‘Come on, ducks, best get you home an’ put yer feet up, ‘e won’t notice yer gorn, ‘e don’t know what day it is.’
Mrs Harris was shocked when she saw where Evelyne was living. ‘Lord luv-a-duck, yer can’t swing a cat in ‘ere, and by the looks of it it’s damp, shockin’ … have you no place even to boil a cup of tea?’
Evelyne lay on her bed, wanting to cry, but she shrugged off Mrs Harris’ questions. ‘I’m saving my money, I want to go to night classes, get my teacher’s diploma, it’s all right.’
Mrs Harris looked her over and then felt her forehead. ‘You’re running’ a bit of a fever, ducks, maybe you should see a doctor.’
Evelyne buttoned her blouse, straightened her skirt and came out from behind the screen. The doctor was writing a prescription. She sat down and opened her purse, counted out the one shilling and sixpence her visit would cost.
‘You must eat fresh vegetables, get your strength up, but there’s nothing wrong that rest and a good diet won’t put right. I wouldn’t lift anything heavy, just in case … this is a tonic, you should come back for regular check-ups until the birth.’
Evelyne blinked, swallowed hard. ‘Beg pardon, sir, what did you say?’
When Evelyne came out into the waiting room, Mrs Harris rose to her feet, clutching her big cloth shopping bag, bulging with groceries. The girl looked worse now than when she had gone in. ‘It’s nuffink serious, is it, ducks?’
Evelyne shook her head, biting her lip so she wouldn’t cry. Mrs Harris helped her into her coat, feeling sorry for her, ‘You come round and ‘ave supper at my place, no need to go back to yer work, Snoddy’s got ‘is brandy out so he won’t know if you was workin’ or not.’
Sitting beside Mrs Harris on the tram, Evelyne suddenly blurted it all out. ‘I’m having a baby, that’s what he told me, but I can’t be, I just can’t be …’
Mrs Harris sighed, she’d guessed as much, but Miss Jones was such a nice girl, very proper, and always so well dressed, so neat and tidy. ‘Well, love, there’s only one way to make one, have you been doing it? Have you got a young man?’
The floodgates opened, and Evelyne sobbed her heart out on top of the tram. She was still in floods of tears by the time they were sitting in Mrs Harris’ kitchen.
‘Yer see, ducks, in some cases yer can go on gettin’ yer monthly bleedin’ and still be carryin’, how far gone are you, did he say?’
‘He reckoned about five months, but I just can’t be, I can’t.”
Mrs Harris poured thick, strong tea, spooned in the sugar and eased her bulk into a fireside chair. ‘Well, if yer that far gone there’s no gettin’ rid of it — mind you, there’s some that would try … Drink yer tea now, don’t go gettin’ all upset again, we’ll sort it all out … but yer won’t be able to lift no more Shakespeare, that’s fer sure.’
With seven children of her own, Mrs Harris needed Evelyne like a hole in the head. Her two-up-two-down was bursting at the seams. To help make ends meet her husband Ted worked nights at the gasworks, and during the day in a carpenter’s shop. When he came home he found his missus stewing up a large pan of soup, the brood sitting round the kitchen table.
‘We got a house guest, Ted. Now before you hit the roof, she’s able to pay us threepence a week rent … She’s in the family way, and she’s no one else to turn to. I’ve put her in the front room on the sofa.’
‘Gawd ‘elp us, woman, how we gonna fit in? Even with threepence extra?’
Covering the table with newspaper, Mrs Harris set out the cutlery. Ted sat down at the table, sighing. He was such a good-natured soul. ‘You know, ducks, you’d take in a lame donkey if he was homeless, but we got to think of the kids …’
His wife pulled up a chair and held his calloused hand. ‘Remember our youngest, little Dora? Remember how I was all set to have a gin bath at Widow Smith’s in the Hollow?’
Ted nodded, and kissed her big red cheek. Mrs Harris had been beside herself when she had discovered she was pregnant again, and had not said a word to Ted, but made up her mind to get rid of it. Ted had arrived home unexpectedly from work, knowing the kids were out, knowing she would be at home. ‘Come here, you big old fool,’ he had said, ‘you fink after sixteen years of marriage I don’t know when you’re in the family way? Now, gel, it’s gonna be tough on us, but we’ll manage, and I’ve got a name, it’ll be a girl if there’s anything in the law of averages, and we’ll call her Dora … now give us a cuppa.’
‘Evelyne’s ever such a nice gel,’ Mrs Harris went on, ‘an’ I can leave our Dora wiv her until her baby’s born, that’ll save us a few coppers, won’t have ter farm her out whilst I do me cleanin’.’
Ted spooned up the hot soup, dipped a chunk of bread in the bowl and sucked on it. ‘An’ what ‘appens when the baby’s born, Ma? What’s she gonna do then?’
‘Oh, Ted, get on wiv yer, we’ll face that when it comes, an’ she can read an’ write, she can teach the little ‘uns their schoolin’ …’
Evelyne entered the hot, stuffy kitchen, and Ted gave her a wide smile, held out his hand. ‘Welcome to the family, gel, sit down, the missus’ll take right care of yer, an’ we’ll all fit in somehow.’
Evelyne had never known such friendliness, such warmth and love, she was once more in the bosom of a family. The seven Harris children were rowdy, scruffy, and as open and friendly as their parents. Baby Dora, just eighteen months old, was left in Evelyne’s care while Mrs Harris went out cleaning.
Exhausted from a long day’s hard work, Mrs Harris sat by the fire while Evelyne changed Dora’s nappy, cooing and making the baby gurgle with laughter. Evelyne’s pregnancy had advanced quickly, and Mrs Harris began to think the doctor could have miscalculated. Evelyne was a big girl, and looking at her now Mrs Harris reckoned the baby was probably more like seven months.
Evelyne had not said one word about the father, or what she would do when the child was born.
‘Will you keep the baby, Evie, ducks?’ Evelyne rocked little Dora in her arms. ‘Oh, yes, I couldn’t part with him, couldn’t even think about it.’
‘Well, it won’t be easy yer know, love, woman on ‘er own, you could have the baby adopted, there’s many wivout that would give it a good home.’
Evelyne pursed her lips. ‘There’ll be no one bringing my son up but me, I’ll find a way, I’ll get work.’
‘You never talk of the father, an’ you’re so sure it’s a boy yer carryin’ … does he know, lovey? About the baby?’
Whenever Mrs Harris mentioned the baby’s father she saw Evelyne withdraw into herself. She had grown used to Evelyne, the way she could clam up. ‘Do you love ‘im still? Is ‘e a society man, that what it is?’
Evelyne busied herself with Dora, but Mrs Harris battled on. ‘Only, a first-born is important to a man, an’ you seem so sure you’ve got a son inside you, d’yer not want ter contact ‘im?’
She watched Evelyne put little Dora into her crib, an old orange box, and kiss the child lovingly. Her heart went out to the girl, especially when she turned with tears in her eyes. ‘I just don’t know what to do, I don’t, but … feeling the baby inside me, well, I think more and more of him, but I just don’t know what to do …’
Evelyne did think of Freedom; every night before she slept she saw his face. Leaving him the way she had was cruel, she knew it, and the more she thought of the way she had treated him the more ashamed she was. She decided to write to Freda, tell her about the baby, but ask her not to say anything to Freedom. She would want to tell him herself.
As soon as Freda received Evelyne’s letter, she wrote back, knowing she shouldn’t, giving Freedom’s address in Jermyn Street. She also set about making baby clothes, but said nothing to Ed in her letter to him. She did as Evelyne asked, and kept the secret.
Evelyne opened Freda’s letter in the park while little Dora was asleep in the pram. She read that Freedom was waiting for acceptance to fight the British Heavyweight Champion, Micky Morgan, how he had beaten the Irish contender, and that they were all on tenterhooks waiting for the promoters to give the word.
Seeing his name in writing, Evelyne’s heart missed a beat. She knew she had been a fool. She touched her swollen belly, pictured Freedom’s face. She could almost laugh at herself, she who had wanted a better life was now living in the slums, without a job, and wheeling someone else’s baby around. Then she felt a bit guilty. Mrs Harris might be poor, but she was like a second mother to Evelyne. Poverty was all around them, but Evelyne had never said a word about her legacy. It had become an obsession with her, she scrimped and saved every farthing, and yet she had more money in the post office than the Harrises ever dreamed of. Originally it had been intended to pay for her own education, but now it would be for her son’s. She blushed with shame, but then argued with herself
