Reluctantly, Alice turned. ‘Hello.’
‘Oh, hello, luv,’ Lettie replied, the thick lenses of her glasses magnifying pale, weak eyes. ‘I were coming round to see you later. See you were all right.’
‘I’m fine,’ Alice said quietly.
‘Going for a walk?’
She nodded, tried to move off. But Lettie stopped her, too stupid to see that she didn’t want to talk.
‘I know what trouble’s like, been in plenty myself. Oh, not that I’m saying you’re in trouble. But if you were, there’s always a willing ear next door for you. You’re so young and so pretty …’ Lettie dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘You needn’t worry about clothes.’
Alice frowned. ‘What?’
‘Clothes,’ Lettie repeated dumbly. ‘I’ve still got my three’s baby things. In good condition – well, give or take a darn or two.’
Aghast, Alice was rooted to the spot. So that was what everyone thought. That she was pregnant.
Her voice hardened. ‘I’m not in trouble –’
‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ Lettie went on blithely, oblivious to the effect her words were having. ‘The baby can’t help its start, can it? I’m sure you’ll make a good mother.’
‘I’m not having a baby!’ Alice snapped, walking away. Then she turned back. Her voice was hostile. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you would tell everyone that. Tell everyone Alice Rimmer isn’t that kind of girl.’
Her anger was so intense that Alice didn’t realise what she was doing, or where she was going. Absent-mindedly, she boarded a bus and paid her fare, not even hearing what the conductor said to her. Instead her eyes fixed on the view outside. Then after a moment they moved to her reflection in the window looking back at her.
She was lost. Not on the bus, but everywhere. Her whole world had been shaken, like a pocket turned inside out. It was true that she loved Victor and wanted to be with him, but the cost had been so great. Humiliation burned inside her. How many people knew about her past? If Evan Thomas had found out, had he kept it a secret? Unlikely, Alice thought. He would have wanted to spread the dirt. ‘Gossip sticks like shit to a blanket,’ Alice had overheard Mr Dedlington say. And he was on their side. Others would be less charitable.
But then again, maybe there would be no need for Evan Thomas to tell anyone else. He had used the knowledge to damning effect and got what he wanted – Alice’s banishment and fall from grace. Why should he give her another thought? Carefully Alice studied her reflection in the bus window. Her face was a white oval, the dark eyes huge and sad.
The bus stopped suddenly, the conductor calling out, ‘End of the line, all off here.’
Surprised, Alice rose to her feet. ‘Where am I?’
‘Union Street.’
‘Where’s that?’
The man looked at her suspiciously. ‘Now don’t take the mickey, there’s a good girl.’
‘Honestly, I mean it. Where is Union Street?’
‘You’re in Oldham, miss. In the town centre.’
She had come all the way from Salford to Oldham in a daze.
Slowly Alice got off the bus and looked around. She felt nervous, unused to the world outside and the people hurrying past her. How could she get back to Salford? Trafalgar Street? What bus should she catch? What tram? And besides, did she have enough money for the return fare?
Nervously she looked round, then noticed the large building a little way off. It looked official, important, and so Alice walked towards it, thinking to get directions there. It was only when she reached it that she saw written over the door ‘OLDHAM MUNICIPAL LIBRARY’.
She was about to turn away when a thought struck her. The library would hold all the local records for the area. Her feet moved quickly up the steps, her throat dry as she walked to the reception desk.
Two women – one extremely tall – were deep in conversation and ignored her.
‘… Well, I said – “You’re neither use nor ornament.”’
‘Nah!’
‘I did! And when he –’
Alice coughed. ‘Excuse me.’
Both women turned and gave her blank looks. ‘Yes?’ the tall one intoned.
‘I was wondering where the records were kept.’
‘We don’t have music here, luv,’ she said, laughing at her own joke. ‘Try the High Street.’
Alice could feel herself flushing, but held her ground. ‘I meant newspapers. Old newspapers.’
The shorter woman shrugged. ‘What d’you want them for?’
‘I want to look at them. Please.’
The tall woman sucked in her cheeks, her companion smiling.
‘What you looking for?’
Alice thought quickly and remembered a game she had played with the small children back at Netherlands.
‘We’re doing a project about how life was around here fifteen to twenty years ago.’
‘My mother could tell you that,’ the tall woman sneered. ‘And tell you the scandals too.’
‘So can I see the records?’ Alice persisted.
The woman looked her up and down. The girl was shabby, and no more than twenty. But for all of that she was a stunner. She would have liked to refuse Alice, but couldn’t think of any reason to do so. Instead, she reluctantly moved out from behind the desk and showed her to a cluttered back room off the main library.
One bony hand swept along a line of heavy-bound volumes.
‘This here’s all the newspapers since 1900. Well, in this area, that is. You know, like the Oldham Chronicle, the Manchester Guardian and the Manchester Evening News.’ She studied Alice carefully. ‘You a teacher?’
Alice kept her head down. ‘Training to be.’
‘What school?’
What could she say? Alice wondered. She could hardly say Netherlands. She was no longer working there, and besides, everyone looked down on the home.
So she lied. ‘I’m learning to be a private tutor.’
‘Private tutor, hey?’ the woman repeated, suddenly at a loss for what to say. ‘Well, there you are. Have a good look, I’ll be back later. Oh, and don’t get fingermarks on the pages.’
Alice waited until the door had closed before she took down the first volume. It was heavy and dusty, beginning at 1900 and ending at 1910. Alice thought for a moment. She had been sent to the home when she was one year old, in 1911. So was 1911 the year that her mother had been killed?
Eagerly she pulled down the next book and flicked through the yellowing clippings. A woman with a dog was on the front page. The dog had saved her life … Alice flicked over. There was news of European countries, a long hot summer and heavy rainfalls in the East, but nothing other than trivia. She turned another page. An advertisement for Spencer corsetry and Pond’s Vanishing Cream leaped up from the page, but nothing more revealing.
Frowning, Alice took off her coat and pulled up a chair. Looking down she was suddenly aware of a hole in her thick stocking and hurriedly pulled it under her left foot. Then she went back to the book. She turned the page. She saw a face. Two faces. She stared.
The dimmest memory crept into her brain.