The Baby Laundry for Unmarried Mothers Read Online Free PDF

befall a Catholic family? I hung my head again. I felt more dreadful already than any amount of her shouting could have made me. I had let her and my entire family down. I knew that. Yes, I was shocked at how forcibly I’d been told there were no options, but I’d brought it on myself, so what else could I expect? I felt so disappointed in myself,
and so full of regret. I also felt afraid, because now I had nowhere to go and absolutely no idea what was to become of me.
    From that moment on, things became very strained between us. My mother simply couldn’t disguise her disgust and dismay that her only daughter had committed the ultimate sin. I knew I had
to get away as soon as possible, because every day I stayed, there was a greater risk of my secret coming out.
    Thankfully, when I went into work the next day, and confided in the closest of my colleagues, they were sympathetic and supportive. Though here, too, there was bad news. I’d expected it,
of course, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
    ‘You know you’ll have to leave, don’t you?’ my boss, Bunty, explained. Unlike my mother’s, her tone was gentle and reassuring. ‘And sooner rather than
later,’ she added, squeezing my arm. ‘Because that way you can, in all probability, come back.’
    I brightened a little. ‘I can?’ This was something I hadn’t expected.
    ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘You’re a skilled member of staff. It would make no sense for us to lose you. But it has to be quickly, before anyone senior finds out. If they
do, you’ll be shunned and that’ll definitely be the end of it – bye, bye Angela. Honestly,’ she said, ‘they’ll treat you as no better than a prostitute,
especially the men. But if you leave on some other pretext – an extended holiday, say – it’s up to you. What do you think? Then you can return after you’ve had it, and
continue as before.’
    ‘How about Italy?’ I asked. I’d been to Italy on holiday the year before and had fallen in love with it, so much so that I’d immediately signed up for evening classes in
Italian. I’d gone with three other friends – all good Catholic girls like myself – and we’d spent a glorious fortnight in the pretty seaside resort of Laigueglia. I
suggested it to Bunty. ‘I could say I was going on an extended trip to Laigueglia, I suppose, to improve my fluency by working there this time. Would that do?’
    Bunty thought that would work perfectly. It would make the subterfuge on my return that bit easier to deflect. And so it was agreed: I was heading to Europe for a while. I handed in my
week’s notice and left.
    But there was still the problem of getting temporary accommodation. Now I was no longer going to work every day, my mother became even more anxious to move me out. What if someone saw me and
wondered why I wasn’t going to work? So the neighbours, too, were told the story of my upcoming trip to Italy. Thankfully, I didn’t have to dodge their enquiries about my plans for
long, as within the week I had somewhere new to live.
    In this, also, I was lucky to have had such wonderful friends at work: my friend and colleague June, after okaying it with her husband – another Peter, ironically – offered to let me
live in the spare room in their house in Elm Park. In return I’d pay a small rent and help out with the household chores, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. I still am.
    June was the antithesis of almost everyone else around me at that time. While the whole world, it seemed, stood in damning judgement over me, June had been the friend I’d been able to call
on for support and advice. It had been she who had given me the abortionist’s number, and had earlier given me potions to try. She was from Bow, in the East End, and as down to earth and
colourful as I was reserved and self-effacing. She was pretty and glamorous, and was a model in her spare time. She was also streetwise: her extended family were the sort