Nurse whispered conspiratorially to Sophia, ‘I don’t like the colour of her. She seems to be rejecting the baby . . . she won’t try to feed him. Doctor should be back home shortly. I’ll call and give him the news. Ask him to look in tomorrow.’
Sophia gently kissed the little downy head, still damp from bathing. ‘Robbie.’ she said very softly. ‘Grandma will take care of you, my darling.’
Ronnie apologised for waking his mother soon after midnight. When the baby stirred and was obviously hungry, Ena had hissed, ‘Tell your mother to make him a bottle. You can move the cradle into your parents’ room. Let me go back to sleep!’
Sophia had been prepared for this eventuality. There was a tin of formula milk and half a dozen of the new glass feeding-bottles. While she busied herself with mixing, then cooling the milk in the bottle, Ronnie rocked the baby in his arms.
‘Pass him to me,’ she said presently. ‘You go back up and see to the cradle. Put it by my side of the bed. Tell your father, if he’s still awake, I’ll be up in a while.’
‘I know what you’re thinking about Ena,’ Ronnie said defensively, ‘but she’ll get over it. She must have been terrified, here on her own, till Evie arrived.’
‘We were all in a state, and I just realised: I should have told Evie what a good job she did, eh?’
‘I’ll tell her tomorrow, Mother. Buy her a little something from the baby. We must send a telegram to Mattie, too.’
At dawn, when Sophia crept downstairs to make the baby another bottle, she discovered Ronnie lying on the old settee which had been put in the kitchen because they were reluctant to throw it out. Visitors often took advantage of it when they called when Sophia was busy baking, but was still glad to have a chat.
‘What’s this?’ she exclaimed. ‘The baby didn’t keep you awake, did he?’
He shook his head, looking miserable. ‘No. Ena refuses to let me share her bed. She says it’s all my fault: if I hadn’t—Well, she says “never again”. She’s made her mind up to go back to her mother as soon as she’s able. She says . . . she says, she doesn’t want the baby – we can keep it!’
Sophia hugged him close. ‘She’ll change her mind. She doesn’t mean it.’ As she comforted her son, she thought, but suppose she does . . .?
There was worse to come. When the doctor arrived, he told them that Ena had a high temperature, that she must be taken immediately to the cottage hospital because he suspected she was developing puerperal fever, an infection following childbirth.
The family could only watch helplessly as Ronnie carried his young wife downstairs, swathed in blankets, and out to the doctor’s car. He accompanied Ena to hospital.
Sophia sat on the old sofa, holding little Robbie, securely wrapped in his shawl.
‘What can I do, Mother?’ Evie asked her.
‘You can look after the baby for me, while your father fetches Mrs Moss to help me disinfect Ena and Ronnie’s room and strip the bed.’
In the weeks that followed, Evie was often absent from school. She was needed at home to help her mother with the baby. Her thirteenth birthday came and went, without the usual celebration, as Ena remained gravely ill in hospital. Ronnie was the only one allowed to visit her. Ena didn’t acknowledge him, she couldn’t, as she had become mentally disturbed. Whether it was a permanent state of affairs, the doctors couldn’t say, but she’d survived, when many young mothers died in such circumstances.
Evie overheard Ronnie sobbing to Sophia and Will one evening, after his return from the hospital. ‘They are going to move her to an institution. What am I to do?’
Sophia looked compassionately at her son. He was pale and thin. He had to keep going because of his responsibilities; at least he had his work during the day and, most important, he had little Robbie, the only good thing to come of all this sadness.
‘You are having to bring up a child after your own family are grown,’ Ronnie said.
‘My dear, we have a new purpose in life, and Evie is a great support, you know.’
‘I know. That’s a comfort to me, too.’
Evie, who’d been about to say goodnight, turned away from the door. She crept upstairs. She’d write to Mattie, she decided, because who else could she confide in?
SIX
The employees of the emporium looked forward to their annual outing in August, although most suspected this would be a swan song, as staff cuts seemed inevitable.
‘Last come, first to go.’ Griff felt he should prepare Mattie for this.
‘Oh, me and Cissie Coe, I suppose?’ Only a few months ago, she thought ruefully, I would have been relieved, but now I’d be sorry to leave Sybil, and, yes, Griff, too . . .
‘Rufus can’t be seen to favour family. The whole country’s in a mess, we’re losing the empire trade, our mills closing down. Thank goodness for Lloyd George. Since unemployment soared to a million, he has ensured an increase in dole payments.’
‘Men get fifteen shillings, women only twelve a week!’ Mattie reminded him.
‘Well, there’s the bank holiday to cheer us up, the charabancs are booked.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘That’s a secret, known only to Rufus and the drivers. Last year we went on the ferry across to Cornwall. On a steep path leading down to a lovely sandy beach Sybil tripped up and sprained her ankle. She had to be carried about the rest of the day by a strapping young assistant from Furnishings. You should have seen Rufus glower. Miss Teazel, in charge of first aid, soaked her hankie in the sea to make a cold compress.’ He grinned, adding, ‘The chap from Furnishings left the emporium soon afterwards.’
‘I’m not surprised! D’you think Sybil will come this year?’
‘She will! Have you realised this is the fiftieth anniversary of August Bank Holiday brought in by the act passed in 1871? It was a holiday even before Christmas Day!’
‘I read the papers too, you know! I’m also aware that this is the hottest summer ever known and the worst drought since rainfall records began,’ Mattie retorted.
*
That evening, after dinner, the two of them sat out in the garden, where it was cooler, as they had done during most of the summer. Sybil preferred to pull the blinds down in the drawing-room. Or so she said. Mattie suspected she was fondly hoping that the two of them would become even closer, but then, she didn’t know about Griff and Christabel.
‘You must have a new frock for the occasion, all the girls do,’ Griff said.
‘Oh, I’m not sure I can afford it.’ Mattie had just posted off the usual postal order.
‘Talk to Christabel. She’s bound to have some bright ideas,’ he assured her.
Mattie asked Christabel’s advice the following morning, during a lull in the drapery department. ‘It’s Tuesday already – less than a week to go! What do you suggest?’
‘Remnants,’ Christabel said cheerfully. ‘Shilling apiece! I need a new outfit too. How about this cool Indian cotton – feel it, so soft and fine . . .’
Mattie held the swatch of material in front of her, looked into the long mirror. ‘Oh, it’s just right! White with smudges of green and blue. What about you?’
‘Swirls of honey and brown – suits my colouring, as your choice does you.’
‘I should remind you I’m not much of a seamstress.’
‘Don’t worry about that! My mother, bless her, despite being in a wheelchair, takes in sewing. She’s determined to do her bit. Have supper with us tomorrow night, and you can tell her which style you fancy – she won’t need a pattern.’
‘Well, I could borrow one or two of Sybil’s fashion magazines for us to look at.’
‘That’s settled then! Mum’s keen to meet you anyway!’
When Mattie told Griff about her invitation he said immediately, ‘I’ll call for you later on, you mustn’t walk home by yourself in the gloaming.’
‘Thanks, Griff. You’ll be able to see Christabel without Rufus knowing, too!’
After work the two girls chatted animatedly as they hurried down to the docks area, where Christabel and her mother lived, in a tiny terraced house in a mean street where the front doors opened on to the cobbled pavement.
‘My father,’ Christabel volunteered, ‘worked in the big distillery. He gained a fondness for drink there. Mind you, he was jolly when he’d had one too many, not quarrelsome, so Mum always said we must be thankful for that. He won a medal for bravery in the war, but he was killed in action soon afterwards. So we can remember him with pride.’
‘And your mum? How long has she been ill?’ Mattie asked.
‘For some years now. Her bones are crumbling, the doctors at the hospital say. Her legs are badly affected, she can’t walk.’
‘However does she manage while you are out all day?’
‘We have a kind neighbour who sees to her personal needs and makes her lunch. I boil up a big stock pot once a week with marrow bones and vegetables.’
Christabel’s mother was called Dolly, an apt name for one so small and pretty, with straight bobbed black hair like a Dutch doll. While her daughter prepared supper, she considered the illustration in the magazine that the girls had selected.
‘The dropped waist is easy to fit, and being sleeveless saves on material.’ Dolly propelled her chair over to a long, low table. ‘This is where I work. I cut, pin and tack this end, then move on to the sewing machine. Your frock will be ready on Friday. A florin – is that all right, my dear?’
‘Thank you, yes. I’m very grateful you can help me out,’ Mattie said. Three shillings for a new frock – she was fortunate indeed. Also Friday was pay-day!
‘It’s my pleasure. Christabel can measure you up later on, eh?’
Christabel laid the dining-table, then brought in the supper plates. ‘Pork pie – emporium food hall special. The crust was dented, so Griff got it for me half-price!’
There were plenty of new, minted potatoes too, with a jar of homemade pickle.
When the table was cleared they had a cup of tea, ‘Sweepings from the tea-packing factory,’ Dolly confided. She was a lively and entertaining companion. Mattie was entranced by her stories. In her youth Dolly, when fit and strong, had been an enthusiastic swimmer. ‘One day my friend and I – we worked together at the soap factory, oh, I had such lovely soft skin then, due to all the lanolin! – were enjoying a dip in the sea. We didn’t bother with the bathing machines like the young ladies, and we’d made our own costumes from cheap material. The colour ran when it got wet, but luckily it was blue! Then these lads from the blacklead factory, mates of my Joey, swam out to us and started larking around. Joey dived down and grabbed my feet. When he came up for air we had quite a tussle – he stole a kiss, and I tried to box his ears. We were married six months later—’
‘And before very long, I came along, eh, Mum?’ Christabel said fondly.
‘My one and only! My wonderful daughter. What would I do without you?’
‘I’ll never leave you, Mum. I promise!’
‘She was such a bright child, Mattie. If only we could have afforded to let her carry on with her schooling,’ Dolly sighed.
‘She’s the mainstay of the drapery department,’ Mattie said loyally.
The front door had been left on the latch. Griff duly arrived just after nine.
Mattie couldn’t help noticing how Christabel’s face lit up when she saw him.
‘Had a good time, I can tell,’ he greeted them.
Dolly was visibly tiring now, and Christabel said, ‘Well, I’ll see you both tomorrow.’
Mattie bent to give Dolly a hug. ‘I’ll see you Friday!’
‘I’ll make sure you girls stand out from all the rest!’ Dolly told them.
Mattie and Griff didn’t link arms after all; it seemed quite natural to them to walk hand in hand. When a lamp-post loomed up in the gathering dusk they parted and went one either side; when they came together again he slipped his arm round her waist.
‘You should have worn a jacket, but I’ll keep you warm,’ he joked.
Conscious of the intimacy of this gesture, the pressure of his hand through the thin stuff of her frock, Mattie found herself babbling. When she repeated Dolly’s story of her meeting with her Joey, she added: ‘I can’t imagine Rufus ever being young and full of fun, can you? He’s such a cold man.’
‘Actually, I know I go on about him a bit, but he did have a hard start to life. Not much love to go around. How could there be, with so many other orphans in the same boat? When my mother married him I believe she saw a side to him that Sybil hasn’t. I was desolated once when a stray dog I’d adopted was run over. Rufus said nothing to comfort me, just turned away. I raged to my mother how uncaring he was. She said quietly, “He can’t show his true feelings – a person who appears coldhearted is very often shy.” ’
Mattie was silent for a few minutes, then she said, ‘D’you think Sybil knows that?’
‘Maybe. But she doesn’t seem able to remedy the situation.’
‘Little Dolly took on a lot when she married her Joey, but that seems a real romance to me. You should have seen her smile when she described their first kiss.’
They reached the corner of their road, paused under the leafy boughs of a single tree, some distance from the first house along there. Mattie caught her breath when he drew her close. ‘Like this?’ he asked softly.
She was pliant in his embrace, thrilled by his ardour, as the kissing began.
Later he whispered, ‘I’ve been wanting to do that ever since we first met.’
Belatedly, she thought of Christabel. Was she betraying her friend? She pulled away from him. ‘We ought to hurry – ten o’clock curfew, Rufus said – remember?’
‘Wait – have I offended you?’ He sounded anxious, hurt.
‘No,’ Mattie admitted.
‘Then why . . . ?’
‘Christabel – you and she—’
‘Nothing could come of it – we both know that. She’ll be happy for us, I know.’
Mattie couldn’t help herself, she flung her arms round him and hugged him.
‘I’m in love with you, Mattie.’ His voice was muffled by their closeness.
‘I feel the same about you,’ she said.
‘We have to keep this to ourselves for now. Things will be different soon. I’ll be twenty-one in October, Rufus won’t be able to run my life then.’
‘I was nineteen in July. I suppose Rufus and Sybil are my guardians while I live with them. Sybil might guess.’
‘She might, but she won’t say anything. She likes to keep secrets.’
Two open-topped Leyland charabancs drew up outside the emporium to the cheers of the waiting crowd. The drivers, smart in their uniforms with peaked caps, showed folk to their seats. Young girls were wearing flowery short dresses and straw hats, vying for the best trimmings; older female staff were in silks and satins, with hats anchored with chiffon scarves and tied under the chin in case of a sudden gust of wind; young bucks like Griff wore striped blazers, bow ties and boaters; more mature males, following Rufus’s lead, were in sober suits, but with a coloured waistcoat.
Mattie was in the front row of seats, between Griff and Sybil; Rufus sat opposite the driver. When Mattie waved to Christabel to join them, she shook her head, mouthed, ‘I’m not family!’ She indicated she would sit behind Mattie. She was soon joined by Miss Teazel, who clasped a large, black umbrella, ‘just in case’, and a sulky Cissie Coe, who had hoped to escape her superior’s company.
Griff balanced the picnic basket on his lap, while Mattie was in charge of a canvas bag containing towels, plimsolls and a bottle of calamine lotion for sunburn. Sybil, naturally, was unencumbered apart from her handbag.
A few days ago a memo had been circulated to all staff asking them to provide their own packed lunch. This was the first year such a request had been made. However, the bl
ow was softened by the promise of ‘a cream tea in a lovely garden, to which you will be transported at 4.30 p.m. before leaving for Plymouth at 6 p.m.’
They motored along winding lanes, where stone walls enclosed pasture land and newly shorn sheep gathered at the gates to watch the charabancs go by.
‘Looks like we are staying in Devon this bank holiday,’ Griff observed.
After forty minutes they took the estuary road, parking the coaches halfway down in a lay-by. After disembarking the two parties mingled. They crossed over the road to a meadow, golden with buttercups, where a burly man opened a gate marked PRIVATE, and ushered them all through. Then began the trek to the cliff edge and the steps leading to the sands below.
‘We are here by permission of the landowner,’ Griff reported, having spoken to Rufus, who was leading the band, to keep them in check. ‘Rufus paid for the privilege, though.’
There were outcrops of rock on the beach and a scramble ensued, to claim the most desirable to lean against, or to sit on top of a flat boulder, possessions safe from the tide.
Rufus and Sybil sat a distance apart from the younger element, who were already busy setting up stumps for a game of cricket, organised by Griff. Miss Teazel, her expression inscrutable under the unfurled umbrella wedged behind her, sat on a thronelike structure, obviously put together by an enterprising earlier visitor to the shore.
Mattie, Christabel and Cissie giggled as they took off their smart shoes, then wriggled out of their stockings under cover of a big towel. On went the canvas plimsolls, looking as new as, at Griff’s suggestion, they had applied whitening powder mixed with milk. ‘It won’t rub off on your clothes then,’ he advised.
Mattie was first in to bat, but was called out shortly after. She trod across a shingly patch to the water, to have a paddle. Shading her eyes, she gazed across at the gentle rise of grassland with a herd of cows on the horizon, over the far side of the estuary. The sun dazzled in a cloudless sky. A sandbank was slowly emerging from the ebbing water. She was tempted to walk across to the meadow, but decided not to risk it on her own. What if it were quicksand?
The Meadow Girls Page 5