The Best in Blountmere Street (The Blountmere Street Series Book 2) (18 page)

‘That’ll be a shilling, thanks.’  He addresses himself to me.  ‘And welcome home, Lily,’ he beams, obviously proud of his broad-mindedness.

‘Mrs Dibble to you,’ Mum flares, her eyes refocussing on the red veined face.  ‘I might have been ill, but it’s no cause for familiarity.’

‘Who was that rude little man?’ she demands once we’re outside the shop.

Mrs Addington is putting a milk bottle on her door step as we walk up the path to our front door. 

‘It’s good to see you … Mrs Dibble.’  Mrs Addington looks abashed.  In the years she’s lived in the flat above us, she and Mum have seen little of each other.  They have both always preferred to keep their own company.  ‘Paula’s been so looking forward to your visit.’

‘Yes.’

‘Things have changed since you … since …’  Mrs Addington compensates for the petering out of her sentence with what is for her an expansive gesture encompassing the cigar boxes opposite.

‘Yes,’ Mum replies again, but without following the direction Mrs Addington is indicating.

‘We’d better be getting inside.’  I feel in my pocket for the key and begin turning Mum towards the door.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’  Mum asks Mrs Addington as she disappears into our flat.

The black Austin pulls up outside our flat as Jack Bealer is swaying his way home from his Sunday lunchtime boozing at the Carpenter’s Arms.  ‘Nysh weather for thish time of year.’  He smiles inanely at me as I help Mum into the car, and Dad pushes her bag towards her.

‘Have you got everything?’ Dad asks, ignoring Jack.

‘Yes thank you.’

‘It’s been really nice having you,’ I say.  It sounds as if I’m farewelling at best a guest, at worst a stranger.  I lean into the car and kiss Mum on the cheek.  The gesture is formal, an etiquette that has to be performed.  It is an acknowledgment of what has been, but is no longer.

‘It’ll be good to get back to my own bed,’ Mum responds.

‘Righto, she’s ready,’ Dad tells the driver, straightening, banging his hand on the car roof and taking no further notice of the woman inside.  The car glides slowly along Blountmere Street and rounds the corner.  Mum is gone and we’re both deeply relieved.

‘What we got for tea, then?  Celery and bread and butter, is it?’ Dad asks settling into his armchair, his legs stretched easily in front of him which is not a pose he usually adopts.  It is only now that I can truly see how difficult the weekend has been for him.  Neither of us speak of it.  I wish I could voice my dread of Mum’s permanent return, and ask Dad if he feels as confused.  I want to know if he squirms inside and then feels guilty about squirming when Mum says something bizarre or people stare at us.  Instead, I talk about the freshness of the celery and how much better it is when eaten with salt.

Mrs Addington calls as Dad and I are standing companionably at the sink.

At first, I fear it might be the driver returning Mum to us because he can’t cope with her.

Under the passage light Mrs Addington appears flushed.

‘I’ve just popped across the road to the phone box to ring Angela, and she’s had it.  Angela’s had the baby,’ she says.

Chapter Twenty

‘Matron says I’m not to give the baby a name because it’ll make it more difficult to give her up, but I call her Maria,’ Angela tells me the next day when I visit her.  ‘I whisper it to her all the time.  That way,when she’s grown up, maybe she’ll remember what I called her, and perhaps she’ll remember me as well.’

‘She looks just like a Maria with all that dark hair.’  I kiss the down on the top of the baby’s head.

‘Yeah, she’s
really beautiful, not wrinkled and red like an old tomato.  And look at her fingers.  They’re so long.  I reckon she’ll play the piano one day.’  Angela splays Maria’s fingers on the palm of her own hand.  Immediately they clench into a tiny fist.

‘I can’t stop looking at her and touching her skin.  I suppose it’s because I won’t be able to do it for long.’  Angela cuffs away rare tears.  ‘I suppose I’m lucky I’ve been able to have her with me this long.  It’s only because I kicked up a stink that they allowed me a bit of extra time.  You know what I’m like when I get my hackles up.  I threatened to scream the place down unless they let me have her for a few more days.  They didn’t want everyone else upset, so they moved me along the corridor out of the way where nobody could see I had the baby with me.’  She thrusts Maria towards me.  ‘Here, d’you want to hold her?’

‘Can I?  Won’t they mind?’

‘She’s still my baby and until I sign that document and she goes, I’ll let who I like hold her, but for Pete’s sake don’t look at what she’s wearing.  Have you ever seen anything so horrible as the purple cardigan and lime green booties they’ve dressed her in?’

‘Actually I’ve bought her a little dress and a matinee jacket and booties, but if that’s the case I’ll take them back home with me.’  I’d had to juggle the housekeeping to buy them.  I hope Dad won’t notice when we have sausages twice this coming week.

‘You’ll do nothing of the sort.  Like I said, she’s my baby and until she goes, I’ll do what I want with her.  Give those clothes and the baby here.’  I hand Maria back, and Angela begins undressing the sleeping infant.  ‘I want to remember her in a gorgeous dress, not looking like something out of the rag bag,’ she asserts.

‘Don’t you look smart?’  Mum smiles on our next visit.

‘I thought I’d wear the outfit Dad bought me for secretarial school so that I could show you.  Although I don’t start for a few months, I’m wearing it now because all my other clothes are too small or wearing out.’  I wait, expecting a rebuke or a platitude, such as,
patience is a virtue
, or,
everything comes to those who wait
, but all Mum says is, ‘It’s lovely.’

A passing nurse carrying a tray calls, ‘Your mother’s making a marvellous recovery, isn’t she?’

‘Yes … Yes, she really is.’

‘Isn’t your father with you today?’ the nurse enquires.

‘He’s coming.’

Dad now finds it necessary to have a cigarette in the grounds before our time with Mum, in addition to the cigarette he’s obviously gasping for halfway through the visit.

I wait for the nurse to pass, before I snuggle closer to Mum.  Things feel so much better here at the asylum than they did when Mum had been with us at home.  Here I don’t feel responsible for her, and there’s always someone to help if Mum becomes anxious.  I wish she could stay here.  I wish she didn’t have to come home.  I look down in case Mum can somehow see the disloyalty in my eyes.

‘I‘ve got something to tell you, although it’s both happy and sad.’

‘Come on, girl, get on with it.’

I say sorry, then stop.  Now Mum’s getting better, I’ve already begun to apologise again.  I hadn’t realised how good it had been not to constantly be saying I was sorry.  Often I didn’t know what I had to be sorry for.

‘Angela’s had the baby: a little girl.  She’s named her Maria, but I expect her new parents will call her something different.  She’s lovely with lots of black hair.’

‘Like the boy upstairs when he was a baby.’

‘Really!  It must make Mrs Addington terribly sad when she sees Maria.  And I can’t imagine how Angela’s going to give the baby up.’

The nurse returns.  ‘It can’t be too long before your mother’s on her way home to you for good.’  She tweaks the collar on Mum’s blouse,  ‘The treatment’s worked wonders on her.’  She turns to Mum.  ‘A new woman, aren’t we?’

‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ Mum replies looking at me, and ignoring the nurse.

‘That’s the spirit.’  The nurse pats Mum on the shoulder and leaves.

‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ Mum repeats.

‘Is that’s what’s got you through, Mum?’

‘Not me; that girl and her baby: If she’s set on keeping it, she’ll find a way.  But the smile that had begun, drains from Mum’s face as Dad enters the room.

‘You all right?’ he asks stiffly.

‘Very well, thank you,’ Mum replies, as if she’s looking far beyond the opposite wall.

Angela is sitting in a rocking chair facing the window cradling Maria when I next visit.

‘I thought I’d come and see how you both are.’  How can I tell Angela I want to see the baby one more time before she’s taken away?

‘We’re all right, aren’t we, Maria?’  Angela answers. ‘Although the matron’s been in and said I’m making things worse for myself and that tomorrow they’re going to take Maria to the nursery and look after her there until her new parents collect her.  That’s why they won’t let me breast feed her.’  Angela runs her finger down the baby’s cheek.  ‘Her skin’s like rose petals.’  Angela’s tears fall unchecked on the baby.

‘I know this’ll sound daft, but what I’d really love is for Tony to see her.  Mum says she looks just like he did when he was a baby.  I wish I could write to him and tell him to come home because we need him.’  Maria stirs and Angela makes a shushing sound.

‘Sometimes I see him, you know, in my mind’s eye, real nice looking he is.’  Angela gathers the baby closer.  ‘That’s what having a baby does.  Sends you crackers.’  She stops abruptly.  ‘Sorry, Paul, I didn’t mean anything about your Mum.’

‘Don’t be silly.  Anyway, I’ve tried to do the same myself.  When we went to see Tony in the orphanage that time, he and I agreed to try and contact each other, sort of telepathically, I suppose, every afternoon at four.  I used to do it every day, but I haven’t done it for ages.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Not really.  It was a kid’s thing, but … well … I might try again.’

‘I know this sounds selfish,’ Angela continues, ‘But he’d be getting on for sixteen now, so if he came back, he could get a job.  You know, give us the support we need.  If he’d been here I might have been able to keep Maria and … ’  A sob finishes Angela’s sentence.

It’s four in the afternoon and I stretch out on my bed.  I ignore my own reflection in the mirror and study the floral wallpaper.  The petals of the tiny flowers guarded on either side by an army of leaves are disjointed where Dad wasn’t able to match the pattern when he hung the wallpaper.  I recall him hurling the papering brush across the room, cursing the walls for being out of plumb, the inferior quality of the wallpaper and blaming Mum for simply being there. 

Outside there is a general buzz of busyness as people come and go from their cigar boxes.  I resettle myself against the pillows and attempt to make my mind blank.  Once again, I focus on the flowers and then beyond.  All at once I’m looking at an empty beach, beyond which are sheep-grazed pastures. “
Where are you Tony?  I need you to answer me.  There isn’t much time, at least not for Angela.
”  But the image has dissolved like one of Mum’s pills in water.

Bill is in the back of the shop when I arrive.  He’s taken to wearing glasses and they rest halfway down his nose as he concentrates on the cloth he’s machining.  Having picked my way through the general assortment of chairs and sofas, I have to touch him on the shoulder before he’s aware of me.

‘Good grief, you startled me.’  Bill removes his spectacles.  ‘This is a surprise.’  He smiles, and without intending to, I smile back.  He’s so disarming.  That’s always been the trouble with Bill.

‘I’m sorry to bother you when you’re busy,’ I stammer.  I’m aware of our last meeting, and the promise I made to myself not to see him again.

‘I am busy, but you’re never a bother.  Come upstairs and have a cup of tea.  I’ve missed our chats.’  Bill ushers me through the shop as if there has never been any acrimony between us.

‘What about the scholarship?’ he asks casually.

‘I got it,’ I reply with the same nonchalance.

‘I’m glad.’

‘I came to tell you that Angela’s had the baby.’  I sit in my spring flowers and sunshine armchair, while the winter sun dapples the room.

‘I’ve been thinking it must be about time.  A boy or a girl?’

‘A girl, Maria.’

‘And Angela – she’s well?’

‘She’s well, but very sad at having to have Maria adopted.’  I pause. I’ve practised what I’m going to say into the mirror in my bedroom, but now I’m here, I know that what I’ve planned will sound altogether too rehearsed.

‘Thank you for the money.  It’s made all the difference to Angela and Mrs Addington.  I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t have kept it if they hadn’t needed it.  And I’ll repay every penny when I start work.  I … I … meant to write and thank you.  That’s not quite true.  I … I …’

‘You don’t have to say anything.  If you feel you must repay me, then you can, once you get a job.  I’m in no hurry.  Business is booming.’

‘That’s partly why I came.  You’re busy and …’  I take another mouthful of tea.  It burns my throat.  ‘Angela wants to keep Maria.  I think she’d make a good mother, but as things are, it would be practically impossible.’

‘How do you think I can help?’  Bill pushes his hair from his forehead.

‘What I thought was, seeing as you’ve got so much work, perhaps you could give Angela a job.  She could run the shop while you’re out.  You were so busy when I arrived, you didn’t even hear me, and I could have been a customer.  ‘Perhaps you could teach her how to do upholstery and …’  I take another breath.  ‘And she could bring the baby with her, at least sometimes.  That way, Mrs Addington could get a little peace and quiet during the day and time to get on with her sewing.

‘Now, look …’

But I’ve already embarked on my next sentence.  ‘If that didn’t work out, perhaps Angela could work in the evenings.  You sometimes work in the evenings, don’t you?  And maybe you could advance Angela some wages until she’s ready to start work.  Then you could deduct it from what she earned … That way … ’

‘You certainly seem to have it worked out,’ Bill interrupts and I flush.   I’m using Bill and his generosity and we both know it.

‘First things, first.  Is this plan Angela’s as well as yours?’

‘Mine,’ I mumble.

‘And what about Mrs Addington?  Has she said how she feels about Angela keeping Maria?’

I shake my head.  It had seemed so simple when I’d incubated the whole thing lying on my bed staring at the wallpaper. 

Bill crosses his legs in his usual easy fashion, as if I’ve just asked him for another cup of tea, and certainly not to be the salvation of a young mother and her baby.

‘I suggest you speak to Mrs Addington.  After that a talk with Angela would seem to be the next thing to do.  She might not want to work in an upholstery shop.  It’s not everyone’s choice of a job.  And then there’s the prejudice they would face.  Would Angela and Mrs Addington be prepared for that?  People can be cruel and narrow-minded, as you know, Paula.   And when Maria grows up she won’t be exempt from the stigma of being illegitimate.’

‘Forget I asked.’  I rise from my chair and prepare to leave.  The sooner I can get away, the better.  ‘I’m sorry I got a bit carried away.’

‘You’ve thought the situation out well.  Yes, I do need an assistant and, yes, Angela, would be ideal.  How I’d be able to concentrate with a baby around would remain to be seen, but I suppose I could manage.  Actually, it might be quite nice.  Of course, we’d need to think about what would happen when Maria grows a little.  But time enough for that.’  He takes my hand.  ‘You see, I haven’t used the word “no” at all.  On reflection it might be the perfect solution.  But a few questions need to be asked first, and I guess there isn’t that much time.  I’ll leave it with you.  And there might be some other roads we could take a saunter down a little later.  One thing at a time.’

‘Thanks and I’m sorry … about last time.’

‘What last time?’ Bill asks and rapidly continues, ‘Tell me, how’s your mother?’

‘It can’t be long before she’s back for good.  She’s already been home for a weekend.’

All at once, Bill looks downcast.  When Mum is back at home, he won’t be able to see her.

‘At first I really did think the answer was to have the baby adopted.  After all, what have we to offer her?’  Mrs Addington accepts the cup of tea I’ve just made her during my visit that evening.  ‘And I never thought our Angela was ready for motherhood.  But since the birth of the baby, I’ve changed my mind.’  She sets her cup down beside her on the hearth.  ‘To be honest, I’ve spent most of the last few days trying to figure out the best way of going about things.  Before you came this evening, I’d more or less made the decision to go out to work again, although the last time I got myself a job, it turned out to add to our problems, rather than answer them.’  She frowns, causing lines to intersect her forehead like furrows in Devonshire pastures.   ‘And now you say this family friend will give Angela a job, let her work either in the day or in the evenings and sometimes allow her to take the baby.  Into the bargain he’ll train her and give her an advance on her wages. It’s an answer to all my prayers and believe me, I’ve prayed a few lately.’

‘So you think Angela would be pleased with the arrangement?’ I ask.

‘Anything that would help her keep the baby would delight her, I’m sure.’

‘I know it sounds too good to be true, but this friend is really reliable,’ I assure her.

‘My belief is that there are times when we have to exercise some trust,’ Mrs Addington replies.

I hesitate.  ‘This … friend isn’t a friend of our family any longer.’  Not used to duplicity, I bite my lip.  ‘They fell out when Mum became sick, so it’d be better if Mum and Dad don’t know.  I divert my eyes to my shoes, and Mrs Addington says, ‘Right you are.’