by Millie Gray
Stevie was about to say that yes, he had, under duress, put in an appearance, but she should know that half an hour of all this flashy swanking was about as much as he could take. However, he was so overcome at the sight of Freda’s bump that he remained dumb. He looked about the salon for some sort of help, but he couldn’t even see a birdcage, never mind a bird, so he was unable to reply to Moira. This being the case, he decided to make a quick exit. As he bounded over to the outside door, two things happened.
Firstly, Moira shouted to him, ‘Stevie, did Joey tell you that I will be home in time for your tea? It will be your favourite . . . a white pudding supper from Elios on Duke Street!’ Stevie was about to turn and signal that he wanted plenty of muck sauce on it, when the second thing happened: he collided with a young couple coming in.
The young lassie, who had fallen over at Stevie’s feet, looked up at him and smiled. ‘Nice to see you here, Mr Dalgleish,’ she said as he helped her up.
Stevie grunted in reply.
‘Freda’s been telling me how over the moon you are about the baby,’ the lassie continued.
Stevie nodded vigorously. ‘Aye, Hannah, and I’m sure you are looking forward to being the wee soul’s godmother.’
Now it was time for Hannah to nod.
‘Look, lassie, I’m heading aff. I dinnae want to seem rude, but this is no’ ma scene. No’ exactly the Dockers Club on Morton Street, is it?’
Hannah put her hand up to her mouth so that Stevie wouldn’t see that she was stifling a giggle. She knew that Stevie was referring to the Leith Dockers Club on Academy Street, formerly known as Morton Street. Stevie, who thought that the Council had no right to change the name of the street, always referred to it as Morton Street. As to whether it was Morton Street or Academy Street, Hannah knew that did not matter to him really. What mattered to Stevie was that it was the home of the Leith Dockers Club, the working man’s hostelry that many of his mates, like himself, were dedicated members of.
Before Stevie could be stopped, he rushed out the door. He was sure that if he got his skates on, he would still be in time to get a decent pint at the Dockers.
Hannah was still chortling, watching Stevie’s fleeing figure, when Freda said, ‘Thank goodness you’ve got here. I was beginning to think that you’d forgotten about our big day!’
‘I would never do that! I know it’s not usual on a Saturday, but I had to work overtime at the City Chambers.’
‘Why?’
‘I just had to dig out some files that are in the archives, about the now-closed Hammond firework factory at the old quarries in Craigmillar. Required urgently, they are, as there are plans to clear the site and any chemicals still stored there will need to be safely disposed of.’
‘Okay, but did you have to get them out today?’
‘Well,’ Hannah began, with a wink to Freda, ‘Tom – Tom Davidson – is up to his eyes in work, and the files are stored in the vaults at Mary King’s Close. He is responsible for those vaults and everything that is in them, and he could only take me down there today.’ She tittered, continuing, ‘So, what else could I do?’
Freda looked beyond Hannah and smiled at Tom Davidson. She was pleased to see that he was a tall, handsome man, probably about six years older than Hannah. Like Hannah, Freda was captivated by his engaging smile and twinkling, deep blue eyes.
Extending her hand to him, Freda smiled, but the smile died on her face as she watched him move the walking stick he was carrying from his right hand over to his left in order to shake her hand. However, his handshake was firm and his hand, like himself, exuded warmth.
After the initial introductions, Freda had Robin engage Tom in conversation whilst she steered Hannah through to the back room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Freda spluttered, ‘What is the story here? Is Tom disabled?’
Hannah just nodded. ‘Yes, he’s like me.’
‘Missing a part, is he?’
‘Don’t be facetious.’
‘Now, there’s a word you didn’t learn at Norton Park Secondary School!’
‘What’s wrong with you, Freda? Why are you being so horrible? Tom had polio as a child and was left with a limp – yes, a pronounced one. But he has a kind manner and he is an able, intelligent young man who is very good at his job. And he doesn’t have a mother, which I know matters to you very much!’
Freda’s face fired. She wished she could take back the hurtful words she had just hurled at Hannah. Hannah’s welfare was so important to her, and she was always concerned that Hannah would accept a proposal from the first man that asked her.
What Freda did not know was that Hannah was also anxious about her, and had been ever since Freda told her about the baby’s true parentage. She did think that Freda deciding not to abort the baby was the right thing to do, but marrying Robin . . . Surely that was a sacrifice too far?
The girls stared at each other, both unsure what to say. The awkward silence was finally broken by Robin, who knocked on the door and called, ‘Right, you two, time for the raffle! With a bit of luck, Hannah, you might win not only a special hairdo, to be done by moi, but also a manicure!’
Seven
September 1967
‘Are you feeling all right?’ a concerned voice asked.
Freda attempted to sit up further in her chair. ‘It’s just the heat,’ she gasped.
‘Well, true, it is warmer today and there’s been a blink of sun, although you could hardly say that we’re having a heatwave with sunshine morning until night. And just think, as we had typical sodden August weather up until two weeks ago, there is no shortage of water!’
‘Thank goodness for that.’ Freda gave a short laugh. ‘You know,’ she began, as she tried to get comfortable, ‘last Friday night I was sweating like a pig, so I just went out and sat in London Road Gardens and let the rain lash down on me.’ She paused. ‘Oh, it was just so wonderful. Wish I could do that right now.’
‘You do?’
‘Aye, no kidding. Don’t you think that I look like a bloated, stranded whale?’
Jessie didn’t need to look at Freda for confirmation of her description. She had seen many pregnant women in her time, but never one so cumbersome and out of shape as Freda was. Indeed, when Freda had waddled into the early-afternoon antenatal clinic at the Eastern General Hospital earlier that day, she had felt sorry for her. That being so, all she said in response to Freda was, ‘My name’s Jessie, Jessie Spence, and I know you’ve been coming here for as long as I have.’
‘Nice to meet you, Jessie,’ Freda replied, holding out a mottled, swollen hand. ‘Yeah, I have noticed you once or twice.’ She giggled. ‘In fact, up until three weeks ago I thought you were here under false pretences, what with you being so slim!’
‘No. My mum says my baby is lying all to the back.’
Freda tittered. ‘Lucky you, because as you can see, mine is sprawling all over the place.’
‘What are they saying here about all the weight you’ve put on?’
Freda pursed her lips. Before she could answer, a nurse came out and called, ‘Jessie Spence!’
Freda felt relief wash over her as Jessie was ushered away. She would not have liked to lie to this woman who had, after all, tried to be friendly to her, when she knew she must look like a bit of a fright.
Once Jessie had left, Freda’s thoughts went back to her last visit at the hospital. It was then that the doctor had placed her stethoscope on Freda’s bared stomach, a puzzled look coming to her face. Removing the instrument, she called over to the sister in charge and asked her to have a listen for the heartbeat of Freda’s unborn child. It was not until another two health care professionals were summoned to listen to the heartbeat of the baby in Freda’s womb that Freda realised that there was something wrong – very wrong. This problem was probably the reason why Freda had so much water retention. The female doctor said, ‘Mrs Dalgleish, I think that you should prepare yourself.’
‘Prepare myself?’ Freda inward
ly screamed. ‘How exactly will I be able to do that, when I am stretched out here on this trolley bed like Moby Dick, with everyone in the vicinity having a listen in to my stomach rumblings?’ To add to her discomfort, she became awash with guilt, because she couldn’t help wondering just how many times she had wished that the baby she was carrying would just die. And then, when she was sure that she was about to be told the baby was dead, she hoped that she would be able to say, ‘Oh no, please don’t say that!’
That was one wish she was granted. Taking her hand, the doctor then said, ‘Mrs Dalgleish, I am delighted to tell you that you are expecting twins. Yes’– she had looked at her colleagues for confirmation – ‘we have all heard two hearts beating. For final confirmation, we would like you to have an abdominal X-ray.’
After the X-ray confirmed that twins were on their way, the doctor went on to advise Freda that her babies would probably arrive early – possibly as early as six weeks. If Freda had been perfectly honest, she would have said, ‘Look, as that is just about right now, how about I stop waddling about and just stay here until it’s all over?’
That would have made sense, but she had to go back to the shop and give Robin the news. This thought made her lower lip tremble, because the two of them were already living on top of each other in the back room; honestly, they were really anything but comfortable there. However, they did bend over backwards not to make things too difficult for each other. Freda knew that it was mainly down to Robin that they muddled through. He was such a gentle, kind soul who, because he valued her as a friend, had made such sacrifices for her. They had already discussed how impossible life was going to become when a baby also shared the space, so how in the name of heavens would they make room for twins? It was true, their business had flourished beyond their wildest dreams, but they were still a couple of hundred pounds short of a deposit for a house. Freda wailed then, because she realised that she would also have to fork out for a twin pram, instead of using the single one that her mum had ordered. Dumbfounded, she slunk out of the side door of the hospital, which bordered Craigentinny golf course. She looked about to make sure that there was no one within hearing distance, before throwing a tantrum – a real humdinger of one, which included foot-stamping, fist-shaking, and screeching to a decibel level that could have awakened the dead.
When the tantrum had exhausted itself, Freda headed home, and as the bus trundled along London Road, she rehearsed and re-rehearsed what she was going to say to Robin. She was grateful that it was past closing time when she arrived at the shop. After opening the door, she drew up quickly. She had hoped that Robin, and Robin alone, would be in the shop. However, there, standing beside him, was her mother.
‘How did you get on, dear?’ Ellen crooned, as she advanced towards Freda.
‘Fine, Mum,’ Freda lied. ‘They said everything was hunky-dory and I have to waddle back there next week.’
Robin just nodded, before going into the back room to fill the kettle. Switching off the tap, he called out, ‘Freda, are you hungry? If you are, I could open a tin of soup for you.’
Freda and her mother headed through to the back shop, and as Freda slumped down on a chair next to the table, she replied, ‘Aye, soup’s okay, but you know, I have a feeling that you need to be telling me something . . .’
Her mother turned to look at her, her expression anxious. ‘Freda . . . Look, Stuart came into Marks this afternoon to tell me that your grandad’s health has taken a real bad turn. He is now on the F ward at the Eastern General. Granny Rosie is with him, and Stuart said that he would go down to the hospital to be with her.’
‘Good grief,’ Freda wailed, ‘you all knew I was down there, so why on earth did no one come and tell me? I could have gone and visited him!’
‘We thought that you would be on your way home. We didn’t know you were going to be this late,’ her mother explained, as she glanced at the clock.
‘Oh, where on earth am I going to get the energy to get myself back to that blinking hospital tonight?’
‘Here, dear, dry your tears and drink this,’ Robin pleaded as he handed her a mug of soup. ‘And don’t worry about getting back to the hospital because once you’ve had a rest, we will order a taxi and get you there.’ Robin stroked Freda’s hair. ‘And, darling, I have a wee bit of good news for you.’
Slamming the cup of soup down on the table, Freda shrieked, ‘Good news! Ah, so you are going to tell me that the mess I am in, carrying this baby elephant about, is all a bad dream, and that I am going to wake up from this blasted nightmare and skip down to Marionville Crescent to find my grandad pottering about in his back garden?’
‘No,’ Robin soothed, as he took her hand in his, ‘but remember how we looked at that deserted, broken-down garden flat on Brunton Place?’
‘The one just by the bus stop, before the Easter Road turning?’ Freda’s mum asked.
‘Yes Ellen, that one. Well,’ Robin lifted Freda’s hand and kissed it before continuing, ‘it’s just come on the market and, because of the state it’s in, I think we could – just maybe – afford it.’
If Robin had expected Freda to be excited, he was in for a disappointment. She dragged her hand from his and started to pull at her hair. ‘Look,’ she screamed, ‘right now, I couldn’t face cleaning up the tea dishes, never mind renovating another dump! Can’t any of you see that I’m tired . . . completely whacked . . . All I want to do is go and see my grandad.’
Both Ellen and Robin nodded, before Robin said, ‘Fine, dear, but we do have to find somewhere suitable to live, and pretty soon at that.’ Freda was about to yell at him again, but he put up his hand, lowered his voice and quietly stated, ‘But that will be my worry. All you have to do is look after yourself and the baby.’
Freda should have told Robin and her mum there and then that it was not a baby, singular, but babies, plural. However, as getting back to the hospital to see her grandad was her main priority, she kept the news of the twins a secret.
Seven long days had passed since that night, and still she had told no one, because grandad was somehow holding on. It was as if he was waiting for something, or someone.
Freda was pulled out of her memories of that day by the sound of the nurse calling to her. Hearing that the doctor was ready to see her, she stood up, feeling unsteady as she did so. Next thing she knew, she was hyperventilating, because water had started to cascade down her legs and on to the floor.
‘No need to panic,’ the nurse said kindly but firmly, ‘you haven’t wet yourself, your waters have broken. That, Mrs Dalgleish, is a sign that your labour has started. Your babies are on their way.’
‘But I can’t give birth to them right now! You see, I promised my grandad I would visit him today, so it is not convenient for me to give birth even to one baby right now, never mind two!’
‘That right?’ the nurse replied.
Freda nodded, but as the first labour pains gripped her, she found herself grabbing hold of the nurse’s wrist and digging her nails into the back of the nurse’s hand. As she recovered, she managed to squeal, ‘Well, maybe at this moment I can’t visit Grandad! Hope he’ll understand and hang on.’
Wrestling her hand free from Freda’s grip, the nurse replied, ‘Yes, he will, and much later on today you may be able to pop in to see him, bringing two nice surprises with you!’
*
An over-sized bouquet hid the face of her visitor, but when Freda heard the voice behind it say, ‘Well, aren’t you a dark horse!’ she knew that the dulcet tones belonged to Hannah.
‘In what way?’ Freda replied as she indicated to Hannah, who was trying to press the flowers into her hands, that she couldn’t take the flowers as she had a baby in her arms.
‘By not telling a single one of us – not even Robin, your husband – that you were expecting twins!’ Ignoring Freda’s shrug, Hannah continued, ‘And I hear that they’re not identical.’
‘No, they’re not. But then,’ Freda scorned, ‘I’m pretty
sure they have to be the same sex to have any chance of that . . .’
Hannah, as per usual, did not take offence. Instead, she looked earnestly at the baby in Freda’s arms. ‘Which one is that? You see, I cannot tell if a baby is a boy or a girl until I see their bottom!’
‘Here’s a clue: this one is wrapped in a pink blanket . . .’
‘So she is!’ Hannah tittered. ‘And where is your wee son?’
Looking lovingly down at her daughter, Freda responded, ‘Wee is the operative word for him. Jackie, here, weighed in first at five pounds, five ounces, but her brother, who I have not thought of a name for yet, could only tip the scales at four pounds, fifteen ounces. He has to stay in an incubator until he gains weight and is a healthy five pounds.’
‘How long will it take the wee soul to gain that weight?’
‘A couple of days at least – mind you, I could always spit on him before the next weigh in.’
‘Freda! Surely you wouldn’t do that?’ Hannah sighed. ‘Oh, God bless the wee soul. Here, Freda, has anybody apart from you seen him?’
‘The duty sister on the labour ward phoned Robin to say that I had gone into labour, and he got a message through to my mum in Marks and then his mum. Those two, in turn, became a bush telegraph, and then the race was on to see who could get here first! You can snigger all you like but, honestly, more people turned up at this maternity unit than attended the last Hibs and Hearts derby!’
‘May I hold her?’ Hannah pleaded. Freda nodded, before passing the baby to Hannah.
‘She’s so tiny . . . and her brother is even smaller?’
‘Yes, but according to Stevie, my bullish father-in-law, Jackie is the living image of him.’ Freda quickly looked up at the ceiling whilst she stifled a laugh. ‘Please God no. Two of him in the world at the same time would be just too much!’
Now it was Hannah’s turn to cackle. Freda continued, ‘Then Stevie said that the boy is the living image of Robin. “Oh aye,” he muttered to me, “there’s no way my laddie could deny them!”’
