by Jenny Holmes
‘When did she start her labour?’ she asked Norman, who had stopped at the bottom of Albion Lane.
He’d dropped the bag and was bent double to drag breath into his aching lungs, hands on knees, arms braced. ‘A couple of hours ago, just as I was setting off for work. Thank heavens it happened when it did. Five minutes later and she’d have had no one at home to help her.’
‘Two hours,’ Hazel noted. She would save her other questions for Sylvia herself. ‘Right, there’s no need to panic. Let’s go and see how she’s getting on.’
They were five minutes away from Nelson Yard and, in spite of her soothing words, Hazel knew that every minute at this stage could be crucial. So they ran again along the flagged pavements, down the dark ginnel into the yard where Rose and Ethel hovered anxiously in their doorways.
‘Is it action stations?’ Ethel demanded.
‘We know it is.’ Rose supplied the answer. ‘We saw Norman leave the house at a gallop, didn’t we? And now Hazel’s here.’
Ethel came down her steps and clutched Hazel’s elbow. ‘I tried to get into the house but she wouldn’t let me. She’s all by herself.’
Hazel patted her hand. ‘Well, I’m here now. Aunty Rose, can you keep an eye on Aunty Ethel? We’ll let you know as soon as there’s any news.’ She hurried on with Norman, up the worn steps to his and Sylvia’s house, only to find the door bolted on the inside.
‘What did she go and do that for?’ Hazel was alarmed. ‘How are we going to get in if Sylvia’s too far gone to reach the door?’
Norman shoved at the door with his shoulder. ‘Sylvia, it’s me!’ he yelled. ‘Open up.’
They lost precious seconds while they listened to heavy footsteps on the stairs.
‘That doesn’t sound like Sylvia.’ Norman gave Hazel a baffled look.
They both gasped in astonishment when it was Mabel who unbolted and opened the door.
‘You’d better get a move on,’ she told Hazel, glancing back up the stairs.
Hazel was so taken aback as she stepped over the threshold that she couldn’t help firing a remark at Mabel. ‘We thought it was Sylvia who had bolted the door on us. No one realized you were here.’
Unmoved, Mabel led the way up the stairs. ‘I only had to see young Norman shoot out of the alley like a scalded cat to put two and two together,’ she explained. ‘I was on my doorstep, picking up my milk. “Ah,” I says to myself, “I recognize that scared-rabbit look on a husband’s face – I’ve seen it often enough.” I was round here in two ticks, and sure enough, Sylvia’s waters had broken.’ She stopped and levelled her gaze on Hazel. ‘You don’t mind me lending a hand, do you?’
Not quite trusting the turnaround, Hazel was nevertheless grateful to Mabel for holding the fort. ‘Let’s just concentrate on Sylvia and the baby, shall we?’ she said cautiously.
‘Who’s there? Mabel, who are you talking to?’ As a fresh contraction took hold, Sylvia’s high, plaintive voice became a prolonged scream.
Mabel stopped again on the landing. ‘It was her – she asked me to bolt the door,’ she muttered to Hazel, while Norman halted with his foot on the bottom step. ‘I’ve never seen a woman in labour with her mind so set on keeping folk away.’
Hazel said nothing as she brushed past but again her stomach twisted itself in knots. Entering the bedroom she saw that Mabel had built a fire in the small fireplace. She’d brought hot water up from the kitchen and towels, presumably from her own house. As for Sylvia – she was propped up on extra pillows, lying on her back with her knees crooked. ‘How long between contractions?’ Hazel asked the old handywoman.
‘Three or four minutes at most.’
Hazel glanced at her watch and nodded. She set down her bag and talked to Sylvia in a cheerful, teasing tone. ‘What are you up to, catching us all off guard like this? We thought we had it all nicely planned, and now look.’
‘Hazel, why are you here? Can’t you see it’s a false alarm?’ Sylvia’s feeble claim flew in the face of the evidence and she knew it. Hit by another bout of pain, she threw her head back and let out an agonized yell.
Hazel placed her cool hand on Sylvia’s hot forehead. ‘Let’s turn you onto your side. That’s right, I’ll help you. Now, bring your top leg up towards your chest.’
To Hazel’s surprise, Mabel made no comment about the switch of position but she observed every detail. ‘You’ll need a good supply of hot water,’ she said in her steady way before calling downstairs for Norman to draw extra from the copper boiler next to the sink. ‘Use the white enamel basin. Make it quick.’
‘All right, Sylvia, I’ve taken a good look and as far as I can see, everything is as it should be.’ Seeing that the cervix was well dilated and palpating the lower abdomen, Hazel was satisfied that the baby was presenting normally. It was time to ask Mabel to put towels in place while she set out her instruments. ‘Take deep, slow breaths,’ she told Sylvia. ‘Now, would you like me to give you an injection? It will ease the pain but it won’t take it away completely.’
Sylvia groaned then nodded. She lay still, with her eyes fixed on Hazel’s face as the needle went in.
‘Deep breaths,’ Hazel reminded her. Then, after a few moments, ‘Believe it or not, Mabel and I have called a truce.’
‘Aye, miracles do happen.’ Mabel raised an eyebrow.
Aware that old rivalries didn’t just vanish, Hazel put in a proviso. ‘A truce for the time being, at any rate,’ she added. ‘She’s staying to help me make sure that the baby arrives safely.’
Sylvia gave a slight nod then closed her eyes. ‘Yes, let her take a good look. Then she’ll see what all this has been about,’ she murmured hopelessly.
Ignoring Mabel’s questioning look, Hazel took her stethoscope and listened to the baby’s heartbeat. ‘Good,’ she murmured then squeezed Sylvia’s hand. She smiled at Norman who had just come into the room with the bowl of hot water. ‘It could happen any moment now,’ she told him as he placed the bowl at the foot of the bed then backed through the door.
‘You hear that, Sylvia? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right downstairs,’ he said.
Keeping tight hold of Hazel’s hand, Sylvia gave a desolate cry and turned her face to the wall.
There was a lull during which Norman retreated to the bottom of the stairs and Mabel wiped Sylvia’s face with a cool flannel, saying little but obviously thinking a lot. Then she sat down on the rickety chair by the door.
As Sylvia rested, Hazel turned to Mabel and broached the subject that had stayed in her mind since her last conversation with Jinny. ‘Mum tells me that you’re ready to wind down,’ she began tentatively.
‘That’s right – I am,’ came the unruffled response.
‘Hmm. I’ll believe that when I see it.’ Hazel checked that her cord clamps and scissors were to hand. ‘I didn’t think you were the type to stay at home with your crocheting.’
‘I’m not.’ With a wry smile Mabel folded her arms and leaned against the back of the chair. ‘But it’s high time I stepped aside and left it to you younger ones.’
‘So you’ve called it a day?’
‘Times change,’ Mabel admitted. ‘Things aren’t as simple and straightforward as they used to be. These days women come to me for lots of different reasons – ever since Marie Stopes and Stella Browne and their like started poking their noses in. Birth control, making abortions legal and above board – the pros and cons are beyond me and I don’t mind admitting it.’
Hazel nodded to show that she understood. A few short months ago, fresh out of college, she would have rejoiced to hear this but as she went on monitoring Sylvia and listening to Mabel she couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret that this decent woman was ready to admit defeat. ‘You’ve helped a lot of folk in this neighbourhood,’ she acknowledged. ‘They’ll be sorry to see you take a back seat.’
‘Like I say – times change.’ Mabel stood up and tended to Sylvia who was groaning and twisting her head from side to side. ‘A
nyway, my mind’s made up – I sent Ivy to you and I’ll do the same with the next person who comes knocking on my door, and the one after that.’
Their sporadic conversation was interrupted by Norman creeping up the stairs for a bulletin on Sylvia’s progress. He entered the room just as Sylvia went into another contraction and he stayed as Hazel and Mabel got to work.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Mabel told him bluntly as Hazel reminded Sylvia to take deep breaths. ‘Since you’re here, you’d better make yourself useful.’
‘How?’
‘Come and hold the poor girl’s hand. Stay out of the way up there at the top end while we concentrate on what’s happening down here.’
Between cries of pain, Sylvia caught sight of Norman. When he took her hand she didn’t pull away. ‘This is too much,’ she cried. ‘I can’t bear it.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he insisted, stroking strands of wet hair from her forehead. ‘I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Hang onto him for all you’re worth,’ Mabel advised Sylvia as the contractions came rapidly one after another.
‘Breathe, don’t push,’ Hazel instructed calmly. Then, as the dark crown of the baby’s head appeared, she said, ‘Now take quick, shallow breaths and push hard. That’s perfect, Sylvia. Keep on pushing.’
Clinging to Norman’s hand, Sylvia threw her head back and gritted her teeth. Pain was her world now – it took her in its vice-like grip. ‘I can’t!’ she cried. ‘I can’t do it – I can’t!’
Her agony didn’t faze him. He stood steady at the head of the bed. ‘You can. You are.’
‘Perfect,’ Hazel said again as the baby’s shoulders emerged. ‘Don’t push any more. Nice and easy does it. Wonderful, Sylvia – it’s a little girl.’
Within seconds the cord was clamped and cut. Hazel lifted the baby by her ankles and listened to her take her first breath. She handed her to Mabel who swaddled her in a white towel then cleaned her face with a lint cloth. Mabel glanced in surprise at Hazel but said nothing. Tenderly she gave the baby to Sylvia.
Sylvia’s face streamed with tears. Her whole body shook as she took her newborn daughter into her arms.
Norman bent over them both. Gently he folded back the towel that half covered the baby’s face. She fixed her eyes on him, pushing a tiny hand free and flexing her fingers. Her eyes were dark with long lashes, her hair thick and black. Her smooth skin was darkest brown.
Sylvia sobbed and turned her face away.
Norman looked at the baby and took a broken, shuddering breath. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Then he stood up, looked straight at Hazel and backed away. Without saying a word, he turned and left the room.
Gently, Mabel took the infant from an inconsolable Sylvia and cradled her in her arms. She looked down at her and sighed. ‘Poor soul,’ she murmured. ‘Who’s going to take care of you, you poor little mite?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Norman fled from the house. He ran across the yard, ignoring anxious questions from Ethel and Rose, and vanished down the ginnel.
Rose was the first to react. She hurried ahead of Ethel up the steps into Sylvia’s house, watched by Betty Hollings from her doorstep and by Ada from her vantage point at the window of number 6. ‘It’s us – Aunty Rose and your mum. Can we come up?’ she called from the bottom of the stairs.
Sylvia sobbed as if her heart would break. ‘Why not? Let them all come,’ she cried bitterly.
Rose climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom ahead of Ethel. She took in the scene – Hazel still busily tending to an exhausted Sylvia and Mabel standing by the window with the baby in her arms.
Mabel beckoned Rose then handed the baby to her. ‘A girl,’ she murmured with a long, meaningful stare.
‘Oh, my.’ Rose’s sigh filled the room.
The baby’s fingers flexed again. Her long-lashed eyes stared out at a brand-new world.
‘Oh, but she’s a beauty,’ Rose breathed, won over in an instant. ‘Look, Sylvia – look.’
Sylvia swallowed her sobs and took her daughter in her arms, her eyes searching the infant’s face, absorbing every detail.
Rose made room for Ethel at the bedside. ‘A little beauty,’ she said again.
Ethel crouched beside the bed. She offered her finger and the baby grasped it. Ethel smiled. ‘Oh,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, Sylvia, love!’
‘See,’ Rose told her. ‘No one blames you. No one at all.’
Sylvia’s tears eased. She felt the warmth of her daughter’s tiny body against her breast. Their gazes locked while everyone else in the crowded room blurred then faded away.
Mabel took Hazel to one side and gave her a quiet reminder. ‘What about Norman – shouldn’t someone go after him?’
Hazel nodded and made a decision. ‘Me. I’ll go.’
‘Off you go then. I’ll look after things here.’
‘I know you will.’ Without another word, Hazel left Mabel to make Sylvia comfortable and tidy up the room. She came out of the house and crossed the yard, emerging onto Raglan Road and wondering which direction to choose.
‘Did you see which way Norman Bellamy went?’ she asked a freckled, tow-haired lad delivering meat to number 17.
The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know him from Adam,’ was his careless reply.
‘If you’re looking for Norman, he went that-a-way.’ Cycling down the hill on his way to the Friday fish market, Henry Pennington pointed over his shoulder. ‘He didn’t bother to say hello. It looked like he had a lot on his plate.’
Hazel thanked Henry and sprinted up the street. The door to John’s house was open so, without stopping to think, she ran up the steps and called his name. ‘John – are you there?’
He appeared through the back door, dressed in overalls and wiping his hands on a rag. He took one look at her face. ‘What’s up? What’s happened?’
‘Sylvia’s had her baby. It’s obvious Norman’s not the father. He’s upset. I need to find him.’
John walked towards her and put a steadying hand on her arm. ‘How can I help?’
‘I’d get on quicker by bike than on foot. Have you got a spare one I could use?’
Nodding, John fetched one from the back yard. ‘Try this for size. Don’t worry – it’s in good working order. Where are you heading off to?’
‘To Hadley,’ Hazel decided on the spur of the moment. ‘Norman’s mother lives over there. I don’t suppose he’s got anyone else to turn to.’
‘Right you are.’ John carried the bike down the front steps and saw Hazel on her way. ‘Good luck,’ he said as she set off.
‘Thanks.’ Suddenly remembering her note, Hazel stopped and fished it out of her pocket. ‘Here,’ she said, thrusting it at him.
John took the note with a questioning look.
‘My answer is yes.’ She smiled briefly and was off again, turning the corner onto Overcliffe Road and cycling for all she was worth.
Norman would be bound to know the short cut to Hadley across the Common, Hazel decided. Then again, he might have decided it was quicker to take the tram out of town then switch to the number 65 bus to reach the neighbouring village.
What would she do in his shoes? she wondered. After all, Norman had just had the biggest shock of his life, completely out of the blue. The expression on his face as he’d run from the room had been that of a man who couldn’t make sense of what he’d seen – confused, hurt, angry – all of these.
He won’t use the bus in case he bumps into someone he knows, Hazel decided. He’ll go by foot across the Common.
So she took the footpath, passing three mighty shire horses from the brewery, put out to graze on the rough grass, and a road sweeper wheeling his cart towards the bandstand.
Norman had a ten-minute start on Hazel, but borrowing the bike from John meant she should soon catch him up, even if he ran full tilt all the way to Hadley. Head down and pedalling hard against a strong wind, she set herself the task of overtaking him
and bringing him back.
She’d cycled about a mile towards the moors and the jagged outline of Brimstone Rocks when at last she spotted him – a solitary figure on the narrow cinder track bordered to either side by banks of brown heather. She heard the loud crunch of his feet on the path and saw by the hunched set of his shoulders that it would be hard to convince him to slow down and listen.
‘Go away, Hazel,’ Norman muttered as she drew alongside.
She got off the bike to walk with him. ‘No, Norman, hear me out.’
‘What for?’ He strode on without looking at her. ‘I’ve seen all I need to see. Heard all I want to hear.’
‘It’s a shock, I know.’
‘No, you don’t know!’ he countered. ‘I’ve been made a fool of – that’s the start and finish of it.’
The path narrowed and Hazel had to walk behind him. ‘Sylvia should have told you the truth. I expect she wishes she had.’
‘No, she’s not bothered. I’m just the poor sap who put the ring on her finger. I don’t count for anything.’ With an angry laugh he stopped and turned. ‘How long have you known about this?’
Hazel flinched under his accusatory glare. ‘Not long.’
He tossed his head back, his cheeks inflamed by the cold wind and the anger that bit into him. ‘You did know, though. When did she tell you? Was it when she went for the abortion?’
‘Yes. That’s when the truth came out.’
‘She swore you to secrecy, did she? Yes, that would be Sylvia’s style.’
Hazel lay the bike down across the path and prevented him from walking on. ‘Wait – you have to hear Sylvia’s reasons before you wash your hands of her. That’s why I came after you.’
He tried to push her aside but she held on to his arm. ‘Let go of me,’ he warned.
‘Norman, listen. You care for Sylvia, I know you do. You wouldn’t have married her otherwise.’
A deep frown was etched into his brow. ‘I did care,’ he admitted. ‘Anyone could see I did. I told you before – I could never work out why I was the one she picked. I see it now, though.’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t because she hoped she could trick you. It’s because, without even realizing it, she saw something in you – something decent and true that might draw out the same things in her. That’s why.’