Opposite Sides (34 page)

“
N, n . . .
no, aunt. S, sorry Caroline,” she stammered. It was clear now that
her exit was going to be imminent. “I’ve got things to
do.”

With those last words,
she hastily left the room, shutting the door behind her with
considerable force so that the light ornaments on the mantlepiece
rattled.

With lack of funds to go
private and pay for a doctor to attend, there was no option but to
have the baby at home, in their London apartment. Caroline had
wished the last days of her confinement could be spent with her
mother but her father had forbidden any connection. Both parents
acted as if their daughter had committed some vile and treacherous
act. Eve’s original sin had become Caroline’s sin and as Adam and
Eve were cast out of Paradise, so Caroline and the father of her
bastard were expelled by the family. With her time closing in,
Caroline was definitely beginning to feel very alone and afraid for
her baby and herself. What if something should go wrong? It was not
unknown for mothers to lose their babies during the time waiting
for help to arrive. London was a large city and the midwife nurse
had to cycle across several districts to reach her. The uneasy
thoughts raced through her mind gathering momentum until, in an
overwhelming bout of anxiety, she reached over to Hans and squeezed
his hand very,very hard.

Miss Turner did not seem
to have noticed but she did get up in rather a haste and left the
room. Caroline made a face at Hans which signified she had no idea
why they were suddenly left alone. As she began to relax, her grip
became less and Hans was able to remove his aching hand.

“
Everything
will be fine, Caroline, you’ll see.” He leaned forward and smiled
into her face. “Cheer up, my sweet.” He made a kiss with his lips
and she returned one likewise. That made her feel a lot
better.

Less than ten minutes
went by. Miss Turner returned and handed Hans a note on which was a
name and address.

“
Mrs Martin
is a midwife near to where you live. She has a good reputation and
is well recommend. When you contact her, say that Miss Janine
Turner suggested her. That should help.” Miss Turner held out the
notepaper with the name and address. “This is the best we can
do.”

“
J, Jan?”
Hans was almost too taken aback to speak properly. His eyebrows
rose as he caught his breath. “Why Jan?”

“
She has been
staying in London herself and as Caroline’s her cousin . . . ” Miss
Turner broke off her sentence as she noticed the look of surprise
that had come over Hans’ face. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Janine is
training to become a nurse. Janine did some of her midwifery
training with that nurse.”

Early in July, Anne wrote
to Hans and Caroline and told them that women had just been given
the vote . . . that is, if one had reached the great age of one and
twenty. Hans had always thought Anne was brave standing up for the
things she believed in. She had even got a mention in the newspaper
in April when she, along with six other young women had disrupted a
meeting of the local councillors by chanting ‘votes for women.’ His
father had paid for his wayward daughter to be released from police
custody as long as she did not repeat such public behaviour again.
And now she would not have to for her supporters had changed things
for ever. Knowing Anne, Hans wondered what was next on her
agenda.

One lovely summer
morning, just as a warm, fine weekend was beginning, Hans made two
important phone calls. First, he left a message for Miss Turner
saying that Caroline was due to have her baby any day, and then he
phoned Anne a few hours later to say that the baby was expected
within the next ten or twelve hours. Anne offered to drive up to
London but Hans assured her everything was under control and that a
Mrs Blossfield, and not the usual Mrs Martin, would be calling in
throughout the day.

However, this was
Caroline’s first baby and her labour pains dragged on and on. There
was little that could be done, but wait.

“
The ween ’ll
come when ‘ez ready.” Mrs Blossfield had seen many children into
the world and so far this labour was no different.

The pains continued
intermittently throughout the night. Caroline cried out in agony
each time one of the shooting labour pains wrenched her abdomen in
two and by five in the morning, Hans could no longer remain in the
front room. Just before six, Mrs Blossfield arrived with her
delivery bag and quickly shooed Hans out of the tiny bedroom as one
would shoo a stray chicken out of the house. In the bedroom, on the
other side of the door, the moans and cries continued until Hans
could not stand to hear Caroline suffer a single minute longer. He
banged frantically on the door.

Mrs Blossfield opened the
door just enough to squeeze her head through.

“
Yes, I
agree, Mr Resmel,” she said. Her face was drawn and serious. “Seems
this little mite’s really takin’ ‘is time and giving ‘er a
difficult labour. I offered ‘er some medicine but she’d t take it.
I think now the best is to get ‘er into the ‘ospital. ‘ave you got
enough to pay for that?”

“
I’ll raise
the money. Anything. Just as Caroline’s taken care of.”

“
I’ll go wiv
‘er. It wouldn’t be right for you to come in the taxi as well, ‘er
bein’ in the condition she is. You can get the bus. There’s one
that’ll drop you right off in front of the ‘ospital.”

Later that afternoon, a
neighbour knocked on the door. He had been willing to receive any
calls from the hospital and relay them on to Hans. When Hans opened
the front door, he was told he was now the father of a little
girl.

The bus did drop him off
in front of the hospital.

“
Can I see
them now, please?” He leaned on the edge of the counter waiting for
the receptionist to find the room number. “Caroline Resmel. She was
brought in earlier this morning.”

The receptionist looked
through the admissions and then shook her head.

“
Are you sure
she’s here? What was she admitted for?”

“
She was
having a baby.”

The woman on the counter
quickly fingered through the records again. She looked
up.

“
Who came
with her? Her mother?”

“
No. Her
midwife. Mrs Blossfield. They arrived by taxi.”

“
There’s
nothing here regarding a Mrs Blossfield. Are you sure you have the
name right?”

“
Yes. No.
What I mean is it’s Caroline . . . Caroline Resmel who’s having the
baby.”

The receptionist
re-checked the admissions. She kept her finger on one line of the
page.

“
Yes. There
is a Caroline who has been admitted but not a Mrs Caroline Resmel.
It says ‘Grace’ on the admission slip. Are you sure they’re the
same person?”

“
Yes. Yes.
That’s her. She must have given her maiden name. She was in such
terrible pain. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

He spoke quickly, banging
the flat of his hand down on the counter. If only the midwife had
stayed there, things might have been easier. Instead, as soon as
she had checked Caroline into the hospital, Mrs Blossfield had
rushed off to another of her expectant mothers. The receptionist
glanced up at him.

“
You’re her
husband, then? You are the Dutchman?” And when Hans did not affirm,
she added, “Oh, not? This must be wrong. Then, from? You’re not
from round these parts.”

Hans nodded. He wondered
whether she really thought he had come from Holland but before he
could make up his mind, the receptionist had turned to the
telephone on the wall behind her and had started to vigorously wind
the handle round and round. A nurse turned up and motioned him to
follow her and together they negotiated countless turns and
doorways in a maze of corridors. Their footsteps echoed loudly and
although only the tow of them were walking together, Hans thought
they sounded very much like marching soldiers. As they walked, he
noticed his shadow shedding a dimness across the highly polished
wooden floor every time they passed one of the narrow windows and
after ten minutes or so the corridor made a final bend and ended
directly before two large glass swing doors. They had finally
arrived at the birthing wing.

The nurse pointed to a
small side room that contained a few hard-seated chairs and a low
coffee table.

“
You can wait
in here, sir, while I check with the ward sister.”

The room was dim. One
narrow window provided the only light and on a low table was a
folded newspaper. Someone else had obviously already looked it over
as the pages had been roughly put together again.

Hans sat awkwardly.
Another young man paced the up and down the floor, looking more
like a frustrated caged animal than a father-to-be.

“
About five
minutes, sir.”

The nurse rushed away
again. Hans coughed but that did not stop the pacing.

“
Your first?”
he asked as the stranger turned for the umpteenth time and headed
back in Hans’ direction.

The young man did not
answer straight away. His head was bent forward as if he was
studying the joins in the boards.

“
No, second.
You?”

“
First.”

At that point the
conversation ceased. The other man spun round on his heels and
began his pacing back towards the doorway. Hans sat in silence. He
waited as the minute hand on the clock ticked past the four and
then another five minutes past the five. Hans had not thought that
giving birth was such a long-winded affair.

“
Gosh, seven
and twenty past.”

He spoke to no-one but
just the sound of his voice calmed him. The hand jumped to the half
past.

“
Mr Resmel,
you may go in now. Please, do not stay too long. Your wife’s very
tired.”

Hans crept into the
single room where his beloved Caroline lay.

Strange,
he thought, for he had been
led to believe all the new mothers would be in the large maternity
ward together. They had decided to call their baby, Andrew should
it be a boy and Andrea if a girl.

His eyes fell on his
beautiful, young Caroline, as pale as the white linen on her bed.
Her black hair made her face appear paler than ever. Her eyes were
closed, and as he bent over her and kissed her gently on her cheek,
she opened them and they smiled lovingly up at him.

“
Hans,” she
murmured, “We have a beautiful daughter.”

“
Then, she
will be Andrea.” He whispered the word and was pleased with how it
sounded. “I’m so proud of you, my love.”

Caroline tried to raise
herself but fell back onto the starched pillowcase. She pointed
list-fully at a small wicket-basket bassinet not far from her
bedside. Hans crept over and peeped inside.

He gently drew back the
soft, baby wrapping to see his little daughter. She smelt sweet and
like soap. The baby yawned and stretched out one of her spindly
small arms like the princess in the fairy stories who woke from her
hundred-year old sleep. Truly, she was the most appealing baby Hans
had ever seen. He had never thought he could feel like this . . .
not for a baby. His own little princess . . . but, then, he had not
seen many babies in his life. Never matter. This small, tiny child
was all his, and Caroline’s; a little bit of both. How tiny she
was, much, much smaller than he had ever imagined. He touched the
top of her head. It was soft and warm. She had silky, soft
down-like dark hair and when she opened up her little eyes, they
were quite dark, like two black shining opals. He was sure she was
looking at him. And then her face screwed up into a frown and a
little pink tongue rolled slowly in and out between her
lips.

“
What do you
think of her?” Caroline’s voice was hardly audible.

“
She’s
beautiful!” As he spoke, he noticed that Caroline had dropped back
off to sleep. He waited a while, looking at them both, unable to
move as the emotion of the moment welled up inside him.

“
Are you
finished?” The nurse popped into the room and glanced at her
sleeping patient.

“
She’s
sleeping,” Hans replied.

“
She’s had a
very hard time,” answered the nurse. Hans followed the nurse
quietly out of the room and silently shut the door behind himself.
“Before you go, the sister on the ward would like a word. Wait back
in here and I’ll get her.”

This is worse
than having to wait outside Miss Turner’s office
door
, thought
Hans as he tried to shut out the anxiety he was feeling. He
tried to remember exactly how his new daughter was. He said her
name over and over in his mind to calm himself and the more he said
it, the more he liked the sound of it: Andrea . . . Andrea Caroline
Resmel.

The sister arrived. She
was as starchy as her uniform and she reminded him of his first
impression of Miss Turner. Sister wore a long white gown that
covered most of her body and below were two, just as white,
stocking-covered legs and bleached white boots. He noticed that the
few strands of greying hair that had escaped her tightly bound
clinical white scarf proved that this woman meant business. She was
not a tall woman but as she entered the room, her presence brought
with it an air of experience and determination. However, when she
spoke, her voice was not of the hard woman he expected but was soft
and warm.