Chapter 24

The Whartons’ clock had a tick that was the loudest Lily had ever heard. Though perhaps it was just the disconcerting silence that made it appear so.

‘Scotch pancake?’ asked Mrs Wharton, pushing a saucer of the limp, stale cakes over to Stella and Lily who sat facing her on the other side of the parlour table.

‘Scotch pancake? Is that all you’ve got to say?’ said Stella.

‘The baby’s not his,’ said Mrs Wharton, flatly.

Lily felt her legs wobble. It was as if the fringes on the red lampshade of the wooden standard lamp had begun to sway back and forth, or was it just her eyes losing focus? How could a person change from being so friendly, so charming, to such a cold-hearted witch?

‘But Mrs Wharton, look at me,’ Lily stuttered, fixing her with a desperate stare as she gestured towards her stomach, appealing her to listen, to make her believe that she was telling the truth. ‘I know about the gossip.

And how it would suit some folk to spread this version of the story around. More colourful, I suppose. In every way. But I’m not that sort of a girl. I’ve only ever been with Vincent. And apart from that, it doesn’t even make sense. I’ve only really known Clarence these last four weeks! So how can I be this far gone? It has to be Vincent’s!’

Mrs Wharton, stared at her coldly, without a shred of compassion.

‘I’m only saying what I know to be true.’ She tossed back her head, stuck her chin out, and gave her a withering look. ‘Anyway, you’re lying. What kind of girl gets herself pregnant? A liar, and a selfish one at that.’

Lily looked outside, blinking back tears, took the gloomy weather and the bombed houses opposite that she could see through the window as a perfect accompaniment to how she was feeling.

‘I know what you’re up to, Beryl Wharton,’ said Stella. ‘You’re trying to pin the blame on Clarence because you don’t want your Vincent left with a child to feed and raise. Very convenient, these rumours. Was it you who put the poison into Vincent’s head? You know it’s not this Clarence fellow’s. And so do I. God, I actually feel sorry for Vincent.’

Lily was praying for Vincent to come in from the other room.

‘There’s nowt you can do about that. Vincent went off to sea again this morning. And we’ve no idea when he’s back. Except that it won’t be for another six months at least.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Lily.

Vincent’s mother shrugged and turned away from them. ‘I must say, I never would have thought it of you, Lily. So disappointing. Will he marry you, this Clarence character?’

‘It’s not his!’ she cried. ‘I’ve told you. It’s Vincent’s! Why do you keep going on about Clarence?’

Beryl Wharton looked at her, the corners of her mouth turning down into a sneer. ‘Rot,’ she said.

Lily felt herself trembling. All the life drained out of her in an instant.

‘You really think it’s Clarence’s baby? I’m nearly six months pregnant.’

‘You don’t look six months pregnant,’ she snapped. ‘Anyway, everyone is saying it’s this chap’s baby.’

‘Everyone?’ said Stella. ‘And who have you told this lie to?’

‘Please, Mrs Wharton. You have to help me,’ said Lily.

‘What can I do? I’m only the monkey. Tell that to the organ grinder.’

‘What are you on about?’ yelled Lily, losing her temper, her cheeks flushing.

Mrs Wharton stood. She began clearing away the plate of untouched cakes and the jug of water. ‘Look, leave now. How can I believe a word you say? Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ she snapped, bitterly. ‘I’ll not having you trap our Vincent into thinking the child’s his.’

‘No! It is our baby. Mine and Vincent’s. I love him! We love each other!’

‘It doesn’t look like it. When did you last hear from him? He told me he wrote a letter to you, breaking it off. Didn’t he? Have you not received it, then?’

She fixed her with a cruel appraising gaze, glacial and unfeeling.

‘I-I …’ Lily stuttered, feeling defeated and alone.

Stella gathered up her shawl, pulling it tight across her body, and drawing herself up with an expression on her face that showed the strength of her feelings, announced that this was a waste of flaming time and she had never heard such nonsense in her life.

They left the house. Mrs Wharton heard the door slam shut and watched Stella and Lily from behind the blackout curtain, two hunched desperate figures, making their way down the ravaged street.

Ten minutes later, the door slammed open.

‘You had callers, Mam?’ said Vincent, shaking out his mackintosh.

‘No,’ she replied.

‘Then what’s with the pancakes?’ he said, stuffing one into his mouth.

‘Nowt. Don’t bother yourself, son. Just a bit of summat over nothing.’

When they arrived home, Lily curled into herself, the pale blue coverlet bunched up around her, hugging her knees to her chest. When she rolled onto her back, Stella saw the whole truth of what had been happening over the past six months. Lily placed her hand on her bump, not shrouded in a coat, or covered with a blanket, but exposed, smooth, and white, with her belly button protruding. Her face looked sad and frightened.

‘It’s not fair, Mam.’

Stella took her hand, stroked the back of it. ‘Life’s not fair. This bloody war has shown us that.’

‘What d’you mean?’ asked Lily.

Stella pressed her lips together. It was still too painful to speak about. ‘I mean Vincent.’

Lily pulled the covers back over her, and played with the tassel on her mother’s shawl as she had as a child.

‘So what now?’ said Stella, tenderly.

What Stella had dearly wanted to say was, if you decide to keep the baby, I’m sure we could sort something out. Why should we care about what anyone thinks? What with this war on, everyone coming and going, I could even pass the child off as mine. But she knew this was a fantasy. The shame would be too much for any of them to bear. She pushed a tendril of Lily’s hair behind her ear.

Lily winced. She looked at Stella, bewildered. ‘Without Vincent, what’s the point of keeping the baby? How would we manage? What would everyone say? They’d call me a slut or a fallen woman. I couldn’t bear it, Mam.’

Stella paused. Was now the time to bring up St Jude’s?

But suddenly, Lily cried, ‘So, don’t you see, that’s why he has to come back and find me!’ She banged her fist on the bed as if to underscore her feelings. ‘I can’t believe he won’t change his mind. Can I please stay here until I have the baby in case he does?’

‘Of course,’ said Stella, despondently. It was agonising to see her daughter still so hopeful, so in love with Vincent.

Then Lily felt something suddenly, lifted up her blouse. There was no mistaking or hiding this baby now. And to her amazement, she could actually see it, a wave, a ripple, a stubby shape moving under her skin, a bump, but there it was, the heel maybe, a fist. Good grief. It was a baby. An actual baby.

‘Mam, the baby. You can actually see it moving!’

Stella gasped. She came back over to the side of the bed, placed her hand on her daughter’s stomach. And there it was.

‘She’s turning. Oh Lily … Lily …’

‘What?’

Was now the moment to tell her? thought Stella. If she was a good mother, wouldn’t now be the time to share her awful secret? But how would that help things? This really was a hopeless situation.

‘Try and get some sleep, love. Everything will feel better when you’re not so tired.’

Lily sat up, wrapped herself up in the bed covers. No, it won’t, she thought. And then suddenly she felt a kick. A little angry kick. And a reminder that time was running out.