Читать книгу An Unsuitable Mother - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 11

6

So, after lunch, and indeed every day except Sunday, for the next couple of weeks Nell found herself pressganged into completing a list of housework. With her normal clothes so tight-fitting now – zips of skirts having to be left open and secured with safety pins, and emphasising her distorted shape – she chose to retain her uniform, giving lame explanation to her mother that this was simply to make her feel professional. Though in truth this was the last way she was feeling. For the previous month the passenger in her abdomen had been inflicting tremendous strain on her lower back, as well as her shoulders, and all this donkeywork did not help. But there was little chance of lying down for a rest, with Mother expecting everything to be done by the time she got home from enjoying her own freedom at the WVS. Even worse than the housework was being made to queue outside a selection of shops for the daily groceries.

Standing in line outside the greengrocer’s on this Monday afternoon, after struggling to drag heavy sheets from the wringer to the washing line for much of the day, Nell constantly varied her weight from one hip to the other, trying to escape her agony. This procuring no relief, she stretched her body into an arc, pressed a hand to her lumbar region, and began to rub. Mother had heard there was a consignment of Spanish oranges arriving today, and, by the length of the queue, so had everyone else. Lord knew how long she would be standing there.

‘You’re entitled to go straight to the front in your condition, love.’

Nell turned to attend the woman behind her, and, to her shock, realised that her abdomen was protruding from her open coat. An immediate prickle of embarrassment sprang outwards from her breast, causing her face to turn scarlet and her heart to accelerate, as her secondary reaction was to slump and pull her coat around herself, whilst trying not to meet the curious gazes of others who were now craning to examine her.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ The speaker had noted that Nell wore no wedding ring. ‘My mistake …’

Face burning, Nell reverted her gaze ahead, but the damage was done. She was to thank God when an angry commotion up front, over the unreliability of supplies, diverted attention from her, allowing her to break ranks and slip away.

Thelma looked crestfallen at the lack of oranges in Nell’s basket when they coincidentally met up at the end of the avenue, both heading home through the late April sunshine. ‘But they said!’

‘Well, they said wrong.’ Nell was less than apologetic, her shoulders and spirits dragged down by the heavy basket of shopping. ‘Apparently the consignment was for the London area only.’

Thelma sighed. ‘Oh well, I suppose that’s only right, they’re suffering the most.’

‘I don’t know about that!’ snapped Nell. ‘I stood for absolutely ages.’

‘Well, yes, thank you for going to the trouble, dear. I shall miss not having you to help me. Did Matron not give you a specific date to return? Not that I want to lose you, but you should really go and check …’

‘Yeah, I’ll go tomorrow,’ sighed Nell, changing the encumbrance to her other hand.

‘Yeah? We didn’t pay out good money for slovenly speech!’

‘Yes, then,’ Nell replied with a wince, feeling that she was about to crack in half. Notwithstanding this, when they arrived home she was to help prepare the evening meal by pulling vegetables from the back garden and washing and slicing them, whilst Mother worked beside her on the main dish. All the while Nell was teetering on the verge of blurting it out, anxious to confide in her mother before Father came in.

‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when I was reduced to using this horrible stuff,’ sighed Thelma, having scraped the final slick of margarine from the greaseproof paper that had held it, and folding this away for later use. ‘How people can say it’s a substitute for butter … we might as well be living on a council estate.’

Nell barely responded, though her eyes followed her mother to the cupboard, where she added the folded greaseproof to the umpteen jars and bottles, bits of string, and other useful things she had thriftily put by.

Thelma went to the stove and stirred the contents of a saucepan that were now almost ready to serve. Then she cast a sideways glance at her daughter as they waited for Father to come in. ‘You’re very quiet, dear.’

Nell came out of her trance with a start.

‘Are you worried that they might not take you back?’

Looking into that concerned face, Nell was on the verge of saying something, then shook her head. ‘No, just tired.’

And at that point her father came in. Another opportunity lost.

With her parents tucking into their meal, Nell picking at hers, there was little said until halfway through. Then, ‘Next door’s had one of those new Morrison shelters delivered,’ Thelma informed her husband. ‘The stack of girders that went in, you would’ve thought they were erecting the Forth Bridge. All this clanking and banging, and poor Mrs Dawson trying to stop them demolishing her house in the process. Eh, you should’ve seen it, shouldn’t he, Eleanor? It was like Fred Karno’s!’

They all chuckled, including Nell, Wilfred pausing to run his tongue underneath the pallet of his false teeth to evacuate debris, and clacking the dentures expertly around his mouth before saying, ‘I hear they’re saving a lot of lives. We can have one if you want.’

‘Thank you, dear, but I couldn’t abide one of those monstrosities cluttering up my dining room.’ Thelma hated anything out of place. ‘Not to mention actually having to go in it. I’d feel like a caged animal. No, we’ll continue to go under the stairs, it’s served us well enough up to now.’ And Wilfred had gone to such trouble, fitting it out with a light and comfortable seating that could also be used as beds.

Nell was about to take another mouthful when something awful happened. She wet herself. Her knife and fork hovering over the plate, she felt a tremendous wave of panic rush over her, as she tried to control the muscles around her bladder, but the leak would not stop. With the lower half of her dress sopping wet, and her sphincter fluttering, she laid down her cutlery and, trying to appear calm, exclaimed, ‘Please excuse me, I’ll just have to visit the lavatory!’ And, to her mother and father’s bemusement, she rushed from the table.

Leaving a dripping trail, she fled first to her room, and dragged a pack of sanitary towels from the back of a cupboard. Armed with these, and still leaking, she scurried to the bathroom, where she stripped off her wet dress and underwear, the corset posing all manner of irritation, then she tried to stem the flow with a towel, but in moments it too was swamped and chafing. Giving in to panic, she began to shake. Oh my God, she should have come clean months ago! It was going to be so much more of a shock to them now. She could well imagine the intensity of their recrimination. Even the rehearsal made her break down and cry.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ called her mother a good twenty minutes later, making Nell jump. ‘Your meal’s gone cold – and your father wants to be in there!’ With no response, she pounded up the stairs to mutter a warning. ‘I hope you’re not being extravagant with that toilet paper, else you can start buying your own.’ With a roll having doubled in price, she had issued this alert before. Ignored and aggravated, she banged on the door. ‘Eleanor! Answer me.’

Under this constant harassment, Nell had no option.

Thelma heard the bolt being drawn, and stood back, ready to announce, ‘Oh, there you are!’ But as the door opened a crack and she squinted through it, there stood her daughter, surrounded by sodden bath towels and things, and clutching a damp dress over her nakedness. Thelma gasped. Reflected in her mother’s horrified gaze, only truly in that moment did Nell realise the enormity of this.

Lost for words, Thelma could do nothing but gape at her for many seconds. Whatever had happened to be prepared? Nothing could have prepared her for this! Finally, though, one of them had to speak. With Nell in tears, it was left to her mother to breathe, ‘Who was it?’

Nell struggled with the lump in her throat. ‘I’m so sorry, Mother …’

Thelma came to life then, was caught up in a paroxysm of loathing as she stabbed a finger at Nell’s room. ‘Get in there, and take your disgusting mess with you! And get something on!’ Then, turning tail, she stamped downstairs.

Finding it hard to bend, Nell gathered the debris that lay around her, staggered with it to her room, there dropping it to grab the first thing to hand, a dressing gown, at the same time hearing her father’s bilious, ‘What!’

‘She’s in labour now!’ moaned Thelma, loud enough for their daughter to hear.

‘And you said nothing, woman?’

The boom of his cannon fire was met by the shriek of her high explosive. ‘I didn’t know! If I had do you think she’d still be standing there?’

‘Keep your voice down, woman, do you want the whole street to hear?’

‘They won’t have to hear!’ screeched Thelma. ‘They only have to look at her – and please stop calling me woman!’

Nell sobbed, and gripped the edges of the dressing gown around her enlarged form as they continued to bombard each other.

‘If it’s that obvious why didn’t you confront her before?’

‘It wasn’t obvious – I had no idea! And why didn’t you?’

‘You’re the blasted mother, you should know about these things – anyway, this is doing not the slightest good. Get her down here, I want to speak to her!’

‘I told you, she’s in labour, she’s … dribbling all over the place! The bathroom’s awash with – look, it’s no good arguing, we’ll have to fetch Doctor Greenhow!’

‘She’s not going to have it right this minute, is she?’ snarled Wilfred. ‘I want to talk to her first, find out who’s responsible!’ And he pushed Thelma aside and hared up to Nell’s room, barging in without knocking.

‘I’m sorry Fa –’

‘Who was it?’ he demanded. ‘And why have you waited until now? Where can we get in touch with his parents?’

‘He’s dead!’ wept a shivering Nell. ‘He was killed after we –’

‘Slut!’ Wilfred Spottiswood brought his fingers hard across her face.

Nell reeled, but the shock of it stopped her crying and she stared at him in disbelief, her lips parting to offer soft reproach. ‘We were going to be married …’ As evidence, she offered the ring on its chain that hung from her neck.

‘Well, you’re not now, are you?’ flung her father, trying to swipe it from her.

But Nell reared away to protect the treasured ring, tearfully begging him to comprehend that, ‘We loved each other!’

‘You don’t know what love is!’ sneered Wilfred, growing nastier by the second. ‘You brazen little cat, you certainly know nothing about respect! If you’d none for yourself you could at least have had some for your parents!’

Bill’s wedding ring still in her fist, tears streaking her cheeks, Nell grasped the dressing gown around her contracting trunk, and begged them both, ‘Please try to understand –’

‘Try as I might, I’ll never understand!’ interrupted her mother, her face contorted with disbelief. ‘It’s always been apparent you’ve no care for your parents’ reputation, but how could you walk around for so long with … that in you, and not be cowed by shame? As if you’re actually proud of being labelled a scrubber!’

‘I’m not!’ protested Nell in self-defence. ‘We would’ve been married by now if Bill hadn’t sacrificed his life for another.’ And her face crumpled in more tears.

‘Bill?’ yelled Mother. ‘Oh, it’s all coming out now, the lies you must have told! Well, he’s certainly left us all in the lurch, hasn’t he? But he’s not the only one – how could you be so completely and utterly selfish? As if there isn’t enough for us to worry about with a war on!’

Nell wanted to plead again for her mother to empathise, but knew now that she never would, could never have never felt the same depth of passion that she herself felt for her man. Shaking with emotion, daring now to peer through the scalding veil of tears at her father with his glittering eyes and his sour, discontented face, she knew that even the merest attempt to explain would be useless. Besides, she was robbed of the will by another stronger pain in her lower back, as if a giant hand was gripping and squeezing it.

Seeing her wince, Thelma advised quickly, ‘We’ve got to get her out of here before she has it!’

‘Is it going to be born now?’ groaned Nell.

‘You stupid girl, what did you think was happening? What did you think would be the consequence of your sordid – oh, we’ll argue about this later. Wilfred, I just want her out!’

Of similar mind, Wilfred let fly at his daughter. ‘Don’t think I’ve finished with you, not by a long chalk!’ And, charging for the stairs, he added over his shoulder, ‘I’ll go and fetch the doctor!’

Disdaining coat and hat, he pedalled off to the telephone box, leaving his wife to observe the unfolding horror.

By the time the doctor had arrived in his car, Nell’s labour pains had begun in earnest.

The elderly Doctor Greenhow doffed his homburg, though retained his coat and scarf, and, without examining the patient, declared in his gravelly voice, ‘I’ll ring for an ambulance to take her to hospital, at least we’ll have her away before the baby’s out.’

‘Not the maternity hospital?’ breathed Thelma, touching her plump breast in concern, for that was in too close a suburb. ‘Oh, Doctor, the whole of Acomb will be aware of it before daybreak – can it not be somewhere else?’

The GP had treated the Spottiswoods for years, knew the parents’ characters inside out. Transposing himself to their unenviable position, he spent only another few seconds watching Nell squirm, before deciding, ‘I’ll telephone the Infirmary, see if there’s anyone qualified in midwifery on duty.’

Whilst Thelma showed deep gratitude, there came a squeal of pain and panic from Nell. Her mother immediately ran to her, but not to comfort. ‘Bite on your sheet!’ she commanded, and thrust a handful of bedding towards Nell’s mouth. ‘Bite on it, I said! At least spare us the indignity of your squawks.’

Trying to be quiet, Nell bit on the sheet and closed her eyes against the discomfort, squirming into the mattress.

‘I just paid six guineas for that bed last year, and now she’s completely ruined it!’

Old Doctor Greenhow drove off to the phone box, returning fifteen minutes later to say that all was in order. ‘An ambulance will be arriving any minute. I’ve warned them not to put the bell on.’

‘Thank Christ it’s dark,’ breathed an irascible Wilfred Spottiswood, pinching his grey temples as if to contain some volcanic eruption.

The ambulance did arrive very quickly, its two-man crew helping Nell downstairs then depositing her in a wheelchair, which was propelled down the garden path.

‘Don’t you cry out,’ warned Thelma through clenched teeth, making sure that Nell was completed swaddled in blankets to hide that odious bump. ‘Don’t you dare make a sound.’

‘Ooh, what’s up wi’ your Nell?’ Geoffrey Dawson lolloped out of the darkness in an over-large boiler suit and Wellington boots, on his way out to fire-watch.

Thelma whirled in alarm at the inquisition. ‘Suspected appendicitis – so we can’t delay, Geoffrey!’

‘Are you coming with me, Mother?’ Deposited in the ambulance, the curious youth still watching, a frightened Nell raised her head from the stretcher to ask, just before the doors were closed.

Then came a rocky ride towards the city. Having heard where they were taking her, despite her pain and only wanting it to be over, Nell prayed, please don’t let there be anyone on duty that knows me, please, please. Jerked from side to side in the ambulance, finally lifted out then wheeled along the familiar echoing corridors, she was relieved to be steered into a small ward that had no beds, only a trolley, and was no bigger than a cupboard really. But the relief was short-lived, for, as she was helped to clamber aboard the trolley, the contractions grew so intense that she could not help but cry out.

‘Be quiet and lie down, you’ll wake the patients,’ came the brusque command of the midwife about to examine her.

‘It hurts!’ moaned Nell, beseeching sympathy.

But none was to come from the one who probed so intimately, violating her body as if gutting a chicken. ‘Yes, well, your type don’t think about that, do you, when you’re rolling about with some soldier?’ The shock of realising that a nurse could vindictively inflict pain was enough to stun Nell to silence, as more cruelty was imposed. ‘I’ll bet he’s not on the scene any more, is he? Ran like a rabbit when you told him.’

Don’t say that about him! roared Nell’s mind through her adversity, he was a hero, I loved him. But, cowed by humiliation, the only insurrection she could whisper was, ‘He’s dead.’

‘Then he’s better off,’ snapped her torturer, and left the room.

The spasms grew such that Nell thought she could stand them no longer. Yes, Billy was better off dead, and she with him! All she wanted to do was sleep, but the contractions were so extreme now that they kept jolting her awake, and with them came a series of involuntary shrieks. ‘Please, won’t you give me something to stop the pain?’

But just when Nell thought she was indeed going to die, a change came upon her, an urgent signal that her body wished to expel its unwanted lodger, and the might of this drawing forth an involuntary belch. Thankful that the pain was not quite so excruciating now, as each spasm subsided Nell took grateful advantage and closed her eyes, craving sleep.

‘Don’t nod off – you’re supposed to be pushing!’ Again her violator was there, rough and cold and unhelpful, as if Nell had disturbed her own peaceful night.

‘I’m sorry,’ whimpered Nell. ‘I’m trying!’

‘Try harder! And stop clamping your legs shut – it’s a bit too late for that now!’

At three o’clock in the morning, Nell’s tiny baby came slipping and slithering into an unwelcome world, the waxen face coated in its mother’s blood.

‘Is it all right?’ Nell was wide awake now and craning forward anxiously, as the baby’s face flooded red and began to bleat. ‘What is it?’

The midwife was busy snipping and poking and prodding, saying without enthusiasm, ‘A bit puny, but it’s all right. I don’t know why you’re bothered what it is, seeing all the trouble he’s caused.’

‘A boy!’ Nell felt a rush of tearful adoration for Billy’s son, checking that he was whole and healthy, before falling back exhausted, but exhilarated too, at having produced another human being.

Then the midwife was jabbing her crudely again. ‘Not finished yet. Give another push!’

Having little experience in maternity, Nell panicked. ‘It’s twins?’

‘No, you clot, just the placenta.’ Having delivered this, the midwife conducted another intimate examination. ‘You’re luckier than you deserve. You don’t need any stitches.’ Then she spread a sheet and blanket over Nell, and carried the baby from the room, saying, ‘There’ll be somebody along to see to you in a minute.’

‘Can I hold him?’ Nell’s head shot up again.

‘Later,’ said the midwife, on the point of exit.

‘Is my mother here?’

The midwife looked derisive. ‘Do you think she wants anything to do with you?’ And on this brutal note, she was gone.

Nell was to lie there then, subdued and tearful, clinging to Bill’s wedding ring as an anchor, until someone did eventually come along to make her comfortable, not a nurse but one of the domestic staff, who had obviously been dragged from her bed. By then, though, Nell was too fidgety to sleep. Sipping the cup of tea that the woman had kindly donated after washing her and putting her into an institutional nightgown, she asked, ‘Where have they taken my baby?’

The bleary face did not look at her as its owner went about the business of clearing up the gory detritus. ‘He’ll be in the nursery.’

Nell remained anxious. ‘May I go and see him?’

‘No, I’ll get into trouble,’ said the woman, concentrating on bundling up the soiled linen. Then, just prior to leaving, she looked into Nell’s face and frowned, ‘How old are you?’

‘Eighteen,’ confessed Nell. Then it struck her, ‘No, nineteen – it’s my birthday.’

The woman raised her eyebrows and offered, ‘Many happy returns.’

Nell thanked her, knowing there would be few congratulations from her parents. Then, as the other made to leave, she enquired quickly, ‘How long must I stay in bed?’

‘Well, you’d usually be there ten days …’ the woman was quick to deter Nell’s look of horror, ‘but they’re letting them up more or less straight away in case of air raids, so it might not be that long.’ She smiled, and left.

Intermittently dozing, the next thing Nell was aware of was being bumped by trolley to a ward that stank of kidneys, full of elderly patients who were too busy eating their breakfast to concern themselves with her. For some reason, certainly not from kindness, once she was in bed a screen was immediately pulled around it, and, shortly after this, her own breakfast was served. Brought by the intransigent midwife who had also delivered her, Nell chose not to ask her the time, but guessed it must be somewhere between six thirty and seven o’clock. Though agitated to hold her baby, she ate everything before her, then sat back and listened to the sounds of the old folk, imagining what must be going on at home, and wondering if her parents would ever forgive her.

Therefore, it was a surprise when, immediately after her empty tray was removed, her mother and father appeared around the screen, accompanied by Doctor Greenhow. Obviously not to wish her a happy birthday. Dressed in his business suit, her father was still furious, and did not trust himself to speak, all parties looking shell-shocked by the events of the last twelve hours, and grossly uncomfortable at being there.

Her mother did speak, but remained aloof. ‘Doctor’s arranged for you to be looked after at home.’

Flooded with relief at being accorded this token of forgiveness, Nell gushed tearfully, ‘Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry I’ve put you and Father through –’

‘What’s done is done,’ interrupted her mother, who had brought along Nell’s coat and shoes. ‘Now, let’s get ourselves organised. Doctor’s brought some paperwork for you to sign, then we can leave here.’ Her attitude was one of distaste.

Nell shifted position to ease her throbbing genitals, propping herself up with one arm whilst taking the form with her other hand. She was immediately suspicious. ‘But this says – Mother, I don’t want him adopted!’ Her heart had begun to race.

‘Just sign it!’ commanded her father, hat in hand, eager to get away.

‘Please, can’t I keep him?’ entreated Nell.

‘Stop making such a song and dance,’ hissed her mother, embarrassed and tetchy as she looked over her shoulder to check that no one could overhear. ‘It’s going to be difficult enough getting you into the house without the neighbours prying.’

‘But –’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Eleanor! For heaven’s sake you are eighteen years old, what possessed you to ruin your life?’

‘I’m nineteen!’ Nell was dismayed that her mother seemed to have forgotten. ‘It’s my birthday – and it doesn’t have to be ruined!’

‘Oh, I’m well aware of what day it is!’ The response was brittle. ‘It’s you who are living in Cloud Cuckoo Land. You were stupid enough to get yourself into this, but even you can’t be so dim-witted as not to realise what dire straits you’d be in should you attempt to bring it up yourself.’