by Mary Wood
Hitching the huge pram up the step disturbed the child and his squeal told of his annoyance and his hunger. Agatha had minded him while Ada went to the hospital, but had shied away from doing anything other than rocking the pram if he cried. It was too painful for her. Ada knew that feeling.
Agatha and Mabel had recovered well from the explosion that had ripped their worlds apart. Both back at work, after suffering bruising and eardrum problems, they had each managed to get back into their homes and were picking up the pieces of their lives, as much as they could. At least they were trying to get back to normality. They were an inspiration to all.
‘Is that you, Ada? I’m just making a sandwich. Do you want anything?’
‘No, ta, Bill. I have to see to young ’un.’ Walking through to the kitchen with the babby in her arms made her realize that the child was acting like some sort of shield. Bill didn’t like going near him, and so he left her alone if she was seeing to him.
One-handed, she went through the motions of making up the feed, but pouring the milk into the banana-shaped bottle wasn’t something that could be done with just one hand. Knowing it was useless asking Bill, she didn’t even attempt to. ‘Come on, my little babby. I’ll have to put you back in your pram while I sort your bottle.’
Going back into the kitchen, she held her breath. Please don’t let him start his tricks. Trying a distraction, she said, ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask after your wife?’
‘What wife? Oh, you mean Beryl. She forfeited the right to be my wife when she took your Paddy to our bed.’
‘Eeh, give over. That’s yesterday’s news. Forget it, and get on with your life and help Beryl to get on with hers. She talks about you all the time, you know.’
‘Ha! I’ll believe that when I hear it – not that I will. As far as I’m concerned, she can rot in some institution. I like things as they are. You and me—’
‘There is no “you and me”, Bill. When are you going to get that into your head? No, don’t come near me. I’m warning you. Bill . . .’
He moved across the kitchen towards her as if he was an athlete. Trying to get out of his way, Ada bumped into a chair, sending it flying. Tripping over it, she landed on the floor. Winded and feeling the pain of her still-bruised ribs, she could do nothing to stop him coming down on top of her. His weight crushed her. His voice, low and deep, said her name over and over again. It disgusted her.
‘No. Please don’t, Bill. I’m begging you, don’t do this.’
‘You want it – you know you do. Well, now you’re going to have it.’
‘I don’t. I don’t . . . Nooooo!’
Her frock was above her knees, his hand probing her while his body weight was across her, trapping one of her arms. With her other hand she hit out at him, but the pain in her ribs was too much to bear.
Her begging went unheeded. The wailing of the babby made no difference to him as he struggled to undo his trousers.
Hot tears ran down Ada’s face. Sobs racked her body. ‘Don’t, Bill. Don’t!’
As her last plea died, she felt him enter her. ‘Oh, Ada, Ada, you know you want it. Let me . . . ooh. I love you, my Ada.’
His movements were those of someone inexperienced, thrusting and thrusting, slipping out and having to enter her again. Each time she struggled he lost his grip, and then it happened. He could no longer enter her as his erection folded. Flopping down on her, his sobs heaved his whole body. But she had no sympathy for him.
‘You bastard! Get off me.’ Pushing him, she rolled from underneath him. As she rose, a temptation came to her to kick him where it would hurt, but she didn’t. Making it to the sink, she turned on the tap and swilled her head and face, whilst flushing her vomit away. The babby continued to cry and cry. She had to see to him, though all she wanted to do was go to the bathroom and scrub herself clean.
The house was in semi-darkness. Not long after he’d raped her, Bill had gone to the bathroom and then disappeared out somewhere. Having settled the babby, Ada lay in the bath, allowing her sobs to come out, as she longed for Joe and an end to the difficult situation she found herself in.
It was then that the idea came to her. She would ring Rene at the hospital.
The quietness gave her the courage to dial the number Rene had given her to use, if she ever needed help. The voice at the other end told her to wait. The line crackled. Ada prayed she would stay connected. Then Rene’s lovely voice came to her. ‘Hello, Ada.’
‘Eeh, Rene, help me.’ Telling her what had happened was easy; as a nurse, Rene had a kind and understanding manner. Ada wouldn’t have been able to tell Lady Eloise.
‘Don’t worry, Ada. We’ll get you out of there. Get some things together and try to catch the last train to Leeds. I’ll be at the station, as I’m off-duty in ten minutes. You can stay with me at my cottage.’
‘What about the babby? I can’t leave him.’
‘Bring him along. Bring his things. I have a deep drawer I can make into a cot, but nothing else, so bring the essentials for him that you can carry.’
‘Oh, ta, Rene. I don’t know how to thank you. I know there’s a train just before ten, as I used to catch it to go to work.’
‘Can you catch that one?’
‘Aye, if I hurry. Though hurrying isn’t something I can do, given that he’s bruised me. I’ll do me best, though.’
‘Good. And don’t worry; you can stay with me permanently, if you have to. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’
Ada couldn’t answer this. Instead she just said, ‘Ta, Rene,’ and hung the telephone back on the wall.
What Rene called a cottage turned out to be bigger than any cottage Ada had ever seen! It was a double-fronted, bay-windowed detached house in its own grounds, and grander even than Beryl’s. It stood among other similar properties, all imposing and all seeming to ask what the likes of her thought she was doing on their street.
‘Come on. Annie will have the supper on and a fire lit. Oh, by the way, Annie’s my maid – you haven’t met her yet.’
It didn’t take long to do so, as the door was opened by a round-faced woman that Ada judged to be in her late forties. Plain, yet with jolly features and twinkling eyes, Annie had a rounded figure that gave the impression she scurried rather than walked, as she led the way along the wide entrance hall.
At the bottom of the stairs Rene said, ‘Annie, will you get Ada a nice hot drink? Make yourself at home, Ada, I’ll be with you soon. I didn’t have time to change, before picking you up, and was only able to come back here to inform Annie about what was happening. I need to wash off the smell of the hospital. I love it when I am at work, but not in my own home.’
Rene ran up the stairs facing the front door and disappeared.
‘Let’s ’ave a look then.’ Annie pulled the blanket from around the babby. ‘Lawd love us, ’e looks a laverly chap. What’s ’is name?’
She nearly said ‘Jimmy’, but the name caught in her throat.
‘Cat got yer tongue? Oh well, there’s nothing to be frightened of ’ere. Make yerself comfy in that little sitting room there. It’s where Miss Rene likes to sit in the evenings. I’ll get you a cup of Rosie Lee.’
‘A what?’
‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m from Landon, the East End. We ’ave our rhyming slang. Rosie Lee – a cup of tea!’
Annie’s laughter was infectious. Giggling with her eased some of the tension inside Ada. ‘Eeh, I’ve never met anyone from London before. And if they’re all like you, then I’ve missed a treat. Nice to meet you, Annie.’
‘And you, love. I won’t be a mo. Take a pew.’
The fire crackled in a homely way and sent warmth around the room. Ada would call this room cosy. Four wooden-armed chairs were placed around the fire and the central occasional table. There were two sideboards holding knick-knacks; one stood against the back wall, and the other on the only other wall that didn’t have a window. Lamps and a bookshelf completed the furnishings. The rust-colour
ed upholstery was complemented and lightened by the bright cushions in yellows and reds. It was a warm and lovely room, Ada thought, and began to feel relaxed as she trod the soft ivory, red and gold patterned carpet to seat herself on the chair nearest the fire.
At least the babby had slept through it all and, though awake now, was still undisturbed, despite the noisy, draughty train carriage, the car journey and, now, entering a home he wasn’t familiar with.
Looking down at him, she thought his eyes would be a beautiful blue colour, as they lightened every day. And this, together with his sweeping eyelashes, made Ada see Paddy in him more than she had in any of her own.
‘As no one else is going to name thee, lad, I think I’ll have to. Well, your dad was baptized Patrick Brendan, and that will be your name – only I’m going to reverse it, so no one can shorten it to Paddy. Brendan Patrick O’Flynn. Eeh, I wish you could have another surname, as that one isn’t a lucky one, but Paddy O’Flynn fathered you, so you are stuck with it. Aye, and you might be stuck with me an’ all. But I’ll do me best for thee, lad. Me little Brendan. I love you as if you were me own. At least no war can take you away from me, as this is the war to end all wars.’
Excitement squeezed the muscles of Ada’s belly as she waited on the platform for the train. Not even the bitter cold could dampen her spirits. So much had happened in the last six weeks since she’d landed on her feet at Rene’s. On top of that, Lady Eloise had offered her a job! She was to coordinate the charity work needed in Low Moor. And by, there was a lot of that needed! There were still folk camped out in the school rooms, unable to get back into their own homes after the munitions explosion, poor things. And it looked like it would be years before all the houses were made safe, or pulled down to make way for new ones to be built. Her first job would be to provide some sort of Christmas for these folk, and to that end she had already set up a delivery of food parcels and toys to the school as well as to those who had managed to stay in their homes. It had been a mammoth task, but Eloise had been on hand to advise her and so it had all gone smoothly. Next she would concentrate on providing decent shelter in the interim period before proper homes could be found for those left homeless.
Swinging her bag, Ada realized that she was the happiest she’d been in a long time, though she doubted she could ever say she was truly happy and really mean it, as nothing could brush away the sad parts of her and give her unscarred happiness. But she’d settle for what she had, and knew that in the near future it would increase threefold or more, if Joe was acquitted. A lot of the joy she felt at this moment was because Grayson Berry, the lawyer who had been looking into Joe’s case, had given her hope. He had taken on the defence of Joe. He’d said he knew an honest man when he met one, and he’d never met a more honest one than Joe Grinsdale.
It had made Ada proud to hear it. And to know that Joe’s case had been helped by her telling how it all happened and Grayson Berry believing her; and also by all the folk in the community speaking out about Joe’s good character – and how the same couldn’t be said for Paddy.
Now it was the first day of Joe’s trial in Leeds Crown Court, and Ada could attend however many days the trial took, as Annie had taken to little Brendan and would look after him for her. Things seemed to be panning out at last. If only she hadn’t the continuing worry over Beryl’s health.
Bill had filed for a divorce from Beryl, on the grounds of her being insane, despite him having promised he wouldn’t do so, if Ada kept quiet about him raping her. The rotten sod!
There hadn’t been any improvement in Beryl’s condition, either. If anything, she seemed to lose her grip on reality more and more as the days went on.
Somehow, I’ll have to find a way to help her. And I will. Whatever it takes, I will. But first, let me get me Joe home and settled. Then I can sort out everything else.
17
Edith
France, mid-December 1916
An encounter
Edith ran her hand over the bump of her stomach. From her training, she remembered the drawings of what a baby would look like at four months’ gestation and smiled, even though she was sure she shouldn’t be as big as she was.
Expanding every day, she had begun to wonder if there was more than one baby. That thought frightened her. How was she going to sort a future for herself with one child, let alone two? She spent hours thinking about it. Should she leave her child with Petra, as Petra had offered? Should she just leave her child for a short time, and then set up a secret home somewhere once she was back in England? She could engage staff to take care of the child between the times when she could visit.
None of the scenarios she thought about were ideal, but at least she’d come to terms with what was happening and was trying to make plans. For the first weeks after her discovery, weakness had taken away her ability to cope with the idea of having a baby.
She looked over towards the field where Aleksi was beginning the winter turning-over of the almost solid ground, and pulled her coat further around her before walking towards him. She called out as she did, to tell him she was going for a walk.
He answered with a wave. She wouldn’t walk far, but inside her she’d felt an urge to go to the farm where she’d spent time with Albert, and to say a few words to him. Somehow she felt that his spirit would be there. She would tell him she was sorry, that she hadn’t realized the extent of his trauma and what it had done to him mentally. She would also tell him that she was carrying his child and ask him to help her to find some kind of solution.
Thinking of him buried there in an unmarked grave hurt, but it was how it had to be. Those who were still living were more important, and so she had to protect Petra and Aleksi. She didn’t know what she would have done without them, but it frightened her that, as a doctor, she hadn’t reported Albert’s death. Now she could never reveal it, as the repercussions would be enormous for her.
Loneliness seeped into her. It was always her companion, as she longed to be with her family and friends again and to let them know she was safe.
Seeing the farmhouse in the distance made her heart drop. Could she do this? Could she revisit the scene? Oh God!
Clutching her stomach, she retched. Nasty-tasting bile stung her throat. Spitting out the residue, she straightened, only to look into the face of a man standing a few feet away.
Gasping with fright, she stared at him. Tall and slim, he wore a hunting jacket and carried a gun. His hat, a deerstalker, made him look British, but his words belied any hint of an English accent. ‘Hé, qu’est-ce que vous faites? Qui êtes-vous? Pourquoi êtes-vous ici? Vous attez bien?’
Somehow, upon hearing him, she was no longer afraid of him. He had kind brown eyes that showed concern. Answering him with care, she said, ‘I am just out for a walk and I felt sick. My condition . . .’ She patted her stomach and then pointed in the direction of the farm as she went on, ‘I’m staying with my late husband’s family at the farm along the way there. And yes, I am fine, thank you. May I ask you the same questions? What are you doing, and why are you here? Though I don’t have to ask if you are all right. I can see . . . I mean, well, you’re not being sick.’ Oh dear, what am I blabbing on about, and where did those lies come from?
‘You’re English?’
‘Yes, but I don’t like my questions answered by further questions.’
‘Pardon.’
She waited. He took off his hat, revealing hair that was very dark and shining with blueish lights. Then he answered her, his English perfect. ‘I’m a French officer. To say I’m all right isn’t quite true. My last few months have been hell. Maybe you will understand if I tell you that I’ve been fighting in Verdun. Then again, why should you? You’re an English lady in France and well away from the fighting, so you can’t have any comprehension of the war and what it’s really like. I’ve been given a rest period of two weeks. I – I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face it, and so here I am, camping in the wilderness, hunting, fishing, trying to get thing
s out of my head – not that it will help, as I’m returning very soon. It’s difficult to reconcile the peace and tranquillity here with what is happening just a few miles away, where it is a completely different picture. But I won’t taint your innocence with all of that. It’s better that you don’t know.’
She wanted to say that she did know, but she kept quiet, letting him speak. It was so good to hear her own language.
Then he surprised her by asking, ‘Would you like to sit a while and just talk?’
‘Yes, I would, thank you.’
‘Over there is a little hill. If it would not be too much for you, we could sit on the top, where there is a rock that is dry and you can see for miles. I was there yesterday and it is where I was heading for. Though you may be cold and wanting to get on with your walk. I shouldn’t ask.’
‘No, my coat is very thick and keeps me warm.’ Though not very fashionable, and well below the quality she was used to wearing, as it was one of Petra’s, the coat was made of thick wool and had a flare to its cut and thus accommodated her shape.
‘I have a flask of coffee in my haversack. My parents sent me some good coffee beans and I have boiled them in a pan. We can share it.’
Following him, it occurred to her what a strange encounter this was. She could never have imagined that she would meet a French officer whilst out walking in this remote place, but she could see why he would make for it. Though mostly flat, the terrain was lush with foliage. The trees were stark against the skyline, with many evergreens stubbornly declaring their resistance to the winter. It was a beautiful area – even now, when the ground was hard and crusty from the frost that bit it at night, its landscape spoke of peace and soothed the senses. But then a thought occurred to her that disturbed her. Wouldn’t any soldier rather go home, if he had enough time? Is this man telling me the truth, or has he deserted his post? Dismissing the idea, she realized he would not have said he was a French officer if he had deserted. He would have made up any story he could think of, and would have shown fear at being discovered.