Another Man's Child

by Anne Bennett

  ‘No reply?’ Andy repeated to the young boy, bitterly disappointed that Celia hadn’t sent him some sort of note, however short.

  The boy shook his head. ‘She never even opened it.’

  ‘Never even opened it?’ Andy repeated incredulously. ‘You sure it was Miss McCadden you gave the letter to?’

  ‘Course it was,’ the boy cried. ‘I said so, didn’t I, and she’s having a baby, ain’t she?’

  Andy was totally shocked and he said, ‘No, no, you’re mistaken there.’

  ‘No I ain’t,’ the boy maintained. ‘Cos my ma looked like that afore she had my little brother. Can I have that thruppence now?’

  Andy gave the boy the money and he scampered away and Billy put his arm around Andy. ‘She’s done the dirty on you, mate.’

  Andy nodded as an agonising pain of loss spread through his whole body.

  ‘All those times we were alone together,’ he said to Billy. ‘And like I said I never touched her and yet for pregnancy to be obvious she must have given herself to Henry almost straight away.’

  ‘Are you sure it was this Henry?’ Billy said.

  ‘Course it was,’ Andy snapped. ‘Who else could it be? She knows not a soul in Birmingham and even the short time I was there I could see the way Henry Lewisham looked at her, but I thought she was too respectable for any of that carry-on. You know,’ he added, ‘I was talking to a man a few months back and his girl threw him over when he was at the front for a man who dodged the call-up because he failed the medical with flat feet.’

  ‘Christ!’

  ‘Yeah, as he said, this man was here and he wasn’t and it’s a bit the same with Celia except that his girl married the man – this swine didn’t marry her, though she is carrying his child or she wouldn’t still be calling herself McCadden. When this man told me that I felt sorry for him, but I wasn’t that worried something similar might happen to me for never in a million years would I have said that Celia was that type of girl. Well, it just shows that one person never really knows the heart of another. And that’s the finish of her and me for I don’t take another man’s leavings.’

  THIRTEEN

  Billy knew that Andy was far more upset than he was letting on and he didn’t blame him. It hadn’t been his fault that he had no job. God knows he wasn’t the only one. And she had waited no time to get another to warm her bed because Andy was right, if her pregnancy was so obvious then her and that Henry must have been at it from the beginning. What a dreadful thing to do to a decent man like Andy. Billy also knew that it was better to work than mope and so he said, ‘Are you all right, Andy, cos we really need to be on our way?’

  Andy was far from all right, his head was reeling and he realised Celia must have changed totally from the girl he once knew, or thought he knew. Dear Christ! In one way he could thank God he’d had a lucky escape. But in the meantime Billy had a living to make and he nodded his head and said, ‘Couldn’t be better. Let’s go.’

  He jumped down as he spoke and held Captain’s head and the barge started to slide through the water. And the rhythm of the steady walk along the towpath as he held the halter of the uncomplaining horse eventually began to slow down his racing heart and heal his bruised and battered soul. He knew only time would help him cope with this and until then he wanted to work and work hard so that he was tired enough to sleep each night.

  Completely unaware of Andy’s misconceptions, Celia seldom thought of him now for other concerns were encroaching on her mind. The Troubles in Ireland were infiltrating into all areas and she couldn’t help worrying about her family, wishing dearly she could send a letter and have news of them. However, that wasn’t to be and meanwhile she had concerns about Annabel who seemed listless and lethargic so that even a gentle walk seemed beyond her and she’d been that way since the day Celia had been out changing the library books and shopping. She put Annabel’s anxious state down to the impending birth, and was very gentle and patient with her.

  Cook was very concerned that she was not eating properly, for she often only picked at the meals. ‘I can’t eat,’ Annabel said when Celia encouraged her. ‘I’m filled with misery.’

  ‘I know,’ Celia said and she also knew when, to please her or Cook or Henry, Annabel ate more dinner than she wanted, she often brought it all back again.

  ‘You must think about the baby,’ Cook admonished, as she collected plates one lunchtime to find Annabel had eaten nothing. ‘It’s not just about you any more. You must force yourself to eat.’

  Celia knew Sadie was as worried as she was and she was also a little affronted because she had never had food refused before. She made little fancies and pastries to tempt Annabel’s appetite, but often she couldn’t stomach those either.

  ‘What does she know?’ Annabel said one day when Sadie, with a click of disapproval, had taken her virtually untouched dinner back to the kitchen.

  ‘We are all concerned about you, that’s all,’ Celia said. ‘And Sadie is worried about the baby too.’

  ‘But I have no desire to think of this baby,’ Annabel said. ‘To tell you the truth, I wish it didn’t exist at all, but as it does I’ll have to give birth to the wretched thing and then I don’t want to see it, or have any dealings with it whatsoever. I want it taken away, out of my life.’ She caught sight of the look on Celia’s face and she said, ‘Poor dear Celia, I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’

  ‘A little,’ Celia admitted. ‘I do understand why you feel that way because what happened to you should never have happened. And by rights that man should be horse-whipped at the very least and admit his responsibilities as regards the child.’

  ‘But none of that has happened or is going to happen.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why were you shocked?’

  ‘Because there is another one blameless in all this business too,’ Celia said. ‘And that is the child. What a sorry welcome to the world that little mite is going to have.’

  ‘You make me ashamed,’ Annabel said. ‘You are a much nicer person than me.’

  ‘It didn’t happen to me, my lady,’ Celia said slipping into her old way of addressing Annabel. ‘Maybe if it had I would be feeling the same as you.’

  Annabel shook her head. ‘No you wouldn’t,’ she said with certainty. ‘In all this, when I have thought of the child, I only ever thought of it as a burden and how it would affect my life. I never thought of it as a little person with thoughts and feelings and I am ashamed of that. We must make sure that whatever we do for the child is the very best solution we can find.’

  Celia smiled. ‘Glad to hear you say that,’ she said. ‘But it might not be possible to do that immediately.’

  ‘I know that and if the child has to stay here longer than I intended, then that’s how it must be.’ She suddenly clutched Celia’s hand and looking deep into her eyes she pleaded, ‘You will stay and help me, won’t you, dear Celia, for I know nothing of babies?’

  ‘I have no qualifications,’ Celia said. ‘You may be better getting a proper nanny or nursemaid. The only things I know about babies I learnt from my mother when my brother and sister were born.’

  Too late she realised that she had told Annabel about her real family. Annabel knew too. She was well aware that Andy was a lover, not a brother, as she had read the letters, but Celia wouldn’t have a clue about that so she said, ‘I thought there was just you and Andy?’

  Celia sighed. ‘You’d better hear the truth,’ she said and she told Annabel everything. But Annabel wasn’t that surprised, but one thing did puzzle her.

  ‘I don’t understand why you said you were brother and sister.’

  ‘To protect my reputation,’ Celia said. ‘For although Andy and I were lovers, we have only ever kissed. Doesn’t look like I’ll ever do any more than that now either.’

  ‘So you are still a virgin?’

  ‘Yes and likely to remain one,’ Celia said. ‘I will be in no hurry to trust another man any time soon with Andy doing the di
rty on me the way he did.’

  ‘Well you can stay with us,’ Annabel said. She knew her action of not even telling Celia of the existence of the letters had given her friend a jaundiced view of men and what she saw as Andy’s abandonment had hurt her deeply and Annabel felt remorse for her actions strike her in the heart so that she gasped as she felt heat flow through her.

  ‘Are you all right, my lady?’ Celia said, moving closer and taking up her hand again. ‘You’ve gone so red.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Annabel said almost impatiently. But she needed assurance. ‘I want a promise from you, Celia, that whatever happens you’ll never hate me.’

  ‘The very idea, Lady Annabel.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘All right, if it pleases you so much I’ll promise,’ Celia said, ‘though I can’t envisage what you could do to make me even mildly dislike you.’

  Annabel sighed and then said, ‘Prove it then by becoming my nursemaid. I don’t want one of those stuffy nannies and it will only be for a few months until the baby’s future is sorted out.’

  ‘I’d be glad to if you’re sure,’ Celia said. ‘I love looking after babies, to tell you the truth. And with all that sorted; now let’s give this baby a fighting chance and make he or she as strong as they can be and the first step to that is for you to start eating properly.’

  ‘I see what you’re saying,’ Annabel said. ‘And I will do my best.’

  However, her best wasn’t good enough for though she did try to eat more she ended up being sicker than ever and eventually when this had been going on for almost a week Henry asked the doctor to call. He was very concerned for Annabel had so obviously lost weight and at that stage of her pregnancy he said that was not good news at all. The doctor was also worried about dehydration and would have liked her to go into hospital, but she became so distressed he didn’t insist.

  ‘Celia can do whatever is necessary,’ Annabel maintained. ‘Can’t you?’

  Celia felt she had to say she could, but in actual fact she was gravely concerned, for she was no nurse. She knew any hospital Annabel went to would be a private one and the care she would receive from committed and dedicated staff would be tiptop. Celia would have much preferred her to go there, even for a short time, and maybe they would be able to find out what was making her so sick. Henry would have preferred it too.

  ‘Help persuade her this is the best course of action just now?’ he pleaded as he let the doctor out.

  Celia tried, but Annabel was adamant that she was going nowhere.

  ‘But why, Annabel?’ Celia asked. ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘You know what I’m afraid of, the birth.’

  ‘But they may be able to give you something for that,’ Celia said. ‘Maybe there’s some sort of pain relief or something. And in any case, they might find out what is making you so sick.’

  ‘I’m sick because I am so scared of what is ahead of me,’ Annabel cried and her eyes looked haunted and incredibly sad as she added, ‘It’s all I think about and no hospital can help me with that.’

  Celia’s heart wrung with sympathy for this young girl forced to go through with the ordeal before her that was not of her choosing.

  ‘Oh Annabel!’ she cried and then felt incredibly humble as Annabel went on, ‘It’s you I need, because you are so strong and you help me cope.’

  Celia had never thought of herself as a strong person and could not remember anyone describing her that way before, but she had to admit that she was a very different person now from the compliant near child she had been in Ireland. Making the decision to come to England with Andy had been the bravest thing she had ever done, but when she’d had to deal with his betrayal she had grown up incredibly quickly. She had more confidence than ever before and if that confidence was helping Annabel then she was glad.

  ‘I won’t leave you, never fear,’ Celia told her and saw her friend sag in relief for a moment.

  And then Annabel suddenly sat bolt upright and said again, ‘And you’ll never hate me, whatever I do or have done?’

  ‘I have told you before I won’t,’ Celia said firmly, wondering at Annabel’s anxiety.

  ‘No, but listen,’ Annabel said urgently. ‘I’m going to tell you something that I think about all the time and when you hear it you will know just how wicked I am.’

  Celia knew that sometimes people regret telling another their innermost thoughts that are often much better left unsaid.

  ‘Make quite sure that you really want to tell me this, especially if I can’t do anything to help,’ she warned.

  ‘It will help me to tell you,’ Annabel said and reached for Celia’s hand and held it tight.

  ‘All right then.’

  ‘I hope the baby dies,’ Annabel said and her grip became tighter as if afraid Celia might pull away.

  She didn’t do that and managed to contain the gasp of shock, but her eyes grew as wide as saucers as Annabel continued. ‘See how wicked I am? Are you not disgusted? You are. I can see by your face.’

  ‘I’m not disgusted,’ Celia said. ‘But I am puzzled. Why do you wish that?’

  ‘Oh, Celia, do you have to ask?’ Annabel said. ‘I have no feeling for this child and if it lives Henry said it will probably be reared by one of the workers on the estate. And it will always be there, a constant reminder, but if it dies then in time it will be as if it never happened. Then my parents might accept me into the fold again and my life will go on as before. Don’t you see that this will be the best outcome all round?’

  Celia was a little time answering and when she did it was to say, ‘I see that it would be best for you, Annabel. I do understand how you feel but to wish a poor innocent child’s death would deprive him or her of the gift of life.’

  ‘Oh I see that,’ Annabel cried in distress. ‘You see now. I am not just wicked but also selfish.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Celia advised. ‘Those were your innermost thoughts, not actions. Is that why you thought I might hate you?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Annabel said. ‘And something else I can never tell you about.’

  Celia nodded. ‘Sometimes it’s better to keep these things to yourself. Now,’ she said. ‘I think it’s time for you to have a wee rest.’

  ‘I could never sleep.’

  ‘Then I’ll read to you until you are tired,’ Celia said. ‘Let’s go up to the bedroom and then if you do drop off it won’t matter.’

  Just moments later, Annabel was in bed and Celia was sitting beside her reading Northanger Abbey. And though Celia knew Jane Austen was one of Annabel’s favourite writers, she hadn’t gone far into the book before she saw Annabel’s eyelids flickering shut as if they were too heavy to keep open and eventually they closed altogether. She lay back on the pillows with a sigh and was soon fast asleep.

  Celia had a close look at Annabel as she tucked her in and knew she didn’t look anything like a woman just weeks away from giving birth. Even her beautiful face looked a little gaunt, the cheeks sunken in so those high classic cheekbones were prominent and her nose looked rather pinched. She thought Annabel looked sick and she hoped the birth would be sooner rather than later for she didn’t think she would improve until then.

  Andy, on the other hand, was in a good place for Billy had been able to employ him full time on the barge because he had picked up the contract for taking the Dunlop workers from Rocky Lane to Fort Dunlop by canal when Stan Bridges, the man who had been doing it, had been taken ill. Stan’s barge was berthed not that far from Billy and he was sorry to hear that Stan was ill because he had done him many a good turn since his parents had died.

  So when he had berthed his barge that afternoon he went aboard Stan’s to see how he was. Mabel, Stan’s wife, was on deck and when Billy enquired after Stan she shook her head.

  ‘Not too good,’ she said. ‘He’s been in pain, and he said to call the doctor today.’

  Billy gave a low whistle because few boaties called the doctor unless thin
gs were really serious. ‘Must be feeling bad to have the doctor out.’

  Mabel nodded. ‘He is,’ she said emphatically. ‘He’s more comfortable now because the doctor gave him something for the pain. And he’ll be all the better for seeing you, Billy. You go on down.’

  Billy went down the steps calling out to the man in the bed as he did so, ‘How you feeling now, Stan, you old skiver?’

  The smile died as he looked at Stan fully and saw that his face seemed to have shrunk since he had last seen him. It was ashen white and very lined and wrinkled with deep creases on his forehead and down each side of his mouth and his eyes were rheumy and bloodshot and he seemed to have no colour at all in his lips.

  Billy knew he was looking at a dying man and yet when Stan said, ‘It’s the end of me, lad,’ he replied, ‘Get away out of that, Stan. You’ll be as right as rain in no time.’

  Stan shook his head and Billy said, ‘What did the doctor say?’

  ‘Just confirmed what I already knew, that I have a tumour in my stomach.’

  ‘What can they do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Stan said. ‘He said I had less than six months.’

  ‘Oh, Stan!’ Billy said and his eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Now don’t you be roaring and crying, young Billy,’ Stan said. ‘One way or another I’ve had a good innings and while my life on the canal is over, yours is far from it and I may be able to help you there.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘To transport the Dunlop workers like I’ve been doing,’ Stan said. ‘This tumour hasn’t just happened. Been coming on for months. It was just today when the pain got bad enough to have the doctor in.’

  ‘Well if the doctor can control the pain, can’t you carry on a bit longer?’ Billy asked.