Dorothy’s face lit up. ‘We’ve learned so much about our father thanks to this book. He was romantic and wrote poetry and he liked to be called Harry. He loved our mam so much he broke it off with his former girlfriend.’ She clasped the book to her chest as if she’d never let it go. ‘Tell me, what else did Aunt Lillian have to say? Did you recognise her?’
‘I can’t say I did. And you were right about where she lives. But by the look of things, she’s down on her luck.’ Etty stalled.
‘And… come on, Etty, spill the beans. I can see by your expression there’s something else. Is it about Mam? Did Aunt Lillian know something?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh! I can’t bear the suspense. Tell me.’
An air of expectation filled the room as Etty struggled with an answer.
She inhaled a lungful of air. ‘Mrs Gruber sounded the alarm. She knew about Aunt Lillian and visited her to ask if she knew where Mam and her daughters were. It turns out that Aunt Lillian had no idea Mam took us to an orphanage. She tried to find us but with no one to ask it was impossible, and when her daughter took ill, she gave up the search.’ So far so good, she thought, watching Norma’s starfish fingers submerge the boat in the water.
She felt Dorothy’s intense gaze upon her. ‘And…’
‘Aunt Lillian heard nothing more until a letter arrived from Rookdale… Mam’s hometown.’
Dorothy gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, Etty, I recognise that name.’
‘The letter came from Mam’s sister… Martha.’
‘Mam had a sister?’
‘Apparently so.’ Etty wanted this next bit of the story over as quickly as possible. ‘Martha corresponded with Aunt Lillian, informing her that the Infirmary in South Shields had been in touch. Mam, apparently, was a patient and very ill, and had given them her family’s address in Rookdale. Martha requested of Aunt Lillian that she visit and report back.’ Etty squirmed as she fabricated the lie but she reminded herself Dorothy’s peace of mind was paramount.
‘Why didn’t she go herself?’ Dorothy’s tone was indignant. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away if you were ill.’
Etty explained about Mam running off to join their dad and how Elroy – their grandfather – had disowned his daughter. ‘He probably forbade Martha to visit Mam and she was afraid to cross him.’
‘What rotten luck for Mam… that she had such a weak-bellied sister. You hear of such things happening in families… authoritarian fathers and frightened females. But Grandfather was a clergyman. Where was his compassion?’
Etty shrugged.
‘Did Aunt Lillian go to the hospital?’
‘Yes… but Dorothy…’ As she prepared to tell another lie, Etty’s body went rigid and her mouth went dry, ‘it… it was too late.’
A small cry escaped Dorothy and, her knees buckling, she sagged into a chair.
‘It was as you said all along. Mam did die.’
‘I don’t feel like gloating.’ Dorothy’s voice wobbled. ‘Did you ask Aunt Lillian what Mam died of?’
Etty improvised. ‘I was in shock… and forgot to ask.’
Dorothy nodded, understandingly. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. ‘Oh, Etty, you know what this means? Mam knew she was desperately ill and that’s why she took us to Blakely. Too ill to write, she must have got the hospital to contact her family, believing they’d visit and she could tell them where we were.’
‘It would appear so.’ Etty had never felt so rotten. This was the first and last time she would ever deceive her sister.
‘Mam never got to make it up with her family.’ Dorothy smiled through her tears. ‘Oh, Etty, though I’m desperately sad, I’m glad too… not just for me, but you too. Mam did love us. She intended to return for us. You can stop hating her now.’ She grasped Etty’s hand. ‘Thank you for finding out. I always knew in my heart Mam cared and there was a reason she didn’t return for us.’ Her face crumpled and tears rolled down her cheeks.
Etty knew something too. As long as she lived she would never forgive her mother.
A great source of worry for Etty was what to do about Dorothy when her baby was due. The practice these days, because of the threat of enemy invasion, was to encourage expectant mothers to evacuate to the country where they’d be safe and well looked after.
But nothing would budge Dorothy. ‘I intend to have a home birth,’ she told Etty, chin jutting as she eyed a photograph of Laurie in pride of place on the mantelpiece.
Doctor Meredith agreed, making an exception in Dorothy’s case. Etty was convinced he didn’t force the issue because the move, he believed, might be detrimental to her sister’s health.
‘What if your labour starts during the night?’ Etty wanted to know.
‘I’ve arranged with the Armstrongs upstairs that I’ll knock on the ceiling. They can make it to the phone booth up the street to call the doctor.’
‘You can’t rely on the Armstrongs. They’re ancient and he’s deaf as a post.’
Etty’s idea was to debunk from home and sleep in her old room but Dorothy wouldn’t hear tell of it, especially if it meant disrupting Norma.
‘Besides,’ she said, ‘what help would you be if Norma decided to wake up during the night?’
Etty conceded this to be true.
Though loath to think on it, there was only one other solution.
‘The nights Trevor works, she can stay upstairs at her Grandma’s and I’ll sleep with you.’
‘What if I’m a couple of weeks overdue? You know you hate Nellie monopolising Norma.’
This also was true.
Etty didn’t know what to do. Normally, she would talk troubles over with Trevor, but since his accusation, things weren’t the same between them. They barely spoke and, if looks could kill, Etty would be dead. These days she couldn’t step a foot outside the house without an inquisition.
A voice nagged in her head. What would she be like if the situation was reversed? She knew she’d look at the evidence and, like Trevor, think the worst. She’d been so secretive, no wonder he mistrusted her.
Etty now rued not telling him the whole story from the first. The terror she’d felt when the shelter walls shook and she’d thought she was going to die, how Billy was the father and she’d had feelings for him. That she had come to her senses, seen him for what he truly was, and worked out that, after everything, she didn’t love him.
Etty was frustrated as she knew even if she did tell Trevor the truth now, he wouldn’t listen. He’d made up his mind and nothing would change his opinion of her. She realised she couldn’t go on living a lie. Not just for her sake but for Trevor’s too. Continuing as they were would make them miserable and they’d come to hate each other. There was Norma to consider too. The bairn loved her dad and he in turn idolised her. Etty would never come between the pair of them. There was only one thing she could think to do.
The war had opened opportunities for women in the workforce and even those with children helped out. They took pride in their work and gained a patriotic satisfaction in helping the war effort. When the time was right, Etty would ask her sister if she and Norma could move in down the street. Etty would apply for a job while Dorothy could stay at home and look after the children. And then Norma would stay close to her daddy.
Not yet, though, as Dorothy had problems of her own and Etty didn’t want to add to them. She would wait until after the baby was safely here.
She told Dorothy now, ‘If I have to leave Norma with her grandma then so be it. I won’t have you sleeping alone when you’re due… there’s no more to be said.’
In the end, the decision was taken out of their hands.
During the final weeks of her pregnancy Dorothy’s body swelled and, much to her dismay, her fingers puffed up sausage-like and she was forced to remove her wedding ring. A trip to the doctor confirmed that her blood pressure had shot up.
‘He advises complete rest,’ she said.
‘At home?’ Etty asked, al
ready making plans.
‘No. He wants me in the infirmary where he can keep an eye on me.’
When Dorothy was admitted to hospital, Etty went jittery inside. Her mind preoccupied, she dropped everything she touched and did the silliest things, like filling the sugar basin with flour, and misplacing objects, especially the tea caddy, only to find it in the strangest place.
She wished Dorothy’s confinement was over and done and the baby safely arrived so she could breathe easily again.
On a sunny afternoon in May, Etty walked along the maternity ward corridor. Sun streamed through the windows, an antiseptic smell accosted her nostrils, and she heard the babies’ thin cries from behind the nursery door. In the black message bag she carried was a newly washed nightdress, an egg with her sister’s name printed on it and the most darling little white matinee coat and boots that Dorothy had knitted for the baby.
As she walked into the ward, Etty saw that Dorothy’s bed had a screen around it. Peeping round and seeing it empty gave her a shock. She hurried out of the ward, finding Sister’s office along the corridor she rapped on the door.
‘Come in.’
Sister Hope stood calm and composed behind her desk.
‘Could you please tell me where my sister, Mrs Calvert, is?’
Sister Hope gave a brief nod. ‘Mrs Calvert delivered her baby a half hour ago. She’s still in the delivery room. The baby’s fine but your sister has lost a lot of blood and her temperature’s raised.’
A rush of adrenalin raced through Etty. ‘Is it serious?’
‘We intend to keep a close eye on her.’ Sister smiled encouragingly. Wearing a starched cap and navy uniform, a black belt encircling her ample waist, she exuded professionalism, and Etty was reassured.
‘Can I see her?’
‘For five minutes. She needs rest.’
As Etty entered the delivery room, it was smaller than she’d envisaged. A drip stand stood by the bed, and a chart hung over the bedrail which Etty was tempted to read. It occurred to her she hadn’t asked the baby’s sex.
‘It’s a girl,’ Dorothy told her. Head resting against the pillow, she looked pale and wan, but a glimmer of triumph shone in her eyes. ‘She’s called Victoria.’
Etty placed the egg and the other paraphernalia she’d brought on the locker top and, kissing Dorothy on the cheek, stood awkwardly by the bed as no seat was available.
‘Congratulations,’ she beamed. ‘I’m thrilled it’s all over. What a lovely name.’
‘It’s what Laurie and I chose if the baby was a girl – for when we’re victorious and win the war.’
Dorothy’s chin wobbled, and neither sister spoke for a moment.
Dorothy recovered. ‘The babies are in the nursery for a time in the afternoon. The nurse said it’s so that we mothers can rest. And she said I’m supposed to lie on my tummy for a while.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘Apparently it’s to get tummy muscles back into shape.’
‘That’s a new one on me,’ Etty looked keenly at her sister. ‘How are you feeling, really?’
‘Light-headed, if I’m honest. I dread standing up.’
‘Then don’t. Promise me you’ll stay in here as long as you can.’
‘The way I feel I’ve no option. And they look after me so well.’
‘How was the birth? Was it too bad?’
‘At one stage I yelled so loud the midwife said I should be ashamed of my––’
‘It’s easy for her to talk,’ Etty interrupted heatedly. ‘What’s the betting she’s never given birth?’
‘You couldn’t explain it to anyone, could you?’ Dorothy shrugged. ‘It’s something you have to go through and it’s lonely when you’re left to get on with it yourself.’
Etty nodded.
‘I kept reminding myself that millions of women have gone through the same thing through the ages.’
‘It doesn’t help, though, does it?’
They both laughed.
‘Go on…’ Dorothy’s eyes drooped. ‘Have a look at Victoria. I know you’re dying to. I’m afraid I’m off to sleep.’
When Etty walked into the nursery there was no mistaking her niece. Her cot was in a row with the others and, lying on her side fast asleep, she was swaddled in a white blanket. With her snub nose and blonde feathery hair, she looked familiar.
‘Why,’ Etty told her, ‘you’re the image of your cousin when she was born.’
When Dorothy was discharged from the hospital and settled at home, it soon became apparent that any similarity between Victoria and her cousin ended in looks.
‘She’s such a content little thing,’ Etty peered at the sleeping child in her Moses basket. ‘You hardly know you’ve got her.’
Dorothy wasn’t convinced. ‘Wait till you hear her howls when she’s hungry.’ She frowned in consternation. ‘She’s such a windy baby. D’you think it’s because she’s bottle-fed?’
It was a source of great frustration to Dorothy that Victoria wasn’t gaining enough weight. ‘The midwife thinks she’s not getting enough food. She’s advised that I supplement with baby milk from a bottle.’
‘What I think,’ Etty told her sister, ‘is that you worry too much. Victoria is thriving and you can’t call that feeble wail, a cry.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘Can’t you remember Norma’s bellow? Now that was a cry.’
Dorothy laughed and admitted she did remember the ear-piercing noise.
‘I breast-fed Norma and it didn’t make a happeth of difference to her wind and she was never a picture of contentment.’
Overall, Dorothy was doing well and apart from her private grief, all her thinking time was taken up by Victoria. But there was no denying that recent events had taken their toll. Dorothy had lost the first flush of youth; her appearance now careworn. Etty, infinitely sad that life had been so tough on her sister, aging her beyond her years, was reconciled to the fact that the war had this effect on people who’d lost loved ones and it was no use getting maudlin, because life held its riches too.
They were both mothers, each to a beautiful daughter, and some weren’t as lucky, as they hadn’t made it this far.
Her thoughts strayed to Bertha Cuthbertson, who could cook up a wise saying on most occasions.
‘Hinny,’ she would say, ‘don’t go looking for trouble, it’ll find you soon enough.’
Their paths hadn’t crossed in a long while, and she missed Bertha’s friendship and forthright opinions.
On impulse, she said to Dorothy, ‘Why don’t we invite folk for a knees-up? I vote Bertha Cuthbertson for one.’
Dorothy looked unsure. ‘What about the babies?’
‘Having babies doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves once in a while.’
Dorothy brightened. ‘I’m game for some fun… I vote May Robinson. By the way.’ She looked tentative. ‘Did you hear Billy Buckley’s been posted abroad?’
‘No. Did May tell you?’
‘She visited last night. She said she wrote to him but he never answered except this once to tell her to get on with her life and that he’d been posted abroad.’
Etty was staggered that she felt – nothing. No rush of adrenalin at the sound of his name or yearning of the heartstrings.
She was truly over Billy Buckley.
‘Won’t Trevor mind?’ Dorothy asked. Etty looked blankly at her sister. ‘About getting chucked out of his home for a party? We could have it here if you want.’
The whole point was to give Dorothy a night off.
‘No, we’ll have the party at my place,’ Etty told her sister. No matter what Trevor thought, the flat was her home too.
And so, it was settled.
Trevor, when he heard, wasn’t pleased.
‘Who’ve you invited?’ he asked, suspiciously.
‘Mainly workmates from the factory. Bertha Cuthbertson and––’
‘Her that came to our wedding?’
‘Yes.’
‘A rig
ht upstart, she seems.’
‘She’s my friend.’
It was the first time the couple had communicated since their big row – if you could call the heated conversation communication.
‘I’m not asking, Trevor; I’m telling you. I don’t need your permission to invite people to my home. Besides you won’t be here.’
‘This is not your home… and where else would I be?’
‘Work, fire watching, over the road at Newman’s. Take your pick.’
Silence.
Then, ‘Who else would be coming?’
‘Dorothy, and she’s invited May Robinson.’
‘Why her? I don’t know how you can face her.’
‘She’s Dorothy’s friend.’
‘Does she know about––’
‘If you must know, they’ve split up.’
‘That’s handy.’
Etty observed that her husband appeared a little lost and forlorn. And she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow. The trouble was they were both stubborn.
‘Trevor… contrary to what you think, I am not a liar. Anyway, he’s been posted abroad.’
Another silence.
Etty’s patience wore thin. ‘So, what you’re saying is I’m forbidden to have people round?’
Trevor clenched his teeth. ‘For God’s sake, woman, do what you like, I’m past caring.’
24
May 1943
As Trevor walked home from work, confusion rattled him. For deep down, he still had feelings for Etty, but his wounded pride wouldn’t let him get over this Billy fella.
Etty’s words played in his mind. I sent him packing… afterwards… And I did the same today.
He wanted to believe her.
Then he pictured again the soldier in the street. It was the swagger that did it, made Trevor unable to overcome his suspicions… For what man was that cocky when they’d just been shown the door?
Later, tea over, the bairn tucked up in her cot, Trevor sat on the couch reading the Gazette.
He felt Etty’s eyes on him and looked up.
She towered over him, arms folded.
The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel Page 27