The Londoners (38 page)

‘I’ll be able to tell when it’s time to send for him,’ she said confidently. ‘Will you help me get things ready? I need to strip the bed and put newspapers on the
mattress. And then I need to fold some flannel sheets into thick pads and . . .’

‘Sit down.
Sit down.
I’ll do it.’ He ran a hand through his short, crinkly hair. ‘Where do you keep the sheets?’ he asked, wondering if he should try and
get a message to Ellen Pierce; if he should contact Harriet Godfrey.

‘In the airing-cupboard on the landing. And there’s no need for me to sit down. The more I walk around, the sooner the baby is likely to put in an appearance.’

He didn’t even attempt to argue with her. Instead he turned on his heel, heading for the stairs. He had twenty-four hours before he had to be aboard his ship. Would the baby be born within
twenty-four hours? Despite her insistence that it wasn’t necessary, wouldn’t the most sensible course of action be for him to contact Doctor Roberts?

He opened the airing-cupboard. The flannel sheets were folded neatly on a slatted-shelf next to a pile of cotton sheets and pillowcase covers. He scooped them up into his arms. God Almighty, but
it was worse than being under fire! How could she possibly be so serene about it all? Was it because no-one had told her of the difficulties that could be involved? It certainly didn’t sound
as if Roberts had troubled to explain much to her.

When he went into her bedroom with his cargo it was to find her already stripping the bed of its blankets and sheets. She turned her head as he entered the room, a smile on her face. Then she
gasped, sucking in her breath, her hand shooting out to grasp the brass knob of her bed-head.

‘
What is it?’
He crossed the room swiftly towards her, tumbling the sheets on to the bed as he did so. ‘Is it another one? How long is that since the last one? Should
they be coming so quick, so soon?’

Her voice, when she finally answered him, was not quite as confident as it had been. ‘I don’t know. Carrie would know . . .’

She very rarely spoke of Carrie because to speak of Carrie was to open herself up to more hurt and pain than she could bear.

He said, knowing the sense of loss she was feeling; knowing that it was Carrie she needed with her at a time like this, not a ham-handed male, ‘Go back downstairs and make yourself a cup
of tea. I’ll see to the bed. And when I’ve seen to the bed, I’ll go round and have a word with Doctor Roberts.’

This time she didn’t suggest that it wasn’t yet necessary. With a hand to the drumming throb in the middle of her back, she said, ‘Would you like a cup, too? And a
sandwich?’ Husky laughter entered her voice. ‘You’d better take me up on that last offer. It might be quite some time before I’m able to offer again!’

Even before she had lumberingly made her way to the foot of the stairs he had completed her interrupted task of stripping the bed. Newspapers. Where were the newspapers? He looked around the
room and saw them, neatly stacked and tied with string by the side of her dressing-table.

With ship-shape neatness he spread them deeply and evenly over the mattress, then he folded the flannel sheets into thick pads and laid them over the top of the newsprint. Though she
hadn’t specifically told him to do so he then tucked a spotlessly clean cotton sheet over the protected mattress. The result looked intimidatingly surgical but he doubted if she wanted a top
sheet putting back on the bed and he had the common sense to realize that she certainly wouldn’t want dust-harbouring blankets putting back on it.

He ran a hand through his tight-knit hair again. His cup of tea and sandwich could wait. He was going straight to Doctor Roberts’ surgery. Kate’s pains were coming too close together
for him to be able to rely on the old adage that first babies took their time. This one might very well not be doing. It might, instead, be just about to give him the most spectacular send-off to
sea he’d ever experienced.

‘Miss Voigt?’ Mrs Roberts stressed the ‘Miss’. ‘It’s a first baby, isn’t it? I’ll tell my husband, when he returns. I
don’t anticipate that being until late afternoon, but if Miss Voigt has only just gone into labour it will be plenty soon enough.’

She began to close the door and Leon strategically placed a foot so that she couldn’t do so. ‘Kate’s pains are coming quite close together. And they seem to be fairly strong.
Strong enough to take her breath away. I’d like to have Doctor Roberts’ opinion. If you could tell me whereabouts to find him . . .’

‘There’s a war on!’ Mrs Roberts’ face had now become openly hostile. ‘Or perhaps, not being British, you hadn’t noticed? When my husband returns from his
rounds I will tell him that Miss Voigt’s baby is on its way. He certainly won’t want disturbing with the news sooner than is absolutely necessary.’

Leon’s face was as expressionless as a mask. He should have realized the kind of reaction he might meet with. No doubt Mrs Roberts believed him to be the baby’s father. The distaste
in her eyes certainly indicated that she did so. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he turned his back on her, not lowering himself to state that he was as British as she was. He knew the Mrs
Robertses of this world and he knew that remaining to argue with her wouldn’t do him, or Kate, the slightest good. It would only make her even more intransigent. As the local Air Raid Warden,
Mr Nibbs would no doubt be aware of Doctor Roberts’ whereabouts. He’d have a word with him. After he had first gone back home to check on Kate.

She was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, her hands gripping the seat, her back arched, her eyes closed, Hector whimpering at her feet.

‘Kate!’ He crossed the kitchen in swift strides and squatted down in front of her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his voice harsh with urgency. ‘Is there anything I
can do?’

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. ‘No,’ she managed at last, her voice a gasp. ‘Poor Hector can’t understand what’s wrong. Where is Doctor Roberts? Is he
on his way?’

‘He’s on his rounds. His wife refused to say whereabouts. The men at the ARP post will know.’ He had never felt more helpless or inadequate in his life. ‘I’m going
up there now, Kate. I’ll be back with him as fast as is humanly possible. Do you want me to help you upstairs before I go? Have you banged on the wall to try and attract Harriet
Godfrey’s attention?’

She let out a long, shuddering sigh as the pain eased. Opening her eyes, she said tautly, ‘Harriet’s not in. She’s on duty. She was leaving her house when the postman delivered
your letter.’

There were beads of sweat on her forehead and he felt his stomach turn a sickening somersault. If the contractions she was experiencing were merely early warning contractions, then he was a
Dutchman. This baby wasn’t going to take a long, leisurely time over being born. It was going to make its appearance in the world in the least possible time.

‘Could you help me upstairs, Leon?’ There was a look of apology in her eyes. ‘I’m going to have to lean on you pretty heavily.’

His throat tightened. He wanted to tell her that she could lean on him for as long and as heavily as she wanted; that she could lean on him for the rest of her life. He said instead,
‘I’m going to need to put my arm round your waist. Is that OK? I won’t be hurting the baby, will I?’

She giggled and the knowledge that she still felt capable of giggling infinitely reassured him. It meant that despite the pain of the contractions, she wasn’t afraid. And he didn’t
want her to be afraid. Not ever.

‘What waist?’ she asked, heaving herself to her feet to Hector’s vast relief. ‘I haven’t had a waist since last summer. And no, you won’t hurt the
baby.’

He slid his arm around her and she leaned against him. It was the closest physical contact there had ever been between them. He only wished to God it was taking place under different
circumstances.

‘No,’ she said when they reached the top of the stairs and he began to lead her towards her bedroom, Hector bounding ahead of them. ‘I need the bathroom, Leon. I need to take a
bath.’

He sucked in his breath, appalled at how little he had realized the necessity of her having a woman with her. He couldn’t help her in and out of the bath and she damn sure wasn’t in
any state to manage on her own.

She said gently, reading his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them out loud, ‘I can manage, Leon. Try and find Doctor Roberts. I think I’m going to need him quite
soon.’

He’d never been more reluctant to leave anyone in all his life. ‘Don’t lock the bathroom door,’ he said tautly. ‘Just to be on the safe side. Don’t try and
get in or out of the bath if you feel a contraction coming on. Don’t . . .’

‘Go,’ she said as the pain in her back intensified and she felt another contraction beginning to gather up steam.

He took one look at her face and the urgency in her eyes. ‘I’m going,’ he said, turning on his heel, praying to God that the leg he had injured would be strong enough to stand
up to a desperate run.

Kate turned on the geyser over the bath, thankful that, unlike in the East End, Magnolia Square’s gas mains were still intact. As the contraction took hold and as the
blessedly hot water began to run into the bath, she sank to her knees, leaning her weight on the edge of the bath, breathing deeply. How long were the contractions lasting for? She wasn’t
wearing a watch and she didn’t know.

She dropped her head down over the steaming water. She mustn’t fight the pain. To fight the pain would be to brace her muscles against it and that would be to hinder what her body was
trying to achieve. Hector pressed up close against her, disturbed and distressed. She sucked in another lungful of air and then let her breath out in a harsh pant. She should have asked Leon to
time one of the contractions. Leon. Without Leon where on earth would she be? The answer came immediately.
Frightened.
She would be frightened. But it was impossible to be frightened when
Leon was with her. ‘
Hurry!
’ she said aloud as the contraction began to ebb and she forced herself again to her feet in order to turn off the geyser. ‘
Hurry, Leon!
Hurry and get back to me!
’

Leon was hurrying. Despite having been declared fit enough to return to active service he still had a slight limp and he cursed it heartily as, hampered by it, he sprinted as fast as he was able
for the Heath.

Giant silver barrage balloons were tethered near to the ARP post. It was a breezy, damp day and instead of riding high in the sky in their efforts to keep enemy aircraft at a high altitude, the
balloons were floating nose to wind a mere few hundred feet up, surging restlessly in the rushing air, their stabilizing fins flapping furiously.

‘What’s the rush?’ Mr Nibbs asked authoritatively as Leon burst in on him.

Leon had no intention of launching into a long explanation. ‘I need to get hold of Doctor Roberts,’ he gasped, panting for breath. ‘Fast. Do you know whereabouts he
is?’

‘Down Point Hill. A bomb-damaged house has collapsed and a woman and child have been injured.’

Leon sucked a deep breath of air into his lungs and spun on his heel.

‘
He won’t want distracting from what he’s doing down there,’
Mr Nibbs called out after him and then, as Leon showed no intention of respecting his authority, he
added bad-temperedly beneath his breath, ‘especially by a bloomin’ darky!’

At least Point Hill wasn’t far. Leon pounded over the grass of the Heath and then over pavement, grateful for all the effort he had put into strengthening his leg. The minute the ruin of
what had once been a family house came into view, his heart sank. The front wall had cascaded down across the pavement and into the road. Brick-dust and plaster-dust hung heavily in the air. Air
Raid Wardens helped by members of the Home Guard had formed a human chain and were dismantling the wreckage brick by brick. A small group were squatted precariously on the highest point of the
collapsed building, peering down into a chasm, indicating that at least one person was still trapped in the ruins.

‘Stay away, if you please!’ a policeman called out to him, confirming his worst fears.

‘I’m looking for Doctor Roberts!’ Leon shouted back, taking no notice of him. ‘Is he here? I need a word with him, urgently!’

‘He’s here but he’s in no position to indulge in small talk,’ the policeman said grimly. ‘We’ve a young mother and child trapped beneath this little lot. The
kiddie’s hurt badly and Roberts is giving what aid he can.’

‘I still need to speak to him!’ Leon’s heart, already slamming after his long run, began to slam even faster. Roberts wasn’t going to be able to leave until the woman and
child had been extricated and taken to hospital. It was a task that could take minutes . . . or hours. He was going to have to get the name and address of a midwife off Roberts or, failing that, he
was going to have to get Kate to the nearest hospital.

‘One of Doctor Roberts’ patients is in labour,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s her first baby.’

The policeman snorted, not unsympathetically. ‘Women! I’ve never known one yet that had a proper sense of timing. You’d best ask Roberts what he wants you to do. Only
don’t offer my services. Things are bad enough as it is without my turning my hand to midwifery!’ With a nod of his head he indicated the group of rescue-workers squatting high on the
rubble.

‘Careful, mate!’ one of the men shouted as Leon began to make his way carefully towards them. ‘They’re trapped in what was the kitchen. The nipper was playing house
apparently and her mum had come to tell her she shouldn’t be playing in a bombed-out building when the whole ruddy lot went.’ He eyed Leon’s navy cable-knitted sweater
short-sightedly. ‘Are you fire-service or ambulance?’

‘Neither,’ Leon said, treading very, very carefully in order not to cause a fresh tumble of rubble and make a dire situation catastrophic. ‘But I need an urgent word with
Doctor Roberts.’

‘You’ll have to shout your urgent word,’ an Air Raid Warden who had been listening to the conversation, said tersely. ‘We’ve lowered Roberts into the kitchen and
he’s giving first aid to the kiddie. She’s trapped,’ he added unnecessarily as Leon clambered to his side, ‘and we aren’t going to be able to get her out till this
little lot,’ he indicated the devastation around them with a jerk of his thumb, ‘is carted away.’