sUnwanted Truthst (18 page)

‘I'm going to die!' Jenny shouted, as she panicked and gripped the nurse's hand. ‘I'm splitting apart. Where's Robert? He's left me to die in agony. He should be here.' A circle of light glared down from the ceiling of the delivery suite, obliterating the difference between day and night.

‘You're not going to die, Mrs Maynard. Push down hard as you can with the next contraction. Baby is almost here.'

‘I can't!' Jenny screamed at the midwife.

‘Good, good. Now with the next contraction I want you to pant, don't push. Baby's head is almost out. Don't push.'

She was whole again. New life slithered between her legs and a cry filled the room.

‘It's a girl, Mrs Maynard, here she is.' The midwife dangled a squirming grey infant in front of her. She lifted her fob watch and called across to the nurse. ‘Ten minutes to midnight.' We're just going to weigh her and clean her up for you.'

‘Is she alright?'

‘She looks fine.'

‘Can you tell Robert… my husband?'

‘Yes, the nurse is just going to tell him. Once you've delivered the after-birth he can come in.'

Jenny's earlier accusations melted away as Robert walked into the delivery room. ‘It's a girl.' Jenny smiled, ‘It's a girl. I'm so happy.'

‘I've just seen her, Jen, she's beautiful.' He took his wife's hand and kissed her on the forehead. ‘You're marvellous.'

‘You can stay until the doctor comes,' said the midwife. ‘We're taking baby to the nursery now.'

Ten minutes later a doctor entered the room. Jenny thought he looked as if he hadn't slept for a week. But worse than that, he looked the same age as herself. He hoisted one of her feet, and then the other, into the stirrups, settled himself between her legs and began to sew.

*

‘Wake up Mrs Maynard, wake up, baby needs her feed.' A nurse shook Jenny gently on her shoulder.

Jenny squinted and rubbed her eyes. She turned to where the words were coming from, then closed her eyes and turned over. Who was this? Where was she? She had been in a pethidine-fuelled dream – chasing an old woman down Oxford Street.

‘Come on Mrs Maynard, wake up; your baby needs you.' Another shake of her shoulder, more insistent this time. ‘You must wake up. Sit up and make yourself comfortable. Place one pillow across your lap to support baby.' The nurse passed her the white bundle and helped the baby to latch onto her nipple. ‘Your milk hasn't come through yet, but it's important for baby to suckle. There, she seems to have got the hang of it. I'll come back in fifteen minutes.'

Jenny stared down at the red squashed face.
She's mine
.
The first person I've seen who's related to me. She just looks like a baby though, any baby.
She had imagined that she would feel immediate love for her baby, but she didn't; just enormous relief. She couldn't lift her eyes from her daughter as she nuzzled her breast. Her heart beat faster as she wondered,
is she alright?
She remembered her miscarriage and how much she had worried during this pregnancy. Perhaps it had damaged her? Suppose she had inherited some abnormality? Did she ask the midwife if she was alright last night? She couldn't remember. Her heart continued to thud against her ribs, as she unwrapped the white hospital cotton that swaddled her child. She counted the number of toes on each foot and then the fingers on each hand. She peered hard at her rosebud mouth, her tiny nostrils. She ran her hand over the soft dark hair until she reached the fontanelles, where she lifted her hand in panic.
Surely it shouldn't be like that
. She turned her baby over, and scanned the tiny body. Satisfied, she swaddled her in the sheet.

‘How are you getting on?' The nurse stopped at the bottom of Jenny's bed.

‘I think she's feeding alright.'

The nurse peered over and adjusted the position of the baby's mouth.

‘That's better, hold her closer to you. Don't be afraid of her, she won't bite – well she might later.' She laughed out loud.

‘Nurse, what are those red marks on her eyelids and the back of her neck?'

‘Stork bites, we call them. They're nothing to worry about. Lots of babies have them. They'll fade completely in a few months.'

‘I'm frightened to touch her head, it's much softer than I expected.'

‘That's perfectly normal, you'll get used to it. The bones will gradually close over the next three months, she's fine. Now, you carry on a little longer, I'll come back in five minutes and take her back to the nursery, so you can get some sleep.'

*

‘I've fed her twice already,' Jenny beamed at an enormous bouquet of mixed roses as Robert arrived at the side of her bed.

‘I'm so proud Jenny. I've just seen her again through the nursery windows. The nurse held her up for me, she's beautiful.' He bent down and kissed Jenny on the forehead. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Sore, I think the pethidine's wearing off.'

‘I couldn't sleep last night with excitement. I've brought your mum and dad over with me. They're just giving us some time on our own first. What shall I do with these flowers?'

‘Leave them at the end of my bed. The nurses will put them in water later.'

Jenny spotted her father's hair; then the small frame of her mother. She was looking forward to showing them her baby, but this was tempered by the thought that she would always remind them of their own loss, especially when they saw them together. At least they hadn't had a boy, she thought.

‘We've been down to the nursery to see her Jenny, she's gorgeous. You forget how tiny they are.' Alice gave her daughter a hug and sat down on a chair by her bed.

Jenny smiled with relief.

‘So how does it feel to be a dad?' Charlie slapped Robert on the back. ‘We must wet the baby's head, when you come over.'

‘I've brought the matinee outfit I was knitting. It'll probably be too large, but she'll soon grow into it.' Alice smiled broadly. ‘I've told all the neighbours, Aunt Doris and everyone else. We're grandparents now like them. We'd better not stay long dear, you must be tired.'

‘Yes, I am, but there's no need to go, not just yet.'

‘It wasn't too long a labour was it?'

‘Twelve hours – long enough.'

‘Have you decided on a name?'

‘Only Nicholas, we were convinced it would be a boy,' said Robert.

‘I was named after my mother, she was Alice Beatrice.'

‘I don't think we'll be calling her Jennifer, Mum. I'll have a think about it after you've gone.'

Jenny dozed fitfully. When she woke, the nurse suggested that she take a bath. Slowly lowering herself from the bed, she reached inside the cabinet for her wash-bag, and shuffled along the polished floor to the bathroom. She peered into the mirror above the wash basin, and ran a comb through her shoulder-length hair. ‘That's better.' Turning the bath taps she inched her nightdress up and over her head. She looked down at the folds of her stomach that resembled a large deflated balloon.
My God, I still look pregnant. I can't stay like this surely?

*

At seven o'clock Robert returned with his parents in tow.

Maggie kissed Jenny on her forehead. ‘Congratulations dear, we've just seen her. She's lovely, but she's quite small isn't she?'

‘She's two weeks early, that's why,' Jenny said.

‘I always think it's best to have a boy first. It's the natural order of things. Mind you as long as she's healthy, that's the most important thing.'

‘Of course it is Maggie.' Reggie passed a chair to his wife and raised his eyebrows at Jenny. ‘What are you going to call her then?'

‘We haven't decided yet. We had a name for a boy but not a girl,' said Robert.

‘I quite like Lorna,' said Jenny.

‘Lorna Margaret. They go well together, don't they Reggie?'

Not if I can help it
, thought Jenny.

‘We'd better not stay too long Mum; we don't want to tire Jen. She's already had her mum and dad visit.'

‘You're not too tired, are you Jenny? Women in Africa have their babies behind a bush and then carry on working straight afterwards, don't they Reggie?'

‘ Jenny thought women in Africa would probably prefer to work after giving birth, if they knew that Maggie was going to visit them.

‘We've got something at home for the baby, Jenny. It might be a bit on the big side though.'

‘Babies do grow Mum, I'm sure it will be fine,' Robert said.

The sister rang the bell to mark the end of visiting time, and they turned and waved as they reached the end of the ward. Jenny sank down into the pillows. She looked across at the girl in the bed opposite. She was still lying under the bed covers. She hadn't had any visitors all day and there were no cards or flowers on her bedside table. She cried every time her baby was brought to her. Then once the baby was fed, she slipped back under the blankets again.
Perhaps I'll talk to her tomorrow. It must be terrible to be surrounded by happy families,
Jenny thought.
She might not want to talk to anyone, though. She might want to shut everything out.
She wondered if her own mother had felt like this girl – surrounded by families when she had no one. She wondered where she had been born – in a hospital – at home? A hundred years before it would probably have been in a workhouse. She thought of poor, fated Fanny Robin, struggling up the street in Casterbridge to knock on the union door. Tess, sweet Tess, gave birth to Alec's baby in rural Wessex. Both babies had died. In Fanny's case, the mother too – birth, death and loss – inextricably linked. Hardy had known all about unmarried mothers. Most people know where they were born; the time and day of the week –
Monday's child is full of
grace –
the rhyme played in her head. She thought of her own newborn daughter lying in the nursery –
a Thursday child
– she felt proud.
Lorna Katharine sounds lovely. I'll see what Robert thinks tomorrow
.

*

Jenny waited until the girl in the bed opposite had returned from the bathroom.

‘Hello, I'm Jenny, from over there.'

‘I know, I saw your husband when he brought you those flowers, they're lovely.' She didn't look at Jenny but continued to stare straight ahead. ‘I'm Jane.'

‘Have you got a boy or a girl?' asked Jenny.

‘Girl.'

‘Have you named her yet?'

‘I've called her Andrea Jane.'

‘That's a nice name. Mine's a girl too; but we haven't decided on a name yet. Well I have, I like Lorna, but my husband's got to like it too.'

‘I hate it here. I can't wait to get back to the mother and baby home. The other girls are really supportive, they understand. I'll be there for another six weeks, while they find…' she didn't finish the sentence.

‘It must be hard for you in here.'

‘Yes, it is, terrible. The other girls said it would be hard, but it's worse than they said. I've just got to get through this week as best I can, like they did.'

Jenny searched for something to say. ‘Well, if you feel like talking, come over, any time. I'm here ‘til the end of the week too.'

But Jane was already sliding down between the sheets.

The remaining days passed quickly. The new mothers settled into the routine of feeding, changing and bathing their babies. With each day that passed Jenny understood the pain that Jane must be feeling. No wonder she wanted to hide herself away.

*

‘Ready then?' Robert beamed at his wife as she finished dressing Lorna Katharine in her white matinee jacket and bonnet. They stood back and admired their daughter as she lay on her back asleep; her arms above her head. Jenny reached into her case for the shawl that her mother had crocheted, and gently wrapped it around Lorna.

‘Are you all packed and ready Mrs Maynard?' the nurse said as she came over to them. ‘Let me carry baby for you.'

Jenny looked across the ward. Jane's covers were thrown back.
She must be in the bathroom
, Jenny thought. She wouldn't be able to say goodbye to her; but perhaps she didn't want her to.

The three of them walked out of the ward, along the corridor, and into the car park.

‘If you get in, and make yourself comfortable, I'll pass baby to you,' said the nurse.

Jenny settled herself in the passenger seat. As Robert sat behind the wheel, he turned and kissed her. ‘I can't tell you how proud and happy I am.'

‘Me too,' Jenny beamed.

The nurse placed Lorna in Jenny's arms. ‘Here she is dear, good luck. Don't forget your six week check-up will you?'

*

Later Jenny wondered why they couldn't have carried Lorna down to the car themselves. Robert had carried her case, so she could easily have carried her. She mentioned it to another mother at the baby clinic who told her, ‘The nurses always carry the baby out. It's in case you suddenly get cold feet and abandon the baby at the hospital.'

The smell of burnt toast wafted into the dining room.

Jenny dropped her pen and ran into the kitchen. She pulled the grill pan onto the drop door and grabbing a kitchen towel smothered the flames that were licking up the sides of the charcoaled bread. ‘Too late,' she sighed.

Glancing out of the kitchen window she saw Lorna and Nicky racing around the tent that Robert had erected on the back lawn for the spring bank holiday. Jenny smiled and thought, not for the first time, how much more fun it must be to have a brother or sister to play with. She went over to the bread-bin and picked up another slice of homogenised white bread.

An hour later she looked at her watch and closed the study manual. Two years ago she had decided that being a silver service waitress at the Greyhound Stadium had been fine while the children were small, but she needed more of a challenge. She had toyed with the idea of studying for a degree in travel journalism, but had settled for the more prosaic and cheaper course of accountancy and law. It had proved a good choice. Three days a week, she would drive along the ridge of the Downs towards Ditchling Beacon. Halfway along, at the end of a rutted track, sat a detached pink-washed house – the home of Celia, a reclusive fabric designer. Jenny would spend her first half-hour there, trying to find unopened invoices and delivery notes, which were always stuffed behind cushions, and hidden away in drawers as soon as they were received. She looked on it as a game of hide and seek.

Jenny opened the kitchen door and looked around the garden. There was no sign of the children. ‘Can you come in now, wherever you are, it's time to go,' she shouted. Lorna poked her head through the tent flaps. ‘Come on, we'll be late. Granny will be waiting. Lorna, if you come, Nicky will too.'
Why can't they ever do anything the first time I ask?
‘Lorna.'

A girl of about ten years ran up the concrete steps to the kitchen, wiped her feet on the mat and looked up at her mother. ‘What's for lunch?'

‘I told you earlier, we're having lunch at Granny's. I expect she's making her special chicken soup.'

‘Can I take my Princess Diana doll?'

‘Of course you can. Just go back and get Nicky.' Lorna was the image of Robert; the same square face framed by straight light brown hair, and hazel eyes that always seemed to be judging her. She had expected her daughter to look like her. Nicky, two years younger, had inherited her dark wavy hair and green eyes.
Two miniature Roberts
, she thought,
would be one too many
.

*

Jenny took her eyes off the road and looked round, ‘Stop fighting in the back, will you. Give Nicky his Action Man.' It was a miracle that she hadn't been involved in an accident. However short the journey, it was impossible for her children to sit in the back seat without squabbling. ‘Look there's the windmill,' Jenny said in an attempt to stop them arguing. She drove past her parent's flat to where fields met the estate. Turning the Morris Minor around, she doubled back, and parked outside.

‘There's Granddad,' Nicky shouted. Her father was on a step-ladder hammering nails into the brick wall that formed a back-drop to the front garden.

‘Now go quietly. Don't shout or Granddad might fall. He doesn't know we're here.'

‘Granddad, we're here. I've brought my Princess Diana doll to see you,' Lorna shouted as she ran up the concrete path.

Charlie turned, wobbled and steadied himself on the top of the steps. ‘So you have. There's my girl. Just let me just finish tying up these roses and I'll be down. The door's on the latch.'

‘Go inside and see Granny both of you, I'll stay with Granddad.' Jenny stared at her father's bare arms as he tied green string around the pink papery blooms.
His muscles have disappeared
, she thought, remembering how he used to puff with pride, when he would pull his shirt sleeves above his elbows, so that she could feel the solid lumps that had a life of their own. ‘Make them wobble,' she used to say, and would watch transfixed as they danced.

‘The garden's looking lovely today Dad, especially those roses.'

‘The thorns are little buggers on these climbers. I have to be careful.'

‘You mustn't overdo it. I bet you've been down here since nine.'

‘Tell Mum I'll be up in five minutes.'

‘I can't see the house-martins this year,' said Jenny looking around at the houses opposite. ‘They always used to build their nests under the eaves of the house at the end of the road.'

‘I don't think they've been here for a few years now.'

‘That's such a shame. I loved to see them. I'll see you upstairs then, Dad.'

A few months earlier, Charlie had been admitted to hospital for investigations.

‘It's nothing to worry about; everyone's got a bad cold this winter,' he told both Alice and Jenny in turn.

Alice had visited Charlie every other afternoon and Jenny would visit in the evenings. The day before he was due to be discharged, she had strolled into the ward as usual, when the ward sister poked her head around her office door.

‘Mrs Maynard?'

‘Yes.'

‘I was hoping you would come tonight. May I have a word?' She closed the door behind them. ‘As you know your father's going home tomorrow. The pleurisy's completely cleared.'

‘Yes, that's good,' Jenny said.

‘What would we do without antibiotics? There's just one thing. The X-rays showed a small growth on his left lung.'

Jenny stared at her. She had a squint, which Jenny tried to ignore. ‘A growth – you mean cancer?'

‘Yes, but you're not to worry. We find that in elderly patients it's very slow growing. Your father will probably die of something else before it grows large enough to affect him. It was probably that that caused the pleurisy. He's a heavy smoker isn't he?'

‘Does he know?' She couldn't decide which eye to focus on.

‘No, as I said it's very slow growing. There's nothing to be gained by telling him, but, as his daughter, you should know. I understand your mother's not a well woman.'

‘No, she isn't. Thank you for telling me.'

*

‘Hello Mum.' Jenny planted a kiss on her mother's forehead. ‘How are you?'

‘All the better for seeing the children; look at them, they love making pastry.'

‘You've got more patience than me with them.'

‘Granny's made her special soup for us.' Nicky wiped the back of his hand across his nostrils leaving a moustache of self-raising flour on his upper lip.

‘I told you she would, didn't I?' Jenny smiled at her son. During school terms she would visit her parents most Sundays. Robert would usually come too, unless there was a model train exhibition within driving distance. She knew how much they looked forward to seeing their grandchildren, and it made her feel good to see them happy. Since the day she had brought Lorna home from the hospital, she had hardly thought about her adoption. Occasionally, she would read an article in a magazine, but her attention was soon diverted. In 1975 she read that a law had been passed that enabled adopted adults to be given information about their birth families. She had read the article with a detachment that surprised her, and promptly used the sheet to wrap up the vegetable peelings.

‘Can we get down now?' Lorna was half off the chair already.

‘What do you say?' said Jenny

‘Thank you for the soup Granny.' Lorna grabbed her doll from the table and ran out of the kitchen.

‘Can I see your medals Granddad?' asked Nicky.

‘You can see your Great-Granddad's too if you wipe your fingers. He was a soldier in the First World War.' Charlie smiled and led Nicky by the hand into the bedroom.

‘I see someone's moved into the flat next door, Mum.'

‘Yes, an unmarried mother and her baby. That's council policy now. Once the decent families move away, they put
those
girls and their babies in these flats. We get men coming round at all hours of the day and night. I expect there'll be one in here when we've gone.' Alice's mouth set in a tight line.

Jenny stared at the check tablecloth. She hated it when her mother spoke like that. It wasn't the words, but her tone; it made her feel uncomfortable, as if it was a slight on herself.

‘Look what Granddad's given me.' Nicky burst into the kitchen flourishing a brass button, ‘It's got an elephant on it.'

‘So it has.' Jenny stared at the button.

‘It used to be on my uniform. Our regimental badge had an elephant on it too. I've got more, he can keep that one. Where's Lorna? It's time for some capital cities.'

‘She's in the sitting room Dad.'

‘India,' Charlie's voice carried into the kitchen.

‘New Delhi,' Lorna answered.

‘Kenya.'

Then Nicky's voice, ‘Nairobi.'

‘Shut-up, I'm doing this with Granddad not you.'

‘Hey Lorna, don't push him,' Charlie said, and started coughing.

‘Jenny, I'm just going to lie down for a bit,' said Alice. ‘I'm exhausted once I've prepared lunch, what with this pain in my side as well. I suppose I'll have to go to the doctor.'

‘You haven't coloured your hair lately Mum.'

‘No, I can't be bothered anymore. It can stay grey now.' Alice put both hands on the table to ease herself from her chair, and disappeared into her bedroom. She returned almost immediately carrying a brown envelope. ‘I want you to look after this for me.'

‘What is it?'

‘It's just some money that I've saved from our pensions.'

‘Can't you keep it here? You might want to go on holiday somewhere.'

‘Well if we do, I'll ask for it. We're not getting any younger and I don't want anything to happen to it. Put it in your bag.'

‘I think Dad's lost some weight. Is he alright?'

‘You know your Dad, he never says much. All he says is, “don't worry Gal. Old soldiers just fade away.”'

‘Does he cough a lot?'

‘No more than usual.'

‘You go and rest Mum. I'll do the clearing up.'

‘Look, what I've found,' Lorna ran into the kitchen holding a book that Jenny recognised from her childhood.

‘I loved that book; especially the pictures of the lions and elephants. I haven't seen it for ages.'

‘Can I take it home?'

‘No – leave it here. You can look at it when we come over then.'

‘You know what a cheetah is, don't you?' Charlie had recovered his voice which echoed through the flat.

‘Yes, you told me last time Granddad. It's the fastest animal in the world.'

‘Good boy. Well when I was in India this Maharaja – that's an Indian prince – had two of them. He would take them for walks on a lead just like dogs. They were so tame. Then one day my bull terrier Major…' Jenny poured the washing up water away and went into the sitting room.

‘Come on you two, we have to get back.' Nicholas and Lorna were sitting on either side of Charlie on the sofa. Nicky's eyes shone like polished emeralds as he looked up at his grandfather.

‘No, I don't want to go. Why do we have to go back? It's too soon. I want to stay here. I want to hear another story about India.'

‘Go on son; do as your mother says. I'll tell you another one next time.'

*

Jenny stared out of the kitchen window into the garden; she had planned to finish her homework once they were home, but she couldn't concentrate. Lorna and Nicky were careering around the tent pretending to be Red Indians. Lorna usually refused to be drawn into Nicky's games, but was hollering louder than her brother. Jenny hoped that her neighbours were out. A pair of blue tits ignored the noise as they flew to and fro to the nest box that she had attached to the plum tree. Jenny was worried. She was sure that her father had lost weight, and her mother had a yellowish tinge to her skin that she hadn't seen before. She went over to the kitchen chair, reached inside her handbag and felt the brown envelope. She could feel the notes inside. Her mother had said it contained money, but it might also have information about her. She decided she'd better not open it as she might have to give it back. Taking the envelope upstairs she opened the linen cupboard and sandwiched it between two tea towels advertising the charms of Guernsey. Returning to the kitchen she made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table flicking through a
Cosmopolitan
magazine. “You too can have multiple orgasms”. The heading jumped out at her, above the soft focus picture of a glamorous woman with parted lips showing perfect teeth. As she read the article she thought that Robert would say it had been written by a bra-burning lesbian. He always said that whenever he saw the magazine. Perhaps he felt threatened. She wondered why she bothered to buy it – as most of the articles didn't seem relevant to her life.

*

‘Well they are getting on a bit, aren't they?' said Robert.

‘Mid-seventies isn't old; not these days.' Jenny cleared the remains of their dinner onto a sheet of newspaper.

‘Well they've had their three score years and ten.'

‘You wouldn't be so blasé if we were talking about your parents,' Jenny said, thinking that Maggie was never ill. She would probably live to be over a hundred.

‘Of course I'm concerned. I'm just trying to make you feel better.'

‘Well you're not doing very well, are you?' Jenny turned and shouted as the lid fell on the waste bin. She picked up her magazine, went into the dining room and poured herself a glass of
Liebfraumilch.
She knew what Robert would do now. He would go down into the basement and play – although he would dispute that word – with his model railway. The room resembled an underground version of Clapham Junction. Then precisely one hour later – there was obviously a station clock down there somewhere – he would emerge. Jenny went into the lounge. Shrieks of laughter rippled down the stairs. If she was lucky she would have half an hour to relax before she had to gather all of her strength, and persuade Nicky that it was bedtime. She flicked over the pages until she arrived at the headline “What Men Want”.
Why am I reading this?
she thought, after scanning the first paragraph.
Do I care what men want?
She couldn't imagine Robert reading an article headed “What Women Want”.