The Throwaway Children (58 page)

‘I can’t quite believe those words will apply to us,’ David said. ‘I’m going to have a son… or a daughter, and I promise you, darling, I don’t mind which… do you?’

Rita gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Not in the least, but the idea takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?’

‘You must give your notice in tomorrow,’ David said. ‘You don’t have to work any more.’

‘But I like my job,’ protested Rita. ‘And it’s ages yet.’

‘I know you do, but you have to think of the baby now. You mustn’t get overtired.’

‘I won’t, I promise you. I’ll give notice for the end of the term. Gracious, David, what would I do with myself if I didn’t go to school every day?’

‘You could stay at home and write,’ David replied, not so easily put off. ‘You’ve always said you want to try your hand at a novel, rather than short stories.’

Rita laughed. ‘You just want me to write a bestseller, so that you can live on the proceeds.’

‘Quite right,’ David agreed with a grin. ‘And when you sell the film rights to Hollywood, we’ll neither of us ever have to work again!’

‘What does Deeley think?’ David asked as they sat over their coffee. ‘Is she pleased?’

‘How do you know that I’ve told her?’ asked Rita, defensively, aware that she was blushing.

David laughed. ‘Of course you’ve told her,’ he said. ‘How could you not?’

David had got used to the fact that Delia and Rita never had secrets from each other. At first he’d been jealous of their continued closeness. After all, he was going to be Rita’s husband, he’d take care of her now. Of course Rita still loved Delia, but she shouldn’t be using her as a crutch. But, as he got to know them better, David realized that neither used the other in that way. Neither of them had anyone else in the world, so it was only natural that they were so close. He came to recognize that they were simply part of each other; not to the exclusion of him, or of Rita’s peculiar friend, Daisy, who turned up from time to time, but that the bond between them was strong, woven with the fibres of shared sadness and hardship, and would never loosen.

‘She was delighted for us,’ said Rita. ‘She can’t wait to be a granny.’

‘We must tell my parents, too,’ David reminded her.

‘Of course,’ Rita agreed. ‘I thought we could go and see them this weekend, or if they’re busy, next. More fun to tell them face to face, don’t you think, rather than over the phone?’

David’s parents had been more than a little dubious about his choice of wife. Andrew Harris was a barrister, and much in demand as a defence lawyer in the city, and his wife, Norah, was very conscious of their social position. When she heard about Rita, she’d been horrified. A girl like Rita did not fit in with the plans she had for her only son.

‘Where does she come from?’ she asked David. ‘What do we know about her? Her family? Her background?’

‘I don’t care where she comes from, mother,’ David replied. ‘All I know is that I’m going to marry her, and she’ll have my children.’

When his mother had simply stared at him, pouting her lips in the way that so irritated him, David said sharply, ‘I don’t care about her family, mother, any more than I care about yours.’

Norah, descended from two convicts who had stayed in Australia when their sentences were over, had been silenced, but she still eyed her prospective daughter-in-law with misgiving.

As he’d got to know Rita, Andrew Harris had gradually thawed, and began to see who it was his son was marrying. He recognized her qualities of steadfastness, courage and determination, and began to think his son had made an excellent choice.

Norah remained distant and chilly, though always, as her breeding dictated, scrupulously polite.

‘She really doesn’t like me,’ Rita confided to Delia.

‘I expect she’d find it difficult to give her son to anyone,’ Delia soothed. ‘It isn’t just you.’ But Rita hadn’t been so sure.

‘They’ll be thrilled to bits about the baby,’ David assured her. ‘The problem with being an only child is that you have to carry all the hopes and dreams of your parents. There’s no one to share the load. Mum’s always wanted grandchildren.’

They went for lunch that Sunday, and as they took the ferry to Parramatta and passed under the harbour bridge, Rita had a sudden vision of herself, Daisy and Rosie, staring up in amazement as they arrived on the
Pride of Empire
; Daisy wondering if they’d fit underneath it, and Rosie asking in a tiny voice if it would fall down. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of poor Rosie, brutalized by her adoptive father, running away and trying to survive on the streets of Sydney. It was seven years since Rosie had died, but the sight of her sister, lying pale and still in a side ward of the hospital, was as vivid in Rita’s memory as the night she’d seen her, the night she had held her hand and said goodbye.

‘You all right?’ David asked as he saw Rita’s eyes were bright with tears.

‘Yes, of course,’ answered Rita quickly and looked away, staring at the houses climbing the hill above Lavender Bay. ‘Wind in my eyes.’

David made no further comment. He knew that Rita had the occasional emotional moment, for no apparent reason, and he’d learned she recovered more quickly if he appeared not to notice.

When they reached his parents’ house, they were greeted at the door by his father. ‘Lovely to see you both,’ cried Andrew. ‘Come in, come in. Your mother’s in the kitchen.’

They trooped inside and Norah joined them a moment later, stripping off her apron and giving each of them a powdery cheek to kiss.

‘Now, how about a drink before lunch?’ Andrew suggested. ‘What would you like, Rita?’

‘Got any champagne, Dad?’ asked David casually.

‘Champagne?’ Andrew was startled. ‘I expect so. What are we celebrating?’

David glanced at Rita, but she just smiled and nodded. He should be the one to tell his parents.

‘How do you fancy being grandparents?’ David beamed.

‘What?’ exclaimed Norah, her eyes swivelling to Rita’s stomach, as if searching for signs it was true. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ replied David with a grin.

‘Well, congratulations, both of you,’ cried Andrew, and having pumped David’s hand, he hugged Rita, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘What lovely, lovely news, isn’t it, Norah?’

‘Lovely. When’s it due?’

‘June,’ replied Rita.

‘And how are you keeping?’ Norah asked. ‘Not being sick, I hope.’

‘No, thank goodness,’ answered Rita, ‘just a little queasy in the mornings, but that’s wearing off now.’

‘That’s good,’ Norah said. ‘Now if you want any advice from me, don’t hesitate to ask. Not having a mother of your own to go to, there may be—’

‘I’ve got Deeley,’ said Rita sharply.

‘Yes, of course you have,’ agreed Norah, ‘but she’s not the same as your real mother—’

‘She is to me,’ asserted Rita. ‘She’s far better than my real mother.
She
loves me.’

‘I’m sure she does, dear,’ said Norah, and rather startled at Rita’s vehement response, she glanced at David.

‘A kind thought, Mother,’ he said briskly, ‘I’m sure Rita’s grateful for the offer.’

Rita had seldom seen her mother-in-law disconcerted. She was often dictatorial, but that never seemed to worry Andrew. Just occasionally Rita had seen him put his foot down and then there had been no further argument. David, on the other hand, often appeared to agree, but then did exactly what he’d always intended.

The awkward moment passed as Andrew reappeared with champagne. ‘Here we are,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I thought I had a bottle somewhere waiting for a special occasion, and what could be more special than this, eh?’ He turned to Norah. ‘How about some glasses, chicken?’

Andrew poured them each a glass and then raised his. ‘Here’s to your son or daughter, our first grandchild!’

The rest of the day passed easily enough, and when they finally boarded the ferry for Circular Quay, David took Rita’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

Rita shook her head wearily. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it was fine.’

‘Better than you thought?’

Rita sat back against him, her face turned to the evening sun. ‘You know me too well,’ she said with a contented sigh.

David slipped his arm round her, holding her close. ‘I’m learning you better every day.’

That night as she lay in bed, with David snoring gently beside her, Rita thought of what Norah had said about not having her own mother. Deeley was her mother now, she told herself, but for the first time for several years, she thought properly about her real mother and what Mavis had allowed to happen to her.

Rita laid a hand on her own stomach where she could almost feel the baby growing in her womb. There was nothing much visible yet, but Rita felt different in herself. With the baby growing inside her, she was already a mother, and as the responsibility of motherhood had enveloped her, she found herself looking at the world from a different perspective. David felt protective of her, constantly telling her to sit down, to put her feet up, to have an early night, but Rita knew it wasn’t she who needed protecting, it was the tiny creature living inside her.

A baby is so helpless, she thought now. A mother’s job is to care for him, keep him safe. She thought of her little brother, Richard. He would be sixteen now, and she’d only seen him once. He was Jimmy’s baby; perhaps her mother had been protecting him from Jimmy.

She didn’t protect us, Rita thought. Maybe she thought we were OK, or that I could look after Rosie. Perhaps it was either us or Richard, and he needed her more.

Rita knew, now, what it was to love a man, to want him with her always, to have his children. Could Mum really have felt about Jimmy what Rita now felt about David? Jimmy, a brute, who knocked her about, shouted at her, frightened her with his sudden rages? Rita couldn’t imagine being in love with a man like that. She wondered if her mother was still with him. Perhaps she’d left him. Rita hoped so; or more likely he’d pushed off and left her. He was the sort of man who’d do that, Rita thought. How had Mum managed with Richard when Gran had died? Had she had any more babies? Have I got brothers and sisters I know nothing about? she wondered. When she finally drifted into sleep, the questions which had begun to torment her had found no resolution.

For the next few weeks Rita was continually buffeted by thoughts of her mother.

‘Put her out of your mind,’ David said when she mentioned her to him. ‘You have to face the fact that, for whatever reason, however good it seemed, she gave you up.’

‘Perhaps she had no alternative,’ said Rita.

‘Harsh as it sounds, darling,’ David replied gently, ‘I don’t think that can be true. You and Rosie were her children, and should have been her first priority.’ He placed his hand on her stomach. ‘You’d never give away this little chap.’

‘Or chap-ess.’

‘Or chap-ess.’

‘No, never.’

‘No, never,’ David agreed.

‘What’s brought this on?’ Delia asked when she talked to her. ‘Why this sudden interest in your mother and her motives?’

Rita shrugged. ‘I don’t know, really,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps because I’m going to be a mother myself. It’s made me more conscious of the difficulties she faced when she found she was expecting my brother, Richard.’

‘Other people have three children and manage without giving two of them away to look after the third,’ observed Delia. ‘Other people lose their children through no fault of their own and would give everything they have in the world to have them back.’

Rita put her hand on Delia’s arm, knowing she was thinking of her own son, Harry, who’d died so tragically young.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I do know, Deeley, really I do. It’s just that I’m trying to understand what went on in her mind. She must have been under immense pressure.’

‘You’re being very generous to her, darling,’ said Delia. ‘Far more generous than I’d be, or than I am, for that matter.
I
can’t forgive her for doing what she did to you.’

‘But I’ve got you,’ pointed out Rita.

Delia took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Always,’ she said.

‘Perhaps she thought we’d have a better life somewhere else. It would have been hell with Uncle Jimmy.’ She fell silent for a moment and then added softly, ‘It turned out hell for Rosie anyway.’

She talked things over with Daisy, too. Daisy had come over to Randwick one Saturday afternoon and they’d gone for their usual picnic lunch together in Centennial Park. As they sat under the trees, munching cheese sandwiches, Rita told Daisy about the baby and how, since she’d known she was expecting, her mother had somehow invaded her thoughts.

When Daisy heard this, she was characteristically forthright in her opinion. ‘Put her out of your mind, Reet,’ she said, ‘you ain’t been in hers for years.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Rita objected. ‘She might have been thinking about us all the time, wondering how we are, regretting what she did.’

‘Yeah, well, regrets ain’t no good, are they? Waste of time, ’cos you can’t put the clock back.’

‘No, I know that,’ sighed Rita. ‘And let’s face it, I’ve been very lucky, really, luckier than you.’

‘You was lucky the Watchdog took you,’ Daisy agreed, not for the first time. ‘God knows where the Manton bitch’d’ve sent you if you was left there with her.’

‘I wish Deeley’d had room for you, too,’ replied Rita.

Daisy laughed. ‘So do I, sunshine, but it weren’t to be, were it? You both did what you could, coming to see me an’ that, taking me out, an’ I’m grateful, so there’s an end to it.’ She gave Rita a playful punch on the arm. ‘So, what’re you thinking about then, Reet? What you going to do?’

Rita shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Did wonder if I might write to her.’

‘Whatever for?’ demanded Daisy.

‘Well, tell her about the baby and that… you know.’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Daisy roundly. ‘I wouldn’t let her near no baby of mine, not after what she done to you and Rosie.’

‘Well, she wouldn’t get near, would she? I mean, she’s in England and the baby’ll be in Australia.’

‘There’s planes,’ Daisy said, darkly.

‘Yeah, well, I can hardly see her getting on one of them,’ laughed Rita. ‘She ain’t got no money.’