War Babies (30 page)

‘Well, it’s all right,’ Rachel said. Looking at her mother, again it came to her how distant she felt from Peggy. ‘You weren’t there.’

Peggy gave her a look. ‘Why don’t you run and put the kettle on?’ she suggested. ‘I’m parched for a cup of tea.’

Rachel struggled to her feet. Walking to the kitchen she remembered that when Mom was six months on with Cissy they had all been waiting on her, hand and foot.

August 1943

‘If you don’t put that away, babby, the other kiddies’ll have it off you.’

Rachel paused with one hand on the heavy door into the mother-and-baby clinic, which stood on the corner of the street of small brick terraces. About to push against it and go in, she looked
down at Melanie, who was gazing defiantly up at her. Seeing those big blue eyes – Danny’s eyes – turned up to her, filled Rachel with an ache of longing. If only he was back home
and she could feel his arms around her . . .

Letting go of the door she held out her hand. ‘Give it me, Melly, and I’ll put it safe in my bag. Come on – let’s go in and see if Auntie Netta’s here, shall we?
You can have it when we get home.’

‘No-o . . .’ Melanie was shaking not just her head but her whole body. She had just passed her second birthday, was a good little walker and was beginning to hold her own with words
and was becoming mightily stubborn. With both hands she clutched her treasure to her chest. ‘
Mine
.’

Rachel sighed, quelling her temper. ‘I s’pose he did say it was just specially for you.’

‘Children only,’ the greengrocer said earlier, when she was shopping. On the counter was a box half full of the glowing fruit, like distilled sunshine. ‘Here yer go, bab
– get that down yer – do yer good. Don’t let your mother go pinching it off yer!’ He winked at Rachel, who didn’t think Melanie had understood that last part. But now
she seemed to be taking him at his word! Rachel could see the bright stripes of orange skin between Melly’s chubby fingers.

‘All right then, but don’t blame me if one of the others tries to take it off you. In we go.’

She opened the door into the dark, cavernous hallway of the building. A latticed window at the far end threw light onto the quarry tiles on the floor. Sounds came from behind the double doors to
her right; the chatter of women over the bangs of the children playing on the wooden floor. Overlaying the building’s mustiness she could smell the sweaty female odours of the clinic which
seemed particularly rank today and she wrinkled her nose. She guessed what that strong smell meant – it meant
she
was in here, old Ruby, heaven help her.

The clinic was like a little world of its own. Out in the streets, in pubs and on the buses and trams, so much talk was about the war – they’d got the Mussolini bloke banged up at
last in Italy. But when were we going to open a second front? And as ever there was the struggle with food and rations – even though more was getting through now, thanks to the Americans. In
here though, in the clinic full of expectant mothers, everyone was involved with their bodies, their ailments, their worries about children and husbands.

Rachel pulled this second door open by its long brass handle and shepherded her mutinous little girl in front of her. ‘Go on, bab – in you go.’ She was looking forward to
sitting down, the weight of her belly dragging at her today. She had one more month to go and was getting to the stage where she just wanted it over.

The noise grew louder. The smell intensified. The nurses had to heat urine to test it and the smell was acrid. Rachel swallowed. Faces turned to look at her. From the other end of the room one
of the nurses, who was ushering a woman behind a screen, gave her a welcoming smile. Rachel liked that nurse. She was red-headed, Scottish and kind. She was the only one who made sure the chairs
were arranged for the clinic in a wide circle so that the mothers could sit round and let the children play in the middle.

‘So much better than sitting all in rows, wouldn’t you say?’ she had told Rachel on a previous occasion. ‘It’s not as if we’re in church, is it?’ There
were a few toys provided and a gaggle of small children were moving about, corralled by the chairs occupied by women in varying stages of pregnancy. Rachel swallowed and looked across to see who
was there. Melly stood beside her, cradling her precious orange.

As she predicted Ruby was there, a mountain of a woman, sitting apart from the others. Surely to God she was too old to be having another? It was impossible to guess her age but there was a
whole gaggle of kids who swarmed in and out of her house in the next street to where Rachel lived. The Scots nurse had confided that it was the first time anyone had ever got Ruby to come to a
clinic of any kind to be looked after. Ruby, in a navy tent of a dress, was heaped on the chair, cheeks the red of raw meat, head lolling forward on her chins as she dozed, looking as if it was a
relief to have a chance to sit down anywhere.

‘Rach – come and sit here!’ Netta was beckoning her towards an empty chair. As she went over Rachel saw to her surprise that Irene Sutton was already there too, with her girls.
She had brought Irene along once before but last time she was going Irene said, ‘Oh no – I can’t be doing with that.’ Obviously she had changed her mind. She realized that
Irene liked attention if she could get it, and this was one place where it was, at least briefly, on offer. She called out a greeting to her as she went to Netta and Irene nodded back. She was an
odd sort, Rachel thought, sometimes friendly, sometimes looking through you almost as if she’d never seen you before. Now, she appeared as if she had a bad smell under her nose and was
looking down on everyone around her.

‘All right, Nett!’ Rachel said, sinking down beside her. ‘Oh my word, it’s good to sit down.’ She looked anxiously at her friend, who she had not seen for a few
days. Netta was now very heavily pregnant. ‘How’re you keeping?’

‘I’m grand,’ Netta said bravely, resting her hands on her huge, precious bulge. She was still a bag of nerves about this baby. ‘You look all in, Rach.’

‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Rachel said. ‘But I’ve been in one queue or another ever since I went out this morning.’ She leaned forward, massaging the ache in her
lower back with both hands. Melanie toddled towards some of the other children and stood looking, her hands still up close to her chest.

‘I know,’ Netta sympathized. ‘I’m lucky that Mammy does the shopping. Even though I’m not working.’ They were doing everything they could to look after her.
Netta had been working in a factory in Rea Street, but she had given up once she got to six months. ‘Francis says I’ve to be wrapped up in cotton wool. We don’t want to take any
chances.’ Her eyes filled as they did whenever she started to talk about this child. She winced. ‘Mother of God, he’s kicking me today.’ Though her eyes filled with tears,
she was smiling at the same time. ‘But he can kick me black and blue for all I care – it shows what a life he’s got in him.’

‘Sounds as if you’ve got a strong little man in there,’ Rachel said, full of sympathy. She had had no real problems having Melanie, or with this time around. But for poor Netta
it had been such a hard road. Sometimes she had seen Netta looking at Melanie, her face brimming over with longing and sadness, and she ached for her. Surely this time it was going to be all
right?

Rachel noticed that Melanie kept turning to look at her, seeming uncertain. The other children were playing all around her and she obviously wanted to join in while at the same time not wanting
to put down the precious treasure in her hands.

Rachel was just about to say something to her when one of the nurses came over.

‘Mrs Fitzpatrick, we’ll see you now, please.’

Netta struggled to her feet. Her frock, despite being a baggy pale green thing, was stretched tight over her bulge.

‘There you go.’ Rachel smiled at her. ‘Check everything’s all right.’

‘Tickety-boo.’ Netta rolled her eyes but she still looked worried to death.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Fitzpatrick,’ the Scots nurse soothed her. ‘Everything’s going very well this time. But we just need to make sure.’

Rachel watched Netta walk away, her mottled legs looking fragile, as if they would scarcely have strength to carry her.

Her attention was brought back by a screech from nearby. During the few seconds while she was talking to Netta, she saw that Irene Sutton’s girls had gone to Melanie and were trying to get
at what she was clutching so eagerly in her hands. Though they were skinny little things, they were tough and wiry. Rita, who was a couple of months off four, had got hold of some of Melly’s
fingers and was trying to bend them back. Rachel was just moving over to them when Irene boomed across at them.

‘Oi – you two – Reet! Shirl! What’re yow doing?’ She scowled. ‘Girls – nothing but flaming trouble. This one’d better be a lad or I’ll drown
the flaming brat.’

Rachel heard a murmur of disapproval from some of the other women who were looking at her in horror.

‘You shouldn’t say things like that,’ one said. ‘That’s disgusting, that is.’ Rachel was only glad that Netta had not been there to hear it.

‘Don’t you talk like that,’ she flared, going up to Irene. She got really sick of her sometimes, with all her fights with Ray keeping them awake and her changeable moods. She
wasn’t afraid of her though, even if Irene did try to look intimidating. ‘That’s no way to talk – especially in front of them.’ She nodded at the children.

‘Who the ’ell d’yow think yower bossing?’ Irene started, but Rachel ignored her because Melanie was now screeching like a pig being killed.

‘No-o-o!’ she screamed. ‘Mine!’

As Rachel hurried over to Melanie she saw Ruby, who had been dozing, wake with a violent start at the screams. ‘No!’ she cried, her face full of anguish for a moment.
‘No!’ No one took any notice.

‘Oi – you leave her alone,’ Rachel said, darting forwards to get Rita and Shirley away from her daughter before things could get any worse. She tried to speak calmly.

‘Leave ’er, Reet, Shirl,’ Irene called, though she was too heavily pregnant and too idle to get up and do anything about it. ‘Gerroff ’er.’

Seeing Rachel standing over her, Rita gave her a fearful look and withdrew her hand.

‘I only wanted to see,’ she said. The girl seemed cowed. ‘What’s ’er got?’

There was a pungent smell of orange in the air now. The girls must have caught the skin with their nails. The tangy smell made Rachel’s mouth water.

‘It’s an orange, from the greengrocer’s,’ she told the child, feeling sorry for her. ‘If you go with your mother I ’spect you can have one too.’ Fat
chance of Irene bothering, she thought to herself.

She looked across at Irene who was watching them, arms folded across her large bosom.

‘Leave it, Rita,’ she said lazily. ‘C’m’ere and sit down – stop mithering me.’

But the girls seemed rooted to the spot, unwilling to move away. Rachel could almost see the saliva collecting in their mouths.

‘All right, Melly,’ she said to her daughter. ‘You come and sit down with me.’

To her surprise, instead of obeying her, Melanie put her arm out, opening the hand containing the orange and offering it to the two girls who she saw as her friends from home. Neither of them
took it. They looked confused. Some of the other children were starting to show an interest in the proceedings now.

‘Come and sit down,’ Rachel insisted. ‘We’ll put it away for later and you can play with the children.’

Melanie shook her head. ‘Have some,’ she insisted.

‘But it’s yours, Melly,’ Rachel said, feeling annoyed at the thought of sharing her daughter’s precious fruit with Irene’s scratty little girls, especially after
she’d stood in that queue for it. ‘Don’t you want it all to yourself?’

Melanie shook her head. ‘Have some,’ she said again.

Swallowing her annoyance, Rachel said, ‘You want to share it? To give the other little girls some?’

Melanie nodded emphatically. She seemed to feel rather grand now.

‘All right if I give them some?’ Rachel said to Irene.

Irene, who had been ignoring the situation, looked back at her, astonished. ‘What, mine? Reet and Shirl?’

‘She wants them to have some.’ Although none of you flaming deserve it, she thought crossly.

‘Well – if that’s what ’er wants . . .’ Irene seemed disarmed, softer again. Like a different person. ‘D’yow want some, girls?’

Rita and Shirley nodded, their eyes eager.

‘Hang on a tick then.’ Suppressing a sigh, Rachel rummaged in her shopping carrier for a paper bag and sat peeling the orange on it, using her thumbnail to pierce the skin.

‘That smells nice!’ some of the other women said.

‘I can smell it over ’ere,’ Irene said.

It was quite a big orange and by the time Rachel had the skin off it all the adults and children in the room were watching.

‘That’s an orange!’ old Ruby piped up suddenly. ‘Orange, that’s what that is!’

Rachel separated all the pieces and gave one to Melanie, who put the end of it cautiously in her mouth. ‘Shall we give some to all the children?’

Melanie nodded happily. She seemed less interested in the orange now it had been peeled open. Sucking her piece of fruit, she watched everyone with wide eyes. The clinic had turned almost into a
party and she dimly realized that she was the one who had made it happen. Rachel handed out orange segments to the children and as there were pieces over, she gave the rest to the adults.

‘Ta!’ Irene said, taking hers with relish.

Going over to Ruby, doing her best to look as if she was not trying to avoid breathing in the smelliness around her, she held out her hand.

‘What, me?’ Ruby looked up, childlike with amazement.

Rachel nodded. ‘There’s a bit each.’

‘Ooh – ta very much.’ Ruby beamed and guzzled it down.

‘Good for the baby,’ Rachel said, not sure what else to say to her.

She saved the last piece for Netta. When she came back from behind the screened-off examination area, she was wiping her face. She could hardly talk about this baby without dissolving into
tears.