Rock a Bye Baby (37 page)

‘Who’s talking out there?’

Sally thrust the pot back into Marcie’s hands. She almost dropped it, slopping the last of the washing mixture so that it splashed up the wall.

‘It’s the old battleaxe,’ Sally murmured.

The woman they referred to was the same one who had distributed the rules and timetable as though she were Moses himself, and the Ten Commandments had just been committed to quarto size paper.

They were becoming used to the fact that she was the main enforcer for the strict regime that was meant to return them to the straight and narrow. Captain Wilma Turnbull was so dedicated to the cause of redirecting the lives of the inmates that she was rarely off the premises. Straight backed, bewigged and poker faced, the running of the establishment occupied the centre of her life.

‘Probably convinced that the place can’t run without her,’ Allegra had said.

Marcie had dredged deep for an obvious truth. ‘There are a lot of people in the graveyard who thought the same about their places of work.’

Dark, long and contorted by an awkward angle, Miss
Turnbull’s shadow fell over them from along the passage. She walked stiffly, her hands clasped behind her back, her feet encased in sensible, flat black shoes, placed perfectly with each step, heel to toe, heel to toe. It looked as though she were measuring something that fell in a perfectly straight line alongside her gaunt shadow. Obviously she had dozed off in the chair in the nursing office because her wig was slightly lopsided.

Sally noticed and hid a smirk behind her hand.

It was rumoured that Miss Turnbull was completely bald beneath her wig and not just grey.

‘Have you not read the rules?’

Sally answered. ‘Yes, Miss Turnbull. We were just—’

‘How many girls does it take to empty that!’ Her fingernail made a clinking sound as it connected with the vitreous china.

Marcie had had enough. ‘Not as many as it takes to fill it! Do you think we can have a pot each, Miss Turnbull? The amount of water we’re passing nowadays is enough to send over Niagara Falls. And that’s what our single pot is going to be: Niagara Falls – all the pee pouring over the rim.’

Miss Turnbull looked fit to bust a gut, her wig seeming to quiver on her head.

Sally stifled a giggle.

Miss Turnbull threw her a disparaging look, her mouth as straight and wide as a letterbox. Her shoulders quaked.
‘Get back to your room. And remember. No talking outside your room. Girls who have recently had babies are trying to get some sleep.’

Staggering with laugher, Marcie and Sally scurried back along the corridor.

‘Back to our virgin beds,’ said Sally loudly enough for Miss Turnbull to hear.

Marcie fell asleep with a smile on her face.

In the morning she pushed herself up on her slim hands and pushed back the covers. She winced as she dragged her legs over the side of the bed, tucking her nightdress below her belly so she could more easily inspect her ankles. She sighed at the sight of them. ‘Looking over my belly is like trying to peer over the top of a mountain. I vow that I will never allow myself to get fat again – certainly not on a permanent basis.’

Allegra slipped out of her own bed and cast a worried frown. ‘Are you alright?’

Marcie nodded. The sight of the hem of her nightdress skimming her slim ankles was incredibly reassuring. ‘Just a twinge.’ She wriggled her toes. ‘My ankles are still slim.’

‘Is that good?’

‘I think so.’ She turned to Sally for a second opinion. ‘Sally, do you think—’

One swift glance at their room-mate’s bed and she stopped in mid sentence. ‘Where’s Sally?’

They exchanged an apprehensive look, noting her nightdress slung down on the coverlet.

‘She left in a hurry,’ said Allegra. ‘And very early. I didn’t hear her go.’

‘She should have put her nightdress away. Miss Turnbull won’t like that,’ said Marcie eyeing the rumpled nightdress with a look bordering on terror.

Allegra pursed her lips and reached for her towel.

Marcie busied herself tidying Sally’s bed. She folded the nightdress and put it under the pillow.

‘You should leave it for her to do,’ Allegra pointed out.

‘Oh no! What if Miss Turnbull comes in while she’s not here? She’ll be in terrible trouble.’

Marcie’s adherence to rules made Allegra smile. ‘Rule number twelve, nightdress must be folded neatly and put away. Eight lashes or solitary confinement for a week?’

‘Just the confinement,’ said Marcie with a weak smile.

Allegra laughed.

Marcie’s smile widened to a broad beam.

‘So where is she?’ Slipping her slim arms into the silky softness of the silk kimono, Allegra went to the window. Despite her girth she walked on tiptoe, reluctant to feel the cold lino the length of her foot. Palms flat, she braced herself against the windowsill and looked out, her breath misting the window panes and mixing with the condensation already there.

‘There she is.’ She pointed.

A figure in a full-length red coat stood out like a sore thumb – a ladybird among a gathering of dung-coloured beetles.

‘She’s not really doing anything wrong. Just taking a morning walk.’

Allegra raised her beautifully arched eyebrows.

‘The staff won’t think that. We’ve all done wrong. That’s how they and the world sees us.’

Once her son Antonio was safely out of hospital, Rosa Brooks deigned to visit him and his family at their new house. She’d visited him in the hospital regularly enough, but refused to visit the new house while he was not in it.

Once she did she was quite surprised. It was bright and had a homely feel. Never, ever would she admit it to Babs, but her daughter-in-law had done a pretty good job furnishing the place.

A smart Axminster carpet covered most of the living-room floor. The remaining floorboards were covered in linoleum slotted around the edge. There was none beneath the carpet itself.

She’d also got herself a G-Plan sideboard and dining set. Rosa made a stab at how much she’d spent: quite a lot. Presumably Antonio had provided the ready cash. She didn’t ask exactly how her son acquired his money – it was enough that he provided for his family. Where it came from was of little relevance. The family came first.

He’d relinquished his job with Alan Taylor.

‘You two are not as close as you once were. There is a reason for this?’

Tony Brooks couldn’t meet his mother’s eyes. She was his own mother yet she scared him, mostly because she knew him so well.

‘I’ll get a job somewhere. I’ve got friends.’

He didn’t want to admit anything about how and why they’d fallen out. Neither did he want to drop Alan in it. There were too many skeletons in the cupboard and if he wasn’t careful one or two might fall out.

He was desperate to know whether his mother had heard from Marcie.

She shook her head when he asked her. ‘I do not know where she is. I only wish I did.’

Her gaze drifted to the boys playing in the back garden. There was no reason, as far as she was concerned, for Marcie to run away. Her father had agreed to let her marry Johnnie and she herself had voiced no objection, so why had she gone the way she had? ‘They say history repeats itself,’ she said without thinking.

She caught sight of her son’s face and instantly regretted it. ‘I did not mean that she has met the same fate as her mother—’

Her words seemed to catch in her throat like the spines of thistles.

Tony rubbed at his eyes with the fingers and thumb
of one hand. ‘Please, God, no,’ he whispered. ‘Please, God, no.’

Rosa sat for a while in the dark that night. At first she didn’t hear the knock at the door, she was so lost in thought.

Whoever was knocking was very determined.

Rosa got up from her chair. ‘Alright, alright, I am coming,’ she said.

Garth had taken to calling on her more frequently these days and it wasn’t in her to tell him not to keep bothering her. His face lit up at the sight of her.

‘I can’t stop,’ he said as she opened the door wide enough for him to enter. ‘I’ve got a shilling to get myself some chips. But I did you a picture. I thought you might like it.’

She thanked him, took the picture and watched him lollop off down the garden path.

Placing the rolled-up piece of paper on the table, she lit the gas and put the kettle on. Something stopped her from unfurling the crumpled paper on which Garth drew his pictures. She’d lost faith in her gift of late, so even though she felt that her husband, Cyril, was here urging her to look at the picture, she determined not to. It wasn’t until about three in the morning that the urge was so strong it stirred her to full wakefulness.

Without recourse to dressing gown or slippers, she went down the narrow staircase to the ground floor.
The room was in total darkness. She turned on a light, went through to the kitchen and turned that one on too.

The piece of paper had probably been used to wrap half a pound of sausages and was a bit crumpled.

Once she could see what he’d drawn, her eyes filled with tears. This was not what she’d expected. This was not at all what she’d expected.

It was still dark when Marcie awoke. She heard the clock down in the ground floor hallway strike two, and yet she knew that wasn’t what had woken her.

Pain rolled from her breasts to her loins, her belly pulsing with each muscular contraction. On raising herself up on her hands, she felt the wetness of her bedding. She was frightened. Oh God, she was frightened.

‘Sally? Sally?’

The hump that was Sally moved slightly and murmured a response.

Marcie raised her voice. ‘I’ve started. Help me.’

Everything moved swiftly from then on.

Her wrists were strapped to the trolley. ‘For safety,’ they told her. ‘To stop you falling off.’

She didn’t care that it smacked of torture and murmured prayers on the way to the delivery room. When was the last time she’d done that?

The main part of the old building echoed to new
sounds, shouted orders, quick marching and the continuous opening and closing of doors.

Nurses in stiff headdresses flapped around her. She saw the doctor’s pale young face peering down at her.

The pain went on and on.

‘She can’t bring it,’ somebody said.

‘Her blood pressure …’

‘I’m going to have to cut along the perineum. Pethidine. We need Pethidine.’

Marcie rolled her head from side to side. She was sweating and hot and in terrible pain. She had reached that moment when she didn’t care what they did or what happened.

‘This will help the pain,’ someone murmured against her ear.

She felt a needle being plunged into her thigh. Then there was nothing, not until she heard a faint cry sounding so, so very far away.

Everything was white when she came round. The walls, the ceiling, the furnishings; even the air itself seemed to be fuzzy. It was as though a thick gauze veil hung before her eyes.

Like a morning mist the whiteness slowly dissipated. The walls turned to sickly green. A nurse she had not seen before smiled down at her. She had deep-brown eyes brimming with kindness.

‘Just rest,’ she said. Her voice was as kind as her eyes.

Marcie closed her eyes. She was weary and aching, and yet there was only one thought at the front of her mind.

‘Where’s my baby?’

‘Just rest.’

A terrible panic grabbed hold of her. She managed to get herself up on her elbows.

‘Where’s my baby? Is it dead? Was it born?’

Using both hands, the kindly nurse pressed her back onto her pillow.

‘You gave birth to a little girl.’

‘A girl!’ Her voice was full of wonder.

The nurse was saying something. She caught what it was.

‘Now you mustn’t worry yourself about anything. Just rest and in less than a fortnight your problems will be over and you’ll be able to go home.’

Nothing could have prepared Marcie for how she was feeling. Nothing counted except one thing above all others. ‘I want my baby!’

‘You can have your baby, but not if you take on so. Once you’ve calmed down and taken stock of the situation, you can feed her. But you have to be calm. It does no good to be overenthusiastic about the child.’

What an odd thing to say, Marcie thought to herself. I must not be overenthusiastic – and then it hit her. The nurse was telling her that she must not
get too attached to the child. Her little girl was being put up for adoption. They probably had parents already picked out for her. The adoptive parents would see the little bundle of flesh take her first steps, say her first words. They’d be there on her first day at school. They’d love her and she would love them for doing so. It was likely that she’d never know she was adopted or who her real parents were.

A whole day later, once she had calmed down and thought very carefully how she should approach this, she was allowed to see her baby. Not allowed to get out of bed, the baby was brought to her. On her right wrist she wore a pink band. The band simply said ‘Baby Brooks’.

‘Joanna,’ she said softly as she took the tiny hand in hers. ‘Your name’s Joanna.’

The name had come to her out of the blue; Joanna was as close as she could get to Johnnie. Her lost love deserved a part of him to live on.

Two days later she was allowed back into the room she shared with Sally and Allegra. Joanna went too.

Both Sally and Allegra had given birth to boys.

‘I never believed it could be so painful,’ said Marcie as she stroked the side of her baby’s head. ‘I never thought you would ever come, Joanna,’ she said to the baby.

Sally rebuked her. ‘You shouldn’t give her a name.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s not yours to name. You’re going to give her away.’

Allegra looked up from repacking and smoothing her beautiful clothes. She was already thinking of life away from this place. ‘Sally is right, Marcie. It will only make it harder.’

Marcie felt as though her heart had swollen to twice its normal size. There was no arguing with what they were saying, but never had she felt so full of love.

‘Her name’s Joanna.’