Poor Little Rich Girl (47 page)

Dick had his arm around her; now he turned her a little towards him and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘You’re very quiet, queen,’ he said. ‘A lot’s happened today and you don’t want to go making up your mind in a hurry. We’ll talk about it on Saturday, after the pictures. Or would you rather go dancing?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hester said glumly. ‘Can we afford to go to the pictures, or dancing for that matter?’

She expected Dick to laugh, to assure her that they would do one or the other, and received an unpleasant shock when he said thoughtfully: ‘Perhaps we’d best take a walk in the park since the weather’s still nice. When winter comes, we’ll have to be indoors. Will you meet me off the ferry? Or are you on a late shift Saturday?’

‘I’m on earlies,’ Hester said briefly. She felt crushed and defeated by Dick’s obvious acceptance that their marriage could not be planned in the foreseeable
future and for the rest of the evening she was very quiet, immersed in her own thoughts.

‘Letter for you, chuck!’

It was Monday morning and Hester was getting breakfast. She was dressed and ready for work and about to carry two bowls of porridge from the kitchen up to their attic when Eileen hailed her. ‘A letter? Oh, that’s lovely; I expect it’s from Lonnie,’ she said, handing Eileen her porridge and taking the long blue envelope from her friend. ‘I’ll read it when we get upstairs.’

As soon as the two girls were settled on their beds and rapidly spooning porridge, Hester opened the envelope, which proved to be from Rosalind Hetherington-Smith. It was a lovely letter, chatty and full of information, and when Rosalind talked of her and Lonnie riding their ponies through the tall forests and fishing in the rivers which came foaming down from the mountains, Hester felt a real stab of regret that it was not she who had gone to the hills. Having perused the letter carefully and with great enjoyment, she came to a postscript which made her exclaim aloud. ‘Goodness! Oh, how very generous they are!’

‘What is it?’ Eileen asked curiously. She was still waiting for some sign that her baby was on the way, but nothing had happened yet. ‘Are they going to give you a hundred pound?’

Hester laughed. ‘Not exactly, but Mr Hetherington-Smith was horrified to hear how I had been treated and Rosalind has written to suggest that they pay my passage to India for me – first-class too – and then employ me for three months as Lonnie’s governess. She even mentions a salary which is at least double
what I could earn in England. The original plan was that Lonnie should come back to England immediately and go to a good day school, but they’re a bit worried about where she would live. Do you know, I’m quite tempted! Dick wants to put off our wedding until the spring of ‘37 and not meet as often so that we can save every penny, so I might as well be in India earning a small fortune – and enjoying myself because I’ll be doing work I love.’

‘But could you bear to be separated from Dick?’ Eileen asked dubiously. ‘I know I couldn’t bear to be separated from Tom for long.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hester said slowly. ‘Tell you what, Eileen, I’ll put it to Dick this very evening. In fact I’ll tell him that if we aren’t to marry until 1937, then I’m going to accept Rosalind’s generous offer. That would put the ball firmly back in his court. If he really cares about me and wants us to marry, then I think he should agree that eighteen months is too long to wait.’

‘Aye, I reckon you’re right,’ Eileen said. She finished her porridge and stood up, then sat down again abruptly. ‘Ooh! My bleedin’ little passenger kicked me right in the porridge. Made me feel queer for a moment. You’ve got to be in by eight, ain’t you? You’d best gerra move on. I’ll take the plates down to the kitchen and wash ’em up since I’m not due in till later. See you this evenin’, queen.’

When Hester had gone, Eileen lay back on her bed and gazed thoughtfully up at the low ceiling above her. The baby had not kicked her, either in the porridge or elsewhere, but she had been aware for some time of a very odd sensation indeed in her lower back. It wasn’t much; a low, growling sort of
pain, which made her want to hold her breath, but it was soon over and could, she supposed, be put down to sleeping in an unusual position. Nevertheless, she waited until it had gone before carrying the porridge plates down to the kitchen and washing them up.

She was upstairs once more and wondering whether to make herself a sandwich for her midday break when the pain struck again – if you could call it a pain. It isn’t the baby, Eileen comforted herself, sitting down heavily on the bed. Me mam’s told me over and over that the pains is like your stomick bein’ ate up by a tiger, and this pain’s in me back. No, it ain’t the baby, but I’ll just have a bit of a rest on me bed before I gets ready for work.

By three in the afternoon, Eileen could no longer deny that the baby was on its way. Yet still she hesitated, suddenly aware that she did not fancy climbing down the two long flights of stairs in order to fetch help. She thought briefly about calling out, persuading someone to fetch an ambulance, or simply getting a taxi to the nearest home for unmarried mothers, but simply could not face the effort involved, for by now her whole body was racked with pain.

After another half hour, she decided that she was going to have to fend for herself. It took her ages to get out of her shop clothes and back into her nightie but as soon as she had done so she felt a good deal more comfortable. Indeed, the pains actually seemed to have eased and for ten blissful minutes she thought thankfully that the baby had decided not to come after all. Relaxing, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Some time later – she could not have said how long – the pain developed an urgency which she could not
deny.
Push
, it demanded.
Push for all you’re worth or I shall make you regret it. Hold on to the bedstead like they do in all the films and push and push or you’ll die alone up here with no one to help you and the poor little baby will die too
.

Groaning, Eileen squatted on the bed, almost glad to be told what she must do, if only by a mysterious voice in her head. She began to push and the pain reminded her that she must only push at its command; that when it left her she must stay quiet and breathe deeply, restoring her strength for the next effort.

In between the pains, Eileen looked wildly around the room, trying to remember everything she had ever heard her mother say about childbirth. She covered her eyes with her hands and prayed for motherly advice to descend upon her and presently heard her mother’s voice, as she had heard it so often when Mrs O’Farrell’s time was upon her.
Plenty of clean rags, a drawer to put the baby in and heaps and heaps of boiling water
, her mother had said.
A bit of warm blanket to line the drawer, a pair of scissors and some string for the cord – and don’t forget that boiling water!

Obediently, Eileen heaved herself off the bed. She poured water from the blue and white enamel jug into the kettle and set it on the small paraffin stove, which she lit. Then she heaved a box out from under her bed, tipping the contents higgledy-piggledy on the floor, save for one piece of blanket. She found her nail scissors in her handbag and, failing string, removed the laces from her best boots and draped them across her pillow. Just as she completed this last task, another pain hit her, a pain stronger and more demanding than all the rest. Eileen crouched on her haunches, put her forehead down on to her knees and
gave one enormous heave. She felt as though she was splitting in two but suddenly there was easement and glancing incredulously down she was just in time to grab the baby as it was born.

It was weird how astonished she was, almost as though she had never truly believed that there was a child within her, or that she would ever successfully give birth. But after that one blank and breathless moment, Eileen became practical once more. She seized the baby by its tiny feet, dangled it upside down and smacked its small pink bottom. Had she not done so when her younger brothers and sisters had been born? The baby gave an astonishingly loud squall and Eileen reached for the laces. She had cut the cord for her mother and knew the importance of tying it in two places and cutting between them and presently, her task done, she laid the wet and slippery baby on the piece of blanket in the box and pushed it under her bed. She turned to survey the room.

It was a shambles. It looked as though a bloody battle had been fought – as indeed it had – and Eileen remembered why her mother had demanded boiling water. Normally, someone would clear up now, get rid of the things which were no longer needed and bring her a hot cup of tea whilst tucking her and the baby back into bed.

But it ain’t the mum that does things like that, Eileen reminded herself. Anyway, I’m tired to death, I can’t do another thing – it’ll have to wait until one of the girls comes home. And burying her face in the pillow, she fell fast asleep.

As she had said to Eileen, Hester met Dick off the ferry and almost immediately told him about Rosalind’s offer, reading the letter aloud to him as they walked
along. One glance at his face was enough to convince her that he was thunderstruck and appalled. ‘But you can’t even consider it, queen,’ he gasped as soon as he realised that this could mean a long separation. ‘What does the money matter, after all? I want to be with you, not to have you miles and miles away! Why, you’d be bound to meet other fellers and – and who knows what might happen if I weren’t around to keep you on the straight and narrow?’

He probably meant it as a joke but Hester did not find it amusing. ‘How dare you insinuate that I’m the sort of girl to promise to marry one man and then play fast and loose with another,’ she said, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘If you know so little of me that you believe I would behave like that, perhaps we shouldn’t get engaged even, let alone married!’

‘It was a joke; don’t you know a joke when you hear one?’ Dick said. ‘Anyway, you can’t be serious. When folk love one another, they don’t go off to the opposite end of the earth.’

‘You said we might have to see less of each other and you didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the thought,’ Hester reminded him. ‘It’s all right for you to go off and earn extra money, evenings and weekends, but it’s obviously not all right for me. What’s more, if I go to India, I’ll be earning a great deal of money, much more than I could ever earn in Liverpool. I wouldn’t need to spend much because I’d be living in, so I’d be able to save really hard. That means we could easily marry next year – if you still want to, that is.’

‘Of course I still want to, but if I work evenings and weekends …’ Dick was beginning, but Hester would not allow him to start that again.

‘Dick, although Mr Briggs is a very nice man, the
job I’m doing at the moment is terribly hard work and – and not at all the sort of thing I’m used to. I live in a cheap, overcrowded lodging house so that I can begin to build up a bottom drawer for when we’re married and I almost never go out. You said things would be even harder if we meant to try for an earlier wedding, but can’t you see, there’s no need? If I go to India then I’d be having a very good sort of life and
you
wouldn’t need to work every hour that God sends. Don’t you see the advantages?’

‘No I do not,’ Dick shouted, his colour rising. Hester had never seen him so angry. His eyes flashed and his hair seemed to bristle like a dog’s hackles. ‘I’m the feller and it’s the feller who earns the money so’s a couple can get wed! Change your job if you don’t like the bakery, but don’t you go haring off to India. I’m telling you, it’s my duty to earn the money to keep my family and to finance our marriage. If you earn a bit extra that’s fine, but …’

Hester, however, had heard enough. She turned blindly away from Dick just as a tram slowed to a stop beside her. Before she had even thought, she had jumped aboard, the conductor had rung the bell, and they were off, leaving Dick standing, open-mouthed, on the edge of the pavement, gazing after her.

It was sheer luck that the tram on to which Hester had leapt was heading for the Scotland Road and home. Having taken a seat, Hester simply sat there and fumed. How dare Dick refuse to even consider her going back to India in order to earn more money so that they might marry earlier! How dare he insinuate that if she left England she was no longer to be trusted to remain true to him! By insisting that he’d be the main wage earner, he was putting off their marriage
for an indefinite period. Whilst he lived at home, Mrs Bailey could manage well enough. If she and Dick had a nice little savings account which they could use to furnish their home and dip into for any extras, then Dick would still be able to give his mother a good deal of financial support.

Hester glared out of the window at the crowded pavements. She had thought Dick such a generous and understanding man, yet it seemed that his pride would not allow him to let her earn more than he could. Rosalind’s offer had been very generous; she knew she would be able to save ninety-five per cent of it. Hester pressed her burning forehead against the cool window glass and tried to banish the anger and pain she had felt so that she could consider the matter more coolly. Dick worked extremely hard and was a first-rate craftsman. It was not his fault that the Depression in England meant that wages had gone down rather than up. In her heart, she was sure he loved her, knew he wanted to marry her as soon as possible, but realised that in the society in which he lived, men were almost invariably the main earners.

If only he had not made that fatal remark about meeting other fellows! It was natural, she supposed, that he might feel jealous, since the social life in India for young women was known to be very much more exciting than that in England during the Depression. Balls, picnics, expeditions to famous beauty spots, rides, boating trips … she remembered telling the Bailey family when she had first visited them of the innumerable entertainments enjoyed by the British in India. Perhaps she had been wrong to condemn Dick for his feelings. If the boot had been on the other foot …