Page 41 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Pammy’s food was forgotten, like mine. She was back in a different age, fleeing down some sooty back street with her best friend, who was sobbing, clinging to her hand.

Pammy swallowed. She took a deep breath.

‘We got a bus. No– a tram, that was it. We sat clenched, side by side. We couldn’t speak.

’ She blinked rapidly. ‘I don’t remember where we went, but I remember the rumble of the wheels on the tracks, the noise, the fog, I was glad of it. Blurring the senses.’

She came back from very far away. Her eyes were wide and haunted. She turned to face me.

‘Anyway, that was it, really. She couldn’t go through with it and I couldn’t have done either. So we got off the tram and made our way home. And on the way, we passed through Bishop Lane, which is the old part of town. It’s cobbled. Georgian.’

‘Right,’ I said quietly. Confused.

‘It’s where the chambers are. And– I just had this idea.

I mean, obviously we couldn’t do it there, in that dreadful house, with that dreadful woman, but on the tram, Lea had whispered one thing to me.

‘But I can’t keep it, Pammy.’ I’d nodded.

And then, I’d had this terrible vision of– of her– I don’t know, throwing herself downstairs or something, or coat hangers.

’ She shut her eyes. ‘I knew she was desperate. I would be, too. So– as we fled down Bishop Lane, I had this thought. I stopped in the street and I took her hand, quite forcefully, and marched her up some stone steps, into a chambers. A barrister’s chambers.

’ She looked at me. I felt my eyes widen. I held my breath.

‘And– and God knows how, but just by some weird, propelling energy, I marched her through the first door I came to, as if we had an appointment.’ I knew now, but I couldn’t speak.

‘A young man was sitting there behind a leather-topped desk. He looked up astonished as I pushed your ma into a seat. And– and I asked this young man if he would please see us, just for a moment. And to please tell us, in which country, because I was sure there was one, abortion was legal.’

‘Dad?’ I breathed.

‘Yes. We were lucky enough to have stumbled into your father’s room.

A woman came rushing in, flustered, and your father got up and waved her politely away.

He said we had an appointment. It was a huge relief when that door shut and she went.

Then he came round and perched on the edge of his desk for a moment.

He had a very kind face. He said he didn’t know empirically– I remember that word because I’d never heard it before– but he thought Russia.

And Germany. I remember thinking– Christ, Russia and Germany.

It wasn’t that long after the war. ‘Nowhere else?’ I remember saying, hopelessly.

He said he couldn’t be sure. Possibly Canada.

Did we have passports? No. I remember him gazing at your mother with such tenderness.

She was so beautiful. And she was trembling.

She hadn’t spoken. She was so, so embarrassed.

No– ashamed. Her head was bowed right down.

I remember glancing at her, and then telling him, firmly, a bit shrilly perhaps, that she wasn’t remotely like that.

Not at all. But he knew, I could tell. And he gently asked if it had been consensual.

“Oh yes,” your mother said, looking up, speaking for the first time.

“But he’s engaged,” I finished for her. Your dad nodded.

Your mother told me later her shame was then complete.

’ Pammy looked vague for a moment, as if she’d lost the thread.

‘What happened next?’ I prompted, hardly daring to breathe.

‘Well, we left, obviously, but where did we go? Home, I suppose. And then, the sequence of events, I’m afraid I’m a bit hazy about.

It was so long ago.’ She frowned. ‘But somehow, I suppose, your father managed to contact your mother. I imagine we told him who we were, where we were from.’ Pammy came back from the past. She looked at me, less distressed now.

‘And the rest, as they say, is history. They got married, your ma and pa. Your mother had Clarissa, then Ginnie, then you.’

She reached for her wine. I sat there still and silent. I was very shaken.

‘And Piers?’

‘Well, he married Miranda. Had two boys.’

‘And did he know?’

‘Oh yes.’ She looked at me.

I stared back, astonished. ‘And Clarissa,’ I managed, ‘does she know?’

‘Oh yes. Your parents were very honest. They told her very early on, when she was a child, when she was old enough to understand.’

‘But – but …’ I floundered, ‘Ginnie and me –’

‘No. No, she– Clarissa– didn’t want you to know.’

‘Why?’ I was flabbergasted.

‘I– well, I don’t know. Actually, I do know, I suppose, although I did wonder if more recently she’d decided to tell you. But– oh darling, you made it!’ She broke off suddenly, with transparent relief, into a delighted smile.

Ted was striding through the restaurant door. He spotted us and wended his way through the crowded tables towards us, looking tanned, slim and also a bit anxious.

‘Mum, hi. You all right? Hi, Annie.’ He leaned and pecked our cheeks.

‘Oh darling, right as ninepence.’ Pammy reached for his hand.

‘I’m so sorry, such a silly fuss over nothing, and they dragged you all the way down.

Here, pull up a chair, that one,’ she waved red nails at the next table, ‘that’s free– and have a drink.

’ She gave him her water glass and poured some wine.

‘We’re having one. We certainly need one, don’t we, Annabel? ’