Arian

by Iris Gower

  ‘You’re not going to die like my mammy, are you?’ April asked biting her lip, her eyes large and luminous, her little-girl figure blossoming into an early womanhood. The child was far too old for her years in many ways, Fon thought distractedly. How on earth was she going to cope with April’s growing up, when she didn’t feel in the least equipped for it?

  ‘No I am not going to die!’ Fon said firmly. ‘I’m a young healthy woman and giving birth to a child is the most natural thing in the world.’ She wished she believed it but she had once had an inbuilt fear of childbirth that she believed she’d overcome. At the side of the bed, in the roughly made wooden cot, slept Catherine, her daughter, not yet a year old. It was too soon for another baby, much too soon, she thought in panic.

  Catherine’s birth had not been easy. Fon had been tense, her body struggling against what was an act of nature but to Fon it had all been just as bad as she had feared. The tearing, burning pain seemed to go on and on and when at last her child had come into the world, Fon had been so exhausted that she scarcely felt anything for the red-faced scrap that was her daughter.

  Patrick came into the room and plumped himself on the bed, his face grave. ‘Are you sick, Fon?’ he asked in a sombre voice. Fon’s face softened.

  Her stepson was grave with concern, like an old man, and yet his face still held the rounded contours of childhood. ‘No, of course I’m not sick. I don’t know what all the fuss is about,’ she said in as easy a tone as she could manage. ‘I’m going to have a baby, that’s all Patrick. A little brother or sister for you.’

  ‘I don’t want a brother and I’ve got a sister,’ Patrick said firmly. ‘And I’ve got April, haven’t I?’

  ‘Aye, you got me, Pat,’ April said rubbing his hair across his eyes playfully, ‘but I’m not your real sister, mind. Cathie here is your real sister.’

  ‘Well you live with us,’ Patrick said with implacable reason. ‘You’re like a sister and Cathie’s too little to play with me.’

  Fon bit her lip as a pain spread insidiously around her stomach, like iron fingers gripping her body, squeezing painfully and centring in her back. She sucked in her breath, feeling as though her bones were being pulled apart. She turned her face to the pillow so that the children would not see her distressed. Why didn’t Jamie come back? Why didn’t he hurry?

  ‘Take Patrick and the baby downstairs, April,’ Fon said when the pain had subsided. ‘I feel like a little bit of a rest.’

  ‘All right then,’ April said eagerly. She took Cathie carefully out of the cot and held her gently. ‘I don’t mind having this one, she’s good as gold, but you, Patrick, I bet you’ll plague me to make you a bit of toast or some bread and jam.’

  ‘Butty and jam.’ Patrick, taking the bait, leapt off the bed, his eyes alight. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘You look starved,’ April said with heavy irony. ‘Come on, brat, I suppose I’d better make some tea while I’m at it.’

  When Fon was alone, she stared up at the sky outside and watched the clouds loiter along above the hills like sheep. There was a hint of rain in the air and at any moment, the clouds threatened to turn into heavy mist and drown the fields of Honey’s Farm.

  Another pain wound cords of tautness about Fon’s body. She gasped and clung to the sheet, biting her lip to prevent herself from crying out. Soon now, the doctor would come and give her something to ease the pain. For God’s sake, she needed it. Why was she so prolific, she who didn’t want to bring children into the world? It really was ironic.

  She could hear the children arguing downstairs; April, who would soon enter her teenage years, was feeling her superiority over the much younger Patrick and was obviously insisting on the boy doing something that he was not too happy about. Fon grimaced, guessing it was something simple like washing his hands before he came to the table. To her relief, the door downstairs opened and she heard Jamie’s voice.

  ‘Be quiet!’ he commanded and immediately there was silence. Fon heard footsteps on the stairs with a mingled sense of relief and apprehension. She knew that she would be acutely embarrassed to have the doctor examine her which was foolishness – he was probably so used to watching mothers give birth that it meant nothing to him.

  The door opened and Jamie immediately seemed to fill the room. He was a big handsome man, rugged and with the look of the open air about him. His very presence gave Fon confidence and she managed a smile.

  ‘How are you doing then, Mrs O’Conner?’ The doctor appeared from behind her husband’s shoulder. He was dwarfed by the larger man. ‘Nice to see you again. I hope you recognize me, I’m doctor Eddie Carpenter and I’m here to see that this baby is safely delivered.’

  ‘Eddie!’ Fon’s surprise was quickly followed by a feeling of relief. Eddie, she had faith in, she’d seen him at work on the farm before he’d even qualified as a doctor.

  ‘Eddie,’ she took his hand, ‘you’ve grown a beard, duw you’re looking so well, so smart.’

  He was gently feeling her stomach, his hands gentle yet searching. ‘You seem to be doing all this very well, Fon. You’ll be just fine, nothing to worry about.’

  His words brought Fon a warm glow of reassurance. She felt herself relax as he smiled down at her.

  ‘You’ve done this before, Fon and the second time is always easier, I promise you.’

  As he talked, his hands were busy beneath the sheets. He grunted and nodded and Fon, watching him, felt at once that he was pleased with her progress.

  ‘Ah, yes, the head is nicely in place. He feels a big lad and you are a small mother but I know you’ll do very well.’

  Fon glanced at Jamie. His eyes were anxious and she smiled at him in reassurance. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ she said softly, ‘you just go about your business and leave me to mine.’

  ‘That’s the way,’ Eddie said winking. ‘Right then, bring some hot water, Jamie and let the midwife up the minute she comes.’ He patted Fon’s arm. ‘She’d better hurry, mind, or we’ll be doing this one all by ourselves.’

  His words proved to be prophetic. Fon’s labour moved from stage to stage with very little trouble, perhaps because Eddie was there, talking, soothing, being Eddie, her old friend.

  Then the pains changed, she was bearing down, grunting in her throat with the effort of pushing her child into the world.

  ‘Good girl,’ Eddie said. ‘That’s fine, you’re almost there, Fon, easy now, not too hard. Now bear down!’

  The effort took all her strength. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the sweat beading her brow. Almost with a sense of detachment she pushed as hard as she could, knowing Eddie was helping her.

  There was a sudden sense of release, the burning sensation in her body miraculously was gone and into the silence came the sharp cry of a new-born child.

  The midwife entered the room, her face red from hurrying, her eyes apologetic as they looked down at Fon.

  ‘Duw, there’s sorry I am,’ she said, gasping a little. ‘I’ve missed the show then, have I? I’m just in time to sweep the stage, so to speak.’

  ‘Aye, we’ve managed nicely,’ Eddie said pleasantly. ‘We have a good mother here, nurse. The way she’s going she’ll soon have a brood of fine sons just like this one. Yes, Fon, you’ve got a son.’

  He put the baby into Fon’s arms and the midwife clucked in exasperation, ‘Just like a man, no blanket for the babbi. Here, let me wrap him up.’

  Fon looked down at her son with a sense of amazement – the screwed-up face and the bush of red-gold hair appeared so beautiful to her. The baby began to cry again and Fon felt herself melt with tenderness.

  ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ she said, ‘it’s all right, mammy is here.’

  Jamie was at her side then, staring down at her with pride. ‘You’ve given me a boy this time, Fon, my colleen,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘A fine brother for Patrick and Cathie, sure enough.’ His arms, open to receive their son, and his eyes meeting Fon’s, were filled with warmth.r />
  ‘He’s a fine, handsome boy,’ Eddie said triumphantly, as if he alone was responsible for the child. ‘Good lungs, fine, sturdy limbs. You’ll have a good farmer there, Jamie.’

  ‘Right, you lot,’ the nurse said firmly, ‘out of here while I see to the mother and baby. A nice cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, mind.’

  Jamie returned the baby to Fon’s waiting arms. ‘Well done, colleen,’ he said softly, ‘well done.’

  Fon’s eyes filled with tears. She had done it, she had safely come through her labour. Her sense of achievement was exhilarating. She had matched Jamie’s first wife – she had produced a fine son. She sighed. She must be the happiest woman in all of Swansea.

  Sarah Frogmore was restless. She was a married woman with a fine child, she had a wonderful home and an apparently devoted husband – everything a woman could want, so it would seem to the outside world.

  She leaned back in her chair, her needle falling idle. She had come a long way from being the daughter of a cobbler, a woman with a not too innocent past, to this, the lap of luxury. Now she was Mrs Geoffrey Frogmore, respected in a society that once would have shunned her.

  She smiled ruefully. Her father too, had done well. John Miller had married Emily Grenfell, a woman from the upper classes, a woman who had made a great deal of money. It was Dad’s good luck that Emily had fallen in love with him and had become his wife, thus raising his standard of living to heights beyond his imaginings. Not that John Miller was an adventurer. He loved Emily as much as she loved him; they made a fine pair and it was clear to everyone that they had a good marriage. Sarah envied them.

  She looked up from her needlework lying idle in her lap and watched her son pore over one of his books. Jack was advanced for his years – he was not yet four and could read very well. That skill was due to Geoffrey’s intense interest in his son and his urge to educate the boy.

  A shadow fell over her face. Geoffrey was out yet again with his friend Chas. He had stayed out all last night, no doubt sleeping at the apartment he rented so that Chas and he could be together as often as possible.

  He did make a show of being a happy family-man when his father was around. Old Mr Frogmore had a touching faith in his son’s ability to be a good husband and it was in Geoffrey’s interest to foster this belief. Geoffrey, if he was to benefit from the inheritance willed to him by his father was obliged to convince the old man that he was a lusty, loving husband.

  Sarah sighed, if only it was true. She failed to understand why Geoffrey preferred Chas’s bed to hers. She could not fathom the reason for one man loving another but she had come to accept it – there was nothing else for her to do. And yet she was hungry, hungry for love and affection, hungry for a man’s arms around her.

  Her sewing fell unnoticed to the floor as she thought over her past life and loves. There had been a few men in her life including William Davies. She smiled wryly. Last she’d heard he was living with Eline Temple in some mean house in World’s End. What sort of life was that? She thanked her lucky stars she’d not married him. And yet his love for her had once been real enough.

  As youngsters, they had explored each other with eagerness, had made love under the hot sun, had tasted together the joys of the flesh. She sighed. What she would give now for one night of passion with him.

  The maid entered the room bobbing a curtsy. ‘If it please you, Mrs Frogmore, Mrs Miller is here to see you.’

  ‘Wait just a minute or two and then show her in,’ Sarah said inclining her head, barely able to conceal a self-satisfied smile. Emily, the once proud and haughty Emily Grenfell, had to wait on her pleasure.

  Emily came into the room a few minutes later and if her smile was a little forced, she made an effort not to let it show. Sarah was not slow to notice that Pammy wasn’t with her.

  Sarah didn’t mind that Emily was alone, as she didn’t particularly want to see Pammy. She had never regretted that Emily had adopted the girl, for Pammy was the fruit of an illicit match between Sarah and Sam Payton – a black sheep if ever there was one – and it was an episode in Sarah’s life that she’d rather forget. There had never been any love for the child in her heart; Sarah knew that she should be ashamed to admit such a thing but it was the truth. Now that she had her son, she felt even more distant from her daughter. Her love for Jack was overwhelming. In any case, Pammy was part of her past that was best kept well hidden.

  ‘Emily, how nice to see you. How’s my father? Keeping well, I hope?’

  ‘John is fine,’ Emily said. ‘He sends his love.’ She sat down and plucked off her gloves. ‘The best thing I ever did was marry your father,’ she said softly.

  ‘The second best was adopting my daughter,’ Sarah said, unable to resist rubbing in the fact that Emily had no child of her own.

  ‘I have never ceased to be grateful for that,’ Emily said gravely. Sarah, waited, wondering to what she owed the honour of the visit – it was rare that Emily made a social call.

  As though reading her thoughts, Emily spoke. ‘I just felt it was time I called on you. I wanted to be sure that everything was all right.’ Her eyes went to the small boy who was looking over his book curiously. ‘Jack is a fine son. You are so very lucky, Sarah. I do hope you realize it.’

  Jack smiled and spoke with a charming lisp, ‘Where is my grandpapa?’

  ‘He’ll be around to see you later, I expect,’ Emily said. ‘Come here, I’ve got some sweeties for you.’

  Sarah suppressed a smile. They all fell in love with Jack. He was a handsome, intelligent boy and as she watched him, love for him filled her so that tears came into her eyes. If only, she thought ruefully, she and Geoffrey had a vigorous relationship in the bedroom, she would be completely happy.

  ‘I know how lucky I am,’ she said softly, ‘but then luck comes in different guises.’ She saw Emily look at her in surprise ‘Oh, I have some finer feelings, whatever you think of me,’ she said bluntly. ‘I envy the relationship you have with my father. I can see that there’s real love between you and that’s something very rare.’

  Emily smiled and her face was transformed. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘John and I are as much in love now as when we first met. I have a thrill of pride and pleasure whenever I see him entering a room.’ She paused. ‘I take it that nothing has changed between you and Geoffrey then? Love hasn’t grown?’

  Sarah bit her lip. ‘Emily, my husband is not a man who loves women, not passionately anyway. Oh, yes, he loves me after a fashion, and he loves Jack to distraction but you must understand he is different.’

  ‘Different? How?’ Emily was uncomprehending and Sarah wondered at her naïvety. Emily was older than she, had been brought up to riches and luxury, but for all that she was quite unsophisticated in some ways. Sarah decided to shock her.

  ‘My husband is in love, physical love with another man,’ she said flatly, and she saw, with a certain sense of satisfaction, the colour drain from Emily’s face.

  ‘You must have heard about such things,’ Sarah said impatiently. ‘It is nothing new.’

  Emily seemed to recover her composure. ‘Of course it’s not new,’ she said. ‘It’s as old as time just as prostitution is, but no-one expects it to affect them personally.’

  Sarah saw Emily’s glance rest on Jack who was once more absorbed in his books.

  ‘Geoffrey was capable of doing it with me,’ – she knew Emily would be embarrassed by her crudeness but some devil within her drove her to hurt her stepmother whenever she had the opportunity – ‘just enough times for me to conceive his child, and even then it was with his eyes tightly closed and him thinking of his lover.’

  Emily looked away and stared through the window. When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘How can you bear it?’ she asked. ‘For a husband to be unfaithful with another woman is bad enough but how can you fight another man?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried but Chas comes before everything.’ She paused. ‘
Everything except our Jack and, of course, the inheritance.’

  ‘Sarah, it’s no wonder you are sometimes bitter,’ Emily said and her sympathy was evident. ‘To live with a man knowing that he is … different must be very difficult.’

  ‘He is kind,’ Sarah said. ‘He is more considerate than most husbands in many ways. Perhaps that’s how he can live with the guilt of his secret passion.’

  ‘And Jack …’ Emily’s voice trailed away. Her eyes were sad as they rested on the small boy.

  ‘Jack will never know the truth about his father,’ Sarah spoke emphatically. ‘He will grow up believing that we are a normal healthy family with no skeletons in the cupboard.’

  Sarah could see by Emily’s face that she doubted such a thing could be possible.

  ‘But brothers and sisters,’ Emily said. ‘Will Jack not miss having a family?’

  Sarah, who had thought along these lines herself more than once, felt her resolution harden. ‘He will have a brother or sister,’ she said firmly. ‘What Geoffrey has done once, he can do again.’

  It was only when Emily had left that Sarah’s thoughts crystallized into action. Speaking of her wish for another child out loud, discussing it with Emily had suddenly made it seem a reality. She felt a fresh determination fill her. She would prepare her strategy very carefully, coax her husband into her bed with reasons rather than feminine wiles, reasons why it was desirable to have another child.

  She would play on Geoffrey’s one weakness – his love for his son. She would tell him that Jack needed a family, someone to whom he could turn when his parents could no longer be around.

  She found herself looking forward to Geoffrey’s homecoming as though waiting for a lover. He would be late, he usually ate dinner with Chas, but just for this once that suited her purpose.

  She bathed and perfumed her body and when that was done, she dressed carefully in a satin nightgown and then brushed her hair out until it gleamed. She hesitated on the landing and then went into Geoffrey’s room and climbed beneath the sheets.

  He was later than usual and Sarah was almost asleep when she heard his door open. She tensed, her heart was beating swiftly as she waited for him to approach the bed.