Charity (31 page)

‘I’ll blow all my money on a fabulous dress and knock everyone dead.’

‘I’m going back home,’ Rita said, her eyes downcast. ‘I’ll let Dad buy me loads of new clothes. I’ll go out and get very drunk and find a man to tell me lots of pretty lies. Then I’ll find a decent job and try to settle down to what my parents want.’

The windows were all wide open to catch the breeze; often the babies lay out in their cots on the veranda in just vests and nappies. The girls no longer wanted to go down to John Lewis and look at clothes or try makeup. Instead they prepared a box each for their baby’s clothes. Dorothy covered hers in imitation crocodile-skin paper.

‘They’ll know by that she had a classy mum.’ She laughed, but it sounded hollow. ‘I wonder if they’ll keep these things to show her when she’s grown up?’ she said, tying a little bell on pink ribbon round the neck of a teddy bear.

Charity saw her kiss the bear as she put it in the box, saw her tears as she unpicked her initials from the pile of nappies, and wondered if she could be so brave when her time came.

Charity’s two friends left on the same day, Dorothy with her social worker, Rita with Miss Frost. Their cases were packed into the car boot: both were going home to their parents, straight after handing over the babies.

Dorothy left first.

‘Don’t come out to the car,’ she said to Charity as they dressed Samantha the final time. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’

Samantha had a pink frilly dress with matching bootees and Charity put the white shawl round her and laid her in the cot so she could hug her friend.

‘Write and tell me what you decide.’ Dorothy struggled not to cry as they embraced. ‘I wish I could tell you what I feel about you and how much I wish we were leaving together.’

She broke away and picked up Samantha.

‘I’ll never forget anything,’ she said. ‘You do know what I mean, don’t you?’

Charity watched from the veranda as Dorothy climbed into the car and saw that little spiky-haired dark head nestled against her friend’s breast. Tears crept down her cheeks.

Rita’s leaving was more emotional.

‘I couldn’t have coped without you,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s not fair I won’t be here to help you. Ring me the minute you get out of here. If you keep Daniel, I’ll help you.’

Her face was blotchy, but her red hair shone like burnished copper as she walked down the steps with Warren in her arms. She had a new expensive emerald green dress with a pleated skirt and tonight she would be sitting down to dinner in Hampstead Garden Suburb, trying to pretend the past few months ‘working in Scotland’ had been thrilling.

One pale hand raised in farewell as she got in the car and Miss Frost’s head obscured her. Charity turned away and went back to Daniel in the nursery.

The nursery didn’t fill up again. Dee had a little girl called Frances and her parents came and took her straight home from hospital, despite everything they’d said. Sally’s boyfriend turned up and gave her an engagement ring and two days later she went home.

There was the full complement of pregnant girls, but Charity’s last three weeks were shared only by Janice, a big quiet girl who said little, and Ruth who was going home with her baby to stay with her grandparents.

Charity was glad of the peace. She got up alone to do the laundry, and slept every night in the nursery instead of going upstairs. She wanted to savour every moment with Daniel so waking the other girls for their babies was such a little price to pay.

‘Miss Frost’s coming tomorrow,’ Miss Mansell told her late one evening. ‘She’ll be wanting to know your decision, Charity.’

It was in the middle of the night as she fed Daniel that Charity finally made up her mind. As he lay in her arms, one hand curled round her finger, eyes drooping, she knew she must give him up.

She owed him more than a bedsitter and a day nursery while she worked. In Daleham Gardens it was easy to forget how grim London was, but she forced herself to remember trailing James in the pram down to the baths to do the washing. She made herself see her old room in Hammersmith, the dirty stairs, the continual noise from her neighbours.

Instead she saw a proper home, with Daniel riding a bike round a garden, and a father coming home from work and scooping him up in his arms. She saw him in a smart school uniform, holding a woman’s hand as he walked down a tree-lined avenue.

There was no real contest. All she had on her side was love – and would that be enough to counteract the humiliation of poverty, a childhood in one squalid room?

‘Well, Charity?’ Miss Frost in a lemon yellow dress looked surprisingly feminine.

‘I’m giving him up,’ Charity said. Her voice sounded too loud to her own ears. ‘Find him nice parents!’

Miss Frost and the matron exchanged glances.

‘Are you sure?’ Miss Mansell said.

Charity looked up and saw deep compassion in both pairs of eyes.

‘I’m sure. I won’t back down.’

Charity covered her box with teddy-bear paper alone. Each small garment was folded, each ribbon pressed smooth. The pile of nappies were gleaming white, still with tiny specks of the blue initials ‘C.S.’ she had picked out carefully.

She had no spare money to spend on an expensive outfit to dress him in, but she’d spent the last four evenings making a little blue and white romper suit on Miss Mansell’s sewing machine.

Daniel was the only baby left in the nursery. The other girls had left. Seven empty chairs, cots and nappy pails, disinfected ready for the three girls due home tomorrow soon after she left.

It meant she could pretend that this was her room. As she stood at the window rocking him in her arms and watching darkness fall, she was just another mother getting her child to sleep.

He had smiled today for the first time, and the width of it reminded her even more of Hugh.

Next door in the lounge someone was playing ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’. The new girls didn’t lark about as her friends had done; they sat, mainly smoking and knitting, many with sour faces because they hated being here.

But she’d loved it. So many good memories to store away and bring out in the future.

Daniel was asleep now, making funny little huffing sounds against her neck. His small arms reminded her of sausages and she stroked the soft flesh tenderly. She wrapped a blanket round him later, but didn’t put him down.

It was almost eleven. Another nine hours and Miss Frost would call to collect her. By teatime she would be in the Regent Palace Hotel in Piccadilly as their new chambermaid and all this would be put aside.

She was grateful to Miss Frost for arranging this job for her, but she couldn’t feel any enthusiasm to get back to work, or even the faintest curiosity about what life in a big hotel would be like. It was just a wage and a room, a stopgap until she could get back on her feet.

‘I won’t ever forget you.’ She kissed Daniel’s soft cheek, breathing in deeply that warm, sweet baby smell. ‘Wherever I am I’ll be thinking of you, every day, every birthday and Christmas. Don’t ever think otherwise.’

‘Miss Frost’s here, Charity,’ Miss Mansell said as she came into the nursery. Charity was wearing a new pale blue dress, her hair, so much longer than when she came, shining from a recent wash.

But her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and it was clear she’d been awake all night.

Charity went to the cot and picked up Daniel, wrapping his shawl round him.

‘Come back to see me?’ Miss Mansell wanted to embrace the girl, but she had to try and keep things as matter of fact as possible. ‘You can call me any time, just for a chat.’

Charity’s smile was bleak.

‘Thank you for everything,’ she said in a small voice.

‘It will get easier.’ The older woman put one hand on Charity’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got scores of letters from girls to prove it. You must look onwards and upwards now.’

Charity didn’t look out the window as the car drew away. She didn’t want to see the waving hands at the window or remember past laughter. Instead she kept her eyes on Daniel, photographing his face on her mind indelibly.

The adoption society offices were close to Baker Street. Aside from a discreet plaque on the wall, it was just another Georgian terraced house with black iron railings.

Charity and Miss Frost were ushered into a waiting room towards the back of the house. A heavy old-fashioned lace curtain covered the window; a few wooden-armed chairs were the only furniture. A tank of goldfish stood against one wall and Charity stood looking into it with unseeing eyes, rocking Daniel.

They had been in there for perhaps five minutes when a big lady came in. She wore a bright pink blouse under a grey suit and she smiled brightly.

‘What a beautiful baby,’ she said, holding out her arms. ‘Let me look at you, you handsome boy.’

Charity smiled, pleased at her reaction and let the woman hold him. But to her horror the woman turned and walked with him straight out of the door.

She went to run after him, but Miss Frost was quicker. She moved to the door, shut it and leaned hard against it.

All at once Charity knew. That was it. They’d taken him.

‘But I haven’t kissed him goodbye!’ she cried and lunged at Miss Frost, thumping her with her fists.

‘Charity, shush.’ Miss Frost caught hold of her hands to calm her. ‘Listen. Just listen!’

Tears were still streaming down Charity’s face, but she stood very still.

In the distance she heard the tapping of a typewriter, the hum of traffic in Baker Street and the sound of the woman holding Daniel ascending the stairs.

‘Any moment now she’ll show Daniel to his new parents,’ Miss Frost said. ‘Listen!’ She opened the door a crack, holding firmly on to Charity with one hand.

Suddenly Charity heard laughter. It was laughter that sprang from absolute joy.

The male voice was deep, echoing round the carpetless landing, but above that she heard the sound of a woman’s voice, and it was as pure as water running over stones.

Miss Frost held out her arms and pulled Charity to her. ‘Listen to that joyful sound and be glad for Daniel.’

Chapter Fifteen

January 1963

Beyond the closed door Charity could hear the sounds of the other chambermaids getting ready for a night out. Radios playing, bathwater running and voices calling to one another to borrow a jumper or a hair-drier. She could smell nail varnish, perfume and coffee, but none of these sounds and smells stimulated in her the desire to move from her bed.

There was no evidence she’d been here six whole months. None of the accumulated clutter common to all teenage girls – no makeup, jewellery, pictures of pop stars, magazines or strewn clothing. Aside from a framed photograph of the children taken back at Clapham, talcum powder, shampoo and a pile of library books on the dressing-table it had the severity of a monk’s cell.

It was a narrow room, gloomy with only the strip light above her washbasin. Snow piled up against the small, high window, but there was nothing out there to see except more snow covering rooftops, water tanks and coloured flashes from the neon lights in Piccadilly Circus.

People said it was the worst winter since 1947. Daily reports came in of villages cut off by snow, mail and milk being delivered by helicopter and old people dying of cold, but the bitter weather meant little to Charity, as she seldom went outside the hotel. During her few solitary walks around the West End, picking her way through blackened piles of hard snow, Charity observed that fashion had changed since the summer. The ‘Mod’ craze was under way, fired by the music of The Who. Girls now wore tight, longer skirts, bobbed their hair and winklepickers had been replaced by round-toed, clumpy shoes. The young men seemed to favour sharp suits and drive Lambrettas, but these changes only served to bring on a still deeper sense of isolation.

Her eighteenth birthday a few days earlier had passed unnoticed. That evening all the other chambermaids went dancing at the Empire in Leicester Square. Charity had heard their excited giggles as they set each other’s hair and swapped clothes, but she stayed in her room, immersed in a book.

Charity lifted her head just enough to see her clock. Another five minutes and she must go downstairs to turn down the guests’ beds. She had extra rooms to do tonight so Maureen and Judy could get out earlier.

None of the girls would bang on her door and ask her to join them later. Charity had become almost invisible.

She cleaned her allocated rooms silently, took her meals alone and her spare time was spent up here reading. So deep was she in a black pit of desolation she’d forgotten that life wasn’t always like this. Unopened letters were tucked away in a drawer, belongings still uncollected from Marjorie and Martin. Grief had turned to emptiness; solitude was easier than attempting to get back into the mainstream of life.

Charity had been too numb on her arrival at the hotel to take in anything but her duties. Those first few weeks of July and August were hot, and the ceaseless noise of traffic around Piccadilly kept her awake at night. Sometimes in the afternoons she would walk down to Trafalgar Square, but instead of feeling stimulated by the jostling tourists, the hustle and bustle of a big city, it just made her withdraw further into herself.

She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid her feet into shoes. Standing up, she smoothed down the dark red overall with
REGENT PALACE HOTEL
embroidered in gold above her right breast, and tied the small white frilly apron round her waist.

Moving over to the washbasin she brushed her hair, then dragged it back, fastening it at her neck with a rubber band. It was over a year since she’d had it cut in Hammersmith; now the urchin cut had grown long and untidy, but she didn’t notice. The white cap went on next. Without bothering to look if it was straight, she picked up her bunch of keys and opened the door.

She’d heard the other chambermaids call her ‘weird’, ‘snooty’ and ‘barmy’ but she hardly registered their giggles and whispers. She’d grown a protective shield that nothing could penetrate.

Miss Frost had given her a lecture only two days earlier when Charity visited her office to sign the final adoption papers. She’d spoken brusquely about her appearance, implored her to pull herself together, but she didn’t seem to understand that the old Charity had died that day they took Daniel from her arms.