by Janet Woods
‘Julia, my sweet. A baby changes things considerably. It will need a loving, stable home and the reassurance of being cared for by its parents. Are you really sure?’
‘Well . . . no, because there’s no way I could know for sure . . . but I wanted it to be ours.’
‘Wanting it is something entirely different. Besides, you said you were using that birth control cap . . . You did wear it, didn’t you?’
She didn’t answer. ‘What shall we do?’
‘We have two choices. The first is that we can tell Latham that we love each other, and you can leave him and move in with me. I’m going back to my profession, and will have to be retrained. I might be able to find another job and put the retraining off until later. It will be hard, but we’d manage somehow.’
She shuddered at the thought of what would happen when they told Latham. ‘And the alternative?’
‘You know what the alternative is. You must settle down in your marriage with Latham and your child, and make the best of it. What’s more, we must never see each other again. I’ll probably move back to Bournemouth eventually. We can’t go on like we are, Julia. It’s not fair to anyone, least of all the coming infant. I wasn’t brought up to embrace dishonesty and subterfuge. If you’d seen Latham’s face when he told me, he was so proud . . . Julia . . . for God’s sake, stop crying, my darling . . . We have to be strong. You never answered my question about the birth control device. We need to be rational, since there is more to this than us. The infant’s future should also be taken into consideration.’
If she left Latham and went with Martin she’d be the cause of him having to give up his career. In fact, if she went with him, she would most likely ruin his future altogether. Hadn’t he been through enough?
Tears flooded her cheeks as she took the course that would be the most secure for the man she loved. ‘I did wear it,’ she lied, ‘but perhaps it didn’t work.’
‘That’s unlikely. The child is more likely to be Latham’s, you know.’
‘I know. I just didn’t want it to be his. Can I think about it a bit longer? If it’s Latham’s baby . . . well, it wouldn’t be fair to deprive the child of its father’s love. I’ll be in touch when I’ve decided, Martin.’
They both knew she would do no such thing and this was the end. ‘Once you have your baby in your arms everything will seem different and you’ll be able to see things in their proper perspective.’
‘Yes, I expect you’re right. You won’t think badly of me, will you? For coming to you, for loving you so much; I mean . . . I couldn’t bear it if you did.’
‘Never, Julia. I’ll adore every memory of you until the day I die. By the way, the letter I sent to my mother was returned. She hasn’t lived at that address for years.’
‘Oh, how disappointing. I’m so sorry.’
She didn’t want to hang up but thought she’d better get it over with before Latham realised they were still talking on the telephone. ‘Goodbye, my love.’ And then she gave a watery chuckle. ‘We sound like actors in a film . . . a melodramatic story of unrequited love.’
‘We are a love story, just remember that.’
‘Yes, we are,’ she whispered as she hung up, ‘because I’ll never stop loving you.’
Martin knew that the time had come for him to move on. He’d loved and lost – and although Julia was a permanent part of his heart he’d survive the inevitable conclusion to their affair. Knowing she loved him might even have strengthened him.
He would think things over, and come up with a plan before he told Latham. No, this was the incentive he’d needed. He would tell him now, give him time to think it over and get someone else.
He gazed to where Latham Miller stood, hands in pockets as he watched the machine being installed. It would thump all day, stamping out metal objects and gradually causing deafness in the employees.
Martin joined him. ‘That’s going to be noisy. The workers should be supplied with earmuffs.’
‘Factories are noisy places. They’ll soon get used to it.’
Latham was an enigmatic man with strength of purpose and a streak of ruthlessness.
‘I’ve decided to retrain and resume my former profession.’
His employer turned, his dark eyes giving nothing of his thoughts away, and making no attempt to retain Martin on his staff, which did little for his pride. ‘When do you want to leave?’
‘I was thinking that a month’s notice would give us both time to make arrangements. I’ll stay longer if you get stuck.’
Latham nodded. ‘I won’t get stuck; I’ll promote a foreman from one of my other factories to take over the running of the place as manager. In fact, I’ll send him over to work with you so the factory hands will know what to expect when you leave. Some people don’t take kindly to changes in management and methods, and that will give them time to get used to a different way of doing things. My staff have always been interchangeable, and the man I have in mind will get the best out of the factory hands. If you decide to leave earlier, I’ll still pay you out for the month and will leave instructions with the clerk.’ He held out a hand. ‘If I don’t see you again, good luck, Lee-Trafford.’
His imminent departure was not going to bother Latham Miller one little bit. In fact, Martin had gained the impression that the man was relieved.
Miller was about to walk away when he said, ‘Have you got rid of all those toys yet? If not, throw them out; we’ll need the storage area in a few weeks.’
‘I thought we could donate what’s left to an orphanage.’
‘A good idea. I’ll arrange some publicity in one of the newspapers for the handover day. I’ll bring Julia up to London, and they can take a photograph of us with the orphans. It will be good for business. See to it, would you? I’ll take one of the rocking horses home for the nursery, too. Julia will like that. Robert will come in for it later. Pick one out and give it a dust off if you would.’
It sounded as though Latham wasn’t bothered about him handing in his notice, and indeed, he had taken it into account and planned his replacement. What a cold fish the man was.
‘You must be pleased about the coming baby. You’re a lucky man to be married to such a lovely woman.’
An expansive smile lit Latham’s face. ‘It was more judgement than luck. A baby will settle Julia down a bit. She’s been restless since her father died, which is why I asked you to take her to that play. Planning for a baby will keep her occupied. By the way, I believe you paid for the dinner yourself . . . You must allow me to reimburse you.’
‘That won’t be necessary. It was my pleasure to spend an evening in the company of such a delightful woman.’ And the nights, Martin added silently, the next moment hating his own hypocrisy.
‘I wouldn’t trust any other man with my wife’s care, Lee-Trafford, so thank you. I’ll be able to spend more time with her once this place is up to scratch.’
Martin picked out a grey dappled horse with a dark mane and red leather accessories. It was one that the baby’s grandfather had painted the spots on and signed his name to. Martin’s fingertips ran over the name. Benjamin Howard. Julia would like that. As he cleaned the dust from it he knew it was one he’d pick for his own son if he had one, and he allowed himself to wonder for just a moment . . . what if? But no, Julia had taken precautions; and just as well in the absence of his lack of foresight. Bringing women home wasn’t a habit he indulged himself in.
There was a package of Rosie dolls left on a shelf. He decided to keep those for himself and took them down to the office.
Harold Clapton arrived the following week. He was loud and hectoring, but he knew his job, and Martin found himself almost redundant.
‘You’ve got to make the lazy buggers work,’ he said the following day. ‘I’ve got my eye on that spotty young man over there. He’s slow, and he needs a boot up his backside.’
‘He hasn’t had much education and doesn’t learn easily, but he’s a willing worker when he’s shown
how to do it. His wage helps to support his family.’
‘With respect, Miller Enterprises is not a charity, Mr Lee-Trafford.’
The following week the young man was dismissed without notice. ‘I’ve cleared it with Mr Miller,’ Harold said. ‘I’ve got to get this factory into production and showing a profit by the end of next month, else I’ll be out of work myself. There’s no room for slackers. I don’t know why you’re staying on to work out your notice. You’ve cleaned out the toys, and there’s nothing left for you to do.’
‘Are you implying that I’m a slacker, Mr Clapton?’
He shrugged. ‘I know that you’re not. You’re superfluous to the factory work-force, that’s all. I understand you’re going back to doctoring.’
‘If they’ll have me.’
‘Thank your lucky stars that you’ve got skills you can fall back on, otherwise you’d be doing this sort of job for the rest of your life, like I’ll have to. This is the best I’ll ever be. I was lucky to get back from the war with nothing more than a bullet in my arse. I married a widow to save her and her kids from starving. She’s a good woman who rarely complains. Four kids now, and we live in a two up, two down terrace with a coldwater pump and a lavatory in the backyard shared with the occupants of half a dozen other terraces, with built-in rats and cockroaches. If I were a doctor I’d be going to where I could do the most good . . . and not be doing a job where a lesser man could be employed.’
Martin took his advice. He drew his pay, and left.
A few days later he cut a picture from the newspaper. Julia had a wide smile on her face as she supported a newly bathed orphan with a pale skin, stick-thin limbs and starving eyes, who was clutching a soft toy. A glass of milk would have done the child more good.
Harold had been right in that he did possess skills, Martin thought. And he could put them to good use once he’d updated them.
He gazed at Julia again, and could see the tension behind her brilliant smile. She was wearing a saucy-looking hat with a feather in it. Latham gazed fondly down at her, his hand possessing her shoulder.
Separating her from her husband, Martin put the picture in the frame behind that of his parents. It was a pity Latham’s hand was still there, keeping her under his thumb.
He had an appointment with Hugh Cahill later in the day. Hugh and two other eminent doctors would comprise his board of examiners.
He was given a physical medical examination and asked questions on various aspects of doctoring, as well as his war service. They quizzed him for an hour, then pronounced him fit to resume his career.
Hugh Cahill invited him to dinner at his club afterwards. ‘You look well, Martin. What are your plans now, back to surgery?’
‘I’ve been out of the system too long. I was thinking of gaining some experience in obstetrics and gynaecology, then working as a locum before going into general practice with my own rooms in Bournemouth. I have the premises.’
‘A good idea, since there has been a steady upsurge of babies being born since the war ended. I might be able to help you out with both at the same time, if you don’t mind moving out of London.’
‘To where?’
‘The Northeast . . . a slum area. Colifield to be exact.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘It’s not far from Newcastle. You’ll get plenty of experience . . . and some repair work from the occasional home curettage.’
‘You’re supposed to report such cases, aren’t you?’
Hugh shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s better to turn a blind eye. Many of the women have large families, and very little else. Why add to their troubles?’
‘But it’s illegal and I disapprove of the practice.’
‘We all do, and of course it is . . . but the women who decide to go through with the process are usually desperate. They’d have to be to consider risking septicaemia by going to a butcher in a backstreet hovel. It’s the person who performs the procedure who needs prosecuting.
‘Anyway, it’s not your responsibility. They’re shunted off to Newcastle Infirmary if need be. You can leave all the paperwork to Jack Tomlinson. His wife helps out on the nursing side. If you take the job, as soon as you learn what’s what, he’ll be taking a month off come spring. He’s worked without a break for four years and is worn out.’
‘Friend of yours?’
‘We went through medical school together. I thought I’d take him to Scotland in the spring for a spot of fly fishing while the wives get together for a gossip.’
Martin chuckled. ‘So, you’ve got a vested interest in this.’
‘I certainly have. Catherine, his wife, is my sister. It will be an eighteen months’ contract, by the way. By that time your replacement will be trained.’
Like Hugh said, he’d get plenty of experience. There was nothing to keep Martin in London, except the hope that he might run into Julia, which would torture him even more. A clean break would be better – so why did he feel as though he was deserting her?
A lot could happen in eighteen months. He gave a small huff of laughter at the next ironic thought that occurred to him. He might even get over her. When Hugh gave him a look of enquiry, he said, ‘I promise to consider it. Give me a couple of days to think it over. I need to look at my finances.’
‘A salary comes with the job, courtesy of the local Quakers fund. It’s not generous, but it’s enough to live on with a bit left over. Accommodation is free – a two-roomed furnished flat at the back of the surgery, bedroom and living room with gas cooker. You’ll be on permanent night call, I’m afraid. The lavatory is in the yard and you’ll be provided with a tin tub to wash in. It’s a bit primitive from what I gather, but like I said, if it’s experience you’re after . . .’
A month later and Martin had arranged storage for his goods and was on his way to Colifield, suitcase in one hand and the cats in a roomy cardboard box secured with string in the other. They were a gift from Julia that he couldn’t bear to leave behind, even though his landlady had offered to take them in.
There was a branch line that went through Colifield and served the coal industry. A passenger car had been added to the empty coal wagons, and there were two passengers besides himself. The station was black with smuts.
Beyond the houses in the distance was the wheel that supported the miners’ cage, but the gates to the pit entrance were padlocked. Beyond that was a towering pile of slag.
Martin understood in a telephone call from Jack Tomlinson that the mine had flooded and now stood abandoned. Some of the younger men had been employed at neighbouring pits, some had not. Some had managed to find work at the ironworks. The smoke from the works sent out a sooty smell and peppered everything with smuts.
There was no one to meet him. It was a wet and miserable day. He asked directions of a lad with a cart and hired him for a shilling. Martin loaded the cats’ container and his suitcase on the cart and they walked through the grimy rows of streets to the surgery. It was a red brick house on a corner site, and the ugly building looked as though it had once been a shop, with a window either side of a door recessed into the corner.
The door was open and he walked in, his nose twitching at the overwhelmingly nostalgic smell of disinfectant.
A thin woman with greying hair smiled at him. ‘You must be Doctor Lee-Trafford?’
‘Yes, I am.’ The cats set up a pathetic clamour at the sound of her voice and he smiled. ‘I’m afraid they’ve been travelling all day and have reason to complain. They’re hungry, unsettled and a little bit afraid, though being cats they wouldn’t admit to the latter. You must be Mrs Tomlinson, Hugh’s sister. There’s a definite resemblance, but I must say that you’re much prettier.’
She laughed. ‘Call me Sister Catherine, most of the patients do . . . Bring the cats through, Doctor. We’ll have a cup of tea first since I daresay you could do with one. I’ll find them some milk and make a fuss of them. They’ll soon settle down in front of the fire, and if they can help keep th
e rat population down, all the better.’
His rooms were small and dimly lit, rather depressing after his London flat, but big enough for himself and his companions. The cats drank their milk, stretched their legs by exploring their new accommodation and lapped up Sister Catherine’s attention with appreciative mews of pleasure and chin rubs against her ankles.
‘I’d forgotten how wonderfully soothing cats are; they’ll be nice to have around,’ she said when they finally settled down in an armchair in front of the fire on one of Martin’s pullovers. ‘There’s a yard out the back if they need to go out. I’m sorry nobody was able to meet you. I was doing the afternoon mothers’ clinic and Jack was called out to an emergency.’
‘Is there anything I can help with?’
‘It will be throwing you in the deep end, but would you mind taking evening surgery? It will mostly be temperatures and coughs. Bronchial in the men; some of them have been exposed to black damp, especially those who have been in the pits for a long time. The wet weather makes the condition flourish. German measles is doing the rounds, and there was a case of whooping cough two weeks ago. I’ve isolated the patient, but she’s a baby and will be lucky if she survives. One of the Quaker women comes in to help out in the evening. She mixes the medicines, does the files, cleans wounds and is there in case you need to examine a female patient. She’ll show you where everything is kept and will keep you organized. Her name is Joanna Seeble.’
‘She sounds like an angel.’
‘Believe me, she is. I don’t know what we’d do without her. One of her sons will eventually join the practice when he finishes training. Jack takes him out on the rounds with him, when he’s home. I think that’s about all you need to know for now.’
‘Thank you, it was most helpful.’
‘I’ll have time to cook Jack a decent dinner for a change. You’ll join us, won’t you? Our last assistant used to eat dinner with us and put towards the food bill. That way you’ll get one decent meal a day. You can manage your own breakfast and lunch. We live in the adjoining house, so you won’t have to travel far. There’s a general store, a greengrocer and a butcher in the next street. I’ve got the basics for your cupboard and you owe me for that. The receipt is on the dresser. We can take it from your salary if you like.’