Orphans of War (62 page)
‘Stay calm,’ said Maddy, trying to look composed, glad that they were hidden behind the striped awning. ‘I see, yes, well, where is she?’
‘Over there, right under the tree in the shade.’
They mustn’t make a fuss and draw attention to the girl. Maddy was thinking on her feet.
‘We’d better get the St John Ambulance man over. Have you seen Mrs Battersby anywhere?’
‘No, miss, but the ambulance went off with someone in it. I saw that. An old man collapsed.’
‘I see,’ Maddy said as she strode down to where Maureen was gathering a crowd–no ambulance, no midwife or doctor in sight. Perhaps her own car would suffice, but it was stuck in the garage and blocked in by parked vehicles outside the Avenue. The town was chock-a-block with visitors on such a lovely day.
‘We’ve got to get her to Scarperton, but don’t panic. Babies take hours to be born,’ she said, thinking ten miles wasn’t very far to go, and then a welcome face beamed at her.
‘Maddy! There you are!’ Greg was dragging Bebe, sucking a lollipop. ‘We thought we’d lost you.’
‘Greg, I’m busy,’ she whispered. ‘One of my ladies is starting in labour.’
‘OK, right,’ he said. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Not sure,’ said Maddy. ‘This needs careful handling in a public place. Just the drama our critics will be waiting for. I don’t want to draw attention to her.’
‘Don’t worry, leave it to me. Just point me out where she is.’
‘Under the tree, Greg, but I’m not sure…’ she cried, but he’d raced ahead. What was he playing at, shouting to the crowd around her?
‘Give her some air. Give my wife some air!’ he shouted to the crowds. The girl looked up at him in amazement. ‘Come on, love, time we got you to the hospital quickly.’
Maureen looked up at his rugged face with astonishment.
‘Miss Belfield, will you look after the little one while we make our way to my car?’ He ordered as if he was a stranger.
It was better than the television drama
Emergency Ward 10.
Greg lifted up the staggering girl and escorted her down as the crowds parted like the Red Sea before Moses. ‘Over here into the shade, it’s not far,’ he said, turning round to Maddy. ‘How am I doing so far?’
‘Brilliant!’ Maddy said. Maureen was swallowed up in sympathy now her husband was here to guide her. No one recognised Greg from the old days. He’d carried
it off like a trooper, with Bebe, unperturbed, following in tow like a dutiful sister-to-be.
They all drove very slowly to Scarperton General in his saloon and went to the maternity wing. When Maddy explained the situation Maureen was duly booked in as Mrs Maureen Smith.
‘You can leave me here. I’d better wait. Go back and enjoy the rest of the Carnival. Bebe shouldn’t miss the rest.’
‘You sure?’ She thought Greg looked relieved.
‘Thanks for your support. You ought to join the drama group after that performance.’ She patted his arm and waved them away, sad to see them go. That was that, then. At least they came. All dressed up and nowhere to go, poor Maddy was Jilly No-mates again, she sighed. It was going to be a long wait.
They sent her home hours later, content in the knowledge that the first Brooklyn baby was safely in his cot and both he and his mother were well. He was a beautiful little boy with a mop of dark hair.
Maddy took a taxi, driving through the streets still thronging with merrymakers, enjoying the dancing on the marketplace cobbles. There was a little band and the kids were dancing and running around.
When she drove up the Avenue, to her surprise Greg’s car was still there, and Grace and the girls were having a crafty cigarette on the steps, waiting for her to return.
‘It’s a boy!’ she yelled, looking at Sandra. ‘One down, two to go…’
They all looked at each other with relief.
Later, Maddy sat with Greg, knowing Bebe was asleep upstairs out of earshot.
‘Thanks for staying on. You needn’t have done that.’
‘Thanks for asking us. It’s been a great day out. Poor kid was whacked. We went up to Sid’s farm to see his new girlfriend, Ava. I gather she’s another one of your good causes,’ he laughed.
‘One of the Hungarians. Yes, I knew they were seeing each other.’
‘I don’t understand you, Maddy. There’s so much I just don’t understand about all this doing good…What’s it all about?’ He gestured around the room and her hackles rose.
‘It’s not doing good, as you call it. It’s about paying back.’
‘For what?’
‘Do you really want to know, Gregory Byrne?’ she replied, knowing it was now or never. Why hold back now? Maddy took a deep breath, bent her head so he couldn’t see her face and told him about Dieter, the baby, the miscarriage and how Gloria had rescued her and protected her.
‘When we fell out later, it was about something quite different.’ She was lying, not ready to discuss all of that. ‘So there, you know why I have to help others in the same boat. This could have been me and I’ll never forget that fact. Giving birth is the easy bit for Maureen–it’s what comes after that will be so hard for them to bear, whichever way they decide to go. Now I expect you’ll never want to see us again.’
‘Why is that then?’ He stared hard into her eyes, forcing her to stare back.
‘Because I’m not the paragon of virtue you thought I was.’
‘Gloria wasn’t who I thought she was either,’ he said, giving his version of what had happened with Ken and the calendar, and how sadly it had all ended. ‘She tricked me into thinking she was his victim but I reckon she knew what she was doing all along,’ he said.
‘Oh, come on, Greg, we were all victims one way or another. Haven’t you ever made a mistake?’
‘Of course I have.’
‘Remember the night you booked us into the hotel and I wouldn’t even come inside. I was scared. I couldn’t risk another mistake. If I’d confessed the real story you’d have run a mile from soiled goods. You said you “didn’t want a slice of a cut loaf” so I kept silent and Gloria jumped into your arms. She’d always fancied you. She wanted you and she told me if I didn’t move over she’d tell you anyway. That’s why we parted company…over you–and look what good it did either of us!’
Greg sat there with his head on his hands. ‘I’d no idea.’
‘No, men usually don’t have a clue. When there’s a battle for custody, it’s the women who decide your fate, I’m afraid. I didn’t feel good enough for you. I had to say no. What if we’d gone ahead and married and you’d found out?’
‘What a mess all this is. Charlie was right. I’ve been an absolute pig-headed fool. I thought there was one
rule for us and another for you. When Gloria told me the truth about those photos. I stormed out, and that’s when I crashed my car. She took that job to prove herself to me. She would still be alive if only…I have to live with all that.’
‘If onlys…all of us have to live with regrets.’
‘Did you and Gloria ever make it up?’
‘How can friends trust each other after such an argument? That doesn’t mean to say I’m not sorry she died like that. If only…’
‘I know. I’m sorry, I’ve been such an idiot. My pride was hurt when you dumped me and when you went on to be such a success, I had to match you.’
‘You’ve not done badly for yourself.’
‘I’m ready for a change from bricks and mortar, to be honest. I was eyeing up old Brigg’s Garage the other day. It’s ripe for development. It would get Bebe away from Sunnyside Drive, away from that snotty school she hates. Gloria insisted she went to a private school. She did so want to be like you. I always said I’d come back one day but not like this…a cripple.’
‘You’re not a cripple. Be patient…healing takes time. After what you two have been through, I think a change is a great idea, but don’t rush it. Bebe needs time to get used to the idea. I think a puppy would be a good idea, though. Just don’t leave it so long before you visit us again,’ Maddy laughed.
He looked at her and she knew she had a friend again.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You could take me out of this mad house now and again,’ she smiled.
‘That’s a deal,’ he replied.
Greg smiled as he thought how it had started just as friendly visits, but both of them knew it was more than that. Greg felt at long last that he’d found the other half of himself after all these years apart, after so much misunderstanding and half-truths. She was his equal–more than his equal–but he was trying hard not to worship Maddy too much.
They found a little Collie puppy for Bebe and it was love at first sight between the two of them. Every weekend they seemed to gravitate back across the Pennines to the Dales for tea and toast in the Brooklyn kitchen.
There were always jobs for Greg to tackle: new shelves, repairing a drain, knocking up some benches. The girls came and went, and his presence sort of balanced things in the household. Bebe took all the babies in her stride.
It was a sad place sometimes when a girl left without her baby. Some were taken away at birth, while others clung on for a couple of weeks. The strain would be etched on Maddy’s face after a tearful farewell. She and Greg often went to the pictures or out for a meal, just to relieve her tension.
One night they parked up on the top moor road just to look at the stars, his arm round her, sniffing the gorgeous smell of the woman he adored. Things were changing between them. He felt her tense up, trying to say something and holding back.
This was it, he thought. She was wanting them out of her life just when he was negotiating with the Brigg family to buy into their garage business with a view to bringing his business acumen to the fore. He had this brilliant idea for buying in specialist sports cars to tune up to rally standard. They’d be moving soon, and perhaps Maddy felt it was time he got on with his own life.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘You’ve been quiet all evening.’
‘I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’m thinking of taking on a partner at the Brooklyn. You’ve seen how chaotic it can get. Some of the girls can be, to say the least, difficult and emotional. I need to get some extra support.’
‘I see,’ said Greg. It would need a saint to take on that lot, and not someone like Miss Blunt. ‘Mrs Plum would’ve been the perfect choice if she were free.’ He was trying to stay calm and polite. ‘Had you anyone in mind or are you going to advertise in the
Yorkshire Post
?’ he answered in all seriousness.
Maddy burst out laughing. ‘Don’t look so worried. There was someone I had in mind but it would have to be a permanent live-in post.’
‘They can be difficult to fill…references and checks…’ He was trying to be helpful, even though he felt sick.
‘I’ve got a lifetime of references on this one,’ she whispered as she leaned over to nibble his ear.
‘Oh?’ he replied, struggling to grasp the gist of this.
‘Marry me!’ she laughed, and stopped his mouth with a kiss.
Three months later, they lit the torches on the path to the church porch on a dark December Saturday afternoon. Bebe was dressed in a green velvet Victorian outfit straight out of her fairy-tale book, with a velvet muff. Bella and Charmaine were matrons of honour, wearing deep burgundy hues. Plum was so excited to be home at long last, drinking in the damp Yorkshire air for the first time in years. Here it had all begun and here it would continue, she smiled. Maddy was taking on a motherless child as she herself had done all those years ago. The two of them would nurture those frightened girls through their labours and dramas. Greg would be the rock that grounded her when things went wrong and tempers flew and Bebe cried for Gloria. She wished them all the luck in the world.
It was enough that her prayers were answered on that wintry afternoon. Maddy had found her true friend, her life’s companion, and she deserved to be happy. Was it fate those two had met once before by the Hepworth sculpture? Greg was learning to make allowances for other people’s mistakes. He was no angel and never would be, but it was never too late to learn that old adage that he who never made a mistake, never made anything. She should know, she’d made plenty herself.
What was lovely about this wedding was that so many friends from other parts of their lives came to wish them well: all the Foxups–Totty and Hugh, Bella and Alex–and the Pinkertons; Charlie Afton, the best man and his family and Brigg’s Garage crowd. Even
Raoul Henry caused a stir when he turned up with the tallest blonde anyone had ever seen in Sowerthwaite. There were rumours she must be a man! There was Sid Conley with his new wife, Ava, the only other evacuee present. But the usual line-up of church ladies lined the back pews to give the outfits the once-over.
Maddy looked wonderful, wearing a sleek cream velvet cape edged with swan’s-down round the hood, over a body-skimming shift so simple and luscious against her dark hair. Greg wore tails with aplomb. Was this the same lad with the scuffed knees and scabby elbows, whom Plum had entrusted to find her niece all those years ago? How strange, how wonderful life could be!
The simple tree-planting ceremony is over at last. Maddy smiles as they put the finishing touches to the bench made from stumps of the old beech, a place to stop and rest a while for those who come to pay their respects to the fallen heroes.
She recalls how, on the night before their wedding, in the bustle of preparation and visitors arriving, Greg had taken Maddy aside. ‘We need to talk. There’s something I should have told you ages ago and I sort of forgot, or I sort of blanked it out from my mind…I don’t know why.’
She can see them as if it were yesterday, huddled together in the bedroom, cuddled up among packing cases and tissue paper, with her bridal outfit hidden out of sight in the dressing room. They were both tearful, tired and excited, but this was important judging by the look on Greg’s face.
‘On the night Gloria died, she whispered something in my ear,’ he said, ‘I didn’t get it all, but it was for you. I heard your name…“Tell Maddy, under the
Victory Tree.” I think that’s what she said. She made me promise to tell you, under the Victory Tree. Do you know what that means?’
‘Oh, yes, I do,’ Maddy wept. At last, the truth with her dying breath; Gloria had given her the baby’s precious burial ground. It was a wedding present no one would ever know but herself. Thank you, she prayed, knowing her new life could begin.
But it had taken over forty years for the old tree to yield up its secret at long last, after all those attempts to dig round its roots until she thought for years Gloria had held out on her once again.
The old beech tree had gathered up her baby and grown it into itself: how strange, how wonderful, and how right now to be putting those tiny remains back in just a simple ceremony; earth to earth; for what is soil but the compost of many plants and lives, chalk, bones, the dust of generations of long dead?
The interviews with the police were a formality. They were not taking any action on the remains. They were examined and tissue samples suggested a male foetus too premature to have survived, probably as a result of a miscarriage or abortion, perhaps around the time of the Hungarian refugees or earlier.
She could have spoken out but some things are best just left unspoken.
All this confessional stuff is all very well today but she was brought up to be discreet, to bear suffering and disappointment with dignity, in silence; one of the stiff-upper-lip generation. Perhaps it was wrong but it served well enough. Silence is golden, went the proverb.
She suggested the baby be reburied under the new tree in the Avenue and there were no objections so old bones will soon return to dust, the circle will be complete, what was lost now found. Who else does it concern?
Why should she have to tell her secrets? Some are just better left unspoken. Only Greg and Plum knew the truth of it and that’s where it ends.
Little Dieter rests in the Avenues of Tears amongst his ancestors: the last of the Belfields.
Try as they might, she’d not produced another child of her own. It was something to do with her cervix being slack and her womb being tilted. Nowadays it wouldn’t be a problem but then, well, some things are just not meant to be. So like Plum she’d been given another woman’s child to nurture and cherish.
Soon Bebe would be arriving from London to start her new life at the Old Vic. In time Gloria and Greg’s child and grandchildren would inherit the house and the Old Vic, and the Avenue of Tears would be ringing to the yells of Bebe’s boys on mountain bikes, later with motor cycles and cars, bringing girls home to meet their mother. That was how it should be in an ever-changing circle of friends and family.
It is enough to know that the little lost baby was put to rest properly. Gloria had put him where only they knew, under the Victory Tree, the repository of all their childish secrets. Why had she not guessed this earlier? Perhaps because it needed time for her to appreciate this instinctive gesture.
Maddy sits on the varnished stump bench looking
up at the Brooklyn. Once there were blackout curtains and taped windows, Pleasance and the oldies creaking up the stairs. The house was in darkness for a while. Then there were those wartime Christmas lights and candles, evacuees in crocodiles marching up to the big house for treats and bun fights.
Over the stone portico hangs the storm lantern made by Ernst, their first Hungarian refugee, as a gift for his stay in the refuge. He made the bars at the high windows to stop toddlers falling out in the makeshift nursery when it was a mother and baby home.
Gladly now, young mothers can keep their babies–choices never open to her girls all those years ago–but suddenly in the seventies her services were no longer required.
Brooklyn, she smiles, my refuge, my home, was always a house with attitude. I have been truly blessed.
Maddy rises slowly, looking at the old house. It will go on surviving, reinventing itself, sheltering the next generation from the storms of life, but now it was time for tea. Greg will be hitting the cake tin while she’s not in view.
She walks towards the lamp-lit windows and closes the door.
