Alison almost ran down Falcon Road, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the butcher’s as possible. She was glad it had started to rain – it made her tears less obvious. The few people who were out in it had their heads down, taking no notice of her. She hunched over more than ever, trying to stifle her sobs.
She turned off the main road and wandered on more slowly now, not caring that she was getting soaked. A few more turnings and she was by the river. She could see the hulking shapes of the wharves. The buildings across the water were shrouded in drizzle, grey masses against grey clouds. If she walked along the bank a bit further she’d be at St Mary’s church. Her family never went there but she had an idea that Fred did. She couldn’t see the point of it all. God hadn’t answered any of her prayers so far and she certainly wasn’t going to spill her heart out to a vicar. She remembered hearing that the church had homes for people like her – unmarried mothers who needed to give birth to their babies in secret, away from gossiping neighbours and shamed families. She shuddered. She didn’t want to go to any such place, but she didn’t want to go through this alone.
Should she trust Fred? As she grew calmer she thought hard about it. He’d been kind so far and even though he’d asked those intrusive questions he hadn’t ordered her to leave. But what could he do? He was a middle-aged man with, if her mother was to be believed, no experience of women except for an old harridan of a mother. Would he know about doctors who could help her? But Vera had said that was illegal. Even if her friend hadn’t told her what she wanted to hear, Alison believed her. The image came to her of a blood-soaked couch, sharp instruments all around, and a girl lying in the middle of it, rolling in agony. She didn’t think she had the nerve to risk it, let alone the money.
As the fine rain continued to fall she realised she was getting colder. Good. Maybe she could catch pneumonia and then she might lose the baby. Then she couldn’t be blamed for killing it but the result would be the same. Perhaps she could manage it so that her mother and Hazel wouldn’t find out. She could say it was a heavy case of the monthlies. She’d tell Fred he’d been mistaken and she’d been ill after all. That would mean Vera was the only other person who knew, and she wouldn’t say a word.
Alison opened her coat so that the rain would soak her apron and blouse beneath it but as fast as the shower had started it stopped again. The sun came out and instead of getting drenched, Alison began to dry out, steam rising off her coat. The weather was warming up with the advent of summer and usually she would have been pleased, but now it had spoiled her one desperate idea. She’d have to get something other than pneumonia, or else wait for the next heavy rainstorm. She shrugged. It was the best she could come up with.
Gazing over the churning water she decided she’d have to put a brave face on it and at least act more cheerful even if she didn’t feel it. If she went on like this even her mother might notice eventually. She’d stop wallowing in misery and get on with earning as much at the shop as she could, just in case her plan didn’t work. Then when it rained again she’d find a reason to be out in it for a long time and let nature take its course. Plenty of women lost babies when they were ill, after all.
Taking a deep breath she turned her back on the river and began to retrace her steps. The old lanes between the water and the main roads shone with raindrops and for a moment she stopped to take in how lovely they looked. The sun was out and the early summer greenery was swaying in a gentle breeze. If only things had been different. She could have looked at this scene and enjoyed it properly. She hardly ever took a moment to see what was around her. She was so used to her mother saying how awful the area was and Linda telling them how marvellous Kent was in contrast that she went along with them. But there were spots in Battersea that she loved, and this was her home. She just had to get through the next few weeks and hope that nobody noticed anything until she had a chance to put her plan into action.
‘You go on in and play, then Mummy will be back for you this afternoon.’ Linda was dropping off June at the home of one of her little friends. She was a sociable child and loved having friends round and now some were inviting her back to their houses. Linda was glad of the break sometimes although she was very particular about who June went to play with. She didn’t want her associating with just anybody. They might as well have stayed in Battersea if she mixed with some of the kids round here.
As soon as she’d turned the corner into her own street Linda’s smile faltered. She was trying to put on a good front but inside her emotions were in turmoil. For a few weeks she’d thought the longed-for second baby was on its way and she could hardly contain her joy. This is what June really needed: a brother or sister. Only children were lonely, it was well known. And it was so tempting to spoil her. She knew Terry would love a son, to play football with and teach all about lorries, though he’d be more than happy with another daughter as well. She’d been on the point of telling him last night.
Then she’d felt the dreaded cramp in the stomach and it had all come to nothing. She’d sat in the indoor, upstairs bathroom that they were both so proud of and wept in disappointment. She’d been so sure; she’d felt more tired, her breasts had seemed larger and more tender, her mood was different. She thought her appetite had changed too. Now she didn’t know if she’d imagined all of it and it was simply that her monthlies were very late or if she had just lost what would have been a baby.
She told herself not to be so silly. They had plenty of time. She was only twenty-four. Women far older than her had babies. She and Terry had years ahead of them and goodness knows they enjoyed trying. That wasn’t the problem. So why was she so depressed about it? These things happened.
Because, said a little voice in her head, if you were pregnant then Terry might not take all these risks storing the boxes. He wouldn’t dare to upset you. He knew how much she worried every time the consignments arrived, and how she’d noticed they were getting bigger and staying on their property for longer. The good thing was the payments went up each time. Yet she’d be quite happy to draw the line under what they’d saved. There was enough for a bigger place now. It wouldn’t be a mansion but it would have an extra room for the new baby when it came.
The sooner that baby showed signs of arriving the better. She hated the way it wasn’t under her control. She loved having everything go to plan. June had been conceived within a year of their marriage and had been born bang on time. That had lulled Linda into a false sense of security. Everything she’d wanted, she’d worked hard for and it had all fallen into place. Though she never admitted as much, even to herself, she’d assumed this would continue. Now it looked as if she was wrong.
Snap out of it, she told herself. Usually she had no patience with mopers. It’s just a minor setback. Don’t go making yourself a nervous wreck. Everyone says you have to be relaxed to fall pregnant. You’ve got to keep calm. Don’t make trouble where there’s none.
She laughed to herself. She had to be patient. And anyway, Hazel would have been furious if she’d fallen pregnant and couldn’t fit into her bridesmaid’s dress. So there was a bright side after all. Heaven help anyone who did anything to ruin her sister’s wedding.
Over the next few weeks Alison did everything she could to make herself ill while trying to behave normally. Every time it rained she managed to get soaked – but as the weather got warmer there were fewer and fewer showers. If a customer mentioned having a cold or a bug she made sure to serve them and to keep them chatting for as long as possible. She didn’t catch anything.
One Saturday afternoon she slipped out and went to the local library, where she checked all the medical encyclopaedias. Not surprisingly they didn’t give any clues to how to get rid of unwanted babies. She tried flicking through various novels instead, and that was more useful. There was something called a gin bath. Did that mean taking a bath in gin? It sounded expensive. She read on and saw that the heroine took a very hot bath and drank a bottle of gin while she was in it. That sounded more like it.
Having a bath at home was complicated, as there wasn’t a bathroom in the house. A tin bath hung in the outside toilet. This had to be moved into the kitchen and then filled with water heated on the cooker. Usually they didn’t bother and washed standing up at the sink. Still, it sounded as if it would be possible.
Alison walked for some while up the hill from the library until she found herself in an area near Stockwell where nobody would know her, and managed to buy a bottle of gin. She’d have to make up an excuse to Cora why her contribution to the household budget was less than usual as it took a big chunk out of her wages. She could say that Fred had made her buy some new aprons out of her own money. That would do.
By the time she got home it was early evening and Cora was slamming down a plate on the table in front of her almost as soon as she got through the door. ‘Where’ve you been? You can have this on your own. I’m going over to see Jill, as some of us are working hard for your sister’s wedding. We’ll be busy all evening so there won’t be no afters if you don’t make it yourself.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Alison, hiding her bag behind the chair. ‘Where’s Hazel?’
‘Gone to see Neville. For once he ain’t working the late shift and they’re making the most of her having a day off tomorrow to have a night out and I don’t blame them. So you’re on your own, unless you got any other plans.’ She looked critically at her daughter. ‘Which I don’t suppose you have.’
‘I might have a bath,’ said Alison.
‘Well, wash your hair while you’re at it. See if you can do anything to make it less like rats’ tails.’ With that Cora picked up her handbag and headed out.
Alison was relieved. She quickly ate the spam fritters Cora had made and then set about putting water on to heat. She dragged the tin bath off its rusty hook and into the kitchen where it took up all the available space. While waiting for the water she tried her first sip of gin.
It tasted disgusting. She didn’t think she’d be able to manage much of it but wasn’t sure how much she needed to drink for it to work. She deliberately poured a glass to finish off before getting into the bath.
She started off by sipping it slowly but found it too horrible, so held her nose and gulped back the lot. It burned her throat and she thought it wouldn’t stay down but she steadied herself and waited. After a few moments she thought she’d be all right. She was very unsteady but somehow managed to tip hot water into the bath, strip off and sit in it.
Maybe this was why you had to drink gin. She’d never normally be able to stand it this hot. Her head swam. How long did she have to stay in here? It was sweaty and uncomfortable – if she hadn’t had the gin it would have been painful. She couldn’t bear to dip her head in it to wash her hair. Then a wave of nausea hit her.
Stumbling, she grabbed a towel to wrap around herself just in time and made it to the outside toilet. She vomited up the spam fritters and the gin in one agonising heave. Panting, she rested her head against the cool wall, thinking that she’d been sick more often in the past few months than in the rest of her life put together. She wondered if that meant it wouldn’t work. She ought to drink more and top up the water but she couldn’t bear it.
Eventually she made her way back inside and slowly emptied out the bath before hanging it back up. Alison desperately wanted to throw away the gin but realised she’d never afford it again so hid it at the back of a kitchen cupboard. Then she went upstairs and collapsed on her cramped bed, the tiny room going round in circles, as she waited for something to happen.
She woke in the morning with a pounding head. Cautiously she glanced under the covers. Nothing. It had all been for nothing. There was not a drop of blood to be seen.