by Louise Allan
After Len left, I sat back on the old chair and Grace lay on her side with the baby tucked alongside her. As she watched her child, her breaths slowed and her eyelids closed. Her face was unlined and her hair fanned out across the pillow, a rich colour even in the dark. She was sixteen, little more than a child herself.
The rain ebbed away and there was no sound except for the crackle of the fire and the gurgle of the stormwater running down the pipes. Then the birdsong came, the night was wrapped in light and it was gone.
I must have drifted off because I didn’t hear anything else until the baby stirred. When I opened my eyes, Grace was sitting up with the baby, still wrapped in the towel, in her arms. The baby began to cry. Her mouth opened and shuddered, and her gums were smooth and glistening pink.
Grace looked alarmed.
‘She’s hungry,’ I said.
‘What do I do?’ she said.
‘You feed her,’ I said. I went over and sat on the side of the bed. ‘She won’t stop crying until you do.’ I held the baby while Grace unbuttoned her nightgown, then she held her to her breast. The baby’s nose bumped against the nipple and then her mouth was around it and she began to suckle. She knew what to do without being taught. They both did.
Grace looked up at me, her face lighter.
‘I’ll have to call the doctor to come and check you’re both all right,’ I said.
Grace looked down at the baby at her breast.
I leant forward and stroked the back of the baby’s hand. ‘And then I’ll have to call your mother.’
Grace looked up. ‘I don’t want Mum to know.’
‘Oh?’ I said. ‘But she’ll be worried about you. We need to let her know you’re safe.’
‘Tell her I’m here, but that’s all.’ Her lip quivered. ‘I don’t want her to know about the baby. I can’t do it to her.’
‘But…she’ll realise…when she sees…’ Grace was shaking her head, and my words trailed off.
‘No, she’ll never know,’ said Grace, ‘because I’ve decided to give her up for adoption.’
I held my breath and tried to stop my head from shaking. No. No. You can’t. I looked at the baby nestled into its mother and tried not to hear the words coming from Grace’s mouth.
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ she continued. ‘I’ve lain awake every night for the past few months thinking about it. That’s why I haven’t told a soul. Not my mother. Not…the father. No one. Because I don’t want anyone to know.’
‘The father might want to know, Gracie,’ I said quietly.
Grace shook her head, glanced back at the baby and adjusted her against her breast. ‘He needn’t know.’ She looked up at me again. ‘It’s not his baby. It’s mine. That’s why I came to you, because I know I can trust you with my secret.’ Her face was long and her eyes were serious.
The baby made squeaking noises and soft murmurs at Grace’s breast.
‘Are you sure about this, Gracie?’ I said.
She nodded. ‘I know what I want, and I know what I don’t want.’ She stared at me without blinking. ‘I don’t want a baby.’
Tears wanted to burst from my eyes. ‘Len and I would help,’ I said, ‘so you could still do whatever you wanted. You could live here, you and the baby.’ Grace was shaking her head but I kept talking. ‘We wouldn’t mind, Len and me. We’d look after her while you studied…or worked.’
‘My mind is made up, Aunty.’ Her face was determined.
‘But what if you change it?’
‘I won’t. I can’t do what I want to do with a child.’ She slowed her breathing. ‘I want to sing.’
‘But you can still sing.’ I was pleading now. ‘You can do anything you want.’
She shook her head again.
I slowed my breaths before I spoke. ‘What if Len and I…What if we adopted her?’
She looked at me and her eyes filled. ‘I can’t…I couldn’t. I’d have to see her…and I’d be reminded.’
I stared at her and then at her baby, the baby she wanted to give away. How could you? How could you give away your child? Your living, breathing child. I stood and collected the dirty towels from the floor and walked out of the room. The floor and the walls of the hallway were swimming in front of my eyes. I took the towels to the bathroom and left them on top of the basket. Then I jammed the plug in the basin and ran the cold water. I splashed it on my face and tried to cool it, tried to stop my eyes and cheeks from stinging. I kept splashing and then I picked up the flannel and soaked it in the cold water and held it against my skin.
I caught sight of myself in the tiny mirror propped at an angle on the windowsill. My hair was an untidy frizz, my eyelids were red with extra creases and the whites of my eyes were shot with blood vessels. The flannel felt cool against my cheeks.
When my breaths had slowed enough, I left the bathroom.
Len was sitting at the kitchen table when I came out. ‘You all right, Ide?’ he said.
I didn’t answer him but went straight to the hallstand and rummaged about in the drawer until I found the telephone directory. In the W’s, I found Dr Williams’ number and wrote it down on Ben’s notepad sitting by the telephone. I heard Len’s voice, distant and echoing, asking me again if I was all right. I didn’t answer him but lifted the telephone receiver off its hook. I dialled the number I’d written on the paper. A woman answered. She sounded close. I told her I wanted Dr Williams. She called out to ‘Ernest’ and there was scraping on the other end of the line and then Dr Williams’ deep English voice.
‘You need to come to 15 Pearson Street,’ I said. ‘My niece has had a baby.’
He asked me questions, but I can’t remember what they were or how I answered, and then I hung up.
I paused and then I picked up the receiver again and dialled the number I knew by heart. When Nora’s voice came on the line, I had to quell the quiver in mine.
‘It’s me. Ida.’ I grappled to find the words. ‘Gracie’s here with me and she’s all right.’
She said, ‘What?’ There was confusion in her voice. ‘She’s not here? How did she…?’ She stopped and in the silence down the phone I could detect a change in her. ‘Ida?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s happened?’
I was silent while I thought of what to say. ‘Grace is safe,’ were the only words I could find.
‘I think I know…’ said Nora.
We were both silent, and I rubbed my forehead and looked at Mum’s hat hanging on the hook. The band was decorated with a red hibiscus with an orange stamen.
‘Ida…Are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘She…’ She struggled to say the words and her voice sounded as if it was about to crack. ‘She’s had a baby, hasn’t she?’
I didn’t answer. ‘I can’t say…’ I said.
‘You’ve told me the answer.’
‘I’m sorry…I can’t say anymore…I’d better go,’ I said. I hung up and waited for a moment, before walking down the hall, through the kitchen and out the back door.
I crossed the muddy grass to the shed. The bassinette was under Len’s fishing rods and an old table. As I shifted them, I heard Len behind me, asking what was the matter. I just shook my head and lifted the wicker carry basket from inside the bassinette. I carried it back into the kitchen, Len following me, asking what was going on. I set the basket on the table. It needed a good clean, so I found a rag in the bathroom and dusted down the wicker of the basket and its handles, then I washed it with Velvet soap and warm water and wiped it dry.
I walked along to our bedroom and Len followed, silent now. He watched as I dragged the bedroom chair to the wardrobe.
‘Let me get that,’ he said, and climbed up. The box scraped the top of the wardrobe as he pulled it towards him. Then he climbed down and carried it to the bed. It fell with a ‘whoomp’.
I wiped the dust from the top and opened it up. The packages were inside, wrapped in tissue paper. I took out the t
iny coverlet, sheets and pillowslip, as well as a knitted layette and shawl.
I went back down to the kitchen and unwrapped them and made up the carry basket. Over the top, I laid the coverlet with its embroidered teddies. From the laundry, I fetched the basin in which I’d bathed Ted twenty-three years earlier. I filled a jug with hot water and poured it in, followed by cold water, until it was body temperature, and then I found a clean towel and a soft flannel and pin.
I looked at it all laid out on the table and blinked the watery film from my eyes.
‘What’s going on?’ said Len.
My mouth trembled. ‘She’s…She’s…not going to keep the baby.’
‘Oh, Ide,’ he said, and his face filled with kindness.
The blinds were still drawn in Mum’s room and I crept over to the bed. Grace’s eyes glistened in the dimness, and the baby lay still and silent alongside her.
‘I’ve called the doctor.’ My voice was hoarse. ‘He’s on his way. I let your mother know you were safe. And I’ve run a bath for the baby.’
Grace nodded, folded back the covers and climbed out of bed. The nightie reached just below her knees and her legs were skinny and pale. She scooped up the bundle in the towel and turned towards me.
‘Can you bathe her?’
I took the baby and held her against me. She felt limp in my arms and fit perfectly against my chest. Her scalp was covered with tiny hairs, and I kissed it and tasted her soft, newborn skin. She was familiar—everything about her I’d seen before.
In the kitchen, I laid her on the table, gently so her head didn’t bump. Her eyes opened, but she didn’t cry. I unfolded the towel and lifted her up, naked in my hands—her tiny arms moved as if in slow motion and her legs looked like a frog’s. I lowered her into the water. Her tummy bulged above it, the umbilicus clotted and dark. Her arms and legs moved just below the surface, splashing the water softly, like music. I trickled it over her head, over her cheeks, over her tummy.
Len stood beside me as I soaped her skin. As gently as I could, I cleaned all traces of her birth from her body with the flannel, then lifted her out and laid her on the towel. I patted her dry, dabbing her doll-like nose and lips, and her scalp where her hair was already curling.
I used a dry flannel for a nappy and pinned it. Then I pulled the singlet over her head and tied the booties on her feet. Finally, I wrapped the knitted shawl around her and picked her up and cradled her in my arms.
‘You’re ready,’ I whispered. Her dark eyes gazed up at me as if she knew she was going away.
Dr Williams had aged. His hair had silvered, his cheeks had hollowed and his eyes were so grey they were almost clear. I took him into the front room where Grace sat up in the bed and the baby lay in the carry basket on the floor beside her.
‘If you don’t mind leaving us,’ he said in his mellow voice as soon as he stepped into the room. He waited until I’d left, then he closed the door behind me.
I walked down to the kitchen and sat at the table. Len took the chair opposite. Neither of us spoke. I wrung my hands and rubbed my arms, then I got up and stoked the fire. I walked to the doorway and peered down the hall. It was still and the grey morning light shone through the stained glass, lighting the dust motes. I returned to the table, then stood again and paced, then sat.
Len stayed seated and his fingers drummed on the table.
Then came a knock at the door.
‘Send them away,’ I said to Len. He got up and left, then murmurings drifted down the hall, followed by footsteps. Nora stepped into the kitchen. She was buttoned into her coat, her handbag primly at her side. Her face was ashen, her lips tight and she looked as stark as a winter tree.
I stood. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I could.’ Unfastening her handbag, she extracted a hanky and clipped it shut again. She scrunched it in her hand and, with a sigh, seemed to brace herself. ‘Where’s Grace?’
‘The doctor’s with her,’ I said.
We were silent for a while. Nora’s gaze flitted around the kitchen and she scrunched the hanky in her hand. ‘I knew.’
‘Knew what?’ I said.
‘That Grace was…pregnant. I told myself she was just gaining a bit of weight, but I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. I couldn’t deal with it. Not after everything that’s happened.’
Then I said it, the thing that was really troubling me. ‘Grace wants to adopt the baby out.’
Nora didn’t miss a beat. ‘She’s making the right decision.’
‘I know why you say that,’ I started. ‘But to take a baby from its mother…’
‘And to make a mother keep a baby she doesn’t want,’ she said quickly. She stared at me. She looked as unyielding as flint.
‘But, Nor…I’d look after her. After them both. Or Len and I could adopt her…’
I was about to continue, but the bedroom door clicked. Footsteps came down the hall and the doctor appeared in the doorway. The wicker basket hung stiffly from his hand and, inside, I could just see the mound of the baby. Nora stared at the basket, too, and the bundle wrapped within. She held her hanky under her nose and her breaths were serrated.
The doctor cleared his throat and nodded at Nora. ‘Good morning, Mrs Hill,’ he said. Nora nodded in return. ‘I’ve checked Grace and the baby, and they’re both in good health.’ His vowels were posh, his consonants clipped. ‘Grace doesn’t wish to come to the hospital. I’ve tried to talk her into it, but she’s adamant.’ He looked at me. ‘She says your care, Mrs Bushell, is just as good.’ He tried to smile. ‘I won’t force her to come as there are no problems health-wise and someone her age should make a speedy recovery.’
I nodded but my lip trembled. Nora hadn’t moved.
He set the basket on the floor. The baby looked like a doll, too still and tiny to be real. Her eyes were closed and her lips were together with a neat pleat in the centre. Nora was staring at her, too, and wiping under her nose with the hanky.
The doctor opened his Gladstone bag and extracted a brown bottle. ‘These tablets will dry up the breast milk. One tablet, twice a day.’ He held out the bottle and its contents rattled. My feet wouldn’t move, so Len stepped forward and took it. He placed it carefully on the dresser.
The doctor opened his bag again and extracted some papers. He cleared his throat. ‘Grace has signed the papers for the adoption.’ The sheets rustled in his hand as he peered at us. His eyes were a bottomless grey.
I saw the top of the page: ‘Adoption Consent Form’.
‘No,’ I said. The word escaped before I could stop it.
The doctor frowned at me, and I felt Len’s hand on my arm. I clasped my fingers together so tightly I thought my knuckles might burst through my skin.
The doctor was still glaring at me. ‘As you’re aware, Mrs Bushell, illegitimacy can have disastrous consequences. For mother and child.’
I pressed my fingers hard against my lips. My teeth cut into my gums and I could taste blood.
‘She’s making the right decision,’ he went on. ‘Adoption is in everyone’s best interests.’
My eyes returned to the pink, warm baby I’d just bathed and dressed.
‘This is best for your daughter, Mrs Hill,’ the doctor continued. ‘She won’t have the shame and stigma. She’ll be able to forget about it and move on with her life as if it never happened. And it’s best for the baby. Keeping the child would give it a severe handicap.’
I kept rubbing my mouth and my lips hurt. The blood tasted metallic on my tongue and I swallowed.
‘We have many childless couples on our books. Married, financially well off. This baby will go to a good home.’
‘I don’t care about any of that,’ said Nora. Her voice was clipped and abrupt. She paused and lowered her voice. ‘I have only one request.’
‘Go on,’ said the doctor.
She kept her words even and slow. ‘Please give her to someone who wants her.’
‘I guarantee it,’ said the doctor.
‘I—we—want her,’ I said, looking at Nora. I felt Len’s hand on my arm again. ‘We would look after her. After both of them.’
Nora regarded me with her cool green eyes. ‘It’s not about what you want. It’s about what Grace wants.’
‘But Grace could still do what she wants. I’ll bring the baby up. I’ll look after her—’
‘Ida,’ Nora interrupted and shook her head. ‘I know what it’s like to be forced to keep a baby you don’t want and I’m not going to let history repeat itself.’
I stared at her, my head and body shaking. I had no answer to that, nothing to counter it. She was right. She was right. I nodded, then turned to the doctor and swallowed. I pulled myself up to my full height, eye level with him. ‘All right. Take her,’ I said, and I felt as if I was tearing in two.
The doctor opened his Gladstone bag and replaced the papers. ‘She needs a couple of days of complete bed rest and then she’ll be ready to go home. I’ll visit each day and if you have any concerns, telephone me.’ He bent and picked up the carry basket, wrapping his hand stiffly around the handles, as if the bundle it contained wasn’t a precious baby. Our precious baby. ‘And don’t forget, every cloud has a silver lining.’
Len walked him to the front door, but Nora and I stayed where we were and watched them walk down the hall. Len opened the door and their figures were silhouetted against the grey light angling in from outside—little Len and the tall, dark shadow of the doctor with the bassinette dangling from his hands. The doctor spoke to Len before he stepped out into the sunless gloom. He trudged over the boards and down the steps, and his footsteps grew fainter along the path. My muscles flinched, but I stayed rooted to the spot. I wanted to follow, to whip the bassinette out of his hands and carry it and its precious cargo back inside our house.
The gate ground open, more footsteps. A car door opened and shut, and another. The chug of an engine.
He was taking her. She was going.
I ran.
Along the hall. Past Len in the doorway. Down the steps. I heard Len call my name, but I kept running along the path to the gate, my hands waving in the air. ‘Stop! Bring her back!’ The grey car was reversing into the street. I fumbled with the latch on the gate and flung it open. The car was straightening. I ran across the footpath, stumbling because my feet couldn’t carry me fast enough. The car was off up the street. I raced across the muddy verge and onto the road, trying to catch up to the car. ‘Stop! Stop! Bring her back!’ But the car kept moving, faster and faster, bouncing through a pothole, clear water spraying from its wheel.