by Mark Seaman
I stood looking at him for a moment, struggling to come to terms with what I had heard. Could it be true that my employer, a respected bank manager was now threatening to tell a tissue of lies not only to his wife, but also to the police in an effort to maintain his innocence about a fabricated story of theft that he himself had invented along with a proposed sexual liaison between the two of us?
“Why are you doing this to me?” My voice cracked with emotion as I spoke.
He took a step back, his voice softening again. “Listen, my dear, all these threats and counter threats are not doing anything to help the situation for either of us. Indeed, they could all go away by your simply agreeing to assist me in carrying out some of the normal duties that Helen would undertake herself but, for obvious reasons, cannot fulfil at the moment. Is that really so unreasonable?”
I felt the anger rise within me again but tried to contain myself. “If what you are proposing is so natural then why don’t you ask me again with your wife present in the room?”
He moved towards me. “Because, Ruth, reasonable though my request may be, I am also certain that she would not view it as such. Something I am sure you are aware of or you would not have asked. The one thing I do know, and that you and I both agree on, is that neither of us wants to upset Helen in her present delicate state.”
We stood in silence for a moment staring at each other like a Matador and his bull deciding on their next move of attack. He leant forward, his mood darkening once more.
“You have a simple choice to make, Ruth, you can either agree to my request or you will have to leave this house and our employment. I should add that if you choose the latter it will be without any form of reference or recommendation to any future prospective employer. Further, I will be forced to inform Helen of the reasons for your leaving as being those I have already alluded to. Consequently, not only will you find yourself without work but also facing potential criminal charges by the police.” He paused before adding quite deliberately and with a telling sneer.
“Goodness only knows what effect all of that would have on my dear wife? I fear to think about it, Ruth, I truly do.”
I fought back my tears and made one last effort to defend myself and my honour.
“Mrs Taylor and I have a very good relationship, she trusts me and knows I wouldn’t do anything to harm our friendship let alone agree to the type of sordid proposal you are suggesting.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment, my dear, but as I say that would only make the whole sorry affair even more traumatic for her. Consider for a moment the outcome of such a scenario. You would be asking her to choose between the word of her loving and devoted husband of nearly nine years and that of a young woman she has known for only a few months but who, even in that short period of time, she had chosen not only to place her absolute trust and faith in, but more especially the care and welfare of our dear daughter Elizabeth.” He stared at me in silence for a moment as if to let the reality of what he had said sink in. “Then sadly I would be forced, against my better nature, to produce the evidence of what I had discovered in your room. She would then be able to see for herself the damming proof of what you had stolen from us and sold on for profit.” He paused again briefly. “I think we both know how deeply such a vivid betrayal of trust would both shock and sadden her. Ultimately she would be left with little choice but to accept my version of events and agree we were left with no alternative but to hand the entire distasteful affair over to the appropriate authorities for them to deal with.”
I struggled to absorb all I had heard, my brain feeling as if it might explode.
“There is of course another way of dealing with this.” He smiled noticing the flicker of hope reflected across my face that there still yet might be a genuine alternative to the two appalling scenarios he had presented to me so far.
“That is, presuming you continue to be unreasonable in your attitude towards what I am suggesting takes place between the two of us.” My heart sank.
“I would, as already intimated, have to say that you had become infatuated with me and approached me offering inappropriate favours, which naturally I had rejected out of hand. And of course once that story was in the public domain I would then be free to produce the more damaging physical evidence against you with regard to the theft of our property, thus demonstrating once and for all what a thoroughly devious and dishonest young girl you really are.”
He stepped back and I felt my whole body shake as I held my breath waiting for whatever new damming allegation he was about to utter.
“I would attempt to be as delicate and considerate as I could be in speaking to the police about what had transpired, and would intimate that initially I had felt, as had my wife, that you had not appeared, certainly in our early dealings with you, to be the sort of girl to make such sordid propositions and allegations. Also, that we had never experienced any suspicious behaviour on your part in the time that you had been with us, certainly as far as the potential for theft was concerned.” He paused, putting a fresh cigarette to his lips and lighting it. “Because of this and the fact you had shown such dedication to us as a family in the time you had been with us one could only surmise that you had now become emotionally and mentally unstable in some way, possibly through the effects of your time spent in the German prison camp?” He drew on his cigarette before continuing. “Of course, Helen and I would want to help you in every way we could, possibly by arranging for you to see a doctor or psychiatrist; the payment for which we would insist on meeting, especially in light of all the good work you had performed to date.”
I watched as he inhaled the smoke from his cigarette sensing he hadn’t finished and fearing whatever it was he was about to say next.
“I know Helen would want to support you by agreeing to this course of action but it would, at the very least, render you immediately unsuitable to continue in our employ. Also for you to look after our precious daughter Elizabeth, and would most certainly preclude you from any involvement in the care of our new baby when it arrived.”
As I stood listening to this liturgy of falsehood I thought back to the times I had been forced to listen to the Nazi guards spouting their equally vile diatribe; cursing me and the whole Jewish community imprisoned in Birkenau. I remembered that I had determined no matter how badly life treated me after my experiences in that awful camp I would never allow another human being to humiliate or control me in such a degrading way ever again. And yet, even with that memory burning deep within me I could feel once again that self same sense of foreboding and panic rise inside of me as my heart pounded and the air in my lungs struggled to surface. It was as though I was suffocating under the tirade of venom being hurled at me. I knew in that moment, determined though I was not to give in, I was defeated and once again the bully had won. I hated myself almost more than my aggressor because of it. Mr Taylor took another draw on his cigarette and smiled as if sensing his victory.
“Clearly, if all of that were to be made public you would never find work as a nanny again, either locally or anywhere else for that matter. And whilst others may also feel a degree of sympathy towards you when hearing of your fragile mental state and its cause, it would still fall to me to inform all of my friends, and indeed any other prospective employer, as to what a lying, spiteful and clearly unstable young girl you had turned out to be. This would sadly portray you as being someone who could neither be trusted nor considered suitable for employment by any self respecting household, no matter how sad the circumstances of your condition. Indeed, it might be considered best for all if you were admitted to some form of institution in an effort to help you overcome your mental stress along with your worrying delusional behaviour.”
He stood upright forcing his shoulders back and looking straight at me.
“The choice is yours, my dear, a simple agreement to participate in a natural act between a man and a woman, or the accusat
ion of theft along with the potential for a lengthy custodial sentence, or worse perhaps, the possibility of being held for an indefinite period in an asylum for the mentally deranged?”
I knew without doubt he was serious and would carry out his threats if I refused his demands, also that he was right about how others would perceive me if he spoke out in such a way, but how could I agree to take him to my bed and then ever be able to face Mrs Taylor or Elizabeth again? As these and other desperate thoughts raced frantically around my head and I searched for a way to respond the phone rang. Mr. Taylor answered it and then following a brief conversation informed me he had to speak to somebody at the bank and that I should leave.
“I’ll expect your answer to my proposal tomorrow. Helen has arranged to meet with a friend for afternoon tea and I will be home from the bank around three o’clock as I have some papers to attend to. I suggest you come back here at three fifteen to finalise our arrangement, presuming you wish to remain in our employ that is?”
I could hardly believe what I was being asked to accept and agree to. Not only was he suggesting that we betray his wife and family but also, in the same breath, setting out the terms and conditions of his proposition as some form of business transaction.
He moved to open the door. “I understand your reluctance to agree to my request, Ruth, but would suggest you consider more seriously the consequences of such a decision should you continue to refuse my proposal, or as I have already outlined you decide to speak to Helen about our conversation.”
I turned to leave, my mind and body numb from all that transpired between us. Mr Taylor smiled as I passed in front of him. “Enjoy your time with Elizabeth now. I’ll speak to you tomorrow afternoon.”
My gaze fell to the floor in defeat as I left the room and walked away sure in the knowledge my life was about to change for the worse once more. Yet again I was to be forced to exist under the sadistic rule of a callous oppressor and pitiless bully.
Fifteen
Jenny was born on October 5th. I remember thinking at the time I would never forget this date as it had been the same day my former best friend from school, Pauline, had been born. I laughed to myself as I took on board the absurdity of that statement. Was I really more likely to remember the birth date of my own daughter, an event that would be forever set firm in my mind, because she happened to share it with an old school friend with whom I had lost all contact some years previously?
My waters broke around four in the morning with harder and more regular contractions following almost straight away. Mum could see it was the real thing even though she had never experienced physical childbirth herself.
“It won’t be long now; this little one is definitely on its way.”
I think it must be a form of female intuition, a sixth sense if you like that informs a woman when her time is due, and I was in no doubt that Mum was right in her assumption as I recognised for myself that something very different was happening to my body.
Dad kept knocking on the door asking what he could do to help.
“Is everything alright in there? Shall I make a cup of tea or something?”
“Just get yourself dressed and bring the car round to the front of the house, you useless bugger,” Mum replied, her patience waning as her concern for me reached fever pitch. “We don’t need a cup of tea or anything else for that matter, we just need to get Mary to the hospital, and as quick as possible.”
Although I had a growing feeling of apprehension as we drove towards the hospital I also felt secure in Mum’s arms as she held me close.
“You’ll be fine, Mary, you’ll both be fine.”
The only sense of panic Mum and I truly felt was in continually having to tell Dad to keep his eyes on the road.
“Jim, for goodness sake, will you stop turning around and look where you’re going. The two of us are fine, you just worry about getting us there in one piece, or we’ll all be arriving in an ambulance and not for the reason intended.”
As soon as we got to the hospital the staff on the maternity unit took over, immediately calm and supportive. They told me all I needed to do was relax, listen to what my body was saying and allow them to use their expertise to help bring my baby safely into the world.
“Don’t worry, Mary, everything is fine, you’ll soon be holding your baby in your arms.” That sounded so good coupled with the knowledge they had been through this experience goodness knows how many times. It all served to calm my growing anxiety as the realisation took hold of me that another human being was about to come out of my body.
“Thank you,” I replied feebly as another contraction swept through me. I’m not sure any of this professional encouragement did much to reassure Dad who was by now in a state of panic concerned that not enough was being done, or quickly enough, to ensure the safe arrival of his grandchild.
“Are you sure there isn’t something more you should be doing?” he asked, wiping the perspiration from his hands onto his handkerchief. “She’s been like this for some time now, are you sure the baby’s alright?”
The nurses looked at Mum, sensing her female intuition was about to take control of the situation, at least as far as Dad was concerned.
“Why don’t you go and get a cup of tea, Jim? Mary’s in good hands now and there’s nothing more that we, and certainly you, can do, alright?”
Dad nodded and smiled at me again before wandering off in the direction of the vending machine whilst still throwing the occasional glance over his shoulder in an effort to reassure himself that all was well.
“Sorry about my husband, it’s our first grandchild and he’s a bit nervous.” Mum looked at me, an expression of palpable love and affection etched on her face. “We both are if I’m honest.”
“Don’t apologise, Mrs Rowland, he clearly cares about you all and that’s lovely,” said one of the nurses as she began to push the wheelchair I was sitting in towards the delivery area. Mum smiled again and squeezed my shoulder as we headed down the corridor. When we reached the delivery room one of the nurses moved ahead and opened the door. “Now then, Mary, let’s get you ready to meet your baby.”
Mum helped me undress and prepare for Jenny’s birth as the nurses made sure all was in place for her safe arrival.
“Can I get you anything, sweetheart?”
“No thanks, Mum, I’ll be fine, we’ll be fine. Honest you’re as bad as Dad.” I struggled to smile in an attempt to reassure her as another wave of pain overtook me. “Thanks for being here with me though, it means so much.”
Mum squeezed my hand again. “It means even more to me that you want me with you, more than you’ll ever know.” I looked up at her as mutual tears of affection filled our eyes.
As I lay on the bed holding her hand and waiting for the next contraction to sweep over me I thought how blessed I was to have Mum and Dad as my adoptive parents. I was determined this baby that I was about to deliver into the world would come to know them both, not only as its grandparents but also in their own right as the deeply loving and thoughtful human beings they had proved themselves to be for me over the past eighteen years. Nobody could have felt more cared for and cherished than I did at that moment and I knew without a doubt this same love would be showered down on my baby and all throughout its life. Secure in that knowledge I lay back and tried to relax, albeit with some difficulty as I followed my instructions to breath, blow and push until Jenny decided to make her grand entrance.
During the next hour or so I thanked Mum time and again for agreeing to be with me at Jenny’s birth, not only in her role as my mother but also as my birthing partner in the whole experience. It was certainly never going to be Gerry. Mum played her part to perfection, constantly reassuring me I was doing well and that everything would be okay, especially during those final moments of the delivery itself.
I’m not sure whether it was female instinct or an inbuilt sense o
f maternal love that gave her the strength to support me in those final hours we spent together; whatever it was I was grateful for her being there. It can’t have been easy for her as we waited for Jenny to arrive, thinking back to the loss of her own baby, Holly, who had been born prematurely and died so tragically just a short while later.
Although we never spoke about it directly I think we both recognised the connection in our hearts, and I loved her all the more for showing such devotion towards me without any mention of her own feelings of sadness or of envying me the moment.
Holding Jenny in my arms for that first time gave me an incredible feeling of achievement, not only in having survived the whole process, but more especially in my being responsible for bringing another human life into the world. I became immediately protective towards her and knew in that moment I would happily give my own life in exchange for hers without a second thought or reckoning of the consequences. This was another unspoken bond of love that Mum and I shared as we looked down at this tiny bundle of life, bloodied but so beautiful lying beside us.
Mum stroked Jenny’s cheek, tears of love rolling down her face. “She looks just like you did on the day we first saw you, Mary. You may not have come from my body, but I knew immediately that you’d captured my heart, just as this little one has yours, and mine all over again.”
We took turns in holding Jenny and fussing over her, recognising that all of our lives had changed forever and that this new and oh so precious life had created the final thread in the tapestry of our family unit.
After a while Mum went to fetch Dad so that he could meet the latest addition to the Rowland family and officially become the granddad he had so proudly been boasting of becoming to his friends for the past few weeks and months. In those few minutes I spent alone with Jenny I wondered how my own mother, at the physical moment of giving birth, couldn’t have felt the same about me as I did about my baby girl. If she had then how could she have let me go just a few weeks later?
