In Her Mothers' Shoes (23 page)

‘That sounds like you’ve got a water hammer problem,’ the policeman said, turning the tap on and off.

The pipes clanged again.

Rose winced.

‘You’ve lost the air out of the pipes. I know just how to fix it – my brother’s a plumber.’ The policeman brightened at the prospect of making himself useful. He turned to George, who was standing in the doorway looking as though he’d like to escape. ‘You need to shut off the water, Sir, then drain the pipes to refill the air chambers.’

‘Is that right?’ George looked even more uncomfortable. Rose knew fixing up the nursery, with its many frustrations and mistakes, was likely to be the full extent of his home improvements for some time.

The pipes had been making that racket since Rose’s parents had built the house in a cow paddock on the outskirts of the city ten years ago. Her parents’ two-storeyed house, with the flat she and George occupied attached to the side, was one of the first to be built in the area and had soon been accompanied by a row of big weatherboard homes, surrounded more recently by fledgling oaks and sycamores in the grounds of the neighbouring girls’ school – the school where Rose hoped her baby girl, if it were to be a girl, might one day be a pupil.

Her mother and father had been waiting ten years for their only daughter to produce a grandchild. Rose was relieved to be living under the same roof as her mother. Her parents, and her father in particular, had become much frailer in the last year.

The Grey Invader asked to see Rose and George’s bedroom.

Surprised, Rose stepped back. She hadn’t expected that sort of inquisition again; surely the prying questions in Te Kuiti had been sufficient to convince the Department that they were unable to conceive. Steeling herself, she led the way through.

‘I hope you won’t be bringing baby in here with you.’ Mrs Lowe peered at the pink puffy eiderdown covering the double bed.

‘I wasn’t thinking …’

‘Good. It’s not right for baby to sleep with the mother at night. Baby has to learn to be independent and look after himself. I’m pleased to see that new-fangled Dr Spock agrees.’ She approached the bed and fingered the eiderdown. ‘Do you and George sleep here?’

Rose looked at her husband.

George cleared his throat noisily. ‘Yes, of course we do,’ he said. 

‘And you always sleep together?’

Now it was the turn of the policeman to clear his throat. He then commenced a close inspection of the clothes brush on top of George’s tallboy.

‘Of course.’ George sounded very measured.

‘But you haven’t been able to have a baby in, let me see, how many years is it?’

‘Ten years,’ Rose said quickly. She turned to her husband. ‘Oh, George, I forgot to put the kettle on the hob for our tea. I’m sure Mrs Lowe and Constable Jennings would like a cup of tea soon?’

The constable nodded, clearly relieved to have an escape plan. ‘Yes, that would be much appreciated.’

Mrs Lowe looked at her watch. ‘Very well, then. Thank you.’

George excused himself and departed down the stairs; the constable put on a remarkable turn of speed and followed him. Rose could hear laughter as the sitting room door closed behind them.

She continued to show the Grey Invader through the rest of the house, each room an agony of niggardly criticism. The kitchen, which she proclaimed ‘too small to swing a cat in’, received close inspection and she asked a lot of questions about bottle sterilisation and formula preparation. Rose showed her the pantry. 

‘Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite so many preserves and jams laid aside since I came to town from the countryside four years ago. Very satisfactory.’

Rose quickly plucked a jar of blackboy peach chutney from the shelf and offered it to Mrs Lowe. ‘This is from the tree in our back garden at Te Kuiti,’ she said. ‘It’s for you.’

Mrs Lowe’s tight-lipped expression relaxed momentarily into something approaching a smile. ‘Very kind of you, Mrs Stewart, very kind indeed. But I’m afraid we’re not allowed to accept gifts.’ The semblance of a smile faded.

At last Mrs Lowe agreed she was done and was ready for a cup of tea. Rose took her through to the drawing room where Constable Jennings was standing in front of the picture window gazing out across the lawn. He smiled nervously at Mrs Lowe and more warmly at Rose.

‘We share this room with my parents.’ It was an easy arrangement, since her mother was now too unwell to entertain. Rose looked nervously at the door leading to her parents’ side of the house. It wouldn’t be a good time for her mother to pop in, although she was usually discreet when she heard Rose was entertaining.

As she entered, even the Grey Invader looked impressed. ‘This
is
a nice room. Do you play the piano?’ she asked as she ran her finger across the top of the keys.

‘Yes. A little.’

‘That’s good. Baby needs to be stimulated. Some Mozart perhaps? Brahms? Schubert?’

Rose nodded. ‘Yes.’ It was true, she could play the classics; she didn’t dare tell Mrs Lowe her favourite tunes came from the shows and the radio. ‘And George has a fine tenor voice.’

‘Ah.’ Mrs Lowe’s frosty demeanour was warming a little. ‘A little lieder in the evenings perhaps? That will be good for baby.’

‘Baby’ was more likely to be hearing
Me and My Gal
than
Death and the Maiden
but Rose knew better than to say so.

‘May I take your coat and hat?’ Rose held out her hands. ‘You might like to take a seat while I get the tea.’

Mrs Lowe slowly removed her coat, revealing a grey dress swirled across with washed-out green and mauve flowers and a grey cardigan. Nobody could say she hadn’t spent a lot of effort ensuring her wardrobe was perfectly matched. Her stockings and shoes were grey, even her complexion was wan.

‘Let me take that. Please, do sit down. You too, Constable Jennings. I’ll only be a moment.’

The policeman shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room as if searching for a plain wooden chair to sit on rather than the deeply cushioned armchairs and sofas with their pink peonies and blue fleur-de-lis.

She hurried back into the tiny kitchen to take over from George, who had coaxed the kettle to boil on top of the range, sending him off to make polite conversation in the next room. By the time she’d made the tea, laid out the best cups, saucers, plates and cake forks, and retrieved the sponge from the cool safe just outside the back door, George and the constable were getting on very well: she could hear the laughter as she stood in the hall.

‘Constable Jennings has two little ones, Rose,’ George said when she entered with the tea tray – her mother’s new silver one, laid with her own appliqued tray cloth. ‘He was telling me about the mischief his two-year-old gets up to, teasing the cat and pulling its tail.’

‘Perhaps we should get a kitten?’ Rose had always fancied having a cat for her child to play with.

‘Cat hairs are known to cause allergies,’ Mrs Lowe said dismissively.

‘Perhaps not then.’

Rose set about pouring the tea, cutting the cake, offering slices. Mrs Lowe declined; the policeman started to devour his piece immediately, the tiny silver cake fork dwarfed in his big sinewy hand.

‘Delicious,’ he said. ‘I always thought my wife made a superb sponge, but I can see she could learn a thing or two from you, Mrs Stewart.’

‘The farmers’ wives in the King Country set the standard very high. We used to live there until we came to Christchurch just a month ago.’

George put the cake fork on his plate. ‘Yes, the bank gave me a transfer. It’s much easier for Rose now to be near her parents.’ He fixed the policeman with a hard stare.

Rose felt a tremor of anxiety; George had that stubborn look on his face.

‘Tell me, Constable Jennings, why is it that a policeman has to come on these visits? It seems a bit excessive to me – I mean, it’s not as if we’re common criminals.’

The policeman lowered his cake fork and swallowed, making his adam’s apple bob up and down. ‘It’s certainly hard to fathom. I’m afraid I haven’t a clue. They never tell us the whys and wherefores; they just tell us what we have to do.’

George turned to the Grey Invader. ‘Do you know, Mrs Lowe?’

The Lady Inspector put down her cup and wiped her top lip on the dainty napkin Rose had embroidered for her trousseau. ‘Adoptions have to be taken very seriously indeed,’ she said. ‘We can’t have our babies going to just anybody. We have to make sure the families are thoroughly checked out and there are some things only the police can do.’

‘And what are those things?’ George asked.

Rose held her breath. There was an awkward moment’s silence.

Even Mrs Lowe had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. ‘Well, for example, in case I needed protection,’ she said, ‘or in case the environment was, well, shall we say, unsuitable.’

Rose could see in an instant that George was intending to pursue this line of questioning and that it could all too easily end in disaster. ‘More tea, Mrs Lowe?’ she said quickly.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Constable Jennings?’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

‘And another piece of cake?’

‘Yes please.’

As she turned away to cut another piece of sponge she gave George what she hoped was a warning look and held her fingers up to her lips. After handing the policeman his second helping she approached the Lady Inspector.

‘Tell me, Mrs Lowe, is everything to your satisfaction? Do you think we will be approved again now we are in Christchurch?’

‘I’m not allowed to say at this stage, I’m afraid. I have to make my report and the Department will let you know in due course.’

‘But surely…’

Mrs Lowe held up her hand. ‘I can’t say.’

Rose sensed the atmosphere becoming tense.

‘Let me show you the garden, Mrs Lowe. George, perhaps you and Constable Jennings would like to help yourselves to more tea and cake?’ She led the way out the veranda door to her parents’ big garden.

‘This is good. There is plenty of room here for putting the perambulator outside in the afternoons.’ Mrs Lowe turned to Rose. ‘I hope that is what you are planning to do? Baby needs lots of fresh air. No matter what the weather, baby should have at least one nap every day in the fresh air.’

‘Yes.’ Rose wasn’t so sure she’d be putting her baby out in the rain, hail and frost, but didn’t raise it.

Glancing across at her parents’ side of the house, she glimpsed her mother standing back from the sunroom door, clearly trying to be invisible. She waited until the Grey Invader was ahead of her then turned back and waved.