A Christmas Wish

by Lizzie Lane

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘Don’t you look down your nose at me, Magda Brodie,’ shouted Susan, pushing Ruby aside as she came round from the other side of the bed. ‘You’re the pet of a brothel madam. Old Winnie earned a bit of immoral herself. Reuben Fitts paid her off. She was his bit on the side, but when she got crippled, he took pity on her and gave her a little pot to set herself up in a living. I mean, no bloke was going to pay for the services of a crippled whore. So she became a madam. A whore managing whores. And that’s the truth of it!’

  Being assailed with all this information, blasting at her like the heat from a furnace, was too much for Magda to bear.

  A child began to cry. The smoke from Ruby’s cigarette seemed more noxious mixing with the stale, sweetish stench of decay. Small specks on the grimy wallpaper moved; bugs – lots of them.

  Feeling sick to her stomach, she took off, her feet hammering down the stairs, hurling herself at the door and leaving it swinging on its hinges. The sound of children crying followed.

  Was Susan telling the truth? Why hadn’t Winnie told her that her father had been back?

  The flash of moving lights and the sound of an engine came from somewhere behind her. The car came to a halt. The door flew open blocking her path.

  ‘Out a bit late, darling. Fancy a lift ’ome, Magdalena?’

  The flame from a lit match touched to the tip of a cigarette illuminated the face of Bradley Fitts.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Perhaps he would have grabbed her as he’d done before, but suddenly somebody shouted.

  ‘Hey! Doctor! You’ve left your papers behind.’

  It was Ruby, waving the folder in which she kept her lecture papers.

  She hurried back to Ruby, thinking of how to escape Bradley Fitts yet again. There was no lavatory window this time.

  ‘You got too carried away,’ said Ruby, a fresh cigarette jiggling at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was confused. Upset too.’ She took the folder. ‘You will look after Susan?’ she said hesitantly, her attention alternating between Ruby and the stationary car. ‘I would have helped if I could – if I was more qualified …’

  She saw Ruby’s eyes stray to where the car was parked. She chanced a glance, hoping it was pulling away; it was not. It was still there under the streetlight, its black bodywork gleaming.

  ‘My, but look at that! A motor car around here. If it had been daytime the whole street would have been out to take a look. Know ’im do you?’

  ‘No.’

  A slow smile spread across Ruby’s narrow face. In this light her eyes looked non-existent, just black holes above that narrow smile.

  ‘Your fancy man is it?’

  ‘No.’

  Ruby’s smile spread wider. ‘That’s Bradley Fitts’s car. Is it like father like son? Old Reuben had Winnie, and now the son’s ’aving you?’

  Magda licked the nervous sweat from her upper lip.

  ‘No! But he frightens me. Can I come back inside until he’s gone?’

  Ruby drew back.

  ‘Not bloody likely! The Fitts family rule the roost around ’ere in case you didn’t know. And I ain’t one to upset the apple cart.’

  The crying of a child came from a downstairs room.

  ‘Gotta go,’ said Ruby.

  The door slammed shut in her face. She was alone – and scared.

  She turned, her heart pounding, her blood racing.

  If she could leave the street another way …

  There was a wall. From the other side came a cloud of steam and a clanking of goods trucks, the grating of metal wheels on iron rails.

  There was no way she could get past Bradley Fitts without him dragging her into that car – and she knew that was exactly what he had planned for her.

  She had no option but to face him.

  Trembling with fear but ready to run, she began walking in his direction.

  He’d got out of the car and was leaning against the streetlamp, the tip of a cigarette glowing red as he held it to his lips.

  His eyes locked with hers and a triumphant smile twitched around his mouth. Since leaving the area, she’d made a point of not straying too near Edward Street and the scruffy streets beyond where Susan now lived. One reason was that her life had taken a different direction; her friends had changed and she had aspirations she’d never had before. The other reason was to avoid the likes of Bradley Fitts.

  Her breath steamed white and rapid from her mouth and although her legs were like jelly, she strode purposefully – just like her father had done when he’d dumped her at Aunt Bridget’s.

  Her father. Could it really be that he’d come looking for her?

  The question would keep. Concentrating her mind on appearing brave, even if she didn’t feel it, was what mattered at this moment.

  The narrow street they stood in came off a larger one. Together they formed a ‘T’ shape, the houses on the major road as blank and dark as the terraced houses to either side of her.

  Accompanied by the sound of slow footsteps, a giant shadow fell against the row of houses on the main road.

  Bradley Fitts’s attention flipped from the shadow and sound to her and back again.

  Magda stopped. Hopefully she was saved. Surely it had to be a policeman, a copper in uniform patrolling his beat.

  Hugging her folder against her chest, she watched Fitts and watched also for the figure that was sure to turn the corner.

  She crossed her fingers. It had to be a copper.

  It seemed that Bradley Fitts was thinking the same. He got into his car, closed the door and proceeded to do a ‘U’ turn in the middle of the street.

  The street was narrow; the car hard to turn. Fitts had kept the engine running whilst waiting to accost her, but now, suddenly, it cut out.

  Although it was too dark to discern clearly, she could imagine him slapping the wheel and cursing as he reached for the starting handle. He had no choice.

  He got out of the car, went swiftly round to the bonnet, bent down and inserted the handle. It started on the third turn and once the engine sounded, he threw the handle back into the car and got in himself.

  A tall dark figure had appeared on the left-hand corner of the street. The car appeared to be going left, but at the last moment turned right and drove off.

  She reached an astounding conclusion; whoever the man was, Bradley Fitts had decided to veer away from him. And fast!

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Venetia

  Four weeks before Christmas; the weather was wet and slate-grey clouds were tumbling across the sky as if they were in a hurry to go somewhere.

  Venetia was on her knees scrubbing the black and white tiles running the length of the corridor outside the nuns’ quarters. All the inmates were there to learn self-discipline and domestic skills; this included the frequent scrubbing of the floors.

  The swishing of heavy skirts announced the arrival of Sister Conceptua.

  ‘Your visitor is here,’ said the nun, her clasped hands white as marble against the dull black of her habit.

  Elated by the news, Venetia struggled to her feet, rubbing her aching back as she did so.

  Her back had been aching a lot of late; early, the nuns told her, for someone who was only some six months pregnant. ‘Wait until you’re nearer your time. Your back will be really aching then.’ This was usually said with a hint of glee, as though every discomfort was well deserved.

  The sharp retort that a celibate nun wouldn’t know how it felt to be pregnant stayed locked inside. She wasn’t quite as flighty of speech as she had been. Finding herself pregnant had affected her plans for the future. She had so badly wanted that domestic position in a big city – wherever that city might be, though her heart had always been set on Queenstown.

  The joy she felt that her grandparents had at last agreed to visit swept away all the bitterness she’d experienced at them placing her in St Bernadette’s. Her letter had got there.

/>   ‘Take off your apron and smarten yourself up,’ said Sister Conceptua. ‘And don’t run,’ she added when Venetia broke into a brisk trot.

  Venetia felt a mix of trepidation and excitement. Her grandparents had come to visit her; had Anna Marie come too?

  The visitors’ room was beyond a locked door to which only the duty sister and the Mother Superior had the key.

  Once she’d tidied herself up, she headed to where Sister Conceptua waited for her, her body as wide as the door that opened into the visitors’ room. A bunch of keys hung from her chill white fingers.

  ‘Are you ready, Venetia?’

  Venetia nodded, her mouth as dry as the rough bread she’d eaten at lunch time.

  Listening to the key jarring in the lock was nail biting. What had their reaction been to her letter and the covering one from the Mother Superior telling them that she was expecting a baby? Not that Mother Superior had used such innocent words as that.

  ‘I know you have written to them, but it was also my duty to write to them, given the situation that only came to light once you arrived here. I have told them that you are bearing the consequences of sin. They will be shocked and hurt. No doubt it will take them some time to come to terms with what you have done. You cannot expect them to respond straightaway.’

  ‘I thought they might want to visit,’ Venetia had responded hopefully.

  A look of disbelief and outright accusation had peered back at her from within the stark white wimple.

  ‘In my experience that is the last thing relatives of shameless girls wish to do.’

  You were wrong, she wanted to shout now she knew they were here. It had taken some months for them to come, but they were here at last.

  Somehow she’d expected the whole family, but only a lone figure waited for her in the visitors’ room.

  The room was painted a pale blue; a plaster Madonna stood in one corner, a ‘sacred heart’ picture hung from the wall in front of her above a black cross in a cheap brass base.

  Her grandmother, seeming smaller than when Venetia had last seen her, arose from the chair in the corner of the room as she entered. She was wearing her best rust-coloured coat, the one set aside for mass on Sundays.

  Venetia held out her arms to embrace her.

  ‘Don’t!’

  Her grandmother held up both hands, palms outwards as though she would push her away.

  Disappointed, Venetia let her arms fall and swallowed the hurt. The pleas for forgiveness and declarations that she missed her family died on her lips.

  Her grandmother’s eyes were shaded by the brim of the hat she wore that went some way to hiding her face.

  And her shame, thought Venetia, remembering the Mother Superior’s words.

  All the humility she had meant to display died.

  I will be the way I was.

  ‘You came alone. Well, I suppose you had to. Busy at the farm I suppose what with Christmas coming up. I’m surprised you bothered.’

  The work-worn face stiffened as though she’d slapped it.

  ‘You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Always thinking of yourself regardless of the upset you might cause. And now this!’

  Molly Brodie waved her wrinkled hand at Venetia’s growing bump.

  ‘I thought Granfer might have come with you – seeing as I’m carrying his first grandchild. I thought he’d be over the moon if I give birth to a boy.’

  Her grandmother took a deep breath as though she were gathering in all the words she needed to say.

  ‘Dermot – your grandfather – doesn’t know about the baby. It was a hard decision, but I decided to keep it secret from the family. I think it’s best that way. I told him I was visiting you because it’s close to Christmas.’

  There was something about the way her eyes shifted around, looking at anything rather than at her granddaughter.

  ‘So you’ve not told Patrick’s family.’

  ‘That I have not!’

  The statement was delivered with an air of finalisation.

  Venetia felt sick inside. So! Patrick did not know. His family did not know. There was only one other person her grandmother might have let in on the secret.

  ‘Does Anna Marie know?’ she asked slowly.

  Her grandmother shook her head. ‘No. I’ve told nobody, and for good reason.’

  Venetia waited for her to deliver the reason, but her grandmother was taking her time getting round to it.

  ‘The thing is, Venetia, that once you’ve had your child, there’s nothing to stop you going away to work in a big house as planned.’ She looked away as she spoke, the brim of the hat hiding most of her face. ‘There are plenty of childless couples seeking adoption.’

  Venetia looked at her in disbelief.

  ‘You’re telling me to give my baby away. But I won’t. What would Patrick think of me if I did that? Once he knows, he’ll marry me. I know he will.’

  One look from her grandmother’s striking eyes and she knew that Patrick would not be marrying her.

  There were many reasons why he couldn’t. The worst of all entered her mind. She’d heard that an epidemic of influenza had taken off a high number of young people. Or an accident? TB? A whole host of reasons.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Molly Brodie took hold of all her courage and said it quickly.

  ‘He can’t marry you. He’s already married.’

  ‘Married?’

  Venetia sank down onto a hard wooden chair as though her legs had turned to jelly. He’d betrayed her! He’d betrayed her again!

  ‘Married? Are you sure?’

  Her grandmother nodded and bent her head.

  ‘He’s married your sister. He’s married Anna Marie. That’s why you must never come home. That’s why neither of them must ever know about the baby. We have to give their marriage a chance. The nuns will see that things are done properly. You can count on it.’

  Venetia sat silently, staring at the black cross without actually seeing it and feeling a great urge to smash the plaster Madonna into a hundred pieces.

  ‘I’ve brought you some new underwear for Christmas. I thought you could probably do with it, especially once the baby is born. I’ll leave it here.’

  She placed a brown paper parcel on the table next to the black cross.

  A black cross. New underwear.

  Molly Brodie got to her feet.

  ‘I’ll be going now. Take care of yourself.’

  A beam of light caught her grandmother’s gold wedding band as she raised her hand and rang the bell that would summon a sister to open the door that led into the outside world.

  Neither attempted to approach the other; Molly Brodie out of remorse, Venetia out of shock.

  A black-robed figure stood on the other side of the open door.

  Molly Brodie paused before leaving.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, and was gone.

  Venetia sat numbly as the Mother Superior confirmed what her grandmother had said; arrangements had been made for the baby to be adopted.

  ‘I don’t want that.’

  She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she said it, as though emblazoning her wish on the only carpet in the whole of St Bernadette’s.

  ‘I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter. You’re under twenty-one and your grandmother has expressly stated that she feels it’s for the best. As we do, Venetia, for both you and for your baby.’

  The nun studied the young woman sitting in front of her and thought how forlorn she looked, yet what a firebrand she had been on arrival.

  She prided herself on being a good judge of those characters that had passed through St Bernadette’s. Some ‘wayward and wild girls’ fell to pieces the moment they entered the double iron gates at the end of the drive. Others hardened, but few bubbled with hope as Venetia had done – until she found out that she was having a baby that is.

  ‘Seeing as you’re in the last two months of your term, you’ll be moved from here into the materni
ty wing. It’s cosier, quieter and more suited to expectant mothers. Perhaps whilst you’re there, you’d like to help out with the other unwed mothers and their babies. I’m sure it will help occupy your mind until you give birth.’

  The nun took Venetia’s silence as an affirmative and shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘So be it. It doesn’t much matter. Your family doesn’t want you so you have no choice.’

  The rain diminished halfway through December to be replaced by a biting cold that froze the pipes and numbed the bones of the older nuns. They could be seen rolling from side to side, favouring one hip or knee over the other as they made their way to chapel.

  Now sharing a room with four other unwed and expectant mothers, Venetia had changed too. In awe of the newborn babies, she found herself looking forward to giving birth.

  Unlike some other establishments that catered for unmarried mothers, those that had given birth were not separated from those who had not. According to Sister Theresa, the sister in charge of the maternity wing, hearing of painful experiences would likely double the fear of giving birth, and didn’t the girls deserve it? According to her philosophy, doubling the fear would likely put them off fornicating out of wedlock in future. It hadn’t yet occurred to her that it might put them off even if and when they did marry.

  ‘I didn’t think they were so small,’ Venetia said to one new mother as the babe’s tiny fingers clung to just one of hers. ‘Like a little china doll.’

  Rosa, the mother, a slightly plump girl with curly hair and pink cheeks, merely grunted in response.

  Venetia ignored the girl’s negative reaction; she couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny human being.

  ‘Makes you wonder at the size they grow into doesn’t it?’ Venetia persisted. ‘You can’t help wondering if your baby boy will grow to six feet or more, or your little girl gets to be curvy or skinny.’

  ‘Who cares? I won’t be around to see it.’

  Rosa continued turning the pages of the book she was reading and sounded as though she meant it.