by Nancy Revell
‘Are you all right?’ Jack shouted at Arthur, the concern in his voice deep and genuine; the old man was looking like he might breathe his last. Jack might only have spent a short amount of time with him, but Arthur had given him – knowingly or not – the hope that his memories of the past might break through to the surface of his mind. They were there now, just starting to peek through.
Arthur had had to stop and catch his breath halfway down Suffolk Street. They were now just a few hundred yards away from the church.
Arthur knew his breathing was getting worse of late; all those years spent underwater. He knew time was catching up with him. Still, it didn’t perturb him. He was just glad he had managed to get Jack this far. If he keeled over now he would have no regrets.
‘Go ahead!’ he insisted, waving one hand at Jack as if trying to shoo him away. ‘You might miss it!’
‘I’m not leaving you here,’ Jack said, matter-of-factly. ‘Just get your breath back. We’re nearly there – and then you can have a rest and get out of this blasted weather.’
Arthur knew Jack was not going to leave him, which didn’t surprise him. Jack had always watched the backs of the men he worked with.
‘All right,’ Arthur said, standing up straight. ‘I’m ready.’
Jack took the old man’s arm and helped him walk the last stretch to the sanctuary of the church. It was unlikely to be warm in there, but at least it would be dry.
As Jack squinted against the onslaught of rain, and felt fat droplets of water dribbling down his face and neck, for a moment he was transported back to the ice cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean. To what had nearly become his watery grave.
He breathed deeply and forced his mind back to the present reality. He needed to focus on what was happening now. Arthur had told him as much as he could in the little time they’d had, but it was Gloria that Jack really wanted – needed – to talk to now. He had a great sense of trepidation. A premonition that something momentous was about to happen.
‘Made it!’ Arthur said. His words self-congratulatory. They were now just yards away from the Church of St Ignatius.
Jack glanced at the old man, who looked ready to drop, and, with his own heart racing with nerves, he grabbed the wrought iron handles of the heavy wooden doors of the magnificent house of worship – and, with one huge tug, pulled them open.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
At five minutes to ten, just as the previous christening party was leaving the church, the slightly harried vicar signalled for Gloria and her guests to come and sit themselves down at the front of the nave, ready for a prompt ten o’clock start. He had agreed to slot Hope’s christening in before the next one at half ten, which meant, if he got a move on, he might have time for a quick cuppa and some of that lovely home-made apple pie one of his elderly parishioners had made for him.
As everyone started to amble towards the front of the church, Gloria looked over to Polly and Agnes, and asked anxiously, ‘What about Arthur?’
Gloria knew Arthur would want to be here, that he loved Hope to pieces and always kept a watchful eye on her when she was at the Elliots’ during the day. She also knew the old man was not in the best of health, nor was he getting any younger.
‘Don’t worry about Arthur,’ Polly reassured her. ‘He’ll be here soon.’
‘The weather’s probably slowed him down,’ Agnes chipped in, ‘… or this friend of his he’s bringing might be running late … Don’t you worry, just get up there and enjoy your daughter’s special day.’
Gloria smiled a little nervously. She would actually be glad to get this all over and done with. She’d had an awful feeling Vinnie might turn up, and was having to stop herself from looking over at the entrance every few minutes. She had worked hard to keep the christening under wraps, but she knew these things had a way of getting out and becoming fodder for the local gossipmongers. It was looking hopeful, though. If Vinnie hadn’t turned up now, fingers crossed, he wouldn’t turn up at all.
‘Come on, Glor.’ It was Dorothy, looking stunning in a classy, but rather figure-hugging black dress. She had been gassing to Angie and the rest of the women welders but on the vicar’s signal to get ready for the beginning of the ceremony, she had immediately donned a serious, holier-than-thou façade she obviously thought appropriate for her role of godmother.
‘We’ve got to go and stand at the font,’ she said and pointed a gloved hand at the large marble basin in front of the altar. Dorothy had, of course, read up on everything to do with the formalities of a baby’s baptism – something Gloria was thankful for as her mind seemed to be all over the place, and she could barely remember either of her sons’ christenings, they had been that long ago.
The vicar cleared his throat as everyone settled into their places on the hard wooden pews.
‘Oh, doesn’t Hope look lovely?’ Kate whispered to Lily. She was sandwiched between Rosie and Lily.
‘Kate O’Donnell,’ Lily spoke out of the side of her mouth, keeping her eyes focused on the ceremony taking place in front of them. ‘I know you have next to no interest in babies and what you really think lovely is that wonderful hand-sewn broderie anglaise christening gown the baby’s wearing.’
Kate looked at Lily and frowned, before admitting, ‘Well, it is a work of art, isn’t it? Gloria told me it was made by her Scottish grandmother. She lived in some village in Ayrshire known for its embroidery …’
Any further chatter between Lily and Kate – and anyone else, for that matter – was drowned out by the booming voice of the vicar.
‘Good morning, all!’
There was a pause as his eyes scanned the modest – and, he thought, rather diverse – gathering of people for this hastily arranged christening. There was a very eccentric-looking lady with what could only be described as a mass of orange hair, who was sitting with an older, dapper-looking man dressed in an expensive three-piece suit. In the next row there was a young woman who was taller and more muscle-bound than any man he knew, and a young girl who looked east European and was most certainly Jewish. Squashed on at the end of their row was a skinny young boy, with a thick mop of black hair and wearing a pair of incredibly large, thick, round glasses.
‘I would like to welcome you all here today …’ The vicar smiled at Joe, who was in his Home Guard uniform and was clearly the husband of the pretty blonde woman and father to the child, who, for some reason, was holding some sort of rag.
Suddenly the vicar’s facial expression changed, and he looked about him as if he had forgotten something. He turned quickly to Gloria and Dorothy who were standing in front of the large ornate font that had already been half filled with holy water.
‘We’re not expecting anyone else, are we?’ he asked, in a much quieter voice.
Both Gloria and Dorothy knew that he was really asking if the baby’s father was going to make an appearance.
Before Gloria had time to say anything, Dorothy leant forward, pulling on the long black elbow-length gloves she had bought for the occasion, and said in the snootiest voice she could muster, ‘No, vicar, the baby’s father would have, of course, loved to have been here, but sadly – through unavoidable reasons – has not been able to make it. So, please, do carry on.’ She ended her reply with the most endearing of smiles.
‘So then …’ the vicar’s voice returned to its normal volume and he looked ahead at his attentive audience. ‘We are gathered here today for the christening of baby Hope …’
As the vicar spoke, Dorothy cast a look over to Angie and gave her a wink. Dorothy was revelling in every minute of this day, and more than anything she was where she loved to be – centre stage – even if that stage was actually the middle of a church.
Angie, who was seated next to Martha, Hannah and Olly, threw back a look of disapproval. It was only about the second or third time Angie had been in a church in her life, which not only made her feel very self-conscious, but also that she – and her friend – should be on their very best behaviour. T
his was, as Gloria had called it that day when Hope was born, ‘God’s house’, after all.
The vicar cleared his throat. ‘We will now begin with a blessing,’ he announced.
‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ …’
Rosie had caught Dorothy’s cheeky wink, and had to suppress a smile. The girl really was incorrigible. Still, she deserved her moment of glory as she had been the one to bring this baby into the world – and had done so in the most challenging – and most dangerous – of circumstances imaginable.
As the vicar continued with the blessing, Rosie looked at Gloria with baby Hope swaddled in her arms. Gloria was the only one she had told that Peter knew about her ‘other life’. She’d managed to get Gloria on her own a few nights ago when they had all been at the Admiral and had asked if she would be her unofficial banker, and take on the responsibility of paying the fees for her little sister’s education should Rosie find herself behind bars.
Gloria had hardly batted an eyelid, which was what Rosie loved about Gloria. And when Rosie told her she had the money in her haversack, wrapped up in newspaper like a fish and chip supper, Gloria had put her own work holdall next to Rosie’s and told her to pop it in there when no one was looking.
Rosie had felt a massive relief knowing that if she suddenly found herself in one of His Majesty’s Prisons, Gloria would see to it that the bills from the boarding school were paid on time.
As her mind wandered back to the bordello, Rosie turned her head and looked along the pew at Lily and George and saw that they were holding hands. She felt so happy for them, and yet so sad. Their love affair was now out in the open and they had even started to plan their wedding, but it was all on hold. They didn’t even know if they were going to be together, never mind become husband and wife. Their future, which until a week ago had seemed so bright and exciting, now looked ominously uncertain.
And, worst of all, it was all Rosie’s fault.
As the vicar came to the end of his reading, he took a deep breath.
‘And now a few words on––’
But before the vicar had the chance to start his sermon, there was an almighty bang as the church’s huge oak doors clashed open and slammed against the sides of the entrance porch. A gust of wind immediately raced in and swirled around the church in a flurry of mischief, ruffling the thin pages of the hymn books and bibles.
The sudden loud noise caused everyone to jump in their seats, and heads to turn to see who it was that had come to the ceremony late. As they took in the vision of the two men struggling to push the heavy church doors closed, there was the sound of shocked gasps.
‘Jack,’ Gloria said in a whisper.
Dorothy grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it hard.
‘Oh my God, it’s Jack,’ she said, unconsciously mimicking Gloria’s hushed tones.
Gloria stood stock-still. Even Hope had stopped wriggling about in her arms and had fallen unusually quiet as if sensing that something important was happening.
Everyone had now focused on the drama at the far end of the church. Jack had managed to force the doors closed, but it had been a struggle against the strength of the wind that seemed to be trying to batter down everything in its path.
‘Please, come in!’ The vicar’s voice boomed out to the back of the church. ‘Get out of this terrible storm that’s been brewing up all morning!’
Arthur staggered to the nearest pew and plonked himself down, leaning forward on the backs of the seats in front of him, struggling to get his breath back. Bel and Agnes jumped up and hurried up the aisle to tend to him.
Seeing that the elderly gentleman was being looked after, the vicar’s attention turned to the man he had come with and who was now walking slowly down the aisle. He looked a little disorientated. As if he didn’t quite know where he was.
‘Please,’ the vicar said to the confused-looking man coming towards him, ‘come and have a seat. We’ve only just got started.’
But the man didn’t look as if he had heard his words. He certainly didn’t look as if he was going to take a seat with the rest of the congregation. He was heading straight for the altar – his eyes fixed on mother and baby.
Chapter Seventy
Jack sensed everyone’s eyes on him as he walked down the centre aisle of this magnificent church, but he could not drag his gaze away from the woman he knew to be Gloria – and, more importantly, the baby she was holding in her arms.
So, this was what Arthur had really wanted to tell him.
Of course, it all made sense now – why Arthur had come to see him yesterday at work, and why they had met this morning at the café.
This was where he’d really wanted to bring him.
Jack could just about make out the baby’s profile. He could see two small clenched fists, and the long, very beautiful ivory christening gown the baby was wearing – but that was all.
He had to see this baby.
As he approached the altar, he glanced at the vicar and the young woman welder in the black dress, but still he could not pull his attention away from the baby.
As he neared mother and child he had the sense of being surrounded by water, and for a split second he was propelled back into the ocean – but then he was once again in the present and only a few yards away from the baby.
The air in the church was still – serene, almost – and there was not a sound to be heard.
As he slowly walked up the three stone steps to the font, the woman he knew he had loved – both as a young lad, and again as a middle-aged, married man – stepped forward and carefully lifted the baby up.
She was handing him the baby.
He was aware of his own arms stretching out to take hold of the treasure being offered to him.
He heard the slight gurgling as the child sensed movement.
As he took the baby in his arms, and looked down at the face of the cherub, he knew for certain who the baby was.
It was the baby he had seen when he had nearly drowned at sea.
The baby with the grey-blue eyes that had looked at him when he had thought he was facing almost certain death.
And he knew – just like he had known when he had been gifted the vision of the baby as he fought for his life in the dark, icy cold ocean. He knew that the child that he had seen then – and the child now lying in his arms looking up at him – were the same.
But, most of all, he knew, with absolute certainty, that this baby was his.
As he stood and gazed at his child, Jack was aware of the vicar’s arm on his shoulder. The man’s old but kindly face smiled at him and he said a few words, before stepping back and speaking once more to the small congregation.
Jack allowed his eyes to break away momentarily from the child to see that Arthur and the two women, who had gone to help him, were taking seats next to a man in a soldier’s uniform.
His eyes, though, were soon pulled back to the child in his arms. He continued to hold her and gaze down at her in awe and adoration.
And the child stared back at him, the beginnings of a smile on her rosebud lips.
And they both stayed there, simply looking at each other, while the vicar gave his short sermon.
When there was silence again, Jack looked up to see Gloria. Tears were forming in her eyes. And as they looked at each other he knew he loved this woman. He still could not recall his past with her, but he knew in his heart that he had loved her – and moreover that he still loved her.
As Jack felt Gloria take his hand into her own, he continued to look down at his daughter – the baby with whom he had finally been reunited.
‘… Shine as a light in the world to the glory of God,’ the vicar read from his script.
Jack remembered the light he had seen when he was drowning. He had learnt when he was in hospital that the light had come from a fisherman’s trawler and that it had been the men in it who had saved him.
As the vicar started talking to the pretty woman welder about her responsibiliti
es as the baby’s godmother, Jack looked again at Gloria and moved to her side so that they stood next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, together with their baby.
‘… and you promise to continue to support this child from this moment.’
Jack heard the words and knew that no matter what happened, he would love, cherish and care for this child for the rest of his days.
The vicar allowed a few moments’ silence, then turned to Jack and Gloria. He didn’t have to ask if this was the child’s father. He also knew not to question the absence of a wedding ring on the woman’s hand, or why the baby’s father was wearing an expensive gold band on his.
The vicar moved towards Jack and Gloria and dipped his thumb lightly in the font’s holy water. He gently made the sign of the cross on Hope’s forehead, and told the baby lying happily in her father’s arms, ‘Christ claims you for his own. Receive the sign of the cross.’
There was another short pause.
Angie, Martha, Hannah and Olly all sat in a row, their eyes glued to the scene in front of them, all with silent tears running unchecked down their faces.
The vicar looked at his attentive congregation and saw that there did not appear to be a dry eye in the house. He realised that there was much more to this ceremony than a simple christening, but he was not one to probe, or to judge. The baby was here to be baptised. That was all that was required of him today. Besides, they were running out of time. The next christening party would be in soon.
‘And, now,’ he said, ‘it is time for Hope to be baptised in water …’ he turned to Jack, who took his cue and stepped towards the white and grey marbled font, ‘… in water which is blessed.’
As baby Hope was held over the font her eyes still focused entirely on her father, as if she was in a trance. Only the holy water, trickling across her forehead, caused her to break her stare, her little face crunching up in discomfort at the feel of its cold on her warm, dry skin as the vicar spoke the age-old words: ‘I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’