‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Got to phone the doctor,’ insisted Dan. ‘My wife’s gone into labour.’
‘Right.’ Jenny immediately took charge. ‘Jim, go down and show him the phone. Got the number?’ and when Dan nodded she said, ‘Right, go and ring then, I’ll go to your wife.’
When Dan came back from the phone he found Naomi sitting up in bed, gripping Jenny’s hands as she dealt with another contraction.
‘What did he say?’ she asked as the pain subsided.
‘He’s on his way,’ Dan replied. ‘Says you’re to stay put.’ He turned to Jenny and said, ‘Dr Phelps’ll be here in a minute. He said please can you find some clean towels and put some water on to boil.’
‘Of course.’ Jenny got to her feet and Dan took her place at the bedside. Jenny despatched Jim to put the kettle on and wait downstairs to let the doctor in while she went to a cupboard on the landing and pulled out some towels and an extra couple of pillows.
The contractions were coming regularly now and as each grabbed her, Naomi gripped Dan’s hands, trying not to cry out.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he soothed, ‘the doc’s on his way, it’ll be all right.’ But as another contraction took hold he was beginning to wonder where on earth the doctor could be.
Moments later Dr Phelps appeared at the door, bag in hand, and came straight across to the bed. Jenny had helped Naomi to move on to a folded towel and had propped her up with extra pillows. He looked at the anxious father and said, ‘You’ll be best off downstairs, just ask Mrs Dow to come up, will you?’
Dan bent forward and kissed Naomi on the cheek. ‘I’ll be just downstairs, girlie,’ he said. ‘You’ll be OK now the doc’s here.’
He left the room with relief. He had felt so helpless in the face of Naomi’s pain. There was nothing he could do to alleviate it except hold her hand.
Better, he thought, to be out of the way now the doc was here to do his stuff.
Jenny Dow bustled upstairs and as she went into the bedroom, she gave Dan a smile and shut the door firmly behind her. Dan stood on the landing for a moment or two, but when he heard Naomi cry out, he couldn’t bear it and ran downstairs.
He and Jim sat at the bar and Jim poured them each a glass of brandy. ‘Need a good stiff drink at a time like this,’ Jim insisted. ‘We’ve got a kid, Gwen, she’s called. I remember when she were born, eight she is, but I remember that night like yesterday.’
It seemed for ever to Dan before Jenny came down again and said that things were fine but would be a little time yet, and wasn’t it exciting, oh, and Happy Christmas!
Jim went back to bed and Dan sat by the dying embers of the fire, dozing fitfully. He woke with a start when Jenny reappeared in the bar and threw back the blackout curtains; it was daylight outside.
‘Congratulations, Mr Federman,’ she said with a tired smile. ‘You have a son.’
‘A son,’ echoed Dan. ‘And Naomi? How’s Naomi?’
‘Tired, as you’d expect,’ came the reply, ‘but she’s fine. The doctor’ll be down in a minute, then you’ll be able to go up and see them. I’m putting the kettle on for some tea, would you like some?’
‘A son! We’ve got a son!’ breathed Dan, hardly daring to believe it.
It was about ten minutes later that Dr Phelps came downstairs. He walked wearily into the bar and shook Dan’s hand. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘Your son decided to put in rather an early appearance, so he’s a bit on the small side, but he’ll be fine.’
‘Is she all right?’ Dan asked. ‘Is Naomi all right?’
‘Yes, she is, but she needs a rest. I suggest you take her up a cup of tea, admire your son and then let them both get some sleep.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ Dan said. ‘Thank you for all you did, coming out in the night, an’ that. Don’t know what we’d have done without you.’
Jenny appeared at the door with a tray of teacups. She poured two for Dan and he hurried upstairs with them. He pushed the door open and edged his way in. Naomi was sitting up in bed, pale, but radiant. Her hair had been brushed and tied back off her face and she greeted him with a dazzling smile. Lying beside her in a drawer from the chest in the corner was a small bundle of... something.
‘Look, Danny,’ she whispered. ‘Look at our son. Isn’t he beautiful?’
Dan put down the tea and peered into the drawer. The bundle was tiny, swathed in a white cloth of some sort, with only his head poking out and a tiny fist thrust into his mouth. He had a dark quiff of hair standing on the top of his head and Dan, staring down at him, began to smile, truly believing now that he was indeed a father and this scrap of humanity was his son, his responsibility.
He bent down and very gently placed a kiss on the baby’s head before going round the bed to gather his beloved wife into his arms.
‘Careful,’ she admonished. ‘I’m a bit sore.’
‘Sorry,’ he said and pulling up the chair, sat down beside the bed.
Together they sat and drank their tea, looking at the miracle that was their son.
‘We haven’t even got a name for him,’ Dan said at last. ‘We should’ve had a name ready. What do you think?’
‘I think I’d like to call him Nicholas,’ Naomi said.
‘Nicholas,’ repeated Dan. ‘OK, but why Nicholas?’
‘It’s Dr Phelps’s name. I asked him, because if he hadn’t come so quickly we might not have a baby.’
‘Nicholas. Nicholas Federman. It’s a good name,’ said Dan. He went back round to the drawer and looking down said, ‘Hallo, Nick, mate.’
22
‘Hanau’s in Germany. My name is Lisa Becker and I come from Hanau. I came on a train.’
For a moment the three adults stood in silence, stunned as they realised the import of what Charlotte had actually said. She had remembered who she was and where she came from; but was that all, some fragments of her earlier life, or had she remembered everything?
Charlotte’s recollection of Harry was a double-edged sword. She stood for a moment in the vicarage drawing room as her mind processed what she’d just said. Hanau. Mutti, Papa and Martin. They all came flooding back to her, her beloved family trapped in Germany and disappeared. The letter marked GONE AWAY. Her face crumpled and without a word she turned and ran out of the room. Avril made to follow her, but the vicar put a restraining hand on her arm and she stood aside, allowing Miss Edie to go.
Unaware of what was going on round them the Dawson children were playing with the toys they’d received. Paul had a football, which he couldn’t use in the house, but the girls had been given a glove puppet each, a dog and a cat, and at David’s suggestion they were going to make up a puppet show. All three disappeared behind the settee and there was great giggling.
Avril looked anxiously at David. ‘What do you think she’s remembered? Everything?’
David shook his head. ‘Who knows? She’s remembered someone called Harry, but goodness alone knows if that’s a good or bad thing.’
‘It sounds as if they came over on one of those refugee trains, you know, the ones we heard about bringing Jewish children out of Germany?’
David nodded. ‘Yes, does indeed.’
‘In which case, do you think Miss Everard is the right person to deal with... well, whatever it is?’ Avril was thinking about Miss Everard’s reaction when she’d discovered that Charlotte was probably German. Now it appeared that Charlotte’s memory had come back, at least in part, and that she was indeed German, how would Miss Everard react?
‘I don’t know,’ David said, ‘but I think we have to let her try. They’ve been living together for nearly six weeks now and they seem to have come to an understanding. I think having Charlotte to think about instead of just herself has probably been a turning point for Miss Everard.’
‘Yes, it has.’
They both spun round to find Miss Everard coming back into the room. Clearly she had heard some of their conversation, but all she
said was, ‘If you’ll excuse us, vicar, Mrs Swanson, I think Charlotte and I’ll be going home now. Thank you for inviting us today, it’s been a lovely Christmas.’
‘Shall I walk home with you?’ offered the vicar. ‘I could do with a breath of fresh air.’
Miss Everard shook her head. ‘No, thank you. You’ve the other children here. We’ll be fine.’ She gave a brief smile and said to Avril, ‘You don’t have to worry about Charlotte, Mrs Swanson, I’ll look after her.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ replied Avril, ‘but if there’s anything I can do—’
‘I won’t hesitate to ask,’ interrupted Miss Everard, ‘I promise you.’
Avril saw them to the door and stood watching them walking together through the winter afternoon, Charlotte clutching her coat around her and Miss Edie tempering her steps to match those of her charge. It was dusk and the evening closed round them as they followed the beam of Miss Edie’s torch.
Avril closed the door and returned to the drawing room, where David was helping with the puppet show, and Christmas Day went on. The king had said that everyone should do all they could to make it a happy day for children wherever they were and the Swansons were doing all they could to make it so for their evacuees.
When the three children were at last tucked up in bed, the girls cuddling their glove puppets and Paul with his arms round his football, Avril came back downstairs and flopped into her armchair.
‘What a day!’ she said. ‘It seems an age since we woke up this morning and opened the children’s stockings with them.’
David opened Miss Edie’s bottle of elderflower wine and poured a glass for each of them. He handed Avril hers and raising his own said, ‘Cheers, darling. You made it a very special Christmas.’ They both took a sip of the wine and then, spluttering, David said, ‘Goodness, what has she put in this?’
‘Don’t know, but,’ Avril took another mouthful and smiled, ‘I think it might grow on me!’ She put down her glass and went on, ‘I’ve been thinking, David, perhaps I ought to ring Caro and tell her that Charlotte has remembered her name and where she comes from. What do you think?’
‘I think I’d leave it for a couple of days until we know a little more,’ David replied, risking another sip of the wine.
‘But now she’s remembered her name, perhaps her family can be traced.’
‘It sounds to me as if her family is still in Germany.’
‘Yes, but she must have been living with someone in London. They must be worried sick about her. They may even think she’s dead.’
‘I still think we should wait and see what else she can remember,’ David said. ‘She may not have total recall yet. And she may find it difficult to reassimilate what she does remember, specially if it’s painful.’
‘So what do you think we should do? We can’t leave it all to Miss Everard. Charlotte may need specialist help; at the very least I think she should see Dr Masters.’
‘You can keep a watching brief, my love,’ said David, ‘but I don’t think you can interfere.’
‘Is it interfering to want what’s best for the child?’ asked Avril hotly.
‘Calm down, darling. All I’m saying is that we give it a couple more days to see how she is and then we’ll contact Caroline and see if having Charlotte’s real name can help us find out more about her. What she was doing in London. Who this Mr Peter Smith was; you know, the man they found her with? And why she was out in the street in the middle of an air raid. All that.’
‘But the sooner we get on to Caro the sooner we can start to discover the answers,’ Avril protested.
‘Darling, it’s Christmas Day, tomorrow is Boxing Day. With the best will in the world Caro wouldn’t be able to discover anything until after the weekend. So, let’s wait and see what Charlotte can remember.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Avril sighed. She didn’t want an argument with David now that they finally had a couple of hours to themselves. Instead, she held out her glass for a refill and they drank another glass of the wine before they went upstairs to bed. When they reached the children’s rooms, Avril looked in on them as she always did. The girls were both fast asleep, heads under the blankets, and Paul was lying on his back, his new football still clutched in his arms. Avril stood at the door for a moment, smiling, but her smile faded as she turned away, wondering if Charlotte was asleep or if she lay awake, memories flooding her mind.
*
Charlotte was still up, sitting by the fire in the living room and trying to come to terms with what she had remembered.
When Miss Edie had followed her out of the vicarage drawing room, she’d found Charlotte sitting on the stairs, her whole body heaving with sobs, tears pouring down her cheeks. Miss Edie sat on the stair beside her and held her close, knowing there was nothing else she could do while Charlotte’s grief at what she’d remembered consumed her. Gradually the sobs subsided and Charlotte, turning her tear-blotched face to her said, ‘Can we go home now?’
Miss Edie handed her a hankie. ‘Of course we can. Blow your nose and then we’ll say goodbye and go.’ She got to her feet and went back into the drawing room, leaving Charlotte to dry her eyes.
They had walked home in silence, each wrapped in her own thoughts. When they got in, Miss Edie put a match to fire she’d laid ready in the sitting room and then went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Charlotte went straight up to her room.
‘I’m making some tea,’ Miss Edie called up to her. ‘Come down when you’re ready.’
Upstairs, Charlotte lay on her bed and stared bleakly at the ceiling. She knew who she was now, she knew her name, she recognised the people in the photograph that stood by her bed. Miss Morrison had put it into a frame for her, so that she could have it at her bedside, perhaps to jog her memory. She picked it up now and looked at it. There they all were, Mutti, Papa and Martin, smiling for the camera. How could she have not recognised them? She’d looked at that picture a thousand times without recognition and yet now she knew them at once. She’d had this picture, but surely, there should have been letters, too. She remembered that she’d had a letter from Mutti saying they were well and that Papa had come home again. She’d written back but her letter had been returned to her marked GONE AWAY. Her letters, where were they? She opened the drawer in her bedside table and tipped everything out, but there were no letters. A feeling of panic overcame her and she crossed to the chest in the corner, pulling out its drawers and upending them on to the floor, clothes, underclothes, socks, hankies, school books, pencils, pen, a bottle of ink, a ruler, everything she owned all heaped together as she searched frantically for her letters. They were not there. Desolate, she sat down on her bed holding the picture of her family in her hand. GONE AWAY, she remembered that clearly now, stamped across the envelope. But where had they gone? Harry had shrugged and said they weren’t coming back. ‘You got to make your own life now,’ he’d said. ‘I learned that the hard way, too.’
Harry. Harry kept coming into her mind. He came from Hanau. She remembered coming on the train. Harry said he’d been on the same train, but she hadn’t seen him. It had been he who had recognised her. But where? School. But where was school?
Charlotte heard Miss Edie call from downstairs, but she didn’t go down. She wasn’t ready to talk about her family. Miss Edie wouldn’t understand what it was like, not to know what had happened to them. So Charlotte simply sat on her bed, holding her photograph. She didn’t cry, she felt dried up inside, a husk with no tears left.
At last there was a tap on the door and Miss Edie came in, carrying a cup of tea. She looked at everything, heaped on the floor, but she made no comment.
‘Charlotte,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea. You need something to warm you up. It’s cold up here.’ She put the tea down on the bedside table and then sat down next to Charlotte on the bed and took her hand. Charlotte didn’t pull away, but her hand was icy in Miss Edie’s and Miss Edie chafed it in her own before saying, ‘
Come on, Charlotte, drink a little tea.’ She reached for the tea, holding the saucer while Charlotte sipped from the cup.
‘I’ve lit the fire downstairs,’ Miss Edie said, ‘so the sitting room is lovely and warm now. Why don’t you come down? We can make some toast by the fire and I’ve got some crab apple jelly I bought at the bazaar.’
Charlotte didn’t answer, but when Miss Edie pulled her gently to her feet she didn’t resist. Still clutching the photograph, she allowed herself to be led back down into the warmth of the sitting room and settled into one of the armchairs beside the fire. Miss Edie had already brought the bread and jelly in from the kitchen and now she reached for the toasting fork. Spiking a piece of bread on its prongs, she held it towards the fire.
As the bread began to toast she said, ‘Oh, I’ve left my tea in the kitchen. You do this while I fetch it, will you?’ She handed Charlotte the toasting fork and left the room.
Normality, she had decided. Normality was the thing. She had to get Charlotte thinking about everyday things, doing everyday things, so that her memories could gradually become absorbed into her life that was now. She was about to drink her tea when she smelled burning and dashed back into the sitting room.
Charlotte had been staring into the flames, the heat from the fire warming her cheeks, so that they flushed red. Where are they now? she wondered. How’s Martin coping in another new place without being able to see? She paid no attention when the toast caught fire and Miss Edie rushed back into the room in time to snatch the toasting fork out of her hand and shake the blackened toast into the fire.
‘Don’t want to burn the house down,’ she said mildly. She made more toast and spread it with the crab apple jelly, then she passed a piece to Charlotte and began to eat a piece herself.
‘I didn’t think I’d have room for any more food today, after that lovely lunch,’ she said as she munched her toast. There was no response from Charlotte and she let the silence lapse round them before she said, ‘Is that your brother in the photo?’
The Girl With No Name Page 26