Meet Me Under the Clock

by Annie Murray

  Both of them were laughing through their tears.

  ‘Well, that sounds like Mom,’ Sylvia said. ‘But she is coming round. Thanks to Marjorie.’

  ‘Yes,’ Audrey said, then with an impish look, ‘Marjorie, as in Laurie’s mom, eh?’

  Sylvia blushed, but she was pleased. ‘She was nice to you, wasn’t she? I mean, she’s known you since you were knee-high – we must feel almost like her own.’

  ‘She’ll make you a nice mother-in-law, won’t she?’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Sylvia said with a shudder. ‘Don’t tempt fate. I daren’t think about that, with Laurie going up in those planes – about any of it.’

  The sisters were silent for a moment. Audrey reached over and squeezed her arm.

  The winter crawled passed. The news was dark and terrible, with Japanese troops reaching further and further across the East. When, in February, the news was announced that Singapore had fallen, the family all sat around the wireless in the back room, listening intently. Pauline stopped knitting. The Japanese had moved with terrifying speed through the Malay peninsula.

  ‘Oh, my word,’ Pauline said eventually.

  Ted got up and clicked off the wireless. ‘We made the roads too good over there,’ he commented. ‘They’ve swarmed across it like bloody little yellow ants.’

  There was no good news from anywhere. It was still freezing cold. Sylvia’s toes were burning with chilblains. She confided in Elsie what had happened to Audrey. After the initial shock, Elsie was sympathetic and it was good to have someone to talk to who was outside the family. Jack kept his friends away from home, but he gradually began to get used to his sister’s condition, even though he was very embarrassed by it and didn’t want to talk about it. Laurie had slipped a note to him in with a letter to Sylvia, advising him to try and put his sister before anything else, and Sylvia was sure that had helped.

  Audrey grew bigger and the baby started to show more and more. She had to put up with nasty comments from a few people in the street, but Audrey was quite good at holding her head high and brazenly ignoring them – especially as it was no one she had much respect for anyway. The people who mattered, ultimately, were on her side. She only shared her hurt and her worries with Sylvia.

  ‘I don’t mind what they say about me,’ she said one day. ‘Nosy busybodies. But when he’s born – or she – I don’t want them making him feel . . . You know what people can be like.’

  Sylvia nodded, worried as well. People could be so cruel. ‘We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it,’ she said. Audrey had stopped talking about giving the baby away. Sylvia didn’t ask; she didn’t want to revive the subject.

  Despite all the worry and trouble, it was nice having Audrey home, to have another girl to talk to apart from Elsie. She was fond of Elsie, but after Kitty, she was now less trusting with anyone who was not family. Laurie wrote regularly and she always carried his latest letter with her. The feel of the folded paper tucked into her pocket made her feel happy and gave her strength.

  In March she received a letter that specially affected her. Laurie had found a place to be alone, and it was an unusually emotional letter:

  We came back from a training flight early this morning. I can’t say too much, of course. While we’re up, I try not to think of the whys and wherefores of what we are preparing for. Besides, on the job we are all kept very busy, so there’s no time for navel-gazing. But sometimes, when you get back, well, you can’t help thinking your own thoughts. We don’t like to talk about it between us – not too good for morale, I suppose. Mostly we try and joke and keep each other’s spirits up. No one wants to drag the rest down.

  Tonight I miss you more than ever, my dearest one. I’m writing by torchlight and it seems very dark outside this little ring of light. I only wish you were here in it with me, and we could talk and talk. I know that would make things feel right. I know things between us have gone faster than they might have done without the war. We might have sat looking at each other for years without seeing how we are best for each other – that’s what I feel anyway. All I needed was there, all the time, just over the garden wall! If I’m truthful, what I should like to do tonight is fly to you – somehow! – and take you in my arms, and make you promise to marry me, and for us to have a home and stay together forever. D’you think you’d agree? I hope so with all my heart.

  Sylvia was deeply touched by this letter. She didn’t take it as a proposal of marriage exactly, as Laurie was obviously feeling low, and somehow it didn’t feel quite like that. But she knew they were both thinking of it, hardly daring to hope that, once the war was over, it was a dream that might come true.

  Forty-Four

  April 1942

  Audrey sat at her desk in the poky office above the works in Rea Street. Each day, all day, she typed invoices. Finishing the one she was working on, for some machine component or other, she pulled it out of the typewriter, yawning until her jaw almost cracked. The loudly ticking clock on the wall told her that it was still only three o’clock. Her head was muzzy and all she wanted was to put her head on the desk and sink into sleep. She looked longingly out of the window at the sunny April afternoon and dreamed of getting up from her desk, surrounded by the other yawning typists, walking out into the sunshine and never coming back.

  Not long now, she told herself. If she worked fast, she might be out before five. She was almost seven months pregnant. The one good thing about having this baby was that soon, she need never come back here again. All the same she was grateful to be earning money. And thank goodness it was a job sitting down.

  Determinedly, she rolled another sheet of paper into the typewriter, pulled her chair closer into the desk and started typing.

  Once work was over it still felt warm outside, even though the sun was beginning to sink. There was a hopeful breath of spring in the air. Instead of going straight to catch the bus, Audrey cut along Moseley Street and went into the park. Walking made her more breathless now. She was still quite tidy at the front, but the weight of the baby was starting to tell and she ambled along. Afternoon sunlight slanted low across the park. She found a bench looking out across the grass and the flowerbeds full of primroses. There was still half a cold-meat sandwich left in her bag and she ate it, ravenously.

  The walk seemed to have stirred the child inside her and she could feel forceful little lunges of life.

  ‘Oh, keep still, you little bugger,’ she murmured, resting her hand on the swelling life of her belly. A sense of utter despair washed through her, as it did whenever she allowed herself to stop and think. Here she was, carrying Nick Reynolds’s child, a fact of which he was completely ignorant and which, knowing him, he would not have cared about, either. His life would go on as before, while hers was ruined. Here she was, stuck at home, having lost the life she really loved. Once the baby arrived . . . And here her mind slid away from the reality facing her. No one had ever told her much about how a birth actually happened. And afterwards? She still dreamed about giving the child way, of escaping home again. Except that her mother was adamant that no flesh and blood of hers was being given away ever again. And, in the deepest part of her heart, Audrey felt that the decision had been taken from her and she was grateful.

  She knew Mom was appalled at her for bringing a bastard baby into the family. What mother wouldn’t be? But now she seemed prepared to fight almost to the death to defend it, no matter what. At least Audrey now understood why. Dad had been all right, in his way. Sometimes, when she walked past him in the house, he would reach out and squeeze her shoulder, or just say, ‘All right, wench?’ He could think of nothing more to say, but wanted to tell her that he felt for her. Those moments, when anyone was kind, were the ones that reduced her to tears. Thank heavens for Sylv, she thought. They’d always been like chalk and cheese, but now she felt closer to her little sister than ever in her life before. She thought of Sylvia and of the glow that had come over her because of Laurie. Lucky Sylvia! Audrey env
ied her, in a way, but knew she could never be like her.

  The baby throbbed in her again. ‘Ssssh,’ she said, stroking a hand over her swollen belly. ‘Settle down, will you?’ She longed to feel more fondness for the little thing in there. Even though it was not the baby’s fault, it still felt like a burden that had wrecked her life.

  She sat looking out at the grass in a storm of shame, regret and frustration. All these weeks at home had meant a battle with these feelings. Sometimes she wanted to rage and cry out at what she had allowed to happen to her. She had deliberately courted danger. For what? Just to prove that she was a woman, like other women, and not a . . . freak. Even as the word came to her, she felt wrong and cruel to use it of Dorrie. If that’s how Dorrie was, then good luck to her. But Audrey didn’t want to be dragged into that, no matter how fond she was of her. She could barely admit to herself how much she missed Dorrie, just as she had missed her every time she was with Nick. Nick was like an unlit candle by comparison. What I need, she kept thinking, is a man who’s like Dorrie.

  Dorrie had written to Audrey once while she was in London. By that time Audrey was feeling so sick and desperate that she had never replied. If Dorrie had written again, she didn’t know whether the letter would ever reach her. Perhaps the WAAF would send it on. But maybe Dorrie had got the hint. What was the use in keeping that up now? Dorrie would surely hear what had happened sooner or later. It was awful to think of Dorrie finding out the stupid mess she’d got herself into.

  She knew she had to cut herself off from the WAAF and forget about it. Come what may, she had to face the future – a future she had made for herself. But sitting there that afternoon, looking over the sunlit grass, this knowledge felt almost more bitter than she could bear.

  Forty-Five

  May 1942

  Sylvia woke suddenly, her blood racing. Opening her eyes in the darkness, she knew something had startled her out of sleep. A few seconds later she heard a noise from next door. Audrey – it must be.

  She slipped out of bed and stood listening at Audrey’s door. She could hear her moving about, and a muffled sound came from inside. Full of dread, she pushed open the door.

  ‘Aud? Oh Lord, are you okay?’

  She saw her sister’s slender figure kneeling on the floor next to the bed, her pillow in front of her to stifle her cries. Her hair was a dark skein down her back. She was too intent on what her body was doing to turn and look at Sylvia.

  ‘It’s started,’ she gasped. ‘Ages ago . . .’

  ‘Oh, sis – already? Why didn’t you wake me?’ Sylvia went to her and put her arm round Audrey’s shoulders. In the seconds before Audrey shook her off, she felt that her sister was drenched in sweat.

  ‘I wet the bed,’ Audrey said, hanging her head, panting between each attempt to speak. ‘And then it started, hard . . . It’s gone on and on— Oh!’ Another wave of agony swept her words away and she groaned into the pillow.

  ‘I’ll get Mom.’ Sylvia felt weak and shaky. It was terrible to watch such pain and feel so helpless.

  ‘No!’ Audrey tried to say, but so feebly that Sylvia could tell she didn’t mean it.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Sylvia said. ‘You can’t carry on like this on your own. We need to get the midwife!’

  She ran to her parents’ room. It was Dad who woke most easily, and within minutes he was dressed and wheeling his bike out.

  Mom hurried in to see Audrey, her hair in a plait and pulling her old blue dressing gown round her. Sylvia could see that she was in a state as well, though trying not to show it.

  ‘Oh, bab – look at you! Why didn’t you wake us sooner?’

  Audrey moaned in reply. She had gone deep into herself and did not want to talk. She was concentrating hard on what she had to do.

  Sylvia saw her mother beckon her to the door. ‘I’m going down to put some water on. Stay with her. She looks quite far on to me . . . Your father’ll be back with the midwife soon.’ With an anxious backward glance, Pauline went to the stairs.

  Sylvia was about to return to Audrey’s side when she heard a whisper across the landing. ‘Sylv!’ Jack had come out of his room. ‘What’s going on? Is it Audrey?’ He looked young and anxious standing in his pyjamas.

  ‘Yes, the baby’s coming.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do? Is she all right?’

  ‘You could go and ask Mom – she might want some fetching and carrying. And, Jack,’ she said as he was about to dash off, ‘after this is over, you could try being a bit nicer to her. It wasn’t just her fault you know. It takes two.’

  Jack hesitated, looking down. ‘All right,’ he said, before disappearing downstairs.

  Audrey’s pains seemed to be getting worse. She groaned and writhed, and after one especially bad contraction she cried out, ‘Oh, when will it be over? I can’t do it any more, Sylv. I’m so tired.’

  ‘Oh, Aud,’ Sylvia said, almost in tears. ‘It’ll soon be over. It will. You’re doing ever so well. Just hang on.’

  She could smell her sister’s sweat and the room seemed stuffy. She pushed the window open a crack and fetched a cloth to wipe Audrey’s head with, praying all the while that Dad would soon be back with someone who had some idea what they were doing. Mom ran up to check on things as the water was boiling, and sat agitatedly on the bed beside Audrey’s prone figure as she gasped and groaned.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Pauline kept saying. ‘Oh dear, oh dear. That’s it, love – it’ll soon be over.’

  Sylvia saw that her mother’s face was full of anguish. She knew Mom was thinking that Audrey was having to go through all this with no husband to support her, and bring forth a child that would have no father. It was a very bad start in the world.

  After what seemed an age they heard the back door open, and voices – a woman’s voice. Sylvia sighed with relief.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Pauline said.

  The midwife was a red-headed, frail-looking young woman. As Dad said, after it was over, ‘That wench didn’t look strong enough to post a letter, never mind deliver a baby. But she can ride a bike like the clappers – I had a job keeping up.’

  She had intelligent blue eyes and a quick, competent manner.

  ‘Audrey?’ she introduced herself. ‘I’m Nurse Bailey, and we’re going to deliver your baby. Now in a moment, when you’re ready, I’d like you to get up onto the bed so that I can see how far you’re getting along.’

  Audrey groaned. The thought of moving seemed too much for her. ‘It’s wet,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll get a clean sheet,’ Mom said, hurrying off. ‘I’m sorry – I hadn’t realized . . .’

  The young woman examined Audrey, and Sylvia felt terribly awkward and embarrassed. The idea of someone poking about in your private parts with other people watching seemed terrible to her. But Audrey barely seemed to notice. She kept her eyes closed and moaned from time to time.

  ‘We can see how far on the labour is by how widely dilated the cervix is,’ the midwife said, as if this was quite a normal conversation. Sylvia had barely any idea what she was talking about. But she did understand when the young woman’s brows contracted into a puzzled, then worried, frown. She withdrew her hand, cleaned herself up and spoke gently to Audrey.

  ‘How long have you been like this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Audrey gasped. ‘Hours and hours. Soon after we came to bed, I . . . The wet . . .’

  ‘That’d be about eleven o’clock, I should think,’ Pauline said. It was now nearly four in the morning. ‘Is everything all right, Nurse?’

  The young midwife took a deep breath and said, ‘Well, this is a first labour. But there’s very little progress at all with the dilation of the cervix. As her waters have broken . . .’ She hesitated, thinking for a moment. ‘I think we should call the doctor.’

  Pauline Whitehouse ran from the room and they heard her shouting, ‘Ted! Get your bike out again and get the doctor!’

  Even before the doctor came, Sylvia felt a cold grip
of fear take hold of her. Audrey looked so young and slight lying there, eyes closed as if she had gone very far away from them all. She was gripped by frequent, agonizing bouts of pain, rolling and writhing on the bed. As the pain seeped away she lay very quietly, as if she had slipped away from them all.

  ‘Mom,’ Sylvia whispered urgently, ‘what’s going on? Is it supposed to be like this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ her mother said. She was twisting the soft belt of her dressing gown round and round in her worry. ‘It wasn’t like that for me. The doctor’ll be here any minute – then we’ll see.’

  The waiting was unbearable. Sylvia watched Audrey, full of a cold, sick feeling, not helped by the bodily smells in the room. As soon as they heard the doctor arrive they all rushed to the top of the stairs, as if that could hurry him into making things all right.

  Dr Gibbons, a rotund, balding man who stank of pipe-smoke, seemed incapable of speed. Even Audrey’s cries of pain, which Sylvia felt would have made her spring to the ends of the earth, did not manage to galvanize him into getting up the stairs any faster. Sylvia clasped her hands to her lips, biting on her fingers as he examined Audrey. Please, please let him make it all right, her mind said, over and over again.

  But Dr Gibbons stood up abruptly, snapped his bag shut and commanded, ‘Call an ambulance.’

  There was a glimmer of dawn as the man and woman in charge of the ambulance loaded Audrey into it. They carried her out on a stretcher, looking frighteningly pale. Everyone wanted to help, but there was not much to be done except comfort each other.