Turn Us Again

by Charlotte Mendel

  A new bed presided over the space at the top of the stairs, wedged between the roof rafters. It even had covers and a pillow. Madelyn appreciated the thought and work involved in getting an extra bed, but still she saw the cottage from her parent’s point of view. How would her mother like being stuck out on the landing?

  “And that’s not all,” Sam boomed, confident that the silence was bursting with admiration, “Look in the back garden. A brand new cot and pram. Everything we need, eh Mummy?”

  Mummy? Had her name been changed for a second time?

  Sam was sweating with exuberance and joy at his accomplishments. Madelyn looked at the cot and tried to smile too. New to Gabriel, she thought, but used by a hundred other children. Horrible.

  “Yes, everything we need.”

  My mother is going home tomorrow. I don’t know how I’m going to cope without her. Who will look after Gabriel during the day so I can sleep? Life has simplified to ‘The Search for Sleep.’ Every time he closes his eyes I debate whether he’s likely to sleep long enough to make it worthwhile for me to sleep too.

  Mother says I will cope, that I am doing a fine job. We had an argument today, such a shame.

  “I wish I could help you more,” she lamented. Translated, that meant “I thought Sam was a lawyer — what the hell is he playing at?”

  “Sam doesn’t want to spend his whole life making rich people richer.”

  “Couldn’t he spend a bit of his own life making himself richer?”

  Poor, gentle Mother. I don’t know why I got so angry with her. I suppose it’s because even when I complain about our poverty, I know my desire for nice things is base. There is no doubt that most people spend their lives racing after money, and Sam’s rejection of this is noble. He truly doesn’t care about material things. He doesn’t notice when his pants have holes in them. That is so rare in today’s world.

  And we have everything we need.

  I was annoyed at first when he called me Mummy, but now I feel it is appropriate. My whole being is given over to this new role, my body and breasts, my exhausted mind. I am Mother Earth — I have been ever since I became pregnant. When Gabriel is older I will go back to my previous state, and reclaim Madelyn.

  Madelyn and Gabriel settled into a routine, which soon became set in stone once Mary had returned home. Madelyn pushed the baby for hours in his little pram every morning, rain or shine, exploring the country lanes and picking dandelions. In the afternoons while he slept she dozed and read books. She always had an ample dinner waiting for Sam when he got home utterly exhausted from work.

  Sam spent an hour with Gabriel after dinner, playing and talking to him. He was gentle and patient, and it gave Madelyn enormous pleasure to see father and son together. She realized she had not known what sort of father Sam was going to be and felt relieved at the wonder and joy he derived from the baby. It could so easily have been otherwise. Many men didn’t pay the slightest attention to their offspring for the first couple of years.

  In the evenings they’d go to the pub and sit outside in the garden, propping Gabriel in his pram if he were sleeping, more often jiggling him on their laps while he stayed whiningly awake. Sometimes the nice neighbours would join them, and they’d companionably drink pint after pint of draft cider, taking turns with Gabriel.

  The nights were the worst. Gabriel’s cot had been moved out to the landing after Mary’s departure, and he would wake up and cry, while Madelyn lay rigid with misery in her bed. She had instructed so many women to be strict about four-hourly nursings, without any conception of how terrible this regime was. Every scream yanked on her heart, she could almost feel her blood pressure rising. It went on for weeks, as though Gabriel just couldn’t learn the lesson he was supposed to grasp within days — nighttime was for sleeping. Sometimes Sam would toss beside her, and she felt tension tightening like a bow string between her shoulder blades and along her neck. He never said a word, and she appreciated his restraint, but she was all too aware of his anxiety about getting enough sleep. So she lay in bed praying that Gabriel would shut up. It was agony, reminding her irresistibly of the aborted fetus, with its little hands grasping onto life desperately. Gabriel’s hands seemed to be reaching for her all night, crying, ‘Where is my mother, and why has she abandoned me in my terror?’

  Sometimes she would call out, “It’s okay Gabriel, Mummy’s here and loves you. But it’s nighttime and you need to go to sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sam’s mutterings and tossings increased during this little conversation, and it didn’t seem to comfort Gabriel much either.

  ‘It’s getting less,’ she assured herself, ‘every night he cries a little less. He’s learning.’

  But she was no longer sure such a tiny morsel of humanity was capable of learning.

  One day they were surprised at their dinner by a knock on the door. Sam got up to answer, and there stood his father, with hat in hand and a sheepish expression.

  “Come in, Father! Come in! How wonderful for you to visit!”

  Madelyn jumped up and came towards the tall man standing awkwardly beside the door. He reached out his hand, grasping hers.

  “I’m Frank. Have I come at a bad time? You’re in the middle of eating.”

  “Not at all, you must join us.” Madelyn did a quick inventory of the available food. Damn, pork chops. I can’t offer him those. Thank God I made a Bakewell tart this evening, as a special treat.

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Nonsense, Father, sit down.” Sam dragged one of the ‘good’ chairs by the fire up to the table, and guided his father into it.

  Madelyn began to relax. Frank didn’t look very imposing.

  “We were just about to have our dessert with some tea. I do hope you’ll have some Bakewell tart?” she said, whisking away the pork chop remains and stashing the plates under the sink.

  “I love Bakewell tart. It’s my favourite.”

  A wail from Gabriel announced that he was ready to join the activities. Sam picked him up and presented him to his father.

  “He’s lovely. What a large head, just like you and your mother.”

  “Does she know you are here?”

  “No.”

  “Oh come on, Dad. She knows everything.”

  “Would it be possible to get another piece of that wonderful Bakewell tart, Madelyn?”

  She felt inordinately pleased and cut him a huge slice.

  “I brought the little fellow a jingly ball.”

  “That’s so kind. He doesn’t have many toys.”

  “Are you all right then? Do you need anything?”

  “We have all the essentials…” Madelyn hesitated, wondering how to phrase it so it wouldn’t sound like she was greedy, but without repulsing any generosity this nice, rich old gentleman might be prepared to extend. Sam leaped into the pause.

  “We have everything we need. I’m working full-time, you know. Harder than I’ve ever worked in my life.”

  “But these are primitive quarters for a family with a young baby. Is there a toilet?”

  “The quarters are fine. Millions of people live like this. The toilet’s just outside.”

  “Well if you’re sure you’re okay…” Frank said in a subdued voice.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ Madelyn thought to herself, ‘don’t give up so easily. You’re appalled by our destitution. Why don’t you hand your daughter-in-law a nice little cheque and see how gratefully she’ll accept it?’

  But Frank seemed eager to accept Sam’s verbal assurances, despite his obvious unease at their circumstances.

  “There’s a nice little pub down the road where we sometimes go to get a pint, Father. Shall we?”

  They ordered the usual stiff brews of draft cider, and Madelyn jiggled Gabriel on her lap while he whined. She couldn’t concentrate on anything when he was
restless. His distress absorbed her mind like a magnet, and she felt how impossible it was to make a good impression on Frank with the baby so unhappy.

  The publican came up unbidden with another round. When the pub was half-empty he enjoyed busying himself in this way, popping outside for a little chat with a new round of drinks.

  Madelyn took a big gulp of her new drink for courage and nearly choked.

  “Uggh, what’s this?”

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” said the publican. “Draft cider is the reason that baby cries so much.”

  Madelyn hadn’t known he cried more than other babies, and she didn’t want Frank to know it either. “He only cries here, it’s a bit chilly for him.”

  “Ah. He cries because he’s swallowing too much draft cider in his milk. I’m switching you to stout.”

  “I don’t like stout.”

  “Ah. That’s what you’re getting at this pub. For a bit.”

  Frank, who had been listening with interest, piped up, “You’re quite right. What an excellent idea — switching to stout. Of course the baby is imbibing everything through its mother’s milk. So it’s vital you nourish yourself well, Madelyn.” He turned to Sam with the anxious expression returning to his face.

  “You have sufficient means for your wife to eat properly, don’t you Sam? Lots of fruit and things like that?”

  “Of course we do!” said Sam in an outraged tone, silencing his father.

  Outside the pub Frank took his leave, embracing his son and shaking Madelyn’s hand warmly.

  “I am so pleased to have met you, my dear. I feel that Sam could not have chosen a better wife.” He leaned down to brush her cheek with his lips and whispered “You have the potential to be so happy together. Please make him happy.” When he straightened up, there were tears on his face. Madelyn’s compassion rushed to the surface and she nodded at him, trying to invest a world of reassurance in her smile.

  “What did you think of my father?” Sam asked as they walked home.

  “I didn’t expect him to be gentle. I always imagined that your family was imposing. He seemed rather sad, somehow.”

  Sam pressed her arm, “Did you feel that? Your intuition always amazes me. You have an uncanny ability to understand people, which I lack. I know my father well, and I felt something wasn’t quite as it normally is. You have hit the nail right on the head — he was sad.”

  “Yet he felt reassured about our marriage, which must have been troubling him. He saw we had the potential for happiness.”

  “His intuition is also correct. We are happy, Mummy. You are the heart of the union, and I am the head, and together we make a perfect whole.

  And at that second, it did seem as though they were a perfect fit.

  That night, Gabriel didn’t wake up once.

  Madelyn never drank cider again.

  NINETEEN

  Farmer Brown surprised them with a goose at Christmas, and Madelyn made a feast with mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts and turnip, which Sam trumped with a bottle of wine. Afterwards, they lay in bed with Gabriel between them, and Madelyn taught Sam all the Christmas carols she could remember. They belted them out together until late in the evening, to the great delight of Gabriel. Afterwards, when Gabriel was asleep, Madelyn mentioned that she would like to visit her parents and show off her new baby to the relatives and friends.

  “How will you explain his premature birthday?”

  “I’ll put it forward a couple of months. Or I’ll pretend he’s younger than he is. He’s pretty small, after all.”

  “Deception comes so easily to you, Mummy.”

  “Well, I don’t deserve to be banned from my ancestral home forever for my transgressions. Do you think you’ll be okay?”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Two weeks.”

  Sam sucked the air between his teeth. “That’s a long time. Why don’t we make it ten days?”

  Madelyn felt relieved. She had been worried he’d kick up a fuss. “Fine. I’ll stock up with bacon and eggs.”

  “I did manage on my own before you came along,” he said huffily.

  Madelyn smiled to herself. He had managed on his own in the student dining hall at Cambridge, fortifying himself with steaks whenever he could. Steaks he excelled at, but alas, they could no longer afford them.

  The nine-hour train ride to Newcastle was horrendous. Toting Gabriel in one hand and a heavy case in the other while changing trains, Madelyn developed an agonizing neck pain that prevented her from moving her head. She sat miserably by the window of her carriage, trying to cover herself with a blanket and maneuver Gabriel into the right position for nursing without actually bending her head to look at him. Sharp pains stabbed along her shoulder. ‘What if I die?’ she thought. ‘Do I have any identification on me that binds me to Sam? Who would know where Gabriel comes from?’

  Tears coursed down her cheeks at the mere thought of Gabriel in distress, searching for his mother and finding strangers. The other travellers looked at her with sympathy, and several leapt up to grab her case and carry it onto the platform when they reached Newcastle. And there was her mother, standing in her little pillbox hat, waving a handkerchief in one hand.

  Newcastle was exquisite after the lonely life of Evercreech. Madelyn took endless hot baths — such a luxury — and a stream of visitors brought gifts for her and the baby. There is something about a baby which makes people feel joyful and positive (so long as it is born in wedlock), and Madelyn felt that all the smiles bestowed on her were genuine.

  She didn’t want to go back so soon and dashed off a telegram to Sam on the eighth day.

  Having lovely time. Staying for two weeks returning Jan 10th instead of Jan 6th. Big kisses.

  “I think I’d like a baby,” Cathie said wistfully, as they sat in their usual pub perched at the bar, Gabriel safe with his grandmother.

  “Babies in small quantities are an undiluted pleasure. But living with them full-time is a different story.”

  “Well, of course, more responsibility and all that. But they love you so unreservedly. Every morning they greet you with a grin of pure pleasure.”

  As always with her friend, Madelyn had a strange urge to paint her life in kaleidoscope colours, to insinuate that no woman was complete without a child and therefore that she, Madelyn, was more complete than the childless Cathie. She tried to think back to see if that was what she had been told. No doubt about it. A married woman with children was simply viewed in a different light, just like rich and poor were viewed differently, educated and ignorant.

  ‘Deception comes so easily to you,’ Sam had said.

  “There’s more to it than the soppy coo-cooing you seem to be imagining. Like listening to them screaming night after night. A baby heralds the end of a decent night’s sleep, which I dimly remember taking for granted once upon a time.”

  “Oh come on, Anne. They sleep for about fourteen hours a day, don’t they?”

  “In one-hour increments, at least at the beginning. Then they wake up and have a little cry and then slip back into slumber, while you’re lying awake for hours trying to recapture your dream in the hopes that it will pull you under again.”

  “One hour increments? He was sleeping for at least three hours the other day.”

  “During our walk? Oh yes, he sleeps whenever I’m in motion. It’s when I lie down that he wants some entertainment. Take my word for it, Cathie, it’s exhausting and full-time without a break. You’d hate it.”

  “You’ve always been a negative type of person.”

  Madelyn sucked her breath in: the injustice of such a statement, when she was trying to be honest. “Fine, live in coo-coo land regarding babies. One day you’ll see that I’m right. It’ll be especially hard for you, regulated to the back seat, no longer number one. Even your own body betrays you when you�
�re pregnant. Not eating enough calcium? Well, we’ll just have to take it from your teeth, to ensure baby gets enough. It’s like being chucked out of the Garden of Eden without appreciating that you were there in the first place. One just takes it for granted that oneself is the centre of the universe. Having another person’s needs and wants drummed into you every second starts with a husband. But when the baby comes, everything conspires to put you in second place.”

  ‘What a weird way of seeing it.”

  “I’ve just thought about it like that now, talking to you. I must write it in my diary.”

  Cathie lifted her hand to attract the bartender’s attention.

  “Another gin and tonic and … a stout. Ugh, I can’t believe you’re drinking stout.”

  “That’s the least of my sacrifices.”

  Cathie still looked sceptical, and walking back to her parent’s house, Madelyn reflected that it was impossible to convey the feeling of being alone with a small baby during a time when you were not alone. Everything changes when a second person enters the picture. You no longer agonize over every moue of discomfort crossing the baby’s face, because there are two of you to talk about it, if indeed you even notice the discomfort in the first place. When Sam came back from work in the evenings it was so much better.

  ‘If only I could live close to my mother, so she could look after Gabriel every day,’ Madelyn thought.

  She boarded the train taking her back to Evercreech with a heavy feeling in her heart. No more baths, no more cooked meals waiting for her in the kitchen, no more breaks from Gabriel. She stuck her head out of the carriage and spoke to Mary standing on the platform under the window, “One never appreciates one’s mother until one becomes a mother.”

  Mary gave a brief smile of pleasure before her familiar look of anxiety returned, “But you are okay, aren’t you Anne? It’s not too hard?”

  “No, it’s fine, Mum. Sam is a wonderful father. And I’m not dreading this trip half so much as the last one because he’s meeting me partway.”

  “That’s thoughtful of him.”