Now the War Is Over (4 page)

Rachel leaned on Dolly’s arm as they went to the stairs and Melly heard Dolly encouraging her as they went up. Melly kept trying to make a little lesson out of everything as if she was at
school, but Donna wasn’t interested and sat with a faraway expression on her face, kicking her legs against the chair. Tommy, who was usually her willing pupil, was distracted and
wouldn’t pay attention. She felt tears rising inside her.

Noises came from upstairs, feet on the floorboards, groans, Dolly talking soothingly. Everything felt frightening and chaotic. Melly still felt sick. It was like the nasty feeling she sometimes
had inside if she glimpsed into the Suttons’ house across the yard – mess and dirt and everything being upside down and never knowing what might happen next.

‘Oh, pay attention, Tommy,’ she snapped, feeling tears forcing at the back of her throat. The kettle was gushing steam and she went to turn it off.

‘Hello?’ There was a light tap on the door. A smiling face topped by a dark blue felt hat appeared, looking in at them. ‘I’m the midwife – have I come to the right
place?’

Melly got down from her chair, nodding solemnly at the woman who came in, carrying her bags.

‘My goodness, what a day!’ she announced, putting her things down on the floor. ‘Raining cats and dogs!’

She looked about her, as if to check what the place was like and for the things she would need. Once she had put her bag down she removed the hat from a head of brown, collar-length hair clipped
back from her face, then removed the navy mackintosh to reveal a pale green uniform beneath. Her face was calm and kindly. She looked up as a low groan came from upstairs.

‘Is that your mother?’

Melly nodded again.

‘And your brothers and sister?’ She smiled at Tommy and little Donna who sat staring, awed.

‘Donna’s not my sister,’ Melly said. Her voice sounded very small. ‘Her mom’s upstairs.’

‘Ah, good – someone’s with her then? And you’ve got some water on the go?’

The midwife came close to Melly and bent down to talk to her.

‘What’s your name, dear?’ Melly thought her voice sounded lovely and smooth; she looked clean and bright and reassuring.

‘Melanie Booker,’ she whispered.

‘Well, Melanie, I’m Nurse Waller. I’m a midwife and I’m going up to help your mother give you another brother or sister. You’re a good girl, I can see –
you’ll be here to look after the other children, won’t you? And soon it’ll all be over, don’t you worry.’

Melly nodded again. She would have agreed to anything suggested by this wonderful being in her crisp-looking uniform, with her pink skin and a light of kindly joy in her eyes. She seemed to have
a power and wonder about her like no one Melly had ever seen before. Immediately the threat of chaos and fear died. This person would make everything all right.

As Nurse Waller’s footsteps receded upstairs, she went back to the table feeling much better. ‘All right, Donna – you can get down and play with Kev if you want. And Tommy
– we’ll play a game.’

‘What’s going on?’

Melly’s father, Danny Booker, burst into the house, his coat dark with rain, his face tense. ‘Where’s yer mother?’

‘The babby’s coming!’ Melly jumped up. ‘The midwife’s up with her.’

Her father hung his cap on the door and drifted about the room, appearing restless and at a loss. Sometimes it seemed to Melly that these cramped little houses were not big enough for men to
live in. Her father looked like an animal in a box that was too small for it. He looked round as if for something to do and at last said, ‘Is there a brew on, wench?’

‘In the pot.’ Melly poured out a cup. She had already taken one to Nurse Waller. She had crept upstairs to the attic, straining not to spill a drop. She hurried in and put the tea
down without even looking at her mother, in bed under the low ceiling, and scooted out again.

‘Thank you very much, dear!’ Nurse Waller called.

Dolly had gone home now, taking Donna with her.

It did not go on for long. By the time Melly had played a few games with Tommy, and Dad did some of his cartoon drawings with Kev, and Kev asked for the umpteenth time if they could get another
dog because their little Jack Russell, Patch, a wanderer and philanderer if ever there was one, had gone and got himself run over and Dad said no, they didn’t need any more mouths to feed or
anything else to flaming well trip over – and they had all tried to close their ears to the footsteps and muffled cries from upstairs – Nurse Waller came down smiling, to tell them that
they had another son and that Mom was in good spirits.

‘Congratulations, Mr, er . . . Booker,’ she said.

‘Is . . . Is he . . . ?’ Danny was sitting forward leaning on his knees, smoke curling up from the cigarette in his hand. He cleared his throat and started again. ‘Is he all
right?’ Melly cringed inwardly at the question. She could see Tommy’s steady gaze on his father.

‘Yes, he’s right as rain,’ Miss Waller said cheerfully. ‘Now – I see you’ve boiled me some more water. What a good girl you are, dear. You could make a
marvellous little nurse one day!’

Melly’s heart seemed to turn somersaults. Could she really be a nurse?

Picking up the steaming basin, a towel over one arm, Nurse Waller went to the foot of the stairs.

‘I’m sure your mother could do with another cup of tea and I really wouldn’t say no to one myself. We’ll just get everyone tidied up and then you can all come up and see
the little fellow.’

As the kettle boiled for tea, the heavy clouds cleared. Slanting spring sunshine managed to hook its way into the house in a sudden blaze of light. The midwife came down and had a quick cup of
tea, saying that mother and baby were both having a nap. Melly stood watching her adoringly. She thought everything about Nurse Waller was wonderful and wished her father would be less brusque with
her. He sat in his shirtsleeves, smoking and looking at the paper, not speaking to her. The young woman went upstairs for a last check before taking her leave. Putting her coat on, she said:

‘Thank you for being my little assistant, Melanie. You’ve kept everyone in order and calm for your mother which is very important. Well done.’ She looked round at them.
‘Leave them be for a while. Perhaps you could go up a bit later?’

Melly watched her leave, feeling as if an angel was departing from the house.

Soon after they’d finished their tea they heard voices in the yard: Dolly greeting Gladys. Then both of them appeared at the door.

‘Yer too late,’ Danny said, looking bashful suddenly in front of the two women. ‘It’s another lad.’

They both came in, asking excited questions. Gladys’s broad-hipped body was wrapped in a brown coat over a long black skirt, her thick salt-and-pepper hair piled up in a bun, fastened back
with combs. She was an imposing figure as she claimed her usual seat at the table from where she could see out over the yard. She was queen of her home and gaffer of the yard. And she had taken all
the rest of them in, first Danny, then Rachel, then all the children one by one.

‘He’s all right?’ Gladys kept her voice light, but Melly saw her eyes meet Danny’s. She glanced at Tommy, thinking,
Don’t you dare say anything else, not in
front of him.
She knew how Tommy felt, that Dad didn’t want him; that he’d never be a man, not the way a man should be.

‘Midwife says he’s all right,’ Danny said.

‘Thank heaven for that.’ Gladys wiped her hands over her face. ‘Is there any tea in the pot, Melly? I could murder a cup. And then we can go up and see the little
feller.’

Rachel lay in bed gazing at her new son. She had said to the midwife that she wanted a nap to delay the moment when the family would come crashing up. She could hear their
voices, a murmur of tones from downstairs punctuated by drips from the leaking roof into several pails and bowls round the room. She was not sleepy. In fact she felt so wide awake at that moment
that it was as if she would never sleep again.

Six and a half pounds, the midwife had said, weighing him. Not a bad weight and good colouring.

‘A fine little fellow,’ she’d said, handing him into Rachel’s arms. ‘That was a good, straightforward birth, wasn’t it, dear? Nothing to worry
about.’

But when Tommy was born, she hadn’t thought there was anything to worry about. He hadn’t fed well, it was true, and he felt different, floppier, but it was only months later when he
didn’t sit up, just hadn’t thrived the way Melly did. Only then, gradually, did they know.

‘You’re an expert now, with your fourth,’ the midwife said.

‘Fourth and last,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m as expert as I need to be.’

She felt like asking Nurse Waller if there was any way she could be sure of putting a stop to babies forever. But how could she come out with such private things and say, my husband is so . . .
Well, he’s so energetic and it’s hard to stop him – I don’t know what to do . . . It was all too embarrassing to know where to begin.

She leaned over and unwrapped the little boy from the white, gossamer blanket Gladys had knitted for him.

‘Hello, Ricky.’ She looked down at him. The sight of him made her smile. ‘Richard Booker. How about that?’ He looked back at her with a dozy expression, his eyes misty
and puzzled looking.

‘Well, you’re a sleepier thing than our Kev was.’ Kev had fizzed with life from the very start, arms and legs going like little pistons.

Anxious, she tried his arms and legs, gently bending and straightening them. She was a fraction reassured. He felt different from Tommy – that was all she could tell for now.

She wrapped him up and settled down beside him, feeling battered and utterly exhausted.

‘Please be all right, littl’un,’ she begged him, her eyes filling with tears. ‘God knows, you’re mine and you’re lovely, but you’d better be the last. I
just can’t stand any more.’

She heard Danny’s feet on the stairs. He came round the door, her tall, wiry husband, his blue eyes full of longing and uncertainty. He came and looked down at them both,
like a big child himself, Rachel thought. However old he grew, the hurt child was always there in Danny. The child thrown into the orphanage by his father and left to rot. God, she loved him, that
she did! Even though he drove her to desperation at times.

‘Is he all right then?’ he asked.

She ached that this was the first question. It hurt her. As if he expected something faulty. No matter how much he pretended to accept Tommy, to be a decent father to him, she knew it always
felt wrong and shameful to him to have fathered such a son, a boy who talked, but in a strange contorted way all of his own, who could only stand to shuffle from chair to chair, who could only
climb the stairs with the greatest effort and difficulty.

Rachel nodded. She must appear sure and strong.

‘He’s all right. He’s lovely, Danny. I thought we’d call him Richard – he looks like a Richard.’

Danny’s face relaxed. He sat down on the bed and took in the sight of his boy.

‘’Ullo, Rich.’ He chucked his cheek gently. The baby twitched in surprise and Danny gave a low laugh. ‘You’re a bit of all right, you are, mate.’

Rachel’s tears flowed down her cheeks. She had given Danny two more sons now – the kind of sons he really wanted.

‘Eh – what’s all this?’ Danny got up to move closer to her and take her in his arms. ‘There’s my wench. You’re all right, ent yer?’

She nodded into his chest, still crying. All through the pregnancy she had felt faint and limp. It was hard ever to get enough to eat. ‘I just want things to be right,’ she sobbed.
‘I don’t want you to leave me.’

Danny stroked her, holding her close. ‘I ain’t going to leave you, Rach,’ he said. He seemed puzzled. ‘Why d’you think I am?’

She couldn’t answer. It was just always a feeling she had. He’d left once before – he could do it again. ‘No more, Danny. No more babbies – please. I’ve had
enough and I keep thinking, with every one, that something will go wrong – something even worse.’

‘All right,’ he said, rocking her. ‘All right, wench.’

They sat clasped together and she felt comforted by him.

‘Eh,’ he said after a while. ‘D’you think he’ll like the
Beano
? He’d better!’

‘Oh,
Dann
y!’ she laughed, wiping her eyes. Danny and his comics.

He grinned at her, his freckly face close to hers. ‘We’d better let Auntie and the littl’uns up to see him.’

Tommy sat in his chair, listening to the sounds from the rest of the family upstairs.

‘We’ll bring him down to you so you can have a look, bab,’ Auntie had told him as they all went up.

He knew they would, but it felt bad being left alone down here. He could haul himself upstairs, but it took him an age. At night, Dad still carried him up to bed. He felt left out – again.
Closer than the sounds of their feet on the bare boards, the exclamations and chatter, he could hear the clock ticking on the mantel. The ticking made him feel lonelier. He looked down at his
hands, his right palm pressed to the tabletop, spread out. His left arm was clenched to his side. He couldn’t control it the way he could his right. The muscles in his arm and hand
wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. When he was writing, which he could do well enough with his right hand, Melly had to weigh down the paper with a cup or a couple of brass weights from
Auntie’s cooking scales, so that the paper didn’t slip about.

‘Tommy’s clever, Mom!’ Melly said to their mother sometimes. ‘Look at him doing his letters.’

Mom would nod in a distracted sort of way. He knew she was pleased – that it turned out he could do more things than she had feared were possible. But still.

Another boy. When Kevin was born, just before Christmas in 1948, Tommy had seen that his father had at last got the son he really wanted. And now, here was another boy. The sort of boy they
wanted – a boy not like him. His eyes filled with tears and he started to get choked up. He wiped his eyes with his right arm. He mustn’t cry – it made it so hard to breathe. He
must just do what he always did – try to swallow his frustration. If he got upset, Mom and Melly were upset too.