by Maureen Lee
Nothing was being delivered. There were no letters, newspapers or fuel. Nerys’s son, Idris, fetched groceries from the village using a hastily made sledge, including condensed milk when the real sort was no longer available. The only meat and fresh fruit was that produced locally. Nerys made delicious soup from chicken bones, and baked bread every two days, but she would soon be out of flour. Although more logs appeared in the tiny yard, she suggested she only light one of the fires in case the supply dried up. The little village school closed down, and so did the hotel.
There was no sign of Tom, who’d promised to drive down to Caerdovey every Sunday: roads all over the country were blocked. Iris saw no point in writing him a letter, nor expecting him to write to them. The snow was much too thick to walk to the post office and use the telephone. One of the reasons for him to visit regularly was to keep an eye on Nell and her baby, but Iris was of the opinion that both were coming along famously.
Some of the snow outside the row of houses had been cleared for children to play on. Their cheerful cries were the only thing that Nell found heartening during all of that unhappy time.
The baby in her stomach began to grow at a rapid rate. Within no time at all she was huge. She went up and down the stairs dozens of times a day in order to get some exercise. She felt sick; her clothes felt too tight, even though they were loose.
Iris fussed around, fetching things, insisting that she rest, not allowing her to do so much as poke the fire, until Nell wanted to scream at her to stop, leave her alone. Let me do something, she wanted to cry. Yet previously she had always had the patience of Job. She’d been well known for it in the army. No matter how bad-tempered or unreasonable the corporals and sergeants in charge of the canteen were, Nell carried on working, singing serenely to herself. But now Iris’s kindness, and Nerys’s too, was getting her down, though Nell gave no sign of it. She never once let on how miserable she was.
‘Nell,’ Iris said one night in the middle of one of the worst storms, the house creaking and groaning as if the bricks might fall apart and land on top of them. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but the night you were raped, why didn’t you cry out or something? I mean, it must have hurt, being the first time. But there was no blood anywhere.’
Nell smiled, not at Iris, but at something in the past. ‘It wasn’t the first time,’ she said softly. ‘My corporal, the one who was killed, made love to me. It was the least I could do when he’d asked to marry me. And he made sure I wouldn’t have his baby. Oh, and Iris, I wasn’t raped at the party. I did tell you that.’
Mornings, first thing, Nell would draw back the curtains in the bedroom to find that her prayers remained unanswered: there was yet more snow and the world was silent. She would wonder if she had gone deaf. Sometimes the snow would be falling, great lumps of it building up on the windowsill. She would bang the window and it would fall off, though not if it had already frozen. Like most people, she had forgotten what the sun looked like.
March arrived and nothing changed, until one day Nell pulled back the curtains to discover there’d been no fresh snow overnight. A few days later, it began to thaw and there were floods as the ice melted. Milk was restored, eggs, fruit. It was still cold outside, though, and the ground too dangerously icy to walk on.
Iris took the risk of slipping over and went to the post office to telephone Tom.
‘He’s coming on Sunday,’ she said gleefully when she came back. ‘He set off to come and see us quite a few times, but had to turn back when he found the roads were blocked.’
Tom brought a fresh battery for the wireless, scented soap from Adele, magazines, and cream cakes from Sayers’ confectioners.
‘And how are you, Nell?’ he asked. ‘You only have another nine weeks to go.’
Iris grinned. ‘She’s fine, aren’t you, love? I’ve been keeping a close eye on her,’ she said to Tom.
‘I’m fine, like Iris says,’ Nell confirmed.
Tom listened to her heartbeat, felt her pulse, looked down her throat, pressed her tummy a few times, and pronounced her perfectly fit.
April came. It was the first Good Friday, Nell announced, that she hadn’t done the Stations of the Cross – there wasn’t a Catholic church in Caerdovey. ‘Me and Maggie used to do them together. I wonder if she’s doing them in London?’
During the worst of the weather, she’d gathered from the wireless that the snow was just as heavy in London, but that workmen came out at dawn to shovel it away. Some buses and trains ran, if not all. Most cinemas, theatres and restaurants had remained open. People still went to work. Nell had written imaginary letters to her friend telling her how desperately awful it was in Caerdovey. Since then, she’d sent a real letter, less truthful than the imaginary ones, saying that everything was okay, she was enjoying her stay in the countryside, and Iris’s pregnancy was proceeding well. She owed it to Iris and Tom never to tell Maggie the real truth anyroad.
It wasn’t until April was nearly over that the earth was completely dry, the sun shone warmly, and there was a tingle of spring in the air. Snowdrops had managed to struggle through the hard ground and were scattered over the hills behind the cottages, followed later by yellow crocuses. There was a pretty bluebell wood nearby that they could walk to, Nerys informed them.
It was while wandering through this little blue heaven that Nell realised that she was her old self again. Both women walked carefully so as not to tread on the flowers. Birds chirruped, squirrels chased each other through the spreading branches of the trees, rabbits leapt across their path, the undergrowth rustled with creatures unseen. There was a wonderful, fresh smell.
‘It’s magic,’ Nell whispered. For the first time in weeks, she felt glad to be alive. She looked forward to having the baby, giving it to Iris and Tom, and starting to lead her old life once again.
It had been Tom’s intention to stay at the cottage for several days before the baby was due, having arranged with his father to look after the practice at home. He would deliver the child, stay another few days, then return to Liverpool with both women and the baby.
Two weeks before this plan was to be put into operation, Tom came down on one of his regular Sunday visits and proposed they all go for a drive. ‘It’s a lovely day. We can have lunch somewhere. You two must be fed up stuck in Caerdovey all this time. It’s so dead here.’
Nell refused. She felt just a little bit sick, though she didn’t tell Tom that; until now, the pregnancy had been trouble-free. Nor did she say that she quite fancied being alone for a few hours and not subjected to endless questions about her health.
Tom and Iris went off. He was right; it was a beautiful, sunny day, the sky almost cloudless. Nell strolled as far as the sands. She was feeling bulky by now, very conscious of the huge stomach that preceded her everywhere she went, as well as her enlarged breasts. She stood and studied the crystal-clear water cluttered at its edge with clumps of seaweed and little smooth stones. One stone was as big as a bird’s egg and a remarkable blue colour. She bent to pick it up, her hand breaking through the surface of the water, when she felt a searing pain in her gut. She jerked upwards, much too quickly, as she immediately felt dizzy. She swayed and nearly fell.
Please, dear Jesus, help me, she prayed. But there wasn’t a soul in sight to help. She eased herself down until she was actually sitting in a few inches of water, and wondered if it would be of any use to call for help. She was, very slowly, beginning to panic as the pain got worse.
Then she heard a shout, a series of shouts. She couldn’t make them out at first, but the voice became clearer as it got louder. ‘Mrs Desmond, Nell, I’m coming. I saw you from me window, luvvie.’
Nerys Jones was running towards her, waving her arms. ‘I’m coming. Don’t be frightened.’
‘I think it might be the baby,’ Nell cried. It was the only thing that could have been responsible for such a terrible pain, and the ones that had followed shortly afterwards.
‘Well, I’ve delivered more ba
bies than you’ve had hot dinners, so you’ll be all right with me.’
Nerys was hardly out of breath. With the woman’s strong arms supporting her, Nell was led slowly back to the house and upstairs to the bedroom, where she fell thankfully on to the bed.
‘I’ll go next-door-but-two in a tick and tell Mrs Evans to start boiling water,’ Nerys said, rolling up her sleeves before removing Nell’s wet clothes. ‘You lie back and take things easy. I’ll be as quick as I can. I’ve been delivering babies in Caerdovey for the last thirty years, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
Nell did her best to relax. She was breathing slowly in and slowly out when Nerys returned with a pile of towels and the woman from next-door-but-two, who was called Pauline. She had long untidy grey hair like a witch. ‘Let’s put a couple of these underneath you, luvvie,’ Nerys said.
Before Nell could comply, another pain, as sharp as a knife, sliced through her stomach and she screamed.
From that moment on, everything became a blur of pain and screams and struggle. Someone behind the bed held her hands against the headboard. She heard a man’s voice. A woman shouted, ‘Push.’ Her body felt as if it was falling apart. There was a delighted cry, ‘Here it comes!’ then, ‘It’s a boy!’
‘Lord almighty, Nerys, he’s a giant. No wonder he came early. Another two weeks and he’d’ve killed the poor girl. What’s she going to call him?’
‘I don’t know, Pauline.’
The baby began to cry, great howls of misery and despair.
Nell’s face was stroked, her chin chucked. Very slowly, she opened her eyes. The witch-like Pauline was bending over her, and Nerys Jones was standing behind her nursing a baby wrapped in an old, frayed towel.
‘This is your son, luvvie. Would you like to hold him?’
‘Please,’ Nell whispered. The plan agreed with Iris and Tom was that she wouldn’t touch her baby. It would go straight to Iris, so Nell didn’t have the chance to get attached to it – to him; ‘bond’ was the word Tom had used. But how could she refuse? In Tom’s plan, Nerys wouldn’t have been present, and would have been kept at bay for the next few days.
Her baby was laid in her arms. Oh my God, he was big! Big and tough and strong. But he was still only a tiny human being. He moved his arms and his elbow dug into her breast. Nell touched his nose with her finger and he gave a desperate sigh and stopped crying.
‘Aaah!’ Nerys and Pauline said delightedly together. ‘What are you going to call him?’ Nerys asked.
‘William.’ It came from nowhere, but it was a name she had always liked, a warm name with soft letters. ‘Hello, William.’ She laid her finger in his palm and he wrapped his own little fat ones around it.
‘In a minute,’ Nerys said, ‘I’ll give him a wash, and Pauline’ll clean you up a bit, then you can give William his first feed. Well, won’t this be a surprise for Mr and Mrs Grant when they get back,’ she cried jubilantly.
‘Sorry we took so long,’ Iris shouted as she ran upstairs. ‘You’ll never believe, but we had a puncture and Tom had simply no idea how to fix it. Fortunately, we were quite close to a garage. Are you having a little lie—’ She burst into the room where William was fast asleep against Nell’s naked breast and Nerys was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching. ‘Oh my God!’ Iris cried. Her face went as white as a sheet.
‘What’s the matter?’ Tom shouted. He followed his wife upstairs and into Nell’s bedroom. ‘It came early,’ he said in a dull voice. ‘We shouldn’t have gone out.’
‘It’s a boy!’ Nerys said joyfully. ‘William. He suits William. I reckon he weighs a good nine and a half pounds, possibly ten. He’s a beautiful baby.’
‘So I see,’ Iris said faintly. ‘May I hold him?’
‘Why not wait until he wakes up? He had quite a struggle getting out. Best not disturb him.’ Nerys yawned. ‘Seeing as how you’re both home, I’ll get back and make our Idris his tea. By the way, he had to give a hand holding this young lady against the headboard while she was giving birth, like. It wasn’t easy, was it, luvvie?’ She patted Nell’s hand and left the room.
‘It was worse than I ever thought it’d be,’ Nell said when Nerys had gone.
‘Was it, darling?’ Iris fell to her knees beside the bed and put her arms around both Nell and William. She was crying. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘Tired,’ Nell sighed.
‘Shall I take William?’
‘Not just yet.’
‘Let Iris have the baby now, Nell, if you don’t mind,’ Tom said in a hard voice.
‘Don’t take any notice of him, darling.’ Iris looked at her husband with burning eyes. ‘Go downstairs, Tom, and do something useful. And don’t dare come back unless I ask you to.’ Tom left the room without a word. ‘Would you like me to fetch the cradle, Nell, and put it beside your bed?’ It was a wicker basket on springs suspended from a metal base, easier to transport in the car than a wooden cot.
Nell smiled. ‘In a minute,’ she said. ‘I’d like to hold William for a bit longer.’
Three hours later, with the sun beginning to sink low in the sky, Iris and Tom left the cottage in Caerdovey. Iris resolved she would never go there again. She had baby William in her arms. He wore one of the embroidered gowns and a soft white shawl knitted by Tom’s mother. The shawl kept the baby warm and absorbed the tears that Iris couldn’t stop shedding.
‘Will you for Christ’s sake stop crying,’ Tom snapped. He’d become a completely different person since they’d returned from the drive. ‘You’ve got the baby you wanted; why can’t you be pleased about it?’
‘What do you mean, the baby I wanted?’ Iris said tearfully. ‘Are you saying now that you didn’t want him too?’
‘Of course I wanted him.’ Tom shook his head angrily. ‘But I don’t see the need for a scene.’
‘I’m crying for Nell. We’ve stolen her baby from her, Tom, while she was asleep. How will she feel when she wakes up?’
‘It’s our baby, damn you.’ Tom sounded as if he could easily cry himself. ‘It’s always been our baby. It’s never been Nell’s; she knows that full well. And I wanted him more than anything I’ve ever wanted before, mainly for you, Iris. When Nell wakes up and finds him gone, she won’t feel anything.’
‘What a stupid, insensitive man you are.’ They’d never had a row like this before. She felt almost numb with rage. ‘You were stupid for suggesting we go out for a meal, knowing that the baby might arrive while we were gone. And insensitive for talking about Nell as if she was an animal, a cat or something that’s just had her kittens taken away from her and will have got used to it by now.’
Tom turned a corner dangerously fast. Iris clasped the baby closer to her chest. He made a little snuffling sound. She looked closely at his face to see if there was anything familiar about it; the shape of his lips, his nose, his ears, anything to indicate who his father might be. She still suspected it was Frank who’d taken advantage of Nell, barely conscious in bed. Right now, because he was being so unpleasant, she wondered, not for the first time, if Tom was the father, though it was a really outrageous thought. Normally Tom was the nicest of men. It could have been any man at the party. It was something she might never know.
Tom said, ‘Nell showed no sign that the baby would arrive today. And babies don’t usually come so quickly. What happened was totally unexpected. Anyway, if you had any concerns about it, all you had to do was refuse to leave Nell on her own.’ There was a long silence before he reached out and squeezed his wife’s knee. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m being a pig. I’m angry with myself more than anyone. It’s just that I find all this terribly upsetting, and I know you must do too. I’d expected everything to go quite smoothly. I’d never imagined for a minute it happening the way it did.’
‘I’m sorry too.’ Iris hadn’t the energy to argue any more. She didn’t say that the person who would find it the most upsetting of all would be Nell. She wondered if that somewhere in the further recesses of
the baby’s mind Nell’s face had been stored, and one day the memory would return and he would realise that another woman, not Iris, was his mother.
Nell knew, before she opened her eyes, that William had gone. When she did open them, she saw the cradle was no longer in the room and the house was completely silent. Next door, Nerys was singing a wartime song she couldn’t remember the name of.
She sat up in bed and put her hands over her breasts; the nipples felt hard and pointed. Her son had sucked on them only a few hours ago. She would never forget the feeling, a delicious sort of churning in her stomach. But he was no longer her son; William had a different mother now.
In a way, she was almost glad he’d been taken while she was asleep. To see him go, carried away in another woman’s arms, would have broken her heart. And there was always a chance, just a chance, that she might have refused to give him up, and there would have been ructions. Yes, she was glad things had gone the way they had.
Yet she felt hurt, deeply hurt, that Iris and Tom had left without a word, taking with them the most precious thing she had ever owned. Iris had said right from the start that it was important that she didn’t bond with the baby, not hold him, not even touch him. Over the few days they’d been planning to stay in the cottage after the birth, it would be best for her not to go near her baby.
Such wise advice; Nell had been all prepared to go along with it. She couldn’t see any reason not to co-operate fully. But now she had touched her baby, held him, fed him and nursed him, having been given no other choice. He had held her finger in his little hand and she had felt the love flow between them.
Any minute, Nerys would come in and expect to see him. How on earth was Nell supposed to explain why he’d been taken away from her, his mother? She felt upset again that Iris and Tom had left her having to make up lies to satisfy Nerys’s understandable curiosity, answer her shocked questions.
She got out of bed and tested her ability to stand, walk a few steps. Her breasts were hurting and she could feel blood running down her legs. There was nothing she could do about the first, but there were a few old but clean towels thrown on the chair that she could use to deal with the second. She found she was able to walk quite steadily – after all, she was young, and had always been fit. According to the bedside clock, it was only twenty to five – she’d thought it much later. She found a note by the clock in Tom’s handwriting saying he would arrange for her to be taken back to Liverpool early on Wednesday.
