“Where did you go?”
“To a friend’s house. Not far away. I didn’t know anyone from outside the East End, except for my Uncle Jack in Southend, and he’d have just sent me right back home.”
“And you were with this friend when your parents were killed?”
“Yes. I was heartbroken about Joe, my little brother, but my father can rot in hell as far as I was concerned. And my mother… she was harmless, I suppose, but she did nothing to stop him. In a way she was better off dead. She didn’t have much of a life. I don’t remember ever seeing her smile.”
“But what about the baby?”
Again, Gloria paused, as if struggling for words. “I hated being pregnant. I was sick all the time. After I had Francis I got very depressed and I didn’t… I didn’t feel what they said a normal mother should. I’m ashamed to say it, but I didn’t like holding him. I felt revolted that such a thing could have come out of me. I hated my own baby, Gwen. That’s why I could never be a real mother to him or to anyone else.”
She sobbed and fell forward into my arms. I held her and comforted her as best I could. I didn’t understand; I had no idea that a mother could not love her child; I knew nothing about postnatal depression in those days. I’m not sure that anybody did. My heart felt hot and too big for my chest. Sniffling, dabbing her handkerchief to her eyes, Gloria went on, “Francis is alive. George’s sister Ivy can’t have any children of her own. They live on the canal. Her husband John’s a lockkeeper. I know he’s teetotal and I’ve met Ivy once or twice. They’re decent people, not like the others. They’d got away and bettered themselves. They said they would take care of Francis. I knew he would be better off with them.”
“What did George say?”
“He already knew that whatever there had been between us was over – though it never stopped him trying – but he couldn’t understand it when I didn’t object to giving up Francis to Ivy and John. George is a simple man. Traditional. He believes in family. He believes a mother should love her baby. Simple as that. Of course, he agreed. He could hardly bring up Francis on his own. He said I would still be the boy’s mother no matter what happened, that a boy needed a real mother to love. When I agreed without any fuss and said I didn’t mind if they kept him forever, George refused to believe me. That’s what he always did when I had one of my ‘funny turns,’ as he called them. Refused to believe me. He wasn’t a bad man, Gwen, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s me who’s bad. I think he loved his son more than I did. He wanted to be a father as much as he could. But he got called up, of course, like all the rest. Anyway, he always thought I would change my mind. He’s stubborn, the way some men are. He’s already been up to see me once with Francis. He said he still loves me, urged me to go back. I told him I was married and we had an argument. He went off. But he’ll be back, Gwen. He won’t give up that easily.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. A little. He’s got a temper, like his own father. Especially when he’s been drinking.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Say you don’t hate me, Gwen, please! I couldn’t bear it if you hated me. You’re my only real friend.”
“Of course I don’t hate you. I just don’t understand, that’s all.”
“I don’t know if I do, either, but don’t you see that’s exactly why I can’t leave, no matter what life is like with Matt? Because of what I did before. Oh, I have plenty of excuses: I was too young; it was a mistake; I wasn’t in love; I thought I was cut out for better things. But that’s just what they are: excuses. When it came right down to it, I was selfish; I was a coward. I’m not going to be a coward again. This is my punishment, Gwen. Don’t you see? Matt is my penance.”
“I think so,” I said.
She smiled through her tears. “Good old Gwen. I’ll bet there aren’t many in Hobb’s End would give me that much credit, don’t you think? I’ve heard their tongues wagging already.” She imitated the local accent. “‘She’ll be off,’ they say. ‘Off with one of them Yanks before he’s been back ten minutes, you just mark my words.’ Well, I won’t, Gwen. Let them talk. But I won’t.”
“Are you and Brad still…?”
“Sometimes. Don’t be angry. I tried to stop seeing him when Matt first got back, I really did, but when I found out that he couldn’t… I mean… Brad brings me comfort from time to time and as long as Matt doesn’t know… To be honest, though, he’s more trouble than he’s worth right now. I just can’t keep him off the subject of running away together. It’s all getting to be too much of a strain. I told him if he didn’t stop pushing me I’d run off and leave the whole lot of you behind, him included.”
I can’t say that I approved of Gloria’s seeing Brad after Matthew had returned, but I said nothing. I only felt that way because I was being protective toward Matthew; I wasn’t a moral busybody like Betty Goodall. These were extraordinary times and Gloria was an extraordinary woman.
She laughed. “You know, I don’t know what I’d do without PX. It’s funny, isn’t it, but in times like this, when things are so grim, it’s the little things that give you a moment’s cheer. A piece of beef, a new shade of lipstick, a little whiskey, a packet of cigarettes. New stockings. He’s a gem.”
“What about Billy Joe? Have you had any more trouble from him?”
“No, not really. I saw him the other day. I got the impression he was secretly pleased that Matt had come back and spoiled things for me and Brad. He had that look in his eye, too, as if he thought he had a chance of getting me in bed again. I don’t think he gives a damn about what it’s all doing to me.”
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he? I can’t say I ever did really trust him. He’s got a nasty, violent streak, you know.”
“Billy Joe? Oh, I can handle him. He’s nothing but a big child, really.” She leaned back against the tree. “But you’re right, he can be violent. I don’t like that in a man.” She paused, averting her eyes. “Look, Gwen, I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but I have to talk to someone. I’ve been having a few problems with Michael.”
“Michael? Good Lord. You don’t mean he’s-”
“Don’t be a fool, Gwen. The man’s only interested in boys. The younger, the better. No. Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell you now, but you mustn’t say a word to anyone. Promise?”
“What a day for secrets. All right, I promise.”
“Last summer and autumn, you might have noticed I spent quite a bit of time at his studio.”
“Yes.”
“Guess what?”
“He was painting you?”
“Oh. You guessed!”
“Well, it wasn’t difficult. I mean, he is an artist. But that’s wonderful, Gloria. Can I see it? Is it finished?”
“Yes. And it’s very good.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“It’s a nude.”
I swallowed. “You posed in the nude for Michael Stanhope?”
She laughed. “Why not? There certainly wasn’t much chance of him trying to put his hands on me, was there? Anyway, the point is, I went over to see him yesterday and begged him not to exhibit it, or even to sell it privately, as long as Matthew is alive. I know he just seems to sit there like a zombie between going to the pub and drinking himself to sleep, but I just don’t know how it would affect him. Or if it would. The thing is, I don’t want to take the chance. You know what this village is like. Matthew’s health is hanging by a thread already. Who knows if seeing a nude painting of his wife, done while he was suffering in a Japanese POW camp, won’t send him right over the edge?”