Mothers and Daughters (25 page)

‘I’m too old. Wait until you’re my age. It’ll be a different story then when Arthur starts playing you up. I have given my life to bringing up this family. It’s time I had a rest from nappies and noise. It’s my due.’ Why were her children taking sides against her in this matter?

‘All Connie needs is a place to support her child. She’ll do the rest …’

‘Like her mother, having to go off to work and leave me to baby-sit. I did it once but not again. I’m too old.’

‘Old? Old is a number in your head. You don’t want to do it, and I can understand why, but to throw her on the mercy of strangers … I hope you know what you’ve done?’

‘Why, what’s she up to now? Where is she?’

‘Safe, no thanks to you. You threw her out on Christmas Day! I never thought you mean-spirited but now I see a crabby old woman who thinks only of her comforts.’

‘Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that!’

‘I’ll speak as I find. I don’t like who you’ve become.’

‘Suit yourself. This is who I am now, but I won’t change my mind.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said. If Connie’s not welcome here then neither am I! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!’ Lee shouted. ‘I hope you enjoy your peace and quiet. There’ll be plenty of it from now on, Mother!’

The door banged as Lee left in a huff and a puff.

Esme sat down, stunned by this cruel outburst. Only a daughter knew how to wound, where to put the dagger to her heart. Why were they all ganging up on her? Arrest, divorce, pregnancy – she couldn’t hack it any more. Someone had to do the right thing,
make a stand for Christian morality and respectability in this godless age. To condone Connie’s situation was wrong, wasn’t it?

He who is without sin, cast the first stone
… And yet, why did Jesus’s words toll like a bell in her ears?

Diana Unsworth’s staff flat was spacious, with two bedrooms. It was attached to the children’s hostel, once a great Victorian house on the outskirts of Leeds. Most of the week, Diana lived alone and then her friend Hazel would come to visit from London by train.

Hazel was a fellow nurse Guider, a part-time lover, Connie suspected. They shared a bed even before she’d taken over the second bedroom, which Diana used as an office. The two of them were kind, friendly but correct.

‘You can stay here as long as it is possible – until the confinement, that is. Perhaps you can give me a hand with the patients as an orderly; nothing too strenuous in your condition,’ Diana offered.

Auntie Lee had taken her along to the Unsworths on Boxing Day, to their little party. Diana had whisked Connie into the kitchen to talk in private.

‘Oh dear, you are in trouble, aren’t you? But what’s broke can be fixed,’ she smiled. ‘You can stay with me for a while. No one will know you and there are places you can go when it gets close to your time. I fear you’re going to have to make some big decisions, Connie. The biggest decisions of your life is whether to keep this child or find it a home. It’s not easy to put kids into a nursery these days. Since the war most of them have closed, and you’ll have to work. Adoption would give the baby a chance with parents in a better position than you to bring up a child.’ Diana could be so direct, looking at her with those slate-grey eyes. ‘If only your mother were alive,’ she sighed. ‘Such a pity.’

‘I don’t want adoption. I’ll manage on my own.’

‘I think you’d better wait until it’s born. The welfare officers will discuss these things better than I can, but babies cost money, Connie, a lot of money, so think carefully.’ The seeds of doubt were already being sown, gently but firmly planted. Diana was making everything real.

Connie crossed over the Pennine Hills with a heavy heart. Gran’s anger and Ivy’s assault flashed into her mind. Better to go where nobody would judge her, but on bad mornings all she wanted to do was lie in bed. Then the little one inside had its own ideas and started to kick her into touch. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she whispered to it.

Diana kept her busy bathing children with weak limbs and hunched backs, boys who nodded and
banged their heads against the cots. The hostel was full of handicapped children and another doubt was planted in Connie’s mind. How would she cope if her baby was not healthy? What if it had been already harmed in some way?

She fought off the doubts but the picture of Joy’s nursery, with all its equipment, worried her.

One day, window shopping in Schofield’s baby department on The Headrow, she picked up a soft woollen blanket: blue, yellow and green plaid with a thick fringe, just right for a pram or cot, and not too expensive. On impulse she bought it and brushed it across her face. It smelled new and soft.

Then for the first time she wondered what it would be like; a boy or a girl, ginger-haired, or dark like Marty or Lorne? She couldn’t recall exactly what colour his hair was, it was so plastered in gel. She knew so little about them. Her baby would be its own person with its own genes. It was nothing to do with them, and yet, of course, it was.

One pram blanket wasn’t much of a layette but it was a start. The day was edging ever closer when her bulge would get difficult to conceal, but no one around here would care what happened then. She was tall and slim, and when she stood up straight there was nothing much to see.

It was agony to pass a nursery store window and see the racks of rompers and pram suits reminding her of what was to come.

Joy was wrapped up in her new life and Rosa was halfway across the world, on her way from Southampton. Connie had never felt so alone and yet so coldly focused on what to do, but a creeping inertia filled her limbs too, a heaviness that kept her lying under the covers, reading, as if to escape making a single decision.

She presented herself, at Diana’s insistence, to the local doctor. Dr Shearling was of the old school, an ex-missionary. She sensed he was of the brigade that said you don’t touch the opposite sex anywhere but on the unclothed arm unless you are engaged, and then it was better to marry than to burn.

He examined her coldly. He tried not to show his exasperation that she was so far on and that she’d not taken any precautions whilst ‘indulging in careless behaviour’.

‘If you must be reckless then take precautions. You look like an intelligent girl. What a sorry end for your life,’ he said.

He dismissed her as if she was a silly girl but Connie was no longer in awe of the medical profession. Dr Friedmann had told them too many funny stories about his colleagues for her to take them seriously.

‘I want to continue with my education,’ she said. ‘I’ll find a nursery or a part-time job.’

‘You’re mighty sure of yourself,’ he sneered. ‘I’ve met many sorry lassies like you, and none of them yet has managed to bring up a baby without the
support of their family or a young man willing to take them on. You can’t just walk into a day nursery these days.’ He was pouring his bucket of cold water on her fantasies like Diana.

Connie stood up to leave.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Have you thought of adoption, giving the bairn to parents who are in a better position to bring up a child properly?’

The very word made her hackles rise. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want that. It won’t come to that.’

‘Then get on the phone to your mother right now and go home,’ he ordered.

‘My mother is dead and no one in the family can take me in. I want to stay here and find work. I’m not due until May. I’ll find something,’ she insisted. No one was going to tell her what to do, especially not some po-faced doctor who didn’t know the first thing about her.

‘In that case we’ll find you a place in a hostel for unmarried mothers and babies. You have your confinement and then you think again about adoption. The welfare officers will discuss options for you, both before and after the bairn is born,’ he replied, looking at his watch and writing out a form and prescription for the usual iron tablets and free orange juice.

Connie stood out on the concrete steps, clutching her forms, blinking in the sunshine. What were hostels for mothers and babies? Perhaps if she went into a home it would give her time to plan the future.
Only Diana need know she was there. She’d find some excuses to cover her tracks with everyone else.

She could earn enough to buy a pram and layette, find a room; a cot didn’t take up much space. There had to be a day nursery somewhere for factory workers, but how could she fund all that on a care assistant’s wage?

Perhaps it was better to give up now. Every time she came up with a solution there was an obstacle right behind it. She was eighteen and unqualified for any job. She’d not got her results yet.

She put her hand on her bulge and knew she must look after this unborn child. The two of them were locked together. ‘I’ll think of something for us, don’t worry,’ she whispered.

Then came an unexpected letter from Neville. Joy was asking Connie to write to her to be a godmother to Kim in April. Enclosed was a little picture of Kimberley in her pram, looking like a miniature Auntie Su.

After all this, Joy wanted her to receive such an honour?

The letter thrilled and terrified her. Joy was reaching out to her in asking her to do this honour, but there was no way that she could stand up in a church and make vows in this state. Stricken with terror, ashamed and paralysed with not knowing what to do, she had to find an excuse. If she refused, Joy would think she didn’t care and be hurt.

In desperation she rang Neville at the Market Hall office. ‘What shall I do?’ she cried.

‘She’s asked Rosa but she’s out at sea … Auntie Su would tell her the truth about your condition but Joy’s not well. I don’t think she’d understand.’

‘No, she mustn’t suspect. I’ll think of something. There has to be a way.’

Next morning she woke up with the perfect solution. She was going to take her cue from Joy’s old tricks. She walked into town, made a purchase, then wrote back enthusiastically, saying she was working with Diana for a while but accepted the role of godmother with pleasure. She enclosed a little stainless-steel christening mug with a bunny rabbit engraved on the front, telling her she was sending the gift in advance.

On the Saturday before the christening she rang Auntie Lee complaining of diarrhoea and stomach cramps. ‘You know I can’t come in my condition. Tell them I thought it unwise to bring infection to a new baby and hope they’ll all understand.’

‘How are you?’ said Lee with concern in her voice.

‘Coping. Diana and Hazel are kind. They are finding me somewhere to stay. How’s Gran?’

‘We’ve had words. She won’t bend, Connie. I wish I could help …’

‘Don’t worry, I’m managing.’ She had already composed a letter to Joy and Denny, promising to visit as soon as she could. ‘I’ve sent Kim’s present. Are they well?’

Lee was hesitant. ‘Su is worried. Joy has gone very thin again. Denny had a hamstring injury. He’s been dropped from the first team and is out of training. He’s drinking a lot. She hasn’t seen much of Joy lately, or the baby, but Joy will make an excellent mother when she settles down,’ she added.

‘I’m sure she will,’ Connie croaked, but she sensed Lee was worried. If only she could bury her head in Mama’s warm lap as she had as a child, to tell her what a mess she was making of her own life. If only she could hear the forgiveness in her voice, she wouldn’t be now out in this wilderness on this scary journey into the unknown.

‘Are you sure
you’re
all right?’ Lee was sensing her hesitation.

‘I’m fine,’ Connie lied, wishing she was with her aunt right now to ask her what to do. It was hard being exiled from friends and family, not knowing if she’d ever be allowed to return.

Diana, true to her word, found the name of a hostel, somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales near Sowerthwaite, where they took girls on an extended stay, but then their hopes were dashed when news came that it was full. So now she was down for the local hostel. Interviews followed with a midwife and welfare officer, and a list of requirements she must bring for her confinement.

The orderly job was her only means of income to
buy all these extras. It was time to save every penny, walking instead of taking a bus. Sometimes she lived in a pretend world where people smiled and asked when she was due. She was careful always to wear gloves so no one could see the ringless finger. Hubby’s away at sea, she told the other staff.

One afternoon she took a trip out to Rawnsworth by bus to find the hostel that would soon be her home. It was hidden behind a high wall with a copper beech hedge and green wrought-iron gates. The house was like a huge preparatory school made from some mill owner’s mansion, discreetly unnamed, with no signs of life.

Dr Shearling had confirmed arrangements for entry into the hostel two weeks before Connie’s due date. In a funny way it was exciting. This would be a refuge from further deception, a refuge from having to conceal her condition, a relief to be among others in the same boat. No more pretending or wearing that awful corset that clinched her belly and cut into her skin. Here she could hide away and make plans.

The only good news on the horizon was that she had passed her A levels with flying colours. Neville was sending on her mail. There was nothing from Gran, though.

No one knew where she was except Diana and Neville. It was better that way.

Connie packed her suitcase with care, the little blanket she’d bought on the top. Once she was behind
those green gates all would be safe. And after that? She could think no further ahead than the birth. How her back ached, her ankles swollen with the heat. Now she was looking forward to a good rest.

Diana kissed her and waved her off from the car. ‘I’ll come and visit you. Remember, you’re not alone.’

‘How can I thank you?’ Connie cried, feeling tearful. ‘You’ve kept me sane.’

‘It’s what your mother would expect from me. Don’t be too proud to ask for help, but do remember what the doctor said. Please don’t think me cruel but there are so many childless couples longing for a baby to love … You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, a chance for a fresh start. You’re only eighteen, don’t burden yourself with a child. There’s not going to be much family support. Without that you’ll sink. Don’t condemn your child to poverty and a poor start in life just because you think you should do the right thing. Give it a chance of a better life.’

Connie didn’t want to hear all this, not now, not yet … ‘Bye, Diana. Come and see me, please.’ It was enough to be hidden out of sight, exiled, confined to barracks for the duration. She daren’t think more than one day ahead. That prospect was too daunting.

It felt a long slog up the driveway of Green End House with two canvas holdalls. She rang the bell in the portico entrance, breathless with exertion and nerves, and a very pregnant young girl opened the door.

‘Another lamb to the slaughter, Miss Willow!’ she shouted in a broad Yorkshire accent, and a middle-aged woman came down the corridor, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘That’s enough, Doreen. Come in, come in. You must be Miss Winstanley?’ she said with an emphasis on the word ‘Miss’. ‘You’re one of Dr Shearling’s girls. We were expecting you last week. It’s a full house, I’m afraid,’ she said, looking Connie up and down.

She had on her best smock pinafore dress and flat ballet pumps. ‘Sorry I’m late. I was helping my aunt in Leeds,’ she offered, but the woman wasn’t listening. She was busy pulling Connie’s bags from the doorstep.

‘What on earth have you got in here, the kitchen sink? Let’s be having you. Doreen will show you round. I have an emergency on. One of the girls has gone into labour. So we’ll do the formalities later,’ she said.

‘Home sweet home,’ Doreen, who looked about fourteen, giggled. Connie had never seen a bump so large on such a small girl.

‘Don’t mind her. That’s Miss Willow – we call her Pussy – purring one minute and snapping the next. She’s in charge when Matron is busy. I’m Doreen Hewett.’ She held out her hand shyly.