The Hanging Noose

Seventy-One

Isiah had dropped the girls off to Jeremiah's house on his way to work, leaving Dottie alone in the large house. She had tiredly gone back to bed once the house was quiet, draping herself in the large duvet. Just as she closed her eyes, there was a loud banging on the door.

She freezes, wishing the banging would end.

The banging continues.

Dottie creeps out of bed, and makes her way to the window. She peers down, before sighing. After pushing her feet in to her slippers, she makes her way downstairs, opening the door and greeting Polly.

"Hello Mum."

"Hello love," Polly replies back, stepping in to the house. She frowns when she sees Dottie's smeared makeup around her eyes, "late night?"

"I didn't get much sleep," Dottie reveals, watching as Polly shrugs off her coat and hangs it up.

"Where's the girls?"

"Siah's dropped them off to Jeremiah's for the day," Dottie responds, "want some breakfast? Was going to make myself some."

Polly hums, raising an eyebrow, "you've twisted my arm," she says before a small smile breaks its way on to her face.

Dottie smiles back, leading her mum in to the kitchen. The two work simultaneously, working together to fry some bacon and cook some sausages. Polly works on the toast as Dottie pours some orange juice in to two glasses.

Polly then checks each sausage when it's done, looking for any sign of it being uncooked, before she packs on some bacon and a few sausages on to each plate.

Once the pair sit down, Polly raises an eyebrow at Dottie.
"Tommy spoke to me."

Dottie hums, biting in to her toast.

"Told me you know Oswald Mosely."

Nodding her head, she wipes the corner of her mouth, swallowing her mouthful.
"I knew him. There's a difference."

Polly doesn't respond, instead she picks up a slice of toast and begins to spread some butter against the tanned bread.

"I was pregnant when I was sixteen," Dottie reveals, looking across to Polly, "I didn't know I was, and when I found out I was too late to get an abortion. It was Oswald's baby."

Polly tilts her head, her eyes bulging slightly.

"When I found out, I told him, and the next day he left the village, and I had no idea where he went. I wanted to go to London, to find him, but I ended up going in to labour... it was a Sunday, Rosemary and Micheal were at church. It was the one Sunday I had convinced everyone to leave me at home, and yet it was the one Sunday that I didn't want to be alone."

Polly hums, "he's so much older than you."

"Six years," Dottie reveals, "six years... he was twenty one when we met. I don't know what attracted him, but I know it's not right. Not even now. Fifteen and twenty one... he knew too. He hid me, refused to take me out for dinner. Instead he would cook for us."

Polly nods, placing her elbows on the table. "What happened, my love?"

"I gave birth to a baby boy... who wasn't breathing," Dottie says, biting her bottom lip. "I slapped him, tried to make him breath. I put my fingers down his throat, and tried to clear his airways, gave him chest compressions... did everything I could. Rosemary and Micheal found me, they called an ambulance and I was taken to hospital."

Dottie looks away from Polly as her chest tightens as she remembers holding her baby. Her first born. Her baby boy.

When she looks back at Polly, her eyes are watering. Pooling with unreleased tears.