***
Thursday was clinic day and Kate was keen for Emma to take Christina. “It’ll do you good to get out. I think you’ll enjoy gossiping with the others. You never know, they might ask you back for a cup of tea.”
“Yeah, well as long as they don’t expect a return invitation. How could I ever bring anyone back here with her gob flapping all the time? It would be dead embarrassing.”
“You’ll be all right, going on your own I mean?”
“You’re a proper old hen. I’ll be fine. Will you be all right is more to the point. She’s been going off alarming this morning hasn’t she?”
Emma began another tirade about Angie, warming to the subject she liked best. “I don’t understand you, Kate. You should’ve said something to the doctors, told them I was pregnant and we wouldn’t be able to handle things.” She glanced over to Christina who was lying in her cot, her deep-green eyes transfixed by the teddy-bear mobile suspended above her.
“She’s our mum, Emma. And let’s face it, we are handling things. How would I have felt if they'd stuck her in some home, knowing full well I could’ve looked after her? I get it, Em’. I really do. I know she's awful...but it’s just...humanity. There was a time she was OK, wasn't there? Remember? She wasn't always like this.” She gestured towards Christina. “How would you feel if Christina put you in an institution because you were ill? It could happen you know. Things have a habit of happening just when you least expect it. Like when Dad left us, we had no clue did we, before he went?” Emma looked cross. “Don't drag Christina into this. You say there was a time when she was OK. Well that's all she was. Just OK. Even when Dad was here she was no good and you know it as well as I do. She was always hanging round some bloke or other from the working men’s club down at King Henry’s Square. Dad turned a blind eye so they didn't fight. That’s why he left. It was nothing to do with us. She drove him out. You know that, no matter what she says. It’s just an excuse and it’s about time you faced it.”
She softened her tone when she saw the hurt look on Kate's face. “I know it’s hard but you can’t compare us to Christina. Her life will be different. She’s surrounded by love because that’s what I want for her, and I don’t think it matters who gives it to her as long as she feels she’s wanted. Mum didn’t want us, especially you. She has her own reasons for why she treats you so badly, although God knows what they are. She’s just a nasty piece of work and she’s making you pay for all the unhappiness that surrounds her, and d'you know what?” Kate shook her head. “Don’t ever worry about being out of a job, Kate. She’s your job for life and I don’t envy you one bit. When I get the chance I’m out of here and that’s a promise. If you’ve got any sense you’ll come with me. I love you and so does Christina. It’s more than you’ll ever get from her.”
Emma stooped into Christina’s cot and lifted her into her arms. She snuggled her face into the baby’s neck and breathed in the wonderful sweet powder smell on her skin. Then she placed Christina into the pram they'd bought for a few pounds from the second-hand shop, folded the blankets securely around her and bent to kiss her cheek.
“At least I have someone to love me now,” she said quietly to Kate. “Even she can’t take that away from me.”
“I heard you, you ungrateful cow.” Angie’s voice came from upstairs and Kate closed her eyes. “The only problem I have, Emma, is you. You can take that baby of yours out of my house and never come back for all I care. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.” Emma laughed and shook her head. “Do something about her, Kate,” she whispered. “Do it for your own sake. You have a right to be happy too. Dump her off and marry Jack, you know he’s crazy about you. I’d marry him tomorrow if he was mine.” Kate watched Emma push the pram out of the front door and close it with a resounding slam.
“That’s her gone is it,” cried Angie. “Good, you can come up here now and read to me.”
Kate went upstairs, dreading another lashing from her mother’s hateful tongue. “Are you going to read to me or what?”
“No, Mum. I’m too busy.”
“Oh, well, that’s just fine isn’t it? You haven’t even got time to read to your own mother.”
“Mum will you just shut up for a change? You’re getting on my bloody nerves with your constant going on. I’m going out for a while. I need some air. You’ll have to wait till I come back.”
Angie opened her mouth to protest but Kate didn’t hang around for her disapproval. She went to her wardrobe and took out a jacket. Then, putting her purse in her pocket she ran downstairs and opened the front door. As she was about to leave Angie called out to her in the pathetic, whiny voice she used when she wanted them to feel sorry for her. Kate hesitated and glanced up the stairs. Shrugging, she shut the front door. At that moment she couldn’t worry about Angie. She had more important things on her mind.
Chapter 30
The house was in darkness. Diana crept downstairs, a ghostly, ethereal figure in a cream, chiffon kimono. Her feet barely touched the stairs as she stepped down towards the square mosaic-tiled hall. Matthew was in bed, snoring. Diana was sure he wouldn’t wake. He’d had a large supper followed by plenty of brandy and port. Usually, she would have cringed at his gluttony, but this evening his greed pleased her. It would take nothing less than a bomb to stir him tonight.
She placed her hand on the door handle then hesitated, closing her eyes for a moment. She entered the drawing room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Cecily Little stood by the picture window leading into the garden, her sharp profile highlighted by a vivid shaft of light projected from a full and shimmering moon. She turned towards Diana when she heard the door close. “It’s a beautiful night, Mrs. Barton,” she breathed. “Spoiling it for you seems so harsh.”
Diana pushed her hands deeply into the pockets of her wrap and clenched her fists. “What is it you want, Cecily? Why couldn't we have spoken tomorrow? I don't understand all of this cloak-and-dagger business.” Cecily crossed the room to the fireplace. She looked at Diana, dislike contorting her face. “I think you know, my dear. Unwanted pregnancies run in your family, don’t they?” The colour drained from Diana’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cecily laughed, taking great care to establish eye contact with Diana. She was frightening her. I'm going to make mincemeat out of you, she thought. The anticipation was deliciously empowering. “It’s Mrs. Little to you, and don’t give me that old flannel. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Your son is more like you than you thought, isn’t he? I’m sure you hoped your little secret would never come out. I know a lot of people and some of those people know you. Your father employed some of them in this house. Can you see what I’m getting at, Miss Not So Perfect?”
“It was you,” Diana said, her voice trembling. “You wrote those disgusting letters.” Cecily looked pleased. “Yes, they were good weren’t they? I had a lot of fun with them. I kept thinking it was like being in my very own Agatha Christie murder mystery...without the murder of course. I’m hoping I won’t have to go that far.”
The look on Diana’s face told Cecily she was afraid. Just as I want you, she thought. She sniggered. “Please don’t worry about my murdering you, dear, although I must admit I’ve wanted to do it many times. No. I need to keep you very much alive. You’re my ticket to the stars, metaphorically speaking. I bet Mr. Barton would've appreciated knowing that his little debutante – his oh, so innocent little fiancé had already given birth to a child. A boy wasn’t it?” She sneered at Diana, her lips curling with malice. “What’s the matter, Diana? Cat got your tongue? You haven’t denied any of this yet so I reckon I'm on the right track.”
Cecily paced the room. She folded her arms in front of her, convinced she was but one short step away from victory, satisfied that for once in her disappointing life she had the upper hand. Now was the time to play the winning card. “I know who the father was my dear – a man that Mummy and Daddy didn’t want you
to marry because he came from a place so very far removed from your own: The Smithy. Daddy didn’t mind employing the men who lived there to make his money for him, did he? Oh, no, that was all right, but you made a mistake, didn’t you dear? You slept with someone from the estate and got banged up and he wasn’t good enough for Daddy’s little princess now was he, so he got shot of him?”
Diana was about to protest that Cecily had got it wrong; it didn’t happen like that at all, but the energy she needed to fight her had left her and she knew it probably wouldn’t make any difference anyway. All she could do was listen while Cecily took something beautiful and twisted it into something ugly.
“Younger than you, wasn’t he? A handsome boy with black curly hair and unusual violet eyes so striking in a young man, and I’m sure I’m right in saying, a lilting Irish accent.” She gloated at Diana. “Your face says it all. It was Joe McGuire, wasn’t it? He was the father of your baby all those years ago and you thought you’d got away with it without anyone knowing. Well, you were wrong. My friend’s daughter worked for your mother and father in this very house. I wouldn’t have known anything about it if I hadn’t mentioned that Stephen’s young lady, and I say that in the most ironic sense, dear, was up the spout. My friend told me all about it and how her daughter and the rest of the staff had to swear not to tell anyone. Fortunately for me my friend’s got a big mouth on her, especially when she’s had a few. I made sure she had more than a few.”
She waited for Diana's reaction but her face was unreadable. Cecily worried that maybe it wasn’t so important to Diana after all. She should clarify her position. “What d’you think the boss’ll say then, when I tell him about the boy? Just think. You and Joe McGuire will share a grandchild. Oh, how romantic for you. You must be thrilled that you and your husband, and the father of your illegitimate child will share a grandchild. Isn’t life funny sometimes?”
Diana’s soft blue eyes shot Cecily a look of sheer contempt. She felt violated and ripped apart. “Why would you think Matthew knowing would worry me? We didn’t know each other then so I doubt it would bother him.” Cecily laughed sarcastically. “Oh, come on, Diana. If you’d wanted him to know you would’ve told him yourself, but you didn’t did you?”
She sat next to Diana, pushing her face close to hers. “There's a very easy way of preventing him knowing your little secret...well, our little secret? Your father’s dead and your mother’s a loony so she’s not going to tell anyone. A one-off payment of say... ten thousand pounds would keep my mouth firmly closed I promise you. And another three for not telling Angie McGuire. Even I know the poor woman's not worth more than that. That’ll just about do it.”
“You're being ridiculous,” Diana cried. “Where am I supposed to find that kind of money?”
“Now don’t start playing that game with me,” Cecily said as she grabbed hold of Diana’s arm, waiting like a vulture to reap the reward she felt she richly deserved. “You’ve got the money all right and plenty more besides. I'll give you until Saturday evening. If I don't see the money by then I shall have to tell them. It’s up to you. When I get the money I’ll be off and you’ll never see me again. Don’t forget now. I’ll meet you in here Saturday night at the same time. Make sure you bring the money, dear. You know what will happen if you don’t.”
Cecily slipped out of the drawing room. Diana was in torment. For more than twenty-five years she’d locked her secret child in her heart and had never discussed him with anyone. After his birth she’d fallen in love with him, his shock of curly black hair reminding her cruelly of her love for Joe. And she had loved him.
She’d been walking her dogs in the meadow on the northern border of Willowbridge. Day-dreaming while she walked through the long grass scattered with delicate wild flowers she’d bumped into him coming in the other direction. He’d been fishing in the stream running alongside the meadow and he’d laughed at her. “How on earth can you bump into a bloke in a meadow as big as this? What’s the matter with you, girl? Don’t you have eyes in that beautiful head of yours?”
He was everything she wasn’t; confident, amusing and streetwise. He'd been brought up on the streets of the estate and had all the knowledge necessary to survive there. When his father died, his mother left Willowbridge and went back home to Ireland with his father’s body and Joe's younger brothers and sisters so she could bury her husband in the place of his birth. She’d never returned to Willowbridge and Joe had wept because he missed them.
Diana had been there for him then. She’d taken him in her arms and held him to her. They’d made love in the meadow where they first met. Slowly, gently, the young man guiding the older woman to heights of love and pleasure she could never have imagined. Afterwards, he’d reached across her and picked a dandelion clock. He told her if she ever needed him she should wish on it and he would come to her. She still had the flower. She'd pressed it into a piece of silk and there it remained to this day, in a box of small treasures hidden in her dressing table. She'd known then she would never love another man the way she loved Joe McGuire.
When she discovered she was expecting his child she’d felt so sure he would be as overjoyed as she was, but he'd rejected her. He’d taken off and gone to ground. She’d been heartbroken and her mother and father had been unable to reach the mind of their inconsolable daughter who sank into the bottomless ravine of depression.
She'd given birth to her son at home. She held her baby for just a short while before they took him from her to be spirited away. Diana lost her soul-mate and the child they’d made together and her melancholy had been unfathomable. A year passed and Joe made no contact. As her illness and sense of loss faded she met Matthew, and encouraged by her parents they’d married and had a son without her ever telling him about her first child. After Stephen there had been no more children. She and Matthew wanted another child but it wasn’t to be. He’d blamed her constantly, and when Stephen proved to be a wilful and obnoxious child she’d been heartbroken, forever wondering about her first-born boy.
Diana accepted it was her punishment for not fighting her parents for her first son. She had no knowledge of where they’d sent him. They’d stubbornly refused to tell her, saying it was in her best interests they be kept apart; that he had been adopted by another family and it would be selfish of her to try to make contact with him. They convinced her he was no longer her son and she should forget him as if he never existed. It was a sorrow that would haunt her for the rest of her days.
***
The clock chimed four. Diana left the study, a piece of note paper clutched resolutely in her hand. It was a letter to Cecily. It told her to do what she liked; that Diana didn’t care if she wanted to tell people about her baby because she had nothing to be ashamed of and if she wanted to tell Matthew, so be it. It ended with Diana accepting Cecily Little’s resignation from her employment as housekeeper at Meadow’s End.
She went upstairs to Cecily’s overnight room and slipped the note under the door. Diana waited to hear the woman retrieving the paper from the floor, but there was nothing. She’ll have it by morning Diana thought, and then she can go to hell.
Chapter 31
The teeth-rattling ring of the telephone woke Diana from a restless sleep. She lifted her head and winced. “All right, all right,” she said, swinging her legs out of bed. She ran her hand across her face and glancing at the clock, picked up the receiver and placed it against her ear. It was nearly lunch-time and she raised her eyes upwards, mentally admonishing herself for sleeping so long into the morning. “Diana Barton.”
“Mrs. Barton? It’s Kate...Kate McGuire.” Diana’s breath caught up sharp in her throat. “Has Emma had the baby?”
“Emma had a little girl on the thirtieth. She called her Christina.”
“A girl,” Diana said swallowing hard, myriad thoughts fighting for dominance inside her head.
“I just thought you ought to know.”
“Thank you for telling me, Kate. Will Emma let me
see her d’you think?” She sensed Kate’s hesitation. “I...I don’t know, Mrs. Barton, I can’t speak for Emma. She doesn’t know I’m phoning you.” Diana waited not wanting to push Kate in case she pushed her too far. She was desperate to see her grandchild.
“Would you like me to talk to her, to see how she feels about it?”
“I’d really love to see her, Kate. If there’s anything Christina needs you'll let me know, won’t you. She doesn’t have to go without anything.”
Kate replaced the receiver and pushed open the door to the telephone box. “About bloody time an’ all,” grumbled an old man who had been waiting for the telephone. “I could've walked to my son’s and back in the time you been in there and I wouldn’t have had to waste my time an’ my money on a bloody ‘phone-call. My son lives in Glasgow.” Kate glared at him. “So why didn’t you then, you miserable old man.”
“Hey, you,” he protested, jabbing his finger at her. “You stop your gob flapping you cheeky wee gob-shite. You should have more respect for your elders.”
Kate walked back to her house. She turned to look in the direction of the ‘phone-box. The man was still standing there, watching her as she walked backwards up the street. She was about to stick two fingers up to him but changed her mind and waved at him with both hands instead, grinning at him. “Bye,” she called. “Have a wonderful day.” Then under her breath. “Miserable old git.”
***
Christina's pram was in the hall when she got home. She poked her head into the living room. The little girl was fast asleep in her cot. Kate went over and put her hands on the cot-rail, unable to take her eyes from the sleeping infant. Such a sweet face, she thought. She’s so innocent and peaceful and not a care in the world. “You deserve a better life, darling,” she said softly. “It has to be for you. I’ll make damn sure it is if it’s the last thing I do. You’ll always feel cherished and loved, and your life will be the way every little girl's life ought to be, I promise.” She rubbed her hand gently across Christina’s fair head wondering where Emma was.
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