An Unsuitable Mother

‘Eleanor, your debut is nigh!’

Having shot upright, sluicing water from one end of the bath to the other and onto the black and white lino, Nell remained there for a second, suspended by shock and clutching the wedding ring that hung from her neck. ‘Oh, Mother – what was that?’

‘They’ve sent a messenger! You’ve to get to Leeman Road straight away – don’t waste the water, leave it in for your father!’

Launching herself from the bath, a dripping Nell began rapidly to dry herself, stumbling and hopping over the putting on of her clothes, which clung to her still-damp limbs and much hindered her dressing. But it was all so exciting – she was needed at last!

‘Have you any petrol at all in the car, Father?’ came her breathless query upon rushing downstairs, clothes all awry.

‘I don’t want to waste it. You can borrow my bike, though!’ he offered.

First came dismay – she was hopeless at balancing on two wheels – but then, ‘Needs must!’ Nell put on her hat and coat, and, with her father striding ahead to ensure the lights were turned off before opening the outer door, she hurried in his wake. Plunged into darkness, she held back whilst Wilfred tugged the awful contraption from the shed.

Hardly able to see what she was doing, trying to cope with the over-large vehicle, Nell had to stand on tiptoe to accommodate its crossbar, and swerved all over the road as she fought to work the pedals, ‘Don’t wait up for me, I may be all night!’

‘A key! You’ll need a key!’ Thelma scuttled to fetch one, then raced to put it in Nell’s pocket, causing yet more delay. But, eventually, with a helpful shove from her father, Nell somehow mobilised herself in ungainly fashion towards town.

With the traffic lights out of use and no policeman about, there was no option but to grit her teeth and hope for the best at junctions, and go careering into the black beyond, often forced to judder to an abrupt standstill by using her foot as a brake when a car almost flattened her, and nearly keeling over in the process. Only after a great many mishaps along the way did she get the hang of it, and finally sailed triumphantly into the sidings at Leeman Road, there to be met by a shadowy figure with a stopwatch.

A shielded torch was quickly flashed on and off in order for Sister Barber to read the time. ‘You’ll have to do better than this when it’s the real thing, Nurse Spottiswood!’ Once again there was disapprobation on the pretty freckled face, before it vanished into darkness.

Attempting to disentangle her leg from the crossbar, Nell tottered and almost capsized again. ‘You mean … we’re not going anywhere?’ Her voice and expression told that she could scarcely believe this.

‘No, this is just a dummy run to see how quickly we can be mustered in an emergency – and I have to say it’s found us wanting,’ Sister Barber added sternly to those other murky figures already assembled, all equally as dismayed as Nell. ‘Very well, you can go home now.’

‘To a cold bath?’ muttered a displeased Nell to her friends, out of earshot of Sister, as she fought to heft her father’s bike in the opposite direction and head off through the dark. ‘Thank you very much, I don’t think!’

‘Bath on a Tuesday?’ Beata called after her in amazement. ‘By, you’re posh!’

A couple of days after the test run Nell was able to laugh about it with the others, and to use it as a source of jollification for Billy. Since telling him about her tour of the city pubs to follow the Bedpan Swingsters, his letters to her had been quite tense, expressing the fear that she might be snatched from him by another soldier. As a result, she had immediately refrained from going again. He would be much happier to hear that her only company that Thursday evening would be the sensible Beata, with whom she had arranged to go to the pictures.

But, ‘I’m a bit reluctant to divulge where I’ll be, in case they spoil it again,’ she whispered to Beata now, as, after a day of keeping the train clean and making more unused dressings, they put on their coats to leave work.

‘I’m buggered if I’m telling them,’ replied her friend more stringently. ‘See you outside the Regal at seven!’

Laughing, Nell went home.

After a bite to eat and a change of clothing, Nell attempted to collect enough mascara for an application, scraping the little brush into every corner of its box, but all it produced was beige spit. Well, that was that. Unable to obtain more, she rummaged in the cupboard that still held a few childhood toys and brought out a paint box, pondering the feasibility of using one of its brown squares. But this was a failure. She would just have to rely on her natural lashes.

She had donned her coat, and was inserting her tuppence bus fare into her glove so as not to have to faff with her purse again, when her mother murmured confidentially in passing, ‘I’ll be going to the chemist in the morning. Would you like me to get you some things?’

Her days had been so consumed by hard work and writing letters to Billy, Nell had not noticed the absence of her monthly visitation, but now it immediately leapt to mind, and she turned crimson. By the discreet way her mother formed her lips to say ‘things’, Nell knew she meant sanitary towels. It was a term neither of them ever used, except perhaps upon actually purchasing them at the chemist. Knowing how embarrassing her daughter found this, Mother was thinking to spare her blushes now, Nell recognised. However, there was much more to those reddened cheeks than she could ever imagine.

Stuttering, ‘Oh, yes, thank you, Mother!’ she reopened her purse, handed over the cash, then grabbed her gas mask and left the house, undergoing worried calculation as she hurried through the dark November mist for town. She had not required things for over four months – before Billy went away. The realisation caused her to gasp aloud. Thank God her mother was no longer in earshot, for besides the sharp intake of breath, she would surely have been able to hear Nell’s heart thudding as panic began to gain hold.

Forgetting all about the secret application of rouge that she would normally have made on her way, she bit her lip, her footsteps slowing as she tried to rationalise this – why, there was nothing really unusual, was there? Having only started her whatnots a year and a half ago, she had not yet achieved a regular cycle, and was accustomed to going two or even nearly three months without seeing a thing. What was the difference between three months and four? Exactly! Nell told herself firmly, as she began to walk at normal pace again. It was bound to happen soon. All she had to do was stay calm. Worrying over it would not make it occur any sooner. She must put any unthinkable idea out of her head.

That was rather difficult to do when one was stuck on a bus with nothing to take one’s mind off it, and she concentrated on looking forward to meeting Beata. Prior to this, though, upon egress she handed her ticket back to the conductress, then made her way along the darkened streets to visit Bill’s former digs. Having arranged this evening visit to town, it meant that she had had no need to call on the Preciouses directly after work, but could leave it till now. She hurried for Walmgate – the wrong side of town, as her parents would say. Well, there were some dreadful people here, conceded Nell, as two drunken Irishmen loomed at her out of the darkness, reeking of alcohol, and she was forced to veer around them. But there were some lovely ones too. Just the thought of what lay beyond that archway and along the alley caused her to smile.

There was an old fashioned gas lamp in the courtyard, though now it stood redundant in the blackout. Using the wall to grope her way, incapable of seeing much but viewing it from memory, she stopped before a once noble Georgian mansion, now jammed in by slums – indeed, one itself. The spokes of its fanlight were rotten, its windows bereft of putty, centuries of paintwork eroded to bare timber. A house with psoriasis. Even her light rap of the tarnished brass knocker caused a shower of flakes.

Someone threw open the door. ‘You’re late!’ bawled Ma Precious at the top of her voice, a sergeant-major in a floral pinafore.

Greatly familiar with this raucous behaviour, and perceiving no harm was meant, Nell smiled. ‘I had to go home straight after work, so I thought I’d come now. Sorry to put you ou—’

‘You’re not putting us out, you daft cat! Get yourself in before the warden gives us a rollicking over the lights!’ Ma waved merrily.

Nell hopped over the threshold, allowing the door to be closed behind her, though truth be told it was almost as dingy in here, there being no electric lighting, and the one gas mantle casting only a pathetic glow upon the linoleum of the hall. There was an appalling smell of fish too.

‘At least you’ll have time for a decent natter if you don’t have to rush off home like you usually do!’ Ma set off with manly strides, the soles of her tartan slippers squeaking the lino, expecting the other to follow, and calling ahead, ‘Georgie, the lass is here, get that kettle on!’

‘Not for me, thanks!’ Nell refused hastily, remaining in the hall, the interior of the house being as neglected as the outside, with great fronds of wallpaper drooping over a once elegant staircase that wound its way up three more storeys. ‘I’ve to meet my friend in fifteen minutes.’

Ma wheeled around, a hand placed indignantly on each robust hip. ‘Oh, so you thought you’d treat us as a convenience to save you having to wait in the cold?’

Having learned to take all insults here with a pinch of salt, Nell merely giggled at the old woman, who was at first glance intimidating, with her mannish build, her sharp brown eyes, and her gun-metal hair parted in the middle and wound into buns on each side of her head in the manner of earphones, but she was in fact a generous soul despite her bossy nature.

‘Time enough to have a cup of tea and a chat with us, surely?’ Ma proposed now in a more wheedling voice. ‘All our lads are out at the pub. Go on!’ And seeing Nell weaken, she dealt her a shove with one of her navvy’s hands into the living room.

At once a time-traveller, Nell took delight in being plunged into bygone days, surrounded by aspidistras, Landseer prints and stuffed animals under glass domes. One exhibition of flowers and foliage, birds, field mice and squirrels was so gigantic it took up an entire corner. The furnishings were all very grand – there being much mahogany and inlay, mother-of-pearl, brocade and velvet, belonging formerly to a wealthier household – though, after fifty years with Ma, much dented, scuffed and torn – rather the same impression Nell had of the elderly man who rushed towards her now through another door.

Battered maybe, yet there was a spry delight upon the dear old face that came intimately close to hers, imbuing her with the scent of linseed oil as Georgie reached up to cup her cheeks in hands that were gnarled, the fingernails split and stained from repairing musical instruments. ‘We feared you weren’t coming – ooh, what cold little chops!’ Dealing her cheeks an affectionate rub, he broke off in meek response to his wife’s stentorian demand.

‘Never mind “your tiny hand is frozen,” Casanova – where’s that tea I asked for?’ said Ma.

‘Sorry, dearie, the kettle’s on now!’ he hastened to say with an affectionate rub of her arm. ‘I was just getting rid of that pan of fish heads into the garden – I’ve been boiling up a little treat for our chucky hens,’ he added to the visitor, explaining the stench. ‘They’re not laying like they used to do. We’ve had barely half a dozen eggs this week. yet not so long ago there was a proper glut.’

Ma lost patience. ‘You know what glut rhymes with? Foot! You’ll be getting mine up your khyber if you don’t fetch this lass her tea – by, he can’t half talk!’ she declared to their visitor as her husband rushed to obey.

Nell bit her lip over this reversal of roles, as Georgie scuttled about getting teapot, cups and saucers. Never had she seen Mrs Precious lift one finger in the kitchen, or anywhere else come to that – but her husband seemed not to regard himself as henpecked, and obviously worshipped the ground she walked on. For all her bluster Ma loved him too, Nell guessed, from the way she encouraged his romantic serenades on the concertina. Hopefully there would be none tonight, though, for she was anxious to get away.

Etched against a background of dark, elaborate wallpaper with crimson roses and acanthus leaves, and varnished woodwork, Ma swivelled to address her again. ‘Right, sit down!’ It was more order than invitation. ‘Then you can have what you really came for.’ And with a shrewd cast of her head she went to snatch a letter from the mantel.

With every surface cluttered, Nell trod a careful path to a sofa, avoiding the black and tan rug complete with head and glassy eyes, which had been one of the Preciouses’ favourite dogs. In addition to this, there was a ginger Pomeranian, also stuffed, and a live, if decrepit, black terrier with bad teeth and foul breath, which hankered to be petted as Nell finally reached the velvet sofa that had seen so many rears that it was almost bald. Perched against these fantastic surroundings, giving the dog a cursory pat, a cat on her lap and its tail snaking back and forth under her nose until she brushed the animal gently aside, Nell accepted the cup of rather stewed tea donated by Georgie, and was about to take a biscuit from the extended plate when at that same moment Ma thrust a letter at her.

‘Not enough hands!’ laughed Nell. Thanking them both, and trying to juggle the cup of tea, she put it aside in order to take the letter, which was then shoved straight into her gas-mask container, this being the norm.

But, ‘Aren’t you going to read it to us then, seeing as you’ve deigned to honour us by sitting down?’ On the other sofa now, Ma leaned forward expectantly, her chunky legs apart to display flesh-coloured bloomers, and a hand on each knee. ‘We never get to hear what he’s doing, do we, Georgie?’

The old fellow gave a dejected smile, and shook his pink, bald head as he lowered his wiriness next to her bulk, the plate of biscuits on his lap.

Other than keeping them informed of Bill’s wellbeing, Nell was loath to share his words with anyone else. ‘Well, I’d better drink this tea, it’s a crime to waste it – and I don’t want to be late for my friend!’

‘She’s having us on – wants to keep him to herself!’ Ma gave her husband a knowing wink to indicate she was joking, though Nell reddened all the same. ‘Oh, never mind, lass!’ she placated. ‘We know what it’s like to be in love, don’t we, sweetheart?’

‘We certainly do, dearie!’ The meek old Georgie leaned towards her in adoration – though Ma had not been addressing him but Milo the stinking old terrier, which she promptly swept to her bosom and proceeded to cuddle like a baby, and to feed with titbits from the plate.

Ashamed at treating the old couple so shabbily when they obviously viewed Bill as one of their own, and were always so amenable to her, Nell gave a capitulating smile and ripped open the envelope.

And then such unexpected joy. ‘He’s coming up at the weekend!’

Whilst Ma and Georgie exclaimed in pleasure, exciting the dog who wriggled to be free, Nell almost collapsed from relief, her eyes filling with tears as she skimmed the rest.

‘Where’s he stopping?’ demanded Ma, large shovels of hands casting the terrier to the floor. ‘Write and tell him he must kip with us!’

‘He’ll surely come here of his own accord, dearie,’ Georgie stated to his wife, whilst Nell continued trying to read, completely unaware of her antiquated surroundings now, more intent on the word of today as she devoured the familiar script.

‘What else?’ pestered Ma.

‘Er, nothing much …’ This negated the big smile on Nell’s face, but she was not about to tell them of Bill’s desire to spend the whole weekend as they had last time. ‘He does mention coming to visit you, though.’ Loud satisfaction emerged from Ma. ‘They’re still being trained hard, but he sounds in good spirits.’ As was Nell. Bounding to her feet, she tucked the letter away and slung the gas-mask container over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, but I really will have to meet my friend – so long!’ And in this state of near euphoria, she left.

She was still beaming from ear to ear when, less than three minutes later, she met up with her friend outside the nearby Regal cinema, waving her most recent letter. ‘Billy’s coming to visit this weekend!’

‘I wondered why you looked as bright as a button,’ remarked Beata with a smile. ‘Didn’t think it could be ’cause of me.’

‘Oh, I’m pleased to see you as well, Killie!’ Having come to regard the latter as a favourite aunt, Nell pressed Beata’s arm.

Then, in a fit of exhilaration, her hand reached up to feel the hard little nugget beneath her clothes – the wedding ring on its neck chain which had never been removed since that last weekend with Bill. But she might need to transfer it to her finger if another trip away was on the cards! Perhaps, too, she could change his mind about marriage, get a special licence, so as to wear the ring for real.

But there might be an obstacle to meeting him at all, and in this she enlisted her friend’s help. ‘The trouble is, my parents still don’t know about him, and I’m afraid they’ll prevent me going for some reason …’ She bit her lip. ‘I know it’s an enormous liberty, but would you mind if I use your company as an excuse to go out on Friday night, perhaps Saturday too?’

Beata’s change of expression showed that she did mind. ‘Not if it involves having to lie.’

‘It needn’t.’ Nell tried gently to persuade her. ‘If you were to call at my house, as if we were going out together –’

‘Then you could ditch me before I cramp your style,’ finished Beata, tongue in cheek.

‘No! I’d never do that.’ Although it was obvious she was only using her friend, Nell suffered barely any guilt, for she would have employed whatever desperate means to be with Billy. ‘You could come out with Billy and me, perhaps for a few drinks, then … maybe go home a little earlier.’ Her face formed an entreating smile.

‘Why don’t you just hang a sign saying gooseberry round my neck and have done with it?’ joked her friend.

Nell showed compunction, but, ‘Please, Killie! This is so important, and I just don’t know what else to do! I must see him.’

Beata studied the urgency on that young face. ‘Well … I suppose if I am going to tag along with you, it wouldn’t really be a lie, would it?’ And she had harboured such romantic yearnings herself once. Who was she to stand in love’s way? ‘All right,’ she sighed, as Nell began to dance with excitement, ‘Give me your address and I’ll be your alibi – but come on now or we’ll miss the picture! Not that it’ll have as much bloomin’ intrigue as you’ve got to offer.’

On Friday evening, as arranged, Beata duly turned up at Nell’s house. Pleased that their daughter had such a mature, sensible-looking friend, Thelma and Wilfred made no complaint at her going out on the town yet again, not even when Nell announced that she and Beata would probably be enjoying Saturday together too.

Luckily, none of this involved Beata having to lie. ‘But I’m not too keen on you misleading them like this,’ she told Nell, as she hobbled alongside her to the bus stop.

‘I’ll make it up to you, Killie!’ swore Nell. ‘I promise. I hate having to do it too, but I daren’t risk telling them. I’ve missed him so much – oh, you’ll love him when you meet him!’

Beata turned impish. ‘I might take a fancy to him and pinch him off you.’

But, still in high spirits, Nell merely laughed. For as lovely-natured as she was, how could plain and plump old Killie be serious competition?

It was very cold when they reached the station, which was the appointed meeting place with Bill. Buying a platform ticket for each of them, Nell and her friend hurried through the barrier.

The temperature was a good deal lower here, the icy air seeming to ricochet from the stone beneath their feet. Waiting to pounce on him the moment he stepped off the train, Nell pranced from one foot to the other, half in cold, half in excitement. ‘Sorry to make you wait,’ she told her friend when, after fifteen minutes, he still had not shown up. ‘He’s usually so punctual.’

Beata huddled into her coat, and said in her patient manner, ‘Not to worry …’ But the way she rubbed her gloved hands told otherwise.

Anxiously watching and waiting for Bill to arrive, as trains came and went, Nell made no other comment for some while. But after noticing Beata adopt different positions in the next quarter of an hour, even with her mind on other things she was forced to respond to her friend’s discomfort. ‘Killie, you must be freezing, I’m so sorry, I don’t know where he’s got to – let me buy you a cup of tea in the café. If we sit by the window we’ll still be able to see him when he arrives.’

But, when the cups of tea were drained, Bill had still not come.

Nell had grown uneasy. She was trying not to be, but it showed on her face and in the drumming of her fingers on the table. ‘Right, well, I can’t expect you to hang around all night waiting for him, Killie. Why don’t you go home?’

‘I don’t know if I should leave you …’

I’ll be perfectly safe,’ Nell reassured her in a level tone.

‘All right then – but stay in here and keep warm,’ instructed Beata, rising to leave.

‘I will,’ came Nell’s reply. ‘And I’m so sorry for dragging you on this wild goose chase. I swear I’ll make it up to you – and I’ll get the culprit to treat you to drinks tomorrow night, how’s that?’

Accepting this, Beata wished her friend goodnight. ‘And give him gyp when he does turn up.’

‘Oh, I shall!’ vowed Nell.

But her suspense was to continue as another half-hour ticked away. Wandering out of the refreshment room, she cast a fretful gaze around the platform, and then the one opposite. There were squads of men in khaki greatcoats about, but none of them were Bill.

By nine thirty, accepting that he wasn’t going to come, and with the weather too cold to hang around any longer, a frantic Nell turned about and strode quickly towards town, intending to see if he had gone instead to the Preciouses.

But then why would he? Her stride faltered in the realisation that Bill would never have abandoned her like this unless something was wrong. And she might needlessly be disturbing Ma and Georgie, who always went to bed early. Standing still now in the middle of the pavement, a gloved hand over her mouth, Nell began to flick through a catalogue of awful things that might have befallen him, uncaring of those who occasionally stumbled against her in the darkness, her mind and heart in turmoil over Billy. Somewhere, behind a dark bank of cloud, droned a squadron of Halifax bombers. Steeped in worry, and too familiar with this harmonious sound, Nell paid it little heed either. Only a human emission caused alarm.

‘Coming for a ducky with us, love?’

She jumped violently at the voice that was close to her ear, and immediately shook off the soldiers’ advances.

‘Oy, keep your hair on!’ laughed one of them, as she fled home in distress.

How she had prevented her distress being relayed to her parents, Nell did not care, only that it was still there in the morning. A thousand thoughts had traversed her mind since then, one of them being how would she ever get through the weekend not knowing what had happened to him? Perhaps an explanation of his absence would arrive in the morning post – she must visit the Preciouses first thing.

Rising far earlier than normal, disturbing her mother who poked her head from her room and made bleary-eyed enquiry as to where Nell was going without any breakfast, she replied truthfully that she had volunteered to put in some extra hours at the Infirmary and would eat there. Then, whispering so as not to wake her father, she hissed, ‘Sorry, Mother, I forgot to tell you I’d be getting up so early. Go back to bed, and I’ll see you later!’ And off she sped to the Preciouses, rousing them too from bed.