Charity

by Lesley Pearse

  Drawing her knees up, she put her feet firmly on the bed and reached up behind her to grab the bed rail.

  They had been taught to wait before pushing until the midwife said it was time. But Charity’s instinct told her it felt right. As the next pain crashed over her, she drew in a breath, then breathed out slowly, bearing down.

  Still no nurse came, but another pain did.

  Again a breath in, then a slow exhale as she pushed down hard with her bottom.

  She remembered thinking that someone should switch the light on above her, someone should be there helping her do this, but there was no one, so she would have to do it alone.

  The door opened and the midwife rushed in, followed by a nurse.

  Vaguely she recognised the same midwife who’d delivered Dorothy’s baby, but a face meant nothing now.

  ‘My goodness, Charity!’ the familiar voice said. ‘You’ve almost done it all by yourself.’

  Someone was wiping her forehead and neck, she felt sheets being changed underneath her and another pillow being put under her head.

  ‘Use all the pain,’ the voice said very close by. ‘Push and keep pushing, I can see his head.’

  She made herself think of the fire, focusing only on the need to get the baby out and pushed so hard she felt torn apart.

  ‘It’s coming. One more little one!’

  The agony was sharply cut off and she found she could raise herself slightly, enough to see a small dark head between her legs.

  ‘Baby!’ she uttered and she felt a slithering, fluid feeling as the midwife drew him out.

  ‘A boy!’

  She heard the midwife’s exclamation and slumped back on to the pillow, exhausted but triumphant.

  He looked so crumpled, so red and cross, and as she watched his cry filled the air. First the mew of a kitten, quickly changing to an angry roar, and she lay back and laughed.

  ‘He’s a fine, handsome big boy.’ The midwife laughed too as she handed the baby to the nurse momentarily.

  ‘Let me hold him now?’ Charity begged. ‘Straight away.’

  ‘First things first,’ the nurse said, swiftly wrapping him in a towel.

  It was the best and purest thing Charity had ever known. They tucked him on to her chest, his cheek against her neck, and she breathed in the smell of him, the sound of his breathing and the feel of his tiny body, so recently torn from hers.

  ‘Isn’t he beautiful!’ she whispered.

  The midwife came close, her big, plain face made lovely by her reverence.

  ‘He is indeed, but then I expected you to have an extra special one.’

  After so much pain, nothing hurt or indeed embarrassed Charity now. Not the doctor sitting before her stitching her up and asking how such a little girl had managed to produce an eight-pounder. Or the midwife stripping off her gown and washing her all over like a helpless child. She just lay back and kept her eye on her baby, watching them putting tags on his ankle and wrist, washing him gently and putting him into a tiny gown.

  His cot was wheeled right up beside her. Cocooned tightly in a blanket, he reminded her of the clothes-peg dolls she used to make for Prudence. She thought he looked like Hugh. He had the same jet black hair, wide cheekbones and she was sure once he opened his eyes they would be a deep, dark blue.

  ‘He’ll make a good rugby player.’ The doctor was back examining her baby. He was young and thickset, with fair hair and a rugged jawline. ‘A fine pair of thighs and I’ll bet he’s got lungs to match.’

  It was strangely touching to see such a big man gently handling such a tiny baby.

  He smiled round at Charity and said, ‘I never get tired of this bit.’ Picking up the baby, he rewrapped him and tucked him into Charity’s eager arms. ‘He’s a handsome little chap. What are you going to call him?’

  ‘Daniel.’ She smiled. ‘Do you think that suits him?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ the doctor said. ‘Now just a five-minute cuddle then Nurse will pack you off to bed. Don’t worry about him, he’ll be in good hands.’

  For the first five days Charity was in a small four-bedded room on the first floor of the maternity hospital, and for three of those days she was made to stay in bed.

  The room overlooked the garden and beyond the hospital wall she could see Whitestone pond. Children came to sail boats there and it reminded her of Blackheath. The other three women in the room were wives of wealthy businessmen. They had congratulatory telegrams, dozens of cards covered their lockers and spilled over to the windowsill, and bouquets of flowers arrived. Their husbands came in with their arms full of presents, fruit and chocolates, sat on the beds and cuddled their wives and babies while Charity kept her nose buried in a book.

  She had one bouquet of flowers from Marjorie and Martin. Miss Mansell came to visit on the second day, but apart from Dorothy and Rita slipping in for five minutes before they left the hospital to go back to the home, she had no visitors.

  It was so tempting to write and tell Lou and Geoff the truth. She so much wanted to share her baby with them. But she’d already written from Marjorie and Martin’s address telling them she was employed by a catering agency that sent her to different temporary jobs. And she’d compounded that lie by getting Rita’s friend in Scotland to post another letter from there. Besides, it would make things so difficult for them.

  ‘Write to Hugh one last time,’ Dorothy urged her. ‘If he doesn’t write back or come you’ll know once and for all he doesn’t care. But give him a chance. He has a right to know about Daniel.’

  ‘Have you written to Roger?’ Charity asked. It was funny to see Dorothy slim again: she wore a honey-coloured sleeveless shift dress and her thick brown hair cascaded down her back, sleek and shiny.

  ‘Yes.’ Dorothy’s dark eyes were oblique. ‘I had a letter and a cheque from him. But though he’s prepared to pay maintenance, he doesn’t want to know.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Charity squeezed her friend’s hand.

  ‘Perhaps it’s just as well,’ Dorothy said. ‘I see things in him now I couldn’t live with. I don’t think I could bear to marry him, not even for Samantha.’

  Charity knew better than to press her further about her decision. The hospital was no place for that.

  ‘We’ll talk when I get back,’ she said. ‘Try and save me a bed in the same room as you and Rita.’

  On the fifth day Charity was moved down to a room on the ground floor, which was known as ‘Toddlers’. It was much bigger, with french windows opening out on to the walled garden.

  Apart from women in dressing-gowns and slippers, it didn’t feel like a hospital. They could wander out into the garden with visitors, they ate their meals at a table all together, even watched television in the evenings in a small lounge.

  Marjorie managed a brief visit, bringing fruit, cake and a teddy bear for Daniel. She held him in that awkward way people did who weren’t used to babies and she promised Charity a job if and when she wanted it.

  Charity kept her distance from the other women. Their chatter about nurseries, prams and their homes was a reminder she didn’t need about the choices open to her. Many of them were Jewish, with large extended families who visited in droves, and though these women were kindly, offering her more cake and fruit, she was too immersed in Daniel to need or want their friendship.

  Feeding, bathing and changing his nappies was everything. She steeled herself against thinking beyond the next day, treasuring each moment.

  Now that Daniel had lost his early redness she saw his skin had the same golden glow as Hugh’s and his eyes were an identical blue. At night most women opted for the nurses to feed their baby, but Charity never did. At the first bleat she was awake, padding down the corridor before even a nurse had heard him, and however long he took to finish his bottle, she didn’t mind.

  His little button nose, the downy hair on his spine, each tiny finger and toe was a constant delight. She brushed his dark hair up into a quiff and laughed and sang with him.
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br />   Her midwife, Mrs Evans, came to see her the day before she left and they went out into the garden.

  ‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’ she asked as they sat down on a bench in the sunshine.

  ‘I keep hoping for a miracle,’ Charity said. ‘What can I offer him? Sleeping in a pram in a bedsitter! Struggling on National Assistance!’

  ‘Don’t try to plan yet.’ The midwife took Charity’s hand in her two. ‘These six weeks are very important for both of you. Don’t hold back love because you’re afraid of the pain that comes with it. Even if you have to give Daniel up he’ll take that love with him to his new mother and you’ll never need to reproach yourself that you didn’t give him the finest start in life.’

  ‘How will I be able to bear it?’ Charity asked, leaning her head against the older woman’s shoulder.

  ‘Because of him,’ the midwife said and in an uncharacteristic gesture kissed Charity on the forehead. ‘You’ll think of him with all those things you couldn’t give him. You’ll remember the joy you’ve given to a childless couple and that will sustain you.’

  It was so good to go back to Daleham Gardens. To be among girls who felt just as she did: no need to hide her predicament, no fear of judgements being made.

  Dorothy and Rita had kept her a bed in their room and talk of the future was suspended in the delight of being together again.

  The three of them got up earlier than was necessary, starting the boiler for the nappies and sharing the chores eagerly. June came in with a heat wave and before breakfast they would run barefoot over the lawn, hanging up the washing, laughing and joking as if they were three girls without a care in the world.

  Yet the laughter and jokes were tempered with a new maturity. In the nursery the songs were gentle lullabies, the chatter was babies, feeds and the lack of sleep. Later, their work done, they lay on blankets out in the garden, soaking up the sun, in easy, companionable silence.

  Charity’s letter to Hugh came back marked ‘Not known at this address’. Dorothy’s parents remained unmoved by her plight and Rita couldn’t bring herself to ask for help from hers.

  Sometimes they discussed the possibility of finding a flat all together. But after many phone calls to landlords, even with help from Miss Mansell, they began to see that no one out there wanted three unmarried mothers with babies.

  Rita and Dorothy got to the four-week deadline, were individually ushered into the office and when they came out they were pale and silent.

  They heard that a solicitor and his wife in Wales wanted Samantha, that Rita’s baby Warren’s new home would be in Devon with a doctor. All three of them tried to pretend they were relieved.

  ‘I’ll be out dancing in two weeks,’ Dorothy said.

  ‘I’ll blow all my money on a fabulous dress and knock everyone dead.’

  ‘I’m going back home,’ Rita said, her eyes downcast. ‘I’ll let Dad buy me loads of new clothes. I’ll go out and get very drunk and find a man to tell me lots of pretty lies. Then I’ll find a decent job and try to settle down to what my parents want.’

  The windows were all wide open to catch the breeze; often the babies lay out in their cots on the veranda in just vests and nappies. The girls no longer wanted to go down to John Lewis and look at clothes or try makeup. Instead they prepared a box each for their baby’s clothes. Dorothy covered hers in imitation crocodile-skin paper.

  ‘They’ll know by that she had a classy mum.’ She laughed, but it sounded hollow. ‘I wonder if they’ll keep these things to show her when she’s grown up?’ she said, tying a little bell on pink ribbon round the neck of a teddy bear.

  Charity saw her kiss the bear as she put it in the box, saw her tears as she unpicked her initials from the pile of nappies, and wondered if she could be so brave when her time came.

  Charity’s two friends left on the same day, Dorothy with her social worker, Rita with Miss Frost. Their cases were packed into the car boot: both were going home to their parents, straight after handing over the babies.

  Dorothy left first.

  ‘Don’t come out to the car,’ she said to Charity as they dressed Samantha the final time. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’

  Samantha had a pink frilly dress with matching bootees and Charity put the white shawl round her and laid her in the cot so she could hug her friend.

  ‘Write and tell me what you decide.’ Dorothy struggled not to cry as they embraced. ‘I wish I could tell you what I feel about you and how much I wish we were leaving together.’

  She broke away and picked up Samantha.

  ‘I’ll never forget anything,’ she said. ‘You do know what I mean, don’t you?’

  Charity watched from the veranda as Dorothy climbed into the car and saw that little spiky-haired dark head nestled against her friend’s breast. Tears crept down her cheeks.

  Rita’s leaving was more emotional.

  ‘I couldn’t have coped without you,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s not fair I won’t be here to help you. Ring me the minute you get out of here. If you keep Daniel, I’ll help you.’

  Her face was blotchy, but her red hair shone like burnished copper as she walked down the steps with Warren in her arms. She had a new expensive emerald green dress with a pleated skirt and tonight she would be sitting down to dinner in Hampstead Garden Suburb, trying to pretend the past few months ‘working in Scotland’ had been thrilling.

  One pale hand raised in farewell as she got in the car and Miss Frost’s head obscured her. Charity turned away and went back to Daniel in the nursery.

  The nursery didn’t fill up again. Dee had a little girl called Frances and her parents came and took her straight home from hospital, despite everything they’d said. Sally’s boyfriend turned up and gave her an engagement ring and two days later she went home.

  There was the full complement of pregnant girls, but Charity’s last three weeks were shared only by Janice, a big quiet girl who said little, and Ruth who was going home with her baby to stay with her grandparents.

  Charity was glad of the peace. She got up alone to do the laundry, and slept every night in the nursery instead of going upstairs. She wanted to savour every moment with Daniel so waking the other girls for their babies was such a little price to pay.

  ‘Miss Frost’s coming tomorrow,’ Miss Mansell told her late one evening. ‘She’ll be wanting to know your decision, Charity.’

  It was in the middle of the night as she fed Daniel that Charity finally made up her mind. As he lay in her arms, one hand curled round her finger, eyes drooping, she knew she must give him up.

  She owed him more than a bedsitter and a day nursery while she worked. In Daleham Gardens it was easy to forget how grim London was, but she forced herself to remember trailing James in the pram down to the baths to do the washing. She made herself see her old room in Hammersmith, the dirty stairs, the continual noise from her neighbours.

  Instead she saw a proper home, with Daniel riding a bike round a garden, and a father coming home from work and scooping him up in his arms. She saw him in a smart school uniform, holding a woman’s hand as he walked down a tree-lined avenue.

  There was no real contest. All she had on her side was love – and would that be enough to counteract the humiliation of poverty, a childhood in one squalid room?

  ‘Well, Charity?’ Miss Frost in a lemon yellow dress looked surprisingly feminine.

  ‘I’m giving him up,’ Charity said. Her voice sounded too loud to her own ears. ‘Find him nice parents!’

  Miss Frost and the matron exchanged glances.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Miss Mansell said.

  Charity looked up and saw deep compassion in both pairs of eyes.

  ‘I’m sure. I won’t back down.’

  Charity covered her box with teddy-bear paper alone. Each small garment was folded, each ribbon pressed smooth. The pile of nappies were gleaming white, still with tiny specks of the blue initials ‘C.S.’ she had picked out carefully.

  She had no
spare money to spend on an expensive outfit to dress him in, but she’d spent the last four evenings making a little blue and white romper suit on Miss Mansell’s sewing machine.

  Daniel was the only baby left in the nursery. The other girls had left. Seven empty chairs, cots and nappy pails, disinfected ready for the three girls due home tomorrow soon after she left.

  It meant she could pretend that this was her room. As she stood at the window rocking him in her arms and watching darkness fall, she was just another mother getting her child to sleep.

  He had smiled today for the first time, and the width of it reminded her even more of Hugh.

  Next door in the lounge someone was playing ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’. The new girls didn’t lark about as her friends had done; they sat, mainly smoking and knitting, many with sour faces because they hated being here.

  But she’d loved it. So many good memories to store away and bring out in the future.

  Daniel was asleep now, making funny little huffing sounds against her neck. His small arms reminded her of sausages and she stroked the soft flesh tenderly. She wrapped a blanket round him later, but didn’t put him down.

  It was almost eleven. Another nine hours and Miss Frost would call to collect her. By teatime she would be in the Regent Palace Hotel in Piccadilly as their new chambermaid and all this would be put aside.

  She was grateful to Miss Frost for arranging this job for her, but she couldn’t feel any enthusiasm to get back to work, or even the faintest curiosity about what life in a big hotel would be like. It was just a wage and a room, a stopgap until she could get back on her feet.

  ‘I won’t ever forget you.’ She kissed Daniel’s soft cheek, breathing in deeply that warm, sweet baby smell. ‘Wherever I am I’ll be thinking of you, every day, every birthday and Christmas. Don’t ever think otherwise.’

  ‘Miss Frost’s here, Charity,’ Miss Mansell said as she came into the nursery. Charity was wearing a new pale blue dress, her hair, so much longer than when she came, shining from a recent wash.

  But her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and it was clear she’d been awake all night.