Faded Dreams (11 page)

   ‘I haven’t changed me mind, Florrie. Nothing’s altered as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want that kid
now
, nor never
will.
’ He waited a few moments then, slowly and decisively, ‘It’ll have to go… as soon as it’s born.

   ‘Go?’ Florrie sat upright in bed. ‘What do you mean,
go
? Go where?’

   ‘Adopted or something…how the hell do
I
know?’ 

   ‘For God’s sake Joe, don’t start all that again.  I can’t stand any more of it,’ Florrie shouted. ‘Why did you come back then? Just to torment me?’

   ‘I've come back 'cause it's Christmas, for the kid's sakes, not yours or mine. But I’m telling you what’s
what
Florrie, so don’t argue with me,’ he raised his voice above hers. ‘Make your mind up Florrie, it’s either that kid or me. Just tell me something will you? What decent fella would have his wife’s bastard in his house?’

   ‘You tell
me
something Joe Pomfret. How do you know it’s not yours? Go on, tell me,’ she screamed. ‘How can you be so heartless?  Well bugger off again… and this time, don’t come back.’

   At the bottom of the stairs Betty and Ellen stood hand in hand. ‘They’re falling out again…already...and he's only just come back.’ Ellen was disappointed and worried at the same time.

   ‘They’re falling out over the baby, Ellie.’

   ‘What baby?’

   ‘Our new baby, I already told you, didn’t I? I heard Granny Sefton and mum talking. Shuddup we’re not supposed to know about it.’

   ‘But why are they falling out about our new baby?’

   ‘Shut your gob kid, and mind your nose, it’s nothing to do with us. Come back outside… they’ll go mad if they catch us listening.’

   The commotion in the back bedroom eventually subsided with Joe half-heartedly agreeing to a compromise; he would look after Florrie and  there’d be no more arguments as long she gave up the baby as soon as it was born.

*

    Christmas, a quieter affair than last year came and went, and apart from her parents and Hettie, nobody guessed that Florrie was expecting. She hadn’t put on that much weight and at times even
she
wondered if all this was just a dream. Joe hadn’t mentioned the baby again, having convinced himself that things were settled. Her own feelings had become a confusing mixture of trepidation and anger, and an overpowering tenderness for the unborn infant kicking inside her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

1942 

   Joe took the single sheet of notepaper from its envelope; Florrie leaned over his shoulder and together they read,

     Dear Joe and Florrie,

          I hope you are all keeping well. I just wanted to let you know I have lost Frank. It was an accident when he was working on a bomb. It was a bomb that killed him. I never even got the chance to see him before he left Blackburn that last time but I thought I had better write and tell you. You were both very good to him.

         I would have written before, but I have been busy. I am expecting sometime this summer. Frank would have liked that and been proud  but now he will never see it grow up.  He always wanted a son but I shall have to wait and see what it is. 

        Yours Janie.

   ‘Poor bugger, poor old Frank,’ Joe passed the note to Florrie and blew his nose hard, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘A grand lad like Frank… ‘e didn’t deserve this, did ‘e?…blown to smithereens  and ‘er expecting, an’ all.’

   Florrie’s tears dripped on to the letter until it became an inky blur.  Just five words jumped out, as bold as the moment Janie’s pen had scratched them on to the page,
a
bomb that killed him.
  Joe’s arm went round her, crushing her to him, trying in vain to still her trembling.

   ‘Frank were a good pal Florrie, a damned good pal… one of the best.  He’d never let anybody down…an’ now, thanks to that bugger Hitler…’ the words stuck in his throat.

   Overcome with fury he snatched a white pottery King Charles spaniel off the piano and smashed it against the wall. Florrie struggled to take it in, the headless ornament on the floor, its once-identical mate, smugly intact on the opposite end of the piano. The ornaments had come down through the family as a pair and might have been worth a bob or two one of these days  if they weren't damaged.  She knew Joe would glue the dog back together as soon as his temper was spent, no doubt about
that
, but as for selling them, well thanks to him they’d be worthless now. By concentrating her mind on this relatively commonplace event she was able to regain some self-control. She reached for the box of Cephos powders.

   ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, flatly,

   By the time she'd brewed the tea Joe was down on his knees retrieving fragments of pottery from beneath the piano, swearing softly to himself as he tried to match pieces of the dog’s head to its body.

   Florrie finished knitting the white matinee coat and reached for her darning needle to sew the pieces together. In a few more days her baby would be wearing it and yet it looked to be just about the right size for Betty’s doll.

   Her thoughts returned to the letter from Frank’s wife. Janie’s words were coming back to her, but something didn’t fit, 
I’m expecting sometime in summer, he would have been happy about that.
Summer? Summer?  That baby couldn’t be Frank’s then… he’d been gone too long. She remembered his last words to her,
Janie’ll be all right.  Bob’ll look after her.

   She clutched her chest, the ache in her heart almost unbearable.  Perhaps it was better that Frank wouldn’t be coming back poor sod…not after another fella had fathered his longed for child.

   At this point she was unable to grasp the similarity between Janie’s betrayal and her
own
willingness to fall into another man’s arms.  During that night she went into labour and as soon as it was daybreak she dug her elbow in Joe’s ribs. 

   ‘Joe, I've started, get up and fetch the midwife.’

   Throwing on his clothes Joe dashed to the nurse’s home. All that day at work he thought about his next step. The child would be born.  The child would be adopted.  They would all get back to how it was before, just the four of them, him and Florrie and his girls. Back home that evening he pottered about the kitchen putting off the moment he’d been dreading.

   ‘Is that you, Joe?’ Florrie’s voice was tired and weak.

   He braced himself and then as if restrained by  heavy chains of despair, slowly climbed the stairs. At the door of the dimly lit bedroom he stood rooted to the spot. The only sound was the rustling and snuffling of a newborn, instinctively but clumsily trying to latch on to its mother’s nipple.

   ‘It’s a boy, Joe,’ Florrie whispered, ‘come over here and just have a look at him, will ya?'

   Joe ran his tongue round his dry lips, opened his mouth to speak, snapped it shut again and moved towards the bed. He tried to take a deep breath, discovered he couldn’t, and retched instead. Everything was getting darker… spinning… faster... faster… 

   ‘Joe?  Joe? Are you all right?’

   Florrie’s voice came to him through a gradually clearing fog. His forehead and the back of his neck were heavy with sweat,  he tried to open his eyes then  tightened  them again  before opening them wide as he tried to take stock. 

   He was on the floor by the side of the bed with Florrie hanging over him gently slapping his face.  Pulling himself on to his knees he rested his head on the bed and allowed himself to lapse in and out of oblivion. It seemed like hours had passed before he became aware that Florrie had placed the baby, with its sweet-scented newness, inches from his face.

   ‘It’s no good… I don’t want it here Florrie, not in
my
house,’ he said desolately, ‘it’ll have to go.’

   ‘I can’t give him away Joe.  I just
can’t
.  He’s mine… and more’n likely he’s yours as well.’ She summoned up all her strength to make one final appeal. ‘You always wanted a son, didn’t you Joe? We’ve already lost one little lad, let’s not lose another.’

   Man and wife began to cry, torn apart by their own misery, unable to comfort each other until eventually Joe rose to his feet and staggered from the room. The blameless infant, exhausted by his journey into the world and blissfully ignorant of his uncertain future slept on.

   Joe turned a deaf ear to the muffled sound of his wife’s wretched sobbing and lathered his face briskly at the kitchen sink. He needed a pint but he didn't want his pals to notice how upset  he’d been.  He stared with swollen eyes at his reflection in the mirror and scraped his razor across his chin.  Christ, he looked ill, he looked bloody terrible, and no bloody wonder. He had to get out before the girls came home.

   A good long walk into town would do him good and he might even look like his old self by the time he reached The Old Bank.

*  

   ‘Well, lads,’ Lily addressed the tap-room with a smile, ‘look what the cat’s dragged in.’

   ‘Well I’ll be buggered! It’s not often we see Joe Pomfret in here in the middle of the week,’ said Alf.

   ‘Did you forget what day it were Joe?’ asked someone else.

   Joe flushed. He liked to be the one who supplied the jokes and wasn’t used to being at the wrong end of the cheerful banter,

   ‘As a matter of fact,’ he announced shakily, his mind suddenly made up, ‘I’d like all of you to join me in wetting the baby’s h
ead…
Florrie’s had a little lad this morning.’ He turned to the landlord, ‘Well come on Andy, get some beer pulled an’ put it on the slate,  I’ll make it right with you as soon as I get me wage.’

   His pals gathered round to slap him on the back, he was once more exactly where he liked to be, at the centre of attention. 

   ‘You’re a dark horse, Joe,’ Lily forced a smile and squeezed his hand longer than was necessary, ‘you never even told us she were expecting, did you?’

   ‘Are you sure it’s
yours
, Joe?’  There was good-natured laughter as Joe’s news spread quickly throughout the pub.

   ‘Aye, I think yon coal-fella’s been helping you out a bit there, Joe.’

   ‘Nay, I’ve seen t’ milkman going round to your Florrie’s more’n he should… has he been giving her more’n a pint of milk then, Joe?’

   ‘Well,’ said old Harry on a softer note, ‘you’ve done better than our King and Queen, Joe…looks like
they
can only make little lasses, but you’ve got yourself
both
sorts. Come on, have a gill on me, you’ve done well for yourself there, lad.’

   The men pushed gills of beer along the bar in his direction and Joe began to feel  surprisingly proud.
There was no turning back, he’d done it now, told everybody he had a son but what would that lot think if they knew it could be some other bugger’s kid?  He pushed that thought to the back of his mind, for now.

*

    Florrie lay with her face to the wall pretending to be asleep.  He sat on the edge of the bed then shook her gently; she didn’t stir.

   ‘I’ve been thinking about all this,’ he said quietly, ‘you can keep it if you want, I’ll bring it up like it were one of me own, and that’ll be the end of it. Well, are you satisfied now?’

   ‘No, I’m not satisfied,’ she turned to face him. ‘I’m not satisfied because I don’t believe a word you say. You’re out boozing all bloody night and then when you decide to come rolling home you expect me to believe everything’s changed.’ Angry tears rolled down her face. ‘Well, I’ve had enough of your promises Joe Pomfret, do you think I don’t know after all these years  when it’s
beer
that’s talking?’

   Without even a glance at the baby, swaddled in a blanket warm and snug in the bottom drawer, Joe undressed and climbed into bed, tossing and turning the same as  Florrie until exhaustion finally overcame them both.

   The next day he gave the girls breakfast then went upstairs to Florrie with a boiled egg mashed between two slices of bread, and a cup of steaming tea.

   ‘Here y’are, get this down you afore it gets cold. I’m off to work, I’ll see you later.’ He dropped a kiss on top of her head then gently patted the warm bundle in her arms.

   ‘It weren't beer talking last night, ’ he muttered, ‘and it’s
not
beer that's talking this morning. It’s like I said… you can keep it, if that’s what you want.’

   She heard him leaving for work, calling to the girls to be careful crossing the roads and to look after their mam after school till he came home. Over the past months she had cried enough to last a lifetime and yet there were still a few tears left to fall on her baby’s sweet innocent face...tears of relief, of hope for the future.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

   It was Florrie’s idea to name the baby William after his Granddad Pomfret, and Joe was more than happy. If Florrie wanted it to have the same name as his old man it could only mean one thing, the child was a Pomfret.
O
r could it be that Florrie was just leading him on?