Only a Mother Knows

by Annie Groves

  The new style made her feel really grown-up. She also felt smarter and her railway cap was a much better fit. However, when she saw Ted’s face at the canteen counter three hours later, it told her he wasn’t as impressed as she was.

  ‘I don’t hold with women trying to look like men,’ Ted said when they took their seat over in the corner, where he couldn’t be overheard and looking everywhere but in her direction.

  ‘I thought it was more practical, Ted, I wanted to surprise you.’ Agnes felt her spirits fall; they hadn’t seen each other properly for two whole days and she thought he’d be pleased.

  ‘There was nothing wrong with your hair before,’ Ted protested, giving her new style the briefest of derisory glances.

  ‘But, Ted, it’s all the fashion with all the girls in the Forces now; it’s called the Liberty Cut.’

  ‘Well, you’re not in the Forces, Agnes, and it is certainly that – a right blooming liberty, that’s what I say. And I don’t care what you say, Agnes, it ain’t right.’ Ted’s face was growing redder as he spoke. ‘This war is changing everything. Women in trousers – they’ll never be as strong as men no matter what way they have their hair done. I think you’ve all gone power mad.’

  ‘Oh, Ted, that’s not fair.’ Agnes, heartbroken that she had upset Ted after not seeing him for Christmas, tried to make amends. ‘It’ll grow again in no time – I remember when I was a little girl back in the orphanage, a couple came to see if there was a child that they liked the look of …’

  ‘Is this relevant, Agnes?’ Ted asked impatiently, looking anywhere but at her.

  ‘No, Ted, I suppose not.’ Her voice dissolved to nothing as she started to drink her tea.

  On the last day of nineteen forty-two Sally sailed around the ward as if she was floating on a cloud. She had received a much-awaited letter from George, who was a man of few words and no mistake. Nevertheless, Sally enjoyed the thoughtful, often amusing anecdotes of his fellow officers that always brought a wide smile to her lips and a feeling of joyful contentment, not to mention an extra spring in her step. She promised that as soon as she was off-duty she would reply straight away.

  Nothing could spoil her day now, she thought, not even when she discovered another batch of patients ready to fill the ward that had been emptied only hours before. Sally didn’t worry or panic – nothing was a bother.

  Then, casting her usual exacting eyes across the regimental row of freshly made iron beds, Sally gave a nod of approval to the nurses waiting to tender care and attention to the military patients lined up on stretchers outside in the corridor.

  ‘Right, we are ready now, go to it,’ Sally said briskly, looking up as Matron came swiftly down the corridor towards her. This was unusual; Matron made a point of never hurrying, as it caused unnecessary anxiety amongst the wounded and staff alike.

  ‘Sister, there is a telephone call for you in my office,’ she said very grimly, and Sally felt her heart sink, knowing Matron did not allow personal telephone calls whilst they were on duty.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Sally began, but was silenced by the light touch of Matron’s hand on her shoulder and a seemingly understanding, even sympathetic shake of her head that told Sally not to give it another thought, which, to Sally’s acutely intelligent observation, did not usually mean good news …

  Hurrying down the corridor towards Matron’s office she made a mental note to remind the caller, whoever it might be, that she was not allowed personal calls and inform them that this was her place of work and not a social club.

  ‘No!’ It was the only word Sally could utter as shock waves entered her body and knocked the wind right out of her. She wasn’t aware of the Bakelite telephone receiver falling from her hands and onto the floor, nor did she register the impact of Matron’s desk as the full force of it caught her head when blackness overcame her.

  ‘Sister! Sister, come along now!’

  The no-nonsense, if somewhat far-off, voice was coming from Matron, along with the pungent whiff of smelling salts being wafted under her nose, making Sally cough and splutter her way back to consciousness. For a moment she wondered what had happened.

  ‘You fainted.’ As Sally opened her eyes, her wavering vision told her that Matron was kneeling beside her and there was real concern in her voice when she said, ‘No, you mustn’t move too quickly, here, try a little of this.’ Sally felt the rim of a glass being put to her lips and she took a small sip of ice-cold water. The coldness seemed to bring her back to her senses when she realised that she wasn’t dreaming nor was she in the middle of a horrid nightmare, she really had taken the call.

  ‘George is dead!’ Sally turned onto her side, still on the floor, away from Matron, and curled up into a tight ball. And for a moment there was no sound in Matron’s immaculately clean office that smelled of a mixture of mansion polish and ether, and she lay there frozen, taking in the news, trying to digest the implications – but she couldn’t, this was too big, too overwhelming, as big as the day she had been told her mother had died. The day Morag and Callum had taken her into their arms and cried with her. But there was no Morag any more. Her friend had gone even before Hitler’s bombs had claimed her, along with her father. Dragging herself to her knees and crouching into a rocking position, Sally’s hands covered her face as a low keening wail emanated from the very depths of her soul.

  Dulcie and David decided that Edith, who had been spending the festive season in Bloomsbury with some theatrical friends, would stay permanently in one of the spare bedrooms until the baby was born. Dulcie refused to dwell on that period of their life when she and her sister didn’t get on; her life had changed so dramatically since she married David that she didn’t want to remember.

  They had discussed the exciting prospect of adopting Edith’s baby when the time came and Edith seemed thrilled, telling them that she would then be able to pursue her career on the stage, confessing she had never been the maternal type, so the arrangement suited them all.

  Dulcie sighed now, knowing she had made the right decision last year when she agreed to marry wonderfully kind, thoughtful, caring David – who had not made Edith feel in the least bit uncomfortable in the three weeks she had been staying, which he very well could have done.

  These thoughts were running through her head when Dulcie, who wasn’t used to having housekeepers running around after her, had given David’s ‘daily’ another day off and was feeling very proud of her new-found talent for baking when she checked the pristine electric oven, as unlike her mother’s clean but ancient hob as was imaginable, and heard the front door open before the sound of footsteps on the stairs told her that her sister was home.

  Edith had spent New Year with friends, and as David had had a lift installed before he came out of hospital for his own independence to come and go in his wheelchair Edith was the only person it could be.

  Dulcie and David had been invited to a British Forces charity function given by his mother, but she didn’t fancy it. She felt uncomfortable with her burgeoning girth, and dismayed that she couldn’t wear the fabulous gowns David had bought for her when they were first married. Dulcie was also extremely uncomfortable in the presence of Lady James-Thompson, knowing that she was tolerated only because David’s mother obviously believed Dulcie was carrying her son’s heir. However, Dulcie knew that his mother wasn’t happy with David’s choice of second wife after overhearing her tell a friend in the ladies room at a five-star hotel over the New Year that Dulcie was ‘as common as muck’. So she was in no hurry to accept invitations of any sort from the old dragon.

  Whilst Dulcie knew she could pass herself off as being as good as any of them when her mouth was shut, she wasn’t sure her Selfridges vernacular was enough to get by on permanently, and was now undertaking elocution lessons; it was only fair to David, after all, to be the best wife she possibly could be. He was so wonderful, asking nothing from her but giving her all of this and taking in her wayward sister too.

  Her thoughts were i
nterrupted by Edith who had just come into the kitchen.

  ‘Did you enjoy your weekend at the Comptons’?’ Dulcie asked, taking a pie out of the oven.

  ‘I met the most wonderful producer,’ said Edith, ‘although it took some clever theatrical tricks to hide this.’ She pointed to her rounded stomach. ‘But I don’t think he noticed.’

  ‘Did you go and see Mum?’ asked Dulcie, who hadn’t seen their mother since that time when she introduced her to a ‘backstreet fixer’. Still, she was concerned that Edith should keep in touch – especially after their mother had thought her younger daughter was dead for all that time.

  ‘I can’t visit Mum looking like this, you know she thinks we only have one black sheep in the family.’

  ‘You might at least have the good grace to look embarrassed when you say terrible things like that, Edith,’ said Dulcie.

  ‘Mum telephoned me at the Comptons’,’ Edith said, ignoring Dulcie’s comment as she went to fill the kettle.

  Which was more than she did for me, Dulcie thought, then immediately dismissed the idea when Edith said over her shoulder, ‘I spoke to Rick as well; he said he is being pampered to distraction by Mum.’

  ‘Is he all right? I haven’t seen much of him lately.’ Dulcie looked to her sister. ‘I’ll have to get word to him and …’

  ‘If you let me speak I’ll tell you.’ Edith sounded impatient as Dulcie let her continue. ‘He’s going back to the hospital for tests, chest infection or somethin’, you know the sort of thing?’

  ‘No, Edith, I don’t! How is he now?’ Dulcie was suddenly worried. Rick, being her favourite member of the family, would surely have been to see her had he been well, but since he came home half-blinded from the desert he had been hit by one bug after another and was advised to stay away from Dulcie, so Edith had told her – although, Dulcie noticed, he hadn’t been advised to stay away from Edith even though he knew they were both pregnant, which was more than their mother did. There was something fishy there, she could tell. Probably Edith wanted all his attention for herself. That was more like it.

  ‘He’s been in and out of hospital since he came home from Tobruk,’ said Edith, getting two cups from the cupboard. ‘He said he’ll write soon.’

  ‘Why didn’t anybody tell me?’ Dulcie exclaimed, knowing Edith was her only source of information unless Rick wrote or visited.

  ‘I just did,’ Edith replied, not answering Dulcie’s concern. ‘Anyway, you have been so wrapped up in your new life that it seemed improper to disturb you with such things.’

  ‘But he’s my brother!’ Dulcie didn’t like the sound of this but she put a brave face on it. ‘Of course I’m worried about him.’ He had always been there for her. However, she had no intentions of letting Edith see her wearing her heart on her sleeve when she went on, ‘Our Rick’s made of sturdy stuff; he’ll come and see me when he’s better, that’s for sure.’ The doctor had told her not to worry about anything as her blood pressure was like a volcano waiting to erupt and she had to keep herself as calm as possible and put her feet up. But Dulcie was having none of that. East End women were as tough as they came; she’d be all right. But still, this didn’t give Edith the right to keep information from her – especially when it concerned their Rick.

  ‘So, where’s this “do” tonight, then?’ Edith asked, obviously wanting to change the subject.

  ‘The Ritz,’ Dulcie answered in a dull voice, recalling the days when such an invitation would lead to hours of pampering and beautifying herself, worrying over what to wear and what bag went with what shoes. How times were changing, she thought with a sigh.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be away for a while next week,’ Edith said as Dulcie popped the pie back in the immaculate oven. Frowning now, she hoped she had the temperature right.

  ‘Are you visiting friends?’ she asked Edith, closing the oven door.

  Dulcie was looking forward to her baby growing up together with her sister’s child; her twins, as she now thought of them, would want for nothing and she would treat them equally, unlike her own mother who always favoured Edith over her. What more could Edith ask for? But from her sister’s expression now, Dulcie could see she had something on her mind.

  ‘You know I said you could adopt this baby?’ Edith said, pointing to her swollen stomach. Dulcie nodded, not liking the expression in her sister’s eyes but silently listening.

  ‘I think it would be better all round if I just got shot of it – over and done with, no burden to anybody.’

  ‘An abortion?’ Dulcie gasped, hardly able to believe Edith could do such a thing after all they had talked about. She had come to think of the child Edith was carrying as her own, and this suggestion was unbearable. ‘You don’t mean that, Edith?’ Dulcie felt the colour drain from her face and grew lightheaded as the room swum before her eyes.

  ‘You can’t. You’re too far gone.’ Dulcie couldn’t believe Edith would even consider such a thing. Nice girls didn’t! This was too much to take in. She couldn’t do this, Dulcie thought as panic shot through her, before a grudging realisation took over and she wondered when she had ever thought of her sister as ‘nice’.

  ‘I’ve been offered a chance to go abroad with ENSA,’ Edith said, as if trying to make Dulcie comprehend that this was the most important thing that had ever happened to her.

  ‘But what about the baby?’ Dulcie’s voice was barely above a whisper whilst Edith, looking suitably shamefaced, gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

  ‘Doesn’t it matter to you that you are destroying a life?’ Dulcie so wanted to hurt her sister.

  ‘Don’t say it like that, Dulcie, I’m not like those other girls,’ Edith beseeched her but Dulcie was having none of it. How could she be so callous?

  ‘The only reason you are not like the others, sister dear, is because you think David will give you the money for a discreet, high-class clinic, whilst those poor mares have to make do with a backstreet “midwife”. But that’s where you’re wrong – I won’t let him give you money.’

  ‘Don’t be like this, Dulcie, I thought you of all people would understand.’ The crocodile tears that had enabled Edith to wriggle out of so many scrapes in their childhood were there in plain view, but they had little effect on Dulcie, not now.

  ‘What makes you think that I of all people would condone what you are doing?’ At that moment her own baby decided to give a hefty kick and Dulcie knew she was right to admonish her sister.

  ‘Oh, come on, Dulcie, nobody liked a good time better than you did,’ Edith answered. ‘You picked the men up and dropped them at will, no party was ever good unless you attended, dressed to the nines and having the time of your life.’

  ‘You can’t hold me up as a reflection of your sordid affair, Edith.’ A snarl of disgust caught Dulcie’s lips and she could hardly look at her sister.

  ‘You weren’t snow white either,’ Edith countered, but just as quickly she backed down when she noticed Dulcie’s flared nostrils, knowing her older sister was in no mood for censure.

  ‘And where are you being sent that is so much more important than the life of this child?’ Dulcie managed to respond.

  ‘I don’t know, they won’t tell us until we’re nearly there,’ Edith sniffed into her hanky.

  ‘The Far East? The Middle East?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Edith’s tears suddenly disappeared. ‘It’s all very exciting.’

  ‘You sicken me, Edith.’ Dulcie could hardly believe what she was hearing; her sister’s lack of maternal instinct was awe-inspiring in the worst possible way. ‘Don’t you realise what you are doing?’ There was a long silence before she went on, ‘And don’t think I don’t mean it when I say that David will not help you pay for your procedure.’ She was practically nose to nose with her sister. ‘After all, a Harley Street Clinic does not come cheap.’

  ‘I know someone in the theatre who will lend me the money … satisfied now?’

  Dulcie felt that sinking in the pit of her stomach like g
oing over a steep bridge in a fast-moving car, and her heart began to hammer in her chest causing her to take shallow breaths. ‘Who?’ she asked, knowing nobody in their right mind would give a woman so far into her pregnancy the money to pay for an abortion, and no doctor would risk their reputation performing one. Dulcie’s head went back and she looked down her nose at her sister.

  ‘Tell me who it is – now.’ She could see Edith’s eyes were a mixture of pain and defiance and they seemed to bore through her, but Dulcie, hands on hips, had no intention of letting her sister off the hook this time.

  ‘Well, I’m waiting …’ Dulcie watched Edith squirm, then, she noticed a hard glint in her sister’s eyes.

  ‘He’s a producer, he’s very rich, said I could pay him back after my tour.’ She backed off slightly, as if unsure of Dulcie’s reaction.

  ‘Oh, I bet he did, and what is he taking on account until you are paid?’

  ‘Nothing, that’s what.’ Edith almost spat the words. ‘Mrs High and Mighty, that’s you isn’t it, Dulcie.’ Her face was almost puce with rage.

  ‘Well, I won’t allow it. I’ll report him to the police, I’ll ruin him! And don’t think I can’t, Edith, because I can and I will and David will see to it.’ Dulcie was so desperate she would do anything not to lose one of her ‘twins’. Then after a moment, the penny dropping, Dulcie turned to her sister and said in a low, menacing voice, ‘You are not going to a specialist though, are you, Edith?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Edith asked, her face the picture of guilt now.

  ‘Because being so far gone, only a backstreet butcher would attempt to get rid of it at this stage.’ Dulcie drew nearer to her sister, her demeanour more menacing. ‘Well?’

  Dulcie now knew her sister was tormenting her, goading her like she used to do when they were both at home, but Edith wouldn’t get away with it this time. She wouldn’t get the money she was obviously looking for and Dulcie knew she was in a position to stop her sister doing something so foolish it was almost beyond comprehension.