At his unhelpful shrug, she wandered reluctantly back into the yard, where the child still wept. With no other option, she crouched towards him and forced herself to ask softly, ‘What’s up, old chap?’
His shoulders juddered and he turned his face to her, his eyes swimming tears. ‘Me dad’s gone to a watery grave.’
It was more than Nell could bear. For years she had been trying to contain this overwhelming grief, but now the floodgates ruptured. Her face contorted, and on noting the little boy’s expression turn from misery to terror at the sight of it, she reeled away from him, out into the back lane, where she sobbed and sobbed, her whole body racked as she slid down the brick wall to her hunkers, and wrapped her head in her arms, wailing uncontrollably.
Having just been woken by her sister, a puffy-eyed Beata came clumping down the stairs, tugging on her clothes as she came, for even if Gussie had not roused her, the noise would have. Moreover, by the time she reached its source, it had drawn curious neighbours from their daily treadmill.
‘Eh, get poor lass inside,’ advised a turbaned member of the audience, not asking what was wrong with Nell, for each of those gathered knew well enough what was amiss. ‘This bloody buggering war …’
Still racked with sobs, Nell was shivering too now, and feeling hemmed in by all these pinafores. A bolt of panic sent her smashing through their ranks and running up the back lane, heading she knew not where. Neither overworked Gussie, nor Beata with her dropsical leg, could hope to keep up with the fleeing figure. But that did not prevent the latter sallying forth on her trail, explaining to the worried neighbours as she went that: ‘She lost her sweetheart three years ago and it’s just caught up with her!’
Nell would surely forgive this indiscretion. Rather that than have them learn the truth about her baby, which was where the real problem lay. With everyone still watching her, the little boy now quiet and solemn in his Aunt Gussie’s arms, Beata limped away.
Out of sight by now, unable to gain a moment’s privacy, Nell was heading away from town, though the busy main road did nought to heal her mood. Driven by panic, she veered away from the traffic, into a different lane. This one backed the houses on the far side of the street, and was verged on its other flank by grass and mature trees, the quiet shade of which was to deliver momentary respite from the world. Hidden behind one of the large chestnut trees, she fell against its trunk and released heart-rending sobs.
Arriving at the lane, Beata did not see her, and might have hurried straight past had not the pitiful sound alerted her. Wandering to within a few yards of the tree that shaded her sobbing friend, she stood quietly by, allowing Nell this leeway to purge herself of grief.
A good ten minutes she stood and waited, her senses keyed for any interference from passers-by, ready to ward them off, until at last the noisy tears were quelled. But as she made her wary approach through the grass, she saw that her friend seemed confused, as if not knowing where she was, nor even what had caused her to break down like this. Her face puffy and mottled, breast still rising and falling from the effort, Nell wheeled around and flung herself backwards against the trunk, pressing her whole length against it as if for support.
‘I can’t breathe!’ Her eyes were open wide, and her mouth sucking in air like a fish out of water.
Calm as ever, Beata stepped up and grasped her with a steadying hand. ‘Just try not to inhale so quickly –’
‘I’m choking!’
‘No,’ came the firm reply, ‘you only think you are. Just try and breathe normally and your heart’ll eventually stop beating – I mean thudding! We don’t want it to do that, do we?’ Her friend tried to make a joke of it, and gave that throaty chuckle which Nell knew so well. But it had little impact today.
Trying distraction, Beata lifted her eyes to the green canopy, and murmured in a casual matter-of-fact way, ‘Look at this chestnut tree, it’s laden. There’ll be a bumper crop of conkers in autumn …’
‘I don’t think I’ll see autumn,’ blurted Nell. ‘I think I’m losing my mind.’
‘No, you’re not.’ The ever calm Beata gripped her wrist. ‘You’ve just been through a lot.’
‘So has everybody – there’s a war on!’
‘But not everybody has lost their lover, their parents and their child,’ instructed her friend in, deliberate and soothing manner. ‘Not in such a short space of time.’
‘I’ll bet all your neighbours think I’m mad!’ gasped Nell.
‘Do you care?’ Beata maintained her even pitch.
‘No.’ Nell shook her head, still miserable, but beginning to feel slightly calmer herself now.
‘No, then that’s one less thing to worry about, isn’t it?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about him, Beat.’ Tears came again, but quieter ones this time.
Her friend was unsure whether she meant Billy or the baby, but by allowing Nell to speak, duly she found out.
‘Especially during the raid … I just kept wondering if … praying, please keep him safe, please don’t let him be killed. I thought I was doing the best for him by giving him to a couple so he’d have a father as well as a mother, but they wouldn’t tell me where they’d taken him, so he could have been killed for all I know!’ Her utterance without pause, Nell was inviting hysteria again.
Beata tightened her grip, steadying her, as Nell continued in, disbelieving tone, ‘How could they do it to me, Killie? I know, I know what shame I must have caused them, but they could have sent me away somewhere, lent me money until I was able to get on my feet – they were hardly paupers – how could Mother go to such lengths to keep her own daughter, yet force me to give away her grandchild? How could they trick me into believing all these years that I was adopted, then go and die on me before I’d a chance to find out more – I mean, what about my natural father? He might as well be dead too, for all I know of him.’ Fists clenched, she threw at her friend all the things she would have liked to have hurled at her parents, were that possible.
At the end of her outburst, during which she had been had allowed free flow, Beata posed a question: ‘Did they thrash you?’
‘No!’ Nell was quick to dispel this. ‘Well, only a slap in the heat of the moment. I probably deserved it.’
‘Did they starve you?’
Nell was angry that Beata had no idea what it was like to be deprived of one’s child. ‘There are more ways of being cruel!’
‘Oh, I know all about mental cruelty,’ her friend was swift to concede, ‘and I’m not making light of your loss, it must have been absolutely terrible to have your baby taken away. But truly cruel? I don’t think so. They were just doing what they thought was right – yes, they might have been thinking of themselves, wanting to protect their reputation, but they were thinking of you too, and your little boy. Would you have wanted people to call him names just because he was born without his mother being wed? It might not seem much to you, but it’s unpleasant for an adult to carry that stigma, let alone for a little boy. People can be so cruel to children, and I mean really cruel. My stepmother being one of them. Your mother would have a long way to go before she could compete with her …’
Winkled out of her own troubles, Nell saw the vacant expression that had taken over her friend’s face. She knew then that Beata had her own ghosts, but not caring to summon these, she asked instead, ‘How did you end up so kind and considerate and patient yourself, with her for an example?’
‘Because I had a proper mother till I was nine.’ Beata remained nostalgic, absently swatting a fly that buzzed around her face. ‘She was lovely, she’d do anything for her kids. She even died because she’d rather have been at home looking after us than be in hospital …’ Shaking herself from this painful episode, she saw by Nell’s face that her friend had taken this as an accusation that she was not a good mother, was selfish for putting her needs first, and said quickly, ‘I often wish she hadn’t been quite so perfect, then we might have had her a bit longer. You did the right thing
by giving your baby a good chance in life. I’d have done the same …’
Nell felt certain that she had not done the right thing, nor had her parents. But she did admit now, ‘Well, it’s true, my mother wasn’t intentionally cruel, she could be very thoughtful sometimes, but she just seemed to find it impossible to empathise. That’s what makes it so hard to understand, that she was my real mother, and must know how it felt, yet she made me give him up. She could try and explain till the cows came home, but …’ Nell shook her head, totally bewildered. All at once aware that her throat was clogged and tangy with salt, she experienced virulent need of a cigarette to mask the taste, but with none to hand she tried to focus on Beata, and tendered with vague curiosity, ‘Did you never think of marrying, Killie? After the one who let you down, I mean.’
‘Nobody ever asked me.’ Beata’s face cracked into a rueful grin, but somehow it made Nell feel incredibly sad.
‘Then there are a lot of idiotic men walking about,’ she announced loyally. ‘You’d make a perfect wife.’
‘Nay, I’m too old now, love,’ sighed Beata, far too wearily for her thirty-three years. ‘But there’s still a chance for you to find someone and start a family.’
A puffy-eyed Nell was adamant. ‘No, I’ll never marry either. Because I’ll never ever love anyone as much as I adored Billy. At least I thought so, until I held William …’ Tears threatened again. She took a deep breath that filled her head with an overpowering scent of greenery, shifted her aching back against the rough bark, and sighed. ‘I don’t know if I can stay with you, Beat, the sight of that little boy …’ She shook her head as if to rid herself of the image.
‘You seem to cope well enough with the kids at work, and they’re not exactly happy little souls,’ mooted Beata.
Nell shook her head. ‘If I seem to cope it’s only because they’re mostly asleep whilst I’m looking after them.’
Enlightened by retrospect, Beata saw now that Nell did often make excuses when it came to a day shift on the nursery ward; and had worked there only a handful of times during the last few years.
‘Besides,’ went on Nell, ‘they’re in a totally different environment, but seeing him there in a normal home, I would just keep thinking of what I’ve lost. I don’t know if I could bear it.’
‘You shouldn’t be on your own,’ warned Beata.
‘I’m not going to kill myself.’ Nell found the energy to smile, but it was an insipid effort. ‘I’m too much of a coward.’ Still, she felt shaky and uncertain. ‘I do feel all at sea, though … perhaps you’re right about me staying for a few days.’ If she was sleeping most of the day, or at least attempting to, she would not have to manufacture polite conversation for any of the other occupants.
‘You’ll be all right.’ Her companion delivered a bolstering tap. ‘We’ll try and keep Johnny out of your way.’
‘You shouldn’t have to do that,’ protested Nell. ‘Poor little chap, I feel rather ashamed now, thinking only of myself. After all, his mother’s managing to carry on, what have I to grumble about?’ She looked around the shady lane, her expression abstracted, as if only now seeing where she was. ‘Shall we wander back? Here’s me keeping you standing around on your poor leg …’
Both of them glanced down at it. Then Beata declared: ‘I’ve only gone and trodden in blasted dog muck! I should kill you for dragging me round here!’ But she was chuckling as she scraped her foot back and forth through the long grass.
Trying her best to smile at the comic moment, though still quite distrait, Nell made a promise. ‘I’ll clean it off properly for you when we get home. I feel guilty enough about disturbing your sleep – God, I could murder a fag.’
Arm in arm, they made their way to the top of the lane, were briefly exposed to the noise and dust of the traffic, then re-entered the quieter street, chatting of lesser topics along the way.
Before they reached the door, though, Beata was to give last-minute advice. ‘You should see the doctor, he might be able to give you something for your nerves.’
‘And have him think I’m crazy, and ban me from treating patients? Everybody’s got nerves, Killie, it’s this blessed war.’ Her head still banging from its tearful onslaught and her face puffy, Nell braced her shoulders to enter. ‘No, I’ll be all right, I promise. I feel much better for having let it all out. I’m sorry to have burdened you with my problems. It’s just the not knowing that’s worst. If I could just be sure that I did the right thing, that William’s safe …’
‘You did,’ vouched Beata. ‘And he is.’ Her friend nodded, wanting desperately to believe it, yet retaining her look of uncertainty. For whilst this war continued, she could never feel sure about anything.
It was embarrassing to say the least, having to face those who had witnessed her emotional collapse. But with Gussie being as altruistic as her sister, Nell came to the decision that it would be wiser to remain here for a while. Swallowing a couple of aspirins for her headache, she retired to the upper room that had been temporarily allocated to her, there to wash the signs of tears from her blotchy face – though, alas, not the grief, which was to remain etched, perhaps forever. She accepted that now, in whatever way possible, she must cope with it, must steel herself to face the curiosity of others again. Gussie’s lodgers would doubtless be home from work by the time she went down.
Hands pressed to her cheeks, struggling to pull strength from anywhere and desperate for a smoke, Nell went to rummage in her pocket, with no cigarettes having to fall back on her pipe. It was perhaps impolite to light up here, but the scent of Mick’s tobacco could be smelled all over the house, so she guessed no one would mind. Puffing on this substitute, she rested her buttocks on the edge of the creaking bedstead and allowed her bleak gaze to roam the bedroom. Someone had brought her luggage up. Whilst an aromatic twirl of pipe smoke drifted to the ceiling, her eyes became fixed on the hat box, which contained Bill’s letters and other heart-wrenching things; things that had not been looked upon for a long time. Since depositing the ring and ribbon, she had not been able to bring herself even to open the lid. Pipe still in mouth, she arose and wandered over to the box, staring down at it, daring herself to be Pandora. If she could only do that, could lift them out one by one, touch those precious objects without breaking down, then she knew she would be able to face all else …
But for now, she remained a coward.
However, there were certain other demons that could, and should, be tackled, if she was not to become a total weakling. That same night, on her way to work, Nell made a decision that she would no longer contrive to avoid the nursery ward, and that when her assistance was required she would place herself in the firing line, come what may.
If it was difficult to contemplate then, it took even more valour when put to the test. A fortnight later, swapped to day shift and enlisted to work in the nursery to fill in for a colleague who was ill, she found herself trembling like a leaf, and hoped the sister could not detect this as she attended the morning handover. If only Killie were here to assist her. But no, this was something she must do by herself.
One by one the patients’ notes were gone through, and Nurse Spottiswood was guided around the rows of cots.
‘You’re already familiar with Gordon, I assume,’ commented her middle-aged informant, Nurse Mullen, as they passed the cot in which he was dozing, even though the rest were awake.
‘I certainly am.’ Nell was wholly familiar with Gordon Flowerdew, the only one of Cissie’s twins to survive, who had now almost reached the age when he would be moved to an orphanage. ‘The last time we met, he stood and rattled the bars of his cot all night long.’ And no wonder, she thought now disapprovingly, if they were allowing him to sleep through the day.
‘Yes, he’s such a blessed nuisance when he’s awake,’ came the other’s explanation. ‘We tend to leave him as long as we can, or we’d never get anything done.’
‘No, you leave him for us on nights!’ Though junior in age and also in sta
tus. Nell could not help objecting.
But the other only laughed. ‘Aye, well, you’ve more time on your hands than we have.’ Ignoring Nell’s splutter, Nurse Mullen added, ‘He’s big enough to clamber over the top, so just keep your eyes peeled …’
Nell determined to wake Gordon as soon as was feasible, and that for the duration of her stay on this ward she would try to adjust him to being awake at the correct hour.
They came then to a recent addition. ‘This is Angela Smith.’ Her colleague paused by a cot whose occupant had an arm and leg in plaster, the latter suspended by a pulley over the bed. She also had the most beautiful violet eyes that Nell had ever seen. ‘You’ll see she’s got a double row of teeth. Her adult ones have come through but her milk teeth haven’t fallen out yet, so she has difficulty taking food. She needs her bread dipping in milk.’ Nurse Mullen lowered her voice to give confidential advice. ‘But you can dip it in tea if you’re too busy and Sister’s not about.’
Nell felt her dander rise, and it was a good job the other had already turned her back and did not see the contempt levelled at her. Please God, thought Nell, that her own child was with a family who might show him more regard than this.
She was taken past one cot after another, about two dozen in all, and upon the final one received a caution. ‘And, last but not least, this is Arthur. Don’t leave anything in his reach, or he’ll have it down his throat whether it be a piece of soap or an elephant.’ The elder nurse spent a moment explaining the child’s fascinating disorder, which compelled him to devour everything in sight, including his bedding if it wasn’t properly secured, before ending brightly, ‘Right then! The night staff have already made the poorly ones comfy, so we’d better start on top and tails – there’ll be a few who need a bath, though, can you just see to that whilst I go and fetch the pots?’
Whilst the other proceeded to deposit those infants who were not bedridden on a row of potties, Nell donned a flannel pinafore and went to fetch jug after jug of water, and to fill a succession of baths, into which was dunked one tiny body, and then another. By now Nurse Mullen had begun to top and tail, not refreshing her bowl of water between each child, a disapproving Nell noticed, as she rapidly dealt with each of her charges as if trying to break some record. She herself decided to confront this personal issue once and for all by taking her time over it. For only by over-exposure could Nell perhaps inure her senses to the touch and feel of infant skin, and the physical feeling of loss this still evoked. For this reason she was deliberately to handle each child as much as time allowed, and instead of rushing through the ablutions was to extend her attention to petting and talking to each individual, so that she might come to know them better.
An Unsuitable Mother Page 24