Under the Apple Tree (59 page)

panting. She stared down at Judy and reached out one hand. ‘My baby? Is it all right? Is it a girl?’

‘Yes.’ Judy gave a quick look to make sure. ‘Yes, it is. Oh,

Jean, you’ve got a little girl. But there’s this thing, this sort of rope …’

‘It’s the cord. Let me hold her.’ Jean reached out her

arms and Judy, a little doubtful as to whether the cord

would reach, laid the baby on her mother’s breast. She

dragged the cushions from where they had been flung and

heaped them behind Jean’s back, and Jean rested against

them, smiling. For a moment they stayed there, recovering

their breath, gazing in wonder at the baby, so small and so

new, already turning its face into its mother’s breast, seeking the nipple.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Jean whispered. ‘Oh Judy, she’s so

beautiful.’

Judy, looking at the crumpled red face, peaceful now, at

the hair plastered wetly against the little skull, at the naked body that was grey with slime and flecked with blood,

thought that beautiful was perhaps an odd word to use. And

yet it was the right word. It was exactly the right word. And

then she caught her breath as she realised what else had

happened.

‘Jean,’ she whispered disbelievingly.

Jean turned her head and met her eyes enquiringly. Judy

went on, with a voice that trembled, ‘Jean, I can hear. I heard the baby cry. I can hear what you’re saying to me. I can hear

birds singing - and the leaves rustling - and people calling

to each other in the hayfield. Jean - / can hear again.’

Chapter Thirty-One It was only a few moments after that when help began to

arrive. Someone had heard Jean’s final scream and was

hurrying down the lane. Mrs Hazelwood had come back

from the Women’s Institute meeting. In seconds it seemed

that Jean was surrounded by people, people who knew what

to do. The midwife was called. There was a flurry of activity

as the afterbirth was expelled, and then the midwife arrived,

clucking as she saw what had happened, and the cord was

cut and tied. Jean was lifted and carried into the house,

where she and the baby were both bathed, and by the time

Judy saw her again an hour or two later she was in bed, the

baby dressed in a fresh white nightgown and cradled in the

crook of one arm.

‘Thanks, Judy,’ she said, smiling sleepily. ‘I don’t know

what I’d have done without you.’

‘I didn’t do much. I didn’t know what to do.’ The miracle

of her hearing seemed almost as great to Judy as the miracle

of new life before her. ‘Oh Jean, I’m glad I was there. I’m so

glad. It was awful - but it was wonderful too. She’s a lovely

baby.’ She smiled. ‘You were right. It is a girl.’

‘And I’m calling her Hope, just like I said.’ Jean was quiet

for a moment, gazing at her baby and stroking her head

gently. ‘You’ll let everyone know, won’t you? Mum and

Dad, and your family. They’ll be surprised she’s so early.’

‘But she’s all right, isn’t she? It doesn’t matter about her

coming so soon?’

‘Well, she’s very small. I’ll have to take a lot of care of

her. But the midwife says she’ll be all right. And Mrs

Hazelwood is going to get the doctor to come and make sure.’ Jean looked at her. ‘And you really can hear, Judy?’

Judy nodded. ‘I can hear just as well as I ever could. I

think Dad was right, you know - it was a shock that stopped

me hearing, and it’s a shock that’s brought it back again. A

nice one, though.’ She smiled and touched the baby gently

with one finger. ‘And I wanted to hear again so much - just

to hear her cry.’

Jean was almost asleep and Judy tiptoed out of the room.

She went into the garden and sat down on the old bench,

and began to think of all the people she must telegraph

about the new arrival.

The warm late-summer sky was deepening into evening.

The sun was going down beyond the wall and the woods,

casting an apricot glow on the old stones and lighting the

first few golden tints of autumn in the trees. A blackbird was

singing at the top of the tree, and Judy tilted her head,

listening to it. Next to the baby’s cry that had been her first realisation that she could hear again, and she thought it

must be the most beautiful sound in the world.

I’ll have to go back to the farm soon, she thought. And I’ll

have to decide what to do next. Everything’s different now the

baby’s here and Jean’s so happy with her, and I can hear

again, I can do all the things I did before. But - will there

still be a place for me, back in Portsmouth? I’ve been happy

here in the country, as happy as I could be while I was

locked away in that silent world. Will I be able to go back?

She listened again to the blackbird’s song and decided to

put away all her worries until tomorrow. Just for now, she would be content to sit here, watching the sun set and listening to the sounds she had thought never to hear again.

Just for now, there was no better place to be than here under

the apple tree, where Hope had been born.

For a few days, all was quiet at Ashdown. Judy had sent off

telegrams to both families and her mother had written back

at once to both her and Jean. Cissie had never been much of a letter-writer and these must have been awkward letters for

her to write, Judy thought, reading the rather stilted

congratulations to Jean. However pleased she must be to

have a grandchild, you couldn’t get around the fact that

Hope was illegitimate and that life was never going to be

easy for her or her mother. And nobody could forget that

Terry, the baby’s father, Cissie’s only son, was dead, had

died even before he knew she was on the way. I expect they

hoped the baby would be a boy, she thought, a boy who’d be

like Terry, and they haven’t even got that.

Polly wrote too, rather more warmly. She had set aside

her own feelings about the rights and wrongs of it all, and

poured out all her sympathy to Jean, the sympathy that

came from having lost her own husband and knowing what

it was like to be a woman alone with a child to bring up. But

you have a family who will help you through this, she wrote, and we’ll always stand by you and your baby. She added that she would be coming out to see them all as soon as possible she and Joe.

Joe was at St George’s Barracks by now, and he and Polly

had been down to Devon to see the boys. They were living

in a small cottage with the widow who ‘looked after them as

if they were her own’. Polly was secretly relieved to find that she was a comfortable woman in her fifties who was friendly

with a local farmer - he was there when she and Joe arrived and that she clearly took the view that the boys had been loaned to her for an indefinite period but would one day be

going back to their father. She had set a tea such as Polly

had not seen for years - salad with thick slices of real ham,

hard-boiled eggs, a mound of potatoes, a loaf of bread fresh

from the oven and stewed plums with rich, yellow clotted

cream.

// seems awful to think of all those poor people in Leningrad,

starving to death, Polly wrote to Judy, when we had all that

put in front of us. But it doesn’t do them any good for us not to

eat it, does it? And there are people in our own cities who aren’t a lot better off-not starving, but not well-fed either. I feel a bit guilty about them too.

Mrs Ellacombe had given her some eggs and a jam jar full

of clotted cream to take back to the family, but it wasn’t the

food that interested Polly, most about the visit. She’d been

nervous about meeting Joe’s sons, she didn’t mind admitting

it to Judy, but thank goodness there hadn’t been any

problem at all. They’d been out playing on the moor when

she arrived and came in muddy and dirty, carrying baskets

of blackberries, their shirts hanging out of their shorts and

their socks down round their ankles just like any other little

boys, and had flung themselves at their father, obviously

thrilled to hits to see him again.

They’d been a bit shy with Polly at first, but once they’d

found out she drove an ambulance during the raids and had

seen lots of bombs falling, they had pelted her with

questions and obviously thought her a fitting friend for their

father. / don’t suppose they think any further than that, she

wrote, and there’s no need to for a long time yet. Me and Joe

want to take things slowly. We ‘re not in any hurry. But it was clear to Judy that they both knew perfectly well where they

wanted their relationship to go, and she folded her letter

wistfully, thinking sadly of the young Observer she had sent

away and wondering what would have happened, had she let

him stay.

There was a strange feeling of expectation in the air

Everyone was waiting for America to decide to come into

the war. Japan seemed to be making preparations, and

American patrol ships were being attacked off Iceland

Britain was bombing major cities such as Hamburg while

German troops were invading Russia. There was a shared

belief that, however bad it was now and however much was

happening, there was worse to come.

Yet nothing could take away the joy that Hope had

brought with her. She was well-named, Mrs Hazelwood said

as she wheeled out the old pram and set it under the apple tree. You could swear she was smiling, even at two weeks

old - surely such a lovely, happy expression couldn’t be just

wind! - and she hardly ever cried. When Jean was allowed

out of bed to come and sit with her in the garden, it was like

the beginning of the world itself - a woman who had given

birth, at peace with her child.

Judy was with her one afternoon at the beginning of

September, the month when Hope should have been born.

She had been making scrim all morning. She’d scrubbed her

hands and face but there were still traces of dark green and

brown dye on them and even though she’d been wearing a

turban there was still dust in her hair.

‘I sometimes think I’ll never be clean again,’ she said

ruefully. ‘I’d much rather collect sphagnum moss, or even

acorns - it’ll be time for them again soon.’

‘I ought to be doing something too,’ Jean said, stirring

restlessly. ‘I’m sick of being treated like an invalid.

Honestly, I feel better than I ever have in all my life - just

getting rid of that huge bump and not getting backache or

heartburn any more is wonderful, but the midwife says I

mustn’t do too much. And of course Hope needs a lot of

attention. She’s so tiny.’ She touched the blanket that had

been spread over the baby to keep her warm, even though

there wasn’t a chill in the air. For the first few days of her

life, Hope’s smallness and premature birth had caused a

little anxiety, but she had made up her birthweight again

and was obviously thriving. ‘But I don’t know what I should be doing. I can’t put upon the Hazelwoods for ever. And I’m not doing any real war work.’

‘You could always make scrim!’ Judy joked. The charm of

weaving camouflage had quickly worn off and she now

loathed the job as much as the other women did. ‘But you’ll

be helping Mrs Hazelwood again, like you did before, won’t

you? Didn’t they say you could stay on after the baby was

born?’

‘Yes, but it’s not fair to expect them to keep me and Hope.’ Jean sighed. ‘I don’t know where else I could go, though. Not back to Pompey, that’s for sure!’

‘You still haven’t heard from your mum or dad, then?’

Jean shook her head. ‘Nor likely to, I reckon. They’ve

washed their hands of me, just like Mum said they would.’

She paused, then said, ‘Judy, there’s something I want to

ask you.’

She sounded a little diffident and Judy looked at her in

surprise.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘I’d like you to be Hope’s godmother. Mr Hazelwood says

she ought to be christened in a few weeks. I want it done

here at Ashwood and I’d like you and Polly to be

godmothers. You can’t be related to her in any other way,’

she went on sadly, ‘and you’d have been her aunts if Terry

and me had been married. So - will you?’

‘Oh Jean, I’d love to.’ Judy’s eyes filled with tears. ‘But

we still are her aunts, Jean.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘And

Polly’s her great-aunt! I wonder if she’s thought of that? It

sounds so old, doesn’t it! Who will you ask to be godfather?’

‘I thought I’d ask Ben.’ Jean blushed a little. ‘You know he

came home last weekend and he seemed to just fall in love

with her. And we got on well too,’ the blush deepened, ‘and

as the Hazelwoods have been so kind to me - well, it seemed

a good idea …’ She floundered to a stop and Judy laughed.

‘It is a good idea! And Ben’ll be a good friend to you

both.’ She eyed Jean, wondering about that blush, but

before she could say any more she heard voices and they

both looked up to see Mrs Hazelwood coming through the

French doors and into the garden. There were two other

people with her, and at the sight of them Judy gasped and

Jean turned pale; but before either of them could say

anything, one of the newcomers came forward, speaking in a