by Jane Corry
I’m about to type a reply but the three dots at his end suggest he hasn’t finished yet. I’m right.
I admit I made mistakes when we were young but there’s still time to put things right. You want me still. I know it. You’re simply scared and that’s understandable. But there’s no need. Like I said, I’m here for you. I’ll ring tomorrow. Sweet dreams.
14
Betty
When I woke up – with a tube in my hand attached to a drip at the side – it was to the sight of a terrified Jock. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he whispered.
Tears poured down his cheeks. ‘It was touch and go. They had to cut you open to get the bairn out.’
A sharp shock of panic along with a wave of nausea swept through me. ‘My baby!’ I cried out. ‘Where’s my baby?’
He jerked his head towards a plastic cot at my side, which I hadn’t taken in before. ‘It’s all right. But we might have lost you. I was so scared. I don’t know what I’d have done. Just me and the wee one.’
My eyes were focused on the cot where there was a small white bundle inside. ‘Did we have a boy or girl?’ I whispered.
His face softened. ‘A lad. He’ll be playing for Scotland one day. I’ll be signing him up for Celtic.’
I’d never seen Jock like this before. So caring. So loving. It was as if he was a different man. But I couldn’t help feeling a flash of disappointment as I thought of Alice with her blonde hair and gap-toothed smile.
‘We’ll call him Stuart,’ said my husband firmly. ‘It sounds professional. He could be a doctor or a lawyer with a name like that.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that my husband had always been very scathing of the educated classes. But now didn’t seem the time to have an argument. As for the name, ‘Stuart’ seemed too grown up for a baby. I tried to reach out towards the white blanket where a small head poked out but a stabbing pain in my stomach stopped me.
‘Ouch!’
‘You can’t do that yet, I’m afraid,’ said a nurse, marching in. ‘No lifting for a bit after a caesarean. And don’t worry about the pain. You often feel it in the incision site after the op. Here, let me.’
She placed him in my arms. I stared down. Our antenatal class leader had warned us that our babies might look like ‘crinkled little monkeys’. But my son – how strange it felt to say this! – was smooth skinned, peering up at me with bright blue eyes as if memorizing every feature on my face. ‘Hello,’ he seemed to say. ‘I know you really wanted a little girl but you’ll learn to love me. Just as I love you.’
Learn to? I already did. Instinctively, I bent down to kiss his forehead. His smell drew me in. And the dark downy hair on his head was so soft.
‘We had to sponge him down,’ said the nurse, checking my blood pressure and catheter. ‘Usually we encourage the mothers to do that but you were still out for the count. Gave us a bit of a fright but you’re all right now. I’ll leave the three of you alone for some family time.’
I couldn’t take my eyes off my beautiful little boy. I was going to give him everything I never had myself. Love. Understanding. A real future.
‘He’s a good-looking lad, isn’t he?’ said Jock, putting his arm around me. ‘Look at us now. A proper family, my wee hen, aren’t we?’
I leant my head against his shoulder, overcome with relief and gratitude. There had been times before this when I’d really wondered if I’d done the right thing in getting married. But now we had a baby, I knew everything would be fine. It was as if our son – such wonderful words! – had brought us together again.
‘By the way,’ said Jock, moving slightly away to look at me. ‘How did you get here? They told me someone brought you in.’
‘One of the women from the flats had called round to see if I wanted an old carrycot that her daughter didn’t need any more,’ I said, crossing my fingers.
‘That’s good. We need all the free stuff we can get.’
I waited for him to ask me which woman. I didn’t like telling lies and felt shocked at how easily this one had come. But to my relief, he didn’t.
‘How are we doing?’ asked another nurse, bustling in. ‘Started feeding yet? Looks like little one is rooting for you.’
I remember the term from our antenatal classes. My baby was indeed ‘homing in’ to my chest. I began to undo my nightdress but Jock cut in. ‘My wife’s not doing any of that stuff. I’ve heard about saggy boobs. She’s keeping her beautiful figure.’
I flushed at the compliment. I didn’t get many of those any more! Surely this was another sign that my husband was changing for the better.
The nurse put her hands on her hips. ‘Mr Page. If you want your wife to do that, you’re better off letting her feed naturally. It actually helps to get the shape back. It’s also free. You don’t want to spend all that money on baby milk and bottles and sterilizers, do you?’
Inside, I was impressed. She knew how to influence him!
Jock looked taken aback. ‘I don’t know. I never thought about it.’
‘Well, I suggest that you do. Breast is best. Not just for baby but for the pocket.’
Jock shrugged. ‘If you put it that way …’
‘I do.’
I opened my nightdress again. Stuart immediately made a dive for my right breast as if he’d been waiting.
‘See?’ said the nurse in a satisfied way. ‘Baby’s latched on immediately.’
‘Thank you,’ I said to her when Jock left soon afterwards to ‘get my tea at your mum’s’.
She shrugged. ‘No problem. I see a lot of husbands in here and many think they know everything. The trick is to let them think that a good idea is theirs in the first place. Takes some practice. But it’s worth it.’
Then she patted me on the arm. ‘Good luck. And well done for that lovely baby boy of yours. You’d never know he was two weeks early. Got everything he should have. A real beauty. Oh – I almost forgot – you’ve got a visitor waiting. I told her you’d had a boy.’
Jane! My friend was here with a huge bunch of flowers and a lovely warm hug. Thank goodness Jock had gone.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I rang first to check that no one else was here.’
‘But did you see him on the way out?’
‘Jock? No.’ Then she gasped at the sight of Stuart. ‘Isn’t he perfectly divine! I’d forgotten how tiny a baby’s fingers are.’
Tears were actually running down her face. ‘I’m so relieved everything was all right for you. I was really terrified when you passed out like that. And now look. You have a son. I do hope that I have one. I know Gary feels the same.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ I said, realizing as I spoke that this was silly. No one could tell. After all, that spin-the-ring game to tell the sex hadn’t worked for me. Not that it mattered now. It reminded me of something that one of the girls in the factory had said: ‘You might think you know what you want when it comes to babies, but you want what you get.’
Yet Jane looked as though she was somewhere else. ‘Still, like Gary says, it really doesn’t matter just as long as I don’t …’
Then she stopped.
‘Just as long as you don’t what?’ I asked.
She gave a little shiver. ‘It doesn’t matter. Now, as soon as you’re up and about, you’ll have to come round to me with your gorgeous baby. I’ll help you. And don’t you worry about your Jock. We’ll find a way round his disapproval, won’t we, little one?’
She stroked my son’s cheek with her finger. ‘Better go now. Gary is looking after Alice and I like to be there for her bedtime.’ She brushed my cheek with hers. ‘Well done! See you soon!’
After she left, I stared at the fancy bouquet tied up with pink ribbon she’d brought. No one had ever given me flowers before. White roses! They must have cost a fortune. There was a card inside. Congratulations from us all! Love Jane, Gary and Alice.
Quickly, I tore it up. I’d have liked to keep it safe. But I didn’t want anyt
hing to upset the new, kinder Jock.
In those days, they kept you in hospital after the birth for much longer than they do now (I couldn’t believe it, Poppy, when you were in and out within eight hours for both Melissa and Daisy). But after the caesarean and the amount of blood I’d lost, they said I needed to stay in for a week before they allowed me home. But I didn’t care, I was too besotted with Stuart. I kept gazing down at his tiny face, his little hands, barely able to believe that God had granted me this miracle. ‘I’ll do anything for you to make sure you have a happy life,’ I kept telling him. ‘Anything.’
In fact, even though I was in such discomfort with the stitches, I rather liked being in hospital. It was so nice having people fussing over me and bringing me meals in bed! I also enjoyed the company of the other mums in the ward, despite the noise at night with all the babies yelling.
Jock, of course, wasn’t too thrilled about me not being at home. There was no one to get him his tea (unless my mother asked him round), and in those days some men expected that, even if a woman was poorly. But he visited every evening after work, I’ll say that for him.
‘By the way,’ said my husband one day. It was almost the end of visiting time but he’d been held up at the factory. (He said this in a way that indicated his presence had been vital.) ‘Your mate Jane’s in hospital too. She’s not so good. Bumped into that up-his-own arse husband of hers on my way in.’
‘Jane?’ I repeated. ‘What’s wrong? Is the baby all right?’
‘As far as I know. But your mate won’t have anything to do with it. Postnatal depression, according to that Gary geezer. I told you she wasn’t a good friend for you. What kind of woman won’t even look at her own child?’
This didn’t sound like Jane. Where had they put her? I looked around. By now they’d moved me from a side-room to the general postnatal ward but I couldn’t see her. I tried to get out of bed. ‘I need to find her. Ow!’
The stitches were still sore.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ said Jock, ringing the bell. ‘Where are those bloody nurses?’
‘They’re busy,’ I said.
‘That’s not good enough.’ He dropped a kiss on top of my head. ‘You’ve had a rough time. They should be here for you.’
It took a while for a nurse to arrive but when she did, she backed him up, much to my disappointment.
‘Your husband’s right. A caesarean’s a big thing. You won’t be able to do much for a few weeks.’
But how could I look after Stuart? And what about Jane? I felt so desperately useless not being there for her when she had done so much for me.
‘Just as well your mother’s around to help,’ said Jock. ‘I can’t take time off work.’ He was right, of course, but I wish he hadn’t said this in such a sharp tone. The kinder Jock was still there, every now and then. But not as kind as when I’d come round from the caesarean.
As soon as my husband had left, I managed to find out that Jane had been put in a private room down the corridor. So I hobbled round on the walking frame they lent me, but when I got there, there was a notice on the door: NO VISITORS.
‘She doesn’t want to see anyone, I’m afraid,’ said one of the other nurses. ‘She’ll be going home tomorrow anyway.’
Then maybe she was getting better!
I was finally discharged, but because of ‘post-caesarean vaginal bleeding’, as the district nurse called it (really scary, with big clots at times), I was advised to stay inside for a few days until it stopped. How I yearned to see Jane! But I couldn’t go anywhere. And I couldn’t call her because Jock had had us disconnected.
‘I really need the phone back on,’ I told my husband. ‘What if Stuart got ill and we needed the doctor?’
‘You’re right,’ he said, stroking our son’s head. ‘But don’t use it too often, mind. We’ve got to be careful, with another mouth to feed and extra clothes for the bairn.’
It took a few weeks for the phone people to sort it out, but when they did I rang Jane while Jock was at work.
‘Hello?’ said a flat voice at the other end.
At first I thought I had the wrong number.
‘It’s me,’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘Me! Betty.’
‘Oh.’
I wasn’t sure what to say. If I told her I knew she was depressed, she might be even more upset. They’d talked about that at antenatal class. The baby blues, they’d called it. If it got really bad, you had to have medical help.
‘How can anyone be miserable after having a baby?’ I’d asked Jane at the time. But she’d gone very quiet and changed the subject.
‘What did you call your little one?’ I asked now instead, realizing I didn’t even know if it was a boy or girl.
‘Violet.’
‘Another daughter! How wonderful.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was dull and flat, without her usual chirpiness.
I tried again. ‘Such a lovely name.’
‘I’m sorry, Poppy, but I have to go now. I’ll speak to you soon.’ She put down the phone without even asking me about Stuart.
This wasn’t right. I knew it. So I got out the second-hand pram with the stained mattress that mum had ‘treated’ us to and somehow managed to walk all the way round to Jane’s, stopping now and then because the stitches were sore and I felt so tired.
Gary answered the door. There were big dark circles under his eyes. ‘I’m sorry to call in like this …’ I began. But he seemed really relieved to see me.
‘No. I’m glad you’re here. Please come in.’
Jane was sitting in a chair by the patio doors leading out to the terrace in their lovely garden. She barely looked at me. Her hair was limp; unwashed and unstyled. She was still in her nightie and her feet were bare. Next to her was a Moses basket with little pink frills. Even though I loved Stuart with all my heart, I still felt a jolt of envy. How I had wanted a daughter! It’s one of the reasons, Poppy, why I warmed to you so much.
‘I don’t know what to do with her,’ said Gary quietly next to me. ‘She won’t let me help her dress and she won’t talk or eat. She was a bit like this with Alice but nowhere near as bad. Thank goodness I’m on school holidays so I can look after her.’
Briefly I couldn’t help thinking that since I’d come out of hospital, Jock had just left me to it. I was the one who got up at night, despite the fact that my stitches hadn’t healed yet. And although my mother helped every now and then, she seemed to take a certain pleasure in telling me that she had her own life to lead as well. She couldn’t just ‘drop everything’. After all, I was the one who had ‘chosen to have a kid’.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.
Gary’s eyes were wet as he gesticulated towards the kitchen, where we could talk more privately. ‘It’s like she’s turned into someone else. I hoped it would be better when we got home. But it’s not. The midwife says it should pass but I can’t help feeling afraid.’ He lowered his voice even more so I could barely hear it. ‘Her mother was the same after Jane was born. Depression runs in the family.’
‘I’d never have guessed,’ I said quietly.
‘Well, it comes in bouts. Most of the time, she’s fine. And even when she was a bit down she was always good at putting on a cheerful front, especially if she could help others.’
We looked back at the patio doors, where Jane sat stiffly, and I was suddenly overcome with affection and sorrow for my friend. Well, now it was my turn. Caesarean or not, I would help Jane. I owed it to her.
Just then Violet began crying and I made my way as fast as possible back into the lounge, after Gary. Jane was still sitting there, staring at the garden. Alice, who’d been playing with a puzzle, was standing over the Moses basket.
‘She needs feeding,’ said Gary in a bright voice. ‘Do you want to do it, Jane?’
She didn’t answer.
Gary looked at me with a ‘See?’ expression. ‘We’ve had to bottle-feed because she won’t do the othe
r.’
He looked embarrassed and I sensed he didn’t want to say the word ‘breast’.
‘Let me help,’ I said. Stuart was fast asleep in his pram in the hall.
‘Would you?’ Gary’s face brightened. ‘It would mean that I could have some time with Alice. Poor little thing is feeling really confused.’
‘Of course.’ The truth was that I couldn’t wait to scoop little Violet up and hold her in my arms. (I was allowed to pick up a baby now.)
How lovely it was to put my cheek against hers. As I bottle-fed her on my lap, I could pretend that she was mine. That I had a baby girl. A sister for Stuart.
After that, I went round every day. It was always the same. Jane would either be sitting in her chair overlooking the garden or else she’d be listening to The Archers or something else on the smart portable silver Roberts transistor radio that Gary had bought her. Whenever I tried to talk to her, she’d continue staring into blank space, without saying a word, as if she was in a world of her own. I’d feed Violet or sing her nursery rhymes to soothe her while Gary would take Alice to the park. Sometimes we changed over. I was able to do more now after the caesarean, thank goodness.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ he would often say.
To be honest, I loved it. It got me out of the flat, which seemed even smaller now with Stuart’s nappies hanging up to dry (disposables were too expensive) and his playpen and high chair taking up the remaining space. It also felt nice to be appreciated. Something I didn’t get much of at home.
That’s right. After our ‘honeymoon’ period following Stuart’s birth, Jock had gone back to his old self. He criticized me for the smell of the nappies soaking in buckets. He told me off if supper was late, even though I tried to explain that I’d been busy with our baby. And he got particularly cross one morning when there wasn’t an ironed shirt ready for him to wear to work.
‘My mother managed with seven of us,’ he snorted. ‘You can’t seem to cope with one.’
