by Pamela Evans
Jane’s faith in her own judgement was tested to the limits over the next few days because she met with strong opposition from all sides about the cottage. Even her normally peaceable father was fierce in his objections to it, threatening to go to the council and demand they house her to prevent her from moving into such a hell-hole. Her proposed move drew a similar response from Mick’s parents and from Marie and Eddie.
But, nonetheless, a week or so later, she was in possession of the key, having persuaded her father to lend her the required month’s rent in advance which she would pay back in instalments. He’d also agreed to come round and babysit in the evenings while she was at work at the factory, and insisted she have the bed settee and the camp beds and various other bits and pieces of furniture that weren’t essential to him.
Although extremely doubtful about the project, Marie did what she could to help. Rita Parker suddenly decided to have new curtains in her living room and insisted on adapting her old ones for Jane to use until she could afford better. She also agreed to look after all the children so that Jane and Marie could clean the cottage. Even Wilf Parker made a contribution in the form of a paraffin heater he used to heat his van, saying he had been going to replace it soon anyway.
‘You’ve all been wonderful,’ Jane said to Marie as they worked together to make the cottage habitable. ‘I’m sure I don’t deserve it.’
‘You’re right, you don’t,’ agreed Marie playfully. ‘Giving us all forty fits by moving into a place that ought to be demolished, not lived in. But since you’re determined, someone’s got to give you a hand.’
‘It’s really good of you to come and help me clean it up.’
‘You can count it as a mark of true friendship,’ said Marie, affectionately teasing her. ‘I don’t like cleaning at the best of times. But you can’t move in as it is, and you can’t do it all on your own . . . not in your condition.’
Jane was genuinely touched by her friend’s help and knew Marie’s blunt comments were her way of coping with the emotional moment.
Standing back for a moment from the ancient gas cooker she was cleaning, Jane cast her eye over the kitchen walls which were covered in heavily patterned floral wallpaper which had browned with age and was dominated by enormous, once-yellow sunflowers, now a mucky beige shade, their green leaves khaki and resembling food stains.
‘Dreadful, isn’t it?’ said Marie, who was washing the kitchen door.
‘Hideous,’ agreed Jane. ‘I can’t wait to get the walls stripped.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to wait for a while, aren’t you?’ Marie reminded her with a warning look.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten,’ said Jane, because she had promised her worried relatives that the actual painting and decorating would have to wait until after the baby was born.
‘That wallpaper will take some living with, though,’ said Marie.
‘The ruddy stuff is all over the place like measles,’ said Jane. ‘I think the owner must have had a thing about sunflowers.’
‘I think they must have too,’ laughed Marie. ‘I quite like them myself in the garden but not all over the walls.’
‘The whole place will be so much lighter when the wallpaper has gone,’ said Jane thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Her friend nodded, wringing out her cleaning cloth in a bowl and looking around.
‘What sort of colours do you fancy?’ she asked casually.
‘Sunshine yellow in here, definitely,’ said Jane, glancing around the kitchen which was much roomier than it looked from the outside.
‘What about the other rooms?’
‘Well . . . maybe a warm peach colour in the living room. The children can choose what colours they want in their bedroom.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘It will be when it’s all finished,’ she said, ‘but it will have to be done very gradually because of the expense.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I shall haunt jumble sales and junk stalls in the market to get a few bits of furniture and nick-nacks to make it more homely.’
‘It’s the only way.’
‘I’m going to try to get a cleaning job where I can take the kids with me,’ said Jane, ‘to add to my earnings from the factory.’
‘You might get something in one of those big riverside houses.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping.’
‘You’ll have to have some time off for the baby, though, won’t you?’
‘Of course, and it’s worrying me to death because I can’t afford not to be earning for long. I’ll just have to wait and see how it works out.’
They continued working for a while longer, then ate a companionable lunch of cheese sandwiches and coffee from a flask, the paraffin heater taking the chill off the house. They sat on the stairs feeding titbits to Shadow who had been adopted as a family pet and was already showing the benefit of regular meals.
When they left that afternoon, Jane felt as though they had really made progress.
‘Another few days and we’ll have done enough for me to be able to move in,’ she said as they sat on the bus back to the Berrywood Estate, to collect the children from her mother-in-law’s.
‘Then for the difficult part,’ laughed Marie.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Actually living there.’
‘Oh, Marie . . .’
‘Only teasing,’ she said. ‘I think you’re crazy but I admire your guts.’
Jane was most uncomfortable in bed that night. She was churning with excitement about moving into the cottage but, as well as that, her tummy felt odd and unsettled. Adding to her discomfort, too, was the fact that she couldn’t lie on her side because of her enlarged proportions; she was also being driven to the bathroom every half hour because of the effects of pregnancy.
Fortunately the children were fast asleep. Rita had taken them to the park and worn them out. But sleep still eluded Jane. She felt achy and sick and had a dragging pain in her stomach and back which she’d had quite often lately. She hoped she wasn’t going down with anything. She didn’t have time to be ill - not with the cottage to be finished.
Her eyes were itchy and sore with tiredness but she just couldn’t go off to sleep. She propped the pillows up behind her to see if that would help. It didn’t. Eventually nature took its course and she drifted into a fitful sleep.
When she came to with a start she thought she’d been asleep for ages, but a glance at the luminous hands on the alarm clock told her that only an hour had passed. Through the muddled mists of drowsiness she realised she was feeling really ill now. The stomach ache was worse. It couldn’t be the baby - not yet. She wasn’t even seven months.
Realising that she must yield to nature yet again, she heaved herself out of bed and made her way cautiously to the bathroom in the dark so as not to disturb anyone, switching on the light only when she got inside.
Emerging a few moments later, she was shaking all over and deathly white. She staggered into the living room and turned on the light. Her father stirred on the put-u-up.
‘What’s going on?’ he muttered.
‘Dad, can you go to the phone box and call an ambulance, please?’ she said, keeping her voice down and trying not to show how frightened she was.
‘Ambulance?’ he said, leaping out of bed. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’
‘I’m bleeding . . . quite heavily,’ Jane explained through dry lips. ‘I need to get to hospital - urgently.’
Chapter Seven
The new admission in the bed next to Jane’s in the gynaecological ward was extremely chatty, which was irritating because all Jane wanted was to be left alone to recover from the strain of putting on a cheerful front for the visitors who had just left. She felt utterly drained, as though she’d lost every vestige of energy as well as her baby, and the last thing she wanted was a conversation with someone she didn’t know.
‘You have two lovely children,’ said the woman of whom Jane
knew nothing except that her name was Margaret.
‘Thank you. I think they’re pretty special,’ she said, warming at the mention of her children who had visited her this evening along with her father, Marie and Rita.
‘At least you already have children,’ remarked Margaret.
‘Well, yes,’ said Jane, not sure what she was getting at.
‘I suppose that must help . . .’
‘Help?’
‘Make you feel less bad about losing one,’ she explained.
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ snapped Jane.
‘Sorry . . . I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said wearily.
Jane lay back and closed her eyes, hoping her neighbour would take the hint and leave her alone with her thoughts. The staff here were very kind and understanding. They said she was bound to feel low. Losing a baby was a very traumatic thing. And she’d had a full anaesthetic for the routine post-miscarriage D and C operation, which could also have a depressing effect.
She had blamed herself for the miscarriage, thinking she had overdone it when working at the cottage. But that wasn’t the reason apparently. The doctor had said she would have miscarried anyway. They had discovered that the baby hadn’t been progressing as it should.
It was as though she had been plunged back into hell after recovering slightly from Mick’s departure. Two days ago she’d been looking forward to the future in the cottage with Davey and Pip and their new brother or sister. Now there was no new baby, only emptiness and pain. It had been a boy, apparently. Another little boy. Oh, how she would have loved him!
She tried to find comfort in the thought that it was all for the best because the pregnancy had never been right, had not felt right from the beginning. But it didn’t help.
Hot tears swelled beneath her lids and meandered down her cheeks. There was nothing she could do to stop them. She turned over on to her side away from Margaret and cried quietly, hiding her face in the pillow. The other women in the ward diplomatically excluded her from their chatter now. Eventually she dozed off from sheer exhaustion and was woken by the nurse bringing round the cocoa.
‘Feeling better?’ asked the loquacious Margaret when Jane sat up to drink her cocoa.
‘A little,’ she said drowsily.
‘I’m sorry to have upset you earlier,’ she said with genuine concern. ‘That was the last thing I intended. I don’t think before I speak, that’s my trouble.’
‘You didn’t upset me.’
‘Oh, I thought I’d made you cry?’
‘That wasn’t your fault,’ said Jane, eager to reassure her because she sounded so worried. ‘It’s probably the after effects of the anaesthetic making me so weepy.’
‘It was insensitive of me, though.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I really envy you,’ said Margaret, cradling her cocoa mug in her hands.
‘Me?’ said Jane, who at the moment couldn’t feel less like a figure of envy.
‘Yes. I suppose that was what made me say such a silly thing earlier . . . about your feeling less bad about your miscarriage because you already have children. I’m so desperate for a baby, I tend to see everything from my own point of view.’
‘You don’t have any children, then?’
‘No. We’ve been trying for a family for ten years without success.’
‘What a shame.’
‘Yes. That’s why I’m in here, actually, for some adjustments that might help. They can’t guarantee anything, of course, but even if it increases my chances only fractionally, it’s worth doing.’
‘If it means that much to you . . . well, yes,’ agreed Jane.
‘Time’s getting on for me,’ the other woman continued. ‘If it doesn’t soon happen, it will be too late.’
Jane kept a diplomatic silence.
‘It’s a terrible feeling when you can’t have a child,’ Margaret went on. ‘It takes over your whole life.’
Turning to look at her properly, Jane thought she was probably in her late-thirties, a rounded woman with soft golden-brown eyes and a look of kindness about her. Jane felt bad about having been so sharp with her earlier.
‘I’m sure it must be awful,’ she said in a much more sympathetic manner. ‘But there’s still time left for you.’
‘It’s running out fast, though.’
‘Perhaps this operation will do the trick?’ said Jane, wanting to reassure her, her own sorrow seeming suddenly less all-consuming.
‘Oh, if only that were true . . . I’d be the happiest woman alive!’
‘You wouldn’t be in here if they didn’t think there was a very good chance, would you?’ Jane pointed out. ‘They wouldn’t waste their time. Busy people, doctors.’
‘Yes, there is that.’
They chatted around the subject for a long time with Jane making a real effort to boost Margaret’s confidence. When the conversation turned to Davey and Pip, she felt truly blessed.
‘I feel a lot better for having a chat,’ said Margaret as they settled down for the night.
‘Me too,’ said Jane. ‘In fact, talking to someone has really helped.’
‘Good.’
She fell asleep thinking about Davey and Pip and longing to be back with them. The loss of her third child was a bitter disappointment but the others were alive and needed her. How lucky she was!
She was reunited with her children a few days later when Marie and Eddie came to collect her from the hospital in Eddie’s car, and brought them along.
‘It’s ever so good of you to bring me home,’ said Jane, after hugs and kisses had been exchanged and she had settled into the back of the car with the children. ‘I hope you didn’t have to take time off from work ’specially, though, Eddie?’
‘I’m on late shift today so it worked out very well.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘We’ve left Mel and Roy with Mum,’ explained Marie. ‘I thought four kids might be a bit too much for someone just out of hospital.’
Jane was grateful to them for that because she did feel rather frail. She’d been told to take it easy for a few days, which was virtually impossible with two young children to look after. Now that she was out of hospital, she found herself worrying about all the work left to do on the cottage before they could move in. She certainly didn’t feel up to tackling it at the moment.
They were all so busy chattering, Eddie missed the turning to the Berrywood Estate.
‘You’ve passed the turning to Dad’s place, Eddie,’ Jane told him.
Everyone was very quiet suddenly.
‘We’re going to . . .’ began Pip, but was silenced by Davey who told her to ‘Shush’.
‘We’ve got a ...’
‘Shut up!’ admonished her brother.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Jane.
‘Nothing,’ said Davey, giggling.
He was joined by his sister and they rocked and squealed with laughter.
‘See how happy they are to have their mother back,’ said Marie with a smile.
Jane smiled too, from the sheer joy of being with them.
‘Have you got to go somewhere else before taking me home?’ she asked when Eddie didn’t turn back towards the Berrywood Estate.
‘Something like that,’ replied Marie.
They seemed to be heading towards the river, Jane noticed. When Eddie drew up in the street near the cottage where he usually parked the car because Tug Lane was too narrow, Jane was really concerned.
‘Eddie, I’m staying at Dad’s place until I’ve time to get the cottage ready to live in,’ she reminded him. ‘I should have mentioned it before we set off but I thought you already knew? Now you’ve come all this way for nothing.’
The children were convulsed and Jane could see from Marie’s quivering shoulders that she was laughing too. What was the matter with everyone?
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Eddie, and he had a smile in his voice too. ‘Ha
ve you forgotten that moggy of yours? He needs feeding.’
‘Oh, of course,’ she said, because he’d promised to go to the cottage every day to feed Shadow while she was in hospital, having got the key from her father.
‘Are you coming in to say hello to the cat?’ he asked lightly.
‘I don’t think I can face the mess in there until I’m feeling a bit stronger.’
‘Oh . . . all right,’ he said, sounding disappointed for some reason. ‘The kids will come in with me, won’t you?’
There was an affirmative cry.
‘Come in for a minute, Mummy,’ said Davey. ‘Just to see how much fatter Shadow is getting now that we’re feeding him properly.’
‘Please, Mummy?’ added Pip.
‘You might as well,’ said Marie, getting out of the car.
‘Okay, you’ve twisted my arm,’ said Jane.
‘Don’t worry about the mess,’ advised Marie as they walked around the corner to the front entrance of the cottage. ‘We’ll get cracking on it together once you’re back on form.’
Eddie opened the front door and hurried inside, followed speedily by Marie and Pip and Davey, everybody rushing ahead of Jane which struck her as rather odd. The reason soon became obvious, however, as she stood transfixed in the doorway which led directly into the living room.
Gone was the ugly old wallpaper. The walls were now plain and a delicate shade of peach, which emphasised the wooden beams. The floorboards had been scrubbed, the murky green paintwork was now pure white, and there was a log fire glowing in the gleaming fireplace.
‘Well?’ said Marie to her stunned friend. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Like it? I love it . . . but who . . . how?’ She shook her head, her heart so full she could hardly speak. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
‘Marie organised it,’ said Eddie. ‘She’s been behind us with a whip.’
‘Eddie and me and your dad did the work between us,’ she explained, looking very pleased with herself. ‘We’ve spent every spare second here. My mum’s been looking after all the children so we could get on with it and have it finished in time for your homecoming.’