by June Francis
She shook her shoulder and Bernie woke up. Almost immediately she sniffed and said, ‘Something smells good.’
‘It’s only chips. I thought we could have some on butties before I have to go back.’
‘Back where?’ wheezed Bernie, chomping on her gums. One of her few remaining rotting teeth had recently dropped out.
‘To the Palladium. It’s reopening and they’re advertising for a cashier.’ Clara could not conceal her excitement. ‘I went in and left my references with the temporary manager. I’ve to go back soon and see whether he’ll take me on.’
Bernie’s face brightened. ‘That’s good news. But yer won’t be earning the money you did in munitions,’ she added, watching Clara take a loaf from the bread crock.
‘Tell me something I don’t know, Gran,’ said Clara with an edge to her voice. She put on the kettle then sliced the loaf and spread margarine on it before dividing the chips.
‘Yer’ll have to get another job or we won’t be able to pay the rent.’
‘I’ve enough money if we’re sensible,’ said Clara, who had stopped giving her gran money and had started to do most of the paying out herself. ‘A roof over our head, burial insurance, and then food and warmth. You won’t be able to have the fire on all day in the new year. You’ll have to let it go out and put on extra clothes.’
‘Bloody hell, girl. D’yer want me to freeze to death?’
‘Wrap up and get your legs going. Walk to the nearest library. Don’t buy a newspaper. It will be warm inside the library and you can read theirs for free.’
Bernie glared at her. ‘I see that it’s me that’s got to give up me comforts. Yous’ll be nice and warm in the picture house.’
‘Not in the cash box I won’t,’ said Clara promptly. She handed her gran a chip butty and took a bite out of her own. Bernie was silent for a while then suddenly she said, ‘If I’m going to die of the cold, you’d best try and get in touch with that grandson of mine again. With it being Christmas soon he might take pity on me and send me greetings and a couple of bob if yer tell him how hard up we are.’
Clara was scandalised. ‘I’m not telling him any such thing. He has a family. I’m not having him think that I only want to get to know him for a handout. Besides, we can manage if we’re careful.’
Bernie looked sulky. ‘More fool you. What are families for if not to help each other?’
‘You can say what you like, Gran. I’d rather have three jobs than go begging to them for money. I want to hear no more about it.’ Clara picked up her handbag and marched out of the house.
When she reached the Palladium, she saw Mr Walsh in the foyer, talking to another man. She knew better than to interrupt their conversation, so went over to study the posters of forthcoming attractions. She read the descriptions of the exciting adventures and passionate love stories in store for the dedicated flicker-goers wishing to escape their humdrum lives for a short while. Such was the hold that film was having on folk that the Church had begun to speak out against it.
At last the two men’s conversation came to an end and the other man left the premises. She hurried over to Mr Walsh. ‘You told me to come back. I left my references with you,’ she said.
‘Ah, Miss O’Toole.’ He beamed at her. ‘I see you live quite locally and your schoolmistress and former employers both stress your honesty and ability to learn from instruction. We’ve decided to give you a trial period. We have our grand reopening on New Year’s Day. I expect to see you here at ten o’clock on the twenty-ninth of this month, when my wife Miranda will show you the ropes. Your wages will be eighteen shillings and sixpence a week. Free cinema tickets for close family members and one Saturday off a month. So, see you on the twenty-ninth. Happy Christmas.’
‘It will be now,’ she replied with a smile. The wages were far below those she had earned in munitions but she had not expected any different. She strolled outside and did some shopping in West Derby Road before heading for home.
‘So did you get the job?’ asked Bernie as soon as Clara entered the house.
‘I did. Although, it’s nowhere near the same wages I earned in munitions, but the work will be more interesting and easier.’ She began to unpack the shopping. ‘I thought we could have a rabbit for Christmas, a bun loaf and a decent fire.’
‘What about my whisky?’
Clara gave her a look. ‘If you want whisky you’re going to have to fork out for it yourself.’
Bernie sighed. ‘I thought yer might have softened now yer’ve got the job. I’ve no tonic left, yer know.’
Clara knew it and that it’s lack was making Bernie grumpy. But the old woman was crafty and would nag if she thought Clara would weaken. She had to steel herself against her gran’s self-pitying words or her insults. ‘I’m sorry about that but you should have made it last. Mrs Black said there would be no more.’
‘What about a bar of chocolate for Christmas?’
Clara smiled to herself at her grandmother’s refusal to give up. ‘OK. Chocolate and a bottle of port.’
‘Oh happy day!’ said Bernie sourly. ‘Yer’ll have me dead before I get a chance to ask for Gertie’s forgiveness and go cleansed to me grave.’
‘I tell you what, Gran, I’ll send a Christmas card to wish my cousin and his family all the best for the festive season and the new year. Perhaps I should tell them that you’re at death’s door. Who knows, they might just show it to Gertie and she’ll come running so she can dance on your grave.’
‘You do that,’ said Bernie. ‘It just might do the trick.’
Chapter Eleven
On her way out of the house, Alice almost trod on the post that had just been pushed through the letterbox. It was Christmas Eve and ten minutes ago Tilly had come flying into the kitchen with the news that Hanny had gone into labour. She picked up the envelopes and placed them on a chair in the hall before rushing out of the house. Tilly had told her that Kenny was in a flap, waiting for the doctor and midwife to arrive. He wanted his half-sister to keep Hanny calm. Alice hadn’t had time to go up into the attic to let Seb know what she was doing, but had left the children in Tilly’s care.
Still wearing her apron, Alice hurried down the drive, praying that all would be well with Hanny. Her mind went back to the time the pair of them had sat on the Kirks’ outside lavatory roof in Francis Street, listening to the screams of her mother in labour in the house across the entry when Tilly had been born and her mother had died. It was a day that Alice and Hanny would never forget, and she suspected that her sister-in-law and closest friend would be thinking of it now.
As she opened the gate to Hanny and Kenny’s home, she saw her half-brother standing in the doorway, obviously watching out for her. His lean face was drawn and his eyes were dark with anxiety because he, too, must remember the day his stepmother had died. ‘Thank God, you’ve come!’ He reached out a hand and drew her inside the house.
‘What’s wrong? I know the baby’s not due for another eight days or so but it’s not so early that you have to worry,’ said Alice, feeling a need to reassure him.
Kenny’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘I know. But her pains are coming regularly and her mother’s started to take an interest. I wanted her to stay out of the bedroom but she forced her way past me and shut the door in my face… said that it was no place for a man.’
‘Good God!’ gasped Alice, squeezing his hand as she felt a chill go through her. Surely Mrs Kirk didn’t remember the day she had delivered Tilly? ‘How can she remember what to do when she’s forgotten so much else?’
‘That’s what I thought. You’ve got to get up those stairs quick and keep an eye on her whilst I go after Freddie. I sent him to fetch the doctor and the midwife, I only hope they’re in.’
‘Freddie! Freddie’s home?’ cried Alice, remembering what Hanny had said about his being able to help Seb.
‘Yes. He walked through the door only a couple of hours ago. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him but by God was I glad to s
ee him. You go up! I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He shoved Alice in the direction of the stairs and hurried out of the house.
Alice took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. She knew their bedroom was on the second floor and, as she reached the first landing, she half expected to hear screams. But all was quiet. She hurried on up the next flight of stairs and knocked on the bedroom door before pushing it open. The sight that met her eyes took her by surprise. Hanny was bent over the bottom of the bed, clinging to the bars of the brass bedstead, taking slow, deep breaths. Her mother had her hand on her back and was patting it. ‘That’s a good girl,’ she was saying.
Alice knew when the contraction had passed because Hanny straightened up and looked in her direction. ‘I’m glad to see you,’ she said, trying to smile bravely, but her eyes were scared in her flushed face and her flaxen hair hung in damp wisps either side of it. ‘Not much fun this,’ she added.
‘No,’ said Alice, going over to her and kissing her cheek. ‘But it’ll be worth it in the end.’
‘I hope so,’ said Hanny, accepting a glass of water from her mother. She took a sip and tried to make light of matters. ‘But what if I get a screamer who keeps us awake nights?’ she said, trying to make a joke of things.
Alice laughed. ‘He or she will stop screaming eventually. Just keep that in mind. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘Say it often enough and I’ll believe you.’ Hanny handed the glass back to her mother. ‘Will you stay with me, Alice?’
Despite knowing it was not going to be easy watching her friend suffer the agony of childbirth, Alice nodded. ‘As long as I can,’ she promised.
And Alice did so, encouraging Hanny to breathe slowly and not tense up when the contractions came. ‘Let the pain wash over you,’ she advised, and was aware of Mrs Kirk nodding in agreement. She seemed to have decided to take a back seat since Alice’s arrival.
Hanny’s waters broke just before the midwife arrived and immediately Alice and Mrs Kirk were ordered out of the bedroom. They both protested but when the doctor came he insisted that there was not enough space in the room for two extra people. Alice realised then they had no choice but to do as they were told and, after whispering to Hanny that she would be downstairs praying for her, she escorted Mrs Kirk out of the bedroom, saying that they must go downstairs and boil some water.
Susannah shook her head. ‘You boil the water. I’m staying here.’ There was a chair on the landing and she sat on it, obviously determined to stay close to her daughter.
Alice wondered just how much she really understood but, knowing she could not force her to accompany her downstairs, she left her there.
‘How are things going?’ asked Kenny, pouncing on his half-sister as soon as she entered the kitchen.
‘She’s coming on.’ Alice smiled in a way that she hoped was reassuring. Then she noticed Freddie over by the window. ‘Hello. Fancy you arriving home in time for Christmas.’
He turned and presented a strained face to her. ‘I was determined to be home but I didn’t expect to have to rush off for the doctor. Do you think the baby will be born today? Are you sure Hanny’s going to be OK?’
She hesitated to give him a straight answer, knowing that no delivery was ever exactly the same as another. ‘They do say that first babies generally take some time to arrive. I know James did, but Hanny’s seems to be getting along quite quickly.’ Alice shrugged. ‘So who knows, it could be that she’ll be delivered before Christmas Day.’ She smiled. ‘How about a cup of tea?’
Both men nodded so she put the kettle on.
It was mid-evening when they heard a baby’s cry. Kenny immediately stopped pacing the floor and rushed upstairs. He found a trembling Susannah standing outside the door. ‘There’s a baby crying. D’you think it’s a boy? My Bert was a boy but he’s all grown up now.’
‘Yes, Mrs Kirk, I know,’ said Kenny, wondering if she would ever forget her swine of a son. He knocked on the door. ‘Is my wife all right? Is the baby?’
The door opened and the midwife stood there, holding an infant in her arms. ‘You’ve a son, Mr Moran. But we’ve not finished here yet,’ she said with a severe expression, ‘so you’ll have to be patient.’
Kenny paled. ‘Wh-what d’you mean?’ he stammered. ‘My wife’s all right, isn’t she?’
‘I mean that her job’s not done yet. The doctor’s felt another baby. It’s been hiding behind this one. Perhaps you’d like to hold him whilst we get on with our work?’
Gingerly, Kenny took his son in his arms and gazed down at the tiny face smeared with mucus and a trace of blood. He marvelled that this was his child, but a sudden scream from inside the bedroom sent a chill slithering down his spine. ‘Hanny!’ he yelled, and would have forced his way into the room if at that moment Alice had not arrived on the scene.
‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.
Hurriedly, the midwife closed the door.
Kenny turned and looked at his sister. ‘She said there’s another baby and then Hanny screamed.’ Tears filled his eyes and his face crumpled.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Alice, flabbergasted, thinking Poor Hanny, she must be exhausted. She prayed that she would be all right and forced herself to focus on her brother and the baby in his arms. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘A boy.’ He stared at her from frightened eyes. ‘But how will I cope with him if anything happens to Hanny? I’d rather not have children than lose her.’
Alice understood how he felt but knew that she had to stop him from panicking. ‘Hanny’s going to be fine. She’s strong, not like Mam. You must have faith and look after this little man here.’
Kenny gulped and nodded. ‘Sorry. You’re right.’ He gazed down at his son, and suddenly such love welled up inside him that he felt as if he might explode with it. This was his son, the child he and Hanny had waited for all their married life. He must not think the worst. Hanny had the best midwife and doctor in Chester attending her.
Thirty nail-biting minutes later the door opened to reveal the smiling doctor. ‘You can come in now, Mr Moran. You have a daughter. Isn’t that just perfect? A daughter and a son at one fell swoop. Congratulations.’
Alice let out a joyous cry and flung her arms around the doctor. ‘Thank you, thank you. My sister-in-law is all right?’
Laughing, he untangled himself. ‘My dear, she has behaved exceptionally well during a difficult birth. The girl’s presentation… no, I’ll not go into that.’ He patted Alice on the shoulder. ‘A pot of tea and some biscuits would not go amiss. Then I must be on my way.’
Alice thanked him yet again. Kenny was not there to do so as he had brushed past the doctor and entered the bedroom. He saw a white-faced and exhausted Hanny resting against the pillows. Her lower body was raised so that her legs were about a foot above the mattress.
‘Are you all right, love?’ he whispered.
‘Aye. I can’t believe it’s over and I’m still alive.’
‘Oh, love!’ he exclaimed. ‘My dear brave girl. Never again!’ he added, hurrying over to her, still carrying his son, and burying his head against her neck.
The next few minutes were so wrought with emotion that they could not speak. But later, when Alice entered carrying a tray containing a teapot, cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits, the new mother and father had control of themselves and were admiring their offspring. Susannah, also stood a few feet away, gazing down at her first grandchildren, lying top to tail in a crib.
‘What are you going to call them?’ asked Alice, placing the tray on a bedside table.
‘Allan Kenneth for our son, after Allan Quatermain from King Solomon’s Mines, he was the bravest hunter in Africa,’ said Hanny.
Alice could not understand them naming their firstborn after a character in a book but accepted each to their own. ‘And your daughter?’
‘Janet,’ said Kenny firmly, ‘after my Scottish mammy who died far too young, and Susannah after Hanny’s mother.’
It was almost ten o’clock by the time Alice made her way home. She wondered what Seb was thinking about her being out so long. How would he greet the news of the birth of Hanny’s and Kenny’s twins this Christmas Eve? She realised that she had neglected her family all that day and hoped Tilly had everything in order for the children’s stockings and Christmas dinner tomorrow. One thing was for sure, Hanny and Kenny would not be spending Christmas Day with them now.
When Alice entered the house all was silent, but she found Seb alone in the drawing room, smoking a cigarette in front of the fire. ‘Where’s Tilly?’ she asked.
‘Upstairs. I sent her to bed. I told her that it was not her job to fill the children’s stockings or tell them a bedtime story,’ he rasped.
Alice felt a prickle of fear. ‘So have you filled their stockings?’
‘Don’t be daft! How can I do that with my useless arm?’ he snapped.
She flushed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think. You could have told them a story, though.’
‘I was in no mood for storytelling, so James said he would tell Flora the story of The Three Billy Goats Gruff.’
‘I see. Tilly did tell you where I’d gone?’
‘Yes. But I thought you would have been home by now. You didn’t actually help deliver the baby, did you?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Of course I didn’t, but I did keep Hanny company for a while until the midwife came.’ She could feel herself trembling and went over to the drinks’ cabinet and poured herself a sherry with a shaking hand. Then she thought that perhaps Seb might want a drink and turned to ask him.
