I
T WAS A CLEAR
, cloudless September day. In Plymouth Sound anchored warships were silhouetted black against the sparkling sea and twelve miles away, on the horizon, the tall Eddystone Lighthouse was clearly visible, a dark needle against the pale blue sky. A fresh south-westerly breeze was blowing in from the sea and on the exposed height of Plymouth Hoe it was rather cold. Only a handful of people were braving a stroll along the historic pathways where, according to popular legend, Drake had played his game of bowls.
Julie Lescaux sat on a bench and stared out beyond the breakwater to the wide English Channel. She thought: I could always kill myself.
But she knew she wouldn’t. She hadn’t the nerve to do something like that. Even at school she’d never had the nerve to do anything daring or risky. When some of the other girls had dressed up to look eighteen and gone dancing in the city, she’d ducked out. They’d called her a goody-goody. And they were right: she had always been – well, anxious to do the right thing.
Julie thought: If only they knew the truth.
It was strange how life changed – and so quickly, without warning. She’d always thought of herself as an ordinary sort of person who would always have an ordinary life. Well, perhaps ordinary sounded a bit dull. Average was better.
Yes, she thought: That’s what I am – average.
And yet it was she who was going to be different from all the others. She, the goody-goody. Bad things were half-expected of girls like Maggie Phillips, who had begun pencilling her eyebrows and wearing high heels at sixteen; Maggie who had lots of boyfriends and was considered ‘flighty’.
But it hadn’t happened to Maggie; it had happened to Julie.
Julie could imagine what people would say. They would use all the stock phrases, all the old clichés.
But there was no way round it. No way round the bald facts.
She was just nineteen and pregnant.
She had got into trouble.
She had been ‘easy’.
She had ruined her life.
She tried to imagine what it was like, to have people whispering and sniggering about you, talking behind your back and pointing you out. It would be terrible, she knew, not just for her, but for Mother. Mother would find it unbearable, worse than anything else that could possibly happen. Her mother believed in respect and being able to hold your head up. She set great store by what people thought.
It would be like stabbing her in the back.
Unless Julie got married. But she knew there was no chance of that, none at all.
Her mother … Julie had no idea how she was going to tell her. Whichever way she did it, her mother would die of shame and anger and bitterness. She would accuse Julie of ingratitude and disloyalty and selfishness and say she had ruined both their lives. Julie could hear her very words.
The only thing worse would be another interview with Doctor Hargreaves. Julie shrank at the memory. It had been deeply humiliating, much worse than she’d ever imagined. He had called her shameless and ungrateful. He’d asked her why she’d gone and thrown herself at the first man who’d asked.
She hadn’t replied. She’d thought: Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps I am shameless, ungrateful.
In the end he had told her he would keep her as a patient, but only out of loyalty to her mother. Then he said – and the words had taken Julie by surprise – that the baby would need to be adopted and that he would arrange it.
She hadn’t thought about what would happen to the baby. How strange! The whole fuss was about having a baby, and she hadn’t thought about the actual baby, the object of it all. A baby … She knew nothing about babies, she’d never even held one. Did she want a baby? Would she love it? She had no idea.
A gust of wind blew across the Hoe and lifted the hem of her frock. She pushed the skirt down again and pulled her coat round her knees. When she looked up she was aware that someone was staring at her. It was a sailor walking slowly towards her. Julie looked quickly away and waited nervously for him to pass.
For an awful moment she thought he was going to stop and try to pick her up. But, after pausing for a moment, he suddenly quickened his step and walked away.
Julie relaxed and sat back on the bench. It would have been surprising if he had tried to pick her up. She rarely had trouble of that kind. She supposed it was because she didn’t look the type. She was wearing the white gloves her mother insisted she wore, and a frock at least two inches longer than the current calf-length fashion; not exactly the outfit for a scarlet woman. She didn’t
look
easy,
even if she was
. Julie groaned and shut her eyes tightly.
She stood up and began to walk slowly along the Hoe.
Easy …
But she hadn’t been ‘easy’, far from it. It had only happened twice, and then after days of argument and fierce persuasion. Even when she’d agreed to it, she’d had terrible doubts. She had realised that there should be much more love and tenderness and caring. But Bill had been very clever. He had swept away all her arguments and told her she was being too romantic and that life wasn’t like that. He had made her feel very gauche and silly. His favourite word for her was ‘immature’. He told her that all the other officers slept with their girlfriends and no-one thought anything of it. He had made her feel like the odd one out. Yes, he had been very clever.
She had held out for a long time, then he had threatened to take another girl to the Summer Ball. It was Mother who had been horrified at the thought of Julie not going. The Summer Ball was the social event of the season. She had forced Julie to write to Bill and make it up.
So she had gone to the Ball and drunk gin, which she had only tried once before, and then wine, which she wasn’t used to either. Afterwards Bill had driven her up on to the moors and it had happened for the first time.
It was brief and painful and Julie had wept. He had promised her it would be better the next time. But if anything it had been worse. On the second occasion they had driven on to a remote headland. But this time he didn’t say a word, he didn’t even kiss her, he just grabbed her and pulled at her clothing. Then he lay on her and hurt her again, except that it lasted much longer and she hated it even more than the first time.
Afterwards she had felt miserable and unclean. It had been so beastly, so ugly. If that was love then she didn’t want anything more to do with it. One thing she knew straight away: she would never let Bill do it again.
She had felt wretched for weeks. Her mother had put her unhappiness down to being in love. Poor Mother! She still thought that Bill was marvellous. Bill was everything she wanted for Julie: he was well-spoken, dashing and a gentleman. Mother had never let Julie go out with anyone she considered common. Julie was not allowed to go to the Golden Dance Hall to meet the non-commissioned ranks like the rest of her school friends did.
The idea of Bill being a gentleman made Julie smile grimly. She had used the risk of pregnancy as a reason for not giving in to him, but he had swept that aside as he swept everything else aside. Nothing, he had assured her, would happen; he would take care of that. A real gentleman, Julie thought bitterly.
A small sailing craft had appeared by Drake’s Island and was heading out into the wide expanse of the sound. She thought how pretty it looked, with its white sails and gay red hull. It was skimming over the waves, fast as the wind.
She walked on and for no particular reason thought of her father. Perhaps it was the boat that reminded her.
She remembered his dear gruff voice. He had died when she was twelve and it had broken her heart. She still missed him dreadfully.
Her father would have understood about this. He would have listened and sighed and looked at her with love in his eyes and taken her in his arms and said: Juliette, my Juliette. He would have understood. He would have protected her and found a way for her to survive it all.
Perhaps he would have taken her away … Julie stopped abruptly.
She hadn’t thought of that. That would be an answer. To go away. But where? She had only a few pounds saved. As a junior secretary she earned just fifteen shillings a week and it was hard to save on that. Anyway, she couldn’t stay in her present job: she’d have to leave Plymouth and go to a new area and find a new job, and that wouldn’t be easy. And then what? She had few relatives to go to. There was only Aunt Beryl at Ramsgate, and she – well, she was like her mother.
She had never met her father’s family in Brittany; her mother had always discouraged any contact with them.
Julie walked down the long flight of steps into Grand Parade and wondered if it was five o’clock yet. She usually went out on Saturday afternoons, either to meet some of the girls for tea at the tea house, or in the old days, to go out for a drive with Bill. She always promised to be back by five-thirty.
Today she had told her mother she was going into town, but nothing more. Her mother had been suspicious and as soon as Julie got back to the house there would be questions. Then the truth would have to come out, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Julie turned into West Street and walked down the hill towards Radley Terrace and her home at Number 34.
As she drew near the bottom of the hill two women came round the corner, walking arm-in-arm. One of them was Maggie Phillips. Julie’s first thought was to turn round and get away, but she realised that Maggie had seen her and was waving. It was too late. She made herself walk on.
‘Hello, Julie! Well, it’s a long time since we saw you round these parts.’ Maggie gave a dazzling smile between vermilion lips. She modelled herself on Joan Crawford, down to the padded shoulders and the peep-toe shoes. ‘We thought you’d got too grand for us.’
Julie felt herself blushing. ‘No, I – I haven’t been doing anything special.’
Maggie looked at her enquiringly and said, not unkindly, ‘Oh, it’s like that is it? No more boyfriend, eh? Oh well, there’ll be others.’
Julie gave her a thin smile and nodded.
‘What about coming to the Golden tonight then? Joan and I are going, and maybe Phyllis. It’ll be fun – they’ve got a really good American-style band tonight.’
‘Thanks … it’s kind of you but I can’t. I …’
‘Oh come on. It’ll be good fun. We’ll get a table and sit all demure and ladylike on the side.’ She giggled.
Julie shook her head. ‘Really, my mother’s not keen …’
‘Your mother doesn’t own you, does she? Break loose, my girl, that’s what I say! What about next Friday then? Joan and I are going to the Rialto with two nice Navy lads. They can bring along one of their mates. Go on, say you will. It’s the new Gable–Crawford movie!’
Julie felt worn down and heard herself say, ‘Oh, all right.’
‘We’ll meet you outside for the early house then. Byeee!’
Julie walked quickly away. She could have kicked herself. Why had she agreed to go to the pictures? She didn’t want to go anywhere with anyone, let alone a group of strangers. Why did she always agree to things she later regretted?
She paused at the corner of the street and thought: Yes, that’s the problem. I agree to things I don’t really want to do. Why? Why
had
she agreed to Maggie’s suggestion? To avoid unpleasantness perhaps. But no, there was more to it than that. She had wanted to
please
Maggie. That was the key: she had been anxious to please. Just as she always tried to please her mother. And her employer.
And
Bill. She hated to remember it now, but she had tried to please
him
too.
Julie thought: What a revelation. I live to please other people. And look where it’s got me! Into the oldest trap in the world.
As she approached the house she found she was dangerously near to tears. She turned and walked quickly away from the house until she felt more composed. Then she blew her nose and retraced her steps.
It would be time for tea at Number 34, and she mustn’t be late.
Julie leant back against the chair and wondered how much longer it would be before she could get to bed. She was desperately tired. The emotion and tears of the last few hours had left her feeling drained and now a small ache at the back of her neck was threatening to become a fullblown headache.
Anyway there was nothing new to say, nothing that hadn’t been said already.
Julie rubbed her neck and turned to look out of the window into the twilight. The road outside was lit by the soft glow of the street lamps which cast a pale light into the small front room. Normally Mother would have the curtains drawn and the lamps lit by now. But the ritual had been forgotten and the room seemed eerie and unreal in the gloomy darkness.
There was a loud sniffle and Julie looked back at her mother.
Mrs Lescaux was sitting on a low stool, rocking back and forth. Now and then her body shook with a great sob and her breath came in long shuddering gasps. At other times she moaned and shook her head and put a large wet handkerchief to her eyes.
Julie sighed and wondered what she could say that would help. But there was nothing …
Mrs Lescaux blew her nose loudly and raised her head. ‘How can you be
sure
he doesn’t love you, that’s what I want to know.’
‘I just know, Mum.’ They had been over that one half a dozen times already.
‘Well
how
do you know?’
Julie closed her eyes. ‘I told you, he’s been avoiding me. And …’
Mother said impatiently, ‘Yes?’
‘Well, I saw him with another girl. She seemed much more his sort.’
Mrs Lescaux got wearily to her feet and moved to a chair nearer the window. Julie saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and bloated, and her face mottled with angry red patches. She had never seen her mother look anything but neat and composed before, and it made her feel terrible.
Mother said, ‘What do you mean by that? More his sort?’
‘I mean … she was more his class, Mother.’
‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with it! You’re as good as anyone else. As good as
anyone
. No!’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘That can’t have anything to do with it!’