Page 30 of A Family Affair
Molly only shook her head and pulled a handkerchief from her cardigan sleeve and dabbed her rheumy eyes.
Beryl pleaded. ‘Mum, Mum! Look at me.’
Molly turned and Beryl’s heart contracted when she recognised anguish on her old mum’s face.
Beryl pulled the stool closer and gently took Molly’s frail hand, stroking the tissue-thin skin that crinkled under her thumb. ‘Let’s take it step by step. Why don’t you explain what happened. No matter what it is, I promise I’ll stand by you. Then once I understand, we can work out a way to fix it. Is that what you want?’
She waited.
Molly remained deep in thought for a moment or two then sighed before answering. ‘I don’t know that you can fix it, not now. Nobody can. But I do know one thing.’
Beryl stopped stroking. ‘And what’s that, Mum?’
‘I want all this to be over. All the worry. Looking over my shoulder and… and for you to know I’m not a bad person. I’m really not. If I could go back I’d’ve done things different. But I just can’t take it to the grave, Beryl. I just can’t.’
Molly was getting worked up and that wasn’t good for her so Beryl sought to soothe her with words. ‘Mum it’s okay…’
‘No, Beryl, love. It’s not. I should’ve told the truth. To your dad for a start and…’ her voice trailed off, as though she’d thought better of what she was about to say, ‘But I was a coward and as the years went by I lost my nerve, told myself we were fine but most of all, I didn’t think he’d forgive me.’
What could Beryl say? Without knowing what on earth her mother was going on about how could she even begin to imagine what her dad would’ve done, never mind if he’d forgive. There was only one thing for it.
Reaching inside her apron she picked up the pad and pen and then, adopting a stern but not unkind tone, made a suggestion. ‘Mum, you have to get this off your chest. I’ll write it down like you wanted and then once you’ve halved your troubles we can decide what to do. And if that means throwing this notebook in the bin and me swearing never to tell a soul, then so be it.’
Without warning, Molly reached over and gripped Beryl’s wrist with such a force it made her gasp. She also remembered her mum’s temper and how as a child she’d been wary of a backhander. But it was the panic in Molly’s eye that actually chilled Beryl, and made her wish she hadn’t pushed it. Suddenly she didn’t want to know.
‘No, you have to swear now that you won’t breathe a word of this till I’m dead and buried and then you can do what you want. I’ll leave the decision in your hands. Now promise, or I’ll take my secret to the grave.’
Beryl gulped and while a voice in her head shoutedNO,the one she found somewhere in the back of her throat said, ‘Okay, yes. I promise.’
And that was all it took to elicit a curt nod in the direction of the pen that Beryl held in trembling hands, and for Molly McCarthy to speak her truth.
CHAPTER23
MOLLY MCCARTHY
Manchester. December 1940
They said it was the stress that did it. Made my baby come early. The terrible bombings and my Walter being overseas. Not knowing whether he was dead or alive. I blamed the Germans. The first wave of bombers had swarmed over the city the night before, on the 22nd, and we’d spent a night of terror in the air-raid shelter. It was 6am when it stopped, and the 272 tons of bombs that dropped from the sky had decimated parts of Manchester.
Hitting cities on consecutive nights was a Luftwaffe tactic to inflict maximum disruption and destruction. The second wave came the following night when another 195 tons of explosives hit the city. Over a two-day period, 684 people lost their lives and more than 2,000 were injured.
I know all this by heart because my dad kept the cutting out of the paper and put it in a frame. Every year on the 22nd, he’d read it out, to mark the anniversary of losing family and friends, so we wouldn’t forget. Not that I ever would; how could I?
It was about four in the afternoon of the 23rd and even though it was almost Christmas, nobody apart from the kiddies felt any festive cheer. Not when such grim stories were filtering through about the death and destruction from the night before.
Mam had sent me to the corner shop, insisting that a daily constitutional did me good, and I was usually glad to get out of the house, but not that day. As soon as I stepped onto the street, I had to cover my face with my woolly scarf because the acrid smell of smoke and lord only knows what burnt my nostrils.
We lived in Ancoats back then, within walking distance of the city centre, in a little two-up two-down with an outside lavvy, a few doors away from my mam and dad. I loved living there. Me and Walter knew all our neighbours. A right little community it was. Walter used to drink in The Hat and Feathers, round the back of theDaily Expressbuilding where my dad worked. That’s where we’d all go after the Whit Walks, and on Boxing Day, too, because it was Mam’s birthday. I miss those days.
Only a couple of miles away, Beswick had taken a battering. Dad’s older sister and her family lived there, and we didn’t know at the time, but her house took a direct hit. We found out they were dead on Christmas Eve when a bobby came with the news.
As I made my way along the street I feared the same fate, if my house got hit, and Mam and Dad’s. I wondered how the poor souls who’d been bombed out would manage and how many had been killed. It was bitterly cold and so many of us were struggling to make ends meet and the thought of having nothing, no home, no belongings made me shudder.
My mind then wandered to my Walter, who was God knows where, and I hoped with all my heart he was okay. Not cold or hungry or scared. It didn’t do to dwell, that’s what Mam said, so I shook away the images in my head and pushed open the shop door.
It was full, but I squeezed inside, out of the cold and the stench, and listened from the back of the queue. Naturally the talk was of the air raid and the women up ahead were all unanimous in their hope that the bombers wouldn’t return.
I remember standing there, trying to ignore the horrible lump of dread that was lodged deep inside my chest. I didn’t join in but nodded my agreement because I hated going down to the shelter. Scared that I’d go into labour and give birth while everyone looked on.
