by Carol Rivers
‘The nurse said he’s small,’ said Molly, her brown eyes wide in concern. ‘Did you get your dates wrong?’
‘Must have,’ Cissy said, grinning at Spot. ‘Trust the little bugger to come when I was out enjoying myself. I thought that driver, Mary, was off her rocker when she asked me if my waters had broke. Then I realized me knickers was drenched!’
‘I’ve brought a change with me and your nightdress too,’ said Molly. ‘The nurse took them.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What about you? I hated leaving but they wouldn’t let me stay. Spot and me have been up all night pacing the floor.’
Cissy giggled. ‘I must have screamed blue murder. The doctor said the the baby was in distress. Had I known that, I’d have screamed even louder. But when they finally got him out and cleared off the mess, he didn’t half yell too. All I saw was these big blue-grey eyes under all the wrinkled red skin. And you should see his hair. It ain’t really hair, just bumfluff.’
‘Like his dad’s,’ said Spot with a smirk as he drew his hand over his thick head of hair.
‘Have you fed him?’ Molly enquired.
‘Once the nurse gets him on, he don’t have no trouble in sucking. And there’s plenty of milk there. I’m as bloated as a pregnant sow,’ complained Cissy, looking down at her swollen breasts.
‘What we gonna call him?’ asked Spot. ‘As long as it ain’t Horace, I ain’t fussy.’
‘Who’s Horace?’ said Molly in surprise.
‘Horace Fryer, to give me full moniker,’ said Spot, looking embarrassed.
Molly grinned. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t boast of a name like Horace, would you?’
Cissy quite liked Horace. It could be shortened to Harry.
Just think. She wouldn’t be Cissy Brown or Lena Cole, but Mrs Fryer. ‘Christ, Spot, we’re meant to be getting married in a week.’
‘We’ll still manage it.’
‘How? I’ve got to stay in here for ten days at least cos of the baby.’
‘They’ll let you out for an hour, won’t they?’ Spot squeezed her hand encouragingly. ‘I’ll hire a cab. You won’t have to walk far, just up the steps to the registry office. I’ll get the Registrar to make it quick while the cab waits.’
‘Blimey, and here was I thinking, this man is going to marry me in style.’
‘And style it will be,’ Spot assured her. ‘But that particular knees-up will have to come later.’
‘I’ll bring your new coat and shoes in to the hospital,’ said Molly. ‘And I’ll help you wash your hair at visiting time the day before.’
Cissy felt the long-held sobs erupt from her chest. She didn’t know why she was so emotional and could do nothing to stop the big, salty tears from cascading down her cheeks. ‘I dunno why I’m being so daft,’ she spluttered. ‘I can’t seem to help meself.’
‘I was tearful too after Emily,’ Molly said, sitting back on the chair. ‘I just couldn’t take it all in.’
Cissy felt ashamed of herself. Here she was shedding tears, when Molly didn’t have Emily to go home to. And never would have.
‘How are the kids?’ she asked instead.
‘Wanting to see the baby you’ve bought.’
‘Bought?’ Cissy laughed. ‘Is that what they think?’
‘I promised we’d buy a lively one,’ said Spot. ‘Give him a few days and he’ll be out in the street playing with ’em.’
Just then, in walked the nurse. She held a tiny package in her arms, wrapped in a hospital shawl.
‘Meet your son, Mr Fryer. But only for a few minutes.’ She slowly lowered him into Spot’s arms. Cissy felt a kind of breeze flow over her body, sweeping up the hairs on her head and whirling into the pit of her stomach. This was her very own child and this was her husband-to-be. She had a family of her own. Once she’d had nothing. Not even a proper name to call herself by.
‘He’s beautiful,’ Molly said, echoing Cissy’s thoughts.
Spot nodded. ‘He’s got Cissy’s good looks and my brains. Well, coming from a long line of Fryers he might even be a genius. Here you are, love, have a cuddle.’
Cissy took her little boy and marvelled at the human being in miniature: his wrinkled forehead and tiny closed lids, the sucking red lips squashed above a dimpled chin, and two tiny fists barely the size of a sixpence.
‘Time’s up, I’m afraid,’ the nurse told them and wafted the baby away.
‘Better go,’ said Spot, bending to kiss her cheek. ‘Keep yer pecker up, gorgeous.’
‘Bye, Cissy. Get your rest, now.’ Molly waved.
Cissy swallowed on the hard lump in her throat. She gazed at the people whom she loved and who loved her. She would never have thought when she was on the run from Ronnie that she would end up like this. Her life had been turned round. Gone was fear and bitter loneliness, to be replaced by peace and motherhood.
If it hadn’t been for Molly and her kindness where would she be today? Not on this earth, came the answer. For after Ethel had died, the only living soul who’d cared about her, she had intended to end it all. As she’d never swum a stroke in her life, it would not have taken much effort to throw herself from the nearest wharf and slip below the murky waters of the Thames.
No one would have missed her. Except Ronnie, perhaps. But for all the wrong reasons.
29 December 1940 was the day her life should have ended. Two years later and at the age of thirty-four, she had just produced the miracle of her lifetime.
In eight days, if Spot was to be believed, she would become Mrs Cissy Fryer, wife to Horace and mother of Harry Junior, of Narrow Street, Limehouse.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a grey and sunless November morning when the day came for Spot and Cissy to be married. Molly had arranged to meet the happy couple at the Mile End registry office, since Spot had given their address as Narrow Street even though they were planning to stay at Molly’s until the decorating had been carried out.
Everyone was very nervous as they gathered at the shop, where parked out in the yard was an old Morris that Dennis had managed to borrow for the morning. Petrol coupons had been pooled, and all the guests were dressed to the nines, the women smelling of Phul-Nana face powder and scent, and wearing brand-new nylons, all provided by one of the customers whose daughter was walking out with a GI.
Molly wore a cream coat and a tiny white veiled cap that closed around her auburn hair pinned up behind her head. Jean had chosen a market bargain, a brown striped two-piece with a muffler. The four children, Simon, Susie, Evie and Mark, were all wearing coats from the school’s swap shop. They also had new socks and brown lace-up shoes polished until they shone. All six passengers squeezed in the car, driven by Dennis, who for the first time since the onset of war was dressed in a pinstriped suit and waistcoat. Molly had asked Liz to open the shop at nine and had given her a key.
So by the time the Morris pulled in to the kerb outside the Mile End council building, Molly’s expectations that the event would go off as planned were high.
But as soon as a cab pulled up and Spot jumped out, she knew something was amiss. His face was drawn and tense and as he hurried round to open the other door for Cissy, he barely acknowledged them.
‘Christ, what’s happened now?’ Jean whispered to Molly as they stood waiting on the pavement.
‘I visited Cissy the day before yesterday and helped her wash her hair. She was a bit quiet, I’ll admit. But I put that down to pre-wedding nerves.’
‘Perhaps she don’t like leaving the baby.’
‘Yes, perhaps.’
They all gathered at the entrance as Spot took Cissy’s arm and led her inside. Cissy smiled weakly, and although she looked very smart in the coat she had bought at the market, she leaned against Spot as they all filed into a small annexe.
The registrar nodded and when they were seated gave a short address. The children sat quietly and attentively, Molly was relieved to see, even Evie whose tin
y feet in her polished shoes dangled inches above the floor as she sat on the chair beside Susie.
Within a few minutes Spot and Cissy had exchanged vows. Molly expected the service to be short and sweet under the circumstances, and when Spot drew Cissy towards him and kissed her, everyone cheered.
Molly got out of her seat and went up to Cissy, who was still being assisted by Spot.
‘Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Fryer,’ she said excitedly, but Cissy’s face was tense.
‘Thanks. But we can’t stop.’
‘Are you all right?’
Cissy nodded, her eyes dark-rimmed and tired under her heavy eyebrows. ‘Can you do me a favour and fill in the papers, Molly?’ she asked. ‘The baby’s not feeding. I tried all night and he flatly refused. He’s lost four ounces in weight in just a few days.’
‘He’ll put them back on, love,’ consoled Spot who looked very anxious too, despite his smart dark suit and checked tie.
‘Take me back,’ Cissy insisted. ‘I’ve got to see me baby.’
‘Course, off you go.’ Molly knew Cissy was very upset.
Leaning on Spot’s arm, she shuffled slowly out of the room, leaving everyone staring after them. The four children gathered round.
‘Ain’t she stopping to talk to us?’ asked Mark.
‘No, she has to feed the baby.’
‘When can we play with it?’ said Evie, tossing back her golden curls.
‘As soon as Cissy brings him home.’
Simon and Susie were silent and Jean took them to one side as Molly went to speak with the registrar.
For a day that had been planned to be Cissy’s happiest, it was all a bit of a disappointment.
After the ceremony, they went back to Jean’s. Molly thanked Dennis again for the loan of the car and stayed a short while to chat to Jean. But they were both preoccupied, thinking about Cissy and little Harry. Was Cissy overreacting, Molly wondered – yet if Emily, as a baby, had stopped feeding, she would have felt just as troubled.
Late that night, Spot called round with more disturbing news.
‘They don’t know what’s wrong with Harry,’ he told her as he sat at the kitchen table. ‘She’s frantic.’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t know how to feed just yet,’ Molly suggested. ‘After all, he was early and very small.’
‘He’s smaller still now.’
‘What are they going to do?’
Spot shrugged. ‘Dunno. I’m going back there now.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Don’t fancy any grub just yet.’
‘Where’s Nibbles?’
‘A mate’s looking after him. Reckon I’ll be at the hospital a fair bit.’ He stood up, and to Molly looked quite unlike the robust little man she knew, with his tie undone and a worried expression. She felt very sorry for this usually happy-go-lucky character.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Molly asked as she followed him down the stairs to the door.
‘I’ll let you know. They ain’t letting visitors in at the moment.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘Don’t seem like we got married today.’ Spot turned and sighed. ‘Say one for the baby, won’t you?’
Molly nodded. She watched him walk off into the dark night. As she locked the door she recalled how Spot had loyally kept watch over the shop with Nibbles at his feet. She wished that now she could do something for Spot in return. She knew the suffering Cissy must be going through, as she had travelled that very same path herself when Emily was taken ill.
Molly couldn’t sleep that night, and eventually the dawn broke. A pale November sun glowed through between the white clouds.
She stood at Cissy’s bedroom door where the wooden crib rested beside the big bed which was to have been occupied by Cissy and Spot until Narrow Street was put in order.
Quickly she walked to the kitchen and, as usual, made her first cup of tea, the answer to all life’s many problems.
‘You heard any news yet?’ Jean asked Molly at the weekend. It was a busy Saturday, and in between customers they had time to discuss the only topic that really concerned them.
Molly shook her head. ‘Spot’s not been by.’
‘That’s unusual.’
‘I thought about going up to the hospital.’
‘Will they let you in to see her?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘If you ain’t heard anything by tonight, shall we go tomorrow? Being Sunday, Dennis will keep an eye on the kids. What harm can it do? The nurses can only turn us away.’
Molly had a deep sense of unease. So to keep herself from worrying she went about the day’s business of serving in the shop, ordering from the wholesalers and looking after Mark and Evie.
On Sunday, Molly took Mark and Evie down to Jean’s. The children all went out to play in the street while Dennis worked in his shed.
Molly suggested that she and Jean take the bus and, even though it wasn’t quite visiting time, they went to the maternity ward and waited at the doors until a nurse arrived.
‘We’re friends of Mr and Mrs Fryer,’ Molly said. ‘Is there any news of the baby?’
The nurse looked at them. ‘Are you family?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Molly. ‘Just good friends.’
‘In that case, I’m afraid I can’t give you any information,’ the nurse replied, and with that she went through the door to the ward.
As they were staring after her, a shout came from the corridor.
Molly was shocked at Spot’s appearance. He was wearing his old coat and trousers and his black hair stuck up in untidy tufts as though he hadn’t run a comb through it in days. The growth on his chin was dark and bristly, and there were hollowed shadows beneath his crossed eyes.
‘Blimey,’ said Jean as he neared, ‘he looks a bit rough.’
‘Spot? What’s happened?’ Molly asked as he came breathlessly to a full stop.
‘Dunno,’ he said, blinking at them tiredly. ‘I’m on me way in to see Cissy.’
‘How is she?’ Molly and Jean asked together.
‘It’s been touch and go with the baby.’ He stood agitatedly, glancing over their shoulders. ‘He’s been very sick.’
‘Oh, Gawd.’ Jean put a hand to her mouth.
‘He’s got what they said is a complication of the blood. Cissy’s been trying to feed him every couple of hours. She ain’t slept and don’t want no grub, but forces it down, as they tell her she’s got to eat for the baby’s sake.’
‘She must be exhausted.’
‘I have to wear this cap and gown and look through a glass window at them. The nurses tried to keep me away but Cissy created a stink. I’m afraid to leave in case something happens. So I kip out here, anywhere I can find a chair.’
‘How awful for you both.’ Molly touched his shoulder.
‘She’s bloody brave,’ Spot told them, his haggard face showing the distress he was in. ‘Never shed a tear since we found out he’s got something wrong. But I don’t like the look of her. She’s taking it all inwards. And as we can’t speak through this bloody partition, it must be like being in the jug for her.’
‘Will you let her know we came?’ Molly asked.
‘Course. I better go now.’
‘Take care of yourselves,’ Jean said, but Spot was gone before she finished her sentence.
‘Poor Cissy,’ Molly said as they left the hospital. ‘She was so happy and then all this.’
‘What do you think’s wrong with the baby?’
‘Don’t know. But it doesn’t sound good.’
‘Oh, well,’ sighed Jean as they waited for the bus, ‘there ain’t nothing more we can do for the time being, I suppose.’
When they were seated on the bus, Jean said pensively, ‘Cissy and Spot’s troubles must bring back rotten memories for you, gel.’
Molly nodded. ‘I’ve had Emily on my mind a lot lately. One day she was a fit little toddler, the next a very sick child.’
‘I don’t know what I’d be like if Simon or Susie was that ill,’ Jean admitted. ‘I think I’d go to pieces. I dunno how you and Ted managed to carry on.’
‘Dad sold us the shop and that was a lifesaver.’
‘Do you think losing your Emily was the reason why you never had any more kids?’
As Molly thought over this very personal question, she shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, Jean. Another baby just didn’t come along.’
‘Perhaps you didn’t want it to after such a tragic experience,’ Jean said perceptively. ‘Going through what you did was devastating. You’d never want it to happen again. If it was me I think I’d try to cut meself off from any more pain.’
Molly suddenly realized just how right Jean was. Both she and Ted had thrown themselves into the shop, spending all God’s hours at work, to build up the business. It was as if they’d looked on the store as their child, a replacement for Emily, a focus to keep them both sane. And as she thought this, another clear understanding came to her as though the clouds in her mind parted to let the blue sky through. She could see now that the store, for Ted, hadn’t been enough to counteract the void left by Emily. He must have realized that, which was why he volunteered in 1939, when war broke out. Courageously and without hesitation he’d gone to enlist, as though it was his fate to do so. And, with this in mind, she understood now why she’d never tried to stop him: Ted had to fulfil his destiny, as she must hers.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Jean as the bus rocked from side to side.
‘I was thinking about Ted,’ she replied on a deep sigh. ‘I’m beginning to understand things now that have been a mystery.’
‘Like what?’
‘You can’t live someone else’s life for them.’ She looked at Jean. ‘No matter how much you love them. We all have our paths to tread.’
‘Funny,’ said Jean with a faint smile, ‘I was thinking that just the other day.’ She put her hand over Molly’s. ‘Not in those same words, but as near as damn it. I used to worry meself sick over Dennis. When those bloody bombers came over and he was out all times of the night I thought, that’s it, one day it’ll be a copper at the door and I won’t want to hear what he says.’