by Annie Murray
They ran upstairs and found they were only just in time. Ruby, now clad in a pale pink nightdress, was sitting on the very edge of the bed, with Ethel doing her best to support her.
‘Edie, Janet – help hold her up!’ Frances commanded.
They pitched in, Ethel and Janet each taking one of Ruby’s arms over their shoulder and Edie kneeling behind her and trying to give extra support under her arms. Fortunately it was quick or they would all have collapsed in a heap. Ruby lifted herself half off the bed, leaning heavily on her mother and Janet. Frances knelt in front of her.
‘God Almighty, Rube,’ Ethel puffed, ‘I can’t keep going like this for long!’
But Ruby was too busy screaming to hear her.
‘That’s it!’ Edie heard Frances say excitedly. ‘The head’s coming!’
From then on there was a hubbub of everyone shouting, ‘Come on! You can do it!’ and Ruby yelling and cursing ripely at the top of her voice, and Edie stood up on the bed in time to see a dark, wet little head, soon followed by a long, slithery body, then they all collapsed panting back on the bed and the baby was screaming frantically in Frances’s arms.
‘Oh, Ruby dear, very well done!’ Frances looked up, beaming. ‘You’ve got another lovely little girl.’
Edie felt as if every emotion she had ever felt was passing through her in that moment and she burst into tears.
In a few moments Ruby was calmly holding her baby. She looked up to see Edie crying stormily, Frances wiping her eyes, and Janet and Ethel both tearful as well, all in a ring round her. She grinned suddenly.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘Look at the state of you lot!’
Thirty
‘Well, he’s certainly brought a smile to her face.’
Edie sat down next to Ruby, who was discreetly feeding Greta Mae, the new baby, a cardigan draped over her so no one could see anything. Ethel and Lionel had been married that afternoon and were having a knees-up in a little dance hall off the Bristol Road with as many friends and neighbours as they could squeeze in. All the cast of the Lucky Dip Entertainers were there, as well as family and friends. They’d strung up some bunting and streamers, everyone had rallied round to bring plates of food and all the drink they could lay hands on, and the troupe were in fine fettle. There was always someone banging out a tune on the piano in the corner, and as often as not a group of the others singing and dancing along. Even Frances got up and joined in the singing. When Ethel had spotted the piano in the Hattons’ house after Greta was born, she asked Frances if she played, and since then there’d been a couple of sing-song sessions at each other’s houses. The two had bonded in what at first seemed to their daughters an unlikely friendship.
‘They balance each other out somehow,’ Janet said to Ruby one day when they were puzzling over it. ‘Your mother brings out my mother’s light-hearted side.’
‘Yes.’ Ruby thought about it, head on one side. ‘And Mom’s got quite a serious side to her, you know, thinks more deeply into things. Frances makes her a bit more sensible!’
Whatever the case, the sharing of Greta’s birth had certainly brought them close and they were both standing up by the piano belting out ‘As Time Goes By’ with full enthusiasm, Frances in a soft blue dress, Ethel resplendent in a skin-tight, shimmering, buttercup-coloured creation and plenty of make-up, her lips red as poppies. Janet was up there with them, and David, standing rapt at the edge of the group, a fascinated smile on his face which made Edie smile too.
Ruby looked over at the happy gathering round the piano. ‘Yes, he’s awright, Lionel is, he’s kind-hearted and good with the boys. I mean I was bound to be suspicious of him at first, wasn’t I? No one’s going to take the place of our dad, ever.’ Lionel was a lean man, rather suave, with a face marked by laughter lines and a smoker’s tarry voice. ‘I like him, and you just have to look at Mom. They’re only doing local shows now. No more touring, so things’re a bit easier.’
‘Your Mom’s dress is gorgeous – where’d she get that?’
‘She’s had it years,’ Ruby said. ‘Says she can just squeeze back into it now. Ah – look at your Davey. Never seen anything like it, has ’e?’
Edie smiled fondly, then looked closely at her friend. ‘You still look all in though.’ Ruby’s round face was pale and she looked as if she had not slept properly in a long time. Her expression had a lifeless look. ‘You all right, Rube?’
She didn’t ask if there was news of Wally. She knew there wasn’t. She ached with sorrow for both Ruby and Janet. Ruby looked down and shifted Greta’s weight on her arm but Edie could see she was hiding her tears.
‘Oh Ruby, I’m ever so sorry for you—’ She put her arm round her shoulders. ‘I so wish there was summat I could do for you – both of you. I’d do anything . . .’
‘I know.’ Ruby blew her nose. ‘Look, don’t set me off. I want to be happy for Mom today. But I tell you, Edie, I can’t stand not knowing what’s happened much longer. I don’t half miss work. At least it kept my mind off it. I mean if I’m never going to see Wally again I’d rather know now, one way or the other. I can’t stand imagining all these terrible things. Janet wrote to Martin’s parents didn’t she? I thought I might to write to Wally’s mom and dad and find out if they’ve any news.’
‘In America? D’you know where they live?’
‘Not exactly. But I know the town and their name – they own a shop. It might get there, mightn’t it? Only trouble is, I’m frightened to.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ruby sighed. ‘Some days I feel so sure of what Wally was to me, and others I feel I didn’t know him at all. I might find out he’s married with a family already . . . I’ll do it when I feel strong enough.’
Edie got up after a while and had a sing, but most of the evening she stayed close to Ruby and Greta, bringing Ruby drinks and things to eat. The Lucky Dips put on a show, dances and stand-up (‘Keep the jokes clean tonight please, folks!’ Lionel called out, to everyone’s laughter). Frances and Janet came and sat with them, Frances looking happy and invigorated.
‘What a marvellous occasion!’ she said. ‘We haven’t been out and enjoyed ourselves for far too long!’
Edie sat Davey on her lap, handed him a spam sandwich and looked up at all the faces round the table. For a moment she felt a pang, the old longing.
‘What’s the matter, dear?’ Frances leaned close to her. ‘You’re looking a bit glum.’
‘Oh – nothing really. I was just thinking about my own family – such as it is. No one here of mine.’ She tried to laugh it off. ‘Same old story, really.’
‘Well—’ Frances put her arm round Edie’s shoulder. ‘I suppose that’s the reality of it. But you know – we’re your family. I can scarcely remember life before Edie now. I don’t know if that helps at all.’
Edie took Frances’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Oh, it helps.’ She smiled into Frances’s serene face. ‘More than I can ever tell you.’
That winter everyone was tired and worn down by all the years of war, and of living within the tight restrictions of shortages and rationing. From Aunt Maud down in Kent they’d heard about the strain of living under the flying bombs. The news was improving – the Allies reclaiming cities one by one, Brussels, Antwerp, Athens – and the blackout had, in September, been eased to ‘dim out’, but it seemed to Edie that people were finding it harder to keep going, especially those carrying losses and sadness, or uncertainty about loved ones. Whenever she thought of this she felt lucky. Davey was her world and he was safe and happy at school. His teacher told her that Davey was an extraordinarily bright boy and quick to learn, and she had glowed with pride in him.
In the Hatton household they prepared for Christmas in the usual modest way.
‘We must make it nice for the children at least,’ Frances said. Edie had begun taking Davey regularly to the Friends’ Meeting House now he had started school and he liked to go and join in activities with the other children. France
s was delighted that they went. ‘But I don’t want him to think of us as being miserable and not celebrating . . . We’ll put up some decorations. All the children will like that.’
She got the children making paper streamers out of all sorts of scraps of paper, and paper angels and stars. They spent weeks making a nativity scene out of empty cotton reels and scraps of wool and packets and material. Marleen was immensely proud of it. There was a holly bush in the garden from which they cut sprigs each year to decorate the house and on Sunday afternoon Edie and Janet had gone out with Davey to snip them in the crisp afternoon air, and tug tough strands of ivy from the wall, to drape over picture frames and the mirror in the hall.
The next evening, when Edie finished work, it was damp but clear outside. She stopped for a moment as the others hurried past and stood looking back at the factory, Q-block stretching away to her left. The camouflage had been removed now and lights were visible inside, and Edie smiled at the sight of it. It was home to her. The factory had always looked enormous and splendid lit up at night. It was a sign of things getting back to normal.
‘Edie!’ She turned to see Janet hurrying to catch her up, hair bouncing as she ran, her bag tucked under her arm.
The two of them walked home chatting about their day. As soon as they got home, Marleen appeared. She had a little bow in her fair hair and was wearing a navy pinafore dress. She immediately seized Edie’s hand and pulled at it in her usual imperious fashion.
‘Come and see. We finished it!’
‘The nativity, is it?’ Edie laughed. The smile died on her lips as Frances came into the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Janet’s hand go to her throat.
‘Oh . . .’ Her breath seemed to have got trapped. ‘Oh . . .!’
Frances was holding out a flimsy envelope and her expression was very solemn.
Janet reached out for it. Edie could see how much she wanted, and yet did not want to read the letter. White-faced, she took it without a word and went upstairs.
‘It came at midday,’ Frances said, shakily. ‘I’ve hardly been able to bear not to open it. It’s not Martin’s handwriting.’
Edie shook her head, sick with dread. Marleen was still pulling at her, chattering.
‘Now Marleen, just stop it,’ Frances snapped. Edie could see what a state she was in. There were tears in her voice.
‘It’s all right.’ Edie touched her arm. ‘I’ll go and see the nativity and keep her quiet for a bit. Janet’ll need you.’
But as she was following Marleen a scream came from upstairs and they both rushed back into the hall.
Janet appeared at the top of the stairs with the letter in one hand and from the other something large and dark hung down. Her face was quite still, white, like a mask. She started to come downstairs but several steps down her legs gave way and she sank down, clutching the dark thing to her. It dawned on Edie that it was the jumper she had spent so much time knitting for Martin. She saw Janet bring the back of her left hand to her mouth and bite on it as the sobs began to shake her body.
‘Oh darling, I’m so sorry . . .’ In terrible distress, Frances moved towards her but Janet started shaking her head. She wrenched her hand away from her mouth.
‘No . . . You don’t understand . . .’ She held out the letter. ‘Oh my God . . . I can’t believe it! He’s alive. Martin’s alive!’
The letter was on a sheet of thin, lined blue paper, in a rather cramped, sloping hand. Edie and Frances stood poring over it at the foot of the stairs:
British General Hospital
Calcutta, India
16 October 1944
Dear Miss Hatton,
I am writing this letter on behalf of Dr Martin Ferris as I am a fellow patient here and have recently become well acquainted with him. He is most anxious to let you know that he is alive and thinking of you. From what I gather he has had a dose of some of the worst this region has to offer in the way of illnesses, on top of months of overwork. He is still very weak indeed and has a long way to go in his recovery, but is doing well.
He wants you to know that he will be coming home when he is strong enough to be moved though it is not clear yet when that will be.
He is watching me write this letter and he has just whispered to me, ‘Tell her I’ll be home for that wedding as soon as I can.’
I hope this letter serves to set your mind at rest.
With kindest regards,
John Latimer (Major)
Both weeping, Frances and Edie went and sat on the stairs on each side of Janet and put their arms round her. When Marleen climbed up to them, her little face stricken at the sight of them, they pulled her into their embrace as well.
Janet was like a person reborn. It was only now she saw her with hope again that Edie realized just how miserable she had been over the past months. They had a happy Christmas in the house, but a shadow still hung over everyone.
‘If only Ruby could have the same news,’ Janet said one evening. ‘After all, she’s already lost one husband and she’d got so much on her plate with the girls. I hope her letter managed to find Wally’s family.’
News was not long in coming. Within weeks after Christmas Ruby received a letter from the USA, in a sloping, looped hand, from an Ed and Louisa Sorenson. She brought it up to Linden Road to show everyone. Edie was surprised at her calmness.
‘I knew really,’ Ruby said dully. ‘I knew Wally was a good man and I know he loved me. If he could have been in touch with me somehow, he would have done.’
1071 Haselbach Avenue
Fairmont, Minnesota
January 4th, 1945
Dear Ruby,
We received your letter yesterday and although we were so happy to hear from you, in some ways we wanted to delay writing because in replying to you we can only relate bad news.
We received notification last June that our son Walter was killed on Omaha beach on the sixth of that month, the first day of the Normandy operation. Of course we and his sister are grieving for him terribly and we were touched and happy to hear from you. When he wrote us from England he told us about you, Ruby, and how much you meant to him.
He had said that he had every intention of making you his wife after the war was over, and nothing would stop him getting back there safely to you in England. We are so sorry this has not turned out to be his future and yours. And of course we had no way of knowing where you were.
We can only offer our warmest condolences and know that you are also grieving for our beloved son.
Ed and I wish you every blessing in your future, Ruby, especially after this terrible war is over.
With our warmest wishes and may God bless you,
Louisa Sorenson
‘Oh,’ Edie handed the letter back. ‘What a lovely kind lady.’
Frances was frowning slightly. ‘They sound a very nice couple,’ she said sadly. ‘But, Ruby, they don’t know about Greta, do they? They don’t realize they have a grandchild over here?’
‘Well, no.’ Ruby blushed. ‘Thing is, Mrs Hatton, I didn’t know what sort of reception I was going to get, did I? Now they’ve written me such a nice, kind letter I’ll write back and tell them. They sound lovely people.’ She swallowed, eyes shining with tears. ‘Just like Wally.’
PART TWO
1954-6
Thirty-One
November 1954
Janet closed the door of the doctor’s surgery behind her and went out into the darkness of Vicarage Road, hurrying until she reached the park. She walked hurriedly across the grass, not caring about the mud on her shoes. Beyond the fringe of light from the road she stopped, and allowed the sobs to come, releasing some of her pent-up grief. She had fought grimly against crying in front of the doctor. But now it didn’t matter if anyone heard and she was too distraught to care.
Dr Aitchison’s final, dismissive words were burned into her mind.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ferris.’ He spoke in a clipped, almost hostile way, as if giving bad news kindl
y would have cost him too much effort. ‘There’s nothing more I can do. I think after all this time we’ll have to accept the fact that you’re infertile. You’ll just have to keep busy and find other ways to fill your life.’
But I’m not infertile! she screamed in her head. It was the one thing she could not tell them, any of them. That time with Alec: the miscarriage. She had been pregnant and she lost a baby! Until her marriage she had buried all thoughts of that time. She had never even told Edie about it. Of course, she was ashamed, but it was more than that. It had never seemed entirely real. It was more like a bad dream from which she had woken and the baby was no more. She had closed her mind to the reality of it. But now, oh, the pain of remembering was real now all right.
It was true that some women could never bring a child to term. She knew that from years of living with a doctor and hearing him discuss such things, but with Martin she had never even conceived. She knew she was capable of conceiving a child, but no one seemed interested in whether Martin, a fellow doctor, could give her one. The problem was always assumed to lie with her, and it had barely occurred even to her that it might not, until Frances said quietly one day, ‘Of course, a man can have problems as well . . .’ And things fell into place.
She stood for a long time on the damp grass, barely noticing the cold, until she was calmer. A man walked past near her with his dog and she saw that she must look peculiar standing there alone in the dark.
I must get home and get the supper on, she thought dismally. Although goodness knows what time Martin’ll be in to eat it.
For two years after she and Martin were married she had given up her job, taking it for granted that soon she would be busy with a family. When the children she longed for failed to arrive she decided it was no good moping about it at home, filling her time with curtain-making and bits of voluntary work. If she went back to Cadbury’s and took her mind off it, she reasoned, the babies would follow. She had been too tense and upset – that was no state in which to create new life. So she had gladly returned to something like her old routine, and the tennis club, happy to be busy, to have company and a sense of purpose. But still she had borne no children.
