She told her parents. Alone. She named the father. “What , that lousy, idle, good-for-nothing slob?” her dad stormed, possibly forgetful his genes were half of the baby within. What he wasn’t going to do to him when he caught up with him. Mum remained seated with handkerchief and tears. “Oh the shame of it all”. “What will the neighbours say?” Mum wasn’t religious nor was dad. Neither had seen the inside of a church for years and the last time had been at William and Sharon’s wedding. They hadn’t wanted to go because all that was left on the wedding list by the time it reached them were the expensive things. It was all too embarrassing to turn up with a different present but they couldn’t stretch to the what was left on the list. They resolved it by taking nothing. When asked nonchalantly by the bride’s father at a post wedding family gathering to remind him of the gift they bought, without hesitation they named one of the more expensive items on the list, adding they hoped the couple really liked it. When informed the couple hadn’t mentioned receiving one of those they countered in suitably laid back tone that the couple were probably too wound up in each other to remember all their gifts but they had left it fully wrapped upon the gift table with the others so very surely on that beautiful day it was present and correct.

Despite this lack of “churchliness” mum suddenly blurted out “The child will be cursed” before sobbing away into the kitchen.

It was at that moment that dad came to a resolution. That piece of shit was not going abandon his daughter, he was going to marry her and that was that. And make him marry her he would even if it was the last thing he did. And with that stormed upstairs he pulled out his unlicensed shotgun from under the bed catching the piss-pot with the stock in his anger. It released a little of its contents over his hand. He wiped his hand on his trousers and loaded both chambers, grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the front door so hard it bounced back open. He realised his mistake but John Wayne would never turn back – nor would he. He stormed off down the lane. Storming was his answer to everything.

She sat on the settee listening to her mum crying in the kitchen and wondering if it was even half true that a child conceived out of wedlock could be cursed. What kind of a Nan would her mum be to a cursed child? And what did her dad think he would achieve with a shotgun this evening? The shotgun was only of use getting a reluctant male up the aisle on the wedding day. And her dad thought the baby’s father an idle, shiftless shit but was hell bent on making him make an honest women out of her. Why? Did he want to condemn her to what he must have foreseen as a life of misery, married to an idle, shiftless git? No, it was just for the sake of appearances to the neighbours. What kind of life for her was that? Sure, she liked him but not enough to spend the rest of her life with him. When she’d decided to tell her parents of her condition, telling them was all that was in her mind: she was expecting a baby and he was the father. Marrying him hadn’t occurred to her. Maybe that was because her mother was one for proverbs frequently mentioned around the house. “Marry in haste, repent at leisure” was a favourite of hers. She said it, or so the girl thought, to aid her in choosing a life partner wisely. It seems that’s all out the window now. “You made your bed, now lie in it” that was another.

She thought of Elaine in flat 12. She was living with Ralf and he was black. Hadn’t she gone through it at the time. Living in sin was bad enough but with a black man it was truly terrible – or so Mrs Hamilton had said to the gathering of the middle-aged local women outside the grocers. If you can’t find someone of your own kind then that’s God’s will. You should never go with a black man or a coloured man come to that. Each to his own. At the bus stop the women looked down their noses at them both as they walked to the local shops. When Elaine became pregnant by him she couldn’t stoop lower – unless she agreed to be sacrificed during a sex ritual at a black mass. Think of the child. It will be half-caste. Neither one thing or the other. An outcaste. Rejected by both races. It will lead to a life of disillusion, disappointment and ultimately, crime. If the child has a child with either a white or black person that child will still not be white or black and therefore not accepted by either race. A generation of perpetual down spiralling. No hope of a good job or any worthwhile future at all really.

But they had said that of Mrs Elliott’s daughter, Grace. Grace was several good shades darker than her mother but when they’d moved in Mrs Elliott was a single parent, having been abandoned by her husband or so it was rumoured for a younger woman. Grace was an attractive girl and approaching 18 had the figure of a woman in her 20’s. Although shunned by the neighbours for being of lower class – no class really -shopkeeper Mr Biggins had taken a shine to her. He was always offering to slip a little extra into her basket. Sensible girl, she was having none of it. She’d pay her way. You could watch Mr Biggins loosen his collar with a pudgy forefinger as he watched her grope the freezer’s depths for a box of Findus fish fingers. “If you’re looking for a little job I could use some help stacking the shelves after we close” Mr Biggins kindly offered. He was thinking of all those fish fingers in the stock freezer. “I’ve too much revision for my A’s to take a job at the moment, Mr Biggin but thanks for the offer”. “I’ll see after my exams”. In a small shop you get narrow aisles and it was down one such she moved past Mr Biggins to reach the till. He was very grateful for the contact. In that fleeting second he felt more passion than he’d ever felt from a lifetime with Mrs Biggins. He was 21 again. Rushing after her to the till he chimed up her items trying to raise his gaze to eye level and in the process both under-charging her and giving her too much change. Neither by design. He watched her exit and his eyes followed her sway to the corner of the parade where she disappeared. Mr Biggins wasn’t a religious man but at that moment he almost believed in any religion as long as it promised reincarnation. Even if not Grace he was sure he deserved a second chance. “When am I going to get any service round here?” It was Mrs Whittaker who brought him very much back down to earth.