by Maureen Lee
“Surely he’ll be coming by ship.” Martha hadn’t spoken until then. Her face was as white as the snow outside and her eyes were bleak. She was the eldest, she was being left behind, and she couldn’t stand it.
“Of course!” Sally breathed a sigh of relief.
Mam continued to be practical. Did Sally want a white wedding? No? Well, in that case, tomorrow she’d meet her outside the butcher’s at dinner-time, and they’d tour the dress shops in Smithdown Road for a nice costume, her wedding present to her daughter. “It’s no use getting pots and pans yet. And we’ll have to have a taxi on the day. It’s impossible to set foot outside the house in ordinary shoes in this weather, and you can’t very well get married in Wellies. As for the reception, I ‘wonder if it’s too late to book a room?’
“I don’t want a reception, Mam. I’d prefer tea in a cafe afterwards. Jock’s mate will be best man. All I want is me family, you, Martha and Flo.”
“Our Flo can’t go,” Martha pointed out. “Not in her condition.”
Everyone turned to look at Flo, who dropped her eyes, shame-faced. “I hate the idea of missing your wedding, Sal,” she mumbled.
“I’ll be thinking of you, Flo,” Sally said affectionately.
“You’ll be there in spirit, if not in the flesh.”
Flo summoned up every charitable instinct in her body. “Albert will be back from Macclesfield by then,” she said. “Perhaps he could go instead of me. He’d be a partner for our Martha.”
Albert declared himself supremely honoured to be invited to the wedding. “He likes to feel part of the family,”
Sally said. “I suspect he’s lonely.”
On the day of her sister’s wedding, Flo sat alone in the quiet house, thinking how much things had changed over the last twelve months. A year ago Mam was ill, and the sisters’ lives had been jogging along uneventfully.
Now, Mam had bucked up out of all recognition, Flo had found, and lost, Tommy O’Mara, and was carrying his child, and at this very minute Sally, wearing an ugly pinstriped costume and a white felt hat that made her look like an American gangster, was in the process of becoming Mrs Jock Wilson. Martha was the only one for whom everything “was still the same.
She laid her hands contentedly on her stomach. It was odd, but nowadays she scarcely thought about Tommy O’Mara, as if all her love had been transferred to the baby, who chose that moment to give her a vicious kick.
She felt a spark of fear. It wasn’t due for another six-weeks, on St Valentine’s Day, exactly nine months and one week since the date of her last period—Mam had worked it out—but what if it arrived early while she was in the house by herself? Martha had booked a midwife under a “vow of confidentiality”, as she put it, who would deliver the baby when the time came. Flo couldn’t wait for everything to be over, when her life would change even more.
Snow continued to fall throughout January, and February brought no respite from the Arctic weather. By now Flo was huge, although she remained nimble on her feet. As the days crept by, though, she lost her appetite and felt increasingly sick. Martha left instructions that she was to be fetched immediately if the baby started to arrive when she was at work.
“Surely it would be best to fetch the midwife first?” cried Mam. if you’ll tell me where she lives, I’ll get her.”
“I’d sooner get her meself,” Martha said testily.
“There’ll be no need to panic. First babies take ages to arrive. Elsa Cameron was twenty-four hours in labour.”
“Jaysus!” Flo screamed. “Twenty-four whole hours! Did it hurt much?”
Martha looked away. “Only a bit.”
The phosphorous fingers on the alarm clock showed twenty past two as Flo twisted restlessly in bed—it was such a palaver turning over. St Valentine’s Day had been and gone and still the baby showed no sign of arriving.
She lifted the curtain and looked outside. More snow, falling silently and relentlessly in lumps as big as golf balls.
The roads would be impassable again tomorrow.
Suddenly, without warning, pain tore through her belly, so forcefully, that she gasped aloud. The sound must have disturbed her sisters, because Martha stopped snoring and Sally stirred.
Flo waited, her heart in her mouth, glad that the time had come but praying that she wouldn’t have a pain like that again. She screamed when another pain, far worse, gripped her from head to toe.
“What’s the matter?” Sally leaped out of bed, followed by Martha. “Has it started, luv?”
“Oh, Lord, yes!” Flo groaned. “Fetch the midwife, Martha, quick.”
“Where does she live?” demanded Sally. “I’ll go.”
“There isn’t time for a midwife,” Martha said shortly, “not if the pains are this strong. Wake Mam up, if she’s not awake already, and put water on to boil—two big pans and the kettle. Once you’ve done that, fetch those old sheets off the top shelf of the airing cupboard.”
“I still think I should get the midwife, Martha. You and Mam can see to Flo while I’m gone.”
“I said there isn’t time!” Martha slapped her hand over Flo’s mouth when another pain began. “Don’t scream, Flo, we don’t want the neighbours hearing. It would happen the night Albert’s not out fire-watching,” she added irritably.
“I can’t help screaming,” Flo gasped, pushing Martha’s hand away. “I’ve got to scream.”
Mam came into the room in her nightdress. “Help me pull the bed round a bit so’s I can get on the other side,” she commanded. When it had been moved, she knelt beside her daughter. “I know it hurts, luv,” she whispered, “but try and keep a bit quiet, like.”
“I’ll try, Mam. Oh, God!” Flo flung her arms into the air and grasped the wooden headboard.
“Keep her arms like that,” Martha instructed. “I read a book about it in the library.”
Sally brought the sheets, and Flo felt herself being lifted, her nightie pulled up, and the old bedding was slipped beneath her.
“You didn’t book a midwife, did you, our Martha?”
Sally said in a low, accusing voice. “It was all a lie. God, you make me sick, you do. You’re too bloody respectable by a mile. You’d let our poor Flo suffer just to protect your own miserable reputation. I don’t give a sod if me sister has a baby out of wedlock. You’re not human, you.”
“Is it true about the midwife, Martha?” Mam said, in a shocked voice.
“Yes!” Martha spat. “There’s not a single one I’d trust to keep her lip buttoned. It’s all right for Sal, she’s married. I bet Jock wouldn’t have been so keen if he’d known what her sister had been up to.”
“It so happens, Jock’s known about Flo for months, but it was me he wanted to marry, not me family.”
“Stoppit!” Flo screamed. “Stoppit!”
“Girls! Girls! This isn’t the time to have a fight.” Mam stroked Flo’s brow distractedly. “Do try to keep quiet, there’s a good girl.”
“I’m trying, Mam, honest, but it don’t half hurt.”
“I know, luv, I know, but we’ve kept it to ourselves all these months, there’s only a short while to go.”
“Can I go for a walk once it’s over?”
“Yes, luv. As soon as you’re fit, we’ll go for a walk together.”
In her agony, Flo forgot that by the time she was fit again she would be gone from the house in Burnett Street. She would be living somewhere else with her baby.
Afterwards, she never thought to ask how long the torment lasted: one hour, two hours, three. All she could remember were the agonising spasms that seized her body regularly and which wouldn’t have felt quite so bad if only she could have screamed. But every time she opened her mouth, Martha’s hand would slam down on her face and Mam would shake her arm and whisper, “Try not to make a noise, there’s a good girl.”
She was only vaguely aware of the argument raging furiously over her head. “This is cruel,” Sally hissed.
“You’re both being
dead cruel. It’s only what I’d expect from our Martha, but I’m surprised at you, Mam.”
Then Mam replied, in a strange, cold voice, “I’m sorry about the midwife, naturally, but one of these days, you’ll leave this house, girl, all three of you will. I don’t want to be known for the rest of me life as the woman who’s daughter had an illegitimate baby, because that’s how they’ll think of me in the street and in the Legion of Mary, and I’d never be able to hold me head up in front of Father Haughey again.”
Later, Sally demanded, “What happens if she tears?
She’ll need stitches. For Christ’s sake, at least get the doctor to sew her up.”
“Women didn’t have stitches in the past,” Martha said tersely. “Flo’s a healthy girl. She’ll mend by herself.”
“I want to go to the lavatory,” Flo wailed. “Fetch the chamber, quick, or I’ll do it in the bed.”
“It’s coming!” Mam said urgently.
“Push, Flo,” Martha hissed. “Push hard.”
“I need the chamber!”
“No, you don’t, Flo. It’s the baby. Push!”
Flo felt sure her body was going to burst and the hurt was so tremendous that the room turned black and little stars appeared, dancing on the ceiling. “ ‘Dancing in the dark,’ she bellowed. ‘Dancing in the dark. Dancing . . . ’ ‘
“Oh, Lord!” Sally was almost sobbing. “She’s lost her mind. Now see what you’ve done!”
Which was the last thing Flo heard until she woke up with a peculiar taste in her mouth. She opened her eyes very, very slowly, because the lids felt too heavy to lift. It was broad daylight outside. Every ounce of strength had drained from her body, and she could barely raise her arms. Unbelievably, for several seconds she forgot about the baby. It wasn’t until she noticed her almost flat tummy that she remembered. Despite her all-out weariness, she was gripped by shivers of excitement. She forced herself on to her elbows and looked around the room, but the only strange thing there was a bottle of brandy on the dressing-table which accounted for the funny taste in her mouth, though she couldn’t remember drinking it. There was no sign of a baby.
“Mam,” she called weakly. “Martha, Sal.”
Mam came into the room looking exhausted, but relieved. “How do you feel, luv?”
“Tired, that’s all. Where’s the baby?”
“Why, luv, he’s gone. Martha took him round to the woman who arranged the adoption. Apparently a very nice couple have been waiting anxiously for him to arrive, not that they cared whether it was a boy or a girl, like. They’ll have him by now. He’ll be one of the best-loved babies in the whole world.”
It was a boy and he’d been given away. Flo’s heart leaped to her throat and pounded as loudly as a drum. “I want my baby,” she croaked. “I want him this very minute.” She struggled out of bed, but her legs gave way and she fell to the floor. “Tell me where Martha took him, and I’ll fetch him back.”
“Flo, luv.” Mam came over and tried to help her to her feet, but Flo pushed her away and crawled towards the door. If necessary, she’d crawl in her nightdress through the snow to find her son, Tommy’s lad, their baby.
“Oh, Flo, my dear, sweet girl,” Mam cried, “can’t you see this is the best possible way? It’s what we decided ages ago. You’re only nineteen, you’ve got your whole lite ahead of you. You don’t want to be burdened with a child at your age!”
“He’s not a burden. I want him.” Flo collapsed, weeping on to the floor. “I want my baby.”
Martha came in. “It’s all over, Flo,” she said gently.
“Now’s the time to put the whole thing behind you.”
Between them, they picked her up and helped her back to bed. “C’mon, luv,” Martha said, “Have another few spoons of brandy, it’ll help you sleep and you need to get your strength back. You’ll be pleased to know none of the neighbours have been round wanting to know what all the racket was last night, which means we got away with it, didn’t we?”
Why, oh, why hadn’t she just taken a chance, run away and hoped everything would turn out all right? Why hadn’t she made it plain that she wanted to keep the baby? Why hadn’t she married Albert Colquitt?
In the fevered, nightmarish days that followed, Flo remained in bed and tortured herself with the same questions over and over again. She cursed her lack of courage: she’d been too frightened to run away, preferring to remain in the comfort of her home with her family around her, letting them think she was agreeable to the adoption to avoid the inevitable rows. She cursed her ignorance in assuming that she’d have the baby, leap out of bed, and carry him off into the unknown. Finally, she cursed her soft heart for turning down Albert’s proposal because she didn’t want him hurt at some time in the far-distant future.
All the time, her arms ached to hold her little son. The unwanted milk dried up, her breasts turned to concrete, and her insides felt as if they were shrivelling to nothing.
She didn’t cry, she was beyond tears.
“What did he look like?” she asked Sally one day.
“He was a dear little thing. I’m sure Mam wished we could have kept him. She cried when Martha made her give him up.”
“At least Mam held him, which is more than I did,” Flo said bitterly. “I never even saw him.”
“That’s what happens ‘when women give their babies up for adoption. They’re not allowed to see them, let alone hold them, least so Martha says. It’s what’s called being cruel to be kind.’ Sally’s eyes were full of sympathy, but even she thought that what had happened was for the best.
“Our Martha seems to know everything.” Flo had refused to speak to Martha until she revealed the whereabouts of her son.
“That’s something I’ll just have to get used to,” Martha said blithely, “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to because the names of adoptive parents are kept confidential.
All I’ve been told is the baby’s got a mam and dad who love him. That should make you happy, not sad. They’ll be able to give him all the things that you never could.”
Flo gripped her painful breasts and glared contemptuously at her sister. “They can’t give him his mother’s milk, can they? There’ll be no bond between him and some strange woman who didn’t carry him in her belly for nine whole months.”
“Don’t be silly, Flo.” For once, Martha was unable to meet her sister’s eyes. She turned away, her face strangely flushed.
March came, and a few days later the weather changed dramatically. The snow that had lain on the ground for months melted swiftly as the temperature soared.
Spring had arrived!
Flo couldn’t resist the bright yellow sunshine that poured into the bedroom, caressing her face with its gentle warmth. She threw back the bedclothes, and got up for the first time in a fortnight. Her legs were still weak, her stomach hurt, her head felt as if it had been stuffed with old rags, but she had to go for a walk.
She walked further every day. Gradually, her young body recovered its strength and vigour. When she met people she knew, they remarked on how fit and well she looked. “You’re a picture of health, Flo. No one would guess you’d been so ill.”
But Flo knew that, no matter how well she looked, she would never be the same person again. She would never stop mourning her lost baby, a month old by now. There was an ache in her chest, as if a little piece of her heart had been removed when her son was taken away.
Sally had left the butcher’s to take up war work at Rootes Securities, an aircraft factory in Speke, for three times the wages. She was coping well in the machine shop in what used to be a man’s job. Even Mam was talking about looking for part-time work. “After all, there’s a war on.
We’ve all got to do our bit.” Albert was out most nights fire-watching, though so far there hadn’t been a fire for him to watch.
Flo realised it was time she got back to work. Sally suggested she apply to Rootes Securities. “If we got on the same shift we could go together on the bus.
You’ll find it peculiar, working nights, but it’s the gear there, Sis. All we do the whole time is laugh.”
Laugh! Flo couldn’t imagine smiling again, let alone laughing. Sally fetched an application form for her to fill in and took it back next morning. Later, as Flo roamed the streets of Liverpool, she thought wistfully of Fritz’s Laundry. She’d sooner work there than in a factory, even if the pay was a pittance compared to what Sal earned.
Since emerging from her long confinement, she’d passed the laundry numerous times. The side door was always open, but she hadn’t had the nerve to peek inside.
She felt sure the women, including Mrs Fritz, had guessed the real reason why she’d left.
On her way home the same day, she passed the laundry again. Smoke was pouring from the chimneys, and a cloud of steam floated out the door.
“I’ll pop in and say hello,” she decided. “If they’re rude, then I’ll never go again. But I’d like to thank Mr Fritz for the lovely necklace he sent at Christmas.”
She crossed the street, wondering what sort of reception she would get. To her astonishment, when she presented herself at the door, the only person there was Mr Fritz, his shirtsleeves rolled up, working away furiously on the big pressing machine that Flo had come to regard as her own.
“Mr Fritz!”
“Flo!” He stopped work and came over to kiss her warmly on the cheek. “Why, it’s good to see you. It’s as if the sun has come out twice today. What are you doing here?”
“I just came to say hello, like, and thank you for the necklace. Where is everyone?”
He spread his arms dramatically. “Gone! Olive was the first, then Josie, then the others. Once they discovered they could earn twice as much in a factory they upped and went. Not that I blame them. I can’t compete with those sort of ‘wages, and why should they make sacrifices on behalf of Mr and Mrs Fritz and their eight children when they have families of their own?’
Mrs Fritz came hurrying out of the drying room with a pile of bedding. Her face hardened when she saw Flo.
“Hello,” she said shortly. She scooped clean washing out of a boiler and disappeared again.
