Faded Dreams (26 page)

   Joe would do anything for him, run errands, cook him a meal, tidy the shop, and  he had even taken to massaging his aching legs with olive oil once a week to ease his arthritis.

But in all the time he’d known him, Stan had to admit he’d never seen him look as worried as this.

   'What’s up with you, Joe? You look like you’ve lost half a crown and found a tanner.'

   ‘I’ll see ya next week as usual, Stan…haven’t time to stop now,’ Joe grunted, before walking on.

   ‘He’s not well, Mr Formby,’ Ellen muttered, clearly embarrassed.

   ‘He looks a bit het-up lass …not a bit like his normal self. Well get him home fast, and look after him same as he looks after me. Works wonders on me old legs, he does. He’s one in a million, that father o’ yours.’

   Joe’s cursing resumed with no respite until the steep slope near the top of Montague Street finally rendered him speechless and started him coughing.

* 

   ‘Don’t tell mum and dad Ellie,’ Betty whispered, ‘they’ll kill me, I
know
they will.’

   Ellen was too dumbstruck to tell anybody. She shut her gaping mouth, swallowed hard and found her voice.

   ‘How d’ya know it’s true, kid?’

   ‘I’m not
that
gormless, am I? I must be three months gone, at least.’

   ‘Is it since that night when Manfred gave you a good hiding? I thought he’d only knocked you about… you didn’t tell me he'd done anything else.’

   ‘Yes, well you know
different
now, don't you? It looks like he give me more than a good hiding.’

   Ellen didn't know why her sister had been daft enough to get engaged to that Manfred in the first place after swearing she'd never tie herself to
any
fella. She thought back to the times Betty and her had shared their thoughts and dreams. They’d giggled when she’d talked of wanting a baby of her own  if only she didn’t have to put up with the husband that went with it! Now she was going to have to do exactly that. She would have the baby she always wanted… and no husband to go with it.

   ‘Oh Betty, what’ll you do?’ she clutched her sister’s shaking hands.

   ‘Nothing, and you’ll do nothing either, do you hear Ellie? I’ll think of something so don’t worry. I’ll go away or something. Now shuddup and forget about it.’

   It was never mentioned again and the months went by with her parents none the wiser. With the gentle curve of her growing belly stuffed inside her blue jeans, and her sloppy-Joe sweater hanging  from her thin shoulders almost to her knees, her predicament went unnoticed... until nature took control of her secret...

   Every so often Betty bent double; the Indian Brandy her mother had dosed her with since early morning did nothing to alleviate her agony. Her father filled a hot water bottle from the kettle.

   ‘Put this on your belly, love.’ She clutched it to her, biting hard on her lip.

   Finally, unable to watch her suffering any longer, he said, ‘Bugger this, I’m ringing for the ambulance. The kid could be dead while we’re pissing about ‘ere. There’s something sadly wrong with her. Look at hr, two-double with pain. She could have a burst appendix or something.’

   At the hospital his eyes stayed glued to the dark-green curtain of the cubicle, behind which Betty lay moaning loudly.

   ‘We should have fetched her sooner, Florrie,’ he wrung his hands till his knuckles were white.

   ‘For God’s sake shuddup. Trust you to look on the black side. She’s in good hands so just shuddup will ya?’

   The curtain swished back and a doctor, bombshell at the ready, approached.

   ‘This young lady should have been brought in earlier, her labour is quite advanced.’

   The words froze them into a pair of comical statues, Joe with arm raised and finger pointing indicating the doctor’s arrival, and Florrie bending forward to pick up her handbag. She was the first to take it in, straightening her back and covering her mouth with her hand.

   ‘Oh my God! Oh my God, we’d no idea she were expecting.’

   ‘Expecting? Expecting?’ Joe looked puzzled. ‘Who? Our Betty? how?’

   The doctor raised an eyebrow and looked from one to the other, ‘We need to get your daughter transferred to the labour ward. I think you should go home till tomorrow.’

   They went to the The Observatory pub across the road instead. Florrie stared gloomily into her gill of mild while Joe emptied his pint in one, and licked the froth from his lips.

   ‘Right bloody pickle she’s got herself into now. How the hell’s she kept this to herself all these months?’

   Florrie told herself  there would be plenty of gossip when the neighbours found out
.,
but how the hell had she missed the signs? 

   ‘It’s no good asking me, I’m only her mother.’ The sarcasm in her voice quietened him until he was halfway down his second pint.

   ‘Well we’ll have to find out which bugger’s got her in the family way
and then we’ll have to make sure he weds her straightaway. Either
that
, or I’ll make bloody sure he does the right thing and pays to the babby.’

‘What d’you mean, who’s
got her in the family way
?’ Florrie’s lips tightened

‘Don’t talk so daft, we know bloody well who’s done it. She’s hardly been over the front doorstep since she chucked that German. And as for making him
pay
, there’s no chance of that, he’ll be miles away by now.’

   ‘So he gets off scot-free, does he?’

   ‘Oh shuddup Joe, for Christ’s sake. Be sharp and sup up. No don’t go and get another, you’re half kay-lied already.' She nodded over her shoulder in the direction of the hospital. 'We don’t want to go back there smelling of ale, do we? We’d better get back now and see what’s going on.’

   They made their way along the busy hospital corridor, through a steady stream of young husbands  flowing in the opposite direction, some pale and anxious, some bursting with pride. A nurse in a blue dress with white apron guarded the entrance to the ward. She unfolded her arms, straightened her starched white cap, tucked a few stray hairs out of sight and glanced at the watch pinned to her chest.

   ‘Visiting Hour is over now.’

   ‘We just want to know about our daughter Betty Pomfret,’ Florrie tried to compose herself.

   ‘She was ready for having it d’ya see, and we didn’t know anything about it. They sent us away to wait. Is she all right?’

   ‘Ah yes,
Miss
Pomfret.’ It could have been in their over-sensitive imaginations that the nurse appeared to emphasise the
Miss
. ‘She’s got a little girl, 6 pounds, 12 ounces.’ 

   ‘It’s been a big shock for us, d’ya see? We didn’t know about a baby till we got here.’ Florrie felt she had some explaining to do but also had an overwhelming longing to be with her daughter.

‘We don’t want to get anybody into trouble nurse, but please can we have a few minutes with her or else we won’t get to see her till visiting time tomorrow?’

   The nurse looked sharply from left to right. ‘Well come on then quickly before Sister gets back or you’ll get me shot!’

   She led them to the nursery where their first grandchild was one of a dozen other new-borns. Even without the name-tag on the end of her cot they would have recognised her as one of their own ; the spitting image of Betty as a baby, the same round red face, the same damp flaxen curls. Joe turned away to wipe his eyes and blow his nose and felt Florrie’s elbow in his side.

   ‘Give over Joe, or you’ll set me off.’

   In the ward nearby with her  face to the wall lay an exhausted Betty, unaware of her parents awkwardly shuffling their feet. Her mother was the first to find her voice.

   ‘Now you’ve not to worry about nothing Betty, do you hear? What’s happened has happened and it’s no good bothering about it…it can’t be helped
.
So don’t go upsetting yourself… everything’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

   ‘Aye, your mam’s right,’ Joe cleared his throat. ‘We’ve just had a look at the new babby, right bonny little thing it is too. It’ll get looked after same as you will cock, me and your mam’ll see to that.’

   There was no sign that she had heard a word they said. They turned and left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

   Billy was worried sick as he and Ellen waited. He had never seen anybody in so much agony as Betty in his life and felt sure she must have died by now. Ellen seemed to know more than she was letting on yet kept shushing him every time he tried to speak. He ran to his mother as soon as she walked in, searching her face for an inkling of what had gone on.

   ‘Our Betty’ll be in hospital for another week or more,’ she announced, ‘and then she’ll fetching her new baby home… so you two’ll have to muck in and help her with it as much as you can.’

    It was the first Billy had heard of any new baby but then he had learned to take a succession of unexpected family calamities in his stride. He wasn’t shocked;  relief that Betty  was still alive completely overshadowed the fact that tomorrow was his first day at the Grammar School.

   They’d all been happy enough when he passed his exam for “The Grammar” even though his mum moaned and groaned about how she would afford to keep up with all the expenses of his posh school. His dad hadn’t said much at all, though Billy could tell by the way he’d bragged to the Sagars over the hedge that he was more than suited with him.

   ‘Well Ben what d’ya think about our Billy? A grammar school lad, eh? he always were a bright little bugger but he must get it off Florries’s side… God knows he doesn’t get it off my side. He’ll do well for himself one of these days… he’ll never h‘ave to work with his hands, like his old  fella has done all these years’

   At last, Billy had felt he was living up to his dad's expectations but with this baby's arrival his dad’s attention was focussed  not on him, but on Betty.

   The next morning, with no further mention of Betty or her baby, his parents scuttled round the kitchen and left for work. No one wished him luck, not even Ellen dashing off to her Nursery Training College without her breakfast but it didn’t matter. He didn’t like being in the limelight and they had more important things than him to bother about after all that shock with Betty.

   He could have done with his dad showing him again how to knot his tie properly; he’d already shown him twice but today his fingers were all thumbs. He persevered till it looked more or less right, put on his brand-new blazer, locked the front door behind him and walked proudly to school.

   He found  all the teachers walking about in long black gowns and motor-boards,  not just the headmaster like Pa Massey.  His first day passed  in an exciting whirlwind of timetables,  lists of new subjects like foreign languages and sciences, and miles and miles of rules and regulations.

    All of this was running round in his head at 4.30 when he returned to his empty home and set to work on his chores. He emptied the cinders and ash from the grate and got a roaring fire going, then washed a haphazard pile of dirty pots and pans, and finally, he cut a loaf of bread into thick slices and spread them thinly with margarine ready for tea.

   The first thing his parents and Ellen did on arriving home to was ask him about his new school...which was nice of them. His mum gave him a big hug ...which was even nicer.

*

   Janet was just six weeks old when Betty went back to work and enrolled her at the local day nursery - eleven hours a day Monday to Friday, with three hours on Saturday mornings.     A grim-faced Matron ruled over the bleak four-storey Victorian house with a rod of iron.

It was as sanitised as an operating theatre apart from clouds of choking black smoke billowing from coal-fires in each of the playrooms. On the first morning a spotty-faced but capable-looking nurse about 15 years old took the sleeping infant from Betty’s arms and led the way to the bathroom.

   ‘Now then, ' she said, curtly, 'do you want the staff to call you
Miss
Pomfret or
Mrs
Pomfret?’

   Betty hadn’t even thought about it but guessed that this must be the question addressed to all unmarried mothers using the facility, perhaps to avoid any awkwardness. There was only one possible answer. The scarlet stain of embarrassment spread swiftly from her face, down the front of her neck, and on to her chest. Her whispered ‘
Mrs
’ was acknowledged with a satisfied smirk from the young girl in the starched white cap.

   With that single word she had been endowed with a vestige of respectability. She looked on helplessly as the nurse removed Janet’s clothes and re-dressed her in a checked smock to match the other babies.

   A cupboard door in this sterile bathroom was slightly ajar, revealing a zinc bath brimming with chipped enamel chamber-pots, a dead cockroach floating on top of the milky diluted Izal.

   All this was of no significance to Betty, the shame of pretending to be married  overwhelming her. Within the confines of this Dettol-drenched dilapidated building with its stiffly starched staff and bawling babies,  she would be known from today by the same name as her mother,
Mrs
Pomfret.