The Midwives of Raglan Road

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘Never you mind.’ Norman made it clear he wouldn’t think twice about barging past the woman and searching her house if need be. ‘There’s no point you shilly-shallying. We know she’s here.’

  Hazel put a warning hand on his arm. ‘Perhaps Sylvia didn’t give the right name,’ she suggested carefully. ‘Girls in her position often don’t.’

  ‘What is her position, pray?’ As the conversation developed, there was more stiffness in the woman’s manner and more artifice. The door closed by degrees until she was peering through a narrow gap.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out,’ Hazel went on. ‘Let’s say we’ve come here because we’re worried about her.’ Beneath her calm surface she couldn’t help but picture the room behind the green blind – a sink in one corner, an operating table, a trolley equipped with glass rods, forceps and knives. The image didn’t tally with the abortionist’s sleek and stylish outward appearance but the trail via Mabel and Berta was clear – there was no doubt that this was where it led.

  The woman thought for a while. It was obvious that her callers knew what they were about and would be unlikely to be fobbed off with excuses. This left her in a sticky position. If she slammed the door on them, they would probably go straight to the police – the last thing she needed. If she let them in right away, they would see her paraphernalia laid out in the downstairs room and the end result would be the same. ‘Wait here,’ she said at last.

  The door was closed and bolted. The woman left them standing.

  ‘What now? Do we break down the door?’ Norman was ready to do the deed.

  Hazel held him back. ‘No. Let’s give her a minute or two to get rid of the evidence.’

  ‘Sylvia is in there – I know she is.’

  ‘But we got here in time, I think.’ Judging by the abortionist’s cool manner, it didn’t look as if she’d been caught red-handed. At least, this is what Hazel hoped.

  Norman paced the pavement. ‘How can she …? I mean, what makes anyone pick a job like this?’

  It was a hard question for Hazel to answer. ‘I know – it goes against the grain,’ she admitted, waiting anxiously for further developments and thinking that she heard movements behind the green blind. ‘But the truth is, in some situations and for some women, this has to be the last resort.’

  ‘Well, I’m not waiting any longer.’ Norman clenched his fists and mounted the two steps. He hammered on the door.

  This time it was opened by a whey-pale, trembling Sylvia. ‘What are you two doing here?’ she asked, as if bearing all the burdens of the world on her slight shoulders. She clutched her coat lapels to her throat and kept the other arm crossed protectively over her stomach.

  Norman didn’t answer. He rushed to put his arms around her but she backed down the corridor out of reach. ‘Sylvia, I’ve come to fetch you,’ Norman said at last. ‘You have to come home.’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything.’ Sylvia’s old petulance put in a brief appearance but soon gave way to helpless sobs.

  There was no sign of the fair-haired woman, Hazel noticed. She felt a flood of pity towards Sylvia here in this, the worst of all situations.

  Norman turned to Hazel in silent appeal.

  ‘Let me.’ Hazel squeezed past him and offered to put an arm around Sylvia’s shoulder. ‘You’re right – you don’t have to,’ she said. ‘No one’s going to force you.’

  ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’ Sylvia cried. She backed away again, hands over her face, body racked with sobs. ‘It’s taken me weeks to build up to doing this and now you’ve gone and ruined it.’

  ‘Hush,’ Hazel murmured. ‘Norman and I … we only want to talk to you.’

  ‘What about? Norman shouldn’t have followed me. I haven’t got anything to say to him.’

  ‘Just you and me, then,’ Hazel suggested. The fact that they’d ‘ruined’ Sylvia’s plans made her more certain that they’d arrived in time and she indicated this by a reassuring nod at Norman. ‘Somewhere nice and quiet, if that’s better for you.’

  ‘In here.’ Sylvia fumbled at the handle of a door leading into a well-lit room. A fire glowed in the black range and a green metal shade covered an electric ceiling light. A long, narrow table on wheels of the type used in an operating theatre was pushed hard against the far wall. An alcove cupboard was padlocked shut. At least the woman carried out her work in hygienic conditions, Hazel noted as she drew two metal chairs into the centre of the room.

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ she told Sylvia. ‘Are you sure you don’t want Norman to be in on this?’

  Sylvia gave an exasperated cry. ‘No. It’s nothing to do with him.’

  Hazel took a deep breath and tried hard to understand. ‘I hoped we’d got past this. I know you didn’t want the baby for a long time and that things between you and Norman weren’t all they might be. But looking ahead to when the baby’s born, I really and truly believe that it will come right in the end.’

  ‘But that’s just it – it won’t.’ Overcome by a fresh burst of sobbing, Sylvia collapsed forward. Her dark hair fell over her face.

  Hazel put a hand on her back and waited.

  ‘How can it?’ Sylvia pleaded, her voice muffled. ‘Oh, I hoped it would when I rushed headlong into marrying him. At the very least I thought it would keep the tittle-tattlers at bay for a while, once they saw I was expecting. But it wasn’t long before I realized I was sticking my head in the sand.’

  ‘Why do you say that? Norman loves you – he really does.’

  Sylvia raised her head and peered out from behind a curtain of dull, dark hair. ‘Don’t you see? That doesn’t make any difference.’

  ‘But why resort to this, Sylvia? For a start, you must know the risk you’re taking coming to one of these women. What if it goes wrong?’

  ‘It won’t. Berta wouldn’t have sent me here if she wasn’t any good.’

  Hazel knelt beside Sylvia’s chair and held her gaze as she went on. ‘I’m sure Berta and Mabel meant well and there are places much worse than this, I know that for a fact. But they can’t give any guarantees – no one can. The biggest risk of doing something like this is that it causes haemorrhaging because of the instruments they use – bleeding that can’t easily be stopped. After that, there’s infection, and if they give you Diachylon – that has lead in it and you would have blood poisoning all over again. There – have I said enough?’

  Sylvia drew several sharp breaths then let out a soft groan. She grasped Hazel’s hand.

  ‘I’m not telling you this to scare you. It’s because it’s true.’

  ‘That’s it, then. I might as well save everyone the trouble and jump off that bridge into the canal.’ As Sylvia pulled herself upright, her face took on a mask-like blankness and her voice was hollow.

  Hazel stood up. This wasn’t Sylvia being dramatic, she realized with a fresh jolt. This was something else. ‘Why? What haven’t you told me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Sylvia, spit it out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why has this got nothing to do with Norman?’

  ‘Because …’ Sylvia tilted her head back and drew a long, jagged breath before she spoke again. ‘Norman isn’t the father. There – I’ve said it.’

  Hazel took three paces towards the window then walked quickly back. She rested her hands on Sylvia’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. ‘Not Norman. Who then?’

  Sylvia shook her off with a bitter laugh. ‘You’ll see soon enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean – if you don’t let me get rid of this baby, everyone will see – Norman, Mum, Nana, you, Gladys—’

  ‘What will we see? Tell me, Sylvia, who is the father?’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘Don’t – this isn’t a game.’

  ‘I know that!’ A secret that Sylvia had kept locked away for months forced itself into the open. The few short minutes that she would regret for the res
t of her life sprang out of the dark corners of her mind. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing. He swept me off my feet.’

  ‘Who did?’ Hazel struggled to identify the man who had flattered, petted and persuaded Sylvia to give in to him.

  ‘It was a horrid, stuffy little room.’ She shut her eyes at the memory and let out a low groan. The pause went on and on until she opened her eyes again and gazed forlornly at Hazel. ‘Then he dropped me. I tried and tried to talk to him but he just brushed me off – he wouldn’t even speak to me once it had happened.’

  Hazel shook her head. Nothing she could say would make this better.

  ‘There was no one to talk to. I just waited and hoped. Then I found out …’

  ‘That you were having a baby?’

  Sylvia ignored the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. ‘I said to myself, No, it can’t be true. I tried to ignore it and carried on going out to dances and to the flicks with the usual crowd.’

  ‘Which is where you ran into Norman.’

  ‘He was always sweet on me, then suddenly he’s down on his knees saying he loves me and asking me to marry him. I didn’t say a word about … about the bad thing that had happened. I hid it from everyone and jumped at the chance of marrying Norman. I kidded myself that it would make everything all right, but deep down I must have known it wouldn’t – not really. I knew it even before I walked down the aisle.’

  Hazel thought back to the doubts she’d harboured about the actions of the young bride-to-be – how desperate Sylvia had seemed to tie the knot and yet how strangely detached from events.

  ‘Come on, now,’ Hazel said softly, her hand still on Sylvia’s shoulder, ‘you can tell me the father’s name.’

  Sylvia took a deep breath. ‘Earl Ray,’ she whispered in the sterile, empty surroundings chosen to put an end to her problem. ‘Now do you see?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘We got here in time but Sylvia is still very upset,’ Hazel told Norman as she led her cousin out of the house onto the pavement. ‘Let’s get her home as quick as we can.’

  Inside the room, Sylvia had forced a promise out of Hazel. ‘You mustn’t say a word!’ she’d begged. ‘If you do, I’ll stick my head in the gas oven the minute your back is turned – I swear I will.’

  ‘Hush, it’s all right. This is between you and me – it goes no further.’ The main thing was to get Sylvia away from here. Everything else would have to wait.

  ‘It’s Sunday – there are no trams or buses,’ Norman pointed out. Sobbing and incoherent murmurings were all that he’d heard from inside the room and his blood still boiled when he remembered the fair-haired woman’s cool, cautious demeanour.

  ‘Then we’ll have to walk,’ Hazel decided.

  They made their way in the rain over the bridge onto Canal Road, with Hazel linking arms with Sylvia and sheltering her with her umbrella. Sylvia leaned against her, saying nothing and allowing herself to be steered up flights of stone steps between mill buildings and along narrow streets until they came at last to Nelson Yard.

  ‘Do you have tea and milk in the house?’ Hazel checked with Norman as they crossed the grim courtyard. ‘Give her a cup with plenty of sugar and make sure she stays in bed for the rest of the day.’

  Sylvia clutched at her. ‘Don’t go,’ she begged.

  ‘Norman’s here. He’ll take care of you.’ Hazel prised Sylvia’s fingers from her arm. ‘Promise me you’ll rest. I’ll be back in a little while.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home, to fetch a few things – toiletries for you to spruce yourself up.’

  Reluctantly Sylvia let Norman lead her into the house and Hazel hurried away. She’d reached the ginnel leading out onto Raglan Road when the door to her grandmother’s house flew open and Rose rushed down the steps, a shawl pulled hastily around her shoulders, her thick hair escaping from its loose bun.

  ‘What’s the matter with Sylvia?’ Rose demanded. ‘I saw you with her and Norman.’

  ‘Nothing. She’s all right.’

  ‘She didn’t look all right. She looked like death warmed up.’ Rose eyed Hazel suspiciously then realized from her closed expression that she would get no information out of her niece. ‘You’re not going to let on, are you?’

  ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’ Hazel didn’t want to keep Rose at bay, especially when she saw a hurt expression followed by disappointment flicker across her aunt’s sensitive face.

  ‘I see – Sylvia’s bound you to silence.’

  Hazel nodded.

  ‘And she won’t open the door to me or to anyone else for that matter. So there’s no point us even trying.’

  ‘She won’t,’ Hazel agreed.

  ‘And I’ll bet she’s got nothing to eat in the house. What will they have for their dinners?’ Beside herself with worry, Rose tried to work out a way of offering help. ‘I know – Mother and I can spare a few slices from our Sunday joint – it’s topside of beef. I’ll wrap them up in greaseproof paper and leave them on their doorstep.’

  ‘Yes, do that,’ Hazel said quietly. She smiled and squeezed Rose’s hand then walked quickly down the dank, dark alley.

  Back at Canal Road, Hazel found that Gladys was harder to fob off than Rose.

  ‘What do you mean – you went for a walk? Nobody goes for a walk when it’s pouring down with rain.’ Gladys made mincemeat of Hazel’s feeble excuse. ‘Not even you.’

  Hazel held steady against the barrage of questions. ‘I woke up early and I felt like a breath of fresh air, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah, now who’s a dark horse? It was another secret assignation, wasn’t it?’

  ‘At this time on a Sunday morning? I don’t think so, Gladys.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. It was a tryst with John.’ Gladys treated Hazel to a gimlet stare. ‘Haven’t you listened to a word I said?’

  ‘I haven’t met up with John, I swear. I haven’t even spoken to him since before Christmas.’

  ‘What was it then? Was it connected with work?’

  ‘Goodness, Gladys. This is worse than living at home. Isn’t a girl allowed to go for a walk if she feels like it?’

  Luckily for Hazel, Gladys was distracted by the sound of men’s voices drifting up from the downstairs kitchen. She winked then leaned over the banister and called down, ‘Ooh, yes ta – Hazel and I would love a cup of tea, since you’re asking! Come on, Hazel, let’s show our American pals how to make a nice strong brew.’

  Gladys swished down the stairs and was soon engaged in lively conversation with Earl Ray and Sonny Dubec. Hazel stayed where she was, wrestling with Sylvia’s recent news.

  Yes, this too fell into place. She recalled how peculiar it had seemed that Sylvia had kept on pursuing the band leader in spite of her engagement to Norman, but now it was clear that she’d been desperate to talk to him about the result of their disastrous one-night stand. Did Earl Ray even know about the baby? Hazel wondered.

  Then another thought occurred to her as she looked ahead to the birth – was Sylvia right to suppose through her sobs and tears in the abortionist’s room that the father’s race was bound to show in the colour of the baby’s skin? Hazel determined to talk to David about this as soon as she got the chance.

  Hearing the laughter below, she retreated to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. For a moment she was angry. How could Sylvia have hoped to trick Norman, even for a second? And anyway, the good-hearted chap didn’t deserve to be used in that way. No – it was wrong on both counts.

  Then she felt guilty. Imagine the shock, she thought. Sylvia had made a bad mistake and it had brought her whole world tumbling down. She’d told no one and imagined she could work her way towards a solution, only to make things ten times worse by marrying Norman. In fact, all she’d succeeded in doing was to build a house of straw. It had altered nothing – there was still the fact of Earl Ray and the colour of his skin.

  On Sylvia had rushed, from one panicky, misguided action to the next – p
ushing everyone away, going to Mabel for help not once but twice and being ready to risk everything so that the truth did not come out.

  Hazel felt sorry and then angry again, angrier than she had ever been – this time with the man whose loud laugh and drawling voice still floated up the stairs. Sylvia was an innocent seventeen-year-old who’d never been further than Blackpool beach. And what was he? A man of thirty-five or forty, from across the Atlantic, who frequented a world of dimly lit bars that you only ever saw on the silver screen. It was plain and simple – Sylvia had idolized him and he’d seized upon her infatuation and misused it for his own ends.

  How much force had he used, when it came to it? Hazel wondered. Or had it been honeyed words and dapper charm alone? Perhaps that was something she would never know.

  Pressing her lips together and coming to a decision, Hazel jumped up from the bed and packed a bar of soap, a clean face flannel and a spare hairbrush into her sponge bag. She put on her coat and hat and was out of the house before Gladys had finished her morning cuppa with the man who had destroyed Sylvia’s life.

  ‘Swear that you’ve kept your promise,’ Sylvia begged again when Hazel took her the toiletries. She was in bed. Norman was downstairs setting out the cold meat and Yorkshire puddings that Rose had left on the doorstep. ‘You haven’t said anything to anyone about Bridge Lane, have you?’

  ‘Not a word.’ Hazel placed the brush, soap and flannel next to the ewer and basin on the washstand in Sylvia and Norman’s bedroom. ‘And how are you feeling now – better?’

  ‘Tired.’

  ‘That’s to be expected. Tomorrow I’ll bring you a pick-me-up.’

  ‘Yes, you will carry on visiting me, won’t you? You won’t leave me on my own?’

  Hazel gazed sadly at Sylvia propped up on pillows and cushions, covered by a sheet and a thin blanket. Her face was drained of colour and her eyes were dark. ‘I’ll visit every day if I can,’ she promised.

  ‘Will she try to find me?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know – the woman. I didn’t pay her any money. I’m worried she’ll come looking for me.’

  ‘I’ll see that she doesn’t.’ Hazel decided to pass on the message to Mabel that Sylvia was not to be bothered. ‘Anyway, Norman would soon send her packing if she did.’