Forgiven

by Ruth Sutton

  ‘I have a secret too,’ he said finally. He rubbed his hand over his face, leaving a smear of coal dust down one side of his nose. ‘You know I was adopted when I was a baby.’

  ‘Yes, you told me that,’ she said.

  ‘But I didn’t tell you about my real mother.’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t know anything about her. Isn’t that how it works?’

  ‘There was no proper adoption back then,’ said John. ‘No papers. no names. I only found out that I was adopted when my mother, the woman I thought was my mother, was ill, just before she died. She thought I was her husband, and she talked about getting me, just after I was born.’

  ‘Getting you? Sounds like you were in a shop or something.’

  ‘They got me from the home, where my real mother … where she had me. It was in Carnforth.’

  ‘She had you and then she gave you away? How could she do that?’

  ‘She had no choice.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Did she tell you that, herself? You’ve talked to her?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve talked. She said it was all arranged, and there was nothing she could do.’

  ‘When did you find her? Where?’

  ‘It was Christmas time, in 1937.’

  ‘What happened? Tell me.’

  John sat by the stuttering fire. He told her almost everything, about the names he’d found in their Ulverston house, about the photo in his Aunty Anne’s loft, about how he tracked his mother down. He stopped, wondering if he could avoid saying any more. But Maggie hadn’t heard enough.

  ‘So where did you find her, after all that? Where is she now?’

  ‘I found her in Newton, just south a bit from here, where the Esk runs into the sea. She’s the schoolteacher there.

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘Nothing much, I think she’d already guessed. I first met her, by accident, at Hannah and Fred’s. She fainted on the floor when she saw me. Apparently I looked so much like my father. But she didn’t let on. In the end I worked it out, and I went to see her.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘It was difficult,’ he said, still hoping that he wouldn’t have to go any further.

  ‘Difficult? She knew that you were her son, and that she’d found you again, after all that time. How could that be difficult?’

  ‘I know,’ he said, still wanting to protect Jessie, as he had done for so many years. ‘I know it sounds strange, but she never expected to see me again, She’d changed her name, moved away, moved on. Neither of us really knew what to do. She would have lost her job, if people knew.’

  ‘So what?’ Maggie couldn’t believe what John was so slowly revealing to her. She leaned forward, her face close to his. ‘She loses a job, but she has you, a son. What’s more important?’

  John blinked, and Maggie continued, her voice stronger. ‘When I had Judith, and Isaac was killed, my sister wanted to take her, but I would never have let her go, never. Your mother gave you away, to strangers.’

  ‘Not complete strangers,’ said John, trying to turn away the anger. ‘The Pharaohs knew her mam,’

  ‘She gave you away,’ Maggie insisted. ‘And when you found her she worried about her job?’

  ‘We made a deal. I was to say she was my aunt, so people wouldn’t know.’

  ‘That was a dreadful thing to make you do, John,’ she said. ‘Why did you go along with it?’

  He didn’t want to tell her, but it was too late now. He was in too deep and there was no use pretending any more, not to this woman.

  ‘Actually, it was my idea,’ he said. ‘If people saw us together they would guess we were related. And people knew bits about who I am, where I’d come from, so I thought … I said that I could be her nephew, given away by her sister who went to New Zealand. It felt …’

  John’s voice tailed away as Maggie got up from the small chair and stood facing the fire, her back to him.

  ‘What kind of woman would do that?’ she said. ‘And why didn’t you stand up for yourself? It’s like she gave you away twice. And now – don’t tell me it’s still going on.’

  John nodded miserably. ‘I wanted to tell you the truth. I hate all the lying, but I talked to her and she asked me to wait.’

  Maggie turned around. She was angry now.

  ‘When did you talk to her?’

  ‘Earlier on this week, when I knew I would see you tonight and I wanted to tell you. I promised I wouldn’t, but then you told me something important and I – I wanted to do the same. I’ve lied for so long.’

  Maggie stepped towards him, and he flinched away from her.

  ‘Look at you, for God’s sake,’ she shouted at him. ‘I was only going to throw the chip papers on the fire. What did you think I was going to do? Bully you, like she’s done all these years? You’ve let her do this to you, John. You owe her nothing, nothing, and she’s led you along like a dog on a string. It was her choice to have you, to give you away, to make you lie all these years. It doesn’t matter whose idea it was. She’s denied you, John. You’re her son, and she’s rejected you. And now I’m more angry about it than you are. Where’s the sense in that?’

  ‘Don’t, please,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ve finished lying. I’ve told you, and you’re the most important person to me. I can’t undo it all. I can’t make her change. But it doesn’t matter that much any more.’

  ‘What matters,’ she said, turning away from him, looking back into the fire, ‘What matters is that I have to respect you, if – if you and I are going to be together, even for a while.’

  ‘But I’ve told you,’ said John desperately, ‘when I promised I wouldn’t. I have stood up for myself, because you’re more important to me than any of that stuff. I was afraid then, that she would push me away altogether, deny it all. It wasn’t easy for her, I understood that.’

  ‘That’s your trouble, John. You understand what everybody wants except yourself.’ Maggie stood up straight and squared her strong shoulders. ‘I want to meet your mother.’

  ‘When?’ John sounded alarmed.

  ‘Soon. We’ve been walking out for a while. You’ve met my parents. I want to meet your mother.’

  ‘I don’t think –’ John began.

  ‘Good,’ she said, ‘don’t think. You think too much as it is. If you won’t take me, I’ll go meself. She’s called Jessie and she works at Newton School. I’ll find her. And now I’m going home. I can walk on my own, or you can take me on the bike. Your choice.’

  They didn’t speak again that night. John drove Maggie home, and she cleaved to his back, her hands at his waist. Of course John didn’t want her to meet his mother, but she already knew it was something she had to do.

  CHAPTER 10

  IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT on Armistice Day. Jessie always found the day depressing: the hymns, the laying of a wreath at the war memorial outside the school, looking at all those names. John’s father Clive had died in the Devonshire Dock: he had dropped like a stone from the high roof into the water, but she always thought of him as one of the casualties of war. His death had changed her life forever.

  She had gone to bed early in her front bedroom at the schoolhouse, to get the day over with for another year, and slept deeply, dreaming as she often did about wandering half dressed in a house full of people who were dancing, laughing at her behind their hands. Someone was banging on the door and she was trying to reach it, but they wouldn’t let her through. Then she woke, and she realised that the banging was from downstairs. She heard a woman’s voice shouting, ‘Miss Whelan, Jessie.’

  She looked at her watch. The voice came again. It was Nellie Kitchin. She opened the window and called down into the darkness, ‘Is that you Nellie?’

  ‘Oh, miss, thank God you’re ’ere. Can you come and ’elp us, miss? It’s our Lucy.’

  ‘Stay there,’ Jessie called. She shut the window, pulled her gown around herself and hurried to open the door. ‘What is it?’ she asked, pulling the distr
aught woman into the hallway.

  ‘It’s our Lucy, miss, she’s taken real bad. It must be the babby coming, miss, but she’s not due for weeks. The doctor, miss, we need ’im, but it’s too far.’

  ‘Who’s with her now?’ Jessie was thinking quickly.

  ‘Our Harry, but ’e’s scared stiff, poor lad. I told ’im I wouldn’t be long.’

  ‘Go back, Nellie, do what you can to keep her warm. Get as much water heating as you can. Have you got coal?’

  ‘Some, not much.’

  Jessie ran upstairs and returned with her arms full of towels.

  ‘Take these,’ she said, thrusting them at Nellie. ‘I’ll go up to Applegarth and call the doctor, then I’ll come to the house. I’ll bring some coal.’

  She dialled Dr Dawson’s number, and the telephone rang for a long time before someone answered. It was a woman’s voice.

  ‘Is the doctor there?’ Jessie asked, ‘It’s Miss Whelan from the schoolhouse in Newton. We need some help, urgently.’

  ‘He’s at the hospital in Whitehaven. This is Ann,’ the sleepy voice replied. ‘He should have been back hours ago.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jessie. She broke the connection and asked the operator to call the hospital. It took quite a while to find Dr Dawson. He was snatching a few hours sleep stretched out on a couch in the doctors’ mess, but he recognised Jessie’s voice immediately.

  ‘Jessie? What it is? They said it was urgent.’

  ‘It’s one of Nellie Kitchin’s daughters,’ she said. ‘Sounds as if she’s in labour but Nellie says it’s too early and it’s not right. I’ve sent Nellie home and I’ll go down there myself.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just gone midnight.’

  ‘I’ve got the car here. It’ll take about half an hour at this time of night. I know where it is. I’ll meet you there.’

  By the time Matthew Dawson arrived at the Kitchins’ house it was clear to Jessie that the baby, two months premature if the dates were right, was on its way. Lucy was agitated, gripping her mother’s hand as the pains came. The terrible cries brought back to Jessie memories that she had tried to bury. Nellie’s small kitchen was full of steam and fiercely hot, but they had not been willing or able to move Lucy into the other room. Harry watched open-mouthed from the doorway. He was the first to hear the doctor’s car.

  All three women were past caring about modesty as the doctor examined Lucy, but Nellie was quick to push Harry into the other room and shut the door firmly against him.

  ‘Give her something for the pain, Matthew,’ said Jessie. ‘She’s been screaming for hours, she must be just exhausted.’ And we are too, she thought to herself.

  Mercifully the magic worked and soon Jessie and Nellie could hear and follow the doctor’s instructions. When the baby finally appeared it was a boy, tiny, blue and quite dead.

  Jessie put her arm round Nellie’s shoulders, feeling the choking sobs. Lucy lay in the wreckage of the makeshift bed, her face turned to the wall.

  ‘She’s young and strong,’ said Matthew Dawson. ‘Can you make us all a drink, Mrs Kitchin? I’ll stay a while to make sure there’s nothing more untoward. And I’ll take the child’s body. Maybe you could find me a box, or a basket. I’ll sit in the other room, give you a bit of space and Lucy some quiet.’

  Jessie splashed her face in some of the warm water and tried to push her hair into some kind of order. She hadn’t had time before she left the house to do anything but pull on some clothes. She went through to the other room where Matthew was already sitting in a battered chair, his eyes closed. He heard the door creak and watched her as she crossed the room.

  ‘You were quite right to call me,’ he said. ‘She certainly needed more help than you could provide, or her mother. She should be alright, but I’ll stay a while just to make sure.’ He glanced at the door and lowered his voice, ‘Do we know who the father is?’

  ‘Lucy says she does,’ said Jessie, ‘but she won’t tell anyone, not even her mother. Those children had a hard time growing up, learned to keep things to themselves. Even now they still do it, when they know their father will never hit them again.’

  ‘Yes, I heard Bill Kitchin was quick with his fists, but I thought that was just Nellie.’

  ‘She did try to protect them,’ whispered Jessie. ‘Do you remember poor Alice?’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ he said. ‘That was a terrible business.’

  Nellie brought in two cups of tea and disappeared again. They sat in silence. As the hot tea revived her a little, Jessie thought about telling him the truth about John before anyone else did, while she had the chance. He’d been very understanding when she’d needed his help, the night when John had found her in the snowdrift, all those years ago. She’d wondered then whether he’d guessed the truth, but he’d never mentioned it. During the war he’d been away, working in a hospital in London during the Blitz, then in Newcastle, clearing up after the bombs and the fires and fear they left behind them.

  Jessie looked across at him. He seemed to be sleeping, but probably wasn’t. It was a good face, she thought. She wasn’t sure how old he was. Matthew’s wife had died during the war, but Jessie wasn’t sure what had happened. Maybe Agnes knew. Agnes carried secrets well, which was a blessing.

  Matthew stirred in his chair.

  “There’s no need for you to stay,’ he said. ‘Can you walk back, or would you like me to take you?’

  ‘I’ll stay a little longer,’ she said. ‘A few hours less sleep won’t do me any harm.’

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, aware of each other.

  ‘Not seen you for a while Jessie,’ he said. ‘How are things at the school, with Mr Crompton back?’

  She looked at him carefully.

  ‘Have you heard something?’

  ‘No, but I guessed it could be tricky.’

  ‘Between ourselves, Matthew, it’s more than tricky, He’s not used to working for a woman, and he clearly doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the doctor. ‘Nothing worse than hurt male pride.’

  ‘And of course he has an eye on the schoolhouse, with me rattling around on my own and him with a wife and two children. The house goes with the job and I have the job, for the time being at least.’

  Matthew was interested now, and sat up a little straighter in the low chair.

  ‘Have you thought any more about giving up?’

  ‘Again between ourselves, Matthew, I have thought of it. But it’s been so busy, since September. Maybe at Christmas I’ll have more time to put things in perspective.’

  He hesitated for a moment, as if making up his mind about something. ‘Since that night at Applegarth, I’ve realised how much I look forward to seeing you, and it doesn’t happen often enough.’ He hesitated again. ‘Could I ask you to have dinner with me sometime? We could get dressed up and take our minds off things for a while. Or maybe the cinema? I could come and pick you up, or we could meet in Whitehaven.’

  ‘What a lovely idea,’ she said, and she meant it. ‘I don’t think I’ve had a proper date since I was a girl, in Barrow, before the first war. Seems like the last century. Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain. I’ll check my shifts and send you a note.’

  It was another hour before he felt able to leave Nellie and her daughter, and drive back up the valley to his home by the river. He dropped Jessie at the schoolhouse on his way past. Before she got out of the car, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Thanks for your help tonight,’ he said. ‘Next time we see each other, it will be in happier circumstances. It’s time we both had some fun.’

  He drove home in the dense dark of the winter night. The cloud blocked any light from moon or stars, but at least the road was free from frost. He thought as he drove. It was four years since Joan’s death, and he had thought of no other woman in all that time except this one. There’d always been something about Jessie, something below the surface of her cheerful competent self.
Something had happened, when she’d hurt her ankle that Christmas, in 1937. There had been a secret in the house that day that no one would share, and he still had no idea what it could have been about.

  Then the war had come with the chaos of bombs and casualties and he’d forgotten how drawn he was to Jessie. Joan had been there, warm and familiar, soaking up his love and care, caring for him in return. And then she’d been taken ill, something minor, innocuous. A few days in bed, she’d be fine. Why hadn’t he noticed, why hadn’t she said? By the time they got her to hospital it was too late. She died, still a young woman, and he blamed himself. Maybe the girls blamed him, too. And now, he could feel himself falling in love again, with this strong self-contained woman who gave so little away. He believed Joan would have understood, but he wasn’t sure about his daughters. He still felt that he had let them down, that he had not acted quickly enough, that he had let their mother die. He would need to take care, not rush into anything.

  * * *

  A week went by with no word from Matthew Dawson. Jessie began to doubt that he’d meant what he said, and found herself very disappointed. She wondered how long John would wait before he told his new girlfriend about her. She would much prefer to tell Matthew herself, in her own way, than to let the gossip begin to circulate unchecked. A note did arrive, but it was from Caroline Leadbetter, reporting on Lionel’s continued improvement, and how glad they were to be getting regular letters from Andrew. It was in the postscript that Jessie read,

  So pleased to hear about you and Dr Dawson, dear. Such good people, both of you, and good news amidst all the gloom.

  News travels fast, she thought.

  Agnes read the letter too, when she returned from London a few days later.

  ‘Well,’ she said to Jessie. ‘Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Jessie, ‘but I think I will. He seemed quite serious about it. I hope so, anyway. Until that night at Nellie’s I hadn’t paid him much attention. But he is a really nice man.’

  ‘I hope he is, dear,’ said Agnes. ‘You don’t need someone leading you a dance, not after – not at our time of life.’