A Kiss and a Promise (7 page)

‘Right. An’ shall you and me go to see Father McKay and get things sorted out when we finish our dinners?’ Stella asked hopefully. She returned to her suet pastry, rolling it out and then lining the basin with it, before tipping in the prepared apple pieces. Once it was full, she added sugar, then placed the rest of the pastry on top and sealed it down. She was about to envelop it in a pudding cloth when the back door opened and her eldest sister’s cheerful voice remarked that it was perishin’ cold for May, so she had brought them a nice steak pudding which they could boil up for their tea.

Stella sighed; now she would have to tell her story all over again, doubtless to the same shock and recriminations. But there was no point in putting things off. As her sister began to divest herself of her coat, Stella said in a small voice: ‘Mam and meself were just agreein’ that we’d go round to see Father McKay after dinner. We need his advice, because …’

Father McKay would have married them, had he been able to do so, but it was simply not possible because Michael’s ship arrived in Liverpool well before it should have docked, and was due to leave in rather less than two days. This time, however, because of the forthcoming marriage, Michael was actually invited to stay in Victoria Court, and since the room at Marsh Lane was not available he was happy enough to accept.

He felt a trifle uneasy, though his mother-in-law to be kept her lip buttoned for the most part; but since he was home mid-week he did not have to run the gauntlet of Lizzie’s disapproval, for there was no doubt that Lizzie did disapprove, would have urged her mother to forbid the match, had it not been for Stella’s condition.

Stella had told him, as they walked back to Victoria Court from the docks, that he would be sleeping in the boys’ room and not sharing her own small bed. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on my mam,’ she said righteously, and then spoiled the high tone of her remark by adding: ‘But I’ll sneak in once Mam’s asleep because we love one another and want to be together, don’t we?’

Michael agreed, and was so nice to Mrs Bennett that she began to look on him with a little more favour. He did everything in his power to encourage this. Although he was in Liverpool for such a short time, he made sure that it was he who brought in coal from the shed and logs from the woodpile, and he who worked the pump which crouched over the low stone sink.

When Stella came to him that first night, he held her gently in his arms, longing for her but worried in case lovemaking might harm the baby. Stella had no idea, but she had suddenly become aware that life was short and opportunities must not be allowed to slip away. Minnie Thelwell’s husband, Joseph, had been killed in France barely a week before. Now there would be no one to query the fatherhood of her child or to help her rear her family. Stella had gone round to see her and had done what she could to comfort the older girl, but with very little success. ‘It’s a judgement on me,’ Minnie had wailed, with the telegram, already so tear-blotched that it was scarcely readable, in one hand. ‘I went wi’ another chap ’cos my Joe hadn’t been home for so long. I didn’t love the feller – hardly knew him, in fact – but I were desperate for money ’cos Joe’s allotment hadn’t come through and – and he offered me five bob … oh, Stella, I wish with all me heart I’d not done it!’

Once, Stella would have been appalled by Minnie’s story, but now she felt she understood it very much better. To go to bed with a man for money was far worse than what she and Michael had done, she acknowledged that, yet she knew that she herself would commit a crime in order to save Michael from being hungry or cold. And Michael’s child was already dear to her. If that child was hungry, crying for food, and she had no other means of earning, perhaps it was possible that she, too, might sink her pride in order to buy bread.

She did not think, however, that she should share this philosophy with Michael and, indeed, was ashamed of herself for having let such a thought even enter her head. The trouble was, having heard Minnie’s sad little story, she had begun to realise, for the first time, that Michael, too, was just a pawn in the great game of war. His ship might be sunk by enemy action, he might be swept overboard by an enormous wave, a torpedo could strike the ship or gunfire from an enemy vessel might kill him as he worked on deck. She had heard of seamen being killed in dockside brawls, dying in a dozen different ways, gone for ever because of some foolish accident which would never have happened in peacetime.

On the day following his return she had meant to go to work as usual but decided she could not bear to do so. He would be here so short a time, and was so precious to her! So she paid little Laurie Gittins to take a message to Miss Ellison saying that she was sick but would return to work as soon as she was fit enough. Then the pair of them set off for a full day out together, catching a tram which took them into the beautiful May countryside. Stella had packed a picnic which they ate sitting on a stile, content with each other’s company and enjoying the sweet smell of the air whilst they talked and talked and talked, for it was as though each could never learn enough about the other. And then there was Michael’s home to be described in loving detail, the brownish photograph of his parents on their wedding day to be mulled over to see which one he most closely resembled, the tales which Mrs Bennett had told her daughter about the father she could not remember.

It was a wonderful, unforgettable day, yet when it was over and Stella lay in her own small bed, waiting for the moment when her mother’s snores would echo through the thin partition between their bedrooms, announcing that it would be safe for her to go to Michael up in the large attic room her brothers had once shared, she was filled with a dreadful sadness, a feeling that fate had something dark and distressing in store for her.

She fought the feeling alone for a while, then made her way slowly and carefully up the creaking attic stairs and slid into Michael’s bed. He was waiting for her, and took her at once into a warm embrace, but even his arms, his closeness, could not entirely dispel her feeling of unnamed dread.

‘You’re crying, alanna,’ Michael said presently, his big, warm palm clearing the tears from her cheek. ‘You mustn’t cry! Oh, sure and I know we’ve not managed to get married this time, and I’ll be gone tomorrow so I shall, but that’s no reason to cry! Wit’ a bit o’ luck I’ll be back in port again before the babe’s born, and you’re over the worst, haven’t you said so a dozen times? Your mam knows, your sister Lizzie knows, even the priest knows … and we’ll be married just as soon as may be, haven’t I promised it over and over?’

‘Ye-es,’ Stella snuffled, pushing her head into the hollow of his shoulder and trying to sound more confident than she felt. ‘Oh, but I don’t want you to go back to the
Thunderbolt
tomorrow, my darlin’ Michael! I don’t want to have the baby all by meself, with only my mam to help me! Suppose … oh, suppose something awful happens to me? Women do die in childbirth! Or – or suppose something happens to
you
, my dear love? I’d not want to live if you were killed.’

‘Now this is silly so it is. You’re workin’ yourself into a state, girleen, and there’s no need for it, indeed there is not! I’ve got through the war so far – the
Thunderbolt
is a lucky ship so she is – and I mean to go on to the bitter end wit’out a scratch so I do. As for dyin’ in childbirth, I forbid it, d’you hear? You’re goin’ to be just fine, and I’ll be sendin’ money back to you so’s you can have the kid in hospital if you want; or, if not, so you can have a good doctor in attendance and not one of them old gals what reckon to birth babies when they’ve a pint of gin inside ’em and no idea of modern methods.’

This made Stella laugh and presently, in a tangle of limbs and with her thumb in her mouth, she fell asleep. They woke in good time in the morning so that Stella was back in her own room a long while before Mrs Bennett so much as stirred, and was downstairs making the breakfast early, so that Michael might have egg and bacon before he left. But as she bustled about the kitchen she was still anxious, and when at last they set off for the dock she had to be very firm with herself not to show her feelings to Michael. She clung to his arm, gazing up into his face as though she might never see it again. Once more, Stella had meant to go in to work as soon as she had seen Michael to the dock, but she found herself most unwilling to do so, for though she had said nothing to Michael her dreams had been frightening the previous night, with a ship afire, men jumping from her sides and being lost in the dark waters, and the terrifying noise of the rough sea, the roaring flames and men’s despairing cries turning it into a nightmare. No, she would stay with Michael just as long as she could.

So the two of them sat on a pile of planks until Michael had to leave, then they kissed hungrily and Michael ran up the gangway and disappeared into the bowels of the vessel whilst Stella was left to make her way home, sick with fear for him.

That night her dreams were in truth nightmares; she came down to the kitchen to make her mother’s breakfast, pale and shaking, for she had had a ghastly one in which a ghostly Michael had woken her from a sound sleep to announce that he was dead and would never see either her or their newborn babe again. Making porridge and brewing the tea, Stella tried to convince herself that such dreams were the result of her unhappiness at seeing him leave, knowing the danger into which he and the
Thunderbolt
went, that everything would be just fine. But she was still miserably unconvinced when her mother came slapping downstairs in her old slippers, with one fewer shawl than usual because it was a warm day.

‘Don’t be daft, queen,’ Mrs Bennett said cheerfully, when Stella admitted that she had had bad dreams and feared for Michael’s safety. ‘He’s a grand, strong young feller and the ship’s a sturdy sort o’ vessel. Stop worritin’ over nothin’ and write him a cheerful letter. As for the babe, aren’t you just like meself, with a grand pair of hips for childbearing and good health beside? To my knowledge – and I should know if anyone does – you’ve never ailed a day in your life!’

This was true; despite a frail, almost ethereal appearance, Stella had never suffered anything more serious than a head cold, and that had disappeared in less than three days. And Michael was strong and could, he had told her, swim like a fish. No use worrying, no use making herself ill over foolish fancies.

Yet for many weeks, as her body thickened and the child within her quickened, Stella was convinced that she had held and kissed Michael for the last time, that she would never see him again. But his letters continued to arrive sporadically, and there was no bad news about the
Thunderbolt
, and when, at the end of September, Stella’s labours began, she was beginning to hope. She took to her bed and the midwife was summoned, and before the doctor could arrive Stella’s baby was born, a fine strong little girl, perfect in every way. She was doted on by her mother and grandmother, and her Aunt Lizzie came hurrying over from Birkenhead to worship at this very new shrine. Stella had left Grundy’s when her condition became obvious, but her friends called on her and most envied her the beautiful, healthy baby.

‘I’m calling her Virginia Margaret,’ Stella wrote to Michael. ‘She’s the dearest thing in the world, apart from you, darling Michael, and the prettiest. She has skin like milk, huge blue eyes – only they may change to brown, because Mam says all babies have blue eyes – and a rosebud mouth. Her hair is silky, soft and sweet smelling, and her little nose … well, it’s a little button really, but you can tell it will be the nicest, neatest nose a girl could desire when she’s a bit older. Oh, you’re going to love her so much, Michael … only you aren’t to love her more than you love me – that’s not allowed. I want to call her Virginia because it’s such a pretty name, but I suppose they’ll call her Ginny for short; folk from Liverpool always shorten names. Mam and Lizzie say Virginia is too fancy – what do you think? Mam wanted to call me Virginia, but everyone thought it was too fancy then, and Lizzie said it made her think of Gin and Tonic. But our little girl … well, she definitely has a look about her of yourself … I can’t wait to see your face when you find what a pretty creature we’ve made between us!’

Because of her overwhelming happiness at the baby’s birth and perhaps also because she was so busy, Stella’s nightmares had become a thing of the past. With great placidity she fed and changed her baby, walking up and down with Virginia over her shoulder when the little mite had wind, washing an interminable supply of nappies and taking the child for airings in an ancient perambulator she had bought second-hand from Paddy’s Market. She had never been a keen needlewoman, but now she bought cheap off-cuts and end-of-roll material and painstakingly stitched baby gowns. She knitted tiny jackets and little pink bootees and, as the weeks passed, she got herself a job, cleaning and serving behind the counter at a local pub to augment the money Michael sent. She took the baby with her at such times because, fond though her mother claimed to be of the baby, her standards of care were not high and Stella knew that her mother could – and would – sleep through the baby’s most indignant howls.

Cleaning and serving in a pub was harder work and far less congenial than her job at Grundy’s had been, but it was more convenient. Grundy’s would never have permitted her to take the baby to work and Stella could not bear even the thought of being parted, for hours at a time, from her little one. So she fashioned a sling to carry the baby and scrubbed floors, made up fires and carted heavy coals and water with the greatest good humour and was very happy.

Michael received the letter, which had followed him from port to port, and told all his pals that his intended had had a baby. Some of them gave him odd looks but most congratulated him. Friends like Toby knew he had meant to marry on his last leave and felt sorry for the little girl he had left behind, still unwed, when the
Thunderbolt
sailed, but they did not say so to Michael and perhaps, knowing that her man was at sea, the critics would be less censorious than they might otherwise have been, or so they hoped.