by Maggie Ford
A nurse came cradling a small bundle, put it into the tiny crib beside the bed with its basic hospital trimmings, and smiled down at Eddie. ‘Congratulations, Mr Bennett. He is a lovely baby. What’re you going to call him? Or haven’t you settled on a name yet?’
‘Not yet.’ His own smile was stiff and the nurse, suspecting she was intruding, left in an indiscreet rustle of uniform, as Cissy stirred, opened her eyes and smiled at her husband for his approval.
Cissy, still bleary from the small amount of gas she’d been given to alleviate some of the birth pains, bore a look of utter happiness.
‘D’you like him?’ she mumbled. Eddie nodded, taking the hand she held out to him.
‘I’ve hardly seen him,’ she continued blissfully. ‘They took him away so quickly. But he’s ours now, darling. Our first child.’
It was a simple statement, one to make any father proud. But in its very simplicity it screamed, lie! ‘My first,’ he wanted to yell at her. ‘But your second.’
Cissy was frowning at him. ‘What’s the matter, darling? If you’re worried about me, I’m fine. It wasn’t half as bad as I’d imagined. Oh, it was hard work, but it was so quick.’ She was growing stronger by the minute, her face glowing. ‘He came out like a little wet rabbit. It was such a wonderful feeling. A boy. It’s just what we both wanted, wasn’t it? What shall we call him?’
Eddie was hardly listening. Tell me, his heart was imploring her. Tell me about the other one, how it all came about. Tell me, and I’ll love you to the end of time and forget all about that other life of yours. Only, tell me, please! He wanted to shake it out of her, but she was still frowning, perplexed, so he smiled down at her instead.
It was impossible to sleep. Pictures and voices marched through his head every time he closed his eyes; Cissy, happy if sleepy, asking him what they should call the baby – she had settled on Edward after him. He’d nodded in agreement, wondering what name she’d settled on for the other child she’d had. Had it been a boy or a girl? Pictures floated against his eyelids, of her being made love to by someone else; of her and her friend Daisy bringing up the child, playing with it, making plans for it.
Tossing and turning he tried to think of other things, but it was hopeless. In the end he got up and made a cup of tea, in the process disturbing his mother who got up too.
‘If only she’d tell me, right out,’ he sighed, as in the small cold hours they sat opposite each other at the small dining table beside the sofa he used as a bed. His mother suddenly reached out and took his hand.
‘You’ve got to face ’er with it.’ He tried to avoid her intense regard, but she held him with her earnestness. ‘What ’appened with her was before you and ’er met again. She was free to do what she pleased. It wasn’t right, and far be it from me to condemn your own wife to your face, but two wrongs don’t make a right. I don’t say I forgive ’er but I do pity ’er for what ’appened. It can ’appen to any gel.’
‘Only those who go looking for it,’ he put in sourly.
‘Any gel what thinks she’s in love,’ she persisted. ‘Or in the clutches of some ’eartless swine what makes her think she’s in love. I thought about it a lot yesterday, Eddie, and I reckon that we shouldn’t judge what we don’t know. I think the past should be put behind the pair of you, or it’ll muck up yer marriage. Forgive ’er, Eddie. That’s my advice.’
Eddie studied his rapidly cooling tea. ‘I don’t want to face her with it. All I want is for her to come to me and say that our son ain’t the only baby she’s ’ad. All the time she keeps it to ’erself, she’s lying. All I want is ’er to tell me, herself. But I ain’t goin’ ter make ’er tell me. If she don’t tell me ’erself – if she’s living a lie – then this ain’t no marriage, nor ever will be. She’s got to come to me of ’er own free will. Otherwise it don’t mean nothing.’
His mother let go his hand and took a sip of tea. ‘I can’t ’elp you there, luv. I can’t see no way out of what you’re wanting.’
After she had gone back to bed, her older body unused to the burning of midnight oil, claiming the stronger need to sleep, Eddie sat on in the glare of the central electric light, always more stark in the small silent hours, and stared into space, his brain churning over a mass of unformed thoughts.
But after a day or so, something constructive had come out of the muddle in his mind. His mother was right – she was never going to tell him. It was too much to hope for. And so he would tell her. Far better out in the open than bottling up in unspoken resentment maybe. In this he was resolved.
Before that, however, he had to be sure and not go accusing her on the back of half-truths. He would write to Daisy. With the truth she might in some way alleviate the pressures building up inside him.
Two days before Cissy and her baby son were due to come home, while his mother was down in the shop, Eddie went to the drawer that was Cissy’s. There had to be a letter somewhere from her friend which would give the address. He found a pile of letters stuffed at the back of the drawer, neatly pinned together minus their envelopes for room, each one from Daisy.
There, like some sneak thief, he sat on the edge of the bed reading account after account of a beloved daughter. Words written as though endeavouring to console a bereaved parent. They spoke so plainly of a mother whose love for her absent daughter had torn at her heart that it tore at his too, and sent waves of pity flying towards her. How had she borne it? How could he hate her, so broken by that estrangement?
There were several tiny pictures, stark in black and white: Noelle at eighteen months he judged, in a high chair, sunshine streaming in at a window. Her prettiness clutched at him with something very near to pain. She bore no resemblance to her mother as he could see, pretty as Cissy was. She had to take after the father, obviously handsome – unlike himself. A wreath of hatred for the unknown man coiled itself around inside him. How could Cissy love someone like himself after that? In his mind he saw the handsome couple they must have made.
Unfolding yet another letter, he studied the picture – one of the child taken in a garden setting surrounded by toys; another, a little older in a snowy park playing with a middle-aged man in a fur-collared coat and a fedora hat, he looked like Daisy’s German husband; yet another, older still, the rosebud lips open in a smile, cuddling her foster mother as though she were her true mother.
Unable to help himself, he began to read the letter accompanying the photograph, the date well over a year before:
‘Cissy, dear, give it time. I know how you are feeling. I find it bad enough yearning for a child of my own. But you having to leave Noelle behind, and knowing how that beast of a man left you, I know how much it must hurt. All I can say is times will get better for you, I know they will, and before you know it you’ll be sending for her…’
Eddie’s eyes misted. Such pain, and such pain too from the foster mother who was finding more and more love for a child not her own.
Putting it aside, Eddie selected the most recent one, lying on top of the rest, dated only a few weeks ago:
‘Dear Cissy – I’m overjoyed. I’ve felt for a long time that you and Noelle were drifting apart. I mean you don’t often see her now. But I never dared expect to hear you say I could take her on as though she were mine. Of course I shall bring her up with all the love I’d give to my own child, if I had one. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have children. There seems to be no reason for it, but some of us aren’t blessed that way. Though Teddy says when we go to live in Germany, which will be at the end of this year, he will arrange for all the tests to be done again, the hospitals in Germany being the most efficient in the world, even if it costs all he has – and as you know, we’re not as well off as we once were. This Depression seems to be hanging on for ever. Things must alter soon. But Teddy says it will be better for us once we get to Dusseldorf – I’ll send you the address when we get there. He loves Noelle too, like she was his own daughter. She calls him Papa now, or Vater which is German for fathe
r. He is teaching her German. She already speaks French now she mixes with other children. She’s very bright, you know. I know how you fretted for her at one time and I understood, but now you’ve got Eddie and the baby’ll be here soon – to tell the truth, I’d be devastated parting with Noelle now, she’s like my own child to me. And I’m so absolutely thrilled you’ve come to a decision about letting her go to me. I know you’ve done the right thing…’
Where Eddie had felt pity, a readiness to understand, now there was anger, returning with renewed vigor. Cissy was still acting out her lie, to the extent of forsaking her own daughter. That she’d loved Noelle once there was no denying by the tone of Daisy’s letters, yet now here she was ready to give her away. It vaguely occurred to him that it was being done for love for him, that he should be overwhelmed by the sacrifice, but it struck him so unnatural and monstrous, that he clouded his vision to that initial thought, saw instead someone clinging to the first straw that had come her way, him, even though that straw was soggy and in danger of sinking. Was that all he was to her, just something to cling to with her business floundering? Had she ever loved him? He wanted to weep. Instead he clenched his teeth and folded the letter slowly, putting the letters and photographs into their right places, and pulling Cissy’s undies over them, closed the drawer.
When Cissy came home, happy and bubbly, her son in her arms, he had already drawn a line under his resolve to tell her what he knew. Since reading her letters, he no longer wanted her to break down and confess all as it were. He wanted to hear nothing of her pain, the anguish she might have suffered throughout those lonely years, how she had been forsaken by a man she had trusted and, he had no doubt, loved, of having to sacrifice her daughter to another’s care while she tried to make a decent home for her. If he had been asked to listen to it all, he felt he might have throttled her. All he wanted was to go on with his life as though he had no knowledge of any of it, even though it was all but breaking his heart.
With his new resolve, he even managed to smile at her as she came home with their son.
Mrs Bennett regarded her son as he prepared for work. Five in the morning but already past dawn, being only just the other side of the longest day of the year.
Eddie started early, doing all he could to keep work coming in, he did a lot of the paperwork himself now, only just able to afford a girl part-time; sometimes having to go out and slog long hours on the Cicely to save paying a skipper, the old tug coaxed every inch of the way upstream and down, sometimes not coming home until after midnight if work had come his way. It was such a pity. He’d always been a hard worker, dedicated, and a darn good tugman, and he deserved better.
He seemed so down these days. A wife and baby to feed now, yet he was still looked on as fortunate by others, not only being in work but having a business, even though that business was floundering with next to nothing coming in. Still owing money to the bank to keep him going, them breathing down his neck every so often, people didn’t realise there was as much pressure on him as those out of work. There was the Cicely to be maintained, a crew to be paid, his office lighting and heating to be paid, a girl to do his paperwork if only part-time, and a dozen other things. He could give up the office premises perhaps, and work from home to save money, but how could you meet prospective clients in the back room of a poky little flat above a shop and still give confidence of a thriving business? It was true what they said: once you’re down, no one wants to pick you up. Well, that’s how it seemed to her. And all the time she watched her son silently bearing his burden, keeping his worries to himself, not even sharing them with his wife. Mrs Bennett felt her heart go out to him as she removed his empty cereal bowl and his teacup to wash up.
She always got up with him, making breakfast and a sandwich or two to take with him for midday. She didn’t mind. It compensated for what he was doing for her, and she was always up early.
Cissy was still sleeping. Eddie wanted it that way. She had been up for much of the night as Edward was restless. She would awake shortly, wash and dress little Edward, give him his feed, then put him down and open up the shop.
For the first few weeks after Edward was born, Cissy had pottered around a little, but had soon begun to take over again. Not that Mrs Bennett minded. She had hated serving in that shop, glad to take a back seat. And it wasn’t that Cissy was ungrateful for all she’d done. But it did leave a funny feeling having to hand over the reins after all she had been doing. If anyone had asked her what she felt, she couldn’t have said, except that it was a funny feeling. It would soon be time she went home. And anyway, she couldn’t go on doing Eddie out of his bed, could she? No, she could see the light was flickering.
She was happy with the arrangements they’d been discussing last weekend. In a couple of weeks she would go back home and come over each day to look after Edward while Cissy was in the shop, where she apparently couldn’t wait to be. She’d get the last workman’s tram from Canning Town to Shoreditch, then a bus along Bethnal Green Road. Eddie would provide her fare and she’d have her meals here. It would keep her busy, stop her fretting for Alf, save her money on food, and she much preferred looking after the baby than tending that terrifying shop. In fact she couldn’t wait to have Edward in her care. Her only treasured grandchild, who wouldn’t be? The sweet little love.
‘I’m really looking forward to our new arrangements, Eddie,’ she said as she packed his sandwiches.
He was about ready to leave. He stood looking at her. ‘Are you sure it’ll be all right, Mum? I know you agreed, but…’
‘Of course it’s all right,’ she said quickly, handing him his packet of sandwiches and the flask of tea.
He eyed her uncertainly. ‘It’s not like it’s just round the corner. There’s all that travelling, you gettin’ up so early, and you’re not as young as you was.’
‘It’ll be the making of me.’ She smiled. ‘Now off you go.’
‘You’ve done so much for us.’ He stood his ground. ‘It feels like we’re turning you out after all you’ve done.’
‘You ain’t turning me out. I can’t go on for ever taking your bed. No, luv, it’ll give me something to get up in the mornings for, coming over ’ere to give eye to the baby. I can be near and watch ’im grow. Not all grans can say that. You’ll never know what a tonic to me it’ll be looking after ’im – so like his grandad.’
‘If you’re sure we ain’t making a convenience of you, Mum.’
‘Of course you ain’t. I’m only too ’appy. Now go on.’
She bustled him out, then after the door to the street had closed on Eddie, went down to the tiny back kitchen behind the shop and came up with fresh tea all to herself before going to wake Cissy.
Sipping the hot brew, sitting at the dining table in the temporary quietness of the living room, she smiled contemplatively. It was true what she’d said, they’d never know that even at his tender age, Edward was going to be good for her, would give her something far greater in return for that which she was doing for him.
And so it did. The strength she gained from looking after him grew steadily, like someone fast recovering from some illness. As the days slid into weeks, she rose to each day with renewed vigor, eager to be off, leaving her house around eight with a new spring in her step, clambering aboard the last workman’s, swaying to the tram’s jolting, along with office and factory girls still in jobs, feeling as young as them; no longer found herself mourning for Alf quite as regularly as she had. Of course, she could not help thinking from time to time that had he been here to see his grandson, he’d have been so proud, and she would shed a little tear at the oddest of times for what might have been.
The baby looked so much like him, even at this age. When he grew up, Eddie would take him into his business and he would become strong and sinewy like his father, like Alf had been. Take Edward into the business? That was if there was any business to take him into.
Eddie hadn’t been able to make a go of it at all since his fathe
r had died. Sometimes she would look at him and feel it was killing him, bit by bit. Worry over a business had no right to make a man look as Eddie looked. But there was nothing she could do to help, except take care of Edward for him while he and Cissy worked to make ends meet, and just hope they would finally rise up out of the financial rut that this country’s never-ending crisis seemed to be digging for them, for everyone. Where it would all end, she sometimes dreaded to think.
Closing the door behind him, Eddie walked swiftly, his stride long, his haversack bumping against his hip. At this time of year dawn had a special feeling to it, a clarity that was all its own and he took deep fortifying breaths of its freshness, filling his lungs.
Bethnal Green Road was deserted, quiet, inviting time to think. Once he gained Commercial Street, things would come alive, trams rattling and whining, early morning lorries rumbling, bikes – droves of them – weaving in and out of traffic, avoiding tram lines sunk into the road like small curving ravines, bells tinkling, riders chatting as they peddled. There would be a flock of workmen around his stop, all at the ready to push and shove to get on when the tram arrived. Until then, he savoured the quietness of the morning.
But that led to thinking, and thinking these days was disastrous, leading to worrying about business, the little it brought in, and in turn to thinking about Cissy.
He didn’t want to think of Cissy. He concentrated his thoughts on little Edward, for a moment smiled to himself. The lad was growing so fast, so robust, it was amazing, magical, how he had changed in three months from the little scrap of helplessness he’d been, to a sturdy-fleshed, arm-flailing little person who already knew his own mind.