‘Oh, don’t kid yourself. You must have envied me so much to tell me those lies. You took away my trust, my confidence. You ruined my chance of happiness…I have to go, I can’t listen to any more of this.’ Maddy rushed for the door.
‘Don’t go! Don’t you want to know what I did with the little one?’
Gloria chased after Maddy as she ran for the Morris, but Maddy didn’t stop to listen. If she turned round she might have killed the stupid woman.
‘Go away. Go back to Greg,’ she yelled from the car window. ‘He needs you. You need his forgiveness, not mine. He’s all yours now!’
‘But, Maddy, I have to tell you where I…’
Maddy was beyond hearing as she sped out of the car park, leaving Gloria shouting into the wind.
Maddy drove across the moors in a daze, numb with shock after hearing Gloria’s confession. Although it had taken such a weight off her mind, there was so much to take in. It was all too much. All of her grownup life was spent trying to prove that she must make amends for her mistakes, that she must be the best mannequin, the best carer and the best hostess. That her best friend had betrayed her in such a way was unbelievable. ‘Smile and smile and be a villain’–that was Gloria, reeling her in on a hook of deceit and subtle lies. What a fool I’ve been, Maddy wept. Poor Greg never stood a chance against such wiles.
Yet Gloria’s actions had set her free to live out the rest of her life without that constraint. She would always yearn for that tiny mite, born too soon. What if he’d lived? What would her life be now? Would Plum have supported her or would she have had to give her baby away–the baby she’d never know, the baby who never lived but who was so much a part of her life, even now?
Perhaps being cushioned by training and education
and income she might have brought him up alone. How many other young mothers were there today in the world who didn’t have her advantages? What agonies they must go through.
Make no mistake, the miscarriage had given her another chance and freed her to make a new life. But that terrible day would never be forgotten. His birthday was always marked and next year little Dieter would have been ten.
Would they have coped with the disgrace that his birth would have brought on the family? How would she feel knowing that her baby was out there in the world, not knowing her, living with adopted parents?
Her secret was safe. No one stared after her when she passed, whispering, ‘That one had a baby out of wedlock.’ Being an unmarried mother was a stigma that lasted a lifetime in Sowerthwaite.
Maddy drove on towards Skipton, looking down towards the grey town. Nearly home, she sighed. When would she ever get Greg out of her mind? She prayed he’d make a safe recovery. But she wasn’t going back there ever. That part of her life was over.
The hostel would be emptying soon. There wasn’t enough work in the town and many of the refugees came for a few weeks’ rest in the country and then moved on. What new use could it be put to now? It was a shame to leave it furnished and gathering dust. If only there was someone she could share all this with, someone who would understand and advise, but that person was living on the other side of the world. Maybe it was about time she told Aunt Plum
the whole truth. Perhaps it might help if she wrote it all down?
There was a germ of an idea growing in her mind but it would take guts and a brass neck to make it happen. Plum was the only person in the world who would give her permission to make it a reality.
In the weeks following the accident, Gloria went about her routines like an automaton, cleaning the house from top to bottom regardless that she employed a cleaner, visiting Greg dutifully, taking Bebe to the pictures and out for treats; anything to get away from the confusion in her head.
Everything was churning up inside. She couldn’t blot out those terrible images of her lying on that rug, opening her legs like a slut. How had she done these things? Why had she told such lies to Maddy? Who was this Gloria, this bitch, this whore? She didn’t recognise herself any more.
At first she blamed Mam, poor feckless Marge, who fumbled through life chasing one fella after another. Gloria didn’t even know if she was dead or alive, and she didn’t care. What was wrong with them?
Mothers were supposed to nurse their kids through bad times and worry over them. They knew you from the day you were born and encouraged you to grow a kind heart. But Marge had taught her only to lie and deceive, abandon people only to pick them up when it suited her. Then she blamed the war for separating them into another world–a world so different from
Elijah Street–where she’d seen how the other half lived. Going to Leeds was hate at first sight.
In some ways she’d been an orphan like Greg all her life. Sid had found his way in the countryside and she’d pinned her hopes on Greg making her life easy and safe. Now, nothing was safe, with no husband and no friends. For the first time in her life she’d taken a hard look inside and didn’t like what she saw. She must face the awful truth that it was payback time. The only person to blame in all this was her stupid insecure self. She had tried to bridge the social gulf between herself and Maddy. She had used Greg to further this end. Maddy had tried her hardest to be her true friend, as best she could.
She couldn’t help being a Belfield, just as it wasn’t Gloria’s own fault that she was born to Marge Conley. The difference hadn’t really mattered until she’d got it into her head to try to be Maddy. Wanting everything she had was pointless in the end. It had cost her her husband’s respect and her only chum.
Maddy was right to feel betrayed. Now Gloria had lost that friendship for ever. She was alone and if Greg left her she’d have to find work, something that fitted in with Bebe. Surely it was not too late to build bridges with him, for Bebe’s sake.
While he was an invalid perhaps she could help out in one of his other ventures, make herself useful. He could baby-sit when he was out of convalescence.
Greg was making slow progress. He’d been grateful for her visits but she never told him about Maddy’s visit and collected his post at reception so she could
check the handwriting. But nothing came. Even now she didn’t trust them not to meet up again behind her back.
They’d not spoken of that row over the calendar since the accident. He’d apologised about the portrait and she’d had it reframed and put in his hospital room. Bebe sent him letters and drawings, and he followed the preparations for the RAC Rally in Hastings with great interest.
The Aftons were kind, and Gloria felt ashamed of all her meanness to them. Now she had to prove herself to everybody, stand on her own, show true grit and surprise them for once with her own enterprise.
She’d even gone so far as to try to trace Ken Silverstone. It took every bit of her courage to climb those studio steps in Bradford, but it was all shuttered.
The waitress in the pub next door looked her up and down when she made enquiries and said, ‘I’d not go looking after him. You’re throwing good money after bad, love. He did a stretch in gaol, I heard…Not seen him since. It’s somebody else in there now; a tattoo artist.’
It was a relief to Gloria to know she wouldn’t have to face him again. She felt such a rage inside. If she blamed her mother, she blamed Ken even more. He’d taken advantage of her silly pride, her gullibility and ignorance. Knitting catalogues, indeed! That devil had schmoozed her vanity and flattered her, making mincemeat of her with all his promises. He’d seen her weakness and used it for his own ends.
She’d fallen for the whole kit and caboodle. Nothing in life was without its price and, boy, was she paying for her stupidity. If she ever met him again, she’d kill him! In the films, wronged women like her bought guns and shot their lovers dead. Poor Ruth Ellis got hanged for shooting hers, but now Gloria understood how a woman could do that in rage. She’d seen that same fury in Maddy’s eyes. What have I done? she asked herself. She felt sick.
Gloria didn’t want anything else to do with that sort of life again. She wanted to give Greg a big surprise and show him she was going to stop taking their life for granted. When he got better she’d pull her weight and make amends. It mustn’t be too late to save their marriage.
There was an advertisement in the
Yorkshire Post
that took her eye, for the opening of a brand-new nightclub and dining club in Scarperton. Greg had shares in that investment. They were looking for a manageress of smart appearance, with catering experience. It would be good to get involved and keep an eye on the place for him. She could sit in on interviews so they got the right class of girl. This was a chance to show that Gloria Byrne could get something right for once, help him in his business. Things were looking up.
Greg sat among the clutter of toys and jigsaws, trying to find a comfortable position for his leg. Everything was healing, but slowly. He’d got crutches to hobble around on. No chance of any driving yet, since his concentration was shot and he felt like a useless cripple.
Gloria was being nice to him, feeding him proper meals, being attentive to his every need, but there was an invisible wall between them. They whispered over the parapet at each other, not wanting to stir things, like polite strangers. He was glad when Charlie visited, bringing news of his garages and the rally season, but Greg couldn’t enthuse. He felt trapped by injury, by disability, and shamed that he was dependent to the point that his wrists were so weak sometimes he needed help to unbutton his flies. Everything was an effort, even though he was officially on the mend. He’d never race again, though. The muscles in his right leg were wasted beyond repair.
The days were long, trying to read business accounts. He got a driver to ride him round all his sites just to let them know he was still on top of the job, but his head ached and he got impatient.
At home there was nothing to live for except when Bebe came bounding in from school. He’d help her read, play ludo and jigsaws and spelling games. He felt like an old man. Then there were the pictures shooting into his eyes. He couldn’t help them but when he looked up at Gloria, he saw only that naked calendar, and it wasn’t fair. She was doing her best to make amends.
Much to his surprise she’d stepped in to take over the refurbishment of the Bamboo Club. It was not one of his better investments, being a little downmarket for his taste. They’d taken the top floor of an old warehouse and transformed it into a Hawaiian bar with a restaurant and fancy food. It was all very smart.
‘You’re not to go swanning around in a grass skirt,’ he snapped at Gloria, as she busied herself around him.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll be wearing a cocktail dress, and we have a bar and a dancing area. It’s all very sophisticated and you’ll love it.’
‘Sounds expensive. I’m not sure Scarperton can support something like that,’ he replied, knowing they’d not been successful in property speculation there.
‘Wait and see. It’ll soon be the hot spot where businessmen take their clients. It’s really exotic inside.’
‘You don’t have to do it,’ he argued.
She didn’t need to work. There was always a property to sell if his recovery slowed him down, but it was good to see her taking the initiative for once.
‘Oh, yes I do, this is my chance to prove I’m not just a cracked ornament,’ she offered, clearing away the tray on his lap with a sigh.
This is your chance to leave me, he thought meanly, a chance to find another rich sucker to sponge off. In his heart he sensed their marriage might be over. Everyone thought them the perfect couple but they had nothing in common, no shared interests, nothing but Bebe, and they kept up appearances for her sake alone.
Trapped indoors, he found himself looking out onto the garden with frustration. There were a few trees, a bare lawn, a clump of pampas grass, pleasant enough, but he found himself longing for grey stone walls, rough tracks, and most of all the hills. How he missed those Dales, the open roads, sheep grazing dotted like mushrooms over the green hills.
Here was a tame suburban landscape making him feel trapped like a budgie in a gilded cage. He thought of Sowerthwaite and Brooklyn Hall. Bebe would love to see all their childhood haunts. But the thought of Madeleine stopped him. He couldn’t bear her to see the wreck of a man he’d become.
No use feeling sorry for himself when the accident was his own stupid fault. Be patient, he thought. Maybe it was time he put back what he had taken out of life. Lying in the hospital bed had made him notice those in there far worse off than him. All he ever worked for was more and more things. Was this the right example to set his daughter? Surely there was more to life than business?
Plum read Maddy’s letter with amazement and disbelief, then slowly reread each section. It was like some film script.
Maddy had miscarried Dieter Schulte’s baby when they’d not actually even had sex? Gloria had helped her deliver in the night…the night Pleasance died, then hidden the body? They’d fallen out–she didn’t say why–oh yes, over Gregory. That made sense of so much at the Festival. Now Greg was injured, the Byrne marriage was in trouble…The hostel was closing but she had another brainwave.
What did they think of allowing it to be used for young unmarried mothers as a place of safety to prepare for motherhood and care for their babies?
Oh, Maddy! Do think carefully over this, Plum’s heart cried out. You may have brave new ambitions
but Sowerthwaite might not be ready for revolutionary ideas. There was bound to be opposition and protests, letters to the paper accusing them of encouraging immorality on their doorstep. Small minds were full of fear and suspicion.