by Jenny Holmes
‘You can say that again. And ta, by the way, for the book of poems.’
‘You’re very welcome. I hope you enjoy reading them.’
‘I’m sure I will.’ Clutching her list of patients, Hazel hurried on up the stairs into the lively, crowded room.
Greeted with cheery hellos from mothers-to-be and the raucous cries of toddlers at play, she spent the next three hours carrying out examinations and giving routine advice. She had a long chat with Betty Hollings, who swore she was doing her best to take things easy, but the most interesting case of the day came at the end of the afternoon when Hazel was already tidying away the toys in the playpen and was about to pack her bag. It came in the fashionable shape of Philip Baxter’s wife Barbara.
‘Am I too late?’ Barbara looked apprehensively around the empty room.
‘Hello again,’ Hazel greeted her with a warm smile. ‘Not at all. Come straight through and I’ll take a look at you.’
Barbara went behind the screen and removed her plum-coloured jacket and skirt. She was down to her white blouse and petticoat before Hazel got the feeling that not all was well with her elderly primagravida. She had stopped getting undressed and stood uncertainly by the examination table, seemingly close to tears.
‘What is it – what’s wrong?’ Hazel asked.
‘The fact is, I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather not be here,’ Barbara confessed, reaching for her skirt and stepping back into it.
‘Why ever not?’
Barbara tossed her head impatiently. ‘I’m perfectly all right, that’s why. I only agreed to come to the clinic in the first place to keep Philip happy. But there really is no need to keep on coming.’
Studying her tearful face, Hazel trod carefully. ‘Wouldn’t you like to be weighed at least? And you can keep some of your clothes on if you’d prefer.’
As Barbara ignored the invitation, the reasons for her upset came swiftly to the fore. ‘This is my first baby and Philip is dead set on doing things in the modern way. He says that I deserve the best care. That’s why he wanted me to come here.’
‘Good for him. But that isn’t what you would like?’ Recalling the garage owner’s military appearance and blunt manner, Hazel assumed that his force of personality usually carried the day. This was why she was determined to give Barbara space to explain.
‘No. I’ve nothing against you, you understand. But I would have gone to Mabel Jackson, the same as my mother did when she had me.’ Tears were now well and truly streaming down Barbara’s face, streaking her rouged cheeks. ‘I was hoping it would all happen quietly at home, without me having to sit here every fortnight, listening to other women’s tittle-tattle. And there wouldn’t have been any men involved either.’
‘You mean, when you give birth?’
Barbara took a hankie from her pocket and dabbed her cheeks. ‘That’s right. You said last time that Dr Bell will be in charge for that part. I went home and thought about it, and to be honest I’m dreading it.’
‘I see. Why not let me have a word with Dr Bell?’ Hazel said. Belatedly she recognized a strong prudishness beneath Barbara’s sophisticated appearance and wished she’d picked up on it sooner. The poor woman simply didn’t want a man present during childbirth.
After a while Barbara rallied. ‘I’m not being awkward, am I?’
‘Not at all. You must speak up about what you’d like.’
‘That’s been the way of doing it all these years – a neighbour like Mabel coming in and taking charge. Women like her – they’re bona fide, after all.’
Hazel couldn’t deny it. ‘Yes, they’re regulated to some extent. But they’re not trained. And with someone in your position – that is, well, a little older than average to be having your first baby – there is an increased risk.’
‘Of what?’ Barbara frowned and took a sharp breath.
‘Of raised blood pressure, for instance. Now, if that happens it’s not necessarily something for you to worry about but we’d just like to keep a close eye on you to make sure it doesn’t run out of control.’ Hazel hoped that by explaining carefully and calmly she would gain her patient’s trust.
‘That’s the way Philip looks at it. He’s forever reminding me about what happened to poor Myra.’
Once again, Hazel fought to keep her own feelings out of the picture. ‘He’s right. By coming here you’re taking good care of both yourself and the baby. We can show you what to eat, tell you when to put your feet up and carry out all the tests to keep you safe. And if in the end you’d prefer me to deliver your baby at home, I’m sure I can arrange that with Dr Bell.’
Slowly Barbara nodded. ‘I am being awkward,’ she asserted miserably. ‘But I can’t help the way I feel.’
‘And why should you?’ Hazel readily acknowledged Barbara’s right to make a stand. She smiled as she saw her unzip her skirt again and take off her blouse. ‘The main thing is you’re here now and I’m standing by with my stethoscope, ready and willing to listen to baby’s heartbeat.’
‘Right you are.’ Barbara swung her slim legs up onto the table and lay back. ‘From now on I promise to do as I’m told.’
‘That’s the ticket,’ Hazel said, warming the stethoscope then applying it to Barbara’s abdomen. She leaned forward, put her ear to the instrument and listened intently to the tiny, miraculous heartbeat of a baby preparing to be born.
Hazel and Gladys’s big move came on Saturday the second of January. There was still a deafening silence from John, even though she was sure that he must have spotted Napier’s horse and cart waiting outside the house on his way to work.
He’ll be keeping his head down until I’m settled in the flat, Hazel told herself, mentally squaring her shoulders to make herself concentrate on the task in hand.
Her father had enlisted Norman’s help to manhandle her bulky tea chest down the narrow stairs. There was much grunting and shuffling to get it out onto the street and on the back of the cart.
‘What have you got in here – the kitchen sink?’ old Napier joked.
Hazel grinned. ‘It’s my textbooks that weigh the most. Anyway, you should see the amount of stuff that Gladys has.’ One last return to her room convinced Hazel that she hadn’t forgotten anything. The bed was stripped bare, the shelves and chest of drawers were empty and she felt a strong twinge of sadness. Her mother climbed the stairs to join her.
‘Why not take this with you?’ Almost shyly Jinny offered Hazel her sewing basket containing scissors, cotton reels, needles and her silver thimble.
‘I couldn’t,’ Hazel objected.
‘Don’t be silly – of course you can. You’ll need something to mend your stockings with, won’t you?’
‘How will you manage without it?’
‘Don’t worry about that – Rose is rummaging in her basket, sorting out spares for me.’
‘Then ta – I’ll take this one with me.’
Mother and daughter stood framed in the attic doorway, surveying the sloping ceiling, varnished floorboards and striped flock mattress. Both knew it was a big moment.
‘The room looks bigger without all your clutter,’ Jinny commented.
‘Canal Road isn’t far away,’ Hazel said.
They glanced at each other and smiled. It was a deep, silent exchange that encompassed their years of struggle and joy together, of pride and petty jealousies, of Jinny giving birth and Hazel growing up, growing away.
‘We’re ready to go!’ Robert called up the stairs.
‘All done and dusted.’ Jinny sighed. A room without possessions was nothing – just an empty space. A house without a daughter was something she would have to get used to.
‘Coming!’ Hazel shouted. Holding the sewing box close to her chest, she left without looking back.
‘Wouldn’t you just know it?’ Gladys wailed. She’d run down the ginnel to greet Napier’s cart, bumping into Norman as he said goodbye to Hazel and Robert. ‘Dan’s let me down as usual.’
‘What’s he do
ne now?’ an unruffled Robert asked. It was a dismal, grey day and he’d dressed for the weather in his cap and thick woollen scarf.
‘He only promised to help me shift my belongings. But he went to the Green Cross with John last night and he never came home.’
‘Count me in,’ Norman volunteered. ‘Hang on here while I tell Sylvia what’s up.’
‘Sylvia can say what she likes, Norman’s got a heart of gold,’ a grateful Gladys acknowledged.
‘He’s used to flitting.’ Hazel remembered that his impoverished family had been forced to move house many times. ‘And yes, it is good of him.’
Before they knew it, Norman was back to lift Gladys’s three big cardboard boxes out of the house, across the cobbled yard and down the ginnel onto the cart, together with two suitcases and a full-length mirror that she swore she couldn’t do without.
‘What happens at the far end?’ Jim Napier mumbled. The scrap dealer didn’t mind lending his horse and cart but made it plain that, with his bad back, he had no intention of lifting heavy boxes.
‘Don’t worry – I’m yours for as long as you need me,’ Norman promised.
All told, Gladys’s leave-taking from Nelson Yard was as noisy and disorganized as Hazel’s departure from Raglan Road had been calm and considered. Twice she forgot vital things and had to go back into the house where she begged spare pillow cases and a teapot from her mother. Then she had to fight her way through wet towels and sheets flapping from criss-crossing lines to say tearful goodbyes to her grandmother and Aunty Rose. A dustbin lid clanged, boys shouted and ran flat-footed along the echoing alleyway.
‘That’s that,’ Gladys declared at last, brushing the palms of her hands together. ‘All done and dusted.’
‘Ready?’ Robert asked.
‘Ready,’ Gladys and Hazel confirmed. They sat on the back of the scrap man’s cart, legs dangling and calling out to the plodding grey cart horse in high, excited voices. ‘Gee-up, Ned, clippety-clop!’
After an afternoon of fetching and carrying, the new lodgers at number 102 Canal Road were cosily installed. Hazel’s dresses hung neatly on a rail in an alcove by the chimney breast and her books were lined up on the window sill. She sat on the bed and ran her hand along the sleek wooden headboard chosen by Miss Bennett and reflecting the house-proud landlady’s intention to move with the times. So too did the geometric designs of the green and gold rug and coordinated curtains and wallpaper.
‘Hazel, come and help me decide where to put the mirror,’ Gladys called from her own room across the landing. ‘Should it be under the skylight or tucked away in the alcove?’
‘Skylight,’ Hazel told her. ‘That way you can see what you’re doing.’ She noticed that Gladys had already made her mark on the room. There were framed pictures on the cast-iron mantelpiece – holiday snaps of a young Gladys and Sylvia riding donkeys on Blackpool’s Golden Mile, together with a glamorous studio shot of Gladys taken in more recent days. Her clothes were strewn over the bed – a colourful riot of rayon blouses and dresses, velour jackets and lacy underwear.
Gladys placed the mirror in the recommended position, studied her reflection, then gave a twirl. ‘Perfect. Now, how about a cuppa?’
To make tea they had to go down to a first-floor kitchenette equipped with a gas ring and a sink. It was at the far end of the corridor, opposite the shared bathroom, and had a cupboard where Gladys and Hazel would store their cups, teapot, tea caddy and so on.
‘Isn’t this grand?’ Gladys beamed at Hazel as the kettle came to the boil.
‘Yes. We’ve really landed on our feet.’ Hazel was tired but exhilarated. This was how freedom felt – an attic flat close to the buzz of the town centre, perched high above the canal and the main tram routes, ready for any excitement that came their way.
Along the corridor a door opened and a man’s voice was heard, talking about new reeds for a clarinet and venues for forthcoming shows. ‘Three more nights here, then after that, Leeds then Manchester.’
Gladys’s eyes lit up as she recognized Earl Ray’s drawling accent and gravelly tone. She rushed out into the corridor, dragging Hazel with her. ‘Hello. Remember us?’ she cried.
The off-duty band leader was dressed in a sleeveless pullover with a bold black-and-white zig-zag pattern, teamed up with wide black trousers. ‘Ladies, how could I forget?’
Gladys basked in his admiring glance. ‘We’ve spent the day moving in upstairs, getting the place nice and cosy.’
‘I’m glad you made it. Saying hi to two new, pretty neighbours sure makes my day.’
While Gladys and Earl chatted on, Hazel summed him up. Despite the ease and friendliness, she found his warmth insincere. It was difficult to put her finger on it – only that the compliments came too readily and followed a formula that he must use a dozen times a day, whenever he met an ardent young fan. On top of which, his physical presence intimidated her – again, it was hard to define, but had something to do with the way he used his height to lean in too close while he was speaking.
Gladys, however, was enthralled, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes for all she was worth. She offered Earl a cup of tea, which he smoothly declined – unless it came with a splash of Jack Daniel’s whiskey, he added with a chuckle. She praised his playing and his singing, putting it above anything she’d heard. He smiled back and admired her baby-blue eyes.
‘Did you hear that?’ Gladys swooned after the great man had said goodbye and gone downstairs. He was hardly out of earshot but she didn’t seem to care. ‘Isn’t he the bee’s knees? Oh Hazel, I’m so excited!’
‘Hush, I think he’s coming back,’ Hazel warned as she heard footsteps on the stairs.
But it was only Miriam Bennett in a sober grey house dress adorned with a silver brooch in the shape of a galleon in full sail, coming to ask if there was anything they needed.
‘A new light bulb for the ceiling light in my room, please,’ Hazel replied.
‘Everything else is tickety-boo, Miss Bennett. We’re thrilled to be here.’ Gladys still bubbled with naive excitement. ‘Living cheek by jowl with famous musicians and actors and all.’
The landlady chose to ignore this and instead ran through a few house rules. ‘I don’t allow pets – no cats, no dogs, no budgerigars, not so much as a goldfish. And I don’t encourage visitors after eight o’clock in the evening. Oh, and if there’s any damage to furniture and fittings from spilt drinks, for example, I expect to be informed immediately.’
The strict instructions failed to bring Gladys down to earth. ‘Musicians and so on – they live in a different world from us mere mortals, don’t they? We trudge along in our workaday lives while they travel all over the country playing their jazz and soaking up applause.’
A frown creased Miriam Bennett’s smooth brow. ‘I think you’ll find they’re not so very different,’ she said with a hint of acid in her voice. ‘After all, they’re men – with all their foibles and failings.’
Gladys flashed a glance at Hazel and waited impatiently for the landlady to retreat to her own quarters. ‘Fancy that. I wouldn’t have put her down as a man hater, would you?’
‘“Men – with all their foibles and failings”,’ Hazel echoed as she went back into the kitchen to pour the tea. ‘I wonder what she meant by that.’
‘Yes. And what makes her think that way.’ Gladys giggled at the older woman’s cynicism. In her mind she sketched a history of betrayal and lost love for their refined, buttoned-up landlady.
Hazel added milk to her cup of tea then took a first sip. ‘Maybe she intended it as a warning for us to stay away from Earl Ray.’
‘Oh Lord, no!’ Gladys laughed away the idea. Cradling her cup, she led the way upstairs. ‘Miss Bennett doesn’t have to worry – we’re not in any danger.’
‘Still.’ As they settled into the armchairs in their improvised sitting room on the top-floor landing, Hazel remained thoughtful.
‘Honestly, we’re not a pair of silly geese who know nothing
of the world,’ Gladys insisted. ‘And talking of warnings, there’s something – somebody – I meant to mention to you.’
‘Hmm. Who’s that?’ Still caught up in the aftermath of their conversation with Earl Ray, Gladys’s change of subject took Hazel by surprise.
‘It’s John Moxon,’ Gladys said with a roll of her eyes.
In an instant, Hazel’s mind became razor sharp. ‘What about him?’
‘It may be nothing. Dan mentioned it a couple of days ago, that’s all. He said John and he had had a falling-out.’
‘We know they did,’ Hazel reminded her. ‘I saw them at the jazz club before Christmas. Reggie Bates had to step in between them.’
‘No, I mean there was another time after that, at the greyhound track on Boxing Day. According to Dan, this time it came to actual fisticuffs.’
‘Did he say what it was about?’
Gladys shook her head. ‘You know Dan – getting anything out of him is like squeezing blood out of a stone. He had to admit he’d been in a fight because he came home with a shiner of a black eye. But he clammed up about what had caused it, except that John had lost his temper and called him all the names under the sun.’
Hazel narrowed her eyes and thought it through. ‘Which Dan probably deserved. Anyway, they must have patched things up because you said the two of them went out together to the Green Cross last night.’
‘They did. But Dan didn’t come home – remember. To my mind that must have been John leading him astray.’
‘Or the other way around.’ Despite sticking up for John, however, Hazel felt riddled by fresh doubts. ‘But you think I should steer clear of him in any case?’
‘I do. I know you have a soft spot for him, but I’m afraid he spells trouble. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve no axe to grind. I’m not a fully paid-up member of Dorothy and Mabel’s coven or anything like that.’
‘Why? What are they bad-mouthing him about now?’
‘The same old things.’
‘Including the fact that he asked me out?’