Rainbow's End (8 page)

‘Shirl’s right, queen,’ Ada said as Ellen began to rub. ‘Have you brought up the baby’s box? And the clothes?’ She sat up on one elbow and peered over the side of the bed. ‘I want them clothes ready for when Mrs Bluett gets here; and the box, of course.’ She stiffened, then clutched at the hard mound of her stomach. ‘Ah, Christ, I’m too old, that’s the trouble. I never had pain like this when I birthed the rest of you. And I had your gran standin’ by, advisin’ me. Oh, I do miss me mammy!’

‘I ‘spect you’ve forgot what the pain was like before, Mam,’ Ellen said, going to the chest of drawers for the baby clothes. ‘I’m ten; ten years is a long time. An’ . . . an’ you ain’t the only one what misses Gran.’

Gran had lived with them until her death two years earlier, and Ellen had been very fond of the old lady with her broad Irish accent and her fund of stories and home-made remedies. She had been a good cook too – Ellen remembered the glorious wedges of potato cake, the creamy scrambled eggs on thick rounds of toast, the loaf of brack spread with butter. And she had loved animals, keeping a pig and some hens in the tiny backyard.

But since her death, things had changed. Ada had reluctantly allowed Ellen to keep a couple of hens but she’d put her foot down over a pig.

‘Your gran was brought up on a farm,’ she had explained. ‘She understood all about animals and would have been unhappy without them, but you’re a city gel, like me, you can manage very nicely on food from the corner shop.’

So now Ellen got the little baby clothes, lovingly made by her mother during the waiting period, out of the chest of drawers and laid them on the foot of the bed. ‘There y’are, Mam,’ she said. ‘Ain’t they pretty, though? Lucky baby, eh?’

‘And Mick’s younger’n me,’ Ada mumbled after a moment and Ellen realised that her mother had not listened to a word her daughter had said but was giving voice to her own secret worries. ‘He’s a prince, is Mick – what did he see in me, eh? A woman nearin’ forty, wi’ five kids . . . I’m past me best, there’s no denyin’ it. S’pose he meets someone younger, someone who’s still got her bloom on her? Suppose he leaves us? Oh, dear God, I couldn’t bear it if Mick left me all alone again! Ten years I been alone, ’cept for your gran, strugglin’ to bring up me fambly right, wonderin’ what I’d do wi’ meself when they left home, then your gran died an’ I din’t know which way to turn . . . and Mick came along and made me see I’m not finished yet . . . I hope to God he doesn’t want a baby a year, though . . . I’m too old for babies, I told him just the one, then we’ll have to find a way . . .’

She mumbled off into silence and Ellen, who had been half listening as she moved around the room, went back to the bed and began to rub her mother’s back again, making soothing noises as she did so.

‘Don’t you worry, Mam, you ain’t too old for anything! An’ we all love Mick, you couldn’t have found a better feller. He won’t go away, he likes us and we likes him.’

‘Oh! Well, that’s good,’ Ada said and Ellen realised that her mother had forgotten she was there, had been unaware, in fact, that she had a listener. ‘Lean out o’ the window, queen, and see if there’s any sign of Mrs Bluett. The pain’s are changin’, they’re gettin’ mortal close.’

Ellen breathed on the frost flowers which obscured the glass and made herself a little porthole; she had no intention of opening the window as her mother had suggested and letting in that ice-cold air! ‘I can’t see anyone . . .’ she began, then stopped short as the woman on the bed gave a strangled shriek and hauled herself into a crouching position.

‘Oh Gawd, it’s comin’, it’s comin’, an’ there ain’t a bleedin’ thing I can do about it,’ she moaned. ‘Quick, Ellie – knot me shawl round the end of the bed an’ give me the end of it.’

‘Right you are, Mam,’ Ellen said briskly. What a blessing it was that Shirl was the eldest of her family and had assisted at so many births; what a blessing she had insisted on telling Ellen in great detail about each one, furthermore! Mind, I didn’t think it was good at the time, Ellen remembered, knotting one end of the shawl round the sturdy iron bedpost and handing the other to her mother. All that heaving and grunting and blood and stuff just sounded frightening. But now it was coming in useful; she remembered Shirl telling her how she and her mam had tugged on opposite ends of a length of rope until the baby ‘popped out’, as Shirl had put it.

Having done her duty with the shawl, Ellen stood back, trying to remember what she should do next. The baby would be washed in warm water so she should go down and bring a kettle up, then there was the clean sheeting which would be wrapped round the child like a shawl . . . the clothing was for show until the baby was a lot bigger, her mother had told her . . . and of course the stout. A bottle, not a crate, rather to her disappointment. Even if the new baby was a girl her mother had declined to provide the midwife with a crate of stout.

‘Your gran brought you an’ the others into the world an’ she never needed no stout,’ her mother had said. ‘Still an’ all, if that’s what Mrs Bluett wants . . .’

So the stout waited, downstairs because Mam said she wanted Mrs Bluett stone-cold sober till afterwards.

‘Aaargh!’ her mother shouted suddenly, as though the noise had been wrenched from her. ‘Aaaargh!’ She was squatting forward, the covers had fallen back and Ellen saw that her stomach had a strange, pointed look and was as shining and slippery with sweat as her mother’s face.

And what a face! Ada was a pretty woman with a bright colour and small features, but now her lips were drawn back in a grimace, her eyes were screwed tightly shut and her teeth were clamped on to her bottom lip with such force that a trickle of blood ran down her chin. She looked frightening, her daughter thought apprehensively, and even as the thought crossed her mind, Ada’s face began to flush, veins stood out on her wet forehead and she began to heave on the shawl until the bedpost started to creak ominously.

‘Hey, Mam, have a care,’ Ellen said anxiously. ‘Don’t you go tryin’ too hard or you’ll beat Mrs Bluett to the winnin’ post!’

‘I know, I don’t wan . . . but I can’t . . . aaargh!’ Ada said breathlessly. ‘Go an’ find Mrs Bluett, chuck . . . this ain’t no place for a kid. Oh, the sweat’s stingin’ me eyes somethin’ cruel!’

‘I’m stayin’; I shan’t leave you, Mam,’ Ellen said stoutly. ‘I’ll mop the sweat.’ She grabbed one of the sheeting squares which were piled up beside the bed and drew the soft material gently round her mother’s scarlet face; it came away sodden. ‘Shall I rub your back?’

‘No, no, no,’ Ada sobbed beneath her breath. ‘Go ‘way, go ‘way . . . aaahhhh!’

‘Oh, Mam, what’s that?’ Ellen said suddenly. ‘Mam, you’re bleedin’! There’s blood on the . . . oh, oh!’

‘It’s the baby,’ Ada said in a hoarse whisper. ‘It’s comin’, chuck. Bring me a bit o’ sheet over to wrap it in.’

Ellen rummaged through the pile and had just selected a decent-sized piece when the bedroom door creaked open. Mrs Bluett took in the situation at a glance and went towards the bed. ‘Well done, Ada . . . let’s be havin’ you, littl’un,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Yes, ’ere ’e comes, pink an’ beautiful!’ And whilst Ellen watched, her mother gave one last, convulsive heave and the midwife leaned forward and picked the baby up, then held it by its tiny legs and gave it a brisk slap across its small pink buttocks. The baby gasped and yelled, and Mrs Bluett turned it right side up again and reached for the piece of sheet. She laid the baby on it and produced a small pair of scissors and a piece of what looked like pink string from the pocket of her thick winter coat. ‘There you are, Ellen, a little brother for you,’ she said, working away. She straightened and patted Ada’s knee absently. ‘A beautiful child, for all your fears, queen.’

Wrapping the baby firmly in the sheeting, with its arms clamped to its sides, she turned once more to her patient. ‘Now we’ll just fetch out the afterbirth, an’ your Ellen can mek us a nice cup of tea,’ she said. ‘I telled young Bertie to bring a kettle up . . .’

The door rattled as though Bertie had heard, but did not open. Ellen went across and opened it. Bertie stood there, eyes apprehensive, the steaming kettle in one hand, an enamel bowl in the other. ‘She awright?’ he said. ‘Wharris it?’

‘A boy,’ Ellen said gloomily. ‘She’s awright, though she’s tired. Oh, well, another girl would ha’ been nice.’

She turned back to the bed, where her mother lay with the brand-new, pink-faced shrimp of a child in the crook of her arm, smiling down at it. ‘Bertie brung the water, Mrs Bluett,’ Ellen said timidly. ‘Where d’you want it put?’

‘Pour some into the bowl so’s I can I clean your mam up,’ the midwife said. ‘What’ll you call this one, then?’

‘Oh, I thought Donal; that was me dad’s name,’ Ada said. ‘What d’you think, Ellie love?’

Ellen, who was sick and tired of being the only girl in a family of boys, sighed but said dutifully that Donal seemed just fine and watched as Mrs Bluett took the swaddled baby from her mother and put him into the blanket-lined cardboard box which stood by the bed. She peered inside at the pink-faced scrap, then put out a cautious finger and stroked the soft down on the baby’s head. ‘It’s got the softest head, Mam,’ she said. ‘All covered in goldy-brown down.’

‘’E’ll grow proper ‘air soon enough . . .’ the midwife began, but suddenly stopped speaking and stared at Ada’s exposed stomach as though seeing it for the first time. Ellen, staring too, saw that her mother’s stomach was moving gently, as though it had a life of its own.

‘’Ello,’ Mrs Bluett said slowly. ‘Wharrave you gorrin there?’

‘What?’ Ada said drowsily. Her eyelids were already half closed; she was plainly exhausted. ‘It’s the afterbirth, acourse.’

Mrs Bluett shook her head and then, moving with amazing swiftness for one so large, she hooked both hands under Ada’s armpits and heaved her back into a sitting position once more. ‘I’m sorry, chuck, but there’s another kid still to come,’ she said positively. ‘You’re havin’ twins.’

‘Twins? I don’t
believe
it,’ Ada said groggily. ‘I’m too old . . . it ain’t right a woman of my age havin’ a child at all. It can’t be twins!’

But even as she said it Ellen could tell by the expression which crossed her mother’s face that she knew it was true and sure enough, with remarkably little effort this time, presently another baby was being swung by its heels, smacked and wrapped.

‘An’ this ’un’s a gal, chuck,’ Mrs Bluett said triumphantly as she placed the second baby beside the first. ‘Nice to ’ave a gal, eh?’

Ada glanced cursorily at the second baby, wrapped in sheeting and awaiting its turn in the enamel bowl. ‘It’s a judgement on me, that’s wharrit is,’ she moaned. ‘It’s God’s way of punishin’ me for marryin’ a young feller instead of strugglin’ on alone. Why, I haven’t even gorra box to put this ’un in, lerralone clothes for its back. God’s punishin’ me, that’s clear as clear.’

‘Oh, Mam, it isn’t a punishment, what’ve you ever done wrong?’ Ellen said at once. ‘You work hard, an’ bring us all up proper. An’ I’ve always wanted a sister.’

Ada snorted. ‘Oh, chuck, at my age I thought I’d be able to tek things easier. Norra lot, I don’t ‘spect miracles, but a little easier,’ she said bitterly. ‘An’ what’ve I got? Twice the work, twice the dirty washin’, twice the food to find. Dear God, how am I goin’ to manage when Mick’s at sea?’

‘You’ll manage, queen,’ Mrs Bluett said robustly, pouring water into the basin for the second time in half an hour. ‘You’re a big, strong woman, you’ve a good daughter, a grand man, and sons bringin’ money in. You’ll manage a treat, once you get used to the idea.’

Ada sighed but said nothing more whilst Mrs Bluett was in the room. As soon as the midwife went downstairs, however, to have her bottle of stout before getting off home, she turned to Ellen. ‘I can’t tell Mrs Bluett, queen, but I’m goin’ to tell you, so’s you understand. Mick’s a grand feller, but he’s got parents in Ireland dependent on him. He can’t let them down, see, so the money has to be split two ways. I understand, ’cos nothin’ would have made me let your gran go short. But I thought, wi’ Dick thinkin’ about movin’ out and Ozzie leavin’ school come summer, that I’d be able to manage with a new baby. But two of ’em! There’s no way I can take two of ’em round wi’ me when I’m sellin’ flowers in Clayton Square, or buyin’ them from the wholesalers.’

‘But I thought you wouldn’t do that no more, not now you’ve married Mick and you’ve got Dick’s money comin’ in,’ Ellen said, puzzled. ‘I know that was what you said, Mam.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t reckon on two of ’em, nor I din’t know me friend Peg were goin’ to offer me her pitch,’ Ada said patiently. She glanced over the side of the bed, then stiffened. ‘That last ‘un . . . look at that hair!’

Obediently, Ellen looked. She had seen the second baby’s tight, dark curls, wet from its bath, but now that she looked closer, the hair was drying, and it was a bright, carroty red. ‘Ooh, what a lovely colour,’ she said. ‘It’s pretty, though, ain’t it, Mam? Wish mine were red, ’stead o’ brown,’ she added.

Ada, who had been lying back against her pillows, struggled upright again. ‘Mick won’t like it,’ she said worriedly. ‘I’ve got black hair, same’s all you kids, an’ Mick’s fair. What’ll he say? Oh Christ, what’ll he
think
?’

‘Why should he think anything, ’cept that it’s pretty?’ Ellen said. ‘Men don’t mind what colour hair babies have, do they?’

‘No-oo, but . . .’

‘Then just you stop worritin’, Mam,’ Ellen advised her parent. ‘It ain’t good for you to worry. I’m goin’ to tek the babies downstairs now, so’s you can get some sleep. I’ll have ’em wi’ me in the kitchen, whiles I see Mrs Bluett off and mek you a nice cup of tea.’

She picked up the box, which was surprisingly light, and went carefully down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs Bluett was sitting in front of the fire, sipping stout from a chipped teacup, and Bertie was filling the kettle again from the enamel bucket under the low stone sink. He had not gone back to bed, Ellen realised, because he would be required to escort Mrs Bluett home presently, when she announced that she wished to go. He looked up as his sister entered the room and put the box carefully down on the table. The babies lay packed close as two little sardines in a tin, fast asleep still.