by Ellie Dean
‘I been resting, ain’t I?’ Franny replied with a sigh. ‘And I’m that bored, Jules. There ain’t nothing to do all day but knit and listen to the flaming wireless. I’ve read them magazines over and over until I’m sick of ’em, and Bill’s letters are so creased I’m scared they’ll tear if I read ’em any more.’
Julie grinned down at her. ‘Anything’s got to be better than standing all day at a factory production line,’ she soothed. ‘And you look much better for the rest.’ She eyed the prodigious mound beneath the faded jumper and skirt. ‘All right if I have a listen in?’
‘’Elp yerself,’ replied Franny, ‘I’m used to being prodded and poked by all and sundry, but it’s a lively one, I’ll tell you that. ’Ad me awake half the night with its squirming and kicking.’
‘I’m your sister, not all and sundry,’ retorted a rather put-out Julie.
‘Y’know what I mean,’ Franny said on another sigh.
Julie gave a wry smile. Franny was making the most of it, and who could blame her? Within the next couple of weeks she’d be a mother, with very little time to do anything much but care for her newborn and try to snatch much-needed sleep whenever she could.
Julie poured some water from the nearby jug into one of her bowls and washed her hands before warming the pinard and placing it on Franny’s abdomen. Putting her ear to the other end, she listened to the reassuring beat of the baby’s heart and smiled as the little one kicked quite forcibly and jolted the metal against her temple. ‘Lively’s about right,’ she said cheerfully as she rubbed the spot with her finger.
‘I did warn you,’ giggled Franny.
Julie gently and methodically ran her palms over Franny’s abdomen before palpating it with the pads of her fingers to gauge the size and position of the baby. ‘The baby’s got a bit more growing to do, but it’s turned nicely, head down ready to be engaged, just as it should at this stage. Have you had any more practice twinges since I last saw you?’
Franny shook her head. ‘Nothing much to write ’ome about.’ Her cheerful smile faltered. ‘It will be all right, won’t it, Jules? They won’t let me ’eart get too tired, will they?’
Julie perched on the bed beside her, took her hand and went through everything once again. ‘You’ll be going into hospital tomorrow morning and will stay there until the doctor decides your baby is ready to be born. Then they’ll send you to sleep and take you into theatre for a caesarean section. You won’t feel a thing, and your heart will be monitored all the while you’re under, I promise. Then you’ll wake up in the maternity ward with a new baby all washed and ready to get to know and love.’
Franny’s little face puckered as she fought the tears glistening in her eyes, and Julie was struck by how young and vulnerable she really was under the brave façade she’d kept up over the months. ‘I’m frightened, Julie,’ she whispered. ‘I should never ’ave got meself into all this. What if . . .?’
Julie quickly put her arms around her young sister and held her close. ‘We’ll have none of that, love,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t want to upset yourself or the baby worrying about things. I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise.’
Franny drew back, the tears still streaming. ‘If anything ’appens to me, Julie, I want you to promise you’ll look after the baby until Bill comes ’ome. I don’t want it taken to some orphanage, or raised by strangers.’
Julie was shocked by her sister’s pessimism. ‘Franny, please don’t talk like that.’
Franny blew her nose and knuckled back the tears, her expression determined. ‘I know the score, Jules. I ain’t daft, and I need you to promise me you’ll look after my baby.’
‘If I do that, then it’s as if . . .’
‘Just promise me, Julie,’ Franny said fiercely. ‘I need to know it’ll be safe.’
Julie could feel the prick of her own tears as she yielded. ‘I promise, Franny, but you’re being unnecessarily—’
‘I’m being practical,’ Franny interrupted. She slid down the pillows with a sigh. ‘Thanks, Julie,’ she said softly. ‘I can rest easy now.’
‘Oh, Fran. I wish I could convince you that—’
‘’Ow’s about a cuppa?’ Franny said firmly. ‘Mum brought over a packet of tea yesterday, and I’ve even got a bit of milk and sugar and a digestive biscuit to go with it.’
Julie realised that Fran had decided the subject had run its course, and anything she had to say would be ignored. With a sigh of acceptance, she looked at her watch and gasped to see how late it was. ‘I’ll make you a cup, but I can’t stay, Franny. I’ve got three more mothers to visit before I can go back to the hostel and attend clinic.’
Franny looked crestfallen for a while, but as she sipped the hot, sweet tea and rested back on her pillows, she recovered her spirits. ‘This is the life, ain’t it?’ she sighed.
‘Make the most of it, Frances Harris,’ Julie said with mock severity. ‘All this lying about drinking tea won’t last once your baby’s born and yelling for attention.’ She smiled and softly kissed her sister goodbye. ‘I’ll see you in the morning bright and early. Make sure you have that case packed with everything I put on your list.’
Franny did a comic salute. ‘Yes, Sergeant Major. All packed and at attention.’
‘At ease, Corporal,’ Julie replied with a chuckle. She blew her sister a kiss and closed the door.
Leaning against it for a moment to gather her wits and restore her spirits, she tried to dismiss the worrying promise her young sister had forced her into. Franny’s heart was definitely struggling, but everything possible had been arranged to see her through a safe delivery. Yet, even though Julie had done her best to banish the dark dread that Franny wouldn’t come through – that things might go wrong, despite all the careful preparations – it still lingered. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and willed the fates to be kind to Franny, for she’d suffered enough.
On opening her eyes, she shook off the doubts determinedly and focussed on the positive. The baby was small, but the heartbeat was strong. Franny was young, rested and in reasonable health, and Mr Philips, the consultant surgeon, was confident all would be well. Feeling rather more cheerful, Julie snapped out of her thoughts, remembered how late she already was for her next appointment, and hurried downstairs.
Mrs Bessell was waiting for her. A large Jewish lady of indeterminate age, with dyed hair and too much make-up, Rebecca Bessell jangled with all the jewellery she wore. She’d appeared rather daunting on first acquaintance, but had proved to be in possession of an enormous sense of rather wicked humour and a generous heart – combined with her Jewish need to mother everyone and know their business, these attributes made her the perfect landlady for Fran.
‘How is she, already?’ she asked without preamble.
Julie quickly told her about the plans for the next day. ‘You still have the number for the hostel, Mrs Bessell?’ At her nod, Julie continued, ‘It’s only for emergencies, but best you keep it until she’s in hospital.’
‘Such a lovely girl,’ said Mrs Bessell sorrowfully, ‘and so tragic to be cast from her family at a time like this. I was saying to my friend Bella Weinstock only the other day—’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bessell,’ Julie interrupted quickly, ‘but I have to see other patients, and I’m already running late.’ She saw the crestfallen expression and patted the soft, plump arm. ‘I’m so grateful to you for looking after me sister. She’s very fond of you, you know, and admires you terrifically.’
Mrs Bessell blushed and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. ‘Oy, vay,’ she murmured. ‘She is like a daughter to me, Julie – a daughter. I will take her some of my chicken soup and keep her company – she needs to eat, to be nourished, at a time like this. She’s too thin, much too thin already.’
Julie smiled at her with affection. ‘I’m sure she’d love that, now I really must go.’ She hurried out of the front door and almost ran down the path. Once Mrs Bessell started with the t
ears and the chicken soup it was the very devil to escape. But bless her, she had a good heart and Franny was safe in her house.
Chapter Three
THE MOTHER AND baby clinic had been chaotic as usual, with small children dashing about, babies wailing and mothers raising their voices to be heard as they exchanged views on the difficulties of trying to raise a family with a war on and their eldest kids gone off as evacuees to the other end of the country. They also tried to outdo one another with relish as they swapped horror stories about their pregnancies and deliveries.
Julie was used to hearing the reminiscences and knew they circulated the tenements and back streets, putting the wind up any poor young girl who’d just got pregnant with her first. These sorts of apocryphal tales did Julie’s cause no good at all, but she was powerless to stop them and had to accept they were all part of the rich tapestry of life.
The elderly doctor had left as the last patient scurried out of the door into the unlit street, and Julie and the other nurses quickly tidied everything away before they went in for supper. Julie had eaten quickly, for she was starving after having cycled over eight miles during the day, and had missed lunch.
When the meal was over, she’d retrieved her engagement ring from the chain and put it on her finger and changed into her best sweater and skirt. Carefully rolling on a lovely pair of delicate stockings, she stepped into a pair of high-heeled court shoes and clipped on her earrings. There was nothing much to do with her straight, boring hair, so she pinned it back with two pink plastic combs that matched her sweater. A dash of lipstick and mascara and a bit of powder completed the picture. She wanted to look her best for Stan, even if they did only have a couple of hours together.
‘I’ll cover for you and leave a back window open, if you like,’ said Lily, who was on call until midnight.
Julie pulled on her gabardine raincoat, which was marginally smarter than the regulation overcoat. ‘Thanks, Lil, but I need a good night’s sleep after the last two days. I’ll be in on time.’
Lily giggled. ‘Seems a shame when you could be tucked up somewhere with that ’andsome fella of yours. You wouldn’t feel the need for sleep then, and no mistake.’
Julie blushed. She and Stan might be engaged, but she had no intention of letting him get his own way until there was a wedding ring on her finger. ‘Like I said, Lil, I’m pooped and I need a proper sleep. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’
‘Ain’t we all,’ Lily sighed. ‘That Nurse Bradley seems to think she can work me like an ’orse, running about after her arse and doing all the dirty jobs.’ She grinned back at Julie as she finished brushing her hair and adjusting her cap. ‘Still, I suppose there is a bleedin’ war on, and I’m only a volunteer. Can’t expect much better, can I?’
‘You’re a very good volunteer,’ said Julie as she gathered up her handbag and gas-mask box. ‘Ever thought of taking the exams and becoming a fully qualified nurse?’
Lily shook her head and sniffed. ‘Nah, not me, Jules. Ain’t got a brain big enough for all that learnin’. After the war I’m gunna go back to me job at the Hammersmith Woolworths – if it’s still standing – and if I ain’t married by then.’
Julie thought Lily was wasting her talents, and she could only hope that by the time this war was over, her friend might realise there was more to aim for. ‘I’m off then,’ she said as she tied her headscarf under her chin. ‘See you later.’
‘Mind ’ow you go,’ Lily replied gaily, ‘and give ’im a kiss from me.’
Julie laughed. ‘I’ll do no such thing. Find your own bloke to kiss.’
Lily pulled a face, her eyes sparkling with fun. ‘I would if I weren’t on duty tonight – and that’s a fact. I’m feeling quite frisky.’
‘You’re always feeling frisky,’ teased Julie. ‘They should put something in your tea like they do the soldiers.’
She was still smiling as she hurried through the dark streets towards the Bull, which was several long blocks away from the hostel. Lily had a string of admirers and was a terrible flirt, but she was a true friend and never poached from the other girls.
Stan was waiting outside, looking handsome in his good suit, crisp shirt and dark tie, a soft-brimmed hat pulled rakishly over one eye as he cupped his hands round a match and lit a cigarette.
She stood on the far corner watching for a moment, drinking him in as he threw away the dead match and leaned against the wall, the cigarette smoke drifting over his head like a halo. She loved him so much, and wished they could marry and set up their own place – but what with the war, her work and the necessity of him getting his sergeant’s stripes before they could afford to marry, it could be some time.
She crossed the street. ‘Hello, Stan,’ she murmured.
He turned his head, his gaze seeming to penetrate to her core as he looked down at her. Flicking away the half-smoked cigarette, he opened his arms and smiled. ‘’Ow’s my girl tonight, then? Ready to kiss me now, are yer?’ he teased.
Julie snuggled into his embrace and raised her face to him. ‘Try me,’ she giggled.
His kiss was soft at first, and sweet, then his arms tightened round her and it became more demanding, his tongue flicking over hers, his lips crushing. ‘Oh, Julie,’ he groaned eventually. ‘Do we ’ave to wait, darlin’? I’ve such a longing for you, gel.’
Julie gently pulled away from him, her senses in a riot. ‘I want to as much as you, Stan,’ she said shakily, ‘but we mustn’t. Not until we’re married.’
‘But that could be ages yet,’ he protested, reaching for her again. ‘Come on, Julie,’ he coaxed. ‘I got a mate with a nice little room up Islington way. He promised to be out tonight, so we’d ’ave it all to ourselves.’
It was getting harder to resist him, but despite the longing to lie with him, to know him completely, resist she must. ‘It’s no good, Stan,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not going anywhere tonight but in this pub. I’ve had a long couple of days and I could do with a drink, not a wrestling match.’
‘Blimey, Julie,’ he replied, tugging at his hat. ‘You don’t ’alf make it ’ard on a bloke – especially when you look so pretty all done up like that.’
‘Pass your sergeant’s exam and keep that thought warm,’ she replied with a soft smile. ‘Come on, let’s get that drink. I have to be in by ten, and it’s cold out here.’
The Bull was a popular, lively pub, the crushed mass of people happily singing along to the piano as the noise level rose and cigarette smoke drifted in clouds over their heads. Stan moodily elbowed his way to the bar while Julie tried to find somewhere to sit. She was in luck, for two off-duty soldiers were just leaving, and she grabbed the space and sat down just as Stan returned from the bar with two pints of beer.
‘Bottoms up, gel,’ he said, raising his glass and swallowing half the pint in one go.
Julie giggled. ‘I get enough bums in the air as it is,’ she reminded him. ‘Chin, chin.’
Stan still looked morose as he surveyed the room and nodded to several acquaintances. He sipped his beer, lit a cigarette and sat back. ‘I don’t know why we come in ’ere,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve arrested ’alf of ’em at one time or another.’
‘We come because it’s near to the hostel,’ she said lightly. ‘Blimey, Stan, there ain’t a pub in London where you won’t bump into someone you’ve nicked.’ She smiled at him uncertainly, not used to him being so sullen.
‘It ain’t my idea of a good night out,’ he retorted. He finished his pint and without another word headed for the bar again.
Julie watched him, knowing what was eating at him and unwilling to let him have his way. She could only hope he’d snap out of this mood, for it was spoiling the short time they had together, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t bothered coming out at all.
The sirens went off just as he returned from the bar, and everyone groaned as the lights were switched off and they had to hurry into the blacked-out streets for the nearby shelter.
‘I should
go to the shelter at the hostel,’ Julie shouted above the ear-splitting screech of the sirens. ‘I’ll be late back if this raid goes on for more than an hour.’
‘Don’t be so bloody silly,’ snapped Stan, who was obviously still in a dark mood. ‘Matron will understand if you’re late, and this shelter’s nearer. Come on.’ He grabbed her arm, and without so much as a by-your-leave, propelled her down the road.
His mood had soured the evening, and now his grip was a bit too tight for her liking, so she pulled away from him and ran on ahead. Reaching the shelter, she didn’t wait to see if he was behind her and hurried down the steps to try and find somewhere to sit.
It was already crowded, and she had to wriggle through dithering women and old men, and dodge round the bags and parcels and bits of household treasure that some of them refused to leave at home during a raid. Babies were wailing and toddlers were grizzling, and harassed women were shouting across to each other in the gloom and damp of the shelter, which stank of stale sweat, fag smoke and old socks.
It was not the nicest place to finish a disastrous evening, and Julie was already feeling claustrophobia creeping up on her. She found a space close to the door and plumped down, accepting rather ungraciously that she was probably stuck down here for the rest of the night with a moody Stan and the beginnings of a headache.
‘You might have flamin’ waited,’ Stan grumbled as he plonked down next to her. ‘Why’d you run off like that?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied, not wanting to start yet another argument.
Stanley lit a cigarette and grumpily surveyed their surroundings. The ceiling lights were flickering behind their wire cages and the warden was preparing to shut the door. The sound of the ack-ack guns could already be heard down by the docks as the RAF boys hurried to fend off the enemy approach in their fighter planes.
