The Little Runaways

‘If I hurt you I am very sorry,’ Angela said. ‘It was simply that I couldn’t bear the emptiness of my life. You have such a good life, Mum, with your friends, your entertaining and your committees for the Church. You couldn’t know how bored and empty I felt with nothing worthwhile to do.’ She moved towards her mother and kissed her cheek. She seemed to smell very heavily of some expensive scent, and since she was wearing a very old dress covered by a pink and white spotted apron it seemed a little odd that she’d splashed herself so liberally with French perfume. ‘Sit down and let me make you a lovely cup of coffee. I’ll toast the muffins and then we can have some of that lovely jam we made in the summer.’

‘If you insist. I’ll have the Victoria plum jam – and a drop of cream and brandy in my coffee.’

‘Do we have cream?’ Angela investigated the contents of the large pantry. It made her shiver, because it was as cold as any refrigerator and kept even cream and butter really well. She found two glass jars of thick cream, which came from a local dairy farm and would be delicious with puddings and mince pies, also a jug of thinner cream, which she brought to table. ‘Are you sure you want brandy this early?’ she joked. ‘We don’t want to end up stuffing the turkey with the pudding instead of—’

‘Please credit me with some sense,’ her mother said sharply. She got up and fetched a brandy bottle from the dresser, and when Angela placed the beautiful French earthenware coffee bowl in front of her, she poured a liberal measure into hers and offered the bottle to Angela.

‘No, thank you,’ Angela said, smiling as she shook her head. ‘Not this early. I want to enjoy my dinner. I’ve been looking forward to this – I can hardly believe we’ve actually got a turkey this year. It seems ages since we could find one.’

‘Suit yourself,’ her mother said, and left the bottle on the table in front of her. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘Just until tomorrow after lunch.’

‘Hardly worth the bother coming down,’ her mother muttered. She tasted her coffee and then drank it all, but she didn’t touch the lovely golden muffin that Angela placed in front of her, even though it sizzled with fresh farm butter and there was a dish of plum jam set before her. ‘You eat it. I’m not hungry.’

‘Why don’t you sit and relax in the other room for a while?’ Angela looked at her mother, noticing that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a little red. ‘Are you feeling a bit feverish, Mum?’

‘I’m perfectly all right, but I’ll go upstairs and get changed – if you insist on taking over.’

‘I’ll do the vegetables and various bits,’ Angela offered, but her mother wasn’t listening.

She frowned as she put an apron over her clothes. Going back into the pantry she saw that everything had been bought in preparation for this day, but although she noticed some sausages and jars of mincemeat, none of the usual Christmas fare had been prepared. It looked as if she was going to have to make a few things for after lunch herself. First she would get the vegetables done and make the stuffing for the turkey, which they had received as a gift from a grateful farmer her father had helped with a legal problem. At least there were plenty of ingredients and the turkey looked lovely.

She set to with a will and peeled, chopped and sorted the vegetables; then she made the stuffing and prepared the turkey for cooking. She had everything well underway when her father entered the kitchen. He looked apprehensive but his frown cleared as he saw that Angela was in charge.

‘Your mother not down yet?’

‘She had coffee but went back to her room to get changed.’

‘Have you everything you need? I did the shopping this year, because Phyllis didn’t have time. Have I forgotten anything?’

‘I don’t think so. I wondered why Mum hadn’t made any mince pies or sausage rolls – though I see there is a trifle on the shelves.’

‘Yes, a friend of mine made that for me as a gift,’ her father said. ‘Your mother was annoyed when I brought it home yesterday, but I said it would save her work – it is a sherry trifle and I know it will be delicious.’

‘It does look lovely,’ Angela said. ‘Do you know if Mother made any Christmas puddings this year?’

‘I believe she said she couldn’t get the ingredients.’

‘Then we shall have the trifle after dinner instead of a pudding. No one ever wants any tea anyway, just a few mince pies.’ She put down her knife. ‘Would you like some breakfast, Dad?’

‘I’ll have one of those muffins, but I can toast it myself; I often make my own breakfast these days. Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ he asked, and then frowned as he saw the brandy bottle on the table. ‘You didn’t use this best brandy in the mince pies, I hope?’

‘No, of course not. Mother had some in her coffee.’

He nodded, seemed about to say something and changed his mind. ‘Well, it is Christmas. I’ll make a cup of tea while you finish what you’re doing …’

Angela went back to making pastry. She watched him, a little surprised at how easily he seemed to toast his own muffin and make a cup of tea. In the past her mother had always done everything, except when they had a housekeeper.

‘Why did Mrs Downs stop coming in? I remember her as being a pleasant woman.’

‘She was – is,’ he said, looking up from spreading butter on his muffin. ‘She and Phyllis had words, I’m afraid, and Mrs Downs wouldn’t stay.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Angela wondered why it had come to that. ‘Unfortunate. You need to get someone else, Dad. I think the housework is too much for Mother with all the other things she does.’

‘Yes …’ Once again he hesitated, seeming as if he wanted to say more, but then he just shook his head. ‘Is there anything I can do to help – what about the washing up?’

‘Yes, all right, if you like,’ Angela said. ‘I want to prepare these ready for cooking. I see we have some nice dripping for the potatoes – did you get that too?’

‘Oh, a friend of mine got it for me from her butcher,’ her father said, rising to gather the various pots and tins she’d been using in her cooking. ‘I’m lucky in this village; there are a lot of people I count my friends.’

‘Yes, I know. You’ve helped many of them with small legal problems without charging them huge amounts of money.’ Angela had worked as a secretary for her father before the war, until she’d started her job at the military hospital, and she knew he made less money than he might have. His practice was successful, but he worked long hours and wasn’t the kind of man who wanted or set out to make a fortune.

‘It’s what life is all about,’ her father said. ‘Doing what you can for your friends – and I’ve been lucky. I’ve done well enough. We have a decent life, I think, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, wondering at the look in his eyes. ‘I never wanted more. I didn’t marry John for money. I had no idea his family were wealthy when he asked me.’

‘Comparatively wealthy,’ her father said with a wry smile. ‘Your mother hoped you would marry into the aristocracy and be really rich, Angela.’

‘I would only ever marry for love. I’m sorry if I let Mother down.’

‘You didn’t let me down. I only want you to be happy, my love.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Angela sighed with pleasure as she saw the tins filled with mince pies and sausage rolls ready for cooking. ‘All done, I can stop now and go up and change. Mark will be here in a few hours.’

‘Yes, you go, Angela. I’ll pop in and see how your mother is. She may have one of her headaches.’

Angela came downstairs after she’d changed to discover that her mother was in the kitchen and seemed more like her old self. She was just about to put the turkey into the oven.

‘Do you think it needs to go in yet?’ Angela asked. ‘It’s not nine o’clock yet and the turkey isn’t that big, Mum. Mark won’t be here until just before one and we want time for a few drinks first.’

‘Allow me to know my own cooking methods,’ her mother said, giving her an annoyed glance. ‘Where have you put the brandy bottle? I usually put a little in my mince pies.’

‘I’ve made them and put them in the pantry to keep cool until I cook them last thing,’ Angela said. ‘Dad thought perhaps you might have a headache? I think he took the brandy.’

Her mother made a rude sound that might have been laughter or derision. ‘What your father thinks and what he says is not always the same, believe me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. I dare say he hid the brandy. He’s rather greedy with it and won’t let me use it in the cooking. We’ll have a sherry instead.’ She crossed to the dresser and picked up the sweet sherry, pouring two large glasses, which she brought back to the table.

‘Happy Christmas, Angela. I am glad you could spare the time to visit – even though you seem to feel others need you more.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Angela said, and took a tiny sip of her sherry. She noticed the strong smell of French perfume again. ‘That’s a new scent, isn’t it? Not your usual …’

‘It was expensive, too expensive for me as a rule. I was lucky to get it …’

‘On offer?’ Angela pulled a face. ‘You were lucky. There is so little decent stuff in the shops yet – those that do have any charge the earth for it. If it wasn’t a luxury in the first place the Government would fine them for profiteering.’

‘You can afford it; John left you well off, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, but I’ve invested my money for the future – or Daddy did for me.’

Her mother sniffed. ‘You could quite easily marry again, Angela. Your in-laws would gladly introduce you to their friends, if you would give up this foolish job of yours and go to stay with them.’

‘I love my job – and I have no wish to live with John’s parents. I am not sure I shall marry again, but if I do it will be because I can love again, not for position or money.’

‘Well, if you’re looking after the dinner I shall go down the road and have drinks with some friends of mine. Your father doesn’t want to come – but there’s nothing to stop me.’

Angela watched as her mother left. She wasn’t sure anyone would want visitors at this hour of the morning, because even her mother’s friends had dinner to cook, and excited grandchildren who would be opening their presents.

Angela noticed that her mother had drunk the large glass of sherry, but she wasn’t interested in hers. Placing it on the windowsill out of the way, she made a pot of coffee and took it through to the sitting room. Her father was reading a magazine but put it down as she entered. They sat in comfortable silence enjoying their coffee until she returned to the kitchen.

Angela was busy looking after the dinner most of the morning and hardly noticed that her mother was absent. Peeking in the oven at a quarter to one, she saw the turkey looked beautiful, golden brown but not burned; the pastries she’d made were cooked and ready and she was just putting the vegetables on when Mark arrived. He came into the kitchen, bearing gifts and a bottle of champagne, which he placed on the dresser.

‘Your father said you were busy cooking so I thought I would offer my services, Angela.’

He looked so handsome, dressed casually in light slacks, shirt and a V-neck sweater that her heart caught with pleasure when he smiled. She’d begun to like Mark more and more and it was good to have him here on this special day, not just as a formal guest, but as one of her family. He had a glass of sherry in his hand, which he sipped before placing it on the table. It was almost as if they lived together. Rather than having to leave everything to take formal drinks in the parlour, he was here offering to help – just as if he was her husband.

‘Well, I should like someone to lift the turkey out in about twenty minutes and set it to rest on the board. I’ve put the plates to warm and I’ve made some little starters of salmon mousse with cucumber salad. I had to use some of the tinned salmon you gave me to bring home. It wasn’t possible to buy fresh, but they taste nice just the same.’

‘Your father said you’ve had a lot to do, Angela. Apparently, your mother hasn’t been too well – a headache perhaps?’

Mark looked at her oddly. Angela wondered about that expression, because it made her feel that he was keeping something back; like the similar look in her father’s eyes earlier it aroused her suspicions, but she was too busy getting the food ready to pursue it. Her father came into the kitchen and was given the task of carrying the starters through to the dining room.

‘I hope Mum is ready for her dinner,’ she said. ‘If you’ll bring the turkey through when we’ve eaten the first course, Dad, I’ll fetch the rest.’

‘Your mother isn’t down,’ her father said, and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Angela. She promised me it wouldn’t happen today but …’

‘What do you mean?’ Angela asked. ‘Is she lying on the bed?’

‘Yes …’

‘Another headache? Poor Mum. Is she coming down at all?’

‘I don’t think so. We’ll see later. We’ll eat our starter and then I’ll check if she wants to come down – or I can take her a tray up.’

‘I’ll do that. Mark, I’ll take Mum her starter up first and then we’ll eat …’

‘No, Angela,’ her father said, and touched her arm. ‘Leave it for now.’

‘Why …’ Angela looked from one to the other. ‘What do you know that I don’t? Please, tell me. I have to know.’

Her father glanced at Mark, then, ‘She’s right. I wanted to tell you before – oh, months ago, when it first started, but she begged me not to. It wasn’t so bad then, but recently it has got so much worse.’

‘Her headaches? Has she seen a doctor?’

‘Phyllis refuses all help. She will not admit there is a problem.’

‘What kind of problem? This is ridiculous. I’m not a child – I want to know what is going on. Please tell me.’

‘Mark thought you were too wrapped up in your grief and we shouldn’t worry you. And she seemed better for a while after you came home from Portsmouth …’

‘Angela …’ Mark looked at her uncomfortably. ‘You were so unhappy. I thought it might be more than you could bear …’

Angela was about to ask him what he meant when the door of the kitchen opened and her mother walked in. As she saw the lipstick smeared over her mother’s face, her hair all over the place and her crumpled dress, she started forward, hands outstretched.

‘Mum, what’s the matter?’

‘Who sh-haid anything whass the matter?’ her mother demanded in a belligerent tone. ‘Whass going on here? Let me through, I’ve got to dish-h up the dinner …’ She took a step forward, crashed into the table and then crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Angela stared at her father and then at Mark. The looks on their faces were identical: guilty but not surprised. ‘She’s drunk. How long has this been going on – and why haven’t I been told about it?’

‘You were still grieving,’ Mark said. ‘I didn’t want to put more pressure on you, Angela.’

‘Your mother didn’t want you to know, love,’ her father said. ‘It has been happening for some months, but she controlled it in between bouts of drinking, and I didn’t guess how bad it was until a few weeks ago, when things suddenly got much worse.’

‘Why did no one tell me?’ Angela felt anger mixed with sympathy for him and a kind of anguish that she couldn’t name for herself. Why did Mark think she was so fragile that she couldn’t face the truth? ‘If I’d been here perhaps I could have helped her.’

‘She wouldn’t let you. Besides, you have your own life, Angela. This is my problem. She’s my wife and I’ll cope with it.’

‘Mark – surely you could have given me a hint?’ Angela looked at him in reproach as her mother stirred and promptly vomited on the floor.

‘I’ll clear that up,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could get Mother to bed between you – and then we shall have dinner. I’ll put some aside for her if she feels like it later.’

For a moment they both stared at her, and then Mark bent and lifted Phyllis in his arms. ‘I’ll carry her up and then you can look after her, Edward. I’m sorry, Angela. If I’d thought this would happen I would’ve warned you …’

‘Forgive me,’ her father said after Mark had left them. ‘There’s a lot more to tell you and to show you – but it will keep until Mark has gone. You shouldn’t blame him, Angela. She talked to him about it and I suppose he didn’t want to betray a confidence, though she isn’t his patient.’

‘Yes, I understand that,’ she said, but, left to herself to repair the damage and sort out the dinner she’d prepared so carefully before it ruined, Angela knew that she understood too well. Mark had been more concerned for her mental state than worried about giving her a hint of her mother’s failings. She had been close to despair at times during the years since her husband’s death – but surely Mark could see that she was much stronger now?

If he couldn’t see her for the woman she was, how could he respect her? She wasn’t some fragile flower that would bend in the wind, she was a strong woman who had known devastating grief and come through it.

Angela would rather have known the truth. She might not be able to do anything, but the last thing she wanted was to be treated as someone who couldn’t face reality. John’s death had devastated her, but the fact that her mother was an alcoholic was another matter – one that she was strong enough to accept.

THREE

It was early on Boxing Day but already Alice could hear the bitter quarrelling going on in her parents’ room. Did they never stop this relentless bickering? She sighed, glad that she was going to her friend Michelle’s home that day. Like her, Michelle worked at St Saviour’s, though she was a staff nurse while Alice was merely one of the carers. She didn’t think she could have stood being here all day if her mother was going to nag them the whole time. She stretched and yawned as Mavis slept on in the bed next to her. Mavis was also going out later to spend the day with her boyfriend, because she had several days off from her job at the factory.

Alice had opted to work on Christmas Day, because it was better than being at home with her mother, who made life miserable for her family on every day of the year and saw no reason to be any different at this special time. So Alice preferred her duty to being at home with her brothers, Joseph and Saul, her sister, Mavis, her father, who would probably get drunk by lunchtime, and her nagging mother. Besides, she didn’t particularly want to sit down to a meal and be watched by Mrs Cobb’s sharp and knowing eyes. One of these days her mother was going to ask questions Alice didn’t want to answer.

She’d missed a couple of periods and because of that she was sure that she was carrying Jack Shaw’s baby. Alice felt a shiver of fear run through her as she thought about the future. Had Jack died in the fierce fire at the boot factory, or had he somehow escaped? Billy Baggins had been there and he’d told the police that it was Arthur Baggins, his elder brother, and Jack Shaw that had broken in and blown up the safe. Someone else had set the factory on fire while they were inside, and the newspapers seemed to think it was someone with a grudge against Arthur and Jack, or the factory owners. Most people believed it must have been Jack who had died, although something inside Alice wasn’t ready to believe that.

How could he be dead? Surely she would know if he’d died; she would feel it inside – wouldn’t she? The last time Alice had seen him, he’d dumped her outside St Saviour’s and gone racing off in his car after telling her the Lee gang was going to kill him. All she knew for certain was that he hadn’t tried to contact her since, and she couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been alive he would surely have come back for her or at least sent her a letter. Jack had known Alice believed she was having his baby.

How could she know what he’d felt about that? Jack had pursued her, never leaving her alone, throwing off all her attempts to rebuff him, until she gave him what he wanted. Had she been a terrible fool to let him make love to her? Alice had thought she was in love with him, rejecting the offers to go out with Bob Manning, a soldier she’d met at a dance with her cousin Eric. Bob was a nice steady bloke with a good job in the Army, but he didn’t excite Alice the way Jack had – and so she’d been stupid and given herself to the wrong man. Now she was frightened, scared of what her mother would do when she discovered her daughter was pregnant.

What could she do if her mother threw her out? Their home was only three rooms in a shared house; it smelled awful when the toilet in the yard stank and it was cramped and often damp and cold, but it was still her home. Where would she go – and how could she manage with a job and a baby? That’s if she still had a job when Sister Beatrice discovered the truth. It was unlikely the strict nun would keep her on once her condition became noticeable.

Alice thought about the previous day at work. After all the excitement prior to Christmas Eve and the fun of carols, Father Christmas giving presents to all the children – not forgetting their carers – and the party afterwards, Sister had decreed that the day itself would be spent quietly in order to reflect on the true meaning of Christ’s birthday.

Alice had been happy just to be in the peaceful atmosphere at the home. The children all seemed satisfied to attend church or chapel in the morning and to spend their time eating a special dinner and reading or playing one of the new board games they’d been given. She herself had been asked to do Sally the carer’s job after breakfast was over and gather the smaller children together in the playroom, where she’d read one of Mr Markham’s lovely books to them for a while, and given the others puzzles to keep them happy. It was as she was getting the children ready for tea that Nan came up to her.

‘Some of the older children are going for a walk before supper. Jean will be going with them to make sure they don’t get into any trouble. I want you to keep the little ones amused until it is time for their beds.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Alice said. She liked the head carer and often wished her mother was a bit more like Nan. ‘They’ve been good all day.’

‘Well, that takes care of the little ones.’ Nan hesitated, then, ‘Is something bothering you, Alice? You know you can come to me for anything – don’t you?’

‘Yes, thank you, Nan,’ Alice said, but there was no way she could tell Nan what was really bothering her. ‘I’ll find some sort of game they can play quietly, because I know Sister doesn’t want them running around today.’

‘Off you go then, Alice – but don’t forget I’m always here if you need me.’

Alice walked away, feeling a little easier in her mind. If the worst came to the worst and Jack didn’t come back for her, perhaps she would talk to Nan about her problem … that’s if she really was having his baby. Yet why was she kidding herself? She couldn’t ignore the signs and they were all telling her she must have fallen for a baby either in late October or early November and she would have to accept her fate and find a way of coping with it.

If she worked extra hours she could perhaps stay out of her mother’s way, and earn a little extra money for when she needed it, because she knew her mother would be furious when she found out that Alice was pregnant. She would probably throw her out on the street and the thought terrified her.

Lying in her bed beside her sleeping sister that Boxing Day morning, Alice turned the problem over and over in her mind. Silent tears trickled down her face in the faint light of early morning. She felt so alone, so miserable. What was she going to do when her condition began to show?

Even though Nan had been so kind, Alice respected her and it would shame her to confess what she’d done. Michelle wouldn’t scold her but she couldn’t help her to find a home for herself and the child – and Sister Beatrice would give her the sack. Alice couldn’t think of anyone who would help her to find a place to live and have the child.

Alice had heard of those homes where girls like her went to have their illegitimate child. She had a vague idea that they weren’t very nice, and they made you give up your baby. Alice didn’t know how, but she wanted to keep hers. Even if it was possible to get rid of it – a shudder went through her, because she knew of a girl who had died of blood poisoning after visiting one of those backstreet butchers who got rid of unwanted children – she would never do that. She didn’t want to die – and she wasn’t going to kill her child. There must be someone she could turn to for advice – someone who would know what to do … perhaps Angela Morton.