Bert, the staunch teetotaller, went to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room and poured out what he imagined would be a double whisky. And as he handed it to Bill he said, ‘God works in strange ways His miracles to perform.’
‘Aw, Bert! God in Heaven or whatever, don’t come religion on me at this time. If you’re so much in contact with Him then you ask Him why. Aye, that’s it.’ His voice was rising now. ‘Ask Him why.’ He put his glass to his lips and threw off half the whisky, then coughed and choked on it. And leaning back against the couch again, he muttered, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right, boss; but I’ve seen these bairns. I’ve got one in my Sunday School class. And a nicer lad you couldn’t meet. And he’s not mental. He’s nine years old and for his type is bright.’
‘There you’ve said it, Bert, there you’ve said it, for his type.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you this much, boss. I’ve got twenty-eight children, when they all come, and they’re all supposed to be normal except Roger. But let me tell you, Roger is more intelligent than at least half of them. The only thing noticeable about him, apart from his eyes, is that he’s got a sort of slight lisp. But I can tell you he’s all there. And he’s got three brothers and two sisters and I wouldn’t swap him for the top two brothers I can tell you that. Now I don’t know how your little girl will turn out but all I can say is, give her a chance. And I will say this, whether it vexes you or pleases you, boss, there’s nothing happens in this world that can’t be laid at the door of man, right from the beginning of time, through Christ’s Crucifixion, wars and massacres; and the only hope of relief is through belief in God. But that of course is only my opinion, and I don’t often voice it, as Nell knows, ’cos I’m afraid it isn’t hers, not totally. Anyway, boss, what about the bairns? Are you goin’ to tell them?’
Bill now looked from Bert to Nell, and he shook his head as he said, ‘I don’t think I can. Not tonight anyway.’
‘Would…would you like me to do it, Bill?’
‘Would you, Nell?’
‘Bert and I…we’ll do it together.’
Bill now finished the last of the whisky and, handing the glass to Bert, he rose from the couch and went out…
He was in the bathroom when Nell and Bert went upstairs and into the playroom. And on their entry Mamie jumped from the couch, crying, ‘Have we got a new baby?’
‘Yes, dear, yes, we’ve got a new baby. It’s a girl.’ She looked at the other three. There was no excitement on their faces. It was Katie now who spoke: ‘Something not right, is it, Nell?’ she said: ‘Is it Mam?’
‘No, no, dear; your mother’s all right. Come and sit down.’
Not until they were all seated did she glance at Bert, and it was he who started. Looking from one to the other, he said, ‘You all love your Mam and Dad, don’t you?’ None of the children spoke, but Mark and Katie exchanged a puzzled look, then waited. And Bert went on: ‘Well, I know it goes without saying that you do. Now in the future they’re goin’ to need all your love and co-operation because of the baby.’
‘Something wrong with it?’
Bert looked at Willie, and he said, ‘In a way.’
In the stunned silence that fell on the children Nell now said, ‘There’s a thing called Down’s Syndrome. You won’t have heard of it, but it’s when a baby’s face is slightly distorted. I know you’ve seen children like it in the street.’
There was a thin whisper now from Mark as he said, ‘You mean mongol children?’
‘Yes, mongol children.’
‘And that’s what Mam’s got?’
There was a trace of horror in Katie’s voice, and Nell said, ‘Yes, that’s what your mam’s got. Now what you’ve all got to remember is that the baby is your sister. And I was going to say that you will have to love her; but you will find, from my experience and those who know more about it than me, and Bert is one of them, that these children give out love and affection. That’s all they seem to live for, to give out love and affection. They are not aware that they are different from other children. There is a simplicity about them.’
‘Do…do they go mad?’
‘No, Willie.’ Both Nell and Bert answered together; then Nell went on, ‘Of course not.’
‘He didn’t mean mad, Nell…well, he meant just mental, like those in the school at Burrows Road.’
Nell paused a moment because she was about to say, ‘Not necessarily,’ but instead she was emphatic and said, ‘Not at all. The only thing is I understand they don’t grow into adults. Well, yes, of course they grow up, but what I mean is their minds won’t expand any further than, say, Willie’s is now. And he’s bright enough, isn’t he?’ She smiled from one to the other. ‘Too bright at times. Anyway, there it is. Now, naturally your dad is upset and is going back to the hospital to be there when your mam wakes up, and it’s only natural that she too will be upset. So, when she brings the baby home you’ll all have to pull together to help her accept the situation.’
‘People will talk.’
‘What d’you mean?’ said Nell, now looking at Katie. ‘Well, they talk about that boy round the corner in Saville Street.’
‘You mean John Bent?’
‘I…I don’t know what his name is, but his legs and arms and head are all over the place.’
‘Yes, they might be. But his brain inside his head is not all over the place, Katie. He’s very bright. In fact, he’s as bright as any man. And if you’re going to be afraid of what people will say, then it’s a bad lookout for this family. And I’ll be ashamed of the lot of you.’
‘It’s come as a surprise, Nell.’
It was Bert who answered Mark; saying, ‘Yes, naturally, Mark, it’s come as a surprise, and to all of us. But the ones who are goin’ to feel it most are your mam and dad, and they’ll want support. That’s what Nell’s saying, they’ll need your support every inch of the way, at least at first. Now we are going downstairs to get your dad a drink and to try to get him to eat a bite. And try to understand if he doesn’t come in and see you the night because…well, he’s in a bit of a state and worried about your mam. You understand?’
He got to his feet, and Nell too rose, and she said, ‘Get ready for bed. I’ll be up shortly. And another thing, your dad will be staying at the hospital all night with your mam. But don’t worry, Bert and I will be here.’
As they made their way downstairs Nell said under her breath, ‘Thank God that’s over.’
Fiona was still asleep when Bill reached the hospital. And he noted there was already a big easy chair placed by the side of the bed. The day staff were leaving and the night staff coming on. Two nurses came in, nodded at him and smiled, then set up an apparatus on top of the locker, from which they attached something to Fiona’s arm. Then one of them explained, ‘This will take her blood pressure during the night, save disturbing her. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I wouldn’t mind. Thank you.’
‘Do you take sugar?’
‘No. No thanks, no sugar.’
The tea was weak but hot. He sipped at it, while all the time looking at Fiona…
Half an hour later she made restless moaning sounds, then opened her eyes and, seeing him, she said, ‘Oh, Bill. Bill.’
‘It’s all right, love. It’s all right.’
‘The baby?’
‘She’s all right an’ all.’
‘A girl?’
‘Aye, a girl.’
‘Oh, Bill…It was tough going to…towards the end.’
‘Yes, dear, very tough going. It’s over.’
She drew in a long breath, then said, ‘I’m so tired, I feel I could sleep for a week.’
‘You go to sleep then, dear. You go to sleep.’
‘But…but I’d like to see her.’
‘You will in the morning. She’s asleep too now. D’you know what time it is?’
‘No.’
‘Going on for ten o’clock.’<
br />
‘Ten o’clock. Have…have you been here all the time?’
‘Yes, except when I slipped home.’
‘To tell them?’
‘Yes, to tell them.’
‘I…I bet they were excited.’
‘Yes, they were. They were.’
‘Oh, Bill. I’m…I’m glad for you.’
She closed her eyes, turned her head to the side and he realised with some surprise that she had gone to sleep…
What time he himself fell asleep he naturally didn’t know, but he had strange dreams. And when he finally awoke it was to the sound of cups rattling and the feeling of bustle around him. He didn’t open his eyes because he still felt very tired. It came into his consciousness that he had a slight cramp in his right leg. He pushed out his heel and brought his toes up until the pain went. Then he heaved a sigh and opened his eyes and looked on the smiling face of Fiona. She was sitting propped up in bed drinking a cup of tea. She smiled at him and in quite a casual voice, said, ‘Feel better, Mr Bailey?’ then added, ‘There’s a cup of tea to your hand. Drink that, and then you’ll be able to see me clearly.’
He put out a groping hand, picked up the cup and almost drained it with one go; then, pulling himself forward to the end of the chair, he leant an elbow on the bedside and put his other hand up to her face and stroked her cheek, saying, ‘How d’you feel?’
‘Fine. Excited. Raring to go. The nurse tells me I’ll be here for a day or two; but still, what odds.’ She brought her head down to his, saying softly now, ‘I’m dying to see her. Apparently they have rules and regulations, and she’s sound asleep.’
When he bowed his head she said softly, ‘Bill. What’s the matter? Look at me, Bill.’
When he looked up she said again, ‘What’s the matter? Something’s wrong. She’s not…? No, no, no. She’s not deformed or anything like…?’
He gripped both her hands as he brought his words out hesitantly: ‘No, not what you call deformed.’
‘What d’you mean?’—she pulled herself back from him—‘Not what I’d call deformed. What d’you mean? Tell me.’
‘Quiet. Quiet.’ He looked towards the door, then said, ‘Now, dear…my very, very, dear, there’s something you’ve got to know. It’s goin’ to come as a shock as it did to me, but…but we’ve got to live with it.’
She pressed her head back tight against the pillows. ‘She…she is deformed! She’s…she’s not right! She’s…’
‘She isn’t deformed, and as far as it goes she’s all right, but—I’m sure you will have heard the term, I hadn’t—but she’s what you call a Down’s Syndrome baby.’
Her eyes slowly closed while her mouth opened wide as if to emit a scream, and he said sharply, ‘Fiona! Fiona! Please!’
‘No! No!’ She was now shaking her head on the pillow in deep denial, and again, ‘No! No! All these months I never, never felt so contented in my life. She…she can’t be. She can’t. They would have told me.’
‘Remember, love, remember you wouldn’t go to the clinics. You said you felt so well you wanted none of it. When you did go it was too late, much too late.’
Her head came up from the pillow and her face was hanging over his as she said through clenched teeth, ‘I won’t have it, I won’t. It can’t happen to us. I wanted her for you, just for you. I couldn’t give you a…a mongol, because that’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it? It’s a mongol. I won’t have it! I won’t have her. I won’t! I won’t!’
He pushed himself back and stood up, causing her to drop onto the pillow again and her mouth to open when he said as harshly: ‘Fiona! You’ve got to have it. We’ve both got to have it.’
Through a whimper now, she said, ‘I don’t have to. I’ve got three healthy children. I don’t have to.’
Bending over her now and his hands on her shoulders, he said grimly, ‘You haven’t only got three children, you’ve got four children of your own.’
‘NO!’ It was a shout, and the door opened and a passing nurse came in, saying, ‘Is…is everything all right?’
Bill straightened up from the bed. ‘No!’ he answered the nurse; ‘everything isn’t all right. Would you mind bringing the baby?’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘I’ll see sister.’
‘Do that, and quickly. Please.’
Fiona’s eyes were still closed but she was talking quietly now: ‘It’s no good, Bill, I just couldn’t. I have seen such children and I just couldn’t.’
He said nothing, just stood looking grimly down on her, listening to her protestations, unintelligible mutterings now.
It was a full ten minutes before the door opened and the sister came in, saying brightly, ‘Good morning!’
‘Good morning.’ Bill nodded at her.
Fiona still lay with her eyes closed.
The sister now stood by the side of the bed, saying, ‘Mrs Bailey, here is your baby.’ There was no compromise in the voice; it was a definite statement.
In answer, Fiona turned her head to the side, but in a moment Bill was round the bed, and he almost grabbed the child from the sister’s arms, his action thrusting her aside.
‘Take the child!’
‘I…I’ve told you, Bill.’
‘No matter what you’ve told me, you’ve got a baby to see to. Take her!’
When there was no response and her body moved, as if painfully, away from him, he was round to the other side of the bed again in a flash. And now he thrust the child down into her stiff arms; and it was only a reflex action that made her bring her hands up to stop it from rolling onto the bed.
It was as if her head and neck had been out of use for years, so slowly and so painfully did it turn. And then her eyes were forced to look down on her daughter and what she saw were two bright eyes looking up at her, a little face that had a suspicion of a smile on it, and fingers that were clasping in and out. And when, as with Bill, the arm came up and the hand seemed to be aiming to touch the face above it, Fiona pressed her head away. But she continued to stare at the child. It had a tuft of light brown hair on the top of its head.
She couldn’t bear it. Why? Why? She was normal. Bill was normal. Her mother and father had been normal. Bill’s father was normal. Why? Why? As she went to thrust the child away Bill’s hands grabbed it from her, and now he was holding it tight against his chest. And he startled the sister, but not Fiona because she was used to his voice, by bawling, ‘All right! All right! You won’t have her, but she is mine. My daughter. My responsibility. And her needs will come first. D’you hear? So, if that’s how you want it, that’s how it’s going to be.’
Five
Five days later Bill brought the child home. And it was Bill who brought her home, because he carried her from the hospital to the car, placed her carefully on the back seat, then drove her and her mother to the house. And it was he who picked up the child, carried it in and straight upstairs to the small nursery that had been made by taking down a partition between the boxroom and the airing cupboard. And there the children had crushed in and around it.
Sammy Love happened to be present at the time, and when no comments came from any of the children it was he who looked up at Bill and, smiling, he said, ‘She’s canny.’ And Bill, with a large lump in his throat, looked down on the boy, put his hand on his head and said, ‘Yes, Sammy, she’s canny.’
A short while later, when Bill stood in the kitchen with Nell, he thumped his fist against the framework of the sink as he said, ‘This is going to be hell! She’ll never accept it. What are we going to do, Nell?’
‘Give her time. I can understand how she feels. She wanted to give you something. Most of her feeling is one of guilt, not so much against the child but somehow feeling she’s let you down. I’m sure that’s at the bottom of it. Who knows, she may end up being a blessing in disguise.’
He rounded on her now, crying, ‘For God’s sake! Nell, don’t come that tack. I’ve heard it so often these las
t few days. But I know, too, of such bairns who aren’t a blessing in disguise.’
‘Well,’ Nell came back at him harshly, ‘can you show me any normal family and the parents pointing to a child and saying, they’re a blessing in disguise? No; I know of people who wish their normal offspring had never been born. Anyway, she’ll have to accept her in the end. Other mothers have, and they’ve probably been saddled with just the one. She’s got plenty of support all round her; she’ll just have to pull herself together. But then’—her voice dropped—‘it’ll take time. And I’ll say to you, Bill, go canny with her; she’s had a shock. And oh, I know, you’ve had one an’ all. I’ll never forget the night you came back from the hospital after seeing her for the first time. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had thrown her off then. Anyway, pray God that something will happen to make Fiona change her mind.’ She laughed. ‘I’m getting as bad as Bert, aren’t I, calling on the Deity every possible occasion.’
Nell was to say later the Deity must have heard, because something did happen to change Fiona’s mind.
Mrs Vidler had stayed well over a month in America. She had written a short note to Fiona to say her friends were pressing her to extend her holiday—these were her words—and she would let her know when she was coming home.
But she didn’t let her know until after she had actually arrived. It was the week before Christmas on the Friday afternoon, the nineteenth to be exact. Nell had just gone to pick up Katie and Mamie from school. Fiona had the house to herself except for the child, and it was in the nursery where it remained most of the time except when either Bill or Nell brought it downstairs or the children carried it into the playroom. Fiona wouldn’t let the thought penetrate her mind that it was strange how her children had taken to the child, even vying with each other to hold it.
She was about to enter the kitchen when the phone rang; and so she returned to the hall, picked it up and in a flat voice said the number, but before she had finished she heard her mother say, ‘Fiona.’
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