Shelter From the Storm

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Well I’m glad to ’ear April’s on the mend,’ said Ethel, the ash on her cigarette trembling as she spoke. ‘But I don’t reckon you did right by ’er, taking ’er to see the kid. It’ll only get ’er all fired up and confused about things.’ She paused. ‘Are you listening to me, Stan?’ she said sharply.

  ‘Yes, my little flower, I’m listening,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m just resting my eyes for a bit.’

  ‘What’s it look like then? Her kid. How dark is it?’

  Stan’s eyes flew open and he stared at her in shock. His thoughts whirled. He could deny the baby’s heritage, or try to bluff his way out of why he hadn’t confided in her – but then he’d always been a lousy liar and Ethel could see right through him. He felt her steady gaze boring into him and the heat suffusing his neck and face, and knew there was no escape.

  ‘You don’t need to say anything,’ muttered Ethel crossly. ‘Yer guilty face tells me all I need to know.’ She puffed on her cigarette and folded her arms tightly.

  ‘But I suspected as much,’ she continued. ‘She were too tight-lipped, and I wondered right from the start what that girl was trying to hide.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘I told you she’d be trouble, Stan, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?’

  He glanced at her from beneath his brows, shamed by his deceit, and unwilling to tell her straight why it had been kept from her.

  ‘Well, it’s a great pity you didn’t think to tell me. After all, we’re married, and I ’ave a right to know these things.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘How long you known, Stan?’

  ‘Since she told me she was expecting,’ he admitted shamefacedly.

  ‘Did Peggy and the others at Beach View know?’

  He nodded. ‘They were shocked at first, but they’d come to like April, so they set aside their doubts and decided to support her.’ He reached for her hand which was tightly gripping the strap of her handbag. ‘I didn’t tell you because you’d made your feelings clear on the subject, and as the baby was to be adopted, I didn’t see the point in upsetting you any further.’

  Her lip curled and she eased her hand away from his. ‘Just how dark is it?’

  Stan was the most patient of men, but Ethel had a way of making his blood boil at times and he was finding it hard to remain calm. ‘She’s not an “it”, Ethel. She’s a baby – and a very sick one at that. April calls her Paula after her best friend who died in the air raid on Portsmouth,’ he said evenly.

  Ethel glared at him. ‘Answer my question, Stan,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Paula’s hair is black, and her skin is light brown as if she’s been kissed by the sun. She could easily pass as Mediterranean.’

  ‘But we all know better, don’t we?’ she retorted. ‘I hope the silly girl doesn’t get carried away and decide to keep it – ’cos as sure as eggs is eggs, the truth will come out eventually.’

  ‘That decision can only be April’s,’ he said sadly. ‘But I tell you what, Ethel, if Paula survives and April decides to keep her, then I shall support them both in any way I can.’

  There was wariness in Ethel’s eyes. ‘Even if I don’t like it?’

  ‘Even if you don’t like it,’ he replied, firmly holding her gaze.

  Ethel looked away. ‘Well, I’ll have to think on that, Stan.’ She fiddled with the handbag strap, clearly agitated. ‘Has my Ruby been keeping this from me an’ all?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her, but she’s got closer to April these past few weeks, so they might have discussed it.’

  Ethel took the butt of her cigarette out of her mouth and dropped it into the beaten metal ashtray on top of the locker. ‘Well, if they did, she kept it to ’erself,’ she said tightly. She abruptly gathered up her things and got to her feet. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Ethel, darling, please try and understand why I didn’t tell you,’ he pleaded, reaching for her hand.

  She ignored his plea and avoided his reaching fingers. ‘I’ll see yer tomorrow.’

  Her kiss on his cheek was fleeting before she walked away, and Stan wondered fretfully whether he’d lost her and the golden future he’d planned for them – or if Ethel would find it in her heart to forgive him and embrace a softer, more charitable outlook on the sins of others while examining her own conscience.

  *

  Peggy had received no word from Mildred, and her repeated attempts to get through to her on the telephone throughout the morning had been unanswered, so she’d come to the conclusion that she was either on her way, or, more likely, had decided to just ignore what was happening. Which made Peggy so hopping mad, she could barely speak.

  She was in a furious bait by the time she delivered Daisy to Ron at the station. ‘Honest to goodness, Ron, I could swing for that woman, really I could.’

  He put his arm round her shoulder and gave her a swift hug. ‘April has you, and that’s enough,’ he replied. ‘Leave Mildred to stew; none of us needs her here anyway.’

  Peggy was still nettled, but by the time she’d walked back to Camden Road and the hospital, she’d calmed down enough to realise that Ron had been right. Ethel would be difficult enough to deal with, and they certainly didn’t need Mildred poking her snooty nose in and causing poor little April even more trouble. Her absence would undoubtedly hurt the girl, but Peggy suspected she’d actually be relieved not to have to face her.

  She looked at her watch and realised it was a bit early for visiting time, so she popped into the Lilac Tearooms for a cup of tea and a fag to restore her spirits before she headed for April’s ward.

  The nurse was most apologetic, but the doctor was with April, so Peggy would have to wait outside until he’d gone. When she asked the nurse how April was doing, she learned of her and Stan’s visit to see the baby that morning, and her heart gladdened at the thought that Stan was championing the girl. Though how Ethel would take it, was another thing entirely.

  Her spirits had revived, and as she stood outside the ward, she decided to use the time to go and see if she’d be allowed to visit the baby. She had to admit she was curious, for she’d never seen a premature baby before, let alone a brown one.

  Asking a nurse the way to the special baby ward, she found it was almost at the very end of the long corridor. But as she headed towards it, she came to an abrupt halt and dodged behind a nearby pillar. Ethel had emerged through the doors ahead of her, and was clearly most upset.

  Under any other circumstances, Peggy would have rushed to console someone in tears, but as it was Ethel, and she’d come to dislike the woman intensely, Peggy stayed where she was. She watched as the other woman dug in her cardigan pocket for a handkerchief, wiped her eyes and then took a deep breath before hurrying off.

  ‘Well I’ll be blowed,’ muttered Peggy. ‘I never thought I’d see Ethel here – and certainly not in tears.’ She stood in the lee of the pillar for a long moment, her thoughts racing. Ethel would know now that they’d all been keeping the truth from her, and must surely have realised the reason why. Were her tears a sign that she was at last softening her attitude? Peggy very much hoped so, but with Ethel it was hard to tell which way the wind blew.

  She waited until Ethel had turned the corner and was out of sight before she approached the door and tapped on the window to attract a nurse’s attention. ‘I’d like to see April Wilton’s baby,’ she said to the girl at the door, before explaining who she was.

  The girl smiled. ‘My goodness. Baby Wilton is popular today. You’re her fourth visitor.’

  ‘Yes, I saw Ethel leaving. She looked very upset,’ said Peggy, hoping the nurse would enlighten her on this uncharacteristic behaviour.

  The sweet-faced girl nodded and frowned. ‘Some people find it very distressing to see such small babies struggling for life, Mrs Reilly. Mrs Dawkins stood for ages just looking at the baby, and then she asked all sorts of questions about how she was doing and if she was expected to survive.’

  The girl’s expression was infinitely sad as she continued. ‘The doctor isn’t too ho
peful, I’m afraid, and when I told Mrs Dawkins that, she burst into tears and left. I’d’ve run after her to make sure she was all right, but I can’t leave the ward until the end of my shift.’

  Peggy felt a jolt of alarm, all concern for Ethel wiped away in the nurse’s words. ‘The doctor isn’t hopeful? You mean . . .?’

  ‘There is always hope, Mrs Reilly,’ the girl replied softly. ‘But baby Wilton is still very frail, and she’s struggling.’ She opened the door wider. ‘You may come in just for a moment. The doctor will be back to check on her soon.’

  Peggy followed her to the incubator and, like Ethel before her, just stood and gazed at the impossibly tiny baby. There were needles in her thin arms, wires leading to miniature pads on her chest and thick gauze taped over her eyes – probably to protect them from the light – and a machine attached to the wires was beeping at the side of the incubator.

  Tears blinded her as she remembered how sturdy and strong her own babies had been compared to this little one. She looked so vulnerable, tightly curled up like a rosebud waiting to blossom, and Peggy ached to take her in her arms, to run her fingers over the silky black hair and instil some of her own strength into that delicate little being that was clinging so desperately to life.

  ‘It must break your heart working here,’ she whispered to the nurse.

  ‘It can do,’ she admitted, ‘but there are always the ones who make it against all the odds – and they bring the greatest joy.’

  Peggy looked back at April’s baby. ‘Thank you for letting me see her. May I come again?’

  The girl smiled. ‘Any time you like. She might not see you, but I’m sure she knows when someone comes, and gains strength from that. Her heart rate steadied considerably when her mother was here this morning, and it was quite lovely to see her tiny hand curled round April’s finger. I’m very hopeful that once we can express some of her mother’s milk, she’ll start to thrive.’

  Peggy could no longer stem her tears, and with a muttered apology fled the room before she made a complete show of herself. She understood now why Ethel had been so deeply moved.

  April’s determination to be with her baby as much as possible led to Matron granting her permission to visit as long as her own health was improving. Paula was putting up a terrific fight now she had her mother’s milk to sustain her, and had survived through those critical forty-eight hours, but April knew the battle was not yet over and could only pray that her baby would defy the odds set against her.

  April’s daily routine was ordered by medicine rounds, doctors’ rounds, visiting hours and mealtimes, but in between, she would be wheeled into the hushed, dim nursery and sit beside Paula just watching her breathe as her tiny hand clasped her finger. She was so very precious, and with each passing day April felt closer and ever more protective of her.

  Stan, Ruby, Gloria and Rosie, and everyone at Beach View, had all been marvellous. They’d popped in to see her and Paula at every chance they could snatch, even though they led such hectic lives. Peggy had knitted the sweetest little pink hat for Paula to replace the hospital one, and Cordelia had brought in one of her delicate bedjackets for April to wear over the lovely sprigged nightdress the girls had clubbed together to buy for her. Gloria had brought in a sheaf of brand new magazines, and Rosie had arrived armed with new slippers and a bottle of cologne.

  Stan was back at the cottage now, on strict instructions not to overdo things and to stick to his diet, but he still insisted upon visiting her and Paula every day. Ruby was filling in at the station when she wasn’t working, to give Ron some time off, and the two men had brought in the most glorious flowers from the allotment.

  As yet, there had been no sign of Ethel or April’s mother, and although she could understand Ethel’s reluctance to visit after being kept in the dark by everyone, she was deeply hurt by her mother’s continued silence.

  April sat in the hushed room, her eyelids slowly drooping from exhaustion. She’d hardly slept these past few days, for she’d refused to take the nightly sleeping pill, and had spent those long, dark hours fretting over Paula, wanting to be with her. But some hospital rules could not be broken, and the nursery was off limits from eight at night until ten in the morning.

  ‘Come on, April,’ said the nurse. ‘You need to get some proper sleep.’

  She jerked up her head and blinked. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted.

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ the nurse replied firmly. She grasped the wheelchair handles and steered her out of the ward before she could protest further.

  April had to admit that her bed was a welcome sight, and once the nurse had helped her into it and tucked the blanket over her, she sank into the pillows, closed her eyes and was asleep before the nurse had left her side.

  ‘April. April, dear, you need to wake up.’

  She shrugged off the hand that was shaking her shoulder and turned over, anaesthetised by exhaustion and still heavy with sleep.

  ‘April, you must wake up,’ said the voice with some urgency. ‘It’s Paula.’

  She was awake in an instant, bolting upright, careless of the deep pains that shot through her. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She’s showing signs of distress,’ the nurse whispered. ‘The doctor thinks you should come.’

  April swung her legs out of the bed, reached for her dressing gown and eased herself into the wheelchair. She clung to the arms of the chair as the nurse swiftly pushed her down the ward, through the door and towards the baby ward. The fear was rising with every passing second and she couldn’t speak.

  As they entered the nursery she saw that Paula’s incubator was surrounded by nurses and doctors frantically working on Paula. ‘What’s happened? What are they doing?’ she managed.

  ‘Paula has a chest infection and it’s affecting her heart and lungs,’ the nurse explained. ‘The doctor is giving her medication to clear the infection, but she needs help to breathe, so they’re going to transfer her to a special baby-sized Both-Nuffield respirator. It might look frightening to you, April, but it is Paula’s only hope.’

  ‘You mean she’s going to die?’ she asked brokenly.

  ‘Not if that machine can take over while she fights the infection,’ the nurse replied. ‘And I’ve witnessed many a miracle, so don’t give up hope.’

  April’s heart thudded painfully as she watched through her tears. They were putting her precious little girl into an ugly plywood box which was plugged into a small generator she’d never noticed before. Now the machine seemed to be breathing, the flow of air hissing in and out. She’d heard about ‘iron lungs’, but she had no idea how they worked – but at this very moment she didn’t care as long as it did its job and kept her baby alive.

  ‘Hundreds of those machines have been donated by Lord Nuffield to hospitals all over Britain,’ said the nurse. ‘The pressure inside can be regulated as the oxygen flows, and that helps to keep the chest cavity open – so in essence, the machine is breathing for Paula.’

  April was frantic with worry and desperate to reassure herself that her baby wasn’t being smothered. ‘Can I go to her?’

  ‘When they have the machine regulated and it’s clear that Paula is no longer distressed.’ The nurse squatted at April’s side. ‘Is there anyone you’d like me to call?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Peggy,’ she said hoarsely, her gaze fixed on the top of Paula’s head which was all she could see of her. ‘I need Peggy.’

  ‘I’ll make the call now.’ The nurse hurried away.

  The shrill ringing of the telephone pierced the silence of Beach View and brought Peggy stumbling from her bedroom to answer it.

  She listened with deepening dread and by the time she’d replaced the receiver she noticed that the girls had come down to the hall, Cordelia was at the top of the stairs and Ron was standing in the kitchen doorway. She could tell by their ashen faces that they’d guessed what the call was about.

  Tears were streaming down her face and her heart felt as i
f it was encased in ice. ‘It’s Paula,’ she choked. ‘She’s not expected to make it through the night and April needs me.’

  Without waiting for them to respond, she closed her bedroom door behind her and swiftly got dressed. Daisy hadn’t woken, and she paused for a moment to kiss her soft, warm face, silently thanking God that her baby was healthy, and then grabbed her handbag and left the room.

  Ron was dressed and waiting for her in the kitchen, Harvey at his feet. ‘I’ve rung Stan,’ he said. ‘He should be there too in case . . .’

  Peggy nodded, and together they left the house to the pitiful sound of Harvey whining behind the firmly closed back door.

  ‘I can’t imagine what April must be going through,’ said Peggy as they hurried down Camden Road in the blackout. ‘I just hope we’re in time to be there when . . . If . . .’

  Ron dug his chin into the collar of his coat and didn’t reply, and she suspected he was as anguished as she was, for he’d seen Paula and she knew how fiercely protective he’d become of her.

  They reached the hospital, took the steps two at a time and raced towards the ward. Out of breath and shaking with dread, Peggy peered through the window in the door and was admitted immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Reilly,’ said the nurse, ‘you’ll have to wait outside.’

  Peggy went straight to April and folded her into her arms. The girl was as white as a sheet and trembling as her tears streaked down her face and she clung to Peggy. ‘Thank you,’ she wept. ‘Thank you so much for coming. I don’t think I could bear this on my own.’

  ‘You don’t have to, April,’ she soothed, stroking back her hair. ‘I’m here, and I won’t leave you.’ She waited for the girl to get her emotions a bit more under control, and watched fearfully as the doctors turned knobs and switches on that terrifying-looking machine. She’d seen iron lungs before during the polio epidemic before the war, and although they looked more like iron coffins than life-savers, they’d proved to be miraculous inventions, so she could only pray this one would preserve Paula.