by Annie Murray
Margaret smiled. ‘Well, good for her. My Old Man spent the war avoiding doing anything, if he could possibly help it. They caught up with him, though – got him working in munitions.’
Alan looked across at her. He had a way of looking so interested in what she was saying.
‘Tell me about your family, Margaret?’
‘Not much to tell,’ she said. ‘There were five of us originally – my mother was widowed and remarried. She had a girl and two boys, then my brother and me the second time round. I only ever saw Elsie, my stepsister, after the war – in fact, I lived with her for a fair while. She was good to me. She passed away rather young, though, and her daughters moved away. But the other two: Edwin got killed somewhere in Belgium; and Cyril, well, he was a bad lot. We never heard another thing from him. And then Tommy – well, you know about that.’
Alan was nodding encouragingly. ‘Just tell me,’ he said. ‘You know – how it was.’
She stalled. ‘You really want me to?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
Margaret looked back at him: that rarest of people, someone who would listen and wait to hear what she said.
‘The thing was,’ she began, hesitant to awaken the painful memories. ‘The day war broke out, our mom was very poorly . . . She was dying. It was terrible to see . . .’
She told him everything, about never seeing Mom again, about Tommy and about her stay with Nora Paige. And then she talked about Buckley, about the sisters and all the animals and John and Patty, and how it had been. And about that terrible day when Ted Winters had come to fetch her, and about getting to Birmingham. She had never spoken about any of it before, not to anyone. To him she seemed to be able to talk and talk, and when she looked across at him, with tears running down her cheeks, she saw that his face had creased and he was wiping his eyes as well. The sight moved her so much that it made her cry all the more.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ she exclaimed, reaching in her bag for tissues. She gave him one and wiped her eyes. ‘I never meant . . .’
‘It’s all right.’ He dabbed his eyes and cheeks, and tried to laugh. ‘Look at me – honestly. Only, what you said, about coming back here, it just set me off . . . D’you know,’ he looked sorrowfully at her, ‘I’ve lived my whole life here in Birmingham, other than that bit of time down there – less than three years. And yet that’s the place I think of as home: Abergavenny. I think I always will.’
Margaret nodded. ‘Fancy,’ she said, ‘I feel exactly the same. D’you know, down there, Miss Clairmont and Mrs Higgins always called me Maggie. I belonged down there. I went to the school, and I knew everybody and they knew me, and I did well. I know I look . . . Well, my eye – people think I’m retarded. But I’m not!’
‘You certainly are not,’ Alan said. ‘You’re—’ But he stopped himself saying any more, giving a cough instead.
‘When I got back – since then – I’ve never let anyone call me Maggie. Not Fred, no one. That was my Buckley name. Here I was someone else. But that was where I was happy.’ More tears came then, she couldn’t stop them.
‘When I went back to Abergavenny—’ Alan began.
Margaret’s head shot up. ‘You’ve been back?’
‘Well, yes. A few times. It feels like going home, even though the people I was billeted with are long gone now.’
She stared at him, amazed. ‘I can’t imagine ever going back!’
‘Well,’ Alan sat back smiling at her, ‘maybe you should.’
The next week, during which she had been longing to see him ever since they parted, they went to the pub again. They talked and talked. Alan told her his giving-up-smoking campaign was going well.
‘I’ve only had a handful all week – weaning myself off gradually, sort of thing.’
‘That’s good,’ Margaret said. ‘I’m cutting down as well.’
Alan told her, that evening, about his own family: his four older sisters and the one brother who had been evacuated with him. How his parents were struggling so hard to earn enough to keep the family housed and fed that they never seemed to have time or energy for anyone.
‘That was something I was determined to do differently with my own kids,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’ve a son and a daughter. For one thing, that’s enough – two – I think. Everyone was overstretched back in those days and ended up with too many kids. I wanted to be able to give them things I’d never had. And spend time with them, make sure we had holidays, that sort of thing.’
‘In Abergavenny?’ Margaret asked. She found herself, just for a second, feeling acutely jealous of Alan’s wife and children.
‘Actually no. We went to the south coast quite a bit.’ He stopped, seeming to hesitate, then looked up at her. ‘What about your family – your husband?’
‘I’ve got two daughters,’ she told him. ‘And my husband . . .’ She stopped. How to talk about Fred? For so many years she had felt nothing, gone through life like a robot. What had she ever felt for Fred, or he for her?
‘Fred and I knew each other as kids,’ she said eventually. ‘We met again later and I married him. She looked at Alan and shrugged. She couldn’t seem to be anything other than honest with him. ‘I suppose I thought he was the only person who would ever ask me. So that was that.’
‘I see.’ His dark eyes seemed to look closely into hers as if to work out what she was saying and feeling. But he didn’t say any more.
When they parted that night, after he had walked her most of the way home in the drizzle, he said, ‘Will you be coming next week, Margaret?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t miss it!’
‘Good.’ He looked down, seeming confused, as if he might say something more. But he just looked up again and smiled. ‘Good – well, see you next time.’
And he was walking away from her down the street.
Don’t go! a voice cried inside her. But in a moment, after a glimpse of him passing under a street light, he had faded into the darkness, like the end of a dream.
And she had to go back to her real life.
Fifty-Eight
Sooky was hurrying across the upstairs landing when she heard the sound of distraught weeping.
She’d overslept, and was now in a frantic hurry to get to college after giving Priya her breakfast. But she knew the rush was worth it. She loved Tuesdays. And then on Thursday she’d meet up with Joanne. She and Mom were getting on better – life felt so good these days. She had come up to gather her files and notebooks and pick up her jacket before running for the bus.
Harpreet came out of her room. Both of them stopped, listening.
‘What’s going on?’ Harpreet hissed. She had her coat on already.
‘I don’t know – you go. You’ll miss your bus.’
Mouthing ‘Thanks,’ Harpreet ran off down the stairs.
The noise was coming from Raj and Roopinder’s room. The men had already left for work, so Roopinder was in there with the children and, by the sound of it, they were crying too. Sooky frowned. For a moment she listened at the door, then knocked. For a second things went quiet, then she heard Jasmeet start gulping and sobbing again.
She opened the door, wary of being shrieked at by her waspish sister-in-law.
‘Roopinder? Bhabi-ji? What’s happened? Can I help you?’
Amardeep and Jasmeet were standing close to the bed, both crying and looking scared. Their eyes were fixed on their mother, who was lying hunched under the covers, sobbing, below Raj’s blue-and-yellow Khalistan flag, which was pinned across the wall.
‘Oh dear!’ Sooky went over and put her arms round the two children. ‘There, it’s all right,’ she told them. ‘Why don’t you go down and see Nani-ji?’ She knew Meena was in the kitchen. ‘She’ll give you some breakfast. I’ll talk to your mommy.’
She dabbed their faces with a tissue and they trustingly stopped crying and toddled out of the room. Sooky perched on the edge of the bed and waited, trying to quell her impatience. Soon Roopinder
emerged from under the sheet and looked at her with tragic eyes. Her hair was loose, she had no make-up on and she looked young and vulnerable.
‘Has somebody upset you?’ Sooky asked carefully. She was so used to Roopinder being nasty to her that she waited to be snapped at and rejected.
Roopinder sat up, reaching for a tissue and shaking her head.
‘No, it’s not that. I’m just . . .’ More tears ran from her eyes and she rocked back and forth in distress. ‘I’m so worried about the baby! I tell Raj, but all he says is, “You’re just being anxious – it’s nothing to worry about. You’ve done all this before.” But that’s just the point!’
She struck her forehead, working herself up again.
‘I’ve had two babies and I know there’s something wrong. The baby is not moving! You know, when it’s at this stage, it’s always moving about like an octopus inside. But he has gone quiet – I’m sure he hasn’t moved for days. There’s something really wrong, and I’m so frightened!’
Her face crumpled and she put her hands over it, rocking violently back and forth, working herself into a state.
‘All Raj thinks about is politics, politics and the Khalsa, and what’s happening in India. But what about what’s happening right here? What about me and the baby?’
‘Well, maybe you should go to the doctor, or the midwife,’ Sooky said, seeing in her mind’s eye her bus to college disappearing off along the street without her. But she could see that Roopinder was truly frightened. Leaning forward, she touched Roopinder’s arm. ‘Look, I’ll tell Ma-ji and maybe today the two of you could go to the clinic?’
‘She doesn’t listen to me,’ Roopinder cried resentfully. ‘She keeps telling me: just wait a bit, everything is okay, no need for the doctor. Oh, Sukhdeep,’ she reached forward and grasped Sooky’s hand, ‘will you come with me? I’m so scared.’
For a moment Sooky felt she might explode. This was her day at college: she was supposed to be leaving now! Why did she always have to be everyone’s dogsbody? But she tried to speak kindly.
‘What about your mom? Wouldn’t you like her to come with you?’
‘No, not for this,’ Roopinder said. ‘She’d fuss and worry – she’s not calm like you.’
Sooky told herself not to be selfish – she could probably make it in for the afternoon anyway.
‘Okay,’ she said and gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
Sooky had never seen Roopinder so subdued. She was soon glad she had skipped the morning at college because her sister-in-law was in a terrible state – she would never have reached out for Sooky’s help if she hadn’t been. She sat in the GP’s waiting room red-eyed, her pink chunni pulled over her head, staring down into her lap, her hands clenching and unclenching.
‘Come on, that’s us,’ Sooky said softly when they were called in. Roopinder shuffled along almost like an old lady, her misery preventing her from standing upright. Sooky took her arm.
The midwife, a white woman with ginger hair, listened repeatedly for a heartbeat with her ear trumpet, frowning. After numerous attempts she said calmly, ‘Just one moment – don’t worry, I’ll be back.’
She returned with a doctor, a young woman with long blonde hair, who also made several attempts. She straightened up.
‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘we had better admit you to hospital – just in case.’
Roopinder lurched up into a sitting position.
‘The baby’s dead, isn’t it?’ she cried wildly, tearing at her hair. ‘I know it is – something is terribly wrong. Just tell me the truth!’
Everyone did their best to calm her down and be hopeful.
‘It may well be quite all right,’ the doctor said. ‘Don’t assume the worst at this point. It may just be the way the baby’s lying inside you. It does happen. But I am having difficulty locating a heartbeat, so we really need to get it checked out, don’t we? We can do a scan and keep you under observation for a bit.’
Sooky saw, though, how worried she looked as she moved across to the phone.
‘I’m going to call the hospital and make sure they’re expecting you, okay?’
Roopinder nodded, sobbing. Sooky supported her out of the room, feeling suddenly sick. She could well imagine how Roopinder was feeling, how desperate and full of dread.
‘Let’s phone your mom, shall we?’ Sooky said gently.
With her head drooping, Roopinder nodded.
Roopinder was admitted to Dudley Road Hospital that afternoon. Raj was called home from work, and Roopinder’s mom came over. Sooky stayed at home with Meena to help look after the other children. They sat in the front room, Amardeep, Jasmeet and Priya all playing with toys. Then Sooky put some cartoons on for them to watch. She and Meena didn’t speak much. All they could do was wait, restless with nerves.
Eventually the phone rang: Khushwant, asking for news. Sooky heard her mother tell him they had none, not yet, and promising to call as soon as they knew anything. Her voice was quiet and upset. Sooky went to the kitchen and made them both tea. They had no appetite for anything more. As they sat sipping the frothy milk, the phone went again. Meena uttered a brief prayer.
‘You answer,’ she said.
Sooky wanted to argue: If it’s Raj, he’ll want you – but she did as she was told.
‘Mata-ji?’ Raj was already sobbing before he could get any words out. He sounded like a little boy.
‘It’s Sukhdeep,’ she said, preparing herself for insults and curses – I’m not speaking to you, Besharam. But her brother was too upset.
‘The baby’s dead,’ he sobbed, in English. ‘There’s no heartbeat . . . And it’s a boy . . .’ He broke down again, unable to speak.
‘Raj-ji,’ Sooky said, her own eyes filling. Her chest filled up with pain. ‘I’m so sorry. So sorry – that’s terrible . . .’ She was crying too. ‘Look, d’you want to speak to Mom?’
‘No, it’s okay – you tell her. They say she has to stay in, to have the baby. They are going to induce her tomorrow.’
‘Oh God!’ Sooky said. She could feel the horror of it, the fear and pain, knowing that the baby was already dead. She wanted to put her arms around both of them and hold them tight.
‘Look, I’ll call later,’ he said. He was crying too much to continue.
Sooky replaced the phone, choked with emotion and put her hands over her face.
‘Sukhdeep, what is it?’ Meena had come to the door.
Sooky turned to her, wiping her eyes. She shook her head. She saw her mother lean against the doorframe, her face creasing with distress.
Fifty-Nine
They waited at the hospital all the next day, while Roopinder went through her ordeal. Raj was with her some of the time, and Roopinder’s mother. The only one not there was Pav, whom they had told not to miss lectures. Harpreet stayed home and Sooky waited with her and their parents, Roopinder’s sisters and all the children, taking it in turns to be in the side room or the corridor, or taking the children for walks outside.
Sooky found she had to try not to think too closely about what Roopinder was experiencing. It was too horrible, too heartbreakingly sad. Prayers were said, hushed conversations, attempts to keep the children occupied. Now and then Raj came in, looking haunted and exhausted, and they crowded round.
‘It’s taking a long time,’ he said. ‘But she is strong.’ Suddenly he seemed older, softer.
Roopinder had been given an epidural and was dozing. Meena brought Raj a cup of tea and, when he had drunk it, he went back to the labour room. Now and then a midwife would look round the door and say something reassuring.
‘What did she say?’ Meena always wanted to know. Otherwise she sat hunched with her arms folded. Sooky could see it was all an agony for her, and the way Meena dealt with agony was by falling silent.
Eventually it was over. Raj came down and they could see the change in his face. He seemed stunned.
‘You can come in for a bit and see him, if you like,’ he said
.
They all trooped over into the delivery room. Roopinder was sitting up, holding the little boy’s body wrapped in a blanket and gazing down at him with glassy eyes. Sooky could see she was in shock. Her mother stood one side of her, weeping quietly, and a midwife waited on the other. She moved tactfully out of the way when the family appeared.
His voice cracking as he spoke, Raj said, ‘We’ve called him Hari – it means “the one who belongs to God”.’
As everyone looked at the tiny baby, Roopinder began to weep at last. Sooky took in the sight of Hari, his creased, strained-looking little face. He was a mauve colour and it was easy to tell there was no life in him. Tears filled her eyes. She thought he was the saddest thing she had ever seen.
‘He’s so lovely,’ she whispered to Roopinder, and touched her shoulder, before moving away to let Harpreet look at him. She heard her sister’s sobs break out at the sight of the tiny little one.
Everyone hugged and wept with the couple. As her brother approached her, Sooky saw the deep hurt in his eyes and all she could think of was giving comfort. Silently she reached out to embrace Raj, and they hugged and she felt his body convulse as they cried in each other’s arms.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her lips close to his ear.
‘Thanks, Veer-ji,’ he murmured back.
And Sooky knew she was crying all the more because, after all this time, instead of his cold insults, Raj had called her by the affectionate name that he had not used for her in such a long time.
Sooky’s call in the morning had been a disappointment for Joanne. She had really been looking forward to seeing her – especially as it might be the last time for a while that she could come to their house.
‘Your poor brother,’ she said. ‘And his wife, of course. That’s really awful.’
‘It is.’ Sooky sounded very subdued. ‘She’s just going to have to go through it. Look, I’m sorry – maybe we could meet next week?’
