She swung her head to the side. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, she’d rather kill herself. No, no, she wouldn’t. She lifted her head, gazing up into the opaque sky as her thoughts tumbled on.
She was scared by the thought of dying but she didn’t want to live either, not with this thing growing inside her and the thought of Alec being able to touch her whenever he wanted. Oh, if only she could just go back to Renee’s wedding day, to the person she had been then. That girl seemed like a stranger now. And whatever happened in the future, there would be some who would whisper she was a trollop who had gone to the altar with her belly full, even if they didn’t say it to her face.
When Lillian bounced out of the market a few minutes later, pleased as Punch by her bargaining prowess, she was slightly aggrieved at the lack of enthusiasm when she showed Carrie her purchases. Her tone reflected this when she said, ‘Look at these veg, lass, they’re still as good as when they were pulled, and there’s enough bacon bits here to make a couple of pans of broth and then some. Old Jimmy threw in the pig’s trotters for nowt an’ all, and they’re big ones.’
‘Thanks.’ Carrie took the bags and her change. ‘Thanks very much.’
Somewhat deflated, Lillian reminded herself that her friend was middling - you only had to look at Carrie to see that. Silently the two girls walked to the tram stop. This made it all the more surprising to Lillian when, having alighted from the tram in Cornhill Terrace before walking to the bottom of James Armitage Street, Carrie continued past her own house, saying, ‘I’ll just pop in and thank your mam and da for their card before I go in.’
‘What?’ Lillian had stopped at Carrie’s doorstep and she had to hurry to catch up. ‘Ee, you don’t have to do that, lass, not with you feeling bad. They won’t expect it . . .’ Her voice trailed away. Carrie wasn’t listening.
What was she going to say to Alec if he was at home? And how could she bear to be in that room where it had happened? Carrie’s mind went blank for a moment. When the blankness passed the first question she asked herself was, can you do this without letting Mrs Sutton suspect something’s wrong? She answered this immediately. What did Mrs Sutton matter now anyway? She couldn’t let more time go by, not now, not after tonight. Something had changed as she’d stood outside the market and the last vestige of hope had gone. She had to face this, she couldn’t pretend any more. And part of facing it was acknowledging that Alec Sutton didn’t care a fig about her; he hadn’t even tried to see her again or sent her a note asking if she was all right . . .
Carrie gazed ahead down the dark terraced street, the bricks stained by smoke and grime from the collieries and factories and hundreds of house chimneys, and her face was grim.
If he was in she would ask him, very politely, if she could have a word with him outside, and his mam could think what she liked. If he wasn’t home she would leave as soon as she could and wait on the corner of Collingwood Street. That way she would see him from whichever direction he came. But whatever, she would tell him. He might not care about her, and she felt she hated him, but with a bairn on the way everything was different.
Alec wasn’t in. When the two girls entered the aseptic environment Lillian called home, only Olive Sutton looked up from where she stood ironing, and again the smell of bleach was overpowering. She ignored Carrie, looking directly at her daughter as she said, ‘What time do you call this, miss?’
‘We waited at the market, you know, for stuff to come down.’
‘No need for that, we can afford to pay our way, I’m sure.’
Lillian’s mam was being nasty. Carrie stared into the sharp-featured face in front of her. Mrs Sutton knew full well her da was off sick and money was
She was scared by the thought of dying but she didn’t want to live either, not with this thing growing inside her and the thought of Alec being able to touch her whenever he wanted. Oh, if only she could just go back to Renee’s wedding day, to the person she had been then. That girl seemed like a stranger now. And whatever happened in the future, there would be some who would whisper she was a trollop who had gone to the altar with her belly full, even if they didn’t say it to her face.
When Lillian bounced out of the market a few minutes later, pleased as Punch by her bargaining prowess, she was slightly aggrieved at the lack of enthusiasm when she showed Carrie her purchases. Her tone reflected this when she said, ‘Look at these veg, lass, they’re still as good as when they were pulled, and there’s enough bacon bits here to make a couple of pans of broth and then some. Old Jimmy threw in the pig’s trotters for nowt an’ all, and they’re big ones.’
‘Thanks.’ Carrie took the bags and her change. ‘Thanks very much.’
Somewhat deflated, Lillian reminded herself that her friend was middling - you only had to look at Carrie to see that. Silently the two girls walked to the tram stop. This made it all the more surprising to Lillian when, having alighted from the tram in Cornhill Terrace before walking to the bottom of James Armitage Street, Carrie continued past her own house, saying, ‘I’ll just pop in and thank your mam and da for their card before I go in.’
‘What?’ Lillian had stopped at Carrie’s doorstep and she had to hurry to catch up. ‘Ee, you don’t have to do that, lass, not with you feeling bad. They won’t expect it . . .’ Her voice trailed away. Carrie wasn’t listening.
What was she going to say to Alec if he was at home? And how could she bear to be in that room where it had happened? Carrie’s mind went blank for a moment. When the blankness passed the first question she asked herself was, can you do this without letting Mrs Sutton suspect something’s wrong? She answered this immediately. What did Mrs Sutton matter now anyway? She couldn’t let more time go by, not now, not after tonight. Something had changed as she’d stood outside the market and the last vestige of hope had gone. She had to face this, she couldn’t pretend any more. And part of facing it was acknowledging that Alec Sutton didn’t care a fig about her; he hadn’t even tried to see her again or sent her a note asking if she was all right . . .
Carrie gazed ahead down the dark terraced street, the bricks stained by smoke and grime from the collieries and factories and hundreds of house chimneys, and her face was grim.
If he was in she would ask him, very politely, if she could have a word with him outside, and his mam could think what she liked. If he wasn’t home she would leave as soon as she could and wait on the corner of Collingwood Street. That way she would see him from whichever direction he came. But whatever, she would tell him. He might not care about her, and she felt she hated him, but with a bairn on the way everything was different.
Alec wasn’t in. When the two girls entered the aseptic environment Lillian called home, only Olive Sutton looked up from where she stood ironing, and again the smell of bleach was overpowering. She ignored Carrie, looking directly at her daughter as she said, ‘What time do you call this, miss?’
‘We waited at the market, you know, for stuff to come down.’
‘No need for that, we can afford to pay our way, I’m sure.’
Lillian’s mam was being nasty. Carrie stared into the sharp-featured face in front of her. Mrs Sutton knew full well her da was off sick and money was
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