? I don’t feel any urge to have a woman, but then I don’t feel that way towards men either.’

‘Maybe it’s just because you haven’t met the right person,’ she said comfortingly. ‘I never felt anything until I met Charley and I didn’t think I was strange. Perhaps for some of us there is only one person in the entire world.’

‘Maybe.’ Edward felt easier now, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. ‘Well, can we be chums until these special people show up?’

‘And after,’ Ellie laughed. ‘For ever, I hope, and don’t worry about me and Bonny either. She won’t lead me into any trouble. I’m quite capable of finding my own way into it.’

Ellie was leaning out of her window, hanging some washing on the line, when she heard someone coming up the stairs. She’d got back from her tea with Edward just half an hour ago. Her door was wide open to catch a little breeze and dispel the nasty smells that always lingered in Stacey Passage.

‘Is that you, Alice?’ she called, assuming from the heavy footsteps it was the barmaid from the Blue Moon who lived downstairs. ‘Fancy of a cup of tea? I’m off to work soon, but it’s ages since I last saw you.’

‘It’s not Alice, it’s me.’

Ellie ducked back in the window at the sound of Bonny’s voice. ‘Where’ve you been? I expected you to have tea with me,’ she said as she flopped back on her bed.

But she cut her questions short as Bonny came through the door. Her face was white and she was clutching her stomach.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Ellie leaped off her bed and reached Bonny in one step. ‘Are you ill?’

‘I’ve done it.’ Bonny slumped back against the doorpost, grimacing as if in pain.

‘Done what?’

All at once Ellie knew. The heavy step on the stairs, the hands on the stomach. Bonny’s mouth was hanging slackly, she had beads of perspiration on her nose and her eyes were blank.

‘You’ve had an abortion?’

Bonny lurched forward, groping for the bed, doubled up with pain.

Ellie realised this was no time for recriminations, especially as Bonny had insisted for weeks she was going to get one somehow. But it was a terrible shock to find that she’d been out alone to get it done without giving Ellie any warning.

‘You’d better get into bed.’ Ellie’s head reeled; she had no idea what abortion entailed, much less what she should do now. ‘Let me help you get your dress off.’

Bonny just sat there, allowing Ellie to undress her to her petticoat. The only effort she made was to kick off her shoes before slumping back on the pillow.

‘Bonny, I don’t know what this means.’ Ellie knelt down by the bed and stroked back her friend’s hair. ‘Has it gone? What did they do? Where did you go?’

For a moment, Bonny just lay there, staring at the ceiling as if in shock, then slowly she turned her head towards Ellie. ‘I had it done in Soho,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘That new girl in the Blue Moon gave me the address. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d try and stop me. But I thought it would be a proper doctor and I’d get to stay there until it was over. He did it then chucked me out. I had nowhere else to go but here, I’m sorry.’

Ellie put her hand gently on Bonny’s stomach. ‘What do you mean he did it?’ she whispered. ‘How?’

Bonny’s face contorted and a tear squeezed out through her closed eyes. ‘He just pushed a sharp thing inside me. It hurt so much I thought I’d never get back here.’

The image of that dirty kitchen was stuck in Bonny’s mind. Being held down on a table by a fat, greasy-haired woman with foul breath, while that man prodded at her. She had stupidly thought she’d be in a bed, with some semblance of medical care, but instead the fat woman had just handed her a pad and told her to go home and wait for the baby to come away.

‘Oh, Bonny.’ Ellie felt sick. ‘You mean it’s still there? How long will it be before it comes away?’

Bonny felt the warmth of Ellie’s hand on her stomach and the comfort made her stronger. ‘Not for ages yet,’ she said, forcing a faint smile. ‘If I could just stay here? You go to work and tell Ambrose I’ve got a bilious attack. I’ll be okay.’

She knew she was bleeding now, but she wasn’t going to tell Ellie that and make her worry. With luck it might all be over before Ellie got home again.

‘I can’t leave you like this!’ Ellie’s voice wobbled.

It had dawned on Bonny in the past few weeks that she was vulnerable, just like other people. Perhaps it was because of this tiny life inside her, but she’d begun to care about what people thought or said about her. More than that, she’d begun to think about others’ feelings, about Jack and Aunt Lydia and even her parents. But mostly she had thought about Ellie, because she saw qualities in her that she wanted for herself. Not her acting or singing ability, that wasn’t important, but that caring nature, her generosity and warmth. Right now she felt very guilty that she was imposing on their friendship.

‘If you don’t go, Ambrose will send someone round,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘Look, I’m fine really. I was just upset at first because I thought I was staying at the place in Soho and had to walk home. I’ve got some aspirin and pads in my bag. They said it wouldn’t be any worse than a bad period.’

Ellie didn’t feel right about leaving Bonny, but she could see no alternative. She made her a cup of tea, propped her up with a couple of pillows and a book, and left a bucket by the bed, just in case Bonny couldn’t manage to walk downstairs to the lavatory.

‘Stop worrying,’ Bonny ordered her as Ellie fussed around before departing. ‘I’m fine. With my luck it won’t even work.’

Ellie looked down at Bonny. She was still chalky pale, but she didn’t seem to be in much pain. With her hair loose over her bare shoulders she looked little different to the way she looked on any night when she stayed here.

‘Go,’ Bonny grinned up at her. ‘You’re like a bloody mother hen. And mind you don’t tell anyone or I’ll never speak to you again.’

Ambrose was furious at Bonny not turning up.

‘I don’t believe she’s sick,’ he yelled at Ellie. ‘She was fine during the matinée. I bet she’s got some hot date.’

Ellie felt sickened by his lack of sympathy. She respected Ambrose as a director, but despised his callous attitude to his troupe. She wondered who he thought he was, with his polka-dotted cravat and flower in his buttonhole. In the light of what Edward had told her earlier, she wondered whether Ambrose was responsible for putting those dark thoughts into his head too.

‘If you don’t believe me, go round to my place,’ she snapped at him. ‘You might be just in time to empty her sick bucket. Do you think she’d let you down on a Saturday night just for a date? I thought I ought to stay home too and look after her, but I came in because I know you haven’t got anyone to take my place.’

‘Don’t you take that attitude with me, my girl,’ he retorted, a flush of anger staining his pale face. ‘I can find a replacement for you easily enough.’

Ellie gave the first bad performance ever that night. Several times she forgot her lines and Edward had to prompt her, and she stumbled in the
Quaker Girl
number, almost knocking Sally over. She didn’t wait to hear Ambrose’s post-mortem after the show, but ran off home still wearing her costume.

The staircase was in darkness as usual. Every now and then the landlord put in new bulbs, but someone always took them. Ellie was just groping her way up the last flight of stairs when she heard a deep groan from her room.

As she switched on the light Bonny lifted her head slightly. She was hunched on one side, clearly in great pain. ‘I thought you’d never get here,’ she bleated out. ‘It’s been so bad.’

The room was unbearably hot, with a strange smell Ellie didn’t immediately recognise. Bonny’s face looked haggard, her eyes swollen, cheeks sunken, and when Ellie touched her forehead she found she was burning up.

‘I’ve lost a lot of –’ Bonny gasped out, the last word lost as she writhed in pain.

Ellie stripped back the sheet from her friend, recoiling in horror when she saw the red-stained sheet and petticoat.

‘Bonny I’ll have to call an ambulance,’ she croaked, panic welling up inside her.

‘No, Ellie.’ Bonny caught hold of her hand fiercely. ‘The police will be called and then my parents. I’ll be all right soon, I promise you.’

Ellie stripped off her
Quaker Girl
costume and hung it on the back of the door while she thought. It was certainly a criminal offence to give someone an abortion, although she didn’t know if you could be charged for having one. But Bonny was right – her parents would be contacted and they’d be devastated.

But what if Bonny died?

Ellie tried to gather herself and look at things logically. The first thing was to make Bonny more comfortable and check just how much blood she was losing. She didn’t think another ten minutes or so would hurt either way; after all Bonny was conscious and able to talk.

‘I’ll wash and change you.’ She knelt down beside Bonny and smoothed her brow. ‘But if you pass out, or you start to lose too much blood, I’ll have to call the ambulance. Do you understand me?’

Bonny nodded, her eyes mere frightened slits.

Ellie filled the bucket with warm water. Then she stripped Bonny, carefully washed her all over, and put a clean pad back. Rolling her over on to one side, Ellie placed newspaper beneath the sheet, folding it in half with the stains inside. The mattress was already disgustingly stained from previous occupants, but Ellie was more concerned with protecting Bonny from its germs than worrying about adding to them.

‘That’s better now,’ she said with more assurance than she felt, and covered her with the top sheet. ‘I’ll just empty this water and I’ll be right back.’

Ellie felt each and every pain as if it were inside her, but all she could do was sit beside Bonny, rub her back, sponge her brow and pray that God would give her some sign if she should get medical help. Bonny was very brave, and didn’t cry out during the contractions, although her back arched itself alarmingly away from the mattress and she clung to Ellie’s arms until she bruised them. It seemed that they were immersed in this agony for hours, yet each time Ellie looked at the clock only ten minutes or so had passed. She heard other tenants coming in, the banging of doors, the flush of the lavatory. The traffic slowly died to a distant hum, and the sounds of drunks in the street below gradually faded.

‘I feel sick,’ Bonny whispered, struggling to sit up. It was nearly three in the morning now and Ellie was exhausted by the heat and anxiety. She moved to sit behind her friend, letting her lean back against her chest as she held the bucket, instinctively knowing that a climax was coming and that she couldn’t run for help now and leave her.

They were locked together – Ellie supporting and trying to comfort, Bonny retching, and with each spasm the contractions were growing stronger still, bringing spurts of more blood and tissue.

Ellie felt the moment the foetus came away. Bonny’s head lolled back lifelessly on to Ellie’s shoulder and she was suddenly still.

Wriggling out from behind her friend, and laying her back on the pillow, Ellie hastily covered the mess before Bonny could see it. Tears sprang to her eyes with the knowledge that the tiny embryo could have grown into a child as perfectly formed as its mother, and she hated herself for being a conspirator in its destruction.

At dawn Ellie lost the battle of staying awake. She was sitting on the end of the bed, resting her arms on the window sill, when her head drooped down to them. She had washed Bonny, again changed the bed and put all the soiled linen to soak, but even though she was exhausted and Bonny was sound asleep, she had felt compelled to stay awake and watch over her.

She had been reflecting on the complexities of love and sex. As a child it all seemed so simple. You met a man, fell in love and had babies. But now she saw that she hadn’t once been privy to such a state of bliss. Her own mother had brought her child up alone. Marleen, always the mistress, never the bride, had turned to drink to ease the pain. Charley was out there somewhere, filled with bitter thoughts because he’d been cheated. Even his mother had settled for security rather than love. Poor Edward was confused by his sexuality; Ambrose disliked women yet chose to work with them. Night after night at the Blue Moon she’d seen servicemen cheating on their wives, and lonely wives finding comfort with soldiers.