‘Her heart couldn’t stand the strain, Phil … There’s so much to think about, and I can’t, not at the moment.’
‘What about tomorrow?’ asked Nancy, a little fearfully. ‘We’ll have to serve the breakfasts, wont we?’ They were all trying to adjust to the awful news.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Janice, sounding weary and unsure. Then she spoke again, more positively. ‘Yes, we must, of course we must. But after that … I don’t know, I’ll ask Dad what he thinks we should do. Thanks ever so much for all you’ve done. You’d better get off home now … and we’ll see what tomorrow brings.’
Janice and Phil went to talk to Alec in the living room. Ian had gone to bed, too stunned, it seemed, to cry about his mum. He said he would read for a while then try to get to sleep.
The three of them attempted to look rationally at the situation. They decided it would not be possible for them to cope with the visitors for the rest of the week. Janice knew that their neighbours, also, were not fully booked and might be willing to accommodate a few more guests. It was quite late in the evening when Janice and Phil went round to ask the landladies of the next door houses if they could put up a few more visitors, starting with the evening meal on the next day. They both agreed at once, very shocked and sorry to hear the sad news of Lilian’s demise.
Janice and Phil also agreed to keep the hotel running until the end of the season, rather than give back word to the people who had already booked. They would, however, accept no more bookings. Then, when the season came to an end, big decisions would have to be made.
Cissie’s pregnancy continued uneventfully. She was well and active, and people said she looked radiant, as mothers-to-be were often told. She worked until six weeks before the expected date which was towards the end of May.
Both she and Val had been sad to hear about Lilian Butler’s death and felt very sorry for their new friend, Janice. Lilian had been so well last August. It was hard to believe that she had gone.
It was on the last day of May, a Thursday, when Cissie’s labour pains started in earnest. She had had one or two false alarms but she knew by late afternoon that this was the real thing. Walter was due home from work quite soon so she decided to stick it out as long as possible.
He looked at her with concern, then threw his arms round her and kissed her.
‘I’m going to be a daddy,’ he said, ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘You wouldn’t think it was all that wonderful if you were suffering like I am!’ she retorted.
‘Yes, I know, love, but you’re going to have our baby!’
He ran to a nearby phone box and rang for a taxi, and very soon they were arriving at Halifax General Hospital on the outskirts of the town. Walter kissed her fondly as he left her in the care of the attendant nurses, then he went home to wait. They did not have a phone, but his parents did, so it was agreed that they should receive the call when there was any news.
If the wait was long for Walter it felt even longer for Cissie. She was left alone for most of the time during the first stage of labour, in a side ward so that her moans would not disturb the women in the main ward. Why did I let myself get into this state? she thought. Never again! She was given a routine enema which she found embarrassing and degrading. Then at midnight her waters broke.
The nurses were then very attentive. She breathed hard at the gas and air machine, and in her semi-conscious state she vaguely remembered Jack and their encounter at the Tower Ballroom, then their love making – if it could be so called – on Blackpool promenade. She thought of Walter, too, their coming together, then their engagement and marriage.
‘Another push, Cissie, love,’ said the midwife. ‘Good girl! I can see the head …’
‘Another one; a big push now, Cissie … There, you’ve done it! You have a lovely baby boy.’
One nurse dealt swiftly with the afterbirth, and Cissie watched in a daze as the other nurse picked up the crying infant and cleaned him, then wrapped him in a towel.
‘Here you are, Cissie, love,’ she said, ‘Sit up and then you can hold him.’
As she looked dazedly at the baby boy in her arms Cissie knew at once who the father of the child was.
On Friday morning Val was surprised to see Walter coming into the office. He was beaming from ear to ear. ‘I’m a dad!’ he shouted. ‘I thought you’d like to know. Cissie’s had a little boy.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ said Val. ‘So how is she? No complications? They’re both OK?’
‘Yes, mother and baby doing well, as they say. She went in yesterday when I got home from work, and the baby was born in the early hours this morning. So his birthday’s the first of June. He was seven and a half pounds. I believe that’s quite a good weight, though I don’t know much about such things.’
Val had never seen Walter look so pleased with himself, like a dog with two tails.
‘So what are you going to call him?’ she asked. ‘I don’t suppose you know yet, do you?’
‘We’ve been thinking about it for a while. Cissie’s father’s called Joseph – that’s OK I suppose – but my dad’s Archibald! So that’s out. We thought we’d better steer clear of family names, then we don’t offend anybody.’
‘May I go and see her?’ asked Val.
‘Yes, of course, you’re her best friend. She’ll be pleased to see you. I think she’ll be in for about a week. Perhaps you could leave it till after the weekend? The parents will be visiting in force on Saturday and Sunday, and I’ll be there, of course. What about Monday? Visiting hours are afternoon and evening, so it’ll be evening, won’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ agreed Val. ‘Give her my love … and congratulations to you both.’
‘Thank you. I didn’t realize I’d be so thrilled,’ said Walter.
‘Well, he’s on top of the world,’ said one of Val’s colleagues as he left the room. ‘I always thought he was a po-faced sort of chap.’
‘He’s OK,’ replied Val. ‘He’s a good husband to Cissie, and they seem to be happy together.’
She was dying to see Cissie, and the baby, of course. She could not help wondering as her thoughts returned to the week they had spent in Blackpool.
‘Would you like to come with me to see Cissie and her new son?’ she asked Sam.
‘I think you should go on your own,’ he replied. ‘Not that I don’t want to see her – I think Cissie’s a great girl – but she’s your friend. I don’t want to intrude on girl’s talk! I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about.’
Val had been busy knitting. She wasn’t an expert by any means, but it was what one did for a new baby. She had chosen lemon wool which would do for either sex, and had painstakingly knitted a tiny matinee jacket and a pair of bootees. She took a bus to the hospital on Monday evening with the gift for the baby, a bunch of miniature roses and a box of Milk Tray, Cissie’s favourite chocolates.
TWENTY-ONE
Cissie was in a ward with several other women, beds on either side of the long room. She was sitting up in bed looking very pretty in a pale pink bed-jacket and nylon nightdress. She had applied some bright pink lipstick and her blonde hair was combed in a halo around her head. Cissie made the most of her appearance, whatever the circumstances.
At the end of each bed there was a cot in which the babies were sleeping peacefully. Cissie threw out her arms and embraced her friend.
‘Oh, how lovely to see you. I’ve been dying for you to come.’ Then she drew back, cringing a little. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit sore here.’ She touched her breasts. ‘I’m breast feeding …’ She grimaced. ‘It’s no joke, I can tell you. Anyway, do you want to have a peep at him, my baby boy?’
Val bent over the cot. It was a fallacy that all babies were red and wrinkled and that they all looked alike. This little baby was plump and round-cheeked, and although he was tiny he had a nose that was unmistakable, and a mop of dark, almost black, hair. Cissie was as fair as could be, and, Val remembered, so was … Jack.
She stood up and stared at her friend. ‘Cissie, he’s the image of …’
‘Yes, of Walter,’ replied Cissie. ‘Isn’t he just? Walter can’t get over it. He says to everyone, “Look, he’s the image of his daddy!”’
‘Well, that must be a relief,’ said Val quietly. ‘You see, it’s turned out alright after all.’ But … had it? she wondered.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Cissie. ‘Well, what’s done is done, and I’ve got my lovely baby boy.’
She was delighted with the gifts that Val had brought, then she told her about the daily routine in the hospital. ‘They wake you up at an unearthly hour,’ she said. ‘That is if you’re not already awake with a screaming baby.’
‘And … do you have to see to him?’
‘Of course. They make you breast feed. They say it’s best for the baby, and some mothers seem to love it, but it hurts like hell, I can tell you! I dread it coming round every four hours, and I’ve so much milk I’m wet through all the time.’
‘But that’s a good thing, to breast feed, isn’t it?’ asked Val.
‘I suppose so,’ said Cissie again. ‘I shall put him on a bottle as soon as I can. They don’t like you to, the midwives, I mean. But when I’m at home I shall please myself. Anyway, that’s enough about me … How’s your Sam? Still going strong, is it?’ Val nodded happily. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? You and the boss’s son. I was wrong, wasn’t I, saying that it wouldn’t work? You make a lovely couple, and he’s such a nice chap.’
‘Yes, I think so, too,’ said Val.
Cissie went home after eight days in hospital. Walter was with her over the weekend, but when he went to work on Monday she was on her own. She could not believe the difference a tiny baby could make to the household. His equipment; pram, carrycot, nappies, baby bath, talcum powder, baby wipes, safety pins, seemed to be all over every room. Her life was controlled by feeding times, every four hours, and this went on through the night as well. The aim, she had been told, was to get the child to sleep right through the night, but this was not happening yet. In fact he was worse at night. The moment he was laid in his cot he started to yell, even if he had just been fed.
Walter was able to escape to work after a sleepless night – although he usually slept right through the noise – whereas Cissie was left on her own until teatime to cope with the endless changing and washing of nappies, feeding the baby and trying, somehow, to prepare an evening meal. The amount of nappies he used was incredible. They were everywhere. Soaking in buckets, revolving round in the washing machine – at least that was a blessing – or drying on a clothes horse round the fire. On sunny days they dried outside on the washing line, but at the moment they were getting more than their fair share of rain, which only served to make Cissie feel even more alone and dispirited.
One gloomy afternoon when she had been home for almost two weeks Cissie sat by the fireside holding her baby son. They hadn’t given him a name yet because they couldn’t reach a decision. She had fed and changed him but he would not settle. Her breasts were sore and uncomfortable. Even a towel wrapped round her was not enough to soak up the excess milk. When she looked in the mirror she knew she looked a sight. Her hair was straggly and needed washing, then cutting and styling. She was pale and her eyes had lost their usual brightness through lack of sleep.
She looked down at her child. He opened his eyes and looked back at her, at least he seemed to do so although she knew that he couldn’t focus properly yet. They were Walter’s eyes, though, just as he had Walter’s nose and his dark hair. She was growing fond of this little baby, but the thought suddenly occurred to her that there had been no need for any of it – her pretense of finally giving in to Walter’s persuasion, their engagement and their marriage – becausee she had not been pregnant after all. Her brief sexual encounter with Jack had not left her pregnant as she had feared. She hadn’t needed to rush into an early marriage. She could still be single and fancy free, waiting for the right man to come along.
She looked again at the little innocent child and, despite herself, her feelings towards him started to change. She loved him … but she knew that she was also angry and resentful about the trick that Fate had played on her.
It was a couple of weeks later, towards the end of June, when Walter came into the office to see Valerie.
‘I’m afraid Cissie is very down in the dumps,’ he told her. ‘Do you think you could come round and see her? I’m sure a chat with you would help to cheer her up as much as anything would.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Val. ‘What’s the matter with Cissie? Is it sleepless nights? That would make anyone feel out of sorts.’
‘Partly,’ said Walter, ‘although that’s been rather better since she put him on a bottle. But that’s caused another problem with … er … with her milk. She’ll tell you about it.’ He looked a little embarrassed. ‘I just know she’s irritable and not herself at all. We’d been getting along so well, Valerie,’ he said in a confidential tone, and she felt sorry for him.
She nodded. ‘They call it the “baby blues”. Apparently this can happen after the birth of a baby. It’s post-natal depression. Yes, my half-day is on Thursday, so I’ll come round and do my best to cheer her up.’
Val set off for her friend’s house two days later with a little blue teddy bear for the baby and a box of chocolates for Cissie. Their small terraced house was about ten minutes’ walk away from Val’s home. Cissie had told Val that they intended to move to a semi with a garden when they were able to afford it.
She had obviously made some effort with her appearance, knowing that her friend was coming. Her hair was freshly washed and she had put on some make-up. Her eyes had lost their former sparkle, but she managed a smile as she flung her arms around Val.
‘It’s so good to see you, it’s been ages,’ she said.
‘Not all that long,’ replied Val, although she realized it had been more than a fortnight. ‘I knew you were busy and had quite enough to cope with. Anyway, I’m here now.’
She followed Cissie into the living room at the back of the house. A small fire was burning in the grate although the day was sunny, and several nappies were airing on a clothes horse on the hearth.
‘Oh … let’s have a look at him!’ Val went across to where a carrycot rested on two dining chairs. ‘He’s grown a lot since I last saw him. Look at his chubby cheeks and those dear little hands! He’s gorgeous, Cissie. You must be so proud of him. And he’s sleeping so peacefully.’
‘For once,’ said Cissie. ‘You should hear him sometimes! It’s enough to wake the dead! Although Walter manages to sleep through it, until I give him a poke. He’s supposed to be helping to feed him now he’s on a bottle. Anyway, sit down and we’ll have a chat. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.’
She was very pleased with the teddy bear and the chocolates, but it was clear, as Walter had said, that she was depressed, though trying not to let it show.
‘Have you decided on a name for him yet?’ asked Val.
‘Yes, he’s called Paul,’ replied Cissie. ‘It’s a name you can’t shorten or mess about with. Not like mine … I’m Cecelia, you know, some daft idea of me mam’s, I suppose. But I’ve always been called Cissie. I suppose that’s slightly better, but I’ve never been right keen on it.’
‘It suits you, though,’ said Val. ‘I expect your mum’s thrilled with the baby – with Paul – isn’t she?’
‘Oh, you know Mam. Yes, she made a fuss, I must admit. With me being the only one, there’s only me to give her grandchildren. But as far as being any real help to me, I can forget it. I know what she thinks – I’ve made my own bed and now I must lie on it.’ Cissie suddenly burst into tears. ‘Oh, Val, I’m so fed up and tired. Here I am, stuck at home day after day with a crying baby, and it need never have been. I didn’t need to get married!’
The same thought had occurred to Val, but she knew she must try to help her friend to make the best of what had happ
ened. ‘You’ve got a lovely baby,’ she said, ‘and there’s no doubt that he’s Walter’s child. Just imagine if he was fair, like you and … Jack. You’d have felt guilty about it forever, having to deceive Walter. As Paul grew up it might have become more obvious that there was some doubt about the father.’
‘But I did deceive Walter, can’t you see? I tricked him into doing what I’d always refused to do. And I didn’t need to, because I wasn’t pregnant. After that … thing … with Jack, nothing had happened. I needn’t have got married, don’t you see?’
‘Yes, I do see,’ said Val. ‘But it’s too late now, isn’t it? You’ve got a beautiful baby, and Walter’s a good husband … isn’t he?’
‘Yes, I suppose he is,’ said Cissie grudgingly. ‘He knows there’s something wrong with me, and he’s trying to do his best. I was determined to stop breast feeding, and the midwife and doctor agreed, although they weren’t all that keen about it. Anyway, I had to take some pills to stop the milk, and that made me ill for a few days, all hot and feverish. So Paul’s on a bottle now.’
‘And that’s what you wanted. Isn’t it easier?’
‘In some ways, I suppose. He’s still not sleeping through the night, though. Walter agreed that we should take it in turns in the night. I make the bottle ready for when he wakes up, but it’s gone cold by then and I have to warm it up again. And it’s usually me that has to do it because Walter’s asleep.’
‘He does have to go to work the next day …’
‘While I stay at home and do nothing, I suppose?’
‘I didn’t say that, Cissie.’ Val was aware that her friend was very disgruntled, and possibly with good reason? ‘Oh, come on, love. I know it seems awful now but it’s sure to get better. You’ve got all the summer ahead of you. It’s better than having a winter baby, surely?’
‘Don’t tell me to count my blessings, or I’ll scream! That’s more or less what Walter’s mother said, and I felt like scratching her eyes out.’
One Week in August Page 25