Orphan of Angel Street (51 page)

She felt a heavy-headness come over her. After her sleepless nights of turmoil when her mind seemed to protest, ‘No more!’, she was now filled with a fatalistic calm. What would be would be. She could only follow her conscience and her instincts. Her child, her flesh and blood, was in trouble and this sharpened her own memories of being alone, carrying a child, in desperation and shame. She wanted to make reparation. Give comfort. Make peace.

She walked briskly and purposefully through the centre of Birmingham, past the smart shops and banks towards New Street Station. Around Smithfield Market factories and workshops clustered in increasing numbers, hemmed in by the warrens of slum housing. The air was acrid with the smells of smoke and swarf, chemicals and grime.

The horror of it flooded back to her. Those days in Aston, where the same smells were mingled with that sickening, vinegary tang from the HP Factory. She knew, logically, that she had survived it, come safely through, but the terror and degradation her twenty-five-year-old self had suffered was engraved on her very soul.

Dorothy had described the route to her many times, and she had been here herself just once before. Just to look, to be able to picture it. Perhaps catch a glimpse of . . . But she had not seen her. From her memory, nothing had changed: pubs, houses, everything timelessly the same. She knew that where she wanted was down on the right.

‘Nine,’ she muttered under her breath. A man pushed his cap further back on his head and stared at her.

‘Oh God, give me strength!’ Here it was, the dank, mossy walls of the entry. Nine Court, Angel Street. Her heart seemed almost to rise into her throat.

They were all there when she arrived, except Jack, who was always out if he could be, these days, Mercy, Mabel, Alf, Rosalie and Mary Jones, talking about food for the wedding. The door was open to let a breeze in, even though it meant they could smell the drains every time there was a fresh waft of fetid air.

They heard the footsteps, the light, ladylike clip of her heels, their hesitation as she approached the door and found it open. She didn’t need to knock. She could see the ring of people inside, all quite still now, watching her, Alf and Mabel with their heads screwed round to look.

For a moment no one said a thing. Mercy could barely even breathe. She was paralysed, felt as if the room had begun to sway around her. There seemed to be a spell on them all. The moment went on and on. She saw the woman’s elegance, her pale skin, gold hair, the deep grey eyes. Those eyes fastened immediately on her, and in them she saw the intensity of her sorrow, longing and fear.

Then Mabel said quietly, ‘Oh Lor’,’ and stood up, scraping her chair. ‘You’d best come in then.’

The woman stepped, with humble attitude, over the threshold and stood in front of them all. For a moment she couldn’t seem to think what to do. Then, visibly gathering together every last ounce of courage she possessed, she stood tall, jutting her chin out a little.

‘You know, don’t you, who I am?’ She spoke gently, entreatingly to Mercy.

Mercy just had the wits to give a small nod. Everyone else’s eyes bored into them.

‘I’ve come here because – because Dorothy said – you could feel nothing but anger and disgust towards me, and I . . .’ For a moment she seemed about to lose control, her hands covering her face convulsively for a second. She removed them, clawing back her composure and returned them to her sides, gripped tight into fists. ‘I knew that if we were ever to meet it was right that I should be the one to come to you.’

Alf stood up suddenly too. ‘Come on,’ he instructed the others. ‘This ain’t no time for us to be ’ere. Let’s get out and leave ’em on their own.’

‘Why should we get out?’ Mabel griped. ‘If ’er’s got summat to say she can say it in front of us, and not before time neither.’

‘You’re Mabel?’ Grace turned to her. ‘You’re the one that . . . took her?’

‘Ar, I did.’ Mabel folded her arms aggressively. ‘And I gave ’er a home to grow up in and took ’er back when she came ’ere in trouble like. And I never deserted none of my kids, that’s for sure.’

Mercy roused herself for a moment and turned her head. ‘Oh, didn’t you?’

Reminded of her absent months with Stan Jones, Mabel flushed an ugly red.

‘Come on.’ Alf jerked his head again. ‘Out.’

They trooped to Mary’s house leaving a sudden, engulfing silence between Mercy and Grace.

Mercy was still sitting, her hair loose and falling round her face. Grace stood, her eyes fixed with yearning on Mercy’s bowed head, willing her to speak.

The silence went on, during which the conflict of Mercy’s emotions was so acute she couldn’t move or speak. She sat trying to summon up all her pain and anger, all the loneliness and hurt of the past years, but instead found herself overcome by helplessness, a sense of dreamlike unreality. Her mother, the woman she had never been able to imagine was standing in front of her. Had come to find her. Flesh and blood. An unassailable tie which drew her like a magnet however hard she tried to resist. There Grace stood, looking at her with her own eyes, her hair the same straw gold. But she couldn’t quite bear it. Not yet.

In a voice unmistakable in its hostility she said, ‘So you’re my mom then?’

‘Yes.’ Grace’s voice began to break. ‘Yes, Mercy. I am.’

Grace pulled a chair out. ‘May I?’

Mercy nodded, still not looking at her.

‘So what d’you want off me then? Decided I exist after all, have you?’

Silence followed, for so long that she was compelled to look up. Grace’s eyes were fixed on her, sorrow spilling in wet lines down her face.

‘Oh Mercy, how callous and wicked you must think I am!’ She wiped her eyes, though more tears came immediately. ‘How can I explain to you that I did the cruellest thing a mother could do to her child, and yet I loved you so much – still love you – so that never a day has passed when I haven’t ached to be able to have you properly in my life?’

Mercy felt a tightness take hold in her chest, a hard ache like a gigantic sob trying to escape. It was a sensation so overpowering it filled her with panic. Don’t let her reach you! her mind screamed. Keep her at a distance . . .

‘So why now?’ She made her voice as bitter and sarcastic as she could. ‘All of a sudden, out of the blue.’

‘Because I know that you, my daughter—’

‘Daughter!’

‘That you are also carrying a child. And I couldn’t live, knowing the suffering you would go through without . . . support. Family. I can’t describe to you how it has been watching you from a distance all these years. Knowing all your difficulties. And then when we lost you . . . When Mabel . . .’ She ran a hand over her face. ‘My life has been tied to yours since the moment you came into the world.’

Mercy tore her eyes away from Grace’s face, from her anguish. The tension inside her increased further. Her sense of being lost, rejected, worthless, tussled with her enormous, unsatisfied longing to mean something to someone else, for family bonds, to belong. But she mustn’t let it surface, mustn’t allow herself the prospect of being satisfied, and she moved her hands under the table to hide their trembling. She was shaken by all the hungry needs of a child, so many and so intense. She was the tiny, bereft creature in the cellar who could not help herself.

‘I’d like to tell you,’ Grace said, ‘May I?’

Mercy nodded, swallowing hard. Her teeth were chattering again and she had begun to shake all over, so much that she couldn’t hide it.

‘Oh, my dear,’ Grace said, seeing her. She moved to get up. ‘I—’

‘Just tell me,’ Mercy interrupted savagely. ‘Tell me and then go.’

Grace leant back in her chair again. She spoke in her soft voice, looking away from Mercy, giving her a chance to compose herself. From the corner of her eye she could see her shuddering attempts to do so.

She described the wretched house in Aston to which she’d resorted in desperation, the women who had birthed her, and her departure, still shaking from shock and exhaustion, in the middle of the night.

‘When I reached the home, it was very late. Three o’clock – the clocks were chiming, I remember. The streets were so very dark and I was terrified. I’d never been out at that time before and I was afraid that someone might see me. A policeman perhaps. Then it would have all been impossible.

‘It was so cold. There were icicles hanging on the railings. I’d wrapped you in everything I had, but I was worried it wouldn’t be enough, that you wouldn’t last the night. I thought I must just leave you, once I’d put you down on the steps. Leave you and run right away, or I’d never be able to give you up.

‘But I found I couldn’t. Simply couldn’t physically leave. It was as if you were still attached to me. I went and sat on the steps of that school – your school – across the road, and all the time I was straining my ears to hear if you made any sound. Every so often I crept across and made sure you were still breathing. After a time you started crying. I was just on the point of getting up when I heard voices along the street. I couldn’t imagine who it could be. I hid behind the wall with my cloak pulled over my face.

‘There was a lamp outside the home, so there was a pool of light. When they came I saw there were five of them. Boys, no more than that. All rather oddly dressed – big boots, cravats and bowler hats with a peculiar pointed bit at the front.’ She gestured, making the shape. ‘I realized after a moment what they were. There were a few of them about in those days, boy gangs calling themselves “Peaky Blinders” – to do with the hats, I s’pose. I’d heard snippets about them because they were notorious for terrible, vicious fights . . . Anyway, they were only young really, but their voices sounded so rough and threatening to me.

‘They started arguing – it was because they heard you crying. “Here – what’s that?” – “It’s only a cat.” – “No, it’s a babby.” – That sort of thing. One of them bounded up the steps. I was biting my hand so hard I drew blood. He said, “Eh – it is an’ all! It’s a babby!”

‘I can’t describe to you how I felt at that moment. These disgusting creatures in their filthy moleskin trousers and belts with vicious-looking buckles, going up close to you. Inside I was screaming at them, don’t touch my baby!’

Grace laid her hand over her heart. ‘My baby – oh, when I uttered those words to myself . . . One of them bent down and picked you up. Actually lifted you, cradling you in a mocking sort of way, and took you down the steps. “Ah,” he said. “Don’t cry there.” The others were jeering in a horrible manner. I thought they were going to make off with you . . .’ She shuddered.

‘They crowded round, making horrible comments – I can’t remember . . . But then one said, “Look – his face’s got blood on it!” They assumed you were a boy, I don’t know why. They said, “Ugh – d’you think it’s only just been born?” They all made jeering and retching noises, bending over. One of them dropped his hat. I remember him stooping to pick it up.

‘The lad holding you said, “Who wants it, eh?” He started to circle with you, swinging you as if he was going to throw you and you were screaming louder and louder. “’Ere – catch!”

‘I screamed then. As I ran down the steps—’ – Mercy saw her face contort with disgust – ‘there was blood running down my legs. I shouted and shouted, “Give me my baby!” I must have looked like something from Bedlam. I felt like a madwoman. I was snarling – it was pure instinct, like an animal. I would have done anything, scratched their eyes out – killed them if necessary.

‘“Is it yours then?” he said, and I shouted, “Give me my baby” again. He pretended he was going to throw you at me, looking round at the others. Then, carelessly, he handed you over.’ Grace’s arms made the motions of holding a child.

‘“Shouldn’t leave ’im lying around next time!” one of them shouted. They went off laughing, shouting back more crude remarks.

‘You were still crying so wretchedly. You were hungry, and I was shaking. I couldn’t stop my teeth chattering, like someone with a fever.’ She glanced at Mercy. She was sitting bent over the table, her arms wrapped round herself as if now, too, she was frozen, but her eyes were fixed on Grace’s face.

‘My legs could scarcely hold me up. I took you back to those icy school steps and sat down, soiled and damp as I was. And then I . . .’ She broke off, tears rushing from her again, her voice high, cracking so that for a time she struggled to speak. ‘I did the one thing I’d avoided doing up until then, the thing I knew would entangle my heart with you for ever. I unfastened my clothes and let you suckle. You had all those instincts ready and you sucked strongly while I cradled your head . . . And I cried. I don’t know how long we sat there exactly. I must have slept a little, keeping you warm. When I woke my head was leaning against the wall and it was getting light. I was filled with panic. Someone might see us!

‘I had to hurry and put you down. But still then I couldn’t leave. I watched until I saw a lady carry you in. And then I knew you’d gone from me.’ Her voice sank to a distraught whisper. ‘For ever.’

A sound came from Mercy. A high, unstoppable whimper. Her head was in her hands, the backs of them resting on the table, for she was bent right over as if felled by grief, curled like a cowed little child.

‘Mercy!’ Grace stood up in alarm. ‘Oh, my dear – my dear child!’ Trembling, she went to stand behind her. The girl’s shoulders were heaving, but some time passed before the sound of her weeping broke into the room, so far did it have to travel from the very depths of her.

‘Oh . . .’ Mercy gasped and broke into desperate sobbing.

For a long time Grace hesitated behind her, racked herself by the heartbreaking sound. Very cautiously she reached out her hand and laid it on her daughter’s shoulder.

Later, when they were a little calmer, Grace offered to leave. ‘You may want me out of here . . .’

But the thought of this woman – mother, her mother – leaving now with so much still to say was suddenly appalling to Mercy. She could feel her resistance falling away.

Grace gently requested tea, thinking the activity might steady her, and, in a daze, Mercy went out to the tap in the yard to fill the kettle. Hungrily, Grace watched her slim figure for echoes, resemblances, and they were only too easy to find.