Mother and daughter talked non-stop about their pasts, trying to achieve the impossible, cramming years into hours and enjoying every minute.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Things were moving fast. Fran accompanied Tina to the antenatal clinic. She would have wanted more for her daughter, for her not to have a baby so young, for her to have a life, a career, but Tina was happy and loved Joe, and was looking forward to having the baby, so Fran was happy for her. She was blessed to find her alive when she thought her dead, and to be part of her daughter’s life and the comings baby’s. She breathed a huge sigh of contentment.
When Fran wrote to Michael, she found it difficult not to tell the wonderful news about Tina, her daughter, and that she was expecting a baby and he would be an uncle. It frustrated her not being able to tell him of the forthcoming marriage of Tina and Joe. It made her feel so sad not to be able to communicate all this wonderful, happy news to Michael.
Weeks later, when Michael replied to the letter there was no mention of Tina being his twin sister. Fran thought that Isabel might have had second thoughts about the situation. Tina didn’t complain, but Fran knew her daughter must also have the same ache within her heart as she had.
The good news was that Tina and Joe had found a flat to rent over a tobacconist shop. So they decided on a Christmas wedding, a quiet affair at the register office and, later when the baby was born, a church blessing to be performed by Tina’s friend, the Reverend Fairweather.
Everyone rallied round to help decorate and furnish the flat. Nancy made curtains and covers, Fran wielded a paint brush, Joe and Tina scoured the second-hand shops, Nick repaired tables and chairs, and Will made a crib for the expected baby. While all this activity kept Fran busy, in her mind, she outlined the letter she was going to write to Isabel.
Leaving Tina and Joe’s flat one day after, painting the bathroom a delicate shade of sea-green, Fran arrived home, calling out, ‘It’s only me, Dad.’ On entering the kitchen, she found Will hunched up in his chair staring thoughtfully into space, his newspaper and glasses discarded. ‘Penny for them, Dad,’ she said, shrugging off her coat.
Will looked at her, answering quietly, ‘I was thinking of Michael, wondering what he’s doing. I wish he was here lass. I really do.’
Fran felt the lump rise in her throat and swallowed hard, and it was a few seconds before she could speak. ‘I know just how you feel.’ So, that evening she wrote the letter to Isabel.
John Stanway collected the post when he was in Melbourne. ‘Letter for you, Isabel,’ he said, as he came out on to the veranda, where Isabel was sitting in the shade, away from the heat of the hot Australian summer. He placed the letter on her lap and dropped down into the chair next to hers, stretching out his long limbs. ‘There’s one for Michael from his grandfather.’ She glanced at his hands. ‘I’ve left it in his room.’ Michael was still away with his friend Jarrod and the last postcard received said they were heading for Green Island on the Barrier Reef.
Isabel picked up her envelope, turning it over in her hand, reading Frances’s name and address on the back. The letter lay burning in the palm of her hand for what seemed an eternity. She didn’t want to open it. Her insides churned as the old fear returned.
‘I’ve a headache. I think I’ll have a lie down before supper,’ Isabel said.
John looked with concern at her. ‘You go and rest, darling.’
In the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and ripped open the envelope and read.
Dear Isabel,
I am sorry if I upset you when I telephoned you last, but it was rather an emotional time for me, to find out that my dear daughter, Christine, whom I thought had died as a baby many years ago, is alive. You can imagine this was a great revelation to me. As she is the twin of Michael I thought you should know and, I believe, so should Michael. Isabel, you cannot keep the truth from Michael for ever. He is now old enough to understand. Christine knows the truth and she is anxious to get to know her brother, though they were friends before he left for Australia.
Whatever cruel thing our mother did is now buried in the past. It is only the future which concerns me. What does John have to say? Surely, he understands the situation.
Please, Isabel, give the matter your most urgent consideration for all concerned.
I wait to hear from you.
Frances
Isabel’s face hardened. She had no intention of replying to Frances. And never would she tell Michael anything. She tore the letter to shreds.
Today, Tuesday, Christmas Eve 1958, her wedding day. It seemed unbelievable, thought Tina. So much had happened in less than a year. From being on her own after Maggie’s death, to meeting Joe, expecting his baby, finding her true mother, Fran, and now she and Joe were to be married. Her heart beat with happiness. The one shadow on her life was Michael. Would they ever be reunited as brother and sister? It was an unanswered question. For now, she was going to push it to the back of her mind.
She turned over in the bed, listening to the sounds of the river, the water lapping the bank, the swoop of wings as the geese flew in for their morning fodder. High Bank House was a heavenly place. ‘It’s fitting for the bride to leave from her mother’s house,’ Fran had said. Tina thought of Maggie, her mother for the first sixteen years of her life. If only Maggie hadn’t died. If only she hasn’t been fostered. Tina let out a sigh, recalling the past only made her sad. She must look to the future and today was her wedding day.
She propped herself up on one elbow to view her wedding outfit and caught her breath. Her heart filled with love and joy for finding Fran, the woman who had given her life. Like any mother for her daughter’s wedding, Fran had been more than generous, buying her the dress, hat and shoes. Tina gazed in wonderment as the early morning light caught the shimmer of the satin dress – it was like a lake of clear, blue transparent water overlaced with a gossamer coat of delicate organza. Her hat was bandeau styled, a garland of white daises, her high-heeled sandals were white and strappy, not really suitable for winter, but Tina couldn’t resist them. Her gloves, white lace, were a gift from Miss Draper. Nancy and Cyril gave her a pair of the finest, seamless nylon stockings. A knock on the bedroom door broke Tina’s reverie.
Fran entered carrying a breakfast tray: a pot of tea, boiled eggs and toast. Tina felt her tummy lurch. She didn’t feel hungry.
Fran smiled and, as if she’d read Tina’s mind, she said, ‘You’ll need a good lining in your stomach today.’
‘But there’s all that food you and Nancy have been making,’ Tina protested.
‘You’ve hours before the wedding tea,’ Fran said, placing the tray on the bedside table and, pouring a cup of tea for Tina and one for herself, she sat on the edge of the bed. Tina eased herself up, sipped her tea and nibbled at a piece of toast. Both women were silent, both deep in thought.
Fran broke the silence. ‘It’s strange,’ she reflected, ‘this time last year I never dreamt I would be preparing for my beautiful daughter’s wedding.’ Tears glistened in her eyes.
Tina reached across to hug Fran, whispering, ‘I do love you.’
‘And I love you, my darling daughter, with all my heart.’ Suddenly, from outside on the landing, came the tuneless whistling of Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’. Tina and Fran looked at each other and broke into fits of giggling.
At last it was time to go to the register office. Joe’s boss, the garage owner, arrived in his gleaming Bentley to collect the bridal party. Nick produced his camera and everyone smiled. ‘One of the bride and her mother,’ he said. He fussed, arranging Tina’s posy of white roses and winter greenery, a gift from Joe’s father and sister.
The wedding ceremony was a haze for Tina. At the reception at High Bank House, she drank juice and ate a delicious tea. Afterwards, someone provided a Dansette record player and lots of LPs of swinging music. Soon, the dining room, its carpet rolled back, rang as everyone sang and danced to Elvis Presley’s ‘All Shook Up’, Cliff Richard
’s ‘Move It’, and Lonnie Donegan’s skiffle group. Fran and Nick watched the happy couple dance and the other young people: Tina’s friends from the department store and Joe’s mates from the garage, and his sister Maureen and her fiancé, Keith. Occasionally, Fran and Nick joined them. Joe’s father sat next to Will, both enjoying a smoke, a drink and a yarn. Then the tempo changed and Nancy and Cyril took to the dance floor, waltzing to the silver music of Victor Sylvester and Nat King Cole.
When everyone had gone home, including the happy couple, Fran had started to collect empty glasses, when she felt hot breath on her neck and the rich timbre voice of Nick say, ‘May I have the pleasure of this waltz?’ The next second, she was in his loving arms, feeling the strength of his body as it dove-tailed with hers as they glided around the room, to the tune of ‘Unforgettable’.
Chapter Thirty
One day in early April, the phone rang. Fran was reading, curled up on the new sofa in the sitting room. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Nick. In a few moments he was back. ‘Tina’s gone into labour.’
‘Oh, my dear Lord!’ exclaimed Fran, jumping up, panic rising within her. ‘I must be with her.’ In her mind’s eye flashed a picture of the birth of her babies, no one to hold her hand or whisper words of comfort. She lurched forward, catching her heel on the edge of the rug.
Nick steadied her. ‘Joe’s going with her and Cyril’s driving them to the hospital. There’s no need for you to worry. Joe will ring as soon as the baby is born.’
Fran sat back down on the sofa with a thud. Her eyes bright and shining, she whispered, ‘It’s incredible, I find my darling daughter and she is now about to present me with a grandchild. This time last year, I wouldn’t have believed that I could have been saying this. It’s a miracle.’
Nick sat down by her side and hugged her. ‘And, you’re my miracle.’
After a few moments she said, ‘We’d better tell Dad the news.’
‘I’ll make a pot of fresh coffee. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a long night.’
Will was all set to stay up with Fran and Nick, but Fran insisted he went to bed and, as soon as there was any news, she would wake him.
The night was long and Fran dozed fitfully, woken at six in the morning by the phone ringing.
It was Joe. ‘Fran, you have a beautiful granddaughter.’ He was laughing and crying at the same time, and so was she.
‘When can I come and see them both?’
‘She’s fast asleep and so is little one. Best come in the afternoon.’
Fran turned to Nick who was by her side. ‘A baby girl.’ And to Will who was just descending the stairs, she called ecstatically, ‘Dad, you have a great-granddaughter.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ Will cried with joy.
Julie Margaret Miller was born on Wednesday 7th April 1959 and weighed in at 6lbs 2ozs. Her tiny face was pink and wrinkly, her hair soft, downy auburn, with a hint of blonde. ‘She’s gorgeous,’ exclaimed an emotional Fran, brushing away tears of delight as she gazed at her granddaughter lying sleeping in her cot. She went round to the other side of the bed and hugged Tina, saying, ‘My darling daughter, I’m so proud of you.’
Tina smiled, responding to Fran’s affection. She was still tired, but, looking lovingly at her mother, she said, ‘The pain was worth it. She’s a little beauty.’ Then her smile was replaced with a look of anxiety. ‘She’s so tiny and I’m frightened I might drop her.’
Fran soothed back a tendril of Tina’s hair. Now, no longer dyed red, it was natural blonde, just like hers. ‘Babies are tougher than you think and as long as you love Julie, she’ll feel secure.’
Tina’s eyes widened. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do. And you have me and Nancy to help you.’ She took hold of her daughter’s hand. ‘Tina, don’t ever be afraid to ask for my help if you should need it. Promise?’
‘I promise.’ Tina sank back on to the pillow, fighting to keep her eyes open.
Fran kissed her tenderly on the cheek. ‘I’m going now, love. See you tomorrow.’
One more peep at her granddaughter, then she turned to wave to Tina, but she was already asleep. Overcome with emotion, Fran sat in the empty waiting room, her head resting in her hands and wept. Oh, how she wept. She had so much wanted to pick up baby Julie and hold her in her arms, but something held her back. All she could think about was her babies, Michael and Christine. She could feel them now, cradled in her arms, smell their baby fragrance, so warm and sweet. And, as she lay so desperately ill, her babies were cruelly taken from her. The void in her life had been heartbreaking. All those lost years. Her years of longing, yearning, to hold her son.
Her tears spent, she made a vow. No more looking back. Look only to the future. Tomorrow, she would hold her precious granddaughter in her loving arms.
Ten days later, Tina and her baby were ready to leave the maternity hospital. Both Fran and Nancy offered for mother and baby to stay with them for a while, until Tina felt stronger.
‘Ta ever so much,’ said a waxen looking Tina, ‘but Joe’s taken a week off week.’
Joe, the protector, taking his role as father seriously, hoisted Tina’s bag and baby’s holdall over his strong arms and said, ‘I’ll take care of them both, don’t worry.’
Arriving at the flat, Joe had switched on the electric fire earlier so the tiny living room was warm and cosy. Tina, still holding the baby, sank thankfully onto the sofa and closed her eyes. Immediately, Julie started to cry, a soft whimper at first and then she hollered.
Amazing, thought Tina, for one so tiny to make such a noise. She half opened her eyes and, unbuttoning her blouse, she put Julie to her breast and baby quickly latched on to the nipple.
Joe entered the room. ‘I’ve put the bags in the bedroom.’ Then he saw Tina and baby. He stood in the centre of the room with open admiration on his face and tears in his big brown eyes.
‘A happy little family,’ Fran said wistfully to Nick later on, when they were in bed.
Nick didn’t say anything, but responded by cuddling Fran close. He thought of his son, lost to him for ever. He would love to have children with Fran. But she had never conceived with her ex-husband and she seemed to think she was unable to have any more children. He sighed deeply.
‘Nick?’ Fran leant back from his arms to gaze into his face.
He pulled her back close and, not wanting to look into her eyes, said, ‘I’m so happy with you.’
And he was, it was just that children made a family complete.
Joe returned to work, and Nancy and Fran took over for the next two weeks, helping Tina get into a routine with the baby. Nancy did the morning stint, washing and cleaning, making Tina a snack. Fran came in the afternoons and ironed the laundry, and then took Julie for a walk in her pram while Tina rested. When Joe came home from work, Tina had a meal waiting for him. This was working well until the middle of the third week, when Fran went down with a heavy cold. She didn’t want to give the germs to mother and baby, so she phoned Nancy, but there was no reply. So, she rang Miss Draper to leave a message with her, asking for Tina to telephone.
‘You can speak to her now, she is right beside me.’
‘Oh, Fran, don’t fuss,’ Tina said jauntily. ‘You just get yourself better. We’ll survive. I’m taking Julie to the baby clinic tomorrow.’
‘If you’re sure, love,’ said Fran, anxiously.
‘Yes.’ She didn’t tell Fran that Nancy had gone away to nurse her sick sister.
Back home in her flat, Tina fed Julie and laid her down in her cot. Alone, she suddenly burst into tears. She didn’t know why. She’d done everything: the washing and ironing, and tidied the flat. Through wet lashes, she glanced round the room, feeling its walls crowding in on her. The suffocation overwhelmed her, sending waves of desolation flooding over her, leaving her feeling so afraid and lonely. It would be hours before Joe came home. She sank back on the sofa and sobbed and sobbed, until exhaustion lulled her into a fitful sleep.
It was Julie’s lusty cries which woke her. Stiffly, Tina pulled herself off the sofa and wearily padded into the bedroom, where her daughter lay in her cot, legs and arm flaying. She picked her up. For one so tiny, she had such strength, arching her body away from Tina in an attempt to keep her arms and legs free. Julie didn’t stop hollering until she was firmly latched onto her mother’s nipple and sucking away greedily. It took ages for Julie to settle back down. Tina looked down in dismay at her shrunken breasts. She didn’t seem to have enough milk to satisfy the baby and she didn’t know what to do.
The next day she still felt lethargic. She bathed and fed Julie, but didn’t seem to have the energy to wash her clothes. She put her down in her cot, went back into the sitting room and flopped on the sofa, dead beat. She lay there until Julie’s next feed and, after putting her back in her cot, felt even more shattered and fell sleep on the sofa.
When she awoke, the room was in darkness and she squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was gone five. She let out a low moan. She’d forgotten to take Julie to the clinic and she’d promised Joe to cook his favourite meal of steak, mushrooms and chips. But she hadn’t been out shopping and now it was too late.
Joe put his motorcycle away in the lock-up garage. He’d worked late to earn more to save for a deposit on their very own house. Whistling a cheerful tune, he strode across the yard, his thoughts on food – he was starving. He bounded up the stairs, remembering not to shout, ‘I’m home’, because the baby might be asleep. ‘Tina,’ he whispered, entering the darkened sitting room. From the stray shaft of light from the street lamp he could see Tina’s sleeping figure on the sofa. He wrinkled his nose, no lovely aroma of his steak, only the stink of a dirty nappy.
The Yearning Heart Page 23