Dancing in the Dark (17 page)

She was still wondering how to respond when Albert said wistfully, The wife died in childbirth, you know, along with the baby. It was a girl. We were going to call her Patricia, Patsy, if we had a girl. I’ve always wanted a kiddie of me own.”

If he hadn’t said that she might have agreed to marry him, if only on a temporary basis—he’d made it clear that she could leave whenever she wanted. But she knew she could never be so cruel as to walk out once he’d grown to love the baby he’d always wanted. She would feel trapped. It would be like a second bereavement and he would lose another wife and child. No, best turn him down now.

So Flo told him, very nicely and very gently, that she couldn’t possibly marry him but that she would never forget his kind gesture. She never dreamed that this decision would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Much to Martha’s disappointment, Albert took himself off to stay with a cousin in Macclesfield over Christmas, though Flo was glad because it meant she could remain downstairs except when the occasional visitor came. She wondered if he’d gone for that very reason, and said a little prayer that he would enjoy himself in Macclesfield and that the scarf she’d knitted him would keep him warm—the weather throughout the country was freezing cold with snow several feet deep. Before Albert went, he gave the girls a present each: a gold-plated chain bracelet with a tiny charm. Martha’s charm was a monkey, Sally’s a key and Flo’s a heart.

“I bet he meant to give me the heart,” Martha said.

“We’ll swop if you like,” Flo offered.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

On Christmas Eve, a package arrived from Bel containing a card and a pretty tapestry purse. When Flo opened the card, a photograph fell out. “Bel’s married!” she cried. “She’s married someone called Bob Knox, he’s a Scot.”

“I only met her the once, but she seemed a nice young lady,” Mam said, pleased. “You must pass on our congratulations, Flo, next time you write. Why not send her one of those Irish cotton doilies as a little present?”

“I wanted those doilies for me bottom drawer, Mam,”

Martha pouted.

Flo shook her head. “Thanks all the same, Mam, but she won’t want a doily in the Army. She’d prefer a bottle of scent or a nice pair of stockings.”

“And have you got the wherewithal to buy scent and nice stockings?” Martha asked nastily.

“I’ll get a present when I’m earning money of me own,”

Flo snapped.

Their mother clapped her hands impatiently. “Now, girls, stop bickering. It’s Christmas, the season of goodwill.”

“Sorry, Flo.” Martha smiled for once. “I love you, really.”

“I love you too, Sis.”

Later, Martha said to Flo, “How old is Bel?”

“Eighteen.”

“Only eighteen!” Martha removed her glasses and polished them agitatedly. “I’ll be twenty-four next year.”

Flo wished with all her heart that she could buy a husband for her unhappy sister and hang him on the tree. It didn’t help when, on Boxing Day, a telegram arrived for Sally, got licence stop got leave stop BOOK CHURCH MONDAY STOP JOCK.

“I’m getting married on Monday,” Sally sang, starry-eyed.

Flo whooped with joy, and Mam began to cry. “Sally, luv! This is awful sudden.”

“It’s wartime, Mam. It’s the way things happen nowadays.”

“Does it mean you’ll be leaving home, luv?” Mam sobbed.

“Jock doesn’t have a regular port. I’ll stay with me family till the war’s over, then we’ll get a house of our own.”

At this, Mam’s tears stopped and she became practical.

She’d call on Father Haughey that very day and book the church. Monday afternoon would be best, just in case Jock was late. Even trains had a job getting through the snow. At this, Sally blanched: she had forgotten that the entire country was snowbound. “He’s coming from Solway Firth. Is that far?” No one had the faintest idea so Dad’s atlas was brought out and Solway Firth was discovered to be two counties away.

“I’ll die if he doesn’t get here!” Sally looked as if she might die there and then.

“Surely he’ll be coming by ship.” Martha hadn’t spoken until then. Her face was as white as the snow outside and her eyes were bleak. She was the eldest, she was being left behind, and she couldn’t stand it.

“Of course!” Sally breathed a sigh of relief.

Mam continued to be practical. Did Sally want a white wedding? No? Well, in that case, tomorrow she’d meet her outside the butcher’s at dinner-time, and they’d tour the dress shops in Smithdown Road for a nice costume, her wedding present to her daughter. “It’s no use getting pots and pans yet. And we’ll have to have a taxi on the day. It’s impossible to set foot outside the house in ordinary shoes in this weather, and you can’t very well get married in Wellies. As for the reception, I ‘wonder if it’s too late to book a room?’

“I don’t want a reception, Mam. I’d prefer tea in a cafe afterwards. Jock’s mate will be best man. All I want is me family, you, Martha and Flo.”

“Our Flo can’t go,” Martha pointed out. “Not in her condition.”

Everyone turned to look at Flo, who dropped her eyes, shame-faced. “I hate the idea of missing your wedding, Sal,” she mumbled.

“I’ll be thinking of you, Flo,” Sally said affectionately.

“You’ll be there in spirit, if not in the flesh.”

Flo summoned up every charitable instinct in her body. “Albert will be back from Macclesfield by then,” she said. “Perhaps he could go instead of me. He’d be a partner for our Martha.”

Albert declared himself supremely honoured to be invited to the wedding. “He likes to feel part of the family,”

Sally said. “I suspect he’s lonely.”

On the day of her sister’s wedding, Flo sat alone in the quiet house, thinking how much things had changed over the last twelve months. A year ago Mam was ill, and the sisters’ lives had been jogging along uneventfully.

Now, Mam had bucked up out of all recognition, Flo had found, and lost, Tommy O’Mara, and was carrying his child, and at this very minute Sally, wearing an ugly pinstriped costume and a white felt hat that made her look like an American gangster, was in the process of becoming Mrs Jock Wilson. Martha was the only one for whom everything “was still the same.

She laid her hands contentedly on her stomach. It was odd, but nowadays she scarcely thought about Tommy O’Mara, as if all her love had been transferred to the baby, who chose that moment to give her a vicious kick.

She felt a spark of fear. It wasn’t due for another six-weeks, on St Valentine’s Day, exactly nine months and one week since the date of her last period—Mam had worked it out—but what if it arrived early while she was in the house by herself? Martha had booked a midwife under a “vow of confidentiality”, as she put it, who would deliver the baby when the time came. Flo couldn’t wait for everything to be over, when her life would change even more.

Snow continued to fall throughout January, and February brought no respite from the Arctic weather. By now Flo was huge, although she remained nimble on her feet. As the days crept by, though, she lost her appetite and felt increasingly sick. Martha left instructions that she was to be fetched immediately if the baby started to arrive when she was at work.

“Surely it would be best to fetch the midwife first?” cried Mam. if you’ll tell me where she lives, I’ll get her.”

“I’d sooner get her meself,” Martha said testily.

“There’ll be no need to panic. First babies take ages to arrive. Elsa Cameron was twenty-four hours in labour.”

“Jaysus!” Flo screamed. “Twenty-four whole hours! Did it hurt much?”

Martha looked away. “Only a bit.”

The phosphorous fingers on the alarm clock showed twenty past two as Flo twisted restlessly in bed—it was such a palaver turning over. St Valentine’s Day had been and gone and still the baby showed no sign of arriving.

She lifted the curtain and looked outside. More snow, falling silently and relentlessly in lumps as big as golf balls.

The roads would be impassable again tomorrow.

Suddenly, without warning, pain tore through her belly, so forcefully, that she gasped aloud. The sound must have disturbed her sisters, because Martha stopped snoring and Sally stirred.

Flo waited, her heart in her mouth, glad that the time had come but praying that she wouldn’t have a pain like that again. She screamed when another pain, far worse, gripped her from head to toe.

“What’s the matter?” Sally leaped out of bed, followed by Martha. “Has it started, luv?”

“Oh, Lord, yes!” Flo groaned. “Fetch the midwife, Martha, quick.”

“Where does she live?” demanded Sally. “I’ll go.”

“There isn’t time for a midwife,” Martha said shortly, “not if the pains are this strong. Wake Mam up, if she’s not awake already, and put water on to boil—two big pans and the kettle. Once you’ve done that, fetch those old sheets off the top shelf of the airing cupboard.”

“I still think I should get the midwife, Martha. You and Mam can see to Flo while I’m gone.”

“I said there isn’t time!” Martha slapped her hand over Flo’s mouth when another pain began. “Don’t scream, Flo, we don’t want the neighbours hearing. It would happen the night Albert’s not out fire-watching,” she added irritably.

“I can’t help screaming,” Flo gasped, pushing Martha’s hand away. “I’ve got to scream.”

Mam came into the room in her nightdress. “Help me pull the bed round a bit so’s I can get on the other side,” she commanded. When it had been moved, she knelt beside her daughter. “I know it hurts, luv,” she whispered, “but try and keep a bit quiet, like.”

“I’ll try, Mam. Oh, God!” Flo flung her arms into the air and grasped the wooden headboard.

“Keep her arms like that,” Martha instructed. “I read a book about it in the library.”

Sally brought the sheets, and Flo felt herself being lifted, her nightie pulled up, and the old bedding was slipped beneath her.

“You didn’t book a midwife, did you, our Martha?”

Sally said in a low, accusing voice. “It was all a lie. God, you make me sick, you do. You’re too bloody respectable by a mile. You’d let our poor Flo suffer just to protect your own miserable reputation. I don’t give a sod if me sister has a baby out of wedlock. You’re not human, you.”

“Is it true about the midwife, Martha?” Mam said, in a shocked voice.

“Yes!” Martha spat. “There’s not a single one I’d trust to keep her lip buttoned. It’s all right for Sal, she’s married. I bet Jock wouldn’t have been so keen if he’d known what her sister had been up to.”

“It so happens, Jock’s known about Flo for months, but it was me he wanted to marry, not me family.”

“Stoppit!” Flo screamed. “Stoppit!”

“Girls! Girls! This isn’t the time to have a fight.” Mam stroked Flo’s brow distractedly. “Do try to keep quiet, there’s a good girl.”

“I’m trying, Mam, honest, but it don’t half hurt.”

“I know, luv, I know, but we’ve kept it to ourselves all these months, there’s only a short while to go.”

“Can I go for a walk once it’s over?”

“Yes, luv. As soon as you’re fit, we’ll go for a walk together.”

In her agony, Flo forgot that by the time she was fit again she would be gone from the house in Burnett Street. She would be living somewhere else with her baby.

Afterwards, she never thought to ask how long the torment lasted: one hour, two hours, three. All she could remember were the agonising spasms that seized her body regularly and which wouldn’t have felt quite so bad if only she could have screamed. But every time she opened her mouth, Martha’s hand would slam down on her face and Mam would shake her arm and whisper, “Try not to make a noise, there’s a good girl.”

She was only vaguely aware of the argument raging furiously over her head. “This is cruel,” Sally hissed.

“You’re both being dead cruel. It’s only what I’d expect from our Martha, but I’m surprised at you, Mam.”

Then Mam replied, in a strange, cold voice, “I’m sorry about the midwife, naturally, but one of these days, you’ll leave this house, girl, all three of you will. I don’t want to be known for the rest of me life as the woman who’s daughter had an illegitimate baby, because that’s how they’ll think of me in the street and in the Legion of Mary, and I’d never be able to hold me head up in front of Father Haughey again.”

Later, Sally demanded, “What happens if she tears?

She’ll need stitches. For Christ’s sake, at least get the doctor to sew her up.”

“Women didn’t have stitches in the past,” Martha said tersely. “Flo’s a healthy girl. She’ll mend by herself.”

“I want to go to the lavatory,” Flo wailed. “Fetch the chamber, quick, or I’ll do it in the bed.”

“It’s coming!” Mam said urgently.

“Push, Flo,” Martha hissed. “Push hard.”

“I need the chamber!”

“No, you don’t, Flo. It’s the baby. Push!”

Flo felt sure her body was going to burst and the hurt was so tremendous that the room turned black and little stars appeared, dancing on the ceiling. “ ‘Dancing in the dark,’ she bellowed. ‘Dancing in the dark. Dancing . . . ’ ‘

“Oh, Lord!” Sally was almost sobbing. “She’s lost her mind. Now see what you’ve done!”

Which was the last thing Flo heard until she woke up with a peculiar taste in her mouth. She opened her eyes very, very slowly, because the lids felt too heavy to lift. It was broad daylight outside. Every ounce of strength had drained from her body, and she could barely raise her arms. Unbelievably, for several seconds she forgot about the baby. It wasn’t until she noticed her almost flat tummy that she remembered. Despite her all-out weariness, she was gripped by shivers of excitement. She forced herself on to her elbows and looked around the room, but the only strange thing there was a bottle of brandy on the dressing-table which accounted for the funny taste in her mouth, though she couldn’t remember drinking it. There was no sign of a baby.

“Mam,” she called weakly. “Martha, Sal.”

Mam came into the room looking exhausted, but relieved. “How do you feel, luv?”

“Tired, that’s all. Where’s the baby?”

“Why, luv, he’s gone. Martha took him round to the woman who arranged the adoption. Apparently a very nice couple have been waiting anxiously for him to arrive, not that they cared whether it was a boy or a girl, like. They’ll have him by now. He’ll be one of the best-loved babies in the whole world.”