Page 69 of A Family Affair
‘You have exactly the same colour hair as my sister, you know.’ Someone in the room allowed a gasp to escape and she understood why. Everyone thought her whole family had been killed by a bomb.
Eleonora continued, ‘I’ll tell you all about her when I explain my side of the story but first, I want to thank you for sharing what you know. It can’t have been easy. Such a burden and a tough decision to make.’
Honey sighed. ‘Well, put it this way, it wasn’t what I was expecting when I opened the box. But it’s your story I want to hear now. How everything fits together. You’re the missing link.’
That was a perfect way to put it because, for the past eighty-three years, Eleonora had made damn sure she was missing. Dead to all those who knew her before. It was her coping mechanism. The only way she could move on with life.
‘Yes I am, aren’t I, and before I begin I want to say one thing. That I never meant to deceive any of you, but at the time I made decisions that were best for me and as the years rolled by well, my half-truths simply became fact. Reality, I suppose. Anyway, I need to tell you, otherwise Iris is going to explode over there. So buckle up. We’re going back in time.’
After casting her eyes around the room, resting lastly on Levi and then Honey, Eleonora began.
CHAPTER52
Manchester. 1940
My darling Robert had been killed more or less the minute his feet touched Belgian soil. Little did I know at the time, but our parting farewell had produced a baby. The grief at his loss consumed me and whether it was the shock, or just how my body behaved, when I dug my heels in and went off to join the army, I had no idea that I was going to be a mother.
I had to do something. Do my bit as we said back then. Rage and despair were churning my insides but then again, that could also have been the little seed that was growing within me.
When I did realise why my flat-iron stomach had a decidedly pot-bellied appearance, I really wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, especially when the medical officer gave me my cards and sent me packing.
Common sense, or perhaps how I’d been brought up told me not to go running home and cause a fuss. That would never do, so instead I rang father and asked him to meet me in Manchester.
I waited for him outside Piccadilly Station on a late August afternoon and we walked to the Midland Hotel for lunch. That’s where I told him of my predicament, in public, knowing that he couldn’t bawl me out in front of nice ladies as they ate their soup.
Through gritted teeth and in a hushed tone he told me I was a disgrace and worse. Loathing was etched in the thick lines on his brow and his eyes… well, I’d never seen them full of such anger. He was disgusted. Simple as that.
According to him, the truth and consequent shame would kill my mother and I was a poor example for my sister Clarissa whose life would be tainted by my fall from grace. I’d never be able to be part of the season, and neither would she, thanks to my depravity. He actually used that word.
I didn’t bother to point out to him that there was a war on and the last thing anyone cared about were debutantes being presented to the King, which was why it had all been cancelled. Or that secretly I hoped the whole ridiculous performance would remain so forever.
I remember he checked his watch and tutted and I knew that I was about to be dismissed. Definitely not invited to accompany him home on the next train.
When he managed to look at me, he was still grey with rage but held himself admirably while in a voice laced with contempt, he gave me one option. He would arrange for me to stay with his favourite cousin in Scotland, Aberdeen to be precise, and she would facilitate an adoption. Nobody would ever know apart from the three of us and afterwards I could return to Chamberlain. I can hear his voice like it was yesterday.
‘I will tell your mother about our meeting today, but only that you were in transit to London and had no time to come home, such were your orders from Whitehall. She won’t question my word. You will remain in Aberdeen until you’ve hadit,’ he glanced towards where the tablecloth concealed my stomach, ‘and once it’s gone, then I will allow you to come home. You can say you’re on leave. Whatever. I will ask Oscar if he can use one of his contacts to fix you up with something in London. Office work perhaps, and he can keep an eye on you.’
What he was actually saying was that he couldn’t stand the sight of me and once I’d done his bidding, after a short visit home he wanted me gone. Out of sight and mind.
It all sounded so simple apart from one tiny miscalculation on his part. I wanted to keep my baby because he was my last link to Robert, and I could never give either of them up. I thought he would explode, right there on the spot and oddly, I took pleasure from seeing him grip the edge of the table causing the white linen to scrunch under his fingers.
I was then offered an ultimatum. Do as he said or be disowned. It was my choice and knowing my father, he expected me to capitulate. He even wrote a cheque there and then for my lodgings in Manchester, where I was to wait until he’d made the arrangements, and then my onward expenses. Such was his arrogance he handed me the cheque and told me to ring him in two days’ time. Then he stood, placed his trilby on his head, picked up his briefcase and without another word, walked away.
My legs shook so badly that I couldn’t stand so I poured the last of the tea from the pot and added three sugars to my cup. My hands trembled as I stirred the little silver spoon and held back tears, averting my eyes from the people at adjacent tables who I knew were staring, so obvious was it that there’d been a scene.
As I sipped, taking nourishment for me and my baby, I had the strangest sensation of being seated on a perfectly round, white island, castaway and alone. All I had with me, all I had in fact, was the brown suitcase I’d taken when I’d left home to join up. That suitcase added to my humiliation. It sat on the carpet by my side, like a faithful dog waiting for its master to tell it where to go.
That’s when I realised I was in charge of my own destiny, and I had a choice to make. By the time my cup was empty, and like a starving urchin I’d eaten every scrap of food left on the table, I’d formed a plan.
I walked straight to the bank and cashed the cheque. In a romantic gesture and to cheer myself up I bought a cheap ring from Woolworth’s and decided to tell everyone I was a war widow. Then I wandered for a while, not really knowing where to go, until I came across a newsagents. In the window was a board advertising local services and lodgings. I asked the shopkeeper for directions and found a room in a clean but very basic bed and breakfast that only took women.
It wasn’t this one, where we all live now – it was in Moss Side – but wouldn’t that have been a lovely quirk to my tale. One of the other lodgers, Colette, worked in the munitions factory in Trafford Park and said she could get me a job there. I said yes on the spot.
Then, to prevent my father tracking me down I shortened my name to Nora and used Robert’s surname, Jones. It was as though I’d started a new life and as much as I missed home and my little sister most of all, I got on with it like thousands of other women all across the land.
Because I was so tall and reed thin, I hid my pregnancy for months and even when it became obvious and I was summoned to the office, I wasn’t made to leave. The supervisor was kind, and she took me off the line and away from the cordite and the fumes and found me lighter duties in the warehouse.
I wasn’t the only one to have lost a husband or be alone in the world and expecting a baby, so we all stuck together, and that camaraderie spurred me on and made me feel safe. I believed I’d manage somehow, and it was the thought of Robert’s baby growing inside me that gave me hope.
