when Hattie looked at her through his eyes, a different Eudoré became apparent, something about her colouring, the shape of her face and features, the density of her hair
perhaps he was right
after Joseph died, Slim broke open an old library cabinet when he couldn’t find the keys, said that as the man of the house he needed to know what was in it
he found old ledgers that recorded the captain’s lucrative business as a slave runner, exchanging slaves from Africa for sugar in the West Indies
came charging like a lunatic into the kitchen where she was cooking and had a go at her for keeping such a wicked family secret from him
she didn’t know, she told him, was as upset as he was, the cabinet had been locked her entire life, her father told her important documents were inside and never go near it
she calmed Slim down, they talked it through
it’s not me or my Pa who’s personally responsible, Slim, she said, trying to mollify her husband, now you co-own the spoils with me
she wrapped her long arms around his waist from behind
it’s come full circle, hasn’t it?
6
Hattie knows about secrets, never told anybody about the child she lost, the one she gave birth to when she was fourteen
her small bosom was growing larger and more tender, her stomach was swelling, she was sick in the mornings
Ma noticed, worked it out
Bobby was the father, the most popular boy in the village school, he was tall with a head of white hair, the butcher’s son
boys paid Hattie no attention at all, so when this one did, there was no question she’d refuse his advances
the pair of them fooled about in between the church pews after school
in those days churches were left open without fear of someone walking off with the silver
she was the centre of his universe, for about thirty minutes
she can’t remember it happening
it must have done
afterwards
he carried on ignoring her
as before
Father could barely speak to her he was that livid, she wouldn’t tell him the name of the boy who’d got her pregnant, which infuriated him even more
Ma didn’t seem to mind so much, after the initial shock, she seemed pleased, they’d wanted another child, but it didn’t work out for her and Pa
Hattie felt bewildered at what was happening to her body
and stupid for falling for Bobby
she didn’t want to be pregnant, she wanted to be at school and to go playing with her friends
Ma took charge, Hattie was to remain hidden from everyone, they’d say she was sick
Hattie felt fine, wanted to walk around the house, at least, you’re not endangering this bairn, young lady, you’ll do as you’re told, Ma said
the baby came quickly one Friday night, a girl, Ma delivered it herself, she’d read a book about how to do it
she handed the baby over to Hattie, showed her how to breastfeed
Hattie was fascinated, she’d made this child all by herself
Ma told her she must treat the child as the most precious thing in the world and not be clumsy with her
we have to make sure she survives, Hattie
because we love her very much
Hattie wasn’t sure she loved the baby, she wasn’t sure she knew what love was, it was a big word
she gave the baby a name, Barbara, which Ma accepted, it’s yours to name and we’re going to try and keep her
Ma spent all her time with her and the baby, she slept on the floor at night, was the first to wake up when the baby did, made sure Hattie didn’t fall asleep while breastfeeding
she changed her nappies, bathed her in a tub in the room
Hattie heard her parents arguing downstairs, they never had before, not like this, it went on for hours, Pa shouting, Ma shouting back
Ma came in red-eyed, I’m not letting her go, I’ve told him
that day Pa came into the bedroom to see his grandchild for the first time since Barbara was born, Ma was getting herself washed in the bathroom
he said the baby had to go
Hattie said she wanted to keep her, just as he swiftly plucked her from her arms with his strong hands
before he left the room, he said, you don’t speak a word about this, to anyone, ever, you must forget this ever happened, Hattie
your life will be forever ruined with a bastard child
men will have two reasons not to marry you
Hattie wasn’t even thinking of marriage, she hated her father calling her baby a bad person, a bastard
she didn’t really cotton on that she’d never see Barbara again
Hattie’s still got the pink and blue blanket Barbara was wrapped up in, made from wool spun from their own sheep, dyed and knitted by Ma when they didn’t know whether it was going to be a male or female baby
she’s never washed it, keeps it in a shoe box
for a long time afterwards she could still smell Barbara on it, even when she knew it wasn’t possible
she used to imagine Barbara had been taken in by aristocrats, become one of those debutantes, married a lord and lived in a castle
she kept her word to Pa and never told anyone
not Slim, not Ada Mae or Sonny – not anybody
Hattie wakes up, someone is prodding her arm, she opens the heavy lids of her eyes, she’s back at Greedymas and her lot have got even drunker and louder
Ada Mae is peering intently at her, checking she’s still alive
having spent her life unaware she had an older sister.
Grace
1
Grace
came into this world courtesy of a seaman from Abyssinia called Wolde, a young fireman
who stoked coal into the boilers in the holds of merchant ships
the hardest, filthiest, sweatiest job on board
Wolde
who sailed into South Shields in 1895 and left a few days later leaving behind the beginnings of Grace hidden inside her Ma
who’d just turned sixteen
who didn’t know she was with child until Grace was almost ready to pop out, as Daisy told her little girl when she was old enough to grasp how babies were made
he was your Pa, Gracie, he was very tall, he walked like he wasn’t touching the ground, like he was floating on air, like he was from another world
which he was
I thought he was very gentle, unlike the local lads who thought we girls were theirs for the taking
we used to flock down to the docks when the boats were off-loading
hoping we’d catch a seaman who’d take us far away to magical places with names like Zanzibar, Casablanca, Tanganyika, Ocho Rios and South Carolina
your father spoke the little English he’d picked up as a sailor, so we had half-conversations with each other, and full-on gesticulations
I come back for you, he promised, when I saw him off on the quay, walking backwards as I stood facing forwards
not wanting to see him leave
I come back for you
one day we’ll take a boat to Abyssinia and find him, Gracie, I’ll knock on the door of his hut, push you forward and say, hey mister, look what you left behind
Daisy
had given birth to Grace in the tenement block where she slept on sacks on the floor along with her brothers and sisters
her parents slept behind a curtain that divided the single room of their lodgings
a half-caste
Daisy’s father said he’d never live the shame down at the pub
where he went directly after thirteen hours spent underground chipping away at rock to extract coal
before he staggered home to pick fights with Ma
give the bairn up to the church or you’ll not stay, he told Daisy
as if I could ever abandon you, Gracie, so innocent and pure and whole and one of God’s blessed creations?
it was my job to protect and care for you, and I’d have murdered anyone who tried to prise us apart