‘Calm down, Biddy, there may have been a terrible situation here that we don’t know anything about,’ said Emily, though even she realized that sounded feeble.
‘Situation? What situation could there possibly be that would force a woman to abandon her child like that? Women in the famine didn’t abandon their babies, they fed them first.’ Biddy picked up her handbag from the floor, opened the clasp and began rummaging around inside for her cigarettes. Pulling out her lighter, she looked up at Emily. ‘There will be no sympathy from me or from many, I imagine, for a woman who does a thing like that, and so close to Christmas too.’
Madge leant across the table and refilled the glasses to create a diversion – always a useful tactic in the face of Biddy’s agitation. Each woman whispered a ‘Thank you,’ and, raising their glasses, they all sipped on their drinks as they tried to imagine the place a mother must have been in to do such a thing.
‘Right, ladies,’ said Maisie finally. ‘Sandwiches, before they curl up. And I’m going to try these Ritz crackers.’
There was a rustle of paper and the clanging of plates as everyone began to help themselves to food. Then Betty spoke again. ‘There was another thing that happened today,’ she said in her low monotone that cut through any noise more efficiently than if someone had blown on a playground whistle.
Maisie froze midway through unwrapping the muslin cloth from the sandwiches. ‘And…?’ She hated the way Betty paused for effect when she spoke.
Betty took a sip of her drink. ‘The constable who brought the baby in, he had to come back to the ward today to give a statement to the men in plainclothes – all but taken over Sister Paige’s office, they have, and they drink tea non-stop.’ Betty took another sip of her drink and Maisie popped a sandwich into her already half-open mouth. ‘Well, when he was leaving, he asked me did Sister Paige have a boyfriend.’
The room filled with an audible exhalation of relief. ‘Ah, that’s nice. Did you tell him she doesn’t?’ asked Emily, who knew Aileen Paige’s situation only too well.
Betty gave Emily an offended look. ‘I did not. I don’t give any information away about anyone, don’t you all know that?’
Emily’s hopes came crashing down. ‘And do you think he asked because he likes her himself, or what?’
Betty furrowed her brow and stared at Emily as though her earthly form had just been replaced by an alien. ‘And how do you suppose I would be knowing that?’
Everyone knew that Betty Hutch didn’t do idle chatter, and no one ever challenged the quality of her information. With Betty, you listened and if you knew what was good for you, you listened with quiet respect. All eyes turned towards Emily. Her faux pas was a result of her newness to the group. Silence fell upon the kitchen as all glasses were laid on the table.
Biddy made to speak, but it was too late, Emily had dived straight back in. ‘Gosh, well, I would have done. Not obviously, but I would have asked him a few questions.’
Biddy opened her mouth, but the next words to be spoken came from Betty. ‘Sister Haycock, I mop floors, clean toilets and wash windowsills – I have not the slightest interest in the romantic goings-on at the hospital. I hear nothing, I see nothing, I say nothing.’
The irony contained in Betty’s words were lost on Emily. Betty had been asked about Emily and Dessie many times by nosey Hattie Lloyd, but, as always, Betty had put Hattie in her place, responding with the same answer she had just given Emily.
‘Well, I will have to see what I can do,’ said Emily, undeterred. ‘When I take these baby clothes in, perhaps I can do a bit of matchmaking at the same time. It’s my day off tomorrow, but I’ll have a shot at it the day after, as soon as I can.’
‘Oh, that little boy won’t be on the ward by then – not a single person expects him to last another day,’ said Betty. ‘There won’t be any need. He’ll not even last the night. I told you.’
Noleen, Biddy and Branna immediately blessed themselves. ‘Holy Mary, mother of God, be with him tonight, and in his hour of need,’ said Noleen, the most religious of the group.
‘Amen,’ said Branna, and then Biddy asked, ‘Has anyone called for Father Brennan? Do we know if the child is a Catholic?’
‘I would say he hasn’t been called for, no,’ said Branna, looking alarmed. ‘They are too busy trying to save his life to think of that. Run off their feet, they are. Have you any idea how hard those girls work?’
‘I do, but isn’t that just the trouble, no one knows anything about him. They’re so busy keeping him secret and tending to his body, they’ve forgotten all about his soul.’ Noleen’s chair scraped back along the floor and she jumped to her feet, her eyes fixed on Emily. ‘I’m off to the priest’s house – would you be able to phone Matron and let her know? If the poor child isn’t to last the night, then he can leave this world in the light and go straight to Jesus. He could be Irish for all we know.’
Seconds later, Noleen was flying down the path towards St Chad’s. The nurses might have a life to save, but she would see to it that his soul was given the same consideration. Emily raced off to the nearest phone box to call Matron, the baby clothes tucked tightly under her arm.
10
The girls were silent as they left the ward to walk back to Lovely Lane, both pondering on the busiest and strangest day they had ever worked. Pammy, as always, was the first to speak. ‘Did you see his eyes?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen such sunken eyes on a child or such a desolate look in them.’ There was a catch in her throat and Beth saw the tears in her eyes. She hooked her arm through her friend’s. ‘But he’s safe,’ Pammy continued, ‘and, frankly, it might be good that he’s unconscious. At least he doesn’t know anything.’
‘He didn’t move when Sister passed the nasogastric tube,’ said Beth. ‘I’ve always thought that’s the worst thing for a child to have to endure and I expected him to thrash about, but he was just out of it. He’s barely been conscious or cried all day, not a peep.’
‘Sister said he probably won’t cry even if he does come round,’ replied Pammy. ‘That he’s probably learnt that crying doesn’t achieve anything. She said that most babies cry because they’ve come to understand that if they do, someone will come running. And there’s something inside a mother that makes it impossible to ignore her baby’s cry. Whatever kind of life little Louis has had, it hasn’t been the sort where someone comes running whenever he cries.’
Beth pulled her cape close around her body as if to fend off the feelings of upset and uselessness that had swamped them both.
Pammy carried on talking. ‘I think Sister Paige was expecting some improvement by tonight. She seemed really frustrated that there’s been none. Can you imagine the patience she has? Putting that feed down him, almost a teaspoon at a time at first, straight into the tube.’
‘That’s why he hasn’t vomited,’ said Beth. ‘It was just a drop he could absorb without demanding too much effort from his body.’
Pammy nodded and also pulled her cape tighter. ‘Did you see Matron going into the office to talk to the policemen today? She looked awful and so disappointed.’ She sighed and shivered in the late-evening chill. ‘God, I’m whacked – it’s been such a long day. I don’t know about you, but to me it doesn’t feel like Christmas is coming, with this going on.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Beth, ‘but in the next day or two everything might change. He will improve, or, sadly, he may not. And it’s probably good that we’ve got the Christmas decorations competition to distract us. It’s a shame we couldn’t get to the meeting at your mam’s – she would have cheered us up, wouldn’t she?’ She flashed a smile at Pammy. ‘I bet she and the other ladies have hatched us some good plans.’
Pammy nodded back, glad of the change of subject. ‘You’re right. And we need to try and look more positive now – Matron will have our guts for garters if we say a thing to anyone at Lovely Lane about what’s gone on today.’
*
Exhausted at the end of a
very long day, Aileen wandered out of the ward and came face to face with Freddie, who was bounding up the stairs with a packet of sandwiches for Norman, to see him through the night shift.
‘Oh, hello,’ Freddie said, trying desperately to stop his usually pale complexion from turning puce. He could feel it happening and he felt like he wanted to die of the embarrassment.
Aileen just stood there, smiling at him. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to go home for those – Branna said she’d make you some in the ward kitchen.’
‘Oh, no, we couldn’t,’ stammered Freddie. ‘You haven’t seen how much Norman can put away. I’m not kidding you – he would eat every sandwich on that trolley and come back for more.’
Aileen laughed. ‘Where is he now?’ she asked.
‘He’s gone to the… er…’
Aileen got the message and blushed herself. ‘Oh, right, and he’s going to be here all night?’
‘He is that. How is the little fella?’ he asked, his voice soft, his expression anxious.
Aileen felt her stomach flutter. ‘He’s still here.’ Her smile had disappeared and her tone was serious. ‘We’ve inserted a nasogastric tube and are trying feeding – you know the situation.’
Freddie nodded. ‘Is there a chance then?’ he asked.
‘I hope so, I really do. We all do. We are fighting hard for him in there.’ She looked back to the ward doors. ‘Dr Mackintosh is coming back at ten to check on him. The night will be a long one, I imagine, and all we can do now is pray.’
Freddie cleared his throat, and then a thought struck him. ‘One of the nurses mentioned that you’re in a choir. I don’t suppose you’re doing the St George’s concert are you?’
‘I am,’ said Aileen. ‘I’m in the choir here, at St Angelus, although there aren’t that many of us. There’s a big joint rehearsal tomorrow.’
‘I know,’ said Freddie. ‘It’s in the Anglican cathedral.’
Aileen smiled enthusiastically. ‘Aren’t the acoustics in there just amazing! It makes our small choir sound huge and as if we can properly sing.’
She pulled her cloak around her and Freddie thought that, shrouded in the cloak and with her frilly white hat, she looked more like an angel than anyone he had ever seen in his whole life.
‘Will you be there too?’ she asked nervously. Was she being too bold even asking, she wondered. It sounded as if she hoped his answer would be yes – which, she realized, was exactly what she was hoping for. For the first time in years, she could hear David’s voice in her head. It had come back to her, as clear as if he was standing next to her, as if he was encouraging her, pushing her on. She was holding her breath, waiting for Freddie’s reply, and she swallowed hard before she looked back up from the floor.
‘I will!’ Freddie sounded positively excited. ‘Would you fancy a drink and a bite to eat afterwards? There’s a few nice places now in town where you can get food, you know.’
Aileen laughed and before she knew what she was doing or saying, she replied, ‘Yes, that would be really nice.’ But no sooner had the words left her mouth than her thoughts turned to her mother and she pulled herself up short. How could she? The smile crashed from her face and Freddie noticed.
‘Is that all right?’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see you safely home on the bus afterwards.’
Panic settled in the pit of Aileen’s stomach. If he did that, her mother might see him. She frowned.
Freddie felt the moment slipping away and, confused, had no idea what to say next. So he repeated himself. ‘Is that all right?’
Despairing thoughts flashed through Aileen’s mind. Was it all right? No, it was not. It could never happen. She could not tempt fate and certainly not with someone who made her feel as Freddie did. Back when she’d dated David, Josie had been too young to have a boyfriend, but her father had been happy for her and had stuck up for her. Now both her father and David were dead. Things had just not gone her way – she had drawn the short straw. Josie was the one who had a life and Aileen’s lot was to look after their mother. It was far from all right.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it is. I don’t think I can. I have no idea why I said it would be nice.’ She laughed. It sounded shrill to her own ears, as well as his. ‘I can’t. I’m so sorry.’ And to Freddie’s complete surprise, she ran past him and down the stairs.
*
Freddie stood on the spot and listened to her footsteps clopping along the main corridor. Lifting his helmet, he scratched his head as Norman lumbered around the corner from the visitors’ toilets, breathing in hard and fastening the last button on his trousers.
‘Aha, you got my sarnies. Good boy.’
Freddie held out the packet wrapped in greaseproof paper and didn’t say a word.
‘What’s up with you?’ Norman said. ‘I didn’t ask you to bring them, you offered. I was quite happy with the little pile Branna left me sat under that damp tea towel on the trolley in the kitchen. Me eyes aren’t bigger than me belly you know.’
Freddie slumped on to the wooden bench he’d been sitting on for most of the afternoon. ‘The strangest thing has just happened.’
Norman sat down next to him, causing the back of the bench to hit the wall with a thud. ‘What? Stranger than finding that half-starved little lad in a garage? There’s not much that’s stranger than that. I’ll remember that night for a long time, and the look on your face when you ran out with him in your arms. Was Trevor from the CID here today?’
‘He was here all day,’ said Freddie.
‘Jumped-up little toad. Thinks he’s the bloody chief, he does. I’ve been after getting into CID for the past six years, been waiting for the nod. Next minute, Trevor Jones, the moaning Minnie from Wales, is in the job.’ Norman shook his head in disgust. ‘Did Sister Paige burst out laughing when she heard his voice? Do you reckon he’s been castrated? It’s not natural for a man to talk like that.’ Resentment had festered in Norman’s gut ever since the day he’d walked into the refreshments room at the station to be told that Trevor Jones, who was younger than him and had fewer years’ experience in the force, had been promoted to CID. His anger was never far from the surface and always quick to erupt.
‘Pack it in, Norman, you’ll get indigestion,’ said Freddie, looking forlorn. He leant forward and placed his chin in his hands.
‘What’s the story then?’ said Norman grudgingly, curiosity supressing his resentment. ‘Who do they reckon did it? Are they looking for the mam and dad?’
Freddie sat upright again and folded his arms. ‘According to Trevor on CID, the parents were German and had a maid. No one knew them or spoke to them, apparently. CID are tracking them down now.’
‘German, eh? They must have been brave, living in Liverpool after the war.’
‘Well, it seems no one ever talked to them and I’m guessing it was a one-way thing,’ said Freddie.
‘Were they Jewish?’
‘Apparently not. If they had been, we would have more information because then people would have spoken to them.’
‘That’ll pass one day,’ said Norman. ‘You wait and see. As the generations age, people will feel less resentful. And anyway, it wasn’t the German people’s fault, was it?’
Freddie found that hard to imagine. Liverpool had been hurt particularly badly in the war and there’d been many civilian deaths. Liverpool people never forgot. They could be your best friend and the most warm and generous, funny and friendly people ever, but cross them and you would be crossed for life. They also stuck together: Scousers against the world. If you were an outsider and you kicked one of them, everyone in Liverpool would shout ouch. He crossed and uncrossed his arms several times, then sighed.
‘What’s up with you?’ asked Norman. ‘You can’t sit still.’
‘It’s Sister Paige,’ said Freddie, now staring glumly at the corridor floor. ‘I asked her if I could take her for a drink after the choir rehearsal and she said yes, and then quick as a flas
h she said no and ran down the stairs. I mean, I know it’s a woman’s prerogative and all that to change her mind, but the words had barely left her mouth before she came out with the exact opposite.’
Norman peeled back the greaseproof paper on the packet Freddie had given him and peered inside. ‘There’s nothing odd about that, lad,’ he said. ‘Women change their mind all the time. They are the most contrary things to deal with, you know. Have to be handled with kid gloves. That’s why I’ve never married. Is this Shippam’s paste? Branna’s made me egg and cress.’
‘You’re as good as married,’ said Freddie.
Norman bit into his sandwich. ‘No, I am not. I go back to my own house every night. I’m not always in my own bed mind, but it is an arrangement that suits me very well. I’ve never understood women, me. Never.’ He was more interested in the provenance of the sandwiches than Freddie’s love life. ‘Did your landlady make these?’
Freddie nodded again. He had never felt so miserable. ‘What do I do, then? Just leave it? Pretend she never said yes the first time?’
Norman laughed out loud. ‘No, lad. Jeez, you really don’t get it, do you? The reason she said yes and then no was so that you would ask her again, another time, like. They like to keep you guessing and wondering. They don’t give much away, women don’t, and they make you work for everything. She’s just starting as she means to go on. She is a bit special, though, lad – top drawer, that one. Are you sure she hasn’t already got a fella of her own?’
Freddie frowned. He was confused but now a bit more hopeful. ‘No. I mean yes. If she did have, she wouldn’t have said yes in the first place, would she?’
‘There you go again, asking me a question about a woman and expecting a simple answer. Freddie, mate, there is no simple answer. You will just have to try again.’
‘So I should ask her then? Shall I ask her at the rehearsal?’
Norman was about to place an entire half a sandwich into his mouth. ‘I would say so, because if you don’t, there is only one thing going to happen and that is sweet Fanny Adams and you will be left swinging your truncheon all on your own.’ He began to laugh, a long, dirty laugh, and his shoulders heaved up and down as he did so.
Lovely Lane-04 Page 16
