A Daughter's Disgrace (21 page)

Alison nodded. Maybe she had got herself into a state over nothing. Maybe the baby would look nothing like Paul at all.

‘How was your day?’ asked Neville as he came into their small kitchen. It overlooked their backyard, and they could see Beryl’s pots and tubs next door, now empty of vegetables.

‘It was all right.’ Hazel forced herself not to flinch as he kissed her, as his face was so cold. ‘Busy for a weekday.’

Neville rubbed his hands. ‘I could murder a cuppa. It’s brass monkeys out there.’

Hazel didn’t move. ‘The kettle’s behind you.’

Neville turned and went to fill it. ‘Fancy one?’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

He set it to boil. ‘What’s for tea?’

‘Nothing. I haven’t made anything. I’m sick of the smell of cooking, I was running in and out of the kitchen at work all day.’

Neville nodded in sympathy. ‘I know you work hard, love. They don’t let you rest for a minute. Don’t worry about it, I had my lunch late.’ He grinned as he had an idea. ‘Why don’t we go out for a meal? It’s been ages since we done that.’

Hazel shut her eyes for a second, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. ‘No, Neville! You know how much eating out costs! We’re supposed to be saving to buy new furniture. I’m sick of looking at this second-hand stuff!’

‘All right,’ he said, backing away from her. ‘It was only a suggestion. Thought you wouldn’t have to cook or anything.’

‘Well, it looks as if I do have to flaming cook,’ snapped Hazel. ‘Unless you can make do with a sandwich. You aren’t going to rustle up a meal, are you? Not like Fred, who can make all sorts of meals for himself.’

‘Yeah but Fred’s been on his own for ages. It’s different. I’m not like Fred.’ Neville thought it was a daft thing for her to say. As if he wanted to be like the wheezy old butcher, cooking eggs and bacon out the back.

‘No, because Fred can buy his wife whatever she wants from whatever shop she wants, and drive her round in a new car, and give her a big flat, and still cook her a meal when he gets in. Of course you’re not like Fred.’ Hazel’s eyes were glittering dangerously as she got up from her chair.

‘Hey, steady on, Hazel,’ said Neville, beginning to get alarmed. ‘You knew I couldn’t cook when we got married. None of my friends can cook. You never said it was important.’

‘Of course I never said.’ Hazel drew closer until Neville was backed up against a cupboard. ‘Lots of things we never said, Neville. Lots of things I thought were so important that we wouldn’t even need to talk about them.’

It dawned on Neville that this wasn’t just about cooking. ‘Come on, Hazel. We’re only just starting out. We need a bit of time to … to get used to each other.’

‘Oh, that’s what you call it, is it?’ She was screaming into his face. ‘Get used to each other? When night after night you come near me and then can’t get it up and I’m left there like something washed up on the beach? Is that what I’m meant to be getting used to?’

‘No, no.’ He raised his hands again to try to keep her off.

Hazel wished he’d shout back rather than stand there and take it. What was wrong with him? Didn’t he love her enough to get upset and argue with her?

‘Then what, Neville? Get used to this smelly flat and our pathetic wages and knowing that if we carry on as we are we’ll never have children? Is that it?’

‘No, now look, Hazel, we …’

Suddenly she couldn’t bear his weakness any more. She drew back her hand and hit him hard around the face.

A few streets away Alison was pacing around what she was getting used to calling their kitchen rather than Fred’s kitchen. He’d brought some nice chicken up from the shop and she was just about to start cooking it when she felt a strange sensation. It wasn’t quite like the pain she used to have with her monthlies but that was the closest she could think of.

She waited, wondering if she’d imagined it, then lined up the vegetables she was going to chop to have with the chicken. Just as she sliced through an onion the pain struck again, stronger this time. She gripped the counter to steady herself, afraid her knees might give way. This must be it. It was happening at last. Where was Fred?

He’d gone out after the shop had shut to see about some new equipment for the storeroom. Typical Fred, she thought, if there was an improvement to be had then he wanted to be the first one with it. Usually she liked this about him. Tonight she wished he was home.

Fred had shown her how to work the telephone in the hall and she had to admit it was a useful thing. The trouble was nobody she knew had a phone. Linda was talking about getting one in the new house but hadn’t done so yet. Cora didn’t hold with them, saying they were a waste of money, and wouldn’t have been able to afford one anyway. Even if Hazel had had one Alison wouldn’t have wanted to speak to her. Vera would have loved one but Winnie had put her foot down, complaining her daughter would use it for gossip and leave her mother to pay the bill.

The doctor’s number was pinned up next to the phone but Alison didn’t want to bother him yet. She remembered Linda saying this bit could go on for hours, days even, so she didn’t like to make a fuss. Besides, Fred would be home soon; he wouldn’t want to miss his chicken. She just had to wait till he got back then he’d know what to do. He’d been reading all about it, and she’d been happy to let him, thinking the less she knew the less she’d have to worry about.

Another pain came, much stronger than the one before. She held on to the wall, breathless with the intensity of it. Was that meant to happen or did it mean something was wrong? Guiltily she thought she wouldn’t mind if something happened to the baby. Then she thought of how disappointed Fred would be. He seemed to have decided that if he was to be a father then he’d throw himself into it, and had been taking note of where he could buy good toys, and what new things they’d need once the baby was born. She just wanted to get it over with.

All at once her legs were wet. She started to panic, but got herself into the bathroom and began to clean herself up. What was this? She hadn’t wet herself since she was a very little girl – she’d taught herself not to as Hazel had picked on her so violently every time, pinching her and teasing her. She tried to get back to the kitchen to wipe the floor but another spasm gripped her. They were getting more frequent. Even though she finally made it to the kitchen she couldn’t bend over to reach the cleaning cupboard. She was afraid that if she did manage to get to it she’d never stand up again. The mess she’d made of the floor was embarrassing but it would have to wait. She’d have to apologise to Fred and hope the doctor didn’t see.

The pain was coming in big waves now and she started to lose track of how long they lasted or quite where she was. Instinct made her head for her bedroom, her safe haven. She could hear someone moaning and it took a while to realise it was her. Could anyone hear her? The window faced away from the road and there was nothing on the other side of her bedroom wall so probably not. She was on her own until Fred returned. In between the contractions she remembered she hadn’t put the chicken back in the fridge. He’d be cross if it was ruined but she couldn’t help it.

Time seemed to stand still. It was all one big tunnel of pain. She rolled around, grasping the pillows, sad that the bedclothes would be spoiled. Maybe she was dying. It felt like her insides were being ripped apart. She’d wanted to die months ago, back in the summer, but now she found she wanted to live. She hadn’t got this far only to give up. She held on to her courage as the next contraction hit, making her feel as if she should push. She screamed out in agony.

‘Alison? Alison?’ Fred was running down the corridor. ‘Where are you? What’s happening?’ He appeared at the doorway and took in the bloody scene. Then he came forward and kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m ringing the doctor. The damn car broke down and it looks as if it’s too late for you to go anywhere anyway.’

In a moment he was beside the bed again, with a stack of towels under his arm. ‘Doctor’s on his way. I’ve left the door open for him. Here, grab hold of my hand. When it hurts you squeeze as hard as you can. Breathe, breathe. You’re going to be fine.’

Alison gasped. ‘Fred, I’m sorry. There’s mess everywhere. I forgot the chicken. I couldn’t … I couldn’t …’

‘Don’t be daft. We’ll sort that out later. You just stay there till the doctor comes. Keep breathing, come on, you’re doing well.’

‘Fred, am I dying?’ Alison’s bright eyes met his. ‘Just tell me.’ She stopped as an even more terrifying contraction tore through her, and then screamed again.

Fred wiped sweat from his forehead. He’d seen animals being born but this was different. He struggled to stay calm, because he knew one of them had to. He hoped the doctor would make it on time but wasn’t convinced he would. How had this happened so fast? All the books he had read said a first baby could take hours, even days. He’d been gone far longer than he intended thanks to the car running out of battery but even so it was only a matter of a few hours. Now the baby looked as if it would arrive any minute.

‘Course you aren’t dying,’ he said, hoping that was true. ‘It hurts a lot but you get better. You have to push when you get the urge and rest in between. Let me put more pillows in behind you. There. Big breath. Squeeze my hand, remember. Now push.’ He winced as Alison did as she was told and crushed his hand so hard he thought she’d broken a bone in it.

Gently pulling his hand free, he began to help her off with her clothes and into a nightdress. He didn’t have time to think that he’d never seen her body before or how strange this was for a husband of four months. She didn’t notice. She was in a world of her own now, her eyes tightly shut, gasping for breath, her face red with effort.

She was pushing hard, her feet spread wide. He could see something coming between her legs – it was the top of the baby’s head. The doctor wasn’t going to make it and he’d have to deliver this baby himself. What did the farmer do when he was there? The animals weren’t lying down, it wasn’t much help. What did the books say? There was a cord, you had to keep the cord from going round the baby’s neck, then it had to be cut. His stomach turned. Even though he was a butcher he wasn’t sure if he could cut the cord between his wife and the baby.

As Alison screamed again the baby’s head came fully out. ‘Push, push, it’s here,’ he exclaimed, reaching forward as a moment later its shoulders came through and then the whole tiny creature slithered out. Gingerly he checked that the cord wasn’t round its neck and then took a look at the rest of it.

‘It’s a boy.’ He gazed at his wife. ‘You’ve done it, he’s here, it’s a boy.’ Tears flooded down his face. ‘You clever girl, you’ve had a boy. He’s perfect.’

Alison flopped back on the pillows, too exhausted to care. Between the terror of being alone and all the unfamiliar pain, she was happy for Fred to take charge. She heard a second male voice speaking from the corner of the room and assumed the doctor had finally arrived. She shut her eyes as he examined her and kept them shut as the afterbirth came out, glad that there was someone there who knew what he was doing. She had no idea what was going on. The baby was here and Fred was taking care of it somewhere. That was enough.

‘Well done, Mr Chapman.’ The doctor clapped Fred on the back. ‘Couldn’t have done it better myself. If you get tired of the butcher’s you should take up midwifery. Of course it helps that you have a healthy young wife.’ Privately the doctor thought they were a very odd pair but they had produced a fine-looking son, whose first cries now filled the room. ‘You kept your head and everything has gone as well as it possibly could. Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him even if he did arrive in a hurry. Bring him in to the clinic tomorrow and we’ll weigh him, but he looks like a fine specimen. If you fetch some hot water now we’ll get him cleaned up and then Mrs Chapman can meet her son. I expect you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mrs Chapman?’

Alison didn’t reply, turning her head to face the wall. Let them get on with it. She’d done her bit, delivering the baby safely. She was in no hurry to see him. There would be time enough for all of that.

The doctor didn’t worry. He’d seen it all before. Women often took a while to come round after childbirth, and this was Mrs Chapman’s first baby. Nothing had gone to plan and she’d had to cope on her own for most of the time, so clearly she was made of strong stuff. Meanwhile the father was sorting everything out, not rushing to get to the pub unlike so many he knew. The doctor admired that. This father was going to take his responsibilities seriously. The baby was a very lucky little boy, he thought, as Fred carefully washed the tiny hands and feet in warm water. The baby waved them jerkily, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

‘He’s certainly full of life,’ said the doctor. ‘How about a cup of tea for your wife? That is often very reviving. I’ll hold the little fellow if you like.’ The doctor didn’t always offer to do this but the baby seemed very content, with a beautiful head of dark brown hair – not at all like Mr Chapman, he reflected, but then again who knew what he’d been like in his younger days?

‘Of course, of course. And one for yourself, Doctor? Or would you prefer something a little stronger?’

‘If you insist, Mr Chapman. A wee dram to toast the baby’s health.’ The doctor beamed. He felt he deserved his tot of whisky, rushing round here in such a hurry as he had, leaving his own evening meal unfinished. He approved when his patients appreciated him, and not all of them did. The Chapmans were evidently good sorts all round. He obligingly held the little boy as Fred hurried to the kitchen.

Fred took a moment to clean the floor, where Alison’s waters had broken. He could hardly believe the events of the evening – it had all happened so suddenly and he hadn’t had a moment to take it all in. He found he was shaking with emotion. He knew he wasn’t the biological father but when he’d held the baby in his arms his heart had beaten faster and he’d wanted to shout from the rooftops that the little boy was here and he was safe. He would do anything to defend this helpless creature that he’d helped bring into the world. If someone tried to hurt the child then they’d have him to answer to. God help anyone who tried to say he wasn’t the real father. He was going to be the best father this little boy could ever possibly want.