Homecoming

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Good lord, will you look at that?’ breathed Peggy. ‘What a wonderful surprise, and so generous.’ She quickly stuffed it all back in the bag. ‘I’d better put everything away in the larder before it spoils in the sun.’

  She dashed upstairs and reverently placed the ham on a dish at the very top of her larder, and then quickly put away the jars of jam and pickles with those she’d made herself. The smell of that ham made her mouth water, but she firmly closed the larder door and went back down to the garden, already planning to serve it for tonight’s tea with some of the new potatoes Ron had brought round.

  ‘Mary’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?’ said Anne. ‘I was already down in Somerset when she came here to live, and so only got to know her through your letters. I seem to remember there was some to-do which involved Rosie, her awful brother, Tommy, and that Eileen who used to live in the flats that got bombed. But you never really explained what it was all about.’

  Peggy firmly blocked the dark and painful memories of that time. ‘It’s a complicated story, Anne, and I don’t have the right to tell it. Let’s just be thankful that Mary and Rosie have forged a lovely friendship through what was an extremely difficult time for everyone. Tommy’s out of the picture and Eileen is dead, so that’s an end to it.’

  ‘Poor Rosie,’ said Cordelia. ‘Tommy was always a ne’er-do-well, and caused no end of upset.’

  Anne nodded in agreement. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to turn up again like the bad penny he’s always been.’

  ‘Well, he’d have great difficulty in doing that, Anne,’ said Peggy. ‘He was killed on the Normandy beaches. At least Rosie could take some comfort in the knowledge he’d been involved in something worthwhile before he died.’

  Anne looked startled. ‘Oh, I didn’t know. I thought he was in prison.’

  ‘He was for a short time, but because of his age and general fitness, he was drafted into the army. For all his conniving and slyness, he ended up giving his life for his country.’

  Peggy tried hard to think of Tommy as a hero, but simply couldn’t. He’d always been a rat, and she suspected that prison, war and the army hadn’t changed him. She sipped the tea, which was now stone cold, and grimaced. ‘I’ll go and freshen the pot,’ she muttered.

  ‘I’m sorry if I stirred up painful memories, Mum,’ said Anne.

  ‘It’s all right, dear, you weren’t to know.’

  She took the tea tray up the steps into the kitchen and dumped it on the table, the memories of Tommy, Mary and Eileen flooding back in all their painful clarity. Tommy had betrayed everyone by lying to Rosie and Eileen and taking baby Mary far away to be adopted. If Mary hadn’t come looking for the truth, she would never have discovered how Eileen had been fooled into giving up her baby – and how Rosie had been cruelly denied the chance to adopt her.

  Peggy gave a deep sigh, thankful that at least Rosie and Mary had mended things between them. Now that Eileen and Tommy were dead, there was little point in raking up the past. She filled the large kettle and placed it on the hob, and was about to wash up the cups when the telephone rang. Glad to have something else to think about, she hurried to answer it.

  ‘Hello, Aunt Peg, this is Robert.’

  ‘Robert! What’s happened? Is Fran all right?’

  ‘She’s just exhausted and needs to rest,’ he assured her. ‘I shall be driving her back to London the moment she wakes, and I doubt she’ll be fit enough to play at Doris’s wedding. I’ve telephoned Doris to warn her that might be the case, and I’ll get Fran to call you when she’s feeling more herself.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I knew it was all too much for her in her condition,’ fretted Peggy. ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to keep her at Gloria’s and have her see the doctor in the morning?’

  ‘I managed to catch Danuta while she was cycling past the pub, and she gave Fran the once-over. As long as she rests, she’ll be fine. I’m sorry she couldn’t come over, but I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Peggy. ‘Give her our love, and tell her I’ll look forward to her call once she’s settled back at home.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Are you all right, Robert?’

  ‘I’m absolutely fine, but for a mild headache first thing, and one of Gloria’s huge fried breakfasts cured that.’

  ‘Well, you take care driving all that way. Goodbye, Robert, and thank you for letting me know.’

  Peggy replaced the receiver and dug in her overall pocket for her cigarettes and lighter. Blowing smoke, she slowly returned to the kitchen to wash the cups and make the tea. However, the raking up of old stories and the worry over both pregnant girls made her careless and she broke the milk jug – just watched it slip from her fingers, hit the towel rail on the range and fall onto the floor.

  Peggy wasn’t normally superstitious, but after the emotional whirlwind of the past two days, the sight of those broken shards of china seemed to augur impending doom. She looked down at them through welling tears, and bent to gather them together.

  ‘Ow! Damn and blast it,’ she hissed as a sharp splinter sliced into her finger.

  ‘Mum? Whatever’s the matter?’ asked Anne.

  ‘I broke the milk jug and cut myself,’ she replied, her voice choked with tears as she watched a bead of blood blossom on her finger. ‘So stupid of me to be so careless.’

  Anne reached for the dustpan and brush which were kept under the sink. ‘It’s just a small jug, Mum,’ she said, calmly sweeping up the pieces. ‘And there was no milk in it, so there’s no reason to cry over it.’

  ‘I know, but that’s not the point,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve had the blasted thing for years.’

  Anne put down the dustpan and brush and took her mother’s hand. ‘You’ll need a plaster on that,’ she said.

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ she replied, desperately trying to stem her tears but failing miserably.

  ‘Then what is it, Mum?’ Anne asked softly, her brown eyes concerned. ‘Why are you so upset over some silly old jug?’

  ‘It’s not the jug,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m just upset that Fran’s feeling unwell and Ivy seems determined to rush about like a mad thing with no thought for the baby she’s carrying.’

  Anne frowned and gave her a handkerchief. ‘Is that really all it is, Mum? Only I’ve had the sense that something’s been troubling you these past two days.’

  Peggy could no longer hold back the great tide of sorrow and disappointment, and she all but collapsed against Anne. ‘It’s your father,’ she howled. ‘He won’t be home for Christmas.’

  Anne held her close. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she sighed. ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier instead of bottling it all up like this?’

  Now the dam had burst, Peggy felt slightly better and was able to check the tears and get her emotions back under control. She gently drew back from her daughter’s arms and mopped her face with the handkerchief.

  Taking a deep breath, she released it on a long sigh. ‘The telegram came the evening of Rita’s party. Then there was the wedding, and all the comings and goings this morning. I couldn’t spoil things for everyone, could I?’

  ‘It was certainly bad timing,’ Anne murmured. ‘Did he say why he couldn’t come home?’

  Peggy shook her head. ‘He promised to write and explain, so I’m hoping to get a letter very soon.’ Needing something to do, she took the dustpan from the table and emptied the broken crockery into the small rubbish bin she kept under the sink. ‘The bloody army better have a damned good reason for keeping him, that’s all I can say,’ she said fiercely.

  Anne smiled and kissed her mother’s damp cheek. ‘Come on, Mum, let me find a plaster to put on that cut, and then I’ll make the tea. Will you be all right telling Grandma Cordy about Dad, or do you want me to do it?’

  Peggy dredged up a smile and used all the inner resources she’d come to rely upon over these past years to pull herself together. ‘I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself, darling. Just ignore those silly tears – I�
��m quite, quite over them now.’

  5

  The day had been a busy one, for which Danuta had been quite thankful. It had meant she’d had little time to worry about Stanislaw’s dire warnings over her return to Poland, and her meeting with him this evening. However, now and again she’d become distracted, and when she’d had to go back to the clinic for a third time to fetch something she’d forgotten, Sister Higgins, the senior district nurse, had not been best pleased.

  Danuta had managed to get through the day without mishap and she was now back at the clinic to clean her instruments and restock her medical bag. Glancing up at the clock, she noted it was almost time for her to go home, and began to fret about how to get changed and back out of Beach View without Peggy wanting to know where she was going, and with whom. Her reluctance to say anything wasn’t because her meeting with Stanislaw was a secret – nothing stayed secret for long in this town – but she didn’t want Peggy to get the wrong idea about things. After all, she reasoned, there was no harm in being friendly with Stanislaw, he was good company, and it was lovely to speak Polish again. Romance had absolutely nothing to do with it.

  Danuta briskly polished the leather bag with a soft cloth and then washed her hands thoroughly before taking off her cap and unpinning her hair. It had been brutally hacked off by the Gestapo, but now fell in thick black waves to just beneath her jaw.

  She ran a brush through it and wondered if she should leave it down for this evening or pin it up again. The Grove was a very smart restaurant that had opened just off the High Street during the VE Day celebrations and was rapidly becoming very popular with those who could afford to pay the prices they charged. Which posed a set of problems she hadn’t thought about when she’d rather foolishly accepted Stanislaw’s invitation. She didn’t think it would be right to expect him to pay for her dinner, but she couldn’t really afford to ‘go Dutch’ as the others called it – and then there was the fact she didn’t own anything halfway smart enough to wear.

  She put her hairbrush back in her shoulder bag and decided the whole thing had become far too complicated and worrisome. There was plenty of time to telephone the sanatorium at Cliffe and tell Stanislaw she couldn’t make it. She eyed the telephone, torn between wanting to see him and not wanting to see him, but before she could do anything, it began to ring.

  ‘Sister Danuta.’

  There was a pause as money was slotted into the public call box. ‘I know it’s the end of your shift, but I need you to get to Mrs Wilson at number seven, Exchange Lane,’ said Sister Florence Higgins. ‘She’s gone into labour, and I’m held up here with Mrs Frost.’

  ‘Mrs Wilson,’ murmured Danuta, swiftly writing down the address and checking the long list of expectant mothers pinned on the board. ‘This is her third baby, I see.’

  ‘Yes, and if it’s like her other deliveries, she’ll probably be making a lot of fuss and have it quite quickly, so you’d better get round there sharpish before that husband of hers passes out. I gave her the delivery pack last week, so she’s well prepared. I’m sorry to dump this on you, Danuta, but Mrs Frost is taking her time, and I daren’t leave her as this is her first and the poor little thing is scared witless. If you need me, I’ll be here.’

  Florence disconnected the call and Danuta quickly noted down Mrs Frost’s address in case someone had to fetch help. She then pinned up her hair again, settled her cap back on and picked up her bag, along with a small canister of gas and air, and a blanket. With a quick glance at the clock, she hurried outside, stowed everything in her bicycle basket and set off for Exchange Lane. She wouldn’t have time to phone Stanislaw now, but if Mrs Wilson had a quick delivery, then she might be able to get to the Grove before it closed.

  The two-up, two-down terraced house was close to the telephone exchange which was situated in the lane that ran parallel to the High Street. Danuta leaned her bike against the wall and grabbed her things out of the basket. She knocked on the shabby front door, noting the peeling paint on the window frame, and the snow-white lace curtains that hung behind the gleaming glass. The step had been recently scrubbed, and a small tub of petunias stood beside it. Mrs Wilson was clearly house-proud.

  ‘Thank goodness you’ve come.’ The harassed man who opened the door had a squalling toddler clinging to one leg and another squirming and hollering on his hip. ‘The wife’s upstairs screaming blue murder – which is upsetting the kids.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Wilson. I will go straight up while you see to the children.’

  Mr Wilson disappeared with them into the back of the house and Danuta hurried up the uncarpeted stairs. She followed the sound of the yells coming from the front bedroom and pushed open the door.

  ‘Now, now, Mrs Wilson,’ she soothed the red-faced woman in the bed. ‘What is all this noise?’

  ‘It bloody well hurts,’ she snapped. ‘You’d yell too if you felt you were trying to push out a flaming wrecking-ball. None of the others were like this. Something’s wrong, I just know it, and Fred’s worse than bloody useless.’

  ‘Your husband can’t really do much in the circumstances,’ Danuta said, putting her bag down on the bedside table. ‘But I’m here now, so we’ll get through this together.’

  ‘Yeah, this is flaming women’s work,’ Mrs Wilson growled. ‘We always get the rough end of the stick, don’t we?’

  Danuta reached into her bag for her stethoscope and slung it round her neck. ‘Let me examine you, Mrs Wilson, and then I will make you more comfortable.’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ she complained with a grimace. ‘This baby seems determined to stay where it is, and has been giving me gyp all bloody day.’

  Danuta gently felt the woman’s hard, swollen belly to determine how the baby was lying and to give her some idea of how big it was and if the head was engaged. Satisfied that all seemed well, she listened to the baby’s heartbeat and then examined her internally.

  ‘Baby is well on the way,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And you’re almost fully dilated, so it shouldn’t be long now.’ She grinned at Mrs Wilson. ‘It feels as if you’ve got a real whopper in there.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ the woman groaned. ‘It’s been like lugging a bag of coal about these past weeks.’ She tensed as she felt the onset of another labour pain. ‘Oh, Gawd, here we go again.’

  Danuta took her hand and timed the contraction. ‘Do try and relax and breathe through the pain as you were taught at the clinic. It will help enormously, believe me.’

  The woman eyed her belligerently, but calmed down and began to puff and blow as the pain swelled and finally ebbed.

  ‘When did the pains begin?’ asked Danuta. ‘And how far apart are they?’

  ‘My back’s been niggling all day, but it really started when I was scrubbing the front step and my waters broke. Bloody embarrassing it was, I tell you. The neighbours must have thought I’d wet myself.’ She gave a sigh and squirmed around in the tangled bed trying to get comfortable against the pillows. ‘They’re about five minutes apart at my reckoning, and getting more painful.’

  Danuta thought it was probably closer to two minutes, but said nothing as she plumped the pillows and pulled off the blanket and eiderdown, leaving just a sheet to cover her as it was warm in the neat little room. She saw that the bottom sheet had already been replaced by a rubber one, the cot was ready, and a small, clean white sheet had been prepared to wrap the baby in. But there was no jug of water, or bowl to wash in.

  ‘You look very hot,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to sponge you down?’

  ‘Yeah, that would be nice,’ Mrs Wilson replied, pushing back her hair from her sweating face.

  Danuta went to the door and called down for the husband to bring up a bowl and jug of warm water, and reached into her bag for a flannel, bar of soap and a small clean towel.

  Minutes later, Mr Wilson duly arrived carrying the water. ‘Has she had it yet? Only I don’t know what to do about the kids’ tea.’

  ‘No, I bloody well haven�
��t had it yet,’ snapped his wife. ‘Go and get fish and bloody chips.’

  ‘It’s Sunday,’ he said with a hapless droop to his shoulders. ‘The chippy’s shut.’

  Mrs Wilson glared at him and then began to groan as she was gripped by another contraction. ‘Sort him out, Sister. He’s driving me up the wall.’

  ‘I cannot leave you,’ said Danuta, giving up on trying to wash her. She turned to Mr Wilson who’d gone quite green and looked about to faint. ‘There will be things in the cupboard,’ she said, firmly pushing him out of the room. ‘Fish fingers, beans on toast, bread and jam, perhaps?’

  ‘I dunno,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Then you must find out, Mr Wilson. Your children are hungry.’ She shut the door on him and went back to check on Mrs Wilson who was now straining hard to push the baby out.

  ‘Don’t push, but pant,’ she ordered. ‘That’s it. Like a dog. If you push too hard too soon, you will tear and I will have to stitch you, and that will be most uncomfortable.’

  She quickly checked on the baby’s progress down the birth canal. ‘The baby has crowned. Gently now, gently does it. Now you may push – but not too hard.’

  Mrs Wilson didn’t need telling twice and she strained and groaned and panted, and with a mighty roar she delivered the baby’s head which was swiftly supported in Danuta’s hands.

  Danuta checked that the cord was free and not around the baby’s neck, and then encouraged Mrs Wilson to push again as hard as she liked when the urge came.

  Mrs Wilson gripped the sides of the bed and bore down with great determination, and Danuta caught the slippery little body, quickly cleaned the mucus from its nose and mouth and was rewarded with a lusty cry.

  ‘You have beautiful very big boy,’ she said, clamping the cord and tying it off before cutting it free.