The Midwives of Lark Lane

by Pam Howes

  Cathy buttered her toast, carried her mug and plate through to the lounge and put them on the coffee table. She pulled back the curtains on the wide bay window and the bright winter sunshine lit up the room. Their new three-piece suite in a light beige fabric had been a bargain in the January sales and had only been delivered last week. George next door had taken Granny’s old one off their hands for his eldest grandson, who was just setting up home with his new wife. Cathy sat down and took a sip of coffee, looking round her lovely room with pride. She still felt the need to pinch herself from time to time to remind herself that this was where she now lived with Gianni and Lucy. It hardly seemed real some days when she thought back to all they’d been through since they first got together. And now, today, beyond her wildest dreams, she and her good midwife friends were about to throw open the doors on their new maternity home.

  ‘When you’ve shown them round, tell them tea and cake is available in the dining room and Marlene will serve it,’ Alice instructed as the four midwives stood on ceremony in the lounge, all smartly attired in their new uniforms. They’d chosen pink dresses to go under their white aprons. Jean felt it set them apart from the customary blue at the Royal. ‘That way they’ll stay longer and will ask questions they may not have thought of when they were looking round,’ Alice continued. ‘There are leaflets about what we offer on the sideboard in there too with all our contact details. Make sure you don’t let anyone go out empty-handed.’

  ‘Do we all look okay?’ Karen asked, pushing an unruly strand of hair back under her starched white cap.

  ‘Very smart,’ Alice said reassuringly. ‘You all look most professional. I’d let you deliver my baby – not that I’m planning on having any more,’ she finished with a grin.

  Millie appeared in the doorway. Her navy-blue suit evoked an air of confidence that she wasn’t feeling. ‘God I’m a nervous wreck,’ she said. ‘My heart’s pounding. You girls look lovely.’

  ‘There was a loud knocking at the front door and Alice rushed to open it. A man stood in front of her with the largest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen. He handed them over with a smile and a nod and hurried back to a white van that stood on the drive. She carried them through to the lounge and put them down on the coffee table. The flowers were in a container and arranged beautifully. A small white envelope was pinned to the cellophane wrapper that surrounded the assorted blooms. On the envelope were written the words, ‘For the staff at Woodlands.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, where did those come from?’ Jean asked, her mouth agape. ‘Alice, take a look inside the envelope.’

  Alice removed the envelope from the bouquet and slid out a pretty card. She smiled. ‘Well, fancy that. It’s from our Brian and family in America, wishing us all the very best for our open day today.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ Jean said. ‘Those are beautiful. He must have done it by some sort of international flower-sending service.’

  Alice nodded, feeling close to tears. Bless her thoughtful brother. ‘This card has a Liverpool city florist address on the back, and it says Interflora. It’s very kind of him. I’ll take the cellophane off and put them in pride of place on the sideboard. Marlene did say that flowers are a nice touch and these knock spots off all the others.’

  Marlene looked up from her cake-slicing duties as Alice carried the display into the kitchen. She wiped her hands down her flowery pinny and smiled. ‘They look lovely, Alice. Proper colourful.’

  ‘From our Brian. I’m putting them in the lounge.’

  Marlene nodded. ‘They’ve done well coming all that way in the post and not getting battered around.’

  Alice smiled. ‘A chap brought them in a van from a florist in the city. Interflora is a special way of sending flowers when you live abroad.’

  Marlene stared at Alice. ‘Get away. Didn’t know they could do things like that. It’s a blooming clever idea. Whatever will they think of next?’

  ‘Think it’s been around quite a few years now. Not that we ever usually get flowers in this way.’

  ‘Aye, I’m lucky to ever get any.’ Marlene laughed and carried on with her cake-slicing. ‘I’ve just pulled some scones out of the oven. Nice change from cake for anyone that wants them. There’s enough stuff here to feed an army but I’ve a fruit cake missing. I put it on the table to cool and it’s gone walkies. What with that pie going missing as well, it’s a bit odd. Anyway, we’ve enough.’

  ‘I’m sure our midwives will see that nothing goes to waste after the visitors have all gone home,’ said Alice, smiling at the gorgeous smell in the kitchen. ‘Right, get ready; we’ve ten minutes to go.’

  The doorbell rang at exactly two o’clock and Millie let in a tall, middle-aged woman with a green silk hat, decorated with feathers, perched on top of her head; she wore a dark-brown fur coat that almost swamped her bird-like frame. She introduced herself as Mrs Swain-Foxton from Woolton Village. Millie wrote down her name on the visitors’ list and showed her into the lounge, where Jean took over and shook the lady’s hand. Millie rushed back to answer the door and let in two young couples who’d arrived on the doorstep at the same time, the ladies both heavily pregnant. She took their names and ushered them through into the lounge. By three o’clock the house was packed, and the midwives were answering question after question. Marlene was rushed off her feet in the kitchen and Alice took up position behind the teapot to give her a hand. Marlene’s fruit cake was praised enthusiastically and one young man said he almost wished he was having the baby if the food was going to be this good.

  At six o’clock, the last of the visitors shown out, the girls gathered around the dining table to polish off what was left of Marlene’s scones and cake.

  ‘So, girls,’ Jean began. ‘That went very well. Two young unmarried mums joining us on Monday for long-term care and four ladies booked in who are all due next week. But please God, don’t let them all go into labour on the same day,’ she pleaded, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Anyhow, they’ve all paid a reservation fee, so the beds are theirs. We’ve still got room for two more unmarried mums in the four-bedder. We may get referrals from the local doctors’ practice now as they know we are up and running from Monday. I’ll let Doctor Kelso know what availability we’ll have by then. All our single rooms are booked up. I think that’s a really great start. What do you lot think?’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Karen said. ‘They were all raving about how lovely everywhere is and how homely-looking. And one lady who is expecting her second said the delivery suite looks friendly and not like a butchers’ shop. Wonder where the poor girl had her first?’

  ‘What’s the history behind our unmarried mums, Jean?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘Well, the lady with the green feathered hat wants us to take her sixteen-year-old granddaughter off her hands as soon as possible. The girl is called Penelope Swain-Foxton. Her parents have washed their hands of her and sent her to her grandmother’s, who in turn is packing her off here to us on Monday. She’s five months pregnant and we’re to keep her here until after the baby is adopted. She’s paid us up front for Penelope’s care and just said if we need more because she goes over her time, then we only need to make a discreet phone call. She was difficult to engage in conversation and just wanted to be off as soon as I said we could take her granddaughter and look after her and the baby. Poor kid. No doubt we’ll hear her side of the story when she arrives. The Swain-Foxton chauffeur will bring her at ten o’clock on the dot. They sound like quite a posh family.

  ‘The other girl is nearly seventeen and is called Sarah Young. Boyfriend has let her down and her mother says she can’t bring a baby home as they already have six kids in a small house in the city centre and are waiting to be rehoused. The girl’s father says she’s not to bring it back to the house under any circumstances. They don’t want any contact with her or us until she’s ready to go home. She’s a supported patient so her forms will need to go to the address we have for council and NHS assistance.

  ‘Bot
h of the girls will need to feel we are here to help them and not to judge their situation. I know I can rely on everybody here to give them the help they need. The married patients will just be here for their confinements and will go home as soon as they and their babies are ready to be discharged.

  ‘And the phone’s been ringing off the hook; we have a waiting list stretching to May so far. We’ll have our hands very full, but it should be fun. I feel we’ll enjoy our midwifery life here much more than at the hospital. We’ll be more hands-on with our patients and have far fewer restrictions than with strict ward routines. We all work in a similar manner with the same ideas and as long as we follow a simple basic routine it should all work well for us.’

  ‘I think a small sherry by way of a celebration toast will go down well right now,’ said Marlene, getting to her feet. She reached up and lifted down a bottle of cooking sherry from her ingredients cupboard. ‘It’s for Sunday-tea trifles, but I can get more in.’

  ‘I think a toast might be right,’ Alice said as the doorbell rang. ‘Who the heck’s this? Don’t they know the open house was only until six?’

  But when Millie went to answer the door, she found Jimmy, Johnny, Gianni and even a smiling Doctor Kelso, who’d turned up to see how they’d got on.

  ‘We thought there might be a need for this,’ Johnny said, and pulled a bottle of champagne from a brown paper carrier bag. ‘But for those who don’t like it, there’s also this.’ He produced a large bottle of cream sherry. Spotting Marlene’s cooking sherry, he said, ‘Get the glasses out, Marlene, you can save that sherry for your trifles. We’ll have a toast, and then our girls can tell us how today went.’

  ‘Let’s take the drinks into the lounge and make ourselves comfy,’ Jean suggested. ‘And we’ll also drink a toast to mine, Karen and Ellie’s lovely new home as well.’

  Twenty-Three

  Alice and Johnny had only been in bed an hour when they were awakened by loud hammering on the front door. Johnny rushed to answer it followed by Alice, an anxious expression on her face. It was Jimmy, looking worried to death. He was fully clothed and had his car keys in his hand.

  ‘Quick, get dressed,’ he directed at Johnny as Millie appeared behind him. ‘The police just called us. There’s a fire at Woodlands. The fire brigade is already on its way there.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Alice gasped as Johnny ran back up the stairs to put some clothes on. ‘Is it in the house? Hurry up. Karen, Jean and Ellie are asleep in there. Come in, Millie. Do we need to come with you?’ she asked Jimmy.

  ‘No, you girls stay here while we see what the hell is going on. We’ve only just had new wiring put in so I hope it’s not something to do with that. We’ll be back as soon as we can,’ he finished as Johnny appeared by his side. ‘Phone Gianni at the bungalow and tell him to meet us there.’

  Alice made a pot of tea and Millie joined her at the table in the back sitting room. ‘I hope it’s not too bad,’ Alice said, shaking her head. ‘All that money we’ve got tied up in the place as well.’

  ‘Oh God, yes,’ Millie said, stirring sugar into the mug Alice handed her. ‘Our homes, we could lose our homes.’

  ‘Oh, Millie, don’t say that.’ Alice’s lips trembled and her eyes filled. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’ The phone rang and Alice dashed to answer it. ‘It’s Cathy,’ she mouthed at Millie. ‘I’ve no idea, love,’ she replied to Cathy’s question. ‘Has Gianni gone to join them? I just hope the girls are okay, never mind the house.’

  ‘Yes he has, Mam,’ Cathy said. ‘Who called the fire brigade? That must have been one of the girls. Hopefully they’re out of the house safely. We can’t lose it now; we’ve got so many plans.’

  ‘I’m just wondering if I should throw on some clothes and run round to see what’s happening?’ Alice said. ‘If I do I’ll come and see you.’

  ‘Okay, Mam.’

  ‘Good job it was the outbuilding, Mr Harrison.’ The chief fire officer was speaking to Johnny. ‘I think we can get these young ladies back inside the house now.’ He looked at Jean, Karen and Ellie, who had been shivering in slippers and dressing gowns by the back door while a couple of the firemen had done a safety check all around the house.

  Another fireman came out of the now-damaged outbuilding carrying something in his hands. ‘Looks like someone was sleeping rough in there,’ he said and handed a rucksack to the chief.

  Johnny scratched his head. ‘I haven’t seen anything untoward, but it was unlocked. Our gardener just kept a few tools in there.’

  ‘This was upstairs along with the remains of a sleeping bag,’ the fireman said.

  Gianni looked closely at the scorched rucksack and his hand shot to his mouth. ‘This might be a really long shot, but that bag looks like one that was stolen from a caravan on my father’s fairground. The man who stole it is on the run from the police. His name is Jack Dawson. We need to let them know. Oh God, Johnny, we also need to warn Alice and Cathy. I’ll go and phone them both now.’ He headed for the kitchen. ‘Tell them to keep all the doors locked,’ Johnny called after him. ‘And we’ll be home soon.’

  Both numbers were engaged. Gianni growled with frustration. ‘No doubt yapping to one another,’ he muttered. He left it a few seconds and then tried again: still engaged. He dashed back outside. ‘Can’t get through to either of them.’

  Johnny nodded. ‘Alice usually has the place locked up like Fort Knox, so she should be okay.’

  ‘So does Cathy as a rule. Hope she remembered to lock up after seeing me out.’

  The chief fire officer was on his radio when Gianni came back outside. He said, ‘Over and out’ and turned to Johnny. ‘I’ve informed the police and they’re on their way here to collect the evidence.’

  Johnny nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll hang around until they get here. Gianni, you get back to Cathy. I’ll try them one more time.’

  Gianni said goodbye and set off back to the Linnet Lane bungalow.

  Jack limped away from the house as the fire brigade arrived. He’d been hiding in the bushes by the front gate as the engine had sped past him down the drive. As he neared the end of the road he saw two men running towards him and dodged behind a tree. He recognised them as Alice and Millie’s husbands and wondered where Cathy’s was.

  He stayed put for a couple of minutes until he saw Gianni puffing up the road. He smiled. Good. All the menfolk were now here and the women were at home on their own. His tactics in starting the fire to cause a distraction were paying off. He was sick and tired of hiding and stealing what food he could to stay alive. That woman who did the cooking at the big house had started locking the door now, so he’d had hardly anything this week. He knew his days of being on the run were numbered.

  He slunk along the road, keeping as close to the hedges and bushes as he could, and made his way to Linnet Lane. The double-fronted bungalow stood out from the others in the row with its freshly whitened exterior. There was a light on in the front window, which he took to be a bedroom. The other side was a bay and was the lounge. That much he remembered from his visits here when his mate Terry was alive.

  He slid down the side passageway to the back door and tried the handle. The door was locked, but he recalled from times past that Ma Lomax had always left a spare key on the shelf in the garden shed. If Cathy hadn’t remembered or even known about it, then maybe it was still there. Heart thumping, he opened the shed door carefully and felt along the shelf. Among the dust and cobwebs his hand closed around something small and cold. Unless the locks had been changed when Cathy and Gianni had done the place up, he was in with a chance.

  His pressed his ear up close to the back door and could hear Cathy’s muffled voice. Sounded like she was talking on the phone. She’d be in the hallway then. He tried to recall the layout of the house. The window to the right of the small bathroom would probably be where the kid was sleeping. Then he remembered; the back door opened straight into the kitchen. He pushed the key into the lock and it turned easily.

  He le
t out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. The door swung open quietly as though the hinges had been oiled. He closed it behind him. He heard Cathy say goodbye and smiled. Praying she’d go straight to her bedroom, he held his breath. He heard a door closing in the hallway.

  On the back of the kitchen door was a lightweight scarf. He pulled it off the hook and crept out of the kitchen. The hall leading to the front door was directly in front of him, with doors off to the lounge and front bedroom. To his right was an inner hallway that had three doors, the end one being a cupboard, he knew, as he’d seen Terry hang his coats in there. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps as he limped along the short corridor to the second door. It was slightly ajar and he slipped inside.

  The kid was asleep on her back, her hands up either side of her head. Her bedclothes were kicked to one side and he slid his hands beneath her easily and lifted her up. She stirred and he whispered ‘Shh, it’s only Daddy.’ She snuggled into him and he grimaced as he limped out of the bedroom. He swung open the cupboard door next to her room and lowered her onto some folded dust sheets that were covered in paint. They’d have to do. Better than the cold floor, which might wake her. He toyed with the idea of tying the scarf around her mouth, but he needed that for Cathy’s hands. He closed the door quietly and she didn’t make a murmur.

  As he stood silently contemplating his next move the telephone rang out. Hell, don’t wake the kid up, please. Cathy shot out of the bedroom and grabbed the phone just as Lucy yelled out, ‘Mammy!’ Jack opened the cupboard door quietly and picked her up. ‘Shhh,’ he soothed. She’d cried out in her sleep – her eyes were still closed.