He nodded again, but this time his gaze fell away beneath Maisie’s quizzical expression and, in a soft voice that betrayed his shame, he said, ‘I know how she’s dipped into her nest-egg to help us but…’
‘Yes, luv?’ Maisie secretly chided herself for not realising why her son had been troubled of late. ‘While we’re talking, and before our Cissie comes back, let’s have it all out in the open, eh?’ she persuaded him. ‘’Cause I can’t let yer go to work without the air’s cleared atween us.’
When the boy say upright in the chair and levelled his handsome eyes at his mother, she was astonished at how grown up he seemed. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, and he had sprung up in height when she wasn’t looking. There was a square strength about his chin that put her in mind of her late husband, and when he spoke it was with a quiet resignation that was both impressive and dignified. Yet there was something else too, something that worried her deeply but which she could not put a finger on; a kind of rebellious attitude, a hardness that occasionally flashed in his eyes and made them appear cruel. Taking a deep breath and seeming mentally to prepare himself, the boy told her determinedly, ‘When our dad got killed, you said I was the man of the house. You said it was me that had to be the bread-winner now.’ His courage grew. ‘I liked it better before she came.’
Maisie saw it all now, and chided herself for being such a blind fool. In an instant she had rounded the table and was seated beside him. She had the greatest urge to take him into her arms and cuddle him, but her instincts warned her against it. Suddenly he was not a child but a man, with all the inherent responsibilities towards his family. There was a terrible sadness in Maisie as she looked at him, and a degree of helplessness. Her son had not really enjoyed the chance to be a boy, and now he never would. It was all too late. ‘You’ll always be the man in this house,’ she told him in a voice that trembled with emotion. ‘Nobody will ever take that from you, though I wish to God it could have been different, and yer father was here to take the weight from yer shoulders.’
‘I like being the man of the house,’ he said, staring at her in a forthright manner that warned her to tread carefully. ‘But she won’t let me be. She’s spoilt everything. I expect, when the babby comes, you’ll forget about me, won’t you?’ There were tears in his eyes, but he swiftly blinked them away.
‘Aw, no… no, no.’ Maisie was shocked. He was jealous! That was it. The boy was good old-fashioned jealous! ‘What a thing to say,’ she declared, returning his stare with a hurt look. She would have gone on to reassure him of so many things, but Cissie’s quick footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Clasping Matthew’s small but work-worn hand in hers, she whispered lovingly, ‘We’re all of us immensely proud o’ yer, son, yer do know that, don’t yer?’ When he gave her a half-smile, she impulsively hugged him, thrilled when he didn’t resist. ‘We’ll talk when yer come home from work,’ she promised. ‘Just you and me… on us own, eh? And between us, we’ll thrash this thing out. Would yer like that, eh?’
‘I’m sorry, Mam,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve been thinking all sorts of things, and they all seemed right, but now that I’ve put them into words, well… they sound different… selfish.’ Now, as Cissie came rushing into the room, he grew embarrassed and pulled his hand from his mother’s. Scrambling from his chair he said in a brighter voice, ‘I’d best get going, or I’ll not get a lift on Ted Leyton’s coal-waggon.’
‘Huh! I’d rather be going to the mines on Ted Leyton’s coal-waggon than to that rotten school!’ Cissie told him.
‘That’s enough of that, my girl,’ Maisie interrupted. ‘Yer didn’t wake Beth, did yer?’
‘No. I bet I couldn’t if I wanted to,’ Cissie replied. ‘She’s fast and hard asleep. I bet if I shook her and shook her she still wouldn’t wake up.’
‘Yer little sod! Yer didn’t, did yer?’ her mam asked suspiciously.
‘What?’
‘Shake her.’
‘’Course I didn’t, Mam.’ Cissie was indignant. ‘I just told her I was being sent to rotten school and that I’d see her when I got home, but she never even heard me.’ In spite of the fact that Beth had slept all through her incessant chatter just now, Cissie could not hide her excitement. ‘When will the babby come, Mam?’ she asked with delight.
‘Soon enough, child. Soon enough.’ In view of her son’s confidences just now, Maisie felt it was not the right time to discuss the new babby. She shifted her attention from Cissie to the boy. ‘Ready are yer, lad?’ she asked affectionately, rising from her chair and crossing the room towards him. ‘Got yer snap-can, have yer? And yer clean hankie?’ She always used to insist on her man having a clean hankie, even though it always came home black as the coal underground; but it was important for Maisie to send her man to work with a snap-can filled with sandwiches, and a sparkling white rag for blowing the coal dust from his nose and wiping the sweat from his brow. Her man had gone now, but here was another in the making. ‘God go with yer, son,’ she told him softly. Her eyes let him know she had not forgotten what they had talked about. ‘We’ll have us little chat tonight.’
‘I’d best be going, Mam,’ he replied, and Maisie noticed there was a light in his eyes that had not been there before. In a minute he had turned away, and for the briefest time Maisie’s heart went with him.
Soon Cissie had followed her brother out of the door, and Maisie lost no time in clearing the table. She left the dishes in the old pot sink, and went to the long-case wall clock from which she took a small tin box. Out of this she drew a number of carefully saved coins, and counted almost all of them on to the table. Today was Friday. David Miller would shortly be making his rounds, and she must not give his stepfather any excuse to put them out. ‘We shall have to pull us belts in this next week,’ she muttered aloud, ‘but, like Beth rightly said, we must first make sure of a roof over us heads.’ Placing the coins with the buff-coloured rent book, she then made her way to the foot of the stairs. ‘I shall have to wake yer, gal,’ she chattered to herself as she climbed the stairs. ‘Much as I’d rather let yer sleep, I can’t see yer all buckled up like that, bless yer heart.’
Beth was already awake. When some short time ago she heard the front door close, she had lifted her head to see Cissie going reluctantly down the road, banished to school. She was tempted to knock on the window and give Cissie an encouraging wave, but she resisted the temptation, for it might have undermined Maisie’s authority with the girl, and that was the very last thing Beth wanted. Besides, she had other things to occupy her mind right now. Not only was she stiff and uncomfortable from having slept in such a crooked position, but there were other things happening within her body that told her the babby might be on its way. And she was proved to be right. Maisie’s face said it all when she came into the room to see Beth gripping the edge of the windowsill, her face deathly white and creased in pain. In no time at all, Maisie had everything under control. ‘Breathe like I told yer,’ she warned Beth. ‘Remember everything I’ve said and you’ll be fine, lass… just fine.’ When she saw how Beth was struggling to breathe in that low easy rhythm that might ease the pain and allay the birth until the time was right, Maisie encouraged, ‘That’s the way, darlin’… nice and steady like. Do as old Maisie tells yer, and the little ’un will be here afore yer know it… slipping into the world with no trouble at all.’
Unfortunately, Maisie was wrong. By midday she was beginning to realise that the babby was not about to ‘slip into the world with no trouble at all’. Four hours later, she was anxiously hoping that Cissie would come straight home from school and not go gallivanting all over Blackburn, as was her way. There was trouble here, desperate trouble that had Maisie sick inside; although she constantly reassured Beth that: ‘Everything’s all right, lass. Don’t worry now’, she herself was more worried than she would ever admit. Beth’s first birthing was proving to be a long and difficult labour, and one right outside Maisie’s experience.
Beth was exhaust
ed. Sometimes the pain was like the blade of a knife slicing through her, and sometimes it was a dull insistent sensation that squeezed the very breath from her lungs. Sweat oozed from every pore in her body, trickling over her skin and sticking the long cotton shift to her back until she desperately wanted to tear it away. ‘How much longer, Maisie?’ she asked in a whisper. ‘Dear God… how much longer?’ Her breath was snatched away as she was riveted by a long shuddering spasm.
‘Not long, lass,’ lied Maisie, realising that she alone could not help Beth. She needed another pair of hands, and someone who was no stranger to birthing. The neighbour on the right was an old fella who was neither use nor ornament, and most of the women would be away to the shops on a Friday afternoon. That left only the neighbour on the left. Maisie was reluctant to recruit Meg Piper’s help because, although she had given birth to fourteen childer herself, she had grown feeble of mind. Normally old Meg would not have been Maisie’s choice for helping her bring Beth’s young ’un into the world, but she had no option, not now, not with Beth so wearied by the event, and like as not the unborn itself was every bit exhausted as its mammy. If Maisie knew anything, it was this… nature had a way of giving a body breathing space. Up to now, Beth’s pain and discomfort had not eased at all; but it would, Maisie told herself, it would! And so she whispered words of encouragement, and bathed Beth’s steaming body, and all the while she spoke to her of holding the babby in her arms. ‘Aw, it’ll be a real little angel,’ she said, smiling with delight, ‘with rich brown hair like its mammy, and the same big dark eyes. Oh, an’ the little sod’ll be kicking and screaming for its titty, not knowing or caring what trouble it’s caused.’
‘Do you think so, Maisie?’ Beth asked in wonder, her eyes veiled with anguish and her long slim fingers wrapped round Maisie’s as though she dared not let go.
‘O’ course I do!’ Maisie told her. ‘Would I say such a thing if it weren’t so?’ She silently prayed the Lord would forgive her for assuming that He meant Beth and the little ’un to live.
Maisie was right about one thing though, because after a while Beth’s pain eased and she was able to relax a little. Sighing deep within herself, she slid into a fretful and unnatural sleep; a sleep that brought its own kind of nightmare, a dark swirling dream filled with images of everyone she had ever known, all going before her as though in a mourning procession. Her father; her shrewish mother; Ben, the brother whom she had loved and who had turned against her; all those she had worked with; Wilson Ryan, the young man her parents had wanted her to wed; Tom Reynolds with his small devious eyes and silver hair; Florence Ball and her harlot daughter. They were all there, talking and laughing, smiling and waving as they went by. Only one paused a while, only one, and he was a tall strikingly handsome man with black shoulder-length hair and dark green eyes that were filled with sadness. Only he stopped to hold out his arms as though he might embrace her, his loving smile wonderful to see. But even as she moved towards him he was lost to her, disappearing into the distance, the smile gone from his face and a look of desolation written there. ‘No!’ Beth called him back. ‘Don’t go, Tyler. Don’t leave me!’ But he was gone, and with him went her will to live.
‘Hold her down, Meg, or she’ll tear herself wide open.’ Maisie was frantic. She could see the small dark head emerging. ‘Beth!’ she yelled, at the same time stilling the girl’s flailing arms and attempting to quiet her. ‘It’s all right, lass. Gently does it. Let the babby come gently.’ When Beth seemed beyond her hearing, she yelled again, this time with a harsher voice to shake her out of her malaise. ‘For gawd’s sake, yer bugger, do as yer told!’ At last her words found their way into Beth’s dark troubled nightmare. ‘That’s it, lass… nice and easy, like old Maisie told yer,’ she said, giving Beth a quick hug when she opened her eyes to realisation. ‘It’s coming, lass. The babby’s coming, thank God.’ There were tears in her eyes as she looked at Beth’s weary grey face and those suffering dark eyes that bared her soul. ‘It’s all right, lass… it won’t be long now,’ she promised, her voice heavy with relief. Maisie had feared she would never see this moment. Death had visited this house today, she told herself. She had felt his ominous presence, almost smelled him beside her. He had been there, in Beth’s eyes, in her own soul, and she had trembled before an almighty being who held them all in the palm of his hand. But now she prayed the shadow of Death was lifted. There was much to be thankful for.
At five-thirty in the afternoon Beth gave birth to a fine, lusty-lunged son, and all the doubts and suffering were forgotten as Maisie laid the crinkled bloodstained bairn in her outstretched arms. ‘Oh, Maisie, he’s so beautiful!’ Beth whispered brokenly, the tears spilling over her dark lashes and a look of ecstasy on her face. ‘Oh, Maisie!… Oh, Maisie!’ she kept saying over and over. ‘Oh, Maisie!’ In all of her life she had never seen anything so wonderful. She was crying now, loud joyful sobs that shook her frail body. In a moment the joy had mingled with all manner of regrets, and sadness, and a feeling of bitter anger at the man who should have been here to share the most glorious day in her life. Tyler should have been here. He should have been here! But he wasn’t, and so Beth hugged their son close to her breast, and looked into his face, and marvelled at the infant’s strong features, his long fine limbs, the dark hair and the beautiful eyes that were not yet their true colour, but which had an intense marbling of green in them. Lost for words at such tiny perfection, Beth pressed him ever closer, looking up at the watching Maisie with eyes that spoke volumes, of love and gratitude, of pain and regret, and oh, such joy! The tears coursed down her face, emptying the pain inside.
‘Aw, lass, isn’t he the grandest little fella I’ve ever clapped eyes on?’ laughed Maisie. But then she was sobered by Beth’s tears, and by the heartfelt cry made when the girl was almost lost to them. In a quiet, meaningful voice, she asked slyly, ‘Will yer call the little fella Tyler? After his daddy.’
Not realising how she had called out in that dreadful nightmare, Beth was momentarily shocked by Maisie’s suggestion. Giving no answer, she merely looked at her friend with a puzzled and surprised expression, but was visibly relieved when Maisie told her how she had heard the name from her own lips. ‘And being the canny old sod that I am, I reckoned the fella must be the one as left yer with child.’
Maisie’s words opened old wounds. ‘No,’ Beth told her firmly, ‘I won’t be calling my son after his daddy because his daddy has not earned that honour.’
Maisie saw how deeply Beth was hurt. ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ she said solemnly. ‘Will I never learn to mind me own bloody business?’
Beth laughed. ‘No, Maisie,’ she replied light-heartedly, ‘I don’t think you ever will. But then, I probably wouldn’t love you as much if you did, would I, eh?’
At this point, Beth was made aware of the tall bony figure standing by the fireplace. As soon as Maisie saw Beth stretch her neck to see who it was, she called the woman forward. ‘This ’ere’s Meg Piper from next door,’ she told her. ‘And to be honest, lass, I never woulda managed without her.’ From now on, when anyone said a bad word to her with regard to poor dimwitted Meg, she would put them in their place and no mistake!
‘How can I ever thank you?’ Beth asked her. ‘How can I ever thank either of you?’ Because of this woman and Maisie, Beth had been delivered of a fine healthy son. She would be forever grateful for such friends.
‘Enough of that,’ Maisie warned. ‘We’re all of us bloody knackered, and there are still things to be done.’ She wagged her head impatiently. ‘Gawd knows where that bugger Cissie’s gone,’ she declared. ‘No doubt she’s getting back at me for sending her to school, but she’ll get her arse tanned when she does come home and that’s a fact!’ Turning her attention to the other woman beside her, she said, ‘Thank you for yer precious help, Meg, but it’s done now, and yer must be out on yer feet. Take yerself off home, lass, and know that you’ve done real well today… aye, you’ve done real well.’ She chuckled when a broad s
mile lit the other woman’s gaunt face and she hung her head in embarrassment. ‘No, yer have!’ Maisie reassured her. ‘You’ve done real well. And what’s more, Meg Piper, I shall make it me business to let all and bloody sundry know what a godsend yer are.’
‘I do me best, Maisie,’ replied the shy soul, ‘but sometimes, well, I can’t do right for doing wrong.’
‘Well, yer ain’t done no wrong today, lass,’ Maisie assured her, ‘and you tell the buggers that.’ Meg nodded her grey head and, after wishing Beth well with her new babby, ambled across the room. ‘I’ve done real well,’ she could be heard mumbling. ‘Maisie said I’ve done real well.’
‘Aye, yer have that,’ Maisie called after her, ‘and if you’ve a mind, there’s some’at else I’d be glad for yer to do.’ Meg turned, a ready smile on her face which told Maisie that she would be only too delighted. ‘I’ve used all the hot water up here, lass,’ Maisie went on, pointing to the fireplace and the big black kettle standing in the hearth. ‘There’s a fire lit downstairs… one fire alone ain’t enough to provide all the water a body needs at such a time. So I wonder if you’d fill the pan with water and wedge it into the coals? I’ll be down to fetch it soon as ever I think it’s ready.’
Meg turned away, mumbling again and making gestures as though she was already filling the pan. ‘Fill the pan with water and wedge it into the coals… Maisie’ll be down to get it, soon as ever it’s ready.’
‘Mind, though, don’t overfill the pan, Meg, or it’ll spit on the fire and put it out. I don’t want the fire out, now do I, eh?’ she finished.
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