by Mary Wood
‘Not totally, I’m afraid, Megan. She’s not in any danger, but things are not right with her.’
She knew that already. Inside her, she’d known. It was the babby’s face – it’d seemed sort of flat. And the shape of her eyes had reminded her of the pictures of the Chinese boys and girls in Billy’s school book. He’d brought it home once. It was all about other countries and the people who lived there.
‘What’s to do? Is she faring badly, Doctor?’ Gertie asked.
‘No. Not ill as such. Anyway, we’ll not worry ourselves over it now. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s take her up to Jack, shall we?’
They followed him up the stairs and stood just inside the door. The gentle pressure of Gertie’s hand on her arm steadied Megan, but it didn’t stop the strange feeling that flooded her body. She felt such a sense of disbelief; it was as if none of the things that were happening seemed connected to her.
‘You’ve another little girl, Jack,’ Dr Cragshaw said.
Gertie went over to Jack and patted his shoulder. ‘Jack lad, I’m sorry. Poor Ciss. What can I say?’
Jack looked up at Gertie, his face wet with tears. He made no sound, but nodded his head.
Megan closed her eyes. It was all too much to bear. A knock at the door made her jump, and Father O’Malley entered the room. The strange feeling that had taken her increased. She couldn’t have said in detail what happened after that. The anointing, the baptism – it all seemed to go on without her, though she knew she’d acted as godmother. Her mind had left her body doing things and travelled its own road back in time. Pictures of Cissy as a young ’un of just thirteen came to her mind, her sweet and infectious giggle drifting into the space around her.
Cissy couldn’t be gone – she couldn’t! Ciss . . . oh, Ciss. Tears streamed down Megan’s face, wetting her neck and breast, and yet she wasn’t crying. Not crying the kind of tears that would help. Instead her body was emptying itself, leaving her stranded and alone – more alone than she had ever felt in her life.
The terrible sound of Jack’s sobs penetrated her thoughts. The rituals were over. She looked over to him. He was standing, but it seemed his large frame had shrunk with the weight of his grief. Gertie and Dr Cragshaw were supporting him.
The ache of the love that her soul held for Jack almost moved her body, but she stayed still. She knew her soul would betray her if she went to him. Knew, too, a moment of intense guilt. She looked over at Cissy. Cissy’s beauty and goodness were locked in her still and waxen face. She silently begged her beloved friend for her forgiveness.
‘Megan.’ Dr Cragshaw held her gently by the shoulder and spoke to her in whispered tones. ‘Take babby downstairs. Father O’Malley will help me to bring the cot down. She’ll be better in the kitchen.’
Before he left, the priest promised to call in on the undertakers and to make sure Jenny knew to keep Billy and Sarah away until Megan could see to them later. When he’d gone, Megan allowed herself some time to address her own worries. Her fingers found the corner of her pinny and she twisted it in her hands. ‘Doctor, what’s to do about babby? She’ll need feeding and . . . and caring for.’ She willed him to understand. As Cissy’s best friend, it would be natural for her to take the babby and care for it, but Bert wouldn’t stand for it.
‘Don’t worry yourself on that score. I know what’s in your heart, and I know it isn’t possible for you to do what you’d like to.’ He snapped his case shut. ‘If she’s fretful in the next hour or so, give her some boiled water with a little sugar in it. I’ll call in on Franny Bradshaw and arrange for a supply of breast-milk for the first few weeks.’
The relief that washed over Megan was eclipsed by his next words. ‘You’ve seen how things look for the babby, haven’t you?’
‘You mean her eyes and that?’ Suddenly it dawned on her – the slanted eyes and the flat features. ‘Oh, no! Oh, poor little soul! She’s . . . she’s a Mongol!’
‘Aye, I’m almost certain she is. The signs are all there.’ He heaved a huge sigh. ‘Anyway, like I said, Franny’ll help, though I don’t think she will take the babby in. Wet nurses can be funny about putting these children to their breasts. That wouldn’t be Franny’s feelings, but she’d have to consider the feelings of the other mothers she is nursing for, especially those of the gentry.’
‘But what’ll become of babby, Doctor?’
‘I don’t know. Like I said, we’ll cross that bridge later. I know of a couple of places that take them, but . . .’
The door between the kitchen and the stairs opened, and Jack and Gertie came through. Jack held himself together, though the effort of doing so was showing in the strain on his face. Gertie would’ve had a hand in helping him. She was kindly, was Gertie, and always seemed to know the best thing to do. She was already busying herself filling a bowl with hot water from the pan on the stove.
Jack put his hand out to shake the doctor’s. The doctor took hold of it and held it in both of his. ‘I’m going to miss her, Jack. She were a lovely lass. Everyone loved her. I wish I could’ve done more. I’m sorry, man.’
‘You did all you could, I know that, Doctor.’
‘I did, Jack, I did, but it’s heartbreaking for me when I fail. I’ve had to learn a hard lesson over the years: I can’t change God’s will.’ He took out a large hanky and blew his nose loudly. ‘Well, I’ve to finish my rounds – not that I feel like it, but it has to be done. I’ll call up at the house and let them know what’s happened. I’ll tell them not to expect you back to work for a few days. They’ll understand, and Father O’Malley said he’ll . . .’
Megan left them talking and went upstairs to help Gertie. She didn’t want to find herself alone with Jack.
Gertie had started to wash Cissy’s body, and the sight nearly undid her. ‘Oh, Ciss! Ciss . . .’
‘Come on, love, get yourself busy. Let’s make her look reet bonny, eh, lass? Get her best outfit out. Go on now.’
When they’d finished, Cissy did look bonny, dressed in the pale-blue Sunday-best frock Megan had made for her just last year. It wouldn’t fasten up at the back, but as Gertie said, ‘They’ll not notice that in heaven.’
Jack sat at the table in the kitchen. He hadn’t stirred from the same position Megan’d seen him in each time she’d come down the stairs to refill the bowl. The task of laying Cissy out was done, and she had to face talking to him.
‘We’re all done, Jack. Shall I put the kettle on and make a pot of tea?’
He didn’t move or acknowledge that she’d spoken to him.
‘He could do with sommat stronger than tea. I’ll not be a minute, Megan. Put kettle on and make a pot, and I’ll fetch a drop o’ whisky to go with it.’
‘Right, Gertie.’ Her voice sounded normal, but she felt anything but. She bustled around the kitchen, not really aware of what she was doing. Jack’s desperation was so agonizing for her to bear. The laying out of Cissy’s unresponsive body had made her come to terms with the fact that Cissy had gone, but she could find no words to say, no comforting gestures to make towards Jack.
The bubbling of the boiling kettle broke the silence. The act of making the tea helped her to gain some self-control, and she felt able to speak at last.
‘I’ll be fetching Sarah after a while, Jack. Do you want me to bring her here or take her home with me, until after doctor’s been back?’
‘Oh God, Megan, how will I tell Sarah? How am I going to make her understand? She worshipped her mam.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know how you’ll cope with everything. I – I’m sorry, Jack. I just can’t think of not having Ciss. She were everything to us, weren’t she?’
‘Aw, lass.’ His arms enclosed her, and his tears dampened her hair. ‘How could such a thing happen? Our Ciss . . . oh God!’
Her heart drummed a feeling of anguish around her body that threatened to engulf her. Her throat constricted. Her tears fell onto his shirt as her sobs joined Jack’s, and their bodies – closely entwi
ned – shook with despair.
Suddenly she felt a new strength enter her. She must keep her sadness locked away; she had to be strong for him. She’d had plenty of practice at dealing with bad times, and she could cope. She would concentrate on Jack’s needs.
‘Sit yourself down, Jack. I’ll help you all I can. I’ll fetch Sarah from Jenny’s and give her some tea, and I’ll bring her over when I’ve Bert off on his nightshift. I’ll be with you when you tell her.’
‘Eeh, Megan, it’s good to know as I have you by me, lass.’
Jack sat down and wiped his face with his hanky.
Gertie came in at that moment. ‘I’m back, Megan. Have you brewed, lass? Oh, good. Pour tea out and I’ll get some tumblers down for whisky. We’ll all feel better after a nip.’
Jack drank his whisky down in one go, but put his hand up in refusal of a refill. ‘I’ll just have me brew now, thanks, Gertie.’
After a couple of sips, he picked up his baccy tin from the table next to him. His hands shook as he rolled a cigarette and lit it. After a few deep intakes of smoke, he threw the nub-end into the back of the grate, went over to the cot and peered down at the tiny form.
The babby stirred. One little hand broke free from the shawl and stretched out to him, and her tiny eyes looked towards him. Jack took her hand and rubbed his thumb along her fingers, his other hand brushing the tuft of dark hair from her forehead.
Megan looked over at Gertie. Gertie nodded and smiled. She must have been worrying, too. Things were bad, but they would have been twice as bad if Jack had taken against the babby.
27
A Difficult Choice
The smell of freshly lit tobacco assaulted Megan’s nostrils as she opened the door to her cottage. Her stomach knotted with apprehension. The sound of Bert’s chair scraping on the stone floor as he rose grated on her frayed nerves.
‘Where’ve you bloody been till now? It’s nigh on half-past four, and no bloody tea ready. I’m on shift while six, woman.’
‘Aye, I know – tea’ll not take me long. I left stew on side, simmering. I’ve only to pull damper out to have it boiling. You’ll not be late.’
As Megan walked past Bert, she held herself ready. The expected blow didn’t come, but she hoped her relief wouldn’t be short-lived. From one of the shelves of the cupboard next to the grate she took down a clean pinny. The thought of the other one in her bag, red with Cissy’s blood, made her pause a moment to compose herself.
‘You’ve been seeing to Cissy, haven’t you? Huh? And don’t bother lying about it. I got up earlier to use lav, and Mrs Braithwaite said as Ciss were labouring.’
‘I had to, Bert. There was no one else as could. I—’
‘No one else. No one else! I’ve bloody told you afore what folks say, haven’t I? You can’t drop any of your own, but you can see to others. You’re a laughing stock, and you’re making me one an’ all.’
‘I’m not, and that’s not what’s said. That’s all in your head. Lassies round here are grateful for me help, and as for me not having me belly up, like rest of them every year, they know as I were damaged when I had our Billy. Aye, and they know whose fault that were an’ all. Don’t, Bert! I – I didn’t mean . . .’
Bert yanked her round by her hair. He’d pounced so quickly that she’d had no time to stave off the blow. The back of his hand stung the side of her face, and her body reeled backwards. The edge of the table jarred into her. Her breath caught in her lungs.
‘You’re no proper wife, d’yer hear me? Going all over seeing to others, whilst your own man has no dinner or snap ready. How did I ever saddle meself with you?’
He grabbed the bib of her pinny and pulled her roughly towards him. When she looked into his eyes, the darkness of them seemed to be pulling her into the blackness of his soul.
‘Womenfolk might let you think as what you tell them is reet, but does thee know what they bloody well tell their men? Does thee know what talk at pit is? That you turn your back on me and that I’ve to beat it out of you, and they’re not wrong, are they?’
He raised his fist again, but she was ready for him. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed forward with all her might. As he staggered back she told him, ‘Cissy died!’
The statement hung in the air between them. He stared at her, his mouth slack and his head shaking in disbelief. ‘What? What did you say?’
‘Cissy’s dead! She lost too much blood. Babby were wrong-ways up, she couldn’t shift it, and I couldn’t help her. Doctor cut babby free. He cut Cissy with a pair o’ scissors. He said as how sommat or other had ruptured.’
The words tumbled from Megan and, once they were released, her throat constricted and her body shook. She could no longer control the sobs that racked her. She wouldn’t have cared if Bert had tried to pummel her to death with his bare fists, her grief was such that life didn’t seem worth living anyway, but he didn’t attempt to hit her again.
‘Eeh, lass, I’m sorry. I didn’t know as you’d been through that. I thought as you were on with defying me again.’
‘It’s all right. Sit down and I’ll get your dinner.’
She wiped her face on her pinny and looked over at Bert. She wished it was her that had gone. It was getting harder and harder to endure his sudden changes of mood, and now with no Cissy . . . No, she’d not think about the future just yet. She’d to get on with doing for Bert. She didn’t want him to get angry again.
Her actions were automatic as she put the kettle on the grate plate and pulled the damper out. The fire jumped into life, and the stew started to bubble. There was a nice fresh loaf in the pantry. She had made up the dough the night before, left it to prove in the bottom oven and cooked it off before Bert had come in from his shift this morning. She got it out, took it from the muslin cloth that kept it fresh, cut thick doorsteps and spread them with mucky fat. When his snap tin was full, she piled a plate high with the rest and passed him a bowl of stew. He hadn’t spoken while she’d carried out these tasks, but after a couple of mouthfuls of stew he surprised her by saying, ‘Come on, sit yourself down, lass, and get some of this stew into you. You look done in.’
She did as he bid her. She didn’t feel like eating, but it was better to pretend than to protest. They ate in silence for a while, and the knot of fear in her stomach began to release its hold on her.
‘She was all right, was Cissy, thou knows, Megan. You’re going to miss her.’
‘Aye.’ She could say no more; she didn’t want to break again. She stood up. ‘I’ve to go over to Jenny’s to fetch our Billy and young Sarah. She’s taken care of them since they left school earlier. You won’t say owt to Sarah, will you, Bert? Cos she doesn’t know as yet.’
‘No, I’ll not say nowt. Poor little lass, eh? Eeh, it’s sad news, sad news. Don’t be long. I’d like some time with you afore I go on shift.’
As she walked, she pondered on how Bert had taken the news. It was like living with two different people: the one she hated, and the other who touched something in her.
‘Megan . . .’
Helen Bray, a woman who lived three doors down, called her over to her gate.
‘I’m sorry to the heart of me to hear of Cissy’s passing, Megan. I don’t know what to say. Shocked everybody, it has. Anyroad, love, I’ll not keep you talking, just to say as Jenny said to tell you she’s taken young ’uns round to her mam’s. She said with her cottage being next door to Jack’s, she’d not be able to stop Sarah from going round.’
‘Thanks, Helen. I hope you don’t mind if I get on. I’ve to be back quick.’
Helen just nodded at her. It was a knowing nod, and it ground a humiliation into her.
She hadn’t far to go. Jenny’s mam’s cottage was just two rows away from her own, with only cobbled paths separating the rows. She glanced down the lane opposite as she walked past, her eyes resting on Cissy’s cottage. It didn’t look any different. Somehow she’d expected it to.
As she rounded the corner, S
arah broke free from Jenny and flung herself at her. ‘Oh, Aunty Megan, me mam isn’t dead, is she?’
Large innocent blue eyes looked up at her, and the stains of recently shed tears were washed away as fresh ones streamed down the little face. Megan pressed Sarah against her waist and looked over at Jenny.
‘Young Graham Pike told her. He said as how he’d heard Gertie tell Manny at corner shop.’ Jenny shrugged, closed her eyes and bit on her top lip. Her head shook from side to side. ‘Eeh, Megan.’
A proud claim from Billy interrupted them. ‘I hit him, Mam – knocked him off his feet, I did. And I told him as his tongue’d split, with the lies as he tells. It’ll not be right, Sarah. Me mam’ll tell you.’
Megan didn’t answer the appealing looks in their upturned faces, nor did she go for Billy as she would normally have done when he boasted of fighting. Instead, she bent down and lifted Sarah up. ‘Come on, love. I’ll take you to your dad.’
Sarah clung to her neck, her wretched sobs tearing at Megan’s heart. She was right to take her home. Right now she needed her dad – needed to be told by him that her mam had gone – but the decision wasn’t without its worry.
‘Billy, be a good lad and run and tell your dad as I have to take Sarah straight home. Tell him she’s upset. He’ll know what’s happened. Tell him I’ll not be more than a few minutes.’
Billy went to protest, but there was something about the way everyone was acting that stopped him. Was it true then? Was Aunty Cissy really dead? His mam hadn’t said different. He thought about what being dead meant, and his mind presented him with a picture of Graham Pike’s pet rabbit. He’d made that dead. A smile lit up his face at the memory. He walked a few paces in front of Megan, but put no particular hurry into his steps.
He hated Pikey. He’d especially hated him that day, because he’d been round to Sarah’s to play and they’d left him out of the game. He’d made Pikey pay, though. He stole his pet rabbit from its hutch and bashed its head against the wall. By, he could still hear the crunch it’d made. He’d wanted to tell Sarah about it – usually he shared everything with her – but she’d have gone mad. He didn’t understand girls sometimes. Ha! Pikey’s face was a picture when he found out his rabbit was dead. Billy chuckled to himself at the memory.