‘No I don’t,’ Millie replied, indignant. ‘I’m happy to help out. It’s my choice. She’s in pain with her hands and back. She needs me.’
Dan gave her a furious look. ‘I need you, Millie! You’re me wife and your place is with me. I want you back in Kilburn.’
She stared at him in dismay. She did not want to go, but she could hardly argue otherwise. What would people think of her if she remained with her mother instead of going back with her husband? She had chosen Dan and his footballing career rather than stay in Ashborough, so she could not complain now.
Millie bit on her trembling lip. ‘I’ll come back,’ she agreed, ‘but just give me a bit longer with Mam. Let me sort things out here for her first.’
Dan relaxed. ‘Aye, for a week or two then.’ He gave her an awkward smile. ‘I don’t like ganin’ back to the house without you and Edith. It’s not home without the pair of you.’
Millie smiled back, but inwardly shuddered at the thought of the depressing place.
‘Then you promise me something,’ she urged. ‘That we look for somewhere else to live when we come back.’
Dan put his arms around her and gave his dimpled grin. ‘Promise. Anything to keep you happy.’
So Dan left to start the new season and Millie made arrangements to follow. But first she went to Mrs Dodswell and asked if she could recommend a maid to help at the hotel. Mrs Dodswell sent round a dark-haired girl called Sarah from Corn Lane, one of five sisters. Millie offered her food and lodgings and twelve shillings a week, and set her to work laying fires, making beds, washing and cleaning. The two extra weeks turned into a month, while Millie taught Sarah how to bake large batches of scones and breads, as well as how to wait on tables. The young girl seemed obliging, but Millie noticed how she was easily distracted by Edith’s chatter and demands for attention.
Millie decided it was time to leave. To her concern, her mother grew visibly upset when she returned from buying her train ticket.
‘I don’t want you to go!’ Teresa cried, bursting into tears. ‘I can’t manage without you.’
Millie tried to calm her. ‘Yes you can. Sarah’s here to help out now, and she’ll be living in.’
But her mother grew hysterical. ‘You don’t understand,’ she wailed. ‘I need you!’
Millie was alarmed by this unusual display of emotion. Her mother had grown increasingly quiet and withdrawn over the past month and had spent several days in bed complaining of tiredness, but never this hysteria. Millie coaxed her to bed.
‘I’m calling the doctor,’ she insisted, ignoring her mother’s protests. ‘I don’t care what it costs, you’re not well.’ She was haunted by Dan’s angry recollection at his father’s delay in calling out the doctor for Effie until it was too late.
A new young doctor from the practice on Ivy Road came later that day. Millie looked at him anxiously, thinking he seemed no older than Dan, but he smiled reassuringly. ‘I know your mother; I’ve treated Mr Moody before.’ Millie flushed, wondering what he must think of their irregular arrangement, but showed him up to Teresa’s bedroom.
She waited downstairs with Edith while her mother was examined, watching the clock anxiously and thinking that the doctor was taking a long time. Her fear grew as to what might be the matter; she could not bear the thought of losing her mother. Teresa had always been there, whether scolding or supporting, and she could not imagine a world without her.
Dr Percy appeared at the kitchen door, looking hesitant.
‘Come in and have a cup of tea, Doctor,’ Millie insisted, trying to read the look on his expressionless face.
‘Thank you,’ he accepted. Momentarily he was distracted by Edith running over to him, waving a paper figure that Millie had cut out of newspaper for her.
‘Look! Look! It’s my dada,’ she cried.
Millie could not bear the waiting any longer. The tea spilled over into the saucer as she held it out to Dr Percy. ‘What’s wrong with Mam?’ she asked nervously. ‘Is it serious . . . ?’
The young doctor gulped, his face flushing. ‘Well ... I don’t quite know how to tell you. It’s rather awkward.’ He looked away from her and down at Edith’s eager face. ‘Your mother, she’s – she’s going to have a baby.’
Chapter Seventeen
When Millie had recovered from the initial shock of her mother’s news, she was furious.
‘How could you?’ she railed at Teresa, who cowered pale-faced in bed. ‘And I thought you were dying! It’s disgusting – and with that man! I thought he was an invalid?’
Teresa buried her face in her gnarled hands and wept. ‘Don’t think badly of me!’
Millie was too appalled to comfort her. She could not imagine that someone of forty-nine would still be doing such things. She had never liked to think of her mother ‘doing it’ at all; even when she knew that she often spent the night in Moody’s bed. It was something on which she had never dwelt. But now Teresa had disgraced them all by what she had done. She was bearing Moody’s illegitimate child and soon the whole world would find out about it. She felt faint to think what Dan would say, let alone the rest of Ashborough.
‘I can’t stay here any longer,’ Millie shouted. ‘You’ll have to face this one on your own. It’s too shameful!’
‘Millie, don’t!’ her mother wailed. ‘I’m sorry. I never expected it. Please don’t hate me ...’ She turned into her pillow and wept uncontrollably.
Millie watched in horror. She had never seen her mother break down like this before and it frightened her, so she fled. They did not speak again until the day she left. By then Teresa had emerged from her room, haggard but composed, to fuss around the kitchen, making sure they had food for the journey. Sarah watched warily, witness to both the shouting and then the silence between the women, and wondered what it could have been about.
For the first time in days, Teresa stepped outside the hotel to walk them over the iron footbridge to the station platform. She moved stiffly, clutching Edith’s small hand as the child chattered excitedly about going on the train.
As they stood waiting, Teresa gathered Edith up in her arms for a moment, before the pain in her weak hands forced her to put the girl down. ‘I’ll miss you, pet,’ she said, kissing her pink cheek.
Millie’s eyes stung with tears at the sight and she felt engulfed in remorse that she had been so hard on her mother. How was Teresa possibly going to manage on her own? Her very life might be endangered by having to give birth at such an advanced age. Millie realised too late that she should have blamed the feckless Moody for the trouble instead of letting it come between her and her mother.
As the train pulled in, she asked anxiously, ‘Mam, will you be all right?’
Her mother’s face took on her stubborn look. ‘Of course I will. I’ve always managed, haven’t I?’
Millie nodded, feeling wretched, but unable to bring herself to say sorry for her harsh words. She was in a turmoil of conflicting emotions: fear, anger, guilt, shame. If only her mother had not complicated their lives so! It was best if they had a time apart, while they both grew used to the idea of the baby and what should be done. Fleetingly she wondered if she ought to bring the child up as her own, as Edith’s brother or sister?
Then her mother was pushing her on to the train and waving them away. As Edith pressed her nose to the window and shouted goodbye to her grandmother, Millie’s eyes blurred with tears. She watched Teresa standing alone on the chilly platform, proud and upright in her bearing, blowing a kiss to her granddaughter. Millie waved at last, wishing she had said a proper goodbye. They had left so many things unsaid and unresolved and she had no idea when she would see her mother again. Shutting the window against the steam and settling Edith onto a seat, Millie resolved that she would write to her mother and make amends.
***
Millie had meant to keep the shameful news of her mother’s pregnancy from Dan until much later, but found herself blurting it out soon after their arrival back in Kilburn. T
he house seemed even more cramped and damp than she had remembered it, having stood empty and unused for several months. Dan had only used it as somewhere to sleep, but he had made an attempt to rake out the range and get a fire going for their return. He had changed the sheets on the bed too, and put pink carnations on the table for her and a new doll in a sailor’s outfit for Edith.
‘By, I’ve missed you both!’ he cried. ‘Now we can be a family again.’
It was the mention of families that had provoked Millie’s confession. Dan’s reaction had been incredulous and then amused.
‘Well, that’s the last time the old baggage can criticise me about anything,’ he crowed. ‘To think of the times she’s called me irresponsible!’ He chuckled. ‘Who would have thought old Moody would’ve still had it in him.’
Millie was astonished. ‘Aren’t you going to take it more seriously? It’ll ruin her.’
‘I doubt it,’ Dan grunted. ‘She hasn’t paid two hoots to people’s gossip in the past.’
‘But what will folk think?’ Millie fretted. ‘I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ella before I left. I keep wondering if we should adopt the bairn when it comes.’
Dan took her in his arms. ‘Have you talked about it to your mam?’ he asked.
Millie shook her head. ‘I’ve hardly said a word to her since I found out – except to shout. We had a terrible row.’ She closed her eyes and shuddered at the memory.
Dan was philosophical. ‘Well, that’s not going to change anything, is it? What’s done is done. I wouldn’t mind bringing up another bairn, if that’s what you and your mam decide.’ He looked adoringly at Edith, who was engrossed in conversation with her new doll. ‘The more the better, as far as I’m concerned.’ He gave Millie his impish grin.
That night they made love eagerly, making up for the time apart, and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. The next day Millie visited her neighbours, eager to show off how Edith had grown over the summer and to talk to anyone about home. To her disappointment, the friendly family from two doors away had gone, and she reluctantly allowed Edith to spend the afternoon playing with the Dyson girls across the lane. Millie thought them unkempt and sickly children, but Edith was happy. The following day, no one appeared to play, and Millie found it hard to entertain her daughter, confined indoors by the rain. Once again she badgered Dan about moving.
Within two days he came home excitedly to say he had heard of a flat further away from the football ground and the railway line. ‘It’s near a park with swings and there’s a swimming baths nearby. It’ll be grand for Edith to learn to swim.’
Millie laughed in relief. ‘She’s a bit young for that!’ Then she asked anxiously, ‘Can we afford the rent?’
Dan shrugged off her concern. ‘We’ll find the money if you like it.’
They arranged to go and view the flat the following week. Millie could not wait. She dressed Edith up in her best frock, coat and hat, chiding her for whingeing and pulling the ribbon under her chin.
‘Keep still and let me tie it,’ Millie scolded, impatiently. She wanted them to look their best for the landlord. Edith worked herself into a tantrum and began to scream and push her away.
For the first time she could recall, Millie slapped her legs, hard. Edith wailed louder and Dan arrived home to find Millie in a state. ‘She won’t do as she’s told. She’s becoming as wilful as her nana!’
Dan picked up the kicking Edith and carried her out. To Millie’s annoyance the girl quickly quietened down and buried her head into her father’s shoulder in exhaustion. By the time they reached the flat she was asleep, and Dan had to carry her around in his arms. The flat was on the top floor of a large terraced house that had been divided up into smaller dwellings. It was dark, with only skylights for windows, but there were two spacious bedrooms, a living room and a small kitchen with a gas oven. There was a shared bathroom on the floor below, which was preferable to trailing to an outside toilet in bad weather. It did not offer the comfortable cosiness of their Tyneside flat, but Millie knew she could make it homely, and the street itself was far quieter and more pleasant than their house under the viaduct.
‘Let’s take it,’ she urged Dan. ‘We’ll be happier here.’
Millie spent the week making preparations to move, hunting round drapery stalls in the market for cheap bright cotton to make into covers for the skylights and matching antimacassars for the chairs. She planned where their few bits of furniture would go, and her pieces of Maling pottery of which she was so proud. The planning and day-dreaming took her mind off her mother’s problems, which plagued her daily. Several times she sat down to write to Teresa, but got no further than addressing the envelope. Edith seemed to sense that there was change in the air, or that her mother was preoccupied, for she became difficult. Usually sunny-natured, the child began to cry a lot, refuse her food and generally try Millie’s patience.
Millie, who hated to spend a minute more in the house than was necessary, could hardly cajole Edith to go out. The small girl threw herself on the floor and refused to put on her coat, preferring to lie on the rug by the hearth. The weather was autumnal and becoming colder, so Millie did not force her, deciding instead to sit and make curtains.
It was Dan who, at the end of the week, commented on Edith’s behaviour. She curled up in his lap while Millie sighed with annoyance that she had refused her scrambled egg yet again.
‘She’s getting that fussy with her food,’ Millie complained.
Dan scrutinised his daughter. ‘Maybe she’s not well. It’s not like her to sit still for so long.’
Millie thought impatiently that Dan was just making excuses for the girl. Then Edith looked up at her with large blue eyes that seemed full of pain and Millie’s heart jolted; she had not noticed the feverish shine in them before. She had been too busy all week, preoccupied with thoughts of the new flat and with her mother’s predicament, to see the change in Edith as anything more than contrariness.
She went over to the child at once and put a hand on her forehead. It felt hot, but then she had spent the day next to the fire. Millie tried to tilt her chin, but Edith pushed her hand away, pulling a face of pain. Millie exchanged worried looks with Dan. As the girl twisted away, Millie saw that her neck was swollen.
She spoke softly, urgently. ‘Let Mammy look in your mouth, pet.’
Edith shook her head and gave a whimper, flopping back into Dan’s chest. He pulled her gently away. ‘Open your mouth for Dada.’
Edith turned large frightened eyes on her father and attempted to open her mouth. She did not seem able to move her jaw. He peered but could see nothing. Millie said, ‘Turn her towards the light.’ She went down on her knees in front of the girl. ‘Show Mammy too.’
Edith’s face crumpled and Millie had to force her lips apart, wincing at the pain she must be inflicting on the reluctant child. The first thing she noticed was a strange smell, a whiff of something unpleasant. Then the light caught a white mass at the back of the tiny throat. Millie’s pulse began to race. ‘There’s a big thing of pus in her throat,’ she gasped. ‘No wonder she couldn’t eat anything.’
Dan saw her alarm. ‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ Millie whispered, suddenly seized with fear of the unknown, ‘but it must be sore.’
‘I’ll gan and get the doctor,’ Dan said at once, and sprang to his feet, bundling Edith into Millie’s arms.
Millie panicked. ‘It’s probably just a sore throat. Don’t you think we should wait for the morning and take her round the surgery . . . ?’
‘No!’ Dan was adamant. ‘I couldn’t sit through the night waiting. Not like–’ Millie stared at him in horror, knowing he was thinking of his mother’s final night and how they had delayed calling the doctor.
‘No, of course not,’ she said, trembling and clutching the whimpering Edith tightly to her. ‘Go quickly then.’
Dan was out of the door without stopping to put on a coat, and racing round to the cl
ub doctor, who lived six streets away where the terraces broke up into large, redbrick semi-detached houses with gardens. He hammered on the door, the drizzle of rain sticking to his hair like ghostly gossamer. A maid answered. Dr Knight was out to dinner on the far side of Kilburn. Dan’s distress was so obvious that the girl suggested another doctor, one who ran the surgery near the station.
Shouting his thanks, Dan ran as fast as he could through the increasing rain to the modest house and surgery where Dr Michael lived, banging on the black door until it opened. The young doctor left his half-eaten supper and came with the anxious father at once.
Dr Michael found Millie cuddling the listless child and soothing her with soft words of comfort. Edith’s breathing was growing more rapid and she shrank away from the stranger with his leather bag. After a few minutes of coaxing, Edith lost the will to struggle, and with Millie still holding her, the doctor managed to investigate her mouth and throat.
He stroked the girl’s head and stood up, his face betraying his concern.
‘What’s wrong?’ Millie asked fearfully, seeing that Dan was speechless.
‘We’ll have to get her straight to hospital – the fever hospital,’ the doctor said, his look pitying.
‘The fever hospital?’ Millie repeated hoarsely.
Dr Michael nodded. ‘It’s diphtheria. If we can get her treated straight away, there might be a chance . . .’
Millie felt punched in the stomach. Diphtheria. One of those terrible names that stalked childhood, sending fear into parents, throwing the shadow of death over their babies.
‘Wh-what?’ Millie stuttered, trying to grasp the implications. ‘But how has she possibly got it?’
‘Maybe someone she’s played with,’ Dr Michael said gently.
Millie thought with alarm about the Dyson girls, whom she had not seen for several days, and gave out an agonised wail.
But Dan leapt forward and seized Edith, gathering her to him. ‘Where’s the hospital?’ he demanded.
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 66
