He blinked. ‘That’s not muck. That’s the endometrium of the woman I love.’ The colour had returned to her face; his wife was beautiful once more.
Emily accompanied him. They used cotton wool and the handbasin in the ground-floor bathroom. Katie liked the water. She remembered the water. She remembered the voices, too. She also discovered how to be hungry and started to scream again. Making noise was fun; she’d never made noises before.
Andrew sat at the piano while Mary put her daughter to the breast. He played the tunes he’d played right through the pregnancy, and Katie did what was required of her to bring in the milk. She remembered her mother and the music. This was the right place, though it was too bright and rather crowded for her liking. But she was warm, she was celebrated, and she was feeding.
Glad that he needed no sheet music, Andrew shed a couple more tears. He thought about his grandparents who had left him enough money to see everyone through life without needing to do a hand’s turn, and they had both died and missed the birth of Katie. Stuart, a man who would have made a brilliant father, could never have a child. But Geoff was the one who loomed largest. Emily, clearly pleased as Punch to be a grandma, remained sad to the core. She’d gained the skills to spread a layer of marzipan and icing over the devastation, but she didn’t fool her son.
Geoff was missed by everyone. He’d been a blazing beacon of light and eccentricity. Andrew wanted him here now. Geoff would have written a poem, smoked a cigar and dished out some large servings of brandy, though not necessarily in that order. Dad was on his way back from Manchester. He would bring a teddy bear. Whenever anyone at all had a baby, Joe Sanderson bought a teddy bear.
As he played through his repertoire of Chopin’s etudes, it dawned on Andrew that he was very like Emily. He and Mother weren’t good at letting go. Geoff continued to be loved by his partner; should anything happen to Mary, Andrew would probably follow in his mother’s footsteps. Like mother, like son. She’d fallen in love suddenly and deeply, as had he. They were both hopeless cases; there was no cure.
The new baby, dressed now in a cotton nightdress, was left with her father while Emily and Thora took Mary upstairs for a tepid shower.
He studied his daughter closely. She looked as if she’d arrived through the post, wrinkled, tousled, blotchy and a bit squashed. ‘They should have written Do not bend or fold on your packaging. You’re about seven pounds,’ he informed her. ‘Now, this new place is Earth. It hangs in space with lots of other bits and pieces, and we do what’s called living. You eat, defecate, urinate and scream. It’s your job. I mend bones, and that’s my job. Your mother does whatever she likes, so that’s her job.’
Katie opened one eye.
‘Can you see me? I’m your father. Your mother’s in the shower, and she’s your feeding station. You are our first child, and if you don’t stop giving me the evil eye, you’ll be the last.’
Tiny fingers curled round his left thumb. She was perfect apart from the crumpled face. He couldn’t see her toes, as her feet were encased in bootees. But he could see that she knew him, recognized his voice. ‘I won’t be able to call your mother Fatso any more soon, but at least I’ll get her back. I’ve missed her, you see, because you borrowed her for a while.’
He droned on. Although she was asleep, Miss Katherine Sanderson maintained her grip on her father’s thumb. She was her mother all over again. ‘You’re going to be trouble,’ he said. ‘Just like Mary.’ He told her about Liverpool, the Mersey, a cathedral that was taking forever to build, how to deal with a fractured ulna; he gave her directions to Sniggery Woods and to the nearest library, and related how Christopher Robin went to the palace with Alice to see the changing of the guard. ‘I’ll find a bridge and we’ll play Pooh sticks,’ he promised. ‘We’ll leave Eeyore and Wol for now, because they have personality disorders and trouble with communication skills. Tigger’s all right. You’ll get on very well with Tigger.’
Mary sat on the stairs with Thora and Emily. They covered their mouths to prevent the escape of giggles.
Katie, lulled into contentment by her father’s steady voice, snoozed happily. She definitely remembered him; he’d made noises at her before.
‘I rescued your very ungrateful mother from the Beatles, you know. Not insects, just four boys with guitars, drums and a very large retinue of mentally unstable females. And I knew straight away that she was my wife.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Life’s odd. I’m sure you’ll discover that through your own mistakes. But she wasn’t a mistake. She was magic, still is. So treat her well, or you’ll answer to me.’
The same eye opened.
‘Ah, you’re back. Where do you go? What do you dream of? Warmth and darkness inside Mummy? Swimming about like a little tethered dolphin? Well, that’s yesterday, pal. You’ve got responsibilities now. There are rules. First, don’t allow your parents any sleep. Second, when you burp, bring back milk and spray it on anybody within a foot or two. Don’t bother with the real projectile vomiting, or they’ll stick you in hospital. Third, straighten your face – this is your father speaking.’
Andrew listened. He listened to them listening to him. A herd of elephants would have been quieter than the women on the stairs. ‘About your mother. She’s very short since I put her in a hot wash, but don’t call her Titch. Her temper’s a bit short, too. Thora’s all wind and pi— urine, and your grandma is nice. What is Grandma? Say it with me, Grandma is nice.’
A giggle exploded, but he pretended not to hear it. ‘Thora’s in charge of everybody, and Grandpa is a millionaire, so be good to him, and he’ll buy you a bike. You’ll need stabilizers for a while, but we’ll get you going. We’ve put your name down for a good school, and you’ll be a doctor and a brilliant pianist like your dad.’
The women came in. They stood in a row and looked at him, such a tall man with so tiny a scrap in his arms. ‘You look the part,’ Mary said.
‘Can we keep her?’ he begged. ‘I found her outside under the rhubarb. She says she doesn’t like gooseberries.’
Joe, in the company of a toy bear bigger than the infant, crashed in via the front door. ‘By gum,’ he said, a smile stretching across his face. ‘I missed the main feature, then. And I did eighty up the East Lancs Road.’ He thrust forward the inevitable gift. ‘You were quick, Mary. Did the baby come by air mail?’
Mary nodded. ‘A jet-propelled stork,’ she answered, relieving her father-in-law of his furry burden. ‘This is Katherine Mary Sanderson. She was born at nine fifteen this morning on a very good rug. Go on. Take her away from Drew; he’s becoming too attached.’
Joe, the businessman who had built an empire from a shed in a back garden, spilled a tear of joy over his granddaughter. ‘The most beautiful sight I ever clapped eyes on,’ he said.
Mary and Andrew exchanged glances. ‘Have you been to the optician for an eye test lately, Dad?’
Joe grinned through saline at his cheeky son. ‘Give over. She’ll grow into her face. Perfect babies seem to lose their prettiness as they get bigger. But Katherine will be the belle of the ball.’
Emily joined her husband. He turned to her. ‘Em, remember our Andrew’s first nappy? The nurses thought we were mad when we screamed like that. It was a sight I’ll never forget. There were colours in there that don’t exist in real life.’
Mary tutted. ‘Stop picking on my poor husband. He’s just given birth, remember. We don’t want him going all postnatal, do we?’
Thora was in a heap on the floor, and even Emily smiled. No matter what, her Andrew always maintained his dignity. ‘Joseph, give Katherine back to her father before he starts to fret. Then go down the road and bring that hotpot up here. It’s in my fridge next to the cheese. With some pickled beetroot and crusty bread, it should be sufficient for everyone’s lunch. And you must tell Daisy she’s an aunt. Whether or not she understands isn’t important. I’ll go with you to St Helens.’
Thora hauled herself up and sat in a chair. Witnessing the development of th
is group of people, albeit by proxy for much of the time, had opened her eyes. She knew now how true love worked, how men could cry without ceasing to be men, how relationships changed while remaining strong. Joe, who had never stopped loving Emily, had stepped back for a force known as Geoff. Father to a daughter with special needs, he soldiered on. Andrew, raised through his teens by three parents, was a normal, decent man. And as for Mary, she was just wonderful. Without this family, Thora’s life would be very dull.
‘You’ll be going home soon, then?’ Andrew asked.
‘Aye, I will. But first, I have to hand over to this Eva you’ve been telling me about. You’re a lot stronger, Emily, but housework gets a bit much. If you’d stopped any longer in that bloody place, you’d have lost the use of your legs. I’ve written to the government about it. They want talking about, them mental doctors and nurses. You could have finished up in a bloody wheelchair.’
Andrew stood up. ‘Thora, you swore twice. My child isn’t used to that sort of language.’
Thora delivered a raspberry. ‘They listen through their mother’s bodies, you daft bugger. How many times has Mary threatened to deck you with one of her copper bottoms? More fights in this house than in a boxing club.’ She folded her arms.
He grinned. So far, paternity seemed not to have affected his ability to torment women. Life without the taunting of the superior sex would have been dull indeed. Although he shared no genes with Geoff, he had learned much by watching a master at work. Mary stood her corner every time, of course.
‘Ignore him,’ was Emily’s advice.
‘I will,’ promised Thora.
‘I do,’ Mary told them. ‘In fact, I’ve no idea how Katie happened, because I’ve been sleeping in the summer-house for a year.’
‘Osmosis,’ Andrew told her. ‘Look it up.’
The banter continued until Katie called time. She was taken upstairs by her parents while Emily and Thora began to prepare the table for lunch. Joe brought the hotpot and it was placed in the oven. The grandparents nodded off in chairs. Joe and Emily, opposite each other, dozed near the fireplace while Thora, midwife and grandma-by-proxy, stretched out on the sofa. She had never before felt so thoroughly at home anywhere. She didn’t want to go back to Bolton, though she needed to see her real grandchildren; she wanted to stay with Emily. She could visit her family whenever she wished, but she was so happy and settled here.
Upstairs, Katie was feeding.
‘The real milk should be in soon,’ her mother said. ‘If she gets the colostrum, she collects my immunities. After that, I may bottle-feed. Well, I don’t want to end up shaped like a failed barrage balloon. Don’t laugh at me, Andrew Sanderson. She’s only a couple of hours old, and I already feel drained.’
‘Shall we call her Draculina?’ he asked.
‘She’s Katherine Mary. Do you think I should try pressing her face with a cool iron? She’s very crumpled. Looks like she got screwed up, thrown in a bin, then rescued by a passing Samaritan.’
‘You’re a cruel woman, Mary.’
She nodded her agreement. ‘Caesareans are the best. They come out ironed, happy, completely dressed and potty trained, full set of teeth, table manners – the lot.’
‘She’s lovely,’ he insisted. ‘Different, but lovely.’
‘She’s ours, Drew.’
‘We made a person,’ he said.
The weight of his statement hit home for both of them. Katie was them. ‘I’ve seen this so many times, Drew, and I’ve wondered about the expressions on parents’ faces. They’ve made a person. Even when the wife’s bigger than a bus, the baby’s still no more than an idea. Then, whoosh, and it’s so flaming real.’
He sighed. ‘Three hours old, and she already rules the roost.’
‘It’s not that, love. It’s her needs and her wants and her disposition. It’s nature and nurture and where will we go wrong? It’s understanding the crying before she learns to talk. They say nurses, doctors and teachers make the worst parents.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘Quite. No good at it, you see.’
‘She’ll be fine.’
‘Will she? She’s Gemini. They can be all over the place. My belly hasn’t gone down much, so I’ll be all over the place as well, because there’s too much of me. And with her being a Gemini, so naughty they are, I shall be too fat to catch up with her. And with me being fat, you won’t love me any more.’
‘True.’
‘I’ll kill you.’
‘I know. And you’ll get away with it, post-partum blues and all that. Now, there’s a song title. Louis Armstrong might be interested. I don’t wanna be in yo shoes, yo woman got the post-partum blues, I think I’m gonna go away, try to live another day.’
‘You are sick.’
‘Yup.’
‘Tell me some more.’
‘She killed the chickens in the yard, hit you on the head so hard, shot yo momma and yo dad, got them blues so very bad.’
‘It’s crap.’
He summoned his broad, slow-to-arrive smile, one he preserved just for her. ‘Semper fidelis, Mary.’
‘Right. Plenty of vinegar with mine.’
They had survived.
They survived twice more, and Mary regained her figure within six weeks every time. By 1972, they had two daughters and one son. Helen joined Katie in 1970, and she was born after nine hours of labour, uncreased, unblemished, unruffled and stunningly beautiful. Katie, who had ironed out her face by growing, was pretty, dynamic and naughty. The second little girl was so perfect that her parents thought she might be a Katie in reverse, but she didn’t deteriorate.
Katie was very pleased with her new doll. She called Helen Len, as she wasn’t ready for anything duosyllabic, and she dragged the tiny baby from her crib more than once, cuddled her rather roughly, sang to her in nonsense and was eventually confined to prison at certain times, which pleased her not at all. Her hatred for the playpen grew daily, and she screamed magnificently. ‘Bad,’ she yelled, ‘bad, bad, bad.’
Helen didn’t cry. She yelped like a puppy when hungry, purred like a kitten when picked up even by her older sister, wore a smile at all times, and was heart-touchingly gorgeous. It occurred to Mary on several occasions that Helen might be thick, but she was proved wrong when, at nine months, having never crawled, the child stood up and walked. She took four steps to the playpen, stared at her mother, and stood gripping the bars until lifted and placed inside the holding cell with Katie. This baby girl had a quiet power that must surely have come from intellect, so she wasn’t thick, then.
The bond was clearly unbreakable. The older child, well into her third year, became a second mother to little Helen. Mary, feeling redundant, brought Eva back into the recipe. A nursery was created, and the children spent much of their time with Eva, who needed the money. Her own children were handed over to her sister, who lived in Eva’s house, and Eva found herself becoming a nanny to the Sanderson children when Mary took part-time work at the Women’s.
Ian’s birth wasn’t so much an event as a slight interruption. Like Katie, he arrived suddenly and without fanfare, but in the medical corner of the Picton Library’s reference section in the cultural sector of Liverpool. Although this caused something of a hullabaloo, Mary and the baby remained unfazed. They were scooped up, manhandled, and placed in an ambulance.
Andrew arrived at the Women’s bearing gifts and a strong resemblance to an unmade bed. His stethoscope hung down his back, his hair stuck up in all directions, and he was wearing odd shoes. Mary knew all over again why she loved this man so much. He was a generous, adorable, unpredictable fool. ‘It’s a boy,’ she said, ‘so we can give up now.’
He picked up his son. ‘In the reference library, eh? That’s a good sign. He’ll be a great reader. Give up what?’ he asked.
‘Only my tubes, you daft swine. Who got you ready? You look like something out of a hospital pantomime.’
‘I did it all by myself.’
‘Oh,
God.’
Eight weeks later, Mary was back at work full-time as a ward sister. Eva Dawson acquired another charge, a solemn little lad who followed her with his eyes right from the start. Katie, now four years old, displayed little interest in the new arrival. When questioned, she put her hands on her hips in the manner of an old woman, and shook her head at Eva. ‘I got a-nuff,’ she said. ‘I got her. She missed potty and did it on floor.’ Training her little sister was enough of a trial without sitting and singing to a baby who was so determinedly unimpressed.
‘Her’ smiled sweetly. Whatever happened, Helen remained calm and beautiful.
‘He’s your brother,’ Eva snapped.
Katie wasn’t ‘bovvered’, and she said so. ‘I got Helen,’ she said, proud of her pronunciation. ‘Get anovver Katie for him.’
‘That’s us told, then,’ Eva whispered to Ian when she lifted him for his bottle.
Emily arrived. ‘I can see a small deposit in the bathroom,’ she called through the doorway. ‘I’ll clean it up, Eva.’
‘Thanks.’
Emily’s situation had altered. The pair of bungalows had become one with four bedrooms, a large Sanderson Intelligent Kitchen, a dining room, a reading room and a double garage. Joe no longer went away regularly; he sent others to look after his widespread business, while he travelled no further than Staffordshire and West Yorkshire, as he would not leave his wife overnight unless Thora was visiting. During weekdays, Emily spent time with Eva and the grandchildren, and weekends were devoted to her amusement. She was taken to Southport, the Lake District, the Dales, Derbyshire, and even London.
She entered the room. ‘Eva?’ she whispered.
‘What? Why are we whispering?’
‘She can read. Katie can read.’
‘Course she can. I made sure she can. She’s going to a preparing school, so I had to get her ready.’
‘Preparatory school, Eva.’
‘Yeah, that as well. Mary did some words with her, but she’s tired when she gets home, so I learned her – I mean taught her.’
A Liverpool Song Page 36
