A Mother’s Hope

Rose had put on her coat and was preparing to carry Ricky round to the Scotts’ room when the knock came on the door. Hastily she lifted the child, well wrapped in blankets, and shouted, ‘Come in,’ guessing that her visitor would be Mrs Walshaw, for this evening, at long last, they were to visit Martin’s place of work and see for themselves the delightful dwellings which he guarded from vandals and thieves.

‘Evening, love! I can see you’re ready for the off, but I thought I’d better give you a knock ’cos I’ve got a little something for your hubby. I know he’s fond of Cornish pasties, so when I was baking earlier in the day I made one extra.’

She handed over a small package and Rose beamed and put it into the capacious satchel already slung from one shoulder. ‘Thanks, Mrs Walshaw,’ she said gratefully. ‘I expect the Scotts are ready too, so you might as well give them a knock.’

The older woman did so and the door immediately shot open to reveal Millie, already in her coat and holding out her arms to take Ricky. ‘On time as usual,’ Millie said joyfully. ‘We’ve turned the television on because there’s a good film on later.’ Mrs Walshaw nodded enthusiastically. In another few days it would be Christmas and Scotty, who had received a handsome bonus from his firm, had gone out and bought a television set.

‘It’s an early present, so you can begin to learn how to use it right away and will have it off pat by the great day itself,’ he had told Millie. ‘Only don’t go expecting anything else, will you? Paying for the set outright has gobbled up every spare penny I had.’

Rose had wondered if there had been an element of guilt in such a handsome gift, for she had not been able to help noticing that her friend had not been her usual self of late. Oh, Millie laughed, squabbled and teased as much as ever, but somehow the old gaiety had gone.

Now, Mrs Walshaw glanced approvingly around the room and Rose, following her gaze, realised how cosy it had become since Millie had decided that whilst they lived in Bath Street they might as well be comfortable. Accordingly, she had bought a number of gay rugs and invested in a large electric fire. Scotty complained sometimes that the fire gobbled their shillings as though money grew on trees, but since he agreed with his wife that the baby must be kept warm he continued to supply the cash needed. Rose and Martin had also invested in a slightly larger electric fire than the one provided by their landlady and Rose, as she had promised, had not only made draught excluders for the bottoms of their door and windows, but had also bought tape from Woolworth’s to cover up the source of any draught she discovered.

Now, as Mrs Walshaw settled in the armchair, Millie tucked Ricky into the foot of her son’s cot and Rose leaned over and kissed her sleeping baby’s cheek. ‘Be a good boy for Auntie Walshaw,’ she murmured. She turned to the older woman. ‘Have a nice evening, Mrs Walshaw. We’ll be home before ten.’

‘Have a good time, my dears,’ Mrs Walshaw said, then surged to her feet and stood in the doorway to wave them off. ‘And if you’re a little late, don’t worry yourselves because I’ll be quite happy here until midnight if necessary. Give Martin my love, as well as the Cornish pasty.’

‘I will,’ Rose called back. She was excited because she knew very well that though the ostensible reason for visiting the building site was so that Martin could show them round his place of work, Scotty and Millie were saving up for a deposit on one of the bungalows. She was eager to see what they were like, and wondered whether she and Martin might one day own such a home.

The building site was the other side of the town, so the three of them caught a bus and then walked along a winding country road until they saw the bulk of the new buildings outlined against the starry sky. It was a freezing night, the trees rimed with frost, and when they arrived they were all glad of the warmth of the brazier before which Don lay sprawled in abandoned sleep. He woke as soon as he heard their voices, greeting them with his usual lopsided grin, flattened ears and wildly wagging tail, and presently accompanied them on their tour.

Back in Bath Street, they thanked Mrs Walshaw sincerely for looking after the children, told her how much they had enjoyed their evening, and went their separate ways, Rose with Ricky fast asleep in her arms. He no longer had a ten o’clock feed, but slept right through until six am, which was nice at weekends since it enabled Martin to have an undisturbed night.

She undressed and got into bed. It had been interesting all right to visit the estate where Martin spent so much time now, but also somewhat alarming. The place was huge, and Martin’s long and lonely tours of the site must take him at least an hour. He was accompanied by Don, of course, but even so he checked every nook and cranny of every building, for intruders came in all shapes and sizes: kids playing dangerous games on piles of bricks; older youths looking for a spare bit of planking, some sand or cement, or even the odd bathroom fitting. Then of course there were the genuine thieves who would drive on to the site in a lorry, load up and drive away, or might have done so had Martin not been constantly on the alert. At the first sight of his torch beam, they would make off hurriedly and not return.

Martin said he enjoyed his work, but Rose was convinced that had anything more congenial offered he would have consigned night watching to the devil and taken a job which did not mean he was away from Bath Street – and awake – all night. And with Christmas so near, there would be even more reason for people to steal, Rose thought worriedly now.

She and Millie were highly regarded at the pyjama factory. They were doing piecework and because they were both neat, accurate and quick, it had been suggested that if they ever wanted to try their hand at more elaborate garments a transfer to the factory in mid-Wales could be arranged. Rose had not even considered this option – she was truly happy where they were – but she had teased Millie that the suggestion must have come from Mr McDonald. ‘He was clearly very struck by you that first day in reception,’ she had said. ‘And I’ve noticed he pops in to have a word with you whenever he’s in Rhyl. Good thing you aren’t in the same factory as Scotty, or I guess sparks would fly.’

Millie agreed that this was so. ‘Scotty considers that I’m his property, just like a slave,’ she informed her friend. ‘He used to be terribly jealous, though I’ve never given him cause, and he’d start imagining things, so don’t you say a word about being offered better jobs at the mid-Wales place, and I won’t either.’ However, since Rose was sure there was no more question of Millie’s moving than there was of her own, she thought there was little fear that the topic would ever arise.

On the other hand, having seen the building site, Rose decided that she would nag Martin to look for another job. In fact, she would start getting the Rhyl Journal, where there were usually a few jobs advertised. Once she had thought of Martin as timid, but this evening had made her realise that it was not only she who had changed. A timid person could not possibly have held down the job of night watchman. Chasing kids off piles of bricks was one thing; tackling thieves with lorries quite another. But Martin had never complained or admitted to being nervous, so she must watch her step. She would say the cold and the long hours were not good for him, and point out that if he applied for a day job at least they could have their evenings together.

After Christmas they settled down to what Rose had heard described as ‘the hungry months’. Ricky and Alex, who had enjoyed the jollity of the festive season and the different, more luxurious food, had each cut four teeth and their smiles were glorious to behold. Scotty, who had been to rather a lot of office parties and had often come home the worse for wear, vowed that he would be sober as a judge until next Christmas. Millie said rather sharply that she hoped he meant it, since coping with a full-time job, a baby who could now crawl and a squiffy husband who blamed her if anything went even remotely wrong was beginning to get her down.

Rose, who now took it for granted that Martin would not only do his share of the chores but also cope with a grizzling baby, thought Millie ought to insist that Scotty did his part, but her friend was oddly reluctant to force Scotty’s hand and Rose knew better than to interfere.

‘No one bar the folk concerned know what goes on in a marriage,’ Mrs Walshaw had said wisely, when Rose had hinted that all might not be well. ‘You leave them to sort it out, love. Besides, if you ask me, the weather’s got a lot to do with it. We’ve not seen the sun in weeks; the sky presses down on us like a great wet blanket. I reckon some really cold, crisp weather would be better than what we’ve been having. In my opinion, your pal will be her usual self as soon as there’s a sign of spring.’

‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ Rose had said rather dubiously. It was January now and another difficulty had reared its ugly head – getting the washing dry. It was no use hanging it on the line, and though she bought a clothes horse and arranged it round the electric fire, she felt guilty for doing so since she thought a damp atmosphere was the reason Ricky had caught a cold and been poorly for several days. It was not so bad for Millie, who carted all her washing down to the launderette, but even so she brought the garments back only marginally less wet than Rose’s hand-wrung nappies, and still had to find some way of drying and airing them.

Though Rose had searched the paper every evening for some suitable work for Martin which would not mean working nights, she had not been successful, and Martin assured her that the longer he was in the job the more he enjoyed it. ‘And Don feels the same,’ he told her. ‘We both like bein’ useful, and we are, Rosie. And the money’s handy, Ain’t that so?’

Rose admitted that it was, and the four of them continued to slog through ‘the hungry months’ with Mrs Walshaw’s help, for she willingly babysat so that they could enjoy the odd evening out. Martin was home at weekends, for the weather had put a stop to most of the maintenance at the funfair, and it struck Rose that the rather worrying noises which occasionally came to her ears from the room next door never occurred when Martin was around. In fact, when she had been truly disturbed by a crash followed by a sharp cry of pain and had gone round to enquire what had happened, Millie, with Alex in her arms, had said soothingly that she had tripped when carrying her empty dishes back to the kitchen, and had broken the lot, besides wrenching her ankle. ‘So poor Scotty has volunteered to do the washing and wiping up, of the unbroken stuff that is,’ she had said sweetly. ‘Dear me, another visit to Woollies’ crockery shelf in the morning, I fear.’

Scotty, all smiles, had agreed with Millie’s version of events and had come down to the kitchen and washed up Rose’s dishes as well as his own, but Rose had begun to wonder whether there was more to Millie’s frequent accidents than met the eye. Her friend never made mistakes when she was using her big industrial sewing machine, or finishing off each garment by hand. Why should she be so constantly clumsy at home?

But when Rose had voiced her suspicions to Martin, he had scoffed at the very idea that Scotty might occasionally be violent to his wife. ‘He worships her,’ he had assured Rose. ‘Can’t do enough for her. Why, look at that lovely television set, and the silver horse brooch. No, no, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, queen.’

Now, it was early on Wednesday afternoon and Martin had only just got into his camp bed. Rose had had a dentist’s appointment and Martin had accompanied her to the surgery. Rose had decided to take the rest of the day off to get some shopping done and now she watched as Martin pulled the blankets up round his ears. He grinned at her, then held out an arm. ‘Want to leave Ricky wi’ me? I don’t mind, honest I don’t, Rosie. In fact if you leave him I’ll mek a real effort and not go straight off to sleep.’

Rose shook her head. ‘As if I’d be so cruel, when you and Don have been workin’ all night, and come out with me this morning,’ she protested. ‘And now that Ricky can crawl you’d get no peace. No, you stay there and I’ll take Don down for a gallop along the beach. Then he can guard the pram while I get some grub.’

‘Millie gave me a list, so I’m going to get her stuff as well,’ Rose told him. ‘It was raining earlier, so we thought there was no sense in the pair of us getting wet. In fact she offered to have Ricky for me, but I think some fresh air will do him good. Besides, the rain has almost stopped, so we’ll shop together, won’t we, darling?’ She bent over the old playpen she had bought and plucked her son, already dressed in his little blue coat and hat, out and on to her hip. ‘Here, Don!’

The big dog, who had slumped down next to the camp bed, got to his feet and slapped a red tongue round Martin’s face, then ran to the door. Rose grinned and went over to open it. ‘He may have been up all night, but at the mere mention of a walk he’s ready for the off,’ she said. ‘Bye, Mart. See you later!’

They walked down to the promenade and Don raced back and forth along the beach, and then they went to the shops, ending up in Woolworth’s. Rose was examining a blue cardigan in the window of a small shop nearby when someone spoke from behind her. ‘Gertrude?’ the voice said. ‘It is you, isn’t it? Little Gertrude Pleavin, looking so grown up – and so pretty, my dear. Now don’t rush away until you’ve heard me out. I want to explain . . .’

Rose did not run towards home but in the opposite direction, feeling instinctively that she must not let Mrs Ellis know they were living in Bath Street. She darted in and out of any little side alley that presented itself, and very soon she knew that the pursuit, if it had ever existed, was no longer on her heels. The pavements were almost empty now and darkness was complete, but even so Rose hesitated a long while before turning for home. Ricky was getting restless, beginning to mutter and wriggle. Very soon he would realise he was hungry and would start to wail – he might give her away, bring her enemy back! It was time to return to Bath Street, bright lights and sanity.

Rose could have kicked herself. I should have heard Mrs Ellis out, she thought; I’ve been told often enough that there’s nothing she can do to harm either me or Ricky. But the conviction that Mrs Ellis would try to take her baby away, would say that Mr Ellis, as the father, had rights of which Rose knew nothing, would not be dismissed.

So even now she could not bring herself to go straight home. Suppose Mrs Ellis was still prowling the streets, searching? She went by a roundabout route, not reaching the house until well past eight o’clock and then entering like a thief in the night. Shoulders hunched, knees bent, head turning this way and that, she finally slipped into the house and scuttled up the stairs, meaning to go straight to her own room, to feed Ricky and have a snack, and then to call on the Scotts.

However, as she reached the upper landing, it occurred to her that Millie might be worrying over her non-appearance, so instead of going straight to her own door she tapped lightly on the Scotts’, waited a moment, and then opened it cautiously. She peered into the room and saw Millie bending over the cot. Her friend turned as she entered and gave Rose a travesty of a smile. She looked absolutely dreadful. Her face was swollen, one eye puffy and almost closed, and her lower lip was split and hanging open. All thoughts of the Ellises forgotten, Rose crossed the room and took Millie’s hands in both of hers. ‘Wharrever’s happened, queen?’ she asked, her voice high with shock. ‘And don’t tell me you fell down the stairs ’cos I shan’t believe you.’ She glanced around the room, seeing that it was more than usually chaotic. Clothes were piled on the bed and on the floor, and though Alex lay in his cot he was not in his nightgown, but fully dressed. ‘Millie, what’s been goin’ on? Surely you can tell me.’

Millie gave a stifled sob. Tears ran down her cheeks, but were impatiently dashed away. She spoke stiffly, every word, Rose saw, causing her pain. ‘It was Scotty,’ she said. ‘I was late getting in because I stopped off to buy a bag of spuds. When he got home, his dinner wasn’t ready. I can tell you my heart sank into my boots when he asked why it wasn’t on the table. He – he punched me in the face. I guess you must realise it’s happened before. Usually, I get out of his way, run out of the flat and go down to the kitchen, but . . . but . . .’

There was a pause, during which Rose took Ricky out of his sling and popped him into the cot beside Alex, where he immediately started to grizzle. ‘He’s hungry,’ Rose said briefly. She pushed Millie into a chair, then took a bottle of prepared rose hip syrup out of her shopping bag and handed it to her son, who leaned back on the pillow, seized the bottle in both hands, and began to suck. Rose turned to her friend. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘We didn’t know Scotty was violent, honest to God we didn’t. I’ve sometimes wondered . . . but Martin likes him a lot – I don’t think he’s ever had a friend like Scotty before – so he won’t believe ill of him.’

Millie laughed bitterly. ‘I was the same myself, when we were first married,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t – or wouldn’t – believe that a bloke would hit his wife. God, I was a fool! He began knocking me about almost as soon as we moved in together, but then I got pregnant and he was all right for quite a long time. When you came here to live it was great, because the wall between our rooms is thin and he was worried that Martin might hear something and come calling . . .’

‘If only we’d known! You should have told me,’ Rose mourned. ‘Between us we should have been able to show Scotty the error of his ways. Mart isn’t terribly strong but he’d had given your feller something to think about if he’d known how things were. So go on. Scotty punched you in the face . . .’

‘That’s right, not just once, several times. And he broke one of my front teeth. One of my eyes doesn’t seem to be working properly, and my lip is agony – I bit my tongue and there was blood everywhere. Usually he hits me where it won’t show, but I reckon something must have gone wrong at work today and it made Scotty reckless. Oh, Rosie, I saw red! I jumped up – no, lurched up – and picked up that big heavy saucepan, and brought it cracking down on his head.’ She chuckled faintly, then sniffed and began to weep once more. ‘He went out like a light and I thought that was the end of it, for today at any rate. Alex was screaming fit to burst – he always does when Scotty hits me – so I went to the cot and picked him up. I collapsed into the armchair, with him on my lap, trying to soothe him. After a few minutes, I gave him his night-time bottle and he was sucking away quite happily when Scotty began to come round. He reached over and grabbed Alex out of my arms. He said that I could be put in prison for hitting him with an offensive weapon, and if I ever hit him again, he’d take Alex and go where I’d never find either of them.’

Rose hissed in her breath. ‘No one seeing your face would side with him for a moment,’ she said decidedly. She looked round the room. ‘Where’s Scotty now? It’s past eight o’clock. Didn’t Martin come round to ask where I was? I can’t believe he could have looked at your face and not realised that something was badly wrong.’

Millie wiped a dribble of blood from her chin. ‘Scotty’s down at the pub, of course, drowning his sorrows, as they say. As for Martin, he left for work a bit later than usual, so he just called through the door on his way out to say you weren’t home yet instead of coming in.’

‘And now I trust that you’ll come down to the police station with me so that they can haul Scotty off to prison,’ Rose said. ‘One look at your face will be enough to convince them that Scotty’s a danger to anyone who crosses him.’

Millie got stumblingly to her feet, shaking her head as she did so. ‘No way! I’m leaving; getting away while the going’s good. Oh, I know the police might question him if we report it, but he’s clever is Scotty. He’d find a way to wriggle out of it, and come back here . . . he might chuck me down the stairs next time and break my neck, then say it was an accident. Or he might promise good behaviour, but I know better than to believe that one. No, I’m getting out. I told him not to come back here tonight or I’d have the law on him, but in fact I shall be away by nine o’clock. I’ll leave him a note saying I’ve gone back to my parents. He’s scared of my father, so he won’t follow me.’

Rose looked at the chaos all around and realised that it was not, in fact, as bad as it appeared. Her friend had got a couple of bags and had been filling one with her own warm clothing and the other with Alex’s. Now Millie turned and gave Rose an impulsive hug. ‘I’m not really going back to Mother and Father,’ she said, ‘and not just because they’ll say they told me so. I’d be scared to leave their house in case Scotty was hovering somewhere, waiting to catch me alone. He’d snatch Alex, I’m sure he would, and I couldn’t bear that.’

She told the story of her meeting with Mrs Ellis, and subsequent flight, and was surprised when her friend, at first aghast, began to look hopeful. ‘We’re in the same boat then,’ Millie said joyfully, when she had finished. ‘I’m taking off, but to tell you the truth I was dreading leaving you and Mart. Now I shan’t have to, because all three of us, and the two babies, and Don of course, can run away together.’

Rose gasped. She understood completely how Millie felt, but could not believe that running away was the solution. Where would they run to, for a start? And how would they keep body and soul together? They could scarcely hope to hide from Scotty and Mrs Ellis whilst continuing to work at the pyjama factory.

She said as much and Millie gave a tiny crow of triumph. ‘Of course we can’t possibly continue to make pyjamas,’ she said. ‘But don’t you remember? Management told us ages ago that if we ever wanted better paid and more intricate work the factory in mid-Wales would be delighted to employ us. Oh, Rose, don’t shake your head at me! It’s the obvious solution! I’ve never mentioned the mid-Wales factory to Scotty, and I remember you saying you wouldn’t tell Martin, because there was no point, since neither of us wanted to move. I reckon it’s the safest place for all of us. Martin will find work; you know how persistent he is. Please, please say you’ll come with me! The very thought of travelling all those miles alone scares me stiff, but I’ve got to do it, for Alex’s sake as much as my own. I’m serious when I say one day Scotty will kill me, and I don’t fancy leaving my little son to his tender mercies. Say you and Martin will come, Rose!’

‘Oh, but I can’t speak for Mart,’ Rose said wildly. ‘I’m not saying he won’t agree that we’d best leave Rhyl, but he hates doing anything in a hurry. He’ll say we must give in our notice, arrange with management to start work in mid-Wales on a certain day, pay the rent of the flat until the end of the month . . . and he’s sensible, is Mart. When we left Liverpool—’

‘Yes, but that was different; no one was chasing you to beat you up,’ Millie said through her stiff and swollen lips. ‘Please, Rose, come with me! Martin can come on later. Scotty won’t touch him, but if he decides that you know where I’ve gone, I wouldn’t answer for your safety.’

‘I’m not worried; Martin would be the one doing the killing if your husband set about me,’ Rose said stoutly, but inwardly she quailed. Martin might not be around when Scotty decided to make her tell all . . . and suppose he grabbed Ricky . . . suppose Mrs Ellis discovered where they were living . . .

‘I’ve got to be out of here before they call time at the nearest pub, or I’m a dead duck. We’ll leave Martin a letter . . . he can meet us somewhere away from Rhyl . . . please, Rosie! You’ve always been a good friend to me . . .’

In trembling haste, Rose returned to her own room. She thrust a change of clothes for herself into the biggest bag she possessed, then began to sort out Ricky’s things. She had left the child, now sleeping soundly, in Alex’s cot, and when Millie came knocking on her door, a bare half-hour later, her packing was complete and she had written a letter to Martin, though she could not say too much in case Scotty, returning home and finding both his own and his friend’s wives missing, might barge into their room, find the letter, and start out at once to follow them. It had to be carefully worded.

Dear Mart (she had written),

Millie and me have left, taking Ricky and Alex, of course. Poor Millie is in an awful state. Scotty beat her up, Mart, and so she’s going home and I’m going with her. I shan’t stay with her parents even if they ask me to, but will write to you, care of Mr Carruthers at the building site, letting you know exactly where to find me. And Mart, please stay away from Scotty because he’s dangerous. He punched her and broke one of her front teeth and split her lip. Her eye is fat and oozing so she can’t see out of it, and she’s his own wife! Oh, Mart, I’m leaving you in the lurch but I know you’ll understand. I couldn’t let her go all that way alone.

Love from Rose and Millie.

PS It doesn’t seem important now, but Mrs Ellis walked up to me in town this afternoon, and said we must talk. I know she will want to take Ricky and make him her own little boy. So of course I ran away. Another reason for leaving, you see.

Rose.

Rose showed the letter to her friend and laid it in Ricky’s cot. Then she and Millie set off to walk to the station. They hurried, because Millie had already pointed out that if they did not get a move on they would miss the last train which would take them on the first step of their journey to mid-Wales.

‘But what will we do when we get there?’ Rose asked her friend. ‘Mart and me have got a Post Office savings book, but we can’t take any money out of that at this time of night, and it’s far too cold for any of us to sleep under a hedge, or in a haystack, like they do in stories.’

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ Millie said airily. ‘I’ve always kept some of my salary from the pyjama factory in an old sock, stowed away in the bottom of the pram, just in case something like this happened. I checked it earlier and it was still all there, so I popped it into my handbag and we can bed and breakfast our way to our new life. Aren’t I clever, Rosie? It will pay for train fares or however we want to travel. I’ve got a great deal of money in that sock.’

‘That’s grand, because I’ve left our Post Office book in our room, for Martin,’ Rose said thankfully. ‘Tell you what, queen, what’s to stop us going out to Mart’s building site, telling him what’s happened, and finding a bed and breakfast place nearby?’

She looked hopefully at her friend, but Millie shook her head. ‘It’s January, you goose; most of the bed and breakfast signs have been taken down, ’cos folk who let to holidaymakers don’t open during the winter months. Anyway, when Scotty realises we’ve both gone, my bet is he’ll make straight for Martin’s building site. I dare say you were about to suggest that we should kip down in one of the new houses, but it isn’t on. Ricky or Alex might cry and give us away, or Don might start wagging his tail at the wrong moment. I’m telling you, Rosie, we’ve got to get that train! I’ve told you, I want to get right away from Rhyl. I didn’t show you what I’ve written to Scotty, but I’ll tell you now. I just said: “I’m leaving you, you bastard, going home. If you turn up there, my parents will have the police on you. Goodbye for ever, Millie.”’

Millie shot her friend a curious look, but said firmly: ‘I won’t go home; it would be admitting defeat, particularly since one glance at my face will prove how right they were to distrust Scotty. I don’t suppose you can understand this, Rosie, but when I do go home, I want to go as a success. I want to return as an independent woman, who has succeeded against the odds, with no help from anyone, and that includes my parents. Can you understand?’