Clover's Child (36 page)

‘Stay with me. Please stay with me. We can work something out.’

‘Can we? Like what? Me hiding from view in the passenger seat for the rest of me life?’

‘No, of course not. I can buy us a house! We could have a house like this; we could sit on the veranda each night and—’

‘No. Stop.’ She placed her fingers over his mouth. ‘I can’t let you tell me anything that won’t happen, anything that isn’t true, no matter how much we want it to be, cos it hurts too much when it’s taken away from me.’

‘But it can be true; we could find a way.’

‘You’d be sneaking from her to me and back again – that’s not honest. She would hate her life and eventually I’d hate my life. I don’t want to share you with someone that has had your child; I love you too much for that, I couldn’t stand it. You’d start lying to your child and eventually, Sol, you’d hate yourself and your life too.’

‘I hate my life now!’ This he shouted. ‘I just want you. I only want you. Please, Clover. Is it that you don’t want to leave London? That’s okay. I don’t care any more about anything. I could start over, I could come back with you!’

She gripped his hand. ‘And leave your child? No. I can’t have that on my conscience.’
Not again, not two babies robbed of their daddy because of me.
‘I’ve decided, Sol, this is what I wanted to tell you, I’m going home.’
I’m giving this little baby a daddy.
‘I shall go back and carry on best I can, but I shall always love you and now I can be happy, cos I know that you will always love me and in some ways that’s enough. It killed me when I thought I’d been wrong about you, about us, but I wasn’t, was I?’

Sol stood and she followed. ‘No, my darling, you weren’t. I love you.’

Dot heard her mother’s words inside her head, unwelcome and yet wise.
‘Love? Listen to yourself, Dot. What makes you think love is so important? Cos I’m here to tell you it isn’t. Love is what happens in the films, love is a little spark of fancying that dies, Dot; it dies.’

Sol stood and reached for her hand. ‘Let’s go outside. It’s my favourite part of the day, when the sun sinks into the ocean and the day has lost its heat; we’ll bask in the warm breeze that is blowing across the beach. We can do like I always said; watch the lights twinkling from Reduit Beach on the curve of the horizon. I want to hold your hand in mine and sit on the deck and smell the jasmine that fills the air around us. I want to spend one night with you, with the shutters thrown wide open and the warm wind flowing over us as I hold you tight in my arms, keeping us cool. And then just as I’ve dreamed, in the morning we’ll drink fresh pineapple juice and feast on mangoes. But only after we have run across the beach and dived into the crystal-clear water and swum, tasting the salt water on our tongues and feeling it burn on our skin as we lie in the sunshine under the shade of a palm tree. Please, please, Clover, don’t send me away. Let us have one night just as we have always wanted, one night that will sustain me for the rest of my life. One night that I shall think about when I am old. What do you say, Clover, will you give me one night?’

She reached up and touched his face, wet with tears. ‘Yes. One night.’

‘But first…’ Sol walked over to his cardboard box on the little table and reached inside. ‘This has been lying around for years.’ He pulled out a gramophone, winding the handle with his right hand. ‘The last time I danced with you, I didn’t know I was saying goodbye. This time I do.’

He pushed the little sofa to one side and rolled up the rug. ‘Come and dance with me, my Clover. Let’s pretend we’ve got forever…’

The static crackle of the record filled the little room. Sol pulled her close and with one hand on her lower back and the other holding her outstretched hand, they waited, both knowing what was coming next. And then Etta started to sing in that rich, velvet voice. She started to sing the words of their song.

‘At last

My love has come along…

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song’

Sol drew her closer still and with her arm crooked against his chest held her hand inside his. She felt her form melt against him, until they were like one, swaying gently to the soundtrack to their love affair.

‘I love you so much, and I always will.’ He breathed into her hair, his words stuttering through his tears.

‘I love you too.’ She spoke to his chest.

‘Oh, yeah, at last

The skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped up in clover

The night I looked at you’

‘Don’t ever let me go, Sol.’ Her voice cracked, her vocal cords straining against her distress.

‘I’ll never let you go, baby.’

He pulled her closer still, holding her tightly against him.

‘I found a dream that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known’

‘It will all be okay, won’t it?’

‘It will all be okay, baby.’

Dot smiled into his chest. Sol ran his fingers through her hair and watched her shiny locks fall in a curtain against her shoulder. ‘You are so beautiful.’

‘Oh, yeah and you smile, you smile

Oh, and then the spell was cast

And here we are in heaven

For you are mine

At last’

13

Dot ran her fingers through her hair and knocked on the front door. She exhaled and dug deep to find a smile. Wally twisted the Yale lock and stood staring at his wife.

‘Hello, Wall, pop the kettle on, I’m dying for a cuppa.’

Wally stood rooted to the spot. He swept his eyes over her tanned face and tousled hair; she looked lovely.

‘You’re back then.’

‘It would appear so.’

‘And are things…’

‘Are things what, Wally?’

‘Are things sorted?’ This he addressed to his socks, nervous of her answer.

‘Yes, things are sorted.’

His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. ‘So you’re staying?’

‘Yes, love, I’m staying. Now, are you going to let me in for that cuppa or do I have to chuck something else off the balcony before I get me own way?’

Wally reached out and lifted her suitcase from the walkway. Dot followed him into the hall and surveyed the flat in which she would spend the rest of her days.

‘Well, someone’s been busy!’

Dot noted the fringed lampshades that had been placed over all the bare bulbs. A large mirror now hung over the fireplace and a nest of tables was separated into three and placed either side of the chairs with a lacy doily on each. Floral curtains hung in the lounge and in the bedroom, where the greasy mattress had disappeared and been replaced with a large divan.

‘I thought if you came back, I wanted it to look nice for you.’

‘Well, I did and you have.’

Her husband beamed.

‘Thank you, Wally.’

‘S’all right. Your mum helped me. I’ll put the kettle on.’ He pushed past her into the kitchen.

He filled the kettle at the sink with his back to the hallway. Dot couldn’t see his smile or the way his mouth moved in silent thanks.

A few minutes later, the two were sitting in the vinyl chairs, holding mugs of their restorative brew.

‘I got you a present actually.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Wally wasn’t used to receiving gifts.

Dot pulled out a Bush radio from her suitcase. ‘I thought it’d be nice to have a bit of background music, we could even have a sing-along!’

‘Gawd, have you ever heard me sing?’

‘No, but I reckon if you’re half as bad as me, we’ll get all the dogs in Walthamstow howling!’

When the tea was finished, Dot washed up the cups and felt her fatigue wash over her. She smiled. This was a world away from flights around the globe, sitting on a deck with the sun on her skin or swimming in the warm ocean and sipping fresh pineapple juice. That was a life that belonged to Clover. But she wasn’t Clover, she was Dot, Dot Simpson from Ropemakers Fields; and this was her life, a life that she would live the best she could.

‘You turning in?’ Wally’s voice was shaky, issued from behind her. She turned to face her husband. ‘Yep, nearly done.’

He nodded.

‘Oh, and Wall?’

‘Yep?’

‘Tonight is our first. We are starting over, remember?’

He nodded. ‘I remember.’

She reached out and squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you, Wally. I don’t only mean for what you’ve done in the flat, I mean thank you for everything. It was an amazing thing you did and you did it just for me. I shan’t ever forget it.’

‘Dot?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Don’t ever mention it again.’

Wally went into the bathroom to clean his teeth. They were starting over. He whistled out the last tune he had heard on the radio, Etta James’s ‘At Last’.

* * *

Dot lay on the hospital trolley, staring at the dazzling strip light overhead. The radio on the nurses’ station sent the gentle tones of the Four Seasons wafting down the ward. ‘
Sherry Baby/She…
e…
rry, Can you come out tonight…
’ Dot laughed. Yes, please, Sherry, do come out tonight. She couldn’t go through another day and night of this. Her contractions were evenly spaced, her labour had slowed and the pain was manageable. One of the nurses had given her a rubber band to play with to distract her mind, but had the woman entered the cubicle while the last contraction was building, Dot would happily have shoved the bloody thing where the sun don’t shine. She sincerely hoped they had something stronger available if she needed it. Her paper-thin nightie was none too warm and she was glad of the pale blue wool blanket that she could pull up under her chin. Her toes were snug inside some rather fetching white socks.

‘Can we call someone for you, Dot?’ The young nurse who had earlier removed the flaming red nail polish from Dot’s toes and fingers popped her head around the curtain, into the cubicle.

‘Yeah, please. My husband. I gave the other nurse the details already. It’s Wallace Day. He’s probably already on his way.’

‘Righto, let me go and check on that for you.’ She smiled sweetly with crinkled eyes and the faintest hint of pity. Whether because Dot was in the middle of her labour without any company or support or because of what she was about to endure, Dot couldn’t be sure. The nurse needn’t have worried, Dot knew the drill. She kept checking herself, having to stop from blurting out that it wasn’t in fact her first child and there was no need to explain what was going to happen next, she had lived through it once before.

If anything, she felt bored. It had already been a couple of hours and after the initial excitement and euphoria, it was now tedious, waiting for the action. Even though she’d had nine months to get used to the idea, she still didn’t quite believe that she would be walking out of here with a baby. A baby. She tried to visualise herself with a swaddled bundle; she couldn’t. It was as if the disappointment of going home once again without a child would be too great to handle, so she wasn’t allowing herself to believe it until it happened.

‘Oh, here we go again, eh, Dot?’ She cringed, having spoken aloud, remembering that there was only a floral-print curtain between her and the rather posh woman who sat with her attentive, brow-mopping husband in the cubicle next door. She hoped they hadn’t heard.

‘Here she is.’ Her mum’s voice cut through her thoughts and brought her to the present as she whipped back the floral curtain.

Joan rushed forward and palmed the fringe away from her daughter’s forehead. ‘You all right, my girl?’

Dot nodded and fought the desire to cry – probably a combination of hormones and relief that someone was finally there.

‘How you doing?’

‘M’okay.’ She nodded.

‘S’all all right, darling, your mum’s here now.’ Joan hitched the elastic waist of her trousers and pulled the plastic chair up to the side of the bed. Taking up position, she clasped her daughter’s hand between her own; she cooed and clucked as though Dot was the baby.

‘Have you told Dee?’ Dot murmured, sounding far more baby-like and vulnerable than she had before her mum arrived.

‘Course I have. She was desperate to come in, but I’ve told her she has to wait her turn. She’s driving me crazy. You know how excited she gets.’

Wally stood at the foot of the bed, feeling quite redundant. Dot could see his relief at the fact that there was only one chair in the cubicle and Joan had commandeered it. It made her smile to see his nervous air – what did he think he was going to have to do?

Dot wasn’t sure how she was going to cope giving birth again. It was certainly different so far. Being treated with respect as a married woman expecting her first child made her proud and delighted in a way that had been impossible the last time. The way her mother soothed and fussed over her made her gut twist. It felt like only moments ago that she had been eased into stirrups and forced to undergo the trial of childbirth alone, before then being obliged to give her son away to a very high bidder.

How was it that things had changed so much for her in such a short space of time? How was it possible that with the addition of a small gold band she was able to walk with a straight back and a defiant smile while she carried her husband’s baby, her main concern being how to afford the clothes that best flattered her pregnant frame. How was it possible that this baby was ‘a little bundle’ whereas her last had been an ‘it’, a thing to get adopted out. How was it that one simple certificate meant there was no talk of shame, no stain of illegitimacy that would blight every course of action. It was a world where marriage counted and if you weren’t married, you didn’t count. Dot was glad of the change in her circumstances, not wishing to endure anything like her experience at Lavender Hill Lodge again. Yet she found it torturous that for the want of a piece of paper and a tiny sliver of bent gold, she could have walked down the street with her bump on display and not been confined to the miserable bedroom of her childhood; she could have asked questions and read books about pregnancy and birth, instead of having to guess, worrying about which of her symptoms were ‘normal’. She would not have been forced to hand over her baby boy, an act that would define her whole life. This one act was the reason she now sat in a state of near denial, waiting for the arrival of a baby for whom she felt very little. A baby conceived with her husband, who was still a stranger in so many ways.