The Hanging Noose

Forty

Dottie had agreed to go to Small Heath the following morning. She had seen the sadness longing in Polly's eyes, and had agreed as soon as she saw her mother. However, Polly had told the girl she would be driving her own car, for her and Micheal to get their own way to Small Heath, for she was going to church first. She needed to speak to God, she had said as she climbed in to her car.

Micheal and Dottie weren't far behind her in Micheal's car. His hands were firmly planted on the steering wheel as he talked to Dottie, seeing Eliza in the back seat of the car through the middle mirror, whilst Dottie's hands were tied in her lap as her stomach flipped.

"You and I haven't really spoken about Rosemary," he starts, careful of his tone and his words.

Dottie shrugs her shoulders, trying to ignore the discomfort in her stomach. "There's not much to say. Rosemary is Rosemary, she hasn't changed."

"No? Even with a child around?"

"She didn't hit me, if that's what you're asking," Dottie replies back, turning her head to look at Eliza, who's happily colouring in a book Dottie had given her prior to getting in to the car. When Dottie turns back, she carries on talking.
"She said she misses you. Kept saying she wished you would write to her."

Micheal half scoffs. "She thinks she's mother of the year."

"Everything is still the same," Dottie says, ignoring Micheal's remark, "she still calls you Henry, and she hasn't touched your room. In fact, I was the one to touch it. It was dusty."

Micheal nods.

"She finally admitted to me that she never liked me," Dottie adds, "she said I was always a problem child, said I use to cry for Mum. All the time."

A small smile irrupts on to Micheal's face.

"It's fine, though. She was alright. She was alright to Eliza, and that's all that matters." Dottie concludes, folding her hands in her lap as the pair pull in to Small Heath.

"I'll give it to her, she's always been good with babies. Do you remember her helping the girls in the hospital? She use to act like a saint," Micheal says.

Dottie nods, "mhm, and how she then use to come home and lecture both of us about the dangers of getting pregnant young. I think only one of us could have ended up pregnant."

Micheal hesitates before he speaks. "Do you remember it? When you gave birth?"

Dottie freezes. Her eyes glued to her legs. She swallows a lump in her throat as she shakes her head. "Of course I do."

                                    —

Dottie sits across from Esme at the table in the betting den. She runs her hands over her slight stomach, her dress empathising her bump. Dottie was speechless to hear Esme was pregnant again, knowing Esme's hands were full with the rest of the kids. In fact, Esme had given birth a few months or so after Eliza was born, and yet here she was, pregnant with a round belly. The same belly that Dottie had ignored at the wedding. She knew Esme had her thoughts about being pregnant, but she didn't realise how far along she was.

Esme lifts her head up, cocaine powder smothering her nose. Dottie itches her nose, letting Esme know to do the same thing.

"It passes the time," Esme says defensively, glancing at Dottie.

Dottie shrugs, "I don't care, it don't bother me. It's your life," Dottie replies back casually, "I didn't realise you were this pregnant at the wedding."

Esme looks down at her stomach, her hands rubbing the fabric covering her stomach. "I've popped. Wasn't this big a week ago. Hate being like this, can't even see my fucking feet now."