Lost Angel

by Kitty Neale

  ‘None of your business,’ he said stuffing them under his shirt, ‘and if you say anything to me mum, I’ll punch your lights out.’

  With that he ran up the metal stairs, leaving Ellen scowling. She liked Mabel’s son, Percy, but didn’t like Billy. He was the same age as her, and at the same school, but he was always hopping off, him and his gang running wild and nicking things, especially from the market stalls. She kept out of his way as much as possible, and was glad that he’d gone upstairs.

  Ellen scanned the garden. With Percy’s help she had dug over the soil, but she doubted much would grow. They had come across all sorts of rubbish – rubble, bricks, old bottles – and, unlike Gertie’s lush earth in Somerset, Ellen could see that this soil hadn’t been fertilised in years.

  ‘I’m back,’ Lucy called, her head appearing above the garden wall.

  Ellen smiled at her friend, wondering what it would be like to go to church every Sunday. Lucy didn’t seem to mind and sometimes talked enthusiastically about it, and when she had been invited round to her house for tea last week, Ellen had thought it strange that they had to pray before starting to eat. What good did praying do anyway? Lucy had prayed for Socks but it hadn’t brought him back.

  ‘Hello,’ Ellen now said.

  ‘Are you coming out to play?’

  ‘Yes, and guess what? My mum’s having a baby.’

  ‘Wow, you’re lucky. I wish my mum would get one too.’

  ‘Do you know where they come from?’

  ‘My mum says that children are a gift from God.’

  Ellen wondered if her mother knew that God had sent her a present, and decided to ask her later, but for now she said, ‘How about a game of hopscotch?’

  ‘Yes, all right.’

  ‘If God sent my mum a present, how do we thank him?’

  ‘That’s easy,’ Lucy said. ‘You just close your eyes and talk to him.’

  ‘What? Like praying?’

  Lucy nodded as she bent down to chalk numbers on pavement slabs, while Ellen wondered again what it must be like to go to church every Sunday. There was only one way to find out. She’d have to ask her mum to take her, but somehow, even as this thought crossed Ellen’s mind, she doubted her mother would agree. Unlike Lucy’s mum, she never talked about God – but surely she’d want to thank him too for the baby?

  When Mabel left, Hilda sat, smiling. Yes, she felt tired, drained, but what did it matter? Doug’s last leave while they were still in Somerset had resulted in a baby. She was having a baby! It had taken her over two months and they had come back to London before the penny dropped. She’d been overjoyed. They had tried for so long, so many years and she had given up hope, but at last, when she had least expected it – it had happened!

  Ellen had looked pleased too, but there would be a huge age gap between them. Her daughter would be thirteen in November, and the baby born a month later. Would it be a boy? Oh, she’d love a boy, a son, and was sure that Doug would too. There hadn’t been a reply from him yet, but she could just imagine the look on his face when he read her letter.

  ‘Mum, will you take me to church?’ Ellen asked as she came in.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Lucy said the baby is a gift from God and I think we should go to church to thank him.’

  ‘Lucy’s talking rubbish and, no, I’m not taking you to church.’

  ‘Where did it come from then?’

  ‘From under a gooseberry bush and that’s all you need to know.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘That’s enough. Now go and have a wash, you’re filthy.’

  Ellen had barely left the room when someone knocked on the door. Hilda went to answer it, smiling at Lucy’s mum, Dora Price. ‘Hello, back from church then?’

  ‘Yes, and it was a lovely sermon,’ she said, her eyes flicking around the living room.

  Hilda followed her gaze, too happy to care about the shabby, old-fashioned furniture. It had been a shock when she’d first seen the flat and its contents, the clutter, the flowery décor and frills, but she’d cleared a lot of it out and one day, when she had the money, she’d buy stuff that was more to her own taste. Before realising she was having a baby, and a week after returning to London, she’d decided to go for a job in the same factory where Mabel worked, relishing the thought of earning two quid a week. Of course her difficult pregnancy had put paid to that, but new furniture didn’t matter. All she cared about was the baby, the things it would need, saying now, ‘Sit down, Dora.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, I can’t stay. I hope you won’t take offence, but I’m a bit of a hoarder and I wondered if you need a cot?’

  ‘Oh, so you’ve heard about the baby?’

  ‘Well, yes, Mabel just came round to offer me some disgusting horsemeat and mentioned it. Wasn’t she supposed to tell me?’

  ‘Now that Ellen knows, it’s fine, but I was keeping it under wraps until then. As for the cot, I’d love it.’

  ‘I’ll get Cyril to get it out of the shed before he goes back tonight.’

  ‘Thanks, it’s good of you,’ Hilda said, unable to help feeling envious of Dora whose husband was in a reserved occupation. He worked in an aircraft factory out of London, but managed to come home every weekend, sometimes arriving on Friday night or Saturday morning at the latest.

  ‘It’s only been used for my Lucy and it’s in good condition. I’d have loved another child, but something went wrong when I had Lucy and they told me there’d be no more. I don’t know why I held on to the cot, it was daft really, but it’s nice to know it’ll do you a turn.’

  ‘Dora, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,’ Hilda consoled.

  ‘It’s all right, I accepted it years ago. I have Lucy; she’s a wonderful daughter, and praise the Lord for giving me such a beautiful gift.’

  Hilda didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t happy that Lucy was filling her daughter’s head with the same rubbish, but they were a nice family and she didn’t want to upset them, so said only, ‘Lucy is certainly beautiful.’

  ‘So is Ellen. In fact, I was wondering if you’d mind if I invited her to church next week?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I’ve no time for religion.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but surely you shouldn’t force your lack of belief onto your daughter? At least think about it,’ Dora urged. ‘Ellen might enjoy church and I know Lucy would love her to go.’

  Hilda’s back was starting to ache. ‘All right, I’ll think about it,’ she said, pleased when that seemed to satisfy Dora and she left. She had housework to do, dinner to make…but didn’t have the energy and sat down again. Maybe Dora was right, maybe she should let Ellen go to church, decide for herself, but she didn’t want her to be frightened by the sort of things she herself had been forced to listen to. Gertie’s father had talked about God’s wrath, of plagues and pestilence, and she didn’t want Ellen frightened. Yet Lucy seemed fine, happy and well balanced, so perhaps the things she was being taught were different.

  Hilda fidgeted, her back still aching. If only Doug was here to talk to, someone other than herself to make the decision. It had only been three months since she’d last seen him, but it felt like three years. Would he get leave again before she had the baby? God, she hoped so.

  Chapter 15

  Hilda had spoken again to Dora, and, after hearing that hell and damnation weren’t preached, she decided to let Ellen go to the Baptist church. So far her daughter had seemed to love it, and now went on and on about Jesus – how he loved us all, how we’re his flock – but Hilda barely listened. Ellen was happy and as long as she remained that way it was fine: however, at the least sign of her being upset, she’d stop her going.

  Hilda continued to feel unwell, the housework neglected, until on Saturday night, four weeks later, she woke in the night, groaning as pain knifed through her stomach.

  No, no, she begged inwardly; please, don’t let me lose my baby. She sat up, clutching her stomach as another pain shot t
hrough her, this one more agonising than the last. Unable to stifle it, she screamed, and then screamed again.

  ‘Oh…oh no! No, not my baby! Oh God, save my baby!’

  Ellen stumbled into the room, crying in the darkness: ‘Mum! Mum, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Get…get Mabel.’

  ‘Wh…what?’

  With gritted teeth as pain struck again, Hilda was able only to grind out, ‘Go…Mabel.’

  Ellen ran out, but too frightened to move, Hilda remained bending forward, her arms around her stomach, holding on, her mind trying to deny what was happening. She couldn’t be losing her baby, she couldn’t. She was over three months – past what was always considered the dangerous time. It had to be all right – it had to.

  Hilda had no idea how long she sat there, one pain gripping her, then another, and another, until at last, Mabel rushed into the room.

  ‘Oh…oh, Mabel,’ she groaned.

  She was aware that Mabel was fumbling for the bedside light, and, as the dim illumination spread across the bed, Hilda screamed again as she felt something slither from her body.

  ‘No! No! Please, Jesus, not my baby!’

  ‘Lay down, Hilda, let me look,’ Mabel urged.

  Hilda lay back as Mabel gently pulled back the blankets. She knew what her friend would find, but still couldn’t hold back a cry of anguish when Mabel spoke.

  ‘Hilda, I’m so sorry.’

  Tears spurted then, and she was dimly aware of Mabel’s arms around her, trying to comfort her, but there was no comfort. Why had she cried out to God, to Jesus? Why had she been mad enough to think there was a supreme being who would save her baby? Perhaps she had taken in some of the stuff that Ellen had been spouting, but it was rubbish, all rubbish. In anguish she ripped the crucifix from her neck, flinging it to the far side of the room.

  ‘Come on, love, let’s see if I can get you cleaned up, and maybe you should see a doctor.’

  ‘No, no, I don’t want a doctor. It’s too late, Mabel, my…my baby is dead.’

  With a sigh of sadness, Mabel left the room, while Hilda continued to cry until she felt she was drowning in her own tears.

  When Mabel came back she was carrying a bowl of water and a towel under her arm along with a newspaper. She placed the bowl by the bed, saying softly, ‘Come on, leave this to me, and I’ll need to change your sheet.’

  It was only then that Hilda became aware that she was lying in her own blood, and…and: ‘Oh, Mabel…’

  ‘I know, love, I know,’ she murmured, swiftly removing something and wrapping it in newspaper.

  Hilda couldn’t bear it. She knew it was her baby, her son or daughter, and she cried, ‘I want to see it.’

  ‘No, darlin’, no,’ Mabel said. ‘There’s nothing to see. It…it’s tiny and isn’t properly formed. I’ll take it away,’ she added, rushing from the room.

  Hilda closed her eyes in despair, wrapped in misery and hardly aware of Mabel returning, of being moved gently first one way then the other as the sheet was removed and her body bathed.

  ‘Try to get some sleep, love. I’ll stay with you.’

  Mabel’s voice had reached her, but Hilda said, ‘No, no, I just want to be on my own. Leave me, Mabel, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘All right, if you’re sure, but I guessed what was happening and left Ellen in my place. I’ll keep her with me overnight.’

  Hilda nodded, too heartsick to care. Her body felt empty, her baby gone, and when Mabel left she curled again into a ball of anguish.

  Mabel locked up for Hilda and then sadly went up to her own flat. She too had once miscarried, remembered well her own grief and her heart went out to Hilda. It had surprised her that a miscarriage had been so painful, and, like Hilda, the heartbreak of losing her baby had been overwhelming. That had been eighteen months after having Billy, and since then there had been no more pregnancies. Not that she minded now. Billy was nearly thirteen, only a year younger than his brother, but he’d been a difficult baby, squalling and demanding so much attention that she had hardly any time left for Percy. He was the same now, a holy terror, but Percy was a joy. There were odd occasions that she longed for a daughter and it wasn’t too late. It was the same for Hilda. She and Doug could try again, but that would be of little comfort to Hilda at the moment.

  ‘Is my mum all right?’ Ellen said, running up to her worriedly.

  ‘Sit down, love,’ Mabel urged.

  ‘No, no, tell me!’

  ‘I’m afraid your mum’s lost the baby.’

  ‘Lost it! How?’

  ‘It’s just something that happens and nobody really knows why.’

  ‘Is…is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, but it may take her a while to get over it. Naturally she’s very sad, and she wants to be on her own for a bit. I told her you’d sleep here tonight, but it’ll have to be the sofa, I’m afraid.’

  Ellen looked close to tears, and it was only then that Percy spoke. ‘She can have my bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa.’

  Mabel smiled at him gratefully. When Ellen had come banging on the door, it had woken both her and Percy. ‘Thanks, love,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you some blankets.’

  Mabel went to fetch them from the cupboard, and, peeping into Billy’s room, she saw that he was still asleep. Nothing seemed to disturb him, and if she didn’t know better she’d have described it as the sleep of an innocent. Innocent! Huh, not Billy, the little sod was always up to mischief.

  What a night, Mabel thought as she returned to bed. Poor Hilda, and it didn’t seem right to leave her downstairs on her own. She’d pop down first thing in the morning, but for now, it was time that they all got some sleep.

  Ellen was up early after a restless night’s sleep. She wanted to see her mum – to make sure she was all right. There was no sign of Mabel, but Percy was stretched out on the sofa, blankets in a tangle around him as he said groggily, ‘My mum’s gone downstairs.’

  Without a word Ellen ran through the kitchen and down the iron stairs, almost falling inside the back door to find Mabel in the kitchen. ‘Is…is my mum all right?’

  ‘She’s only just woken up and looks fine.’

  Ellen ran to her mother’s room, halting momentarily. She didn’t look fine, she looked awful.

  ‘Mum…’ Ellen choked.

  Her head turned, her eyes dull and voice reedy, ‘Don’t worry, I’m all right, just…just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  Ellen scrambled onto the bed, placing an arm around her mother, and they lay quietly, but then Mabel appeared carrying a tray.

  ‘I’ve made you some tea, Hilda, and do you think you could manage this bit of toast?’

  ‘No, I’m not hungry.’

  Mabel didn’t argue, only saying brusquely, ‘Right, Ellen, you eat it. I’ll get a bowl of water and sort your mum out. Go into the living room, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘You can come back to see your mum after I’ve given her a wash. Now go on, there’s a good girl.’

  Ellen reluctantly did as she was told, but she’d only just finished the toast when the back door flew open and Percy almost fell into the room in his haste. ‘Where’s my mum?’

  ‘She’d giving mine a wash.’

  Percy dashed past her and Ellen followed, hovering behind him on the threshold of her mother’s bedroom.

  ‘Percy!’ Mabel protested. ‘Get out of here.’

  ‘Mum, guess what? Dad’s here.’

  ‘Jack? My Jack’s here?’ she parroted.

  ‘Mabel, go. I’ll be all right,’ Hilda said.

  ‘But…but you need…’

  ‘I can manage, and, anyway, I’ve got Ellen.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Mabel said.

  ‘I’m sure – now just go.’

  Mabel hurried out, while Ellen just stood there, unsure of what to do. She saw the bowl of water beside the bed, tinged red, her eyes widening.

  ‘It’s all right, nothing to
worry about, but go and pour it away.’

  Ellen managed it, spilling only a little, and then went back to her mum. ‘What do you want me to do now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, her mother’s tone lacklustre. ‘I’ll call you if I need anything.’

  ‘I’ll tell Lucy I won’t be going to church today.’

  There was no answer, her mum’s eyes already closing. Ellen saw something glinting on the floor and crept across the room to pick it up. It was her mum’s cross and chain. She’d give it back to her later, but for now she left quietly, going through the kitchen and out of the back door, calling out, ‘Lucy! Lucy!’

  It wasn’t Lucy who responded, it was Dora. ‘Lucy isn’t dressed yet. Is something wrong, Ellen?’

  ‘I can’t come to church today. My…my mum lost the baby.’

  ‘Oh, how awful for her. I’m so sorry, my dear. Don’t worry, I know you can’t come to church, but tell your mother we’ll all pray for her swift recovery.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ellen choked as her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘You can pray for her too, Ellen. You don’t have to be in church for the Lord to hear your prayers.’

  ‘Yes…yes, I will.’

  ‘Good girl, and if there’s anything I can do, anything your mother needs, let me know.’

  Ellen thanked her, still tearful when she went back inside. She had been to church quite a few times now and last week had seen a baptism. Before the lady had been immersed in water she had talked about her spiritual conversion, of being born again. The lady had looked so happy, as though something wonderful had happened to her, but despite being told about it, Ellen still didn’t understand. How could you be born again?

  It was an hour before her mum called her, and Ellen rushed to her bedroom, relieved to see she was sitting up and looking a little better.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  ‘My throat’s parched. Will you make me a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, and I found this on the floor,’ Ellen said, holding out the necklace. ‘The chain’s broken but maybe Percy will be able to fix it.’