‘About six weeks.’
‘I’m due in four!’ Susan was loud, as though she had won the point.
‘Are you scared?’ Dot ventured.
‘Of what?’
‘All of it really, giving birth… giving them away.’ Dot whispered the last bit; it was the first time that she had said the phrase out loud or even admitted to herself that this might be a possibility. Thoughts of Sol filled her head, as they so often did at the most unwelcome moments.
‘When our children are tucked up at night, sleeping soundly in the nursery with Patience on her bed in their room, I will sit with you in the garden. It’s my favourite part of the day, when the sun sinks into the ocean and the day has lost its heat, and we shall bask in the warm breeze that blows across the beach from the Caribbean Sea, watching the lights twinkling from Reduit Beach on the curve of the horizon.’
‘Yes and no.’ Susan anchored her with her response. ‘I’m shit scared of giving birth, who isn’t? But giving them away, no, not fussed really. I’m more than a little bit angry that they have taken up a bloody year or so of my life! I was supposed to be going to India with some friends and I had so many plans, all put on hold because of these little bastards. And not to mention what they have done to my beautiful flat stomach and my tits! I used to have amazing tits – I can’t see them ever going back to normal.’
Dot was horrified. Susan read her expression. ‘Don’t judge me, Dot, I’m only being honest. I never planned on getting pregnant and I certainly didn’t plan on my whole life being fucked up by one night of passion. I think it’s a bloody big price to pay for getting stoned, don’t you?’
‘I…’ Dot was literally struck dumb.
‘It’s not like I’m in a relationship – you know, where you simply get caught, bring forward the date of the wedding, opt for a loose-fitting frock, order a trailing lily bouquet that you hold in front of your stomach all day and night, and, wahey, seven months later give birth to an eight-pound premature baby! I’m not one of those women. I’m a party girl that got unlucky. I can’t wait until it’s all over, I can’t wait to get back to my old life.’
Dot considered this. To the outside world they were no different; she too was a girl that had got unlucky, a girl who was no good. But there was a difference: Dot knew she would never get her old life back again, not after this.
‘Were you never with the dad?’
Susan sighed. ‘No. I’ve a pretty good idea who it is – an old friend, someone I like a lot. He has no idea, which is lucky; I couldn’t bear to have things any more complicated than they already are. We smoked a bit, dropped a tab, the rest is a bit hazy. My mother went completely off the scale when she found out, which is how I find myself here under lock and key with the crazy Sisters of Jesus. If I’d had my way, it would have been a quick trip to a certain man in Soho with a bag full of grubby fivers, job done and then home on the bus. I tried every trick in the book, drank copious quantities of gin, sat in scalding baths with mustard in, I even threw myself down two flights of stairs, but these little sods weren’t budging, probably stubborn and wilful like me! But no, Mother dearest has some deep-seated conviction in the Lord and a desire to keep her reputation unsullied at the Bridge Club, so the rest is history.’
‘You seem to be coping with it well, Susie, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘That’s because it’s not what I want; I am in no way ready for the mundane life of washing nappies and burping a fat baby. It has made me take stock though, made me realise that I need to go out and grab a life, otherwise I’ll get swamped by the monotony of the everyday. I feel quite maudlin if I think about it too much.’
‘It’s funny isn’t it; I’d give anything for the mundane life of burping a fat baby, I’d love it.’
Susie shook her head. ‘Not for me, I’m afraid. I woke up the other morning and realised that, despite all the things I thought I might become or achieve in my life, unless I try really hard, I am going to be ordinary forever, just like the other 99.9 per cent of the population. I was shocked when I realised that! It was as though I’d always had a sneaking suspicion that I was somehow more special than the 99.9 per cent, but of course I’m not. Which is precisely why I have to create the extraordinary, I have to go and chase the fun!’
‘I wish I felt more like that, but truth is I don’t want to chase the fun. I think I’d be happy forever with a little house and a child to care for. I’m finding it really tough. I don’t want to give my baby away, but I’ve got no choice.’
‘Surely you must have a choice?’
‘No I don’t, not really.’
‘But you must have, even if it means being on your own – women do it all the time!’
‘Not women like me. Where I come from unmarried women with babies and no job end up on the streets, simple as that.’
‘God, I can think of nothing worse than being saddled with kids for the next twenty-odd years of my life. I’ve got so much that I want to do, places I want to go. I take it by your face that things are a bit different for you?’
‘A bit, but not really. I was with the dad, for a couple of months and he was wonderful, well I thought he was. I loved him and I thought he loved me, he said he did…’
Susan smirked. ‘Quel surprise, don’t they all?’
‘S’pose so. I don’t really know. He was my first and I believed him when he said we’d get married. I believed everything that he told me. But I guess I’m just a bit thick. The thing is, I wanted so badly to believe him.’
Susan had nothing to say. She watched as Dot’s tears trickled down her face and into her ear.
‘He’s not from England, was just passing through, really. His mum told me that I was a distraction for him and I can see that now, but I got so wrapped up in him, I was so happy, happier than I knew was possible. I really wanted to go and live with him in the sunshine, it sounded lovely. I’ve never even seen the sea.’ Dot’s sobbing made further speech impossible.
‘Oh, Dot. He sounds like a complete arse. It’s far worse to lead you on and give you all the old flannel; it just makes it harder, doesn’t it? But the thing is, most of them are like that – well, most that I know. I tell you what, when we get out and this is all over, come to Dorset, I’ll show you the sea. I mean it’s bloody freezing and you wouldn’t want to swim in it, but you can stare at it to your heart’s content!’
Dot turned her head and smiled half-heartedly at her roommate, but she knew that she would not want to see Susan again, no matter how kind the invitation.
That night the girls were woken by a loud scream; it was three o’clock in the morning. Both sat up, clutching their chests.
Dot flicked on the bedside lamp. ‘What’s that noise?’ she gasped in fear.
‘I reckon it’s Jude starting, she’s due any day now. Don’t worry, Dot; one thing I can say about this lot is that they know what they’re doing when it comes to delivering babies – it’s the best place you can be. They do it day in, day out and they have done for years; they’ll look after her.’
Susan had barely finished her sentence when the next howl began, a bellowing scream that built and built, filling the air and rattling the windows.
Dot shrank down under her blanket and tried to block out the noise. The poor girl, it sounded horrific. Dot shivered at the thought that in a few short weeks it would be her needing the nuns’ help in the delivery room.
The next morning the girls came to an arrangement over using their bowls. Susan was happy to complete her morning visit in front of Dot, but the same could not be said in reverse. It took all Dot’s courage to ask Susan to turn and face the wall, allowing her privacy of sorts. Susan laughed and called Dot ‘provincial’. Dot didn’t know what that meant, but was grateful anyway for being able to pee unseen, if not unheard.
As the two columns waddled along the corridor to breakfast, all decked out in their hideous smocks, one of the girls started to whimper and cry, which in turn set a couple of the ot
hers off. Eyes darted from under fringes as those that weren’t crying tried to smile at those that were. Dot was reassured to see such camaraderie among the group – after all, empathy was in short enough supply on the outside. It was probably just the combination of hormones and the disrupted night’s sleep – that girl had sure known how to howl! It was strange to think that she would now be in the separate nursery wing, probably holding her baby. Lucky thing.
As legs were heaved over the benches and into place, Dot caught Susan’s eye and was astounded to see tears running down her roommate’s cheeks. What on earth could have upset the tough party girl who didn’t give a damn about most things, other than the restoration of her amazing bosom, getting to India and returning to her old life?
Sister Kyna took her position at the head of the table, with the bleeding heart of Christ and his body on the crucifix behind her.
‘Jesus Christ, our Father, we ask on this very sad day for you to show your divine mercy and hasten the journey of Judith’s dear departed baby who has passed into your care…’
Dot heard very little of the prayer as the girls began to cry and mutter, both to each other and into cupped palms.
‘Oh my God, oh no!’
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Poor Jude.’
‘Was it stillborn?’
‘What happened?’
No one had an appetite for breakfast; some ate a morsel in silence, most sat in quiet reflection. Within the hour the room had emptied. Each girl had been allocated her chores for the morning and Dot’s job was to rake the gravel at the front of the building and collect any litter, leaves and weeds that might spoil its appearance. She was given a wide rake with a wooden handle and a large plastic bucket. Bending down to retrieve small scraps was difficult, but she was glad of the opportunity to be outside, happy to feel the warmth of the morning sun on her skin. She rolled up the sleeves of her smock and set to.
A girl appeared from the back of the building. She was wearing a navy coat and her hair was in a rather elaborate up-do, held in place by dozens of bobby pins; she looked lovely. She was pushing a very high, grand Silver Cross pram with large chrome-spoked wheels that gleamed in the sunlight. She barely acknowledged Dot as she pushed the pram along the gravel; her pace was measured. Dot heard a small sound like a cat mewling – the cry of as newborn baby. The girl stopped and bent into the shade of the hood that was pulled up against the morning’s rays. Dot watched as, with trembling hand, the girl stroked and soothed the baby that lay swaddled in its rather fancy carriage.
‘It’s okay, Gracie, don’t cry, darling, Mummy’s right here. It will all be okay. There’s a good girl, don’t cry, Gracie.’ The baby seemed to take comfort from her mother’s words and after a couple of small hiccups, the crying stopped. The girl stood straight and used the corner of a white cotton handkerchief to blot at tears that now fell from her own eyes. She did this with precision, so as not to smudge her mascara and eyeliner. Dot wanted to ask if she was okay and would have liked to have a peek at the baby, but that would have felt like an intrusion. The girl picked up her pace a little and walked towards the gate house at the bottom of the drive. Dot watched as she knocked on a side door and then pushed the pram inside
Dot worked for half an hour, picking up the odd cigarette butt, pieces of moss and handfuls of dead leaves from the otherwise pristine driveway. Her heart jumped in her chest as a loud shout ripped through the air. ‘You fucking bastards! You bastards! She is my baby, you can’t have her, she is my baby. I’ve changed my mind, you can’t take her! Please! No! Gracie! No!’
Dot stood still and gripped the rake, her heart hammered inside her rib cage and a wave of nausea swept over her. She rubbed her tummy to quiet the agitated baby that didn’t like to feel her distress. Gracie’s mum appeared some minutes later, supported by a nun on one side and a doctor in a white coat on the other. Her head lolled on her chest. Her hair had worked its way loose and pins fell along the path as she stumbled forward. Dot noted the black streaks of mascara-laden tears that striped her face. The nun and the doctor were almost pulling her now, and her feet dragged behind her on the gravel, leaving two tracks as the toes of her shoes slid along, like a drunken ballerina. Sister Mary, the neat young nun that had unlocked Dot’s door on the first day walked behind the trio, pushing the pram back towards the main building. It was empty.
Dot bent down to gather up the handful of pins, but decided against it. She thought of Hansel and Gretel and their breadcrumb trail – maybe these bobby pins were to help Gracie find her way back to her mum. Dot covered them with handfuls of gravel so they would be there for Gracie to find, if and when she needed to; little metal arrows, showing the way. She raked at the tracks that the girl had created and tried not to think about what had occurred in the pretty gate house with the vibrant window boxes that fooled you into thinking it was a place of joy and beauty.
That night, after lights out, the two girls lay quietly.
‘I’m sorry about your friend, about Jude; it must be so tough for her.’
Susan moved, making her straw mattress rustle. ‘She wasn’t really my friend, but it’s shit nonetheless. She’s only sixteen. I keep thinking that it was all such a bloody waste, all that heartache, upheaval, distress. To end like that feels doubly cruel somehow. It was all for nothing, wasn’t it, if there isn’t even a baby at the end of it. I can just imagine the speech that Kyna would have given her about it being God’s will – that’d be the last thing Jude needed to hear.’
‘Susie?’
‘Yes?’
‘How does it work, giving the babies away? I saw a girl go along today with a pram, to the gate house.’ The memory of Gracie’s mum, with her hair falling over her face and being dragged along, would never leave her.
‘It’s quite automatic, fast, apparently. The paperwork that you have already signed gives them permission to put the baby up for adoption and as soon as it’s born the system kicks in. It varies as to when you actually hand the baby over, depending on the baby’s health, where the new parents are coming from and so forth. Apparently some go a couple of days after they’re born, or you could be lumbered for up to three months.’
Dot closed her eyes in the darkness. She would never feel lumbered, she would treasure every second.
‘The nuns have a long list of couples, good, church-going people, who are waiting for babies. They pay the Church a handsome fee and they get given a baby. Simple.’
‘Do you get to say who you would like your baby to go to?’
‘Afraid not, old girl. You do get to see them though, if you want to, through a little grill in the dividing wall, apparently. I don’t see the point, personally. I am going to treat it like a transaction: I give the babies away and I get my freedom back – wonderful!’
‘I don’t want to give mine away and the closer I get to having it, the more panicky I feel about it.’
‘The only girls that leave with their babies, Dot, are those whose parents pay for them to leave with their babies. It’s the same fee as the adoption money, and some do have a change of heart.’
Dot knew her parents would never pay that. Even if they did have the money, they wouldn’t give a single penny. And there was no one else that could help.
‘And then there are those that take the ten-pound ticket and go to Australia. They’re crying out for people over there.’
‘Australia?’ Dot didn’t know much about Australia, just that it was on the other side of the world and was full of snakes and crocodiles.
‘Yep, if you take the ten-pound ticket, they’ll load you and your screaming offspring onto a crowded, stinky boat where you will sit for months, going slowly crazy, before arriving in the back of beyond where the likelihood is you will end up married to a heathen who runs a sheep station in the middle of sodding nowhere. If you survive the horrendous journey and the blistering heat that will cook you if you sit in it, and the insect bites and life in a swamp, you have the
joy of sharing your bed and being grateful for your very existence to a bloke whose only hope of marriage is to buy an English bird who’s been knocked up and rejected by someone else!’
‘That don’t sound like much fun.’
‘Good God, Dot, it would be a slow death, a life sentence. I couldn’t stand it. If it was New York, I’d be off like a shot, I’ve always wanted to go there, and I will one day.’
Dot turned to the wall and tried to sleep. Why, Sol, why did you do this to me? Why me?
8
The nuns were singing in the small chapel at the side of Lavender Hill Lodge. It was a beautiful, sweet, melodic cantata that evoked joy and sorrow all at once. The sound carried to where a group of girls toiled in the main entrance hall. Dot dipped her cloth-covered finger inside the pot of floor wax then rubbed it all over the wooden step. She worked on all fours, with her belly smothered by her smock, inches from the floor. As she sashayed left to right, she felt the baby nudge her, probably with an elbow; this baby wanted to sleep and didn’t like the movement. It was only when Dot lay in a warm bath – a luxury she enjoyed once a week – that the baby seemed to truly settle, almost as if the warm water soothed the little thing. She swallowed the image of the warm Caribbean Sea, her dreams of swimming in it every day after breakfast.
Susan reached up with a feather duster and removed cobwebs and specks of dust, visible only to the eagle eyes of Sister Kyna, from the wall lights. She carefully removed the fragile glass cloche from a candle bulb as she had been instructed and used the duster to scoot around the fluted edge. Reaching up to replace it, her body convulsed without warning, her hands jerked and the delicate glass shade hit the tiled floor, shattering into a million fragments.
Dot waddled over as fast as she could, crunching the glass underfoot. She placed her hand on Susan’s lower back as she bent over, trying to ease the pain.
‘Are you okay?’ She tried to keep the panic from her voice.
As Susan looked at her friend through her lank fringe, a warm cascade of viscous water ran down her leg and splattered on the black and white floor. ‘Flat stomach and pert tits here we come!’ she muttered through gritted teeth.
No Greater Love - Box Set Page 79
