Poppy Day (14 page)

They could hear Mrs Bugg’s laborious breathing before they reached the top. At the sight of the woman in her dim room, Jess felt her legs begin to give way altogether, and she grabbed at the door frame. The large room was crowded with heavy, dark furniture. At one end, was a ramshackle kind of kitchen, where cooking was done over the fire. Near it was a table on which stood a candle in a red glass jar, like a church sanctuary lamp. On another small table to one side, two more candles burned on saucers. In the thick, blood-coloured light, crouched at the table, was the fattest human being Jess had ever seen. She had turned to look at them, and her eyes were like two stab wounds between her forehead and the welling dough of her cheeks. She spilled over the sides of the chair as if poured there like thick custard.

‘Which one of yer is it then, dears?’

She stood up, pulling on the table, grunting and wheezing. It startled them both. The woman had appeared stuck to the chair.

‘It’s ’er, my cousin.’ Polly pulled Jess into the room.

‘Ow far gone are yer, bab?’ Ma Bugg shuffled, panting towards them, stringy hair dangling each side of her face. The floorboards groaned beneath her. Jess had gone rigid. Couldn’t bring any words out.

‘Not all that. Eight weeks at the most – ain’t it, Jess?’

As the woman moved towards her, Jess recovered her ability to move and, yanking her hand from Polly’s grip, ran back down the dark stairs. Outside, she heaved, bringing up teatime stew into the gutter. The breeze felt cold on her sweating face. She stood gulping and shuddering.

‘I can’t go back up there. The stink . . .’ Polly had followed close behind.

‘Oh yes yer can. You’re going to or you’ll be out on yer ear.’ She sounded cruel, brutal. The place, the woman appalled her just as much and she was trembling all over. But she had to be strong. Had to get Jess through this.

‘Come on, or she’ll think we’ve done a bunk.’

The woman cleared the table, gave it a rough wipe and made Jess lie down on it. She shuffled to and fro, coughing. Her lungs sounded in a poor state. A kettle murmured on the range and a pot of something was bubbling which was the chief source of the vile smell.

‘Just let’s see ’ow far yer on. Yer don’t look no size but that’s no proof. Don’t want yer dropping a big’un on me . . . Get yer frock up, there’s a good wench.’

Jess moaned at the sharp discomfort as Mrs Bugg prodded her stomach with her slabby fingers.

‘I can start yer off. Should ’appen tonight or tomorrer when I’ve ’ad a go. Five shilling I can do yer for as it’s not far on. Shall I crack on?’ She held her hand out.

Jess saw Polly give her the money, making a low sound of agreement. She could just see Poll’s face, white and pointed in the gloom. Mrs Bugg counted the money. She looked pleased.

‘Get yer bloomers off then. And you—’ She nodded at Polly, chins quivering. ‘Lay the
Despatch
out for under ’er.’

Jess stood up, feeling as if all her bones had been taken out. Her teeth were chattering and the room began to spin, lights appearing at the edges of her vision. She could hear Polly rustling the newspaper. Old Ma Bugg lifted the steaming kettle with a grunt and poured water into a blackened pan.

‘Just boiling up a few mutton bones in ’ere—’ she pointed at the seething pot on the range.

Just as Jess blacked out she registered the sound of something metal, rattling. Polly broke her fall as she slithered to the floor.

She came round feeling terrible, to find she was lying on the table once more. It was not very big and her head was close to the edge, the knot of her hair pressing on it uncomfortably. Her legs were bent up, heels caught at the other end and she could feel someone’s hands holding her ankles. Her knees had swung wide apart and she was naked between her legs and it felt cold.

With no warning, the woman’s fingers jabbed between her legs, pushing up between her lips, corkscrewing round. She whimpered.

‘Just a bit o’ lard, ’elp it in like.’

After more of the woman’s elephantine movements, there was another little clinking sound. Jess rolled her head to one side, saw Polly put her hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out. She raised her head off the table and saw Mrs Bugg had pulled a long meat skewer from one of the saucepans.

‘Soon be done, bab . . .’

‘No . . . no!’

In a movement that tore at her guts she was off the table, holding out a hand to fend off Mrs Bugg, and reaching for her bloomers.

‘Jess!’ Polly wailed. Her protest lacked all conviction.

‘Don’t touch me, yer filthy stinking old witch! I’m not letting yer within a hundred mile of me with that! Come on, Poll. For Christ’s sake let’s get out of ’ere!’

‘Please yerselves,’ Mrs Bugg said, throwing the skewer back into the pan. She’d got her money, after all. ‘You know where I am if yer ’ave second thoughts – only don’t leave it too long.’

Outside, it was Polly who burst into tears, so overwrought and hysterical that Jess had to hold her on the dark street corner, trying to calm the emotion erupting from Polly’s shaking, gulping body.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jess,’ she said, over and over. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

Rain had been falling hard as Jess woke. There was very little light and it was a bitter day outside. She came inside, coat over her nightdress, still feeling wobbly after bringing up her guts over the lav.

It was only half-past six but Olive was down, stoking the range, empty coal bucket on the floor beside her. She turned as Jess came in and the look she gave her was unmistakably hostile.

‘So – what’ve yer got to say for yerself?’

Jess shut the back door, shaking drops from her hair. Her hands started to tremble and she broke out in a sweat. She couldn’t tell Auntie yet! Why was she being so angry? Surely she couldn’t have guessed? She looked down, wiping her feet on the old mat.

‘What d’yer mean?’

‘I mean yer’ve put no jam-rags in the pail for two month and you’re sick to yer stomach of a morning – don’t think I ain’t heard yer. And you’re not shifting from that spot ’til I get the truth!’

Jess felt herself start to shake even harder. The one thing she’d dreaded the most was her auntie finding out! Without looking up, hugging the edges of her old coat round her, she whispered, ‘I’ve just been feeling a bit poorly, Auntie.’

Olive stood with her legs apart, her hands, black with coal dust, clamped on her hips like a wrestler waiting to fight. She was already dressed, sacking apron on top.

‘I’m not a fool, Jess, nor blind and deaf. It’s no good trying to palm me off with some tall tale. I want the truth, and I want it now!’

She was going to have to tell her. Jess’s knees went weak. Eyes fixed on the mucky scrap of mat at her feet, she murmured,

‘I might be having a babby, Auntie.’

‘Yer don’t say.’

More silence. Only when Jess looked up did it dawn on her that her aunt was in as bad a state as she was, white and shaking, having to hold on to the edge of the range to support herself.

‘Oh Auntie—’ Jess stepped forward.

‘It daint get there by itself, did it? Some Factory Jack up an entry, was it, full of blarney?’

Miserably, Jess shook her head. Now her aunt knew, the full enormity of what had happened fell on her like a lead weight. She felt utterly humiliated, but worse, seeing her aunt in such a state she was frightened of what she had caused.

Olive moved closer. Jess looked up to see a terrible expression on her face. For a moment she wondered if her auntie was really mad, she looked so peculiar. The look of her made Jess tremble all the more.

‘Spit it out then.’

‘It wasn’t just – anyone. I love ’im and ’e loves me. I want us to stay together – live somewhere, like.’

‘Live somewhere! Stop talking bloody rubbish, wench! Yer don’t just go and “live somewhere” with a babby on the way! Yer make ’im marry yer and do it proper. So who is ’e – and where is ’e? What’s wrong with ’im that yer’ve never brought ’im ’ome, eh? ’Cause I’d ’ave a thing or two to say to ’im, that I would.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s . . .’ She could only whisper his name. ‘It’s Ned, Auntie. The babby’s Ned’s.’

The blow her aunt dealt out to her knocked Jess to the floor. She reeled backwards, face stinging with pain, and jarred her lower back as she hit the floor. She sat up, moaning, rubbing it with her hand. Dimly, she saw that Sis had come down and was watching aghast from the doorway.

‘Don’t lie to me, yer scheming little bitch! Now you tell me the truth before I ’ave to beat it out of yer!’

‘I am telling yer the truth, Auntie. I’d swear to yer on the Bible. Ned’s the father of this babby and it’s me ’e loves, not Mary. He wants to be with me!’

Olive’s distress had transformed itself into pure fury, and it frightened Jess so much that she cringed, encircling her knees with her arms and leaning her head on them as she thought Olive was going to hit her again.

‘Just like yer mother – no thought for anyone.’ Olive’s voice hectored at her. ‘Ned wouldn’t . . .’

‘Oh yes ’e would, Mom.’ Polly appeared in the back room. ‘You may not want to face it, but that’s the truth. ’E’s the father of Jess’s—’

‘Keep out of it!’ Olive turned on her. ‘Ned’s a good lad – ’e’s got a wife and a babby and I won’t ’ear it of ’im. And I won’t ’ave ’er in the house – carrying on like . . . like . . .’ She couldn’t seem to think of an evil enough word. ‘I’m not giving ’er a roof over ’er ’ead – she can get out and fend for ’erself and good riddance!’

There was a shocked silence. Then, in a low voice, Jess said,

‘So ’ow did Ronny come about then?’

She thought her aunt was going to have a fit. She was quivering all over, her face twitching with uncontrollable emotions. She grabbed a blouse of Jess’s that had been drying by the range and hurled it at her. ‘Get out! Now! Go on!’ Her voice went high and shrill. ‘Yer can take everything that’s yours and go. I don’t want yer coming back tonight!’

‘Mom!’ Polly cried. Sis started to cry.

‘But Auntie!’ Jess wailed. ‘Where’m I gunna go? There’s nowhere for me. I’ve no one else to turn to!’

‘Yer can turn to the real father of that bastard child yer carrying – see ’ow ’e likes to take care of yer. I’m washing my hands of it. Go on – clear out.’

Stunned, Jess dragged herself up off the floor and Polly and Sis stood back to let her pass. She heard Polly trying to calm her mother, to plead with her.

‘I’m not ’aving it in the house,’ Olive was shouting. ‘Not with the blood she’s carrying in ’er veins!’

‘What’re yer talking about, Mom!’ Polly was desperate. ‘I know Jess’s done wrong, but where’s ’er going to go?’

Jess was shaking so much from weakness and emotion when she got upstairs, that she could only just manage to pull her few clothes out of the worm-riddled chest and bundle them together. She reached for the quilt, Louisa’s quilt, to wrap them in, and remembered they had pawned it to pay for the visit to Mrs Bugg’s stinking slum. She sank down on the bed and wept, sharp, dry sobs, pressing her knuckles against her eyes.

Polly and Sis ran up and sat each side of her with their arms round her, both crying too.

‘Oh Poll – what’m I going to do? Where’m I going to find a roof tonight? I’ll be on the street! And what’ll I do when the babby’s born?’

‘She’ll come round. What did yer go and tell ’er for, eh?’

‘I didn’t. She guessed. And she’d’ve ’ad to know sooner or later. I know I’ve done wrong, Poll – I shouldn’t’ve gone with Ned, even if ’e wasn’t married and that. I know it ain’t right. But I love ’im so much and ’e loves me. It’s all wrong, I know. But I didn’t think Auntie’d turf me out like this. I thought she was going to kill me!’

Sis was still sobbing against Jess’s shoulder, and Jess slipped her arm round her.

‘We’ll ’elp yer, won’t we, Poll,’ Sis said. ‘Til she calms down and comes to ’er senses. You can ’ave the two bob she lets me keep every week, and Polly’ll give yer some too, won’t yer?’

‘Course we’ll help . . . every way we can.’

Jess was so touched by their loyalty that she cried even more.

‘Look—’ Polly dragged a hand across her eyes. ‘You want to get ready and go to work, or you’ll lose yer job an’ all. After work, find yerself a room to rent. Yer not showing yet so you’ll be awright. And it’ll give yer a bit of time to get sorted out. She says she don’t want me seeing yer – but don’t worry. I won’t desert yer.’ She squeezed Jess’s arm and stood up. ‘You’re like a sister to me and I’ll stand by yer. Meet me after work tomorrow – outside the Market Hall – and you can tell me where yer staying.’ Polly stood up, went to the door. She turned, trying tearfully to smile. ‘Go on then – get on.’

When Jess came slowly, heavily, downstairs, Sis was waiting, looking round cautiously to see her mom was out of the way.

‘This come for yer.’ Sis looked, then handed Jess a letter when she was sure the coast was clear.

Jess looked at the envelope blankly. She had never had a letter before in her life. The handwriting was looped and a bit untidy. She hid it in her bundle.

‘Get yer breakfast and go,’ Olive said. Her face wore an odd, hard expression which brooked no pleading.

Jess left the house with Polly and Sis. There were no goodbyes from Olive. She turned her face away as Jess tried to speak to her.

‘Ain’t yer going to open that letter?’ Sis was full of curiosity.

‘Take this.’ Jess handed her the small bundle of clothes and slit open the envelope. She read, slowly.

Nov 4th, 1914

Jess—

I’ve got to make this a short letter or my feelings will take over and I shall change my mind. I wouldn’t have written to your aunt’s house normally but I’ve got to risk it.

Jess – I’ve got to make up my mind to say goodbye to you. I’m a father as well as a married man, with responsibilities. Being here, away from everything, I’ve had a chance to think and see how wrong I’ve been acting the way I have. I can’t help what I’ve felt for you. I couldn’t say this to your face. If I saw you I wouldn’t have the strength. But you can’t carry on with two people at once. It’s not right or fair and it’s turned me into a liar – and you, and I hate myself for it. I don’t think that’s what we want and I don’t see how else we can carry on.

I know I feel more for you than Mary. I’ll say that, to be true. That’s the worst of it. But she’s my wife, mother to my daughter, and I want to find courage to be a better man than I have been.

Goodbye, Jess my love. Don’t take this too bad, please. The war will take me away and you can forget me if you will. Don’t write and try and make me change my mind. This has to be the way things are.

Yours – maybe in another life when things are different.

Ned.