Lizzie did not reply.
‘And all the time you’re preaching to me to mind what I’m doing? That I’m only seventeen…My God!’
Henzey felt ashamed of her mother, but she’d said enough. Never before had Henzey spoken to her like that, and she half expected a slap across the face for her trouble. Yet no slap came. For long seconds Henzey was silent while she tried to collect her thoughts. Abruptly, she stood up and turned away from Lizzie, biting her bottom lip in anger and distaste. Then, just as abruptly, she sat down again. Her mother – her own mother – had been having sex with Jesse before she was married…And at her age…It was disgusting. It was absolutely disgusting. It came as such a shock that Henzey felt she’d been punched in the stomach.
Lizzie remained at the window, looking out.
Henzey shook her head slowly in disbelief, then spoke again, quietly, composed. ‘What am I supposed to say, Mom, when folks start making jokes about my mother and the milkman?’
Lizzie remained silent.
‘And how d’you think our Herbert’s going to feel when his mates start laughing behind his back, making sarcastic comments?’ Henzey continued. ‘Dear God, what sort of an example d’you think you’ve set our Alice and Maxine? Come to that, what sort of an example d’you think you’ve set me, after all your preaching and finger wagging? Good God, Mother! I can hardly believe it.’
Lizzie continued to look outside with glazed eyes. Everything Henzey said was true. Every example she cited, as to the consequences for the family, she had herself considered. It was as if their roles had been reversed, as if Lizzie was the errant, wayward daughter and Henzey the fraught and angry mother. Now Lizzie felt ashamed –thoroughly ashamed. She had no wish to alienate her daughter over this, nor any of her family. What she needed above all was their understanding and their support, but particularly from Henzey.
Henzey saw her mother’s shoulders shaking and, at first, she thought she was laughing in defiance till she turned round and saw tears streaming down her agonised face. Lizzie took a handkerchief from a drawer in her dressing table and wiped her eyes. Then she sat on the bed by Henzey’s side and turned to face her, taking her daughter’s hands.
‘Don’t be judge and jury, our Henzey,’ she wept. ‘But for the grace of God it could be you pregnant.’
‘Then, Mother, for the grace of God I’d have to call the child Jesus,’ Henzey replied indignantly, ‘because it’d be another virgin birth.’
‘Oh, our Henzey, I knew it’d be like this when you found out. I wanted to tell you from the outset, but like a fool I decided against it.’ She wiped away another flush of tears. ‘I hoped you’d understand. It’s not as if Jesse and me are kids. We love one another and we wanted one another. We haven’t stalked out like a tomcat and a tabby to do it behind the miskins and then run off. It’s meant something to us – try and understand that. Don’t forget, either, that we aren’t too old for that sort of thing, even if you might think we are. We would’ve got married whether or no. My being pregnant has only made it happen sooner.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have expected you to be a saint,’ Henzey said quietly, ‘but I never dreamed you’d get pregnant. My own mother. It’s so damned stupid…And at your age.’
‘Well, I confess I hadn’t counted on it, our Henzey. And I’ll confess to you that at first I didn’t want the child. But I’m stuck with it, nevertheless.’
‘Does Jesse want it?’
‘Oh, he’s happy about it. He’s like a dog with two tails. Can’t you tell? He reckons we won’t get a look in when it’s born. He reckons you girls’ll bring it up.’ She looked up at her daughter beseechingly, tears again filling her eyes, which now were showing signs of puffiness. ‘Henzey, I don’t need your condemnation, I need your support. It’ll be hard enough as it is without me feeling you despise me. Try to imagine yourself in this position. You’d want my support if it was you that was pregnant.’
‘If it was me that was pregnant, Mother, I’d consider it my just desserts.’
But it was not in Henzey’s nature to be hard, least of all with the woman who had carried her, fed her, sacrificed everything for her and brought her up against all odds. Especially when she was crying. Always she’d hated to see her mother cry. It reminded her of when she was a child, how she would be filled with anxiety at the sight of Lizzie weeping over her poor, invalid father. It was the same now. Already she was regretting her harsh words. She began weeping herself and opened her arms to Lizzie. They held each other tight, letting the tears flow unabated. Lizzie needed Henzey’s encouragement, she needed her love and not least her friendship. Henzey could no more refuse these things than she could walk out of her life.
There was instantly a new bond; a new kind of love; a mutual respect that had not manifested itself before. They both felt it. Henzey sensed her own maturity and, for the first time, realised her mother’s fallibility. Lizzie was merely flesh and blood, prone to all its weaknesses and likely to be submitted to its derision unless they outfaced this thing together. And Lizzie realised that her daughter was no longer a child; she was a woman and could be addressed thus. Why had she overlooked it all this time?
Henzey spoke again, softly, tenderly. ‘What about the others, Mom? What shall we tell them? And when?’
Lizzie blew her nose. ‘I’m only really worried about our Herbert now. He’s the one who’ll feel it most, like you say. He’s sixteen in a week or two, and he’ll be ever so sensitive to it. I hope he won’t be awkward, because Jesse will never stand that off him. I’m not worried about the other two. They’ll think it’s lovely to have a baby round the house.’
‘Then why not ask Jesse to have a word with Herbert. He’ll take it from Jesse more easily. He’s got a way of explaining things.’
Lizzie agreed. ‘Come to think of it, he can tell our Alice and Maxine, as well.’
‘I’ll tell them if you like. Oh, I’m sorry I was so horrible to you, Mom, but it was such a shock. You can’t imagine. I never dreamed…I promise I’ll help all I can. What other folks think doesn’t matter, does it? As long as we’re all happy. I mean to say, you’re married now anyway and everybody knows you were about to get married. It’ll be nice having a baby round the house. Oh, I shall be able to take it for walks and buy it little coats and little shoes. Me and Billy will take it rides into the country, so’s it can have some fresh air. You’re right, Mom, you won’t get a look in.’
‘I suppose you’ll spoil it rotten,’ Lizzie said, smiling now through her tears.
‘Oh, I expect so. When’s it due?’
‘Donald Clark’s given me the first of October.’
Polling day was always more like a carnival than the serious election of a new government, and the one in 1929 was no different. Children were not at school, and they followed the candidates around, creating a din, banging draw tins and dustbin lids with sticks, and each getting a penny for doing it. This was designed to get the people out to vote. Coloured rosettes were in abundance, pinned on coats everywhere; red, white and blue for the Conservatives, yellow for Labour. Folk had put posters in their windows hailing one or other of the candidates, and even shop windows and pubs advertised their favourites. Carts and their horses were decorated in the colours of their owners’ political persuasions, as were any available lorries and vans. They toured the streets, some urging people to vote for Cyril Lloyd, the Tory candidate, others for Oliver Baldwin, the renegade Labour son of the Conservative Prime Minister, who had held a political meeting the previous evening in the Board School at Kates Hill.
Spirits were high, people were loud in acclaim of their preferred