by Joanna Toye
‘Not a pain exactly, but a bit like … a sort of swirling, back and front, like the washing when you’re pushing it round and down with the dolly.’
‘There you are then,’ Dora smiled. ‘That’s the start. The midwife’ll be here soon and before you know it, you’ll be holding your little one in your arms.’
Gladys clutched her hand.
‘It will be all right, won’t it, Dora? I thought I had a few weeks yet!’
‘Of course it’ll be all right!’ Dora spoke with all the certainty Gladys needed to hear, even though she knew full well that any birth was a trip into the unknown. ‘Babies decide when they’re going to make their appearance and this little one couldn’t wait to meet you, that’s all!’
With Dora’s nightdress straining over her belly, Gladys lay back against the pillows. Dora busied herself laying Gladys’s clothes over a chair and tidying away everything on the chest of drawers; the midwife would need somewhere to put her things. For all her reassurance, for all Gladys’s large size and discomfort, she’d expected the baby to go over its due date, not come early. Hurry up, Jim, she thought. I want that midwife here.
Lily reappeared, half hidden behind a pile of towels. Dora took them from her, hoping they wouldn’t all get ruined; the midwife would at least bring a rubber sheet for the mattress.
‘How are you feeling?’ Lily asked Gladys.
‘Funny,’ was all Gladys replied. ‘It just feels … funny.’
Helpless and out of her depth, Lily wasn’t sure what to say but didn’t have to reply as she heard feet on the stairs. A second later a small, slender figure, not much older than Lily herself, appeared in the doorway.
‘Well, thanks very much!’ she said. ‘I’d just run myself a cool bath and was about to get into it! And now I’m hotter than ever!’
She certainly looked it – she must have biked over at top speed to get here so fast. Although she’d gone with Gladys to the clinic, Lily had never seen the midwife and she was astonished. She’d expected a stout, motherly figure with arms like hams and hands like a bunch of bananas. Was this tiny creature really going to deliver Gladys’s baby? It seemed she was.
‘I’m Marie,’ she said, already opening her bag and getting out her things. ‘And you’re Lily and Dora, Jim explained. That’s marvellous you’ve got things all ready. Let’s have a look at you then, Gladys.’
‘Lily, pop down and put on some hot water?’ asked Dora meaningfully and Lily could have hugged her. She wasn’t sure she was up to seeing Gladys poked and prodded about, let alone the rest of it and, glad to have something to do, she skittered down the stairs where Jim, thankfully, had reappeared.
‘That midwife’s a case!’ he exclaimed. ‘Left me standing, shot off on her bike!’
They boiled the kettle and Lily went carefully back up with the steaming bowl in time to hear Marie declare that Gladys was obviously going to be one of the lucky ones who could shell them like peas. Hope so, thought Lily, making her escape again.
It was the longest evening she’d ever spent – and Jim agreed. As dusk began to fall they stood outside where a sulky sort of breeze had got up, stirring the tops of the trees on the railway embankment and raising a gritty dust which made the moist air even thicker, heavier, and hotter. In the west the sky was the colour of an angry bruise.
‘The weather’s going to break,’ said Jim. They were standing side by side against the wall of the privy – hardly romantic, but it never got the sun and felt cool against their backs. It was too hot to touch each other. There was a low growl of thunder in the distance. ‘Hear that? It’s going to chuck it down.’
Buddy came out of the house and sniffed the air. He gave a little whimper.
‘It’s coming,’ said Jim. ‘He can tell.’
The thunder growled more purposefully. Buddy whimpered again and went back inside. When they’d taken him on, Dora had sworn the dog would never be allowed inside the house, but that hadn’t lasted long. He slept outside, but he was too endearing and they were all too fond of him to stick him in the yard and have him scratching at the door in the daytime.
Lily closed her eyes and leant her head back against the bricks. She was dead tired and there was work tomorrow. Perhaps it was time to try sleeping standing up, which her brother Reg, who’d done hours of sentry duty in the Army, had told her was perfectly possible. It wasn’t to be. Jim was watching the horizon.
‘Lightning,’ he reported.
It was followed by more thunder: the growl had turned to a snarl. Lily wondered what was going on in the bedroom at the front of the house. Beryl’s labour with her son Bobby, she knew, had gone on all night – was it going to be the same with Gladys? She ought to go and see how things were going, and if they needed anything.
The window to her own room was open and suddenly her mother was calling.
‘Lily! You might want to come up!’
From inside, far off, there was a high-pitched wail.
‘Oh Lord, she’s had it!’ Lily seized Jim’s hands. ‘Already! The baby’s here!’
She raced inside and up the stairs. The door to her mother’s room was standing open and Dora was holding a tiny bundle, wiping its face with the corner of a towel. Lily looked to Gladys in delight, only to see another baby on her chest. Marie was cleaning a fearsome looking implement that looked like giant spoons.
Lily looked from one to the other and back again.
‘What … two?’ she stuttered. ‘Twins?’
‘A boy and a girl,’ said Marie triumphantly. ‘A pretty good evening’s work.’
‘Gladys has been marvellous.’ Dora came over and held the baby out for Lily’s inspection. It had dark hair and pink cheeks. Its eyes were tight closed and the little mouth worked as if chewing a toffee. ‘This is the little girl, popped out first with a bit of help, and the little lad straight after.’
‘Oh, Gladys!’ Lily moved towards the bed. ‘That’s incredible! Two babies! Oh, you are clever! Wait till we tell Bill!’
Gladys was cradling the baby. Her eyes, far away, looked up at Lily as if she’d never seen her before. The baby’s dark head, still smeared with a bit of blood and some waxy white stuff, was so tiny it pretty much fitted in her hand. Lily bent down to look at the minute features, the perfect nose, and the miraculously complicated little ears. Then, as she marvelled, Gladys closed her eyes, threw her head and shoulders back, and seemed to go as stiff as a board. Marie dropped what she was doing and snatched the baby away, thrusting him into Lily’s arms. Gladys had started to jolt and twitch like some ghastly puppet.
‘Ambulance,’ shouted Marie. ‘Now!’
Dora quickly took the baby from Lily and she ran down the stairs, racing through the kitchen, where Jim had his back to her, boiling another kettle.
‘I thought a teacup in a storm would be a good idea—’ he said, then, as Lily flung open the back door, ‘Lily?’
‘It’s all gone wrong!’ she called back over her shoulder.
‘What, the baby?’ Jim followed her at speed down the yard.
‘Babies!’ cried Lily, yanking at the gate. ‘She had twins! And now – oh Jim, I’m so scared! She’s having some kind of fit! I’ve got to phone for an ambulance right now!’
As she ran full pelt along the cinder path, grit in her eyes, stones in her shoes, the storm broke. There was a whiplash of lightning, a ferocious rumble of thunder and then it was as if someone had taken a knife to the sky, slashed open the clouds, and all the moisture the sun had sucked up in the last few days was released. Lily had run out in her thin cotton dress and canvas shoes; she was instantly drenched and the ashes under her feet churned to black slush, splashing up the backs of her legs.
Panting, her heart hammering, she turned into the street. The rain was bouncing off the pavements and coursing along the gutters. Her hair was in her eyes, her dress slapping wetly against her legs, her shoes slopping up and down on her feet. What did she matter? Something dreadful was happening to Gladys, and if – G
od forbid – it was as serious as it had looked, what about the babies … not one, but two? Her breath was coming hot and fast in her chest, her heart banging against her ribs. The thunder rolled and the lightning flashed. In every way, for Lily, for Gladys, what should have been a moment of bliss had turned into something hellish.
They all went with Gladys in the ambulance, piling in before anyone could object, taking corners on two wheels, bell ringing, rain still pelting down. Lily was still wearing the soggy shoes and soaking dress in which she’d run to the phone box, so the ambulance driver wrapped her in a blanket.
At the hospital, they whisked Gladys away, and the babies, and took Dora with them too, so she could give them Gladys’s details and fill them in on what had happened at the birth. Seeing Lily shivering, a kind nurse gave her some overalls belonging to one of the auxiliaries; they were too big and a bilious green. Her shoes were like leaky canoes, so the same nurse found her a pair of rubber clogs. They wore them in the operating theatre, apparently; Lily didn’t want to think about why.
Even when she was dry, somehow she couldn’t quite get warm.
‘You look terrible,’ said Jim in concern. ‘And I don’t mean the outfit, though I don’t think it’ll catch on, somehow. I hope you don’t catch your death.’
‘I’m fine,’ jittered Lily. ‘And don’t even say that word! I’m not really that cold any more. I think it might be the shock.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
Jim led her to a couple of hard chairs and they sat down. He put his arm round her and pulled her against him. He kissed the top of her damp head and there they sat as the hospital clock clicked the minutes and hours away.
It was after midnight when Dora reappeared. While Jim nipped to see if there was any chance of a cup of tea, she filled Lily in before going back to sit with Gladys.
By the time Jim was back – minus tea, unfortunately – Lily was ready to explain it to him.
‘It was all because of her blood pressure,’ she began. ‘Gladys’s was high, and then … I’m not quite clear but with having the babies quickly one after the other, it must have yo-yoed up and down too fast, that’s what caused the fit. They’ve given her a shot of something to level it out and put her to sleep for a bit. Mum’s gone back to sit with her.’
‘What a drama!’ Jim grimaced. ‘And Gladys, of all people, who never likes to make a fuss! She’ll be mortified!’
‘Yes.’ Lily smiled ruefully. Then: ‘Jim, Mum and I … we’re going to stay. But if you want to go home, get some sleep …’
‘You must be joking!’ Jim replied at once. ‘I’m not leaving you here! And you’re not to come into work tomorrow,’ he added. ‘Well, today. I’ll explain to Mr Simmonds. And the dreaded Rita.’
Lily looked dubious.
‘She’ll think it’s favouritism. She picked me up quickly enough when Mr Marlow spoke to me.’
‘It’s called friendship,’ said Jim stoutly. ‘Consideration. Loyalty. Kindness. Though that’s an unknown concept to Rita Ruddock.’
‘She did once give me a peppermint.’
Now she had an explanation for what had happened to Gladys, Lily was beginning to feel a bit more normal.
‘Oh, bosom buddies!’ he grinned. ‘She shouldn’t mind you having the time off then, should she?’
At that moment, Dora came back, looking more hopeful.
‘I think she’s coming round,’ she said. ‘Do you want to come and see her, Lily? High jinks and holidays, eh?’ she added drily to Jim.
She was sounding relieved, though, thought Lily; the worst was surely over. The babies were safe in the hospital nursery and Gladys was in good hands. The doctor had told Dora they’d keep her in for a few days ‘for observation’.
Jim said he’d wait outside. Lily went with her mum and took a chair at one side of the bed while Dora stood on the other. Gladys still looked dead pale. She was moving her head on the pillow and frowning as if she was trying to remember something.
‘Gladys,’ said Lily softly. ‘Gladys, you’re all right. We’re all here, me and Mum and Jim. You’ve had the babies – two of them – and they’re beautiful! A lovely little boy and a perfect girl. You’ve done so well.’
Gladys let out a great shuddering breath and slowly opened her eyes. She turned her head towards Lily. She seemed to be trying to focus.
‘Lily,’ she said. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes!’ cried Lily. ‘I’m here, right here!’
Gladys blinked. She wriggled and pushed herself up a bit in the bed, wincing.
Dora bent towards her.
‘Don’t strain yourself,’ she said gently. ‘Shall I shift your pillows a bit?’
Gladys turned towards the sound of her voice.
‘Dora,’ she said. ‘Oh, Dora! Where am I? What happened?’
‘Bless you, love, you’re in the hospital.’ She mouthed to Lily, ‘Let’s keep this simple.’ Then she explained to Gladys: ‘They brought you in to make sure everything was all right.’
‘All right? But I’m not all right!’ Gladys groped for Dora’s hand. ‘It’s all dark. I can’t … I can’t see! I can’t see a thing!’
Chapter 8
Gladys began to cry.
‘What is it? What’s going on? What’s the matter with me? I can’t see, I can’t see! My babies … where are my babies? I want to see them! I have to see them!’
Helpless, transfixed, Lily stroked Gladys’s hair off her face while Dora pressed the call bell and kept her finger on the button. They could hear it shrilling down the hall. A nurse came hurrying, then a doctor. He shooed them out of the room and took charge. In the corridor, Jim was on his feet.
‘What is it now?’
Lily felt as if a ton weight was pressing on her chest. She wasn’t sure how she got the words out.
‘There’s something else. She’s awake but she can’t see!’
‘What?’
None of them knew what to do with themselves. Dora, totally drained, sat down; Jim paced the corridor; Lily stationed herself like a guard dog at Gladys’s door. All her tiredness had passed: terror had replaced it.
The nurse came out but waved their searching looks away. She bustled down the corridor and hurried back with a trolley of implements and covered dishes. The door closed behind her and gradually they heard Gladys’s sobs subside into silence.
Books always said ‘after what seemed like hours’ – well, it was an hour, just about, before the nurse and the doctor emerged. Dora, Lily, and Jim fell on him like lions.
‘I think I know what it is,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve never seen it before. It’s a chance in a million – two million, maybe. It’s the blood pressure again.’
‘How can that affect her eyesight?’ demanded Lily. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘It’s called cortical blindness,’ the doctor explained. He was only in his thirties but looked older, exhausted, with shadows under his eyes and a day’s worth of beard growth beginning to show. Hospitals were having to manage with fewer staff – the forces needed all the medics they could get. ‘Her body’s been through so much in such a short time that it’s in shock. A bit of it has shut down. The part of her brain that should process messages from her eyes to enable her to see just isn’t working.’
‘Can you do anything for it?’ Always practical, that was Jim.
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What? It’s not … permanent is it?’ Dora voiced all their fears.
‘No, no, it’s not. There’s nothing actually wrong with her eyes. They’re working – it’s only the messaging that’s gone wrong.’
‘Like a telephone line being cut?’
Jim always liked to relate something abstract to something he could understand.
‘Exactly.’
‘But how long will it go on?’ It still sounded serious to Lily.
The doctor shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t say.’
Jim wasn’t going to let him get away
with that.
‘You must be able to give us a clue!’
‘I don’t want to commit myself. Her blood pressure will stabilise, we can help with that, but … full recovery can take days, weeks, or months. The chances are that her sight will return, bit by bit.’
The chances? That didn’t sound great.
‘And what about the twins?’ asked Dora.
‘We’ll keep them here in the nursery. A midwife can help to get feeding established; there’s no reason why she can’t feed them herself when her milk comes in. Apart from the problem with her sight, she’s really come through the birth very well.’ He looked at them as if he’d just given them some wonderful present. Their faces told him he hadn’t. He opened his hands wide, palms upwards. ‘I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to write this up for the day shift.’
Jim thanked him; Lily and Dora were too numb. But they were all thinking the same thing. How long was this going to go on? How would Gladys cope? How would any of them? And how on earth – what on earth – were they going to tell Bill?
Lily did go to work next day. It wasn’t because she was scared of Rita, but if Jim was going in – which he was determined to do – then she felt she should as well. She’d had literally no sleep and felt strangely light-headed, but a stocktake was due and if she could lurk in the stockroom and not have to be on show she felt she could cope. Her mum promised she’d visit Gladys in the afternoon; Lily would go in the evening. Dora was also going to send the crucial telegram to Bill on his ship. Sid would know how.
In the end it hadn’t taken long to compose: they’d decided they’d only tell him the good news. He wouldn’t get shore leave for months; surely all this would be a ghastly memory by then?
Jim wrote it out on a bit of paper for Dora to take to the Post Office:
TWINS BOY AND GIRL DELIVERED SAFELY CONGRATULATIONS!
The usual rider of ‘mother and babies doing well’ was missing, but in his excitement and delight, they hoped Bill wouldn’t notice that.
Lily’s wan appearance didn’t go unnoticed, but there were plenty of pallid faces and obvious yawns among the staff – the thunderstorm and the rain that had followed had kept a lot of people awake.
