Mrs Coulson pursed her lips. ‘If that man doesn’t wake up every day thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world to have a wife like you and these two fine sons you’ve given him—now, don’t shake your head at me like that.’
‘No,’ Amy said tiredly. There seemed no need to pretend with Mrs Coulson. ‘He loves Mal, and he’ll like the new baby too. But he doesn’t like me.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear—who could help liking you?’
‘Charlie doesn’t. He’s sort of got used to me, but he doesn’t like me. I don’t think he ever will.’ Amy was too weary to feel more than a resigned sadness.
‘Now, dear, you’re just thinking like that because you’re worn out. Of course he likes you—I doubt if anyone exactly twisted his arm to make him marry you.’
‘I think…’ Amy stopped to put her thoughts in order. ‘I don’t really understand it properly, but I think Charlie expected I’d be different from how I am. I’m not exactly sure what he wanted, but I know I’m not it. I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t seem to please him. I can’t seem to make him happy.’
Amy had not even known she was weeping until she felt Mrs Coulson wiping her face with a handkerchief. ‘If you can’t make him happy, darling, then I don’t think any woman on earth could.’
‘But if I was a good wife he’d like me, wouldn’t he?’
‘If he wasn’t a bigger fool than most men he’d worship the ground you walk on. Shh now, dear, or you’ll have me saying something I shouldn’t.’
Amy looked down at the cradle. ‘Charlie’s not going to love this baby as much as he does Mal. I think he’ll like him, and he’ll be a good father to him, but it won’t be really special for him this time. Maybe it’s because Mal was his first child—Mrs Coulson, do you think there’s something special about a person’s first baby? Something that makes them love it more than the other ones?’ Is that why I loved Ann so much? Or just because she was my baby, and these ones belong to Charlie?
‘There’s something in that,’ Mrs Coulson said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know about loving the first one more—my oldest was certainly more of a trial to me than the others, till she grew up a bit, anyway. But the one that makes you a mother… well, that’s the most special thing that can happen to a woman, isn’t it?’ She smiled at Amy. ‘I’m sure you’ll love this little fellow just as much as you do your Malcolm. Don’t twist like that, darling,’ she warned when Amy tried to roll onto her side to look at the baby more closely, but it was too late. Amy let out a gasp of pain.
‘Oh, it hurts!’
Mrs Coulson nodded sympathetically. ‘It’s the stitches. Another big baby, another big tear in you. You’ll have to lie as still as you can for a while.’
‘Stitches. I’d forgotten about those.’ Amy closed her eyes, trying to hide from the memory of those agonised nights after Malcolm’s birth, when Charlie had decided she was ready to meet his demands.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to have them every time now, dear. Once one baby’s ripped you it makes your flesh a bit weak, so all the others tear you in the same places.’
‘I see. I didn’t know that.’ She did not trust herself to speak further without breaking down. Mrs Coulson soon left her alone, with an injunction to try and sleep again.
Late that night Amy was woken by the feeble sound of the baby’s crying. Mrs Coulson was beside the cradle in a flash, lifting the baby ready to hold him to Amy’s breasts.
‘Don’t move, darling,’ the nurse whispered to her. ‘You don’t even have to wake up properly. You just leave it all up to me.’ She let the baby suckle for a short time, then settled him back in the cradle and returned to the sofa she slept on while Amy used the big bed.
But Amy was wide awake now. The baby’s cries had brought back other memories of Malcolm’s babyhood: memories of broken nights, with Charlie complaining about his disturbed sleep when he wasn’t inflicting agony on her, or shaking her angrily for not being able to hide how much she hated what he was doing to her.
The room was silent except for the tiny noises of the baby’s snuffly breathing. When she could no longer weep silently, Amy muffled her small sobs in the pillow. She thought she was succeeding in keeping her misery secret until she felt a hand on her heaving shoulder, and turned her face to see Mrs Coulson kneeling beside the bed.
‘What’s wrong, darling?’ the nurse asked quietly. ‘What’s upsetting you so much?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Amy choked out between sobs. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up.’
‘Never mind about me, I don’t need much sleep anyway. Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘It’s…’ Amy took a gulp of air and tried to speak more calmly. ‘The baby wakes up and cries. He’ll wake up in the night for ages.’
‘Well, yes, dear, babies do wake in the night. You knew that, why’s it worrying you so much now?’
‘I’d forgotten. It made Charlie so bad-tempered when Mal was doing it. Now it’s all going to start again.’
‘I’ll give you some laudanum to take home, that’ll make the little fellow sleep if the nights get too much for you. You’ve got to be careful using it on little ones, but sometimes there’s nothing else to be done. But darling…’
Mrs Coulson was silent for a moment. She went on in a measured tone, as if trying hard to be fair. ‘You have to remember, your husband’s a bit old to be going through all this with small babies. Most men would be nigh on twenty years younger than him when their first child’s born. People get less patient as they get older.’
‘I know. I try and keep him happy, so the baby won’t annoy him too much. But it’s hard to be careful all the time, especially when there’s a little baby to look after.’
‘Don’t try too hard, sweetheart. You mustn’t run yourself ragged. The worst time passes soon enough with little ones.’
‘But I have to try hard. I have to. I’ve got to do my best to make Charlie happy—that’s my duty. That’s how I have try and make up for all the wrong things I’ve done.’
‘You?’ Amy could hear the smile in Mrs Coulson’s voice. ‘I doubt if you’ve done anything in your life worse than sneaking extra biscuits from the tin.’
‘I have. I’ve done terrible, terrible things.’ I was wicked with Jimmy. I made Pa so unhappy. I gave away my baby. A sob racked her. She pressed her face into the pillow once again.
‘Shh, shh,’ Mrs Coulson soothed, rubbing her hand softly across Amy’s shoulders. ‘Everything seems worse in the middle of the night. You just forget about all the terrible things you imagine you’ve done—and I don’t believe a word of it, by the way—and think about this lovely little baby you’ve got.’
‘And I’ve got stitches,’ Amy said into the pillow.
‘What was that, dear?’
Amy rolled onto her back, the movement sending knife-thrusts of pain through her. ‘Stitches. I didn’t know I’d have to have them again.’ The last word was almost a wail. She put her hand over her mouth to smother the sob.
‘Are they really hurting you, darling?’ There was concern in Mrs Coulson’s voice. ‘I’ll have a good look at them in the morning to see if something’s not right, but perhaps I’d better give you a bit of laudanum now to help you sleep.’
‘It’s the stitches. All those places where I got torn. It makes me so sore, and Ch-Charlie gets so angry with me, and…’ Amy gave up trying to talk and abandoned herself to the tears.
‘Ah, I see,’ Mrs Coulson said. ‘It takes you a long time to get back to normal down below because you’re torn up so badly. So that’s the trouble with him, is it? Gets grumpy because he has to do without for a while?’
Amy looked at the paler patch of shadow that was Mrs Coulson in her nightdress. It was easy to whisper into the darkness things she could never have said in the light. ‘Do without?’ she echoed in bewilderment. ‘It’s because I cry, and he can tell it’s hurting me, and that makes him angry… I don’t cry usually, really I don’t. Only the first few weeks, when I
was so frightened all the time. Then when Mal was born it all started again. I tried not to show it, but I couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. And now it’s g-going to happen again.’
There was silence in the room for a long moment. ‘Are you telling me,’ Mrs Coulson said slowly, ‘he forced himself on you while you were in that state? All ripped up from bearing his great big son? My dear, you must have been nearly mad with the pain!’
‘Forced?’ Amy shook her head in confusion. ‘But he’s my husband. It’s his right. I just wish he wouldn’t get so angry with me.’
‘I think, dear,’ Mrs Coulson said, her voice shaking slightly, ‘you’d better not tell me anything else.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling anyone things like that. Charlie wouldn’t like it if he heard me.’
Mrs Coulson gripped Amy’s arm. ‘That’s not what I meant. If I heard any more, I don’t think I’d be able to send you home. I think I’d want to keep you here with me.’ She slipped her arms around Amy and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Poor child. What on earth were they thinking of, making you marry him?’
I wish I didn’t have to go back. But Amy would not say the words aloud. She had to return to Charlie’s house. She had to do her duty. ‘Nobody made me marry him,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘It was my own decision. Nobody forced me.’
‘There’s more ways of forcing than holding a gun to your head,’ Mrs Coulson said grimly, but Amy did not reply and the nurse did not press her further.
Mrs Coulson did not mention their midnight conversation again, although Amy saw the nurse looking at her with her brow furrowed many times over the next few days. Her strength seemed slower in returning this time; it was several days before she could sit up in bed for more than a few minutes at a stretch. But as soon as she felt able to spend half an hour or so propped up against the pillows, Mrs Coulson gave in and let her have the needle and thread she begged for. Lizzie brought in a length of flannelette, and Amy was soon busily hemming squares into napkins for the new baby.
‘They go through so many, don’t they?’ Amy remarked as she finished yet another one. ‘Especially while they’re little. At least Mal doesn’t dirty as many now—I don’t think Susannah’s too pleased at having all that extra washing while she’s looking after him, though.’
‘Mmm. She looks even more of an acid drop than usual lately,’ Mrs Coulson agreed. ‘You know, I often think men are the biggest babies of all, but at least you don’t have to keep them in nappies.’
Amy laughed aloud at the idea of a grown man in napkins, and Mrs Coulson smiled back at her. ‘It’s good to see you laugh, dear.’
‘I’ve been a real misery lately, haven’t I?’ Amy said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so silly—’
‘Stop that at once,’ Mrs Coulson interrupted. ‘I don’t want to hear another “I’m sorry” from you. You spend far too much time apologising to the world.’
‘I’m sor—’ Amy began. She looked at Mrs Coulson and laughed again. ‘All right, I’ll try not to say it all day. Will that do?’
‘It’s a start,’ Mrs Coulson conceded. ‘Oh, I think the little fellow’s stirring. Put that needle well out of the way and I’ll fetch him up to you.’
Once the baby was suckling, Mrs Coulson took up her own needle and continued stitching away at a chemise she was mending. ‘I’d better go and see what sort of a job young Nellie’s making of getting those vegetables ready when this fellow’s had his feed. What do you think you might like for pudding? I went over to the store this morning, so my larder’s full.’
‘Just anything,’ Amy said in surprise. ‘Whatever you want to have.’
‘I want to make something you like. Now you’ve got your appetite back properly you can appreciate a decent feed. What’s your favourite pudding?’
‘I make a steamed pudding with jam quite a lot, that’s one of Charlie’s favourites.’
‘Sweetheart, I’m not making your husband a pudding, I’m making you one. There must be something you specially like.’
‘Um…’ Amy tried to think back to life in her father’s house before her marriage. ‘I used to like that chocolate sort of pudding—you know, the one that makes its own sauce when you cook it. Charlie doesn’t like chocolate, so I never make it now. But don’t go to any trouble.’
‘Chocolate pudding it is,’ Mrs Coulson said triumphantly. ‘That’s one of my favourites, too. Goodness me, I’ve never heard of anyone not liking chocolate. What a fuss-pot your husband is.’
Amy felt she should defend Charlie against this slight. ‘He’s not really fussy, it’s just that he only likes certain things and he doesn’t like trying new things much.’
‘Just as I said. Fussy.’ Mrs Coulson sat and watched the baby suckling. ‘He’s feeding well. He’s going to be another big fellow, all right, same as your Malcolm. What are you going to call him?’
‘I don’t know. Charlie hasn’t said yet what his name’s to be.’
‘You do get some say in it, don’t you?’ Mrs Coulson said in surprise.
‘I shouldn’t think so. Why?’
‘Well, because he’s your son too. Did he name the first one?’
‘Yes. Maybe he’ll let me this time, I hadn’t thought of it.’ Amy looked down at the baby pulling at her breast. ‘This one feels more like my baby than Mal did. I know that’s silly, but he does. I’d like to name him after Pa, but we’ve already got a Jack and a John just next door. Maybe he could have John as a second name.’
But when Charlie arrived for his daily visit the next morning, he announced to Amy that he had just registered the baby at the courthouse.
‘Oh,’ Amy said, trying not to show her disappointment. ‘What have you called him?’
‘Good, solid Scottish names. None of your English rubbish. James David Stewart.’
Amy’s eyes opened wide in shock. ‘No,’ she said in a voice little more than a whisper. ‘You can’t call him that—you can’t!’
‘What are you talking about, woman?’ Charlie said indignantly. ‘I can call my son whatever I want. I suppose you wanted to name him after bloody Prince Albert or something?’
‘Please, Charlie, no,’ Amy begged. ‘Please don’t call him that. Not that name. Not… James,’ she got the name out with difficulty.
‘What’s wrong with it? What’s wrong with James for a name? He’ll be Jamie, or maybe Jimmy…’ His voice trailed away. ‘Jimmy,’ he repeated heavily. ‘Jimmy.’ He spat the name at her. ‘I’ve named my son after your fancy man. The fellow you rolled in the hay with—or one of them, anyway. Did you give your bastard that name too? Did you?’ He grabbed at the bodice of Amy’s nightdress and shook her by it.
‘No, no I didn’t,’ Amy gasped out between shakes.
‘What’s going on?’ came a stern voice from the doorway. Charlie let go of her and they both turned to look at Mrs Coulson, who had appeared from nowhere.
‘I… I don’t feel very well,’ Amy said. That was true enough; her stomach was churning with fear-induced nausea. ‘I got a bit upset.’
‘Mr Stewart,’ Mrs Coulson said in a tight voice, ‘I think you’d better leave now. Your wife’s had enough visiting for today.’ She met Charlie’s grim stare with one far more hostile. He turned his face from hers and rose to leave.
‘It’s my job to look after your wife while she’s with me,’ Mrs Coulson went on coolly. ‘If you’re going to upset her when you visit, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay away.’
Charlie narrowed his eyes as if he were about to argue the point, but all he said was, ‘When’s she coming home?’
‘When she’s fit to.’
‘When?’ he demanded.
‘When the child’s three weeks old. Not before.’
Charlie worked through the sum in his head. ‘That’ll be two weeks come Wednesday. I’ll fetch her home then. And I’ll visit when I please in the meantime.’
‘Just as you wish, Mr Stewart. As long as you don’t upset her while s
he’s in my house.’
Just before Charlie reached the door he turned back and spoke to Amy, ignoring Mrs Coulson’s presence. ‘He’ll be called David. I’ll not change how I’ve registered him, or that clerk fellow will be thinking you told me to. But he’ll be called David.’
Amy nodded, staring at her hands knotted in her lap rather than look at him.
‘What was all that about?’ Mrs Coulson asked when they were alone.
‘Nothing,’ Amy said, not raising her eyes from her lap.
‘Nothing that’s any of my business, anyway. I’m sorry, my dear. I won’t pry any more. But I meant what I said,’ she added sternly. ‘I won’t let him upset you while you’re in my house.’ She left the room, closing the door after her.
Still trembling, Amy laid her head on the pillow. It’s my fault. I thought it could all be forgotten. But it can’t. He’ll never forget what I did. Everything reminds him. And this poor little baby—now he’ll remind Charlie too. She reached out a hand to rock the cradle gently, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. ‘David,’ she whispered. ‘He’ll forgive you. It’s not your fault. And you’re his son—flesh of his flesh. He’ll forget your name. But he’ll never forget what I did, never.’ She fought against the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. It’s no good being miserable. I have to make the best of it. I have to do my best to please him and to look after the children, and that’s all I can do.
She was still lying on her back with a look of grim determination on her face when Mrs Coulson came in with her lunch half an hour later, so obviously lost in her thoughts that the nurse put the tray down beside the bed and went out again without saying a word.
*
‘I have to go home next week,’ Amy said one afternoon a week and a half later. She and Mrs Coulson were sitting in the parlour, little David in his cradle beside Amy’s chair. ‘Charlie’ll be glad to have Mal home, I don’t think he likes Susannah having him very much. The time’s gone so fast.’ She smiled at the nurse. ‘It’s like a holiday, staying with you.’
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