by Janet Woods
Already she could feel a connection forming between herself and Ben. It was a thin thread, and the more she handled her infant the stronger that would become. She didn’t want him attaching himself to a woman who would be gone from his life in a few weeks.
But it seemed that there was no choice being offered to her. For her lying-in period the baby was brought to her at regular intervals to be fed. When Ben cried during the night she could detect the hunger and need in his cry, and her heart bled for him.
She felt out of sorts, but accepted the congratulations, cards and gifts from visitors, who were advised not to stay too long, and could only view the infant from afar, and when Fiona was in the kitchen and Julia had charge of him.
Irene arrived. She looked healthier than the previous time Julia had seen her. She gazed at Ben for a long time, her eyes calculating as they finally darted to Julia. She gave a small, knowing smile that sent a chill running through Julia. ‘He looks more like you than he does Latham.’
‘Nonsense, he’s the image of Latham, everyone says so.’ She felt the urge to prick back. ‘He also looks like my father. You remember him, don’t you? I’ve called my baby after him. A pity he didn’t live long enough to see his grandchild.’
Her barb hit home because Irene looked away and mumbled, ‘Of course I remember your father.’
‘You can hold Ben if you’d like to.’
Irene shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. I know you think he’s the gnat’s buzz and all that, but to be frank, he smells of sour milk and so do you. It’s rather unpleasant.’
‘All babies smell like that.’
‘Well, I’d rather not smell like it so I’ll get a wet nurse to feed mine . . . and don’t ask me to become his godmother.’
Now it was Julia’s turn to shudder. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you.’
Irene’s eyes flew open at her retort. ‘For heaven’s sake, why not, pray?’
‘Since we’re being frank, Irene, a godmother is responsible for a child’s morals. I don’t think you have many of your own, and you need to grow up.’
Irene laughed. ‘You’re certainly stretching your claws now, and you’re no fun any more.’
‘Life isn’t all fun, and bringing up a child is a responsibility. You have to make the proper choices.’
Irene said a trifle wistfully, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for thinking that way, and you’re right about me being immoral. Actually, you’re a much better person than I’ll ever be . . . a pity you’re so self-righteous with it.’
‘Am I? I don’t mean to be.’
Irene chuckled. ‘Sincerely, Julia, you’d be the first person I’d approach if my child ever needed support. In fact you’d be the only person I would trust. However, that doesn’t mean I think you’re perfect, and you’re being an absolute mother superior at the moment, as well as a ruddy prig.’ She held out a package. ‘Here, I bought Ben a gift . . . a teddy bear. It growls when you tip it forward. Listen.’
The package gave a muffled ‘Maaaaaa’ and Julia laughed. ‘It sounds like a lamb being strangled.’
‘I think it needs some air. I’d better go now before I contaminate your dear boy.’
Words, Julia thought. That’s all it was, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled by them. She knew when she was being manipulated. ‘Oh, do shut up with the conscience-pricking stuff, Irene. Thank you for the teddy bear.’
Irene grinned as she kissed her cheek. ‘I brought your clothes back. I gave them to Ellen to wash.’ Her eyes gleamed with malice. ‘Now I shall go and find Latham, have a cup of coffee with him and chat about old times. He must be getting tired of playing the doted husband and father.’
Bitch, Julia thought.
Two days later Latham went back to London. ‘The baby disturbs my sleep and makes me tired during the day,’ he said by way of excuse.
Julia got out of bed as soon as the car drove off.
Fiona protested. ‘Mrs Miller . . . it’s only been ten days. The doctor advised three weeks. Look how weak you are; what will Mr Miller say when he finds out?’
‘He won’t find out if you don’t tell him. Stop fussing. I haven’t exercised my muscles so I’m bound to feel weak at first.’
She also felt strangely thin, as though she were made out of paper and was balanced on legs made of stalks. That wasn’t going to stop her from reclaiming her child and exercising her rights as a mother though, and she had noted that Fiona took sleeping pills.
The very next time Ben cried in the night she lifted him from his crib and took him through to her bedroom. There she sat in the nursing chair in front of the window. Tucking a knitted rug around them both, she put him to her breast and hoped the nurse didn’t wake while she sang softly to him. It was cruel to miss this feed out and keep him hungry in an effort to train him to sleep during the night.
Ben snuggled against her; his initial gulps frantic as he worked to take the edge from his hunger. She enjoyed her baby’s mouth tugging at her breast – enjoyed his little sighs and mews of contentment, and most of all enjoyed their private moments of togetherness.
It was early morning and there was a full moon riding across the sky in her window. The landscape was painted in luminescent white – the grass and summer flowers were drenched in heavy dew, so it looked as though it was sprinkled with pearls. A faint mist diffused the light.
She caressed her baby’s soft skin, marvelling at him. There seemed to be nobody but the pair of them alone in a world filled with moonlight.
As Ben’s stomach distended with her milk his tension left him. She laid his floppy body against her shoulder and he deflated with a loud, rasping belch.
‘I’ll always love you,’ she whispered to her son, because her parents had made sure she knew she was loved, and she wanted that security for Ben.
She’d said exactly the same thing to Martin. ‘I’ll always love you.’ And she always would.
She carried a memory of Martin like a soft ache inside her. Although that ache was filled with the sadness of loss, she would rather carry it with her than not. And she had his son as part of her body and her heart. She whispered, ‘Where are you now, Martin; are you well and happy?’
She would write him a note and tell him about the baby – send it to that lawyer to forward to Martin so he could celebrate her joy.
There was a quiet bark and something moved in the shadows. She narrowed her eyes in on a fox, which turned to stare at her through gleaming eyes when she gave a little gasp. It stood there unafraid and untamed – off to raid a chicken house somewhere, or to lay in wait for an early morning rabbit to emerge from its burrow to frisk about in the early morning dew.
Only the fox didn’t take what it needed to survive. It killed and maimed for the pleasure of it. Suddenly, its ears pricked up and it turned predatory eyes towards the woods. It was gone in a moment, a streak of fire across the garden in the cool glow of the moonlight.
The child in her arms gave a soft murmur and showed signs of waking. Julia placed him on the other breast and allowed him to top himself up before taking him back to his crib to tuck him in.
‘There, that should last you until six o’clock. Sweet dreams, my love,’ she murmured, and kissed his soft, pink cheek.
Sixteen
Martin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he read the letter from Julia, so he did both.
June 1923
Martin, dearest,
I know we decided it was better not to remain in touch, but I was desperate to share my news with you. I have given birth to a son. Benjamin Latham is so sweet, so greedy and so very basic and special that I’m convinced he’s the most perfect specimen of an infant in the entire world.
I can almost hear you laugh at that. Yes, I do know all new mothers must think such thoughts of their firstborn, but in Ben’s case it’s the absolute truth!
He is named in honour of my father, and after my husband. Ben is so adorable, and I know you would love him.
&n
bsp; Martin, please don’t answer this letter as it will make life awkward, and I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. I just needed to share this special moment with you . . . only you would know how much. I will not write again, my love, but will leave you in peace to get on with your life. Please be strong for both of us.
Wherever you are, I wish you every happiness and success. Know that I think of you often. Give my regards to Clarence and Billy Boy. I do hope they’re behaving themselves and affording you pleasure as companions.
Much love always.
Julia.
A son! Martin had delivered several first sons over the past six months, and yes, they were all special to their mothers. So were the daughters. The women from these parts had nothing much to look forward to except a hand-to-mouth existence. Every penny was stretched to the limit, every rag had its use. Hems went up and down with each successive child and clothes were patched and darned. For the most part the locals were decent, hardworking, honest – and perpetually hungry.
He couldn’t help but wonder how Julia would fare with her son living in an environment such as Colifield. But it wasn’t his business to compare. Status was mostly an accident of birth. If he’d been born here he’d likely have gone down the pit at the age of fourteen. But having been raised in the same sort of environment as Julia, he’d been given a good education and encouraged to enter a profession that would not only bring him respect, but also had the potential to provide him with a comfortable living for life.
Martin loved his profession, which gave him a great deal of satisfaction now he knew his mind had healed. Ideally, he’d also like a wife and children, someone to go home to every night, someone to listen to his complaints and grumbles – to argue, and to laugh and cry with him. But if he couldn’t have Julia, he’d remain single.
He slid the letter into his waistcoat pocket, knowing he would leave these grim surrounds when his contract was up. He would hand the job over to Mrs Seeble’s youngest son, who was currently at medical school in Edinburgh. Her two other sons ran a law practice with their father.
Godfrey Seeble assisted Martin while the Tomlinsons took a well-earned break. The experience would afford him valuable training on the job. Godfrey, who had the calm and capable nature of his mother, had been quick to learn, and enthusiastic. For him it was truly a vocation.
Between them they’d made it through the month, and the practice was now about to revert to normal.
‘It’s a bit humbling to learn one can so easily be managed without,’ Jack said with a wide smile. ‘If I’d known I would have stayed away for another month.’
‘You’re just back in time for an outbreak of measles. I doubt that the Philips’ youngest daughter will survive it. It’s affected her lungs. The child was weak and sickly to begin with and she’s got no strength to fight it off with.’
‘Nature is selective sometimes. Have you warned her parents there’s not much hope?’
Martin nodded. ‘I’ve also informed the priest on their behalf. I’d like a second opinion on Adele Brown as soon as possible.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Ovarian cancer, which has spread into other areas of her reproductive system.’
‘Left it too late, has she?’
‘I’d say so. A total hysterectomy might prolong her life but I think the cancer is well established. She’s a widow with four young children.’
‘She has a sister, I recall. Will she take the children?’
‘Apparently not. The sister has several children of her own and can’t afford to take them in. They’ll have to go to the orphanage.’
Jack sighed. ‘If she’s a catholic the local priest will see to that. They have some scheme that sends orphans to Canada. There are many organizations that have orphan migration schemes to Australia and New Zealand, including Barnardo’s and the YMCA. The lads work on farms as cheap labour while the girls are trained in domestic skills.’
‘You know, Jack, most of those children will be used as free labour, and many will be abused.’
‘It can’t be helped, and they could also be abused here. Some people take advantage of the weak. Organizations are doing what they think is best by relocating them and giving them a future to look forward to. It might not be an ideal one, but there’s nothing left for them here except to live on the streets and break the law to support themselves. Do you have a viable alternative for the thousands of orphans created by the war and the Spanish influenza?’
‘Unfortunately no.’
‘You have a soft heart, Martin, but you must try to separate your emotions from your job. We can’t take everyone’s troubles on to our shoulders. We’re qualified to heal our patients’ physical ailments, and are just a small cog in the wheel. There are others more fitted to help the helpless, hopeless and homeless.’
Martin laughed. ‘And some of them happen to be working in this practice.’
‘Ah, you noticed, did you?’ Jack said with a faint smile. ‘The difference is that our emotions don’t bleed as much as yours do. You have a nurturing soul, Martin. You should get yourself a wife and some children to care for.’
‘There’s only one woman for me, and she happens to be married.’
‘That will break a few maidens’ hearts around here. Is that why you came here?’
‘Partly. For her sake I made a clean break. I thought it would be such a busy area that I wouldn’t have time to think of her.’
‘And?’
‘I find her impossible to forget. But she wasn’t the only reason I came here. Hugh said you’d be a good teacher, and you are. I’ve learned a lot, especially from you and your wife’s attitude towards those in your care. Your patients trust you. I can’t hope to emulate that, but I’m grateful.’
‘You’re more than competent at your job, Martin, and have rightly earned a great deal of respect . . . and you never know what’s around the corner. You might find a good woman yet.’
Martin left Colifield a year later, the train transporting him rapidly away from the grey smoky air. There was a touch of regret in him at leaving, mostly because of the friendships he’d left behind, but he was looking forward to the future with some enthusiasm.
The further south he went the greener the land became. He’d forgotten the power of the colour green, a soothing balm for the eyes. And he’d forgotten the sight of the rich gold undulation of wheat in a summer breeze, the redness of poppies, the purple blue of harebells and the crowded, but cheerful spills of golden rod in the hedges.
Clarence and Billy Boy were travelling in a large wire-fronted crate in the goods van. Godfrey Seeble had moved into the flat he’d just vacated, and had offered to look after them, but Martin couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind.
‘I promise you that this is the last time you’ll have to go on such a long journey,’ he told them when they reached London.
They seemed surprisingly calm as he exchanged a damp wad of a Newcastle newspaper in their prison for the more sedate London Times. He rubbed their chins and left them in the care of a kindly keeper in the station luggage office along with his suitcase, while he bought himself a small Morris tourer that hadn’t seen many miles.
He paid the keeper a florin for the care of his cats and loaded them into the back seat. He would have liked to let them out for some exercise before he motored down to Hampshire, but he didn’t dare in case they took fright and fled.
He spoke soothingly to them when they began to fret. ‘It won’t be much longer, I promise. You’ll like Bournemouth. It will be quite genteel after Colifield, and there’s a conservatory which you can have the free run of until you get used to the place.’
After half an hour on the road the cats resigned themselves to another journey in captivity, and they fell asleep, waking every so often to plaintively voice their complaints.
It was a warm August evening and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when he entered his childhood home.
Overseen by his lawyer, his goods had been taken out of storage, checked against the inventory, and delivered earlier. The house had been cleaned ready for his arrival and he could no longer smell his childhood in it.
There were letters on the sideboard. Eagerly he picked them up and shuffled through them. One was from his lawyer. It contained a short welcome home message, and a long account for the recent business done on Martin’s behalf. The basics had been bought and were in the larder, the note said. There was a letter from the medical board and a bill for the gas that the tenant should have paid. It was a small one, so he wouldn’t bother to chase them up for it. The final letter wasn’t in Julia’s handwriting. But why should he expect a letter from her when she’d said she wouldn’t write again
‘What did you expect after all this time?’ he said, and didn’t have an answer. He hoped she was happy with her baby to love as he opened the letter. It was from a handyman-come-gardener offering his expertise. The place would certainly need one before too long. He threw the letters back on the sideboard to read at his leisure.
He filled a dirt tray for the cats, opened a tin of sardines and gave them a saucer of milk, and another with water to wash everything down with. He set them free in the conservatory. They cautiously emerged from the cage and sniffed their way around. Billy Boy got to the food first and hooked a sardine out of the dish. Clarence followed suit. When the food was gone they began to clean themselves. They could sleep in the travelling crate until they got their bearings, and Martin left them to it.
He went through to the two front rooms running along one side of the hall. They had an adjoining door. One would be his consulting room, the other the waiting room. He’d have the front room partitioned off to make space for a reception area, and the patients could use the downstairs cloakroom if they needed to.
He was tired after all that travelling. He made himself a jam sandwich and washed it down with a cup of tea before he went upstairs. He pushed open the window and the room was filled with warm air sprinkled with the tangy smell of the sea. Fully clothed, he fell on to the unmade bed. The sea gave a soft hush as it ran up on to the sand, soothing him.
