Born of Woman (62 page)

Charles was frowning. ‘But you only left the first week in September.'

‘Yeah. Quick work, wasn't it? I met him the very first day I arrived—went out to get some fags and there he was, hanging around outside the tobacconist's. It was sort of … meant, I reckon.'

‘What's his name?' Hugh asked.

Susie kicked Jennifer under the table. ‘Oz—short for Oswald. Classy, isn't it? Oswald Oscar Blenkins.'

Robert giggled. ‘That's a funny name.'

‘Nothing wrong with it.'

‘Has he got a motorbike?'

‘Course. Wouldn't marry a bloke without one. A Harley Davidson 1200.
And
a Lotus Elan.'

‘Gosh! You lucky dog. A Lotus!'

‘I'd rather have the bike. D'you think he'd let me try it?' Charles was pleading.

‘'Fraid not. He's … er … left it up at Great Yarmouth. Lent it to his brother. He's only working down here for a month or two. He's a photographer, you see—one of the really top ones—and he gets better jobs in London, working with all the debs and film stars and famous fashion models. We're trying to save all we can at present—' Susie looked convincingly coy—‘Now we're starting a family.'

Vera was pouring tea for eight. ‘When's the baby due, Susie?'

‘Oh, not till … er … late spring. Actually, it's … twins. That's why I'm so big.'

Vera overflowed a cup. ‘Twins? Good gracious me! You will be busy.'

All five boys were staring now. Christopher put his cup down. ‘My g … guinea pig had twins,' he said. ‘But b … both of them died and then the m … mother ate the c … corpses.'

Jennifer swallowed. ‘Does … er … no one want any cakes? You've all get empty plates.'

Susie pushed back her chair. ‘I do. I'm ready for my second tea and you lot have hardly started. Race you to the table!'

All the boys stampeded after her. Jennifer slumped back in her chair, stole a glance at Vera. She looked her usual placid self, seemed to have accepted Susie's story without undue suspicion. She probably had her doubts about the date of Susie's confinement, but was too polite to voice them. They would all be relayed to Anne as soon as she got back, of course, but at least the baby was legitimate now, Susie safely married. There would still be the problem of killing off the twins, but she refused to plot that now. She mopped her face with her napkin. She felt as if she had been sitting under searchlights.

‘Aren't you eating, Jennifer?'

‘I've … er … had enough already, thanks. How about you?'

‘No, I'm trying to lose a bit of weight. I've never had a sweet tooth, anyway. This is the last place I'd ever choose to come, to tell the truth, but Anne had it all arranged and she didn't want to disappoint the boys.'

‘What's wrong with her, exactly? She seemed fine when I saw her last.'

‘Difficult to say. I suspect it's mainly stress. She's been worrying a great deal over Matthew—he's really in a state—and she works far too hard, in any case. I don't know I'm born, I suppose, with no job and just one child. How she copes with four and all that pressure in the office, I'll never understand.' Vera paused for breath and a gulp of tea. ‘I only hope
Susie's
going to manage. I mean, she's not much more than a child herself, and twins are quite a handful. She's
very
big, isn't she? Did Anne not know she was married, by the way? She never mentioned it.'

‘No—well—Susie didn't tell anyone, you see. She's been … out of touch. I only knew myself a day or two ago. She'd just come down to London with her husband and I bumped into her at … er … Charing Cross.'

‘Is her husband
really
a top photographer? I mean, she used to hang around with very scruffy types, or so Anne was always complaining. Mind you, Susie's quite a stunner, isn't she, and those photographer chappies always go for looks. I'm glad she's done so well for herself.' Vera drained her cup.

‘Look, my dear, could I ask you a favour? Would you be an angel and hold the fort here while I dash to the Toy Department? I want to get Christopher's present without him seeing—and just a couple of other tiny things. I tried to do some shopping earlier, but it wasn't easy with all five boys in tow. I won't be long, I promise.'

‘No, that's fine. Take your time, please.' Jennifer almost laughed out loud in relief. Far better to be alone with just the boys. They would ask fewer awkward questions and with any luck she could steer them away from the subject of husbands and babies altogether. They were approaching the table now—Susie just behind—giggling and ragging each other, plates piled high with cakes.

Susie put her plate down, then whispered something to Hugh, who repeated it to Robert, who passed it on to Charles.

‘Just going for a pee,' mouthed Susie. The boys collapsed in fits.

She was back in just two minutes.

‘That was quick,' said Jennifer. ‘You can't even have got to the door.'

‘Ssshh …' said Susie. ‘Listen!'

There was a sudden crash of chords from the piano and then the strains of
Happy Birthday To You
tinkled across the room.

Susie grinned. ‘They're playing your tune—see?'

‘Oh, Susie, you didn't
ask
?'

‘Course I did. Why not? Hush up now and enjoy it.'

The pianist had started the tune a second time. All the boys joined in now with the words, Charles waving his knife around as a conductor's baton. Jennifer blushed crimson. Everyone was looking at her. Yet she was touched, despite herself. Her birthday was official now, truly celebrated. Susie had placed a gigantic piece of sticky chocolate gâteau on her plate.

‘And that's your birthday cake. Sorry about the candles. You'll have to imagine those.'

Robert screwed up his eyes, drew in his breath and let out a huge puff.' ‘All blown out!' he said.

Everybody laughed. Jennifer picked up her fork and started on the gâteau. ‘Right,' she said. ‘Since it's my birthday, we all get a wish.'

The boys sat silent for a moment with their eyes shut. Jennifer couldn't wish herself. There were too many priorities clashing in her head, too many people clamouring for good fortune—Lyn, Susie, the baby, Edward, Matthew … She bit into her cake, smiled around at the five cropped heads. At least she had her family.

Hugh was standing up. ‘Can anyone request a tune? Or does it have to be your birthday?'

‘Don't see why not. Go and charm the pianist.'

‘I don't know what to ask for, though.'

Jennifer was filling cups. ‘How about
Baby mine
? For Susie's baby—babies.'

‘Never heard of it.'

‘It's from
Dumbo
. The mother elephant sings it to her baby.'

‘Thanks a lot, Jen! I know I'm big, but …'

Hugh made a face. ‘I'm not going to ask for that. It sounds worse than wet.
You
go, Robert.'

‘I'll go.' Jennifer stood up. The pianist looked lonely—a sad old man, cut off from all the feasting, sequestered at his piano in the corner. No one was taking much notice of him. He was just background music, part of the general ambience, like the Christmas decorations.

She stood behind his shoulder, watched his gnarled fingers race across the keys. ‘Thank you for your playing,' she said. ‘I've really enjoyed it.'

He smiled, continued the finale to
The Lady Is A Tramp
.

‘I wondered if you could play
Baby Mine
? You know, the thing from
Dumbo
. It's for a very special baby.'

‘Of course, Madam. What's the baby's name?'

Jennifer paused. ‘S … Susannah,' she murmured. Why had she said that? The baby wasn't even born, and when it was, the adoptive parents would select the name themselves. They were bound to get it wrong—choose something trivial or commonplace. She wanted the child to have a romantic name. Susannah had been both beautiful and beloved, and somehow connected with them all. She had been Matthew's mother, Hester's predecessor, the boys' long-deceased and never-seen grandmother, the young and alluring mistress of Hernhope. Even Lyn had had a strange and special tie with her—worshipped her ghost and memory as a boy. Susannah would come to life again if the baby bore her name. And it was close to Susie's own name, so the child would retain something of its mother.

The pianist was easing his cramped fingers before launching into the melody. Jennifer leant against the wall, mouthed the words of the song.

Baby mine, don't you cry;
Baby mine, dry your eye.

She felt close to tears herself, tried to blink them back as the whole bustling restaurant blurred and trembled. The baby
wasn't
hers, would soon be snatched away by some anonymous Super-Mum. The pianist was spoiling the tune, jazzing it up with unfeeling syncopation. The words were sickly, sentimental. Susie would have scoffed at them, the boys described them as ‘worse than wet'. But she was crying for something beyond the easy sentiment.

You're so precious to me
,
Cute as can be
…

The child
was
precious, worth waiting for, worth working for, even if she only caught a glimpse of it before it was handed over to a Mr and Mrs X. It was no good her resenting them, when she couldn't rival what they had to offer. The baby's interests must come first. It needed two parents to cherish it, a double dose of security to undo its unlucky birthright, a stable settled home with everything checked and vetted. Maybe she could somehow get to know them, find out where they lived and become a sort of Auntie to the child. Aunts could be important—second only to mothers.

She closed her eyes, shut out everything but the tune's refrain.

Baby of mine,
Baby of …

She jumped. Someone was tugging at her arm. It was Charles, face flushed, tie askew, his normally quiet voice rising in panic.

‘Auntie Jennifer—quick! It's Susie. Something's
happened
to her. She's having dreadful pains and …'

Jennifer dashed across the room and back to their table, hearing the tune swoop and gallop after her in almost mocking irony. Susie was slumped across two chairs, clutching at her stomach. Her face was creased with pain, little drops of sweat beading her forehead. Several waitresses had gathered round, customers interrupting each other, trying to take charge.

‘Take her to the rest room …'

‘Phone a doctor …?'

‘Isn't there a doctor
here
…?'

Jennifer pushed through. ‘What's wrong, Susie? What happened?' She tried to keep calm, block out the sickening image of her own miscarriage.

‘Help, Jen! I've got these awful cramping pains. They came on suddenly and …'

‘Try and relax, darling. You must stay quiet. Can you manage to do your breathing? In, two, three, four … nice and slowly—remember what they told you. Now you stay here while I go and phone an ambulance. I'll only be a moment.'

‘No, don't go away! Don't leave me.' Susie was almost sobbing now. Robert burst into tears himself.

‘
I
‘ll go, my dear.' The fat woman in fox furs was one of the crowd of onlookers. ‘There's a phone-box on the landing by the picture gallery.'

‘It's out of order,' chipped in someone else. ‘I've just been trying to use it myself. You can't get any dialling tone. And there's mile-long queues by all the other phones.'

‘Hurry!' groaned Susie.

‘Look, I'll take her to the hospital.' A younger woman with reddish hair already had her coat on and was fumbling for her car keys. ‘My car's parked just two streets away. It'll be quicker than an ambulance by the time we've found a phone and then waited for them to get here.'

‘Yes, but maybe an ambulance would be safer—you know, in case she needs …'Jennifer's voice trailed off. Mustn't frighten Susie.

‘The baby's not due yet, is it?' The red-haired woman sounded mercifully calm.

‘No.' Jennifer lowered her voice. She didn't want the boys to hear. ‘Still seven weeks to go. But …'

‘Let me drive her, then. She'll be OK. I've had four myself, you know.'

The boys were looking scared and cowed. More and more people were crowding round their table, offering suggestions and advice.

‘Look, please move back. My friend can hardly breathe.' Jennifer picked up a glass of water, held it to Susie's lips. ‘Come on, darling, try a little sip. This lady's very kindly offered to drive you to a hospital. D'you think you can walk just as far as the lift?'

‘Y … yeah, I s'pose so.'

Jennifer turned back to the boys. ‘Now you stay here until Mrs Chenies gets back. Tell her not to worry. I'll phone her from the hospital and explain what's happened. All right?' She took Susie's arm. ‘Lean on me, Susie, and get up very slowly. That's it. Feel OK?'

Susie nodded, took one faltering step, then let out a sudden piercing yell. ‘Oh, Christ! Oh, help! The baby's sort of … shifted. I'm going to have it, Jen—I know I am—I'm going to have my baby in bloody H … Harrods!'

Tiny beads of blood trickled on to the scuffed and dusty lino of the Casualty Department. Jennifer sat and watched them—droplets pooling, darkening, turning from scarlet into stain. The muscly youth beside her was bleeding from the arm and leg, the tall one opposite had two black eyes and was nursing a badly swollen wrist. There had been a fight after a soccer match and the place was full of brawny drunken football fans. The worst cases had been rushed through to the emergency room. Susie was in there with them, the doors firmly shut and insisting NO ADMITTANCE. Jennifer had been told to wait. She had been waiting, waiting, waiting ever since. She had tried to make enquiries, check on Susie's state, but the nurses, rushing to and fro, had only time for patients.