Sing as We Go (30 page)

The files were in alphabetical order and she pulled out the one marked B. She turned to the back of the file, knowing ‘Burton’ would be one of the last. And there were the notes in the matron’s own handwriting made on the day Kathy had first visited the place. If only she had turned tail and run then. She scanned through the pages until she came to the place where she had signed. Reading now, for the first time, she saw that she had indeed signed a paragraph that gave permission for her baby to be adopted. Kathy groaned and then read on. As she did so, her pulse quickened with excitement. The names of the couple who had adopted her baby boy were Mr and Mrs Henry Wainwright and the address was right here, in Saltershaven.

Carefully, Kathy replaced the file, closed the drawer and locked it, returned the keys to the drawer in the desk and then closed the curtains. She tiptoed from the room and quietly shut the door of the matron’s room. She had no need to write down the name and address. It was seared in her mind.

She gained her room without discovery and, once back in bed, began to breathe more easily. She couldn’t believe that she had not been caught, that it had been so easy. If the matron had locked the office, or taken the keys to the filing cabinet with her at night, there would have been nothing she could have done. She wondered if other mothers ever did what she’d done or if they, unlike her, were relieved to part with their child.

‘But not this mother,’ Kathy whispered into the night. ‘Not this one. I’ll find my baby and I’ll snatch him back if I have to.’

By the end of two weeks since the birth of her child, though she wasn’t really fully recovered, Matron deemed her fit enough to leave Willow House.

Kathy had the feeling that the woman wanted to be rid of her, so she packed her suitcase and left without a backward glance, glad to be free of the place. She walked back to where she had rented a bed-sitting room, on the top floor of a row of three-storey, terraced town houses.

‘Oh, it’s you. Been away, ’ave ya?’ The woman who owned the house and lived on the ground floor greeted her.

‘Yes, but I’m back now. Any chance of a room again?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact your old room’s just come vacant again. Young feller who worked at the bank moved out. Bin called up, ’ee ’as.’

‘May I take it then? Straight away?’

‘What, now?’ Mrs Benson looked her up and down.

‘Yes, I – I’ve just arrived back and I’ve nowhere else to stay.’

‘You look a bit peaky. You look thinner. Not sickening for summat, a’ ya? Don’t want no illness in the place.’

‘No – no, I’m fine.’

Mrs Benson pulled open the door with a sniff. ‘Ya’d better come in then. Same terms as afore. No children, no pets an’ no followers.’

‘That’s fine,’ Kathy said. She still had some thinking to do about how she could find her child and what she would do when she did. Obviously, where they would live together would be something else she would have to think about. And what they would live on was another worry. Her money was fast running out and she was too proud to ask Jemima for more.

She settled quickly back into her old room and in some ways it was as if she’d never been away from it. Sleep didn’t come easily as she lay awake staring into the darkness and laying her plans.

The following morning, Kathy asked Mrs Benson if she knew the road where the Wainwrights lived, but she didn’t mention their name.

‘Oh aye, it’s near the golf course on the way to the Point. Right on the seafront. Them’s posh houses up there. Why a’ ya asking? Hoping to get a job there, a’ ya?’

Kathy stared at her, her mind working quickly. That hadn’t occurred to her.

‘I – er – saw an advert for a housekeeper,’ she lied. ‘I thought I might go and have a look.’

‘If I’d known you were planning on leaving so soon, I wouldn’t have let you have ya room back.’ She sniffed. ‘Messing me about. Them’s usually live-in jobs.’

‘I’m not messing you about, Mrs Benson. I’ll be here at least the month I’ve paid you for.’

‘Aye, well, mind you are. All this coming and going and changing ya mind. I can’t be doin’ with it.’

Kathy had walked at least a mile along the road Mrs Benson had indicated she should take. She stopped to rest on a low wall in front of one of the houses. Perhaps she’d been foolish to try to walk so far, so soon. But she was anxious to see where her baby son was.

A delivery boy, with a huge basket on the front of his bicycle, came riding past, whistling loudly.

‘Excuse me . . . ?’ Kathy put out her hand to attract his attention.

‘Yes, miss,’ he grinned as he applied his brakes and the bicycle slithered to a halt. ‘Can I ’elp ya?’

Kathy explained and the boy said, ‘A bit further along, you’ll see the golf course, turn left up the road leading towards the sea just before it. Then at the end of the road turn right and that’s the road you want. Looking for anyone in particular?’

‘The Wainwrights.’

‘Oh aye, that’s the big house right at the end. Big white one.’

Thanking him, Kathy walked on again wrapping her coat tightly around her as the cool breeze whipped in off the beach. At last she stood before the huge wrought-iron gates, peering through them at the elegant house at the end of the steep driveway. It was a magnificent house, painted white with gleaming windows overlooking the sandhills and the beach, right to the sea.

As Kathy stood there uncertainly, she saw a woman emerge from a side door, turn and pull a perambulator into view. Kathy’s heart skipped a beat. Her son was in that pram. Her little boy. The woman, whom Kathy presumed to be Mrs Wainwright, pushed the pram down the drive towards the gate. She was smiling and talking all the while to the child in the pram. Kathy shrank back and began to walk away. Her heart was thumping in her chest. She had to see the baby, but she knew she must seem like a passer-by, merely making a polite enquiry. She mustn’t appear too interested. She mustn’t alarm the woman. She strolled along as if out taking a walk, but in truth was waiting for Mrs Wainwright to catch up with her. As she heard the wheels of the pram behind her, Kathy stepped off the pavement and stopped, turning to look back as if to let the woman and her baby pass by. She smiled and nodded casually, but Kathy was actually taking in every detail of her appearance. She was a little older than Kathy would have imagined, but dressed in a smart, well-cut navy blue coat. Her smooth complexion was expertly made up and her black hair peeped out from beneath a small hat that matched her coat.

‘Hello,’ Kathy said in a friendly manner. The woman’s smile widened and she stopped.

‘May – may I see your baby?’

‘Of course. I’m so proud of him. He’s beautiful and so good. He’s only two weeks old and this is his first time out. You have to be so careful with November weather, don’t you?’

Mrs Wainwright leaned forward and pushed back the hood and Kathy looked down on her son for the first time. He was asleep, but she could see his smooth skin, the silky black hair and his round little face. Tears welled in her eyes as she searched the tiny face for any hint of likeness to herself or to Tony.

‘He’s lovely. Perfectly lovely,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘Oh, he is. We’re so lucky.’

Kathy straightened up and turned to face the woman. ‘You look very well. Should you be out walking so soon after the birth?’

The woman smiled a little sadly. ‘We’ve adopted him. My husband and I couldn’t have children of our own. We’ve had our names down with various adoption societies for ages and then last week, out of the blue, we got word from Willow House that there was a baby suitable for us. And he is, Oh, he is. He could be our very own. We shall spoil him, I know, but he will have everything that we can give him. And Oh, how he will be loved.’ She shook her head in wonderment, as if she still could not believe their luck. ‘We feel very blessed.’ She looked straight at Kathy with clear, earnest blue eyes. ‘To have been given such a gift and entrusted with his care. He will want for nothing.’

‘I – I can – can see that,’ Kathy whispered. ‘May I ask what – what his name is?’

‘James,’ the woman said. ‘After my husband’s father. And I shall insist on him always being called James, not Jim or Jimmy.’

Kathy nodded unable to speak. How ironic, she thought, that Tony’s child should be given a family name. She wondered what Beatrice Kendall would say if she knew that she had a grandson named James. And what, indeed, would James Hammond think if he knew?

Mrs Wainwright was speaking again and moving on. ‘I must go. I’m just going to the end of the road and then back home again. It’s far enough for his first outing.’

As they walked along, Mrs Wainwright chattered. ‘Do you live nearby?’

‘No – I – er – I’ve only just arrived. I’ve found lodgings and tomorrow I’ll look for work.’ Her answers came automatically, she was hardly thinking clearly. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She couldn’t do it. Her plans lay in tatters. She couldn’t snatch her baby away from this happy, loving woman who would give little James everything. What could she, an unmarried girl, with no proper home, no job, scarcely any money left, give him in comparison? She faced the awful, heart-wrenching truth. The answer was ‘nothing’. She could give her son nothing, except love. But love alone could not feed him, clothe him and keep him warm.

They reached the end of the road and Mrs Wainwright turned the pram around. ‘There, my little precious, time to go home.’

The baby whimpered and she leant forward, pulling down the coverlet. ‘Are you hungry, my little one? Soon be home.’

Kathy felt a tingling in her breasts as if, hearing her baby’s cry, her body responded naturally. Kathy tore her gaze away from the baby to meet the woman’s eyes.

‘I must go,’ Mrs Wainwright said pleasantly. ‘I think he wants feeding. Goodbye. It’s nice to have met you. I hope you find a job.’

Kathy nodded, unable to speak as Mrs Wainwright walked away, every step taking Kathy’s son further and further away from her. She stood watching them walk the length of the road, saw the gate open and them disappear through it. Not until then did Kathy turn away and begin her long, lonely walk home.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. She felt as if there was a leaden weight in her chest, a sadness too deep even for tears.

Twenty-Nine

It was the wrong time of the year to seek work back at the café, but Kathy was lucky. She found work at one of the local cinemas, the Grand, which had a stage that could be used for live theatre. There were two different programmes of films during the week, each one lasting three days. Sometimes on Sunday evenings there was a live show, usually with a wartime theme. Artistes from units of the forces stationed in the district put together a programme of music and orchestras, and bands from the Royal Marines played.

During the day Kathy worked in the box office, at night she was an usherette.

‘I’m so glad I took you on,’ Larry Johnson, the cinema’s manager told her. ‘You’re so willing to do anything we ask you.’ He was young, fresh-faced and eager and Kathy wondered why he had not been called up. It wasn’t long before he was confiding, ‘I wanted to join the RAF, but I have a weak heart, so – ’ he spread his hands, almost apologetically – ‘I thought I’d try to do something to keep everyone’s spirits up.’

Kathy smiled sympathetically, ‘I’m sure you’re doing a wonderful job and I’m only too glad to help out.’

She wanted to fill every waking moment. Nights were the worst, when she lay lonely and sleepless, aching to hold the warm little body in her arms. Then she would turn and sob into her pillow until exhaustion overtook her. She grew thinner and paler, but still she pushed herself on, no longer caring what became of her.

Any time she had free during the day she took the long walk out of the town towards the south, just on the offchance of meeting Mrs Wainwright wheeling James out in his perambulator. In the evenings, the darkness of the cinema hid her tears.

Five girls, smartly dressed in WRNS uniform, came up the steps and into the cinema a little after the start of the evening’s programme. Mrs Riley, the elderly, grey-haired lady who manned the box office in the evening, gave them their tickets and directed them to the door leading into the stalls. ‘The film’s only just started, you’ve not missed much.’

Kathy forced a smile on to her face as the girls entered the auditorium, stumbling and giggling in the darkness.

‘Sh,’ someone from a nearby seat hissed. ‘Can’t you be quiet?’

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Kathy heard a familiar voice say. ‘We’ve only just got off duty.’

The complaining voice was mollified. ‘Oh, Wrens, are you? Well, we’ll let you off then. There are seats here.’ The man stood up, inviting them to sit beside him.

‘Sorry, I think my friends want to be nearer the front,’ the girl said cheerfully and turned to follow the wavering light of Kathy’s torch leading them down the aisle.

As she stood, pointing the beam of her torch towards the empty row of seats about half way down the aisle, she felt someone touch her arm and the voice she knew say softly, ‘Kathy!’ Then boisterous arms were flung around her and she was hugged tightly. ‘Oh, darling Kathy, it is you.’

A chorus of ‘sh’ came out of the darkness.

‘Amy – sit down,’ Kathy whispered. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘You won’t disappear? You promise?’

‘I promise, but please – sit down now, or else you’ll get me the sack.’

Amy squeezed her hand but sat down without another word, while Kathy walked back to her seat near the door, ready for any more latecomers.

Kathy sat in the darkness staring at the brightly lit screen, yet she saw and heard nothing. Her mind was in a turmoil. She was tempted to break her promise, plead sickness to the cinema manager and leave before the interval, when she knew Amy would seek her out. But something held her in her seat. Was it an overwhelming desire to see her dearest friend again? To feel, just for an hour or so, that someone cared for her? She longed to know how the Robinson family were. All of them, Ted and Betty, Morry and, of course, Aunt Jemima. And she wanted to hear any news that Amy might have of her mother. She wondered if Edith knew that she had a grandchild. Would the Robinsons have told her parents that she had been – as her father rightly predicted – pregnant? She didn’t think they would betray her secret, yet Betty might have succumbed to an overwhelming desire to tell Edith. Part of Kathy hoped she had done so.