Sins of the Father (21 page)

Someone must have come to her aid, but what happened next remained a blur. Emma was aware that she was in hospital; the pain excruciating, wave upon wave that swelled into an unbearable agony. She could hear a doctor speaking, knew she was having a breech birth and, remembering what happened to her mother, she expected to die.

On and on it went. What were they doing to her?
Please, just let me die
. Oh God, it felt as
though they were ripping her apart, but suddenly, miraculously, the pain ceased. Emma opened dazed eyes, bathed in perspiration, and then minutes later all the pain was forgotten as her daughter was placed in her arms.

A nurse spoke, but Emma was so engrossed in her baby’s tiny face that she hardly heard her. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘You had a hard time of it, pet, but she’s fine.’

‘Yes,’ Emma sighed. ‘She’s beautiful.’

The nurse leaned forward to take the baby. ‘She needs a little clean up, and no doubt your husband will be here to see her later.’

Emma’s arms involuntarily tightened around her daughter.
Horace
. Yes, Horace. My God, he had left her! She saw that the nurse was looking at her strangely and managed to croak, ‘My husband…he…he’s away on business.’

‘Oh dear, what a shame. Is there any way you can contact him?’

‘Er…no,’ Emma said, grasping on a lie. ‘He’s due back next week, but we didn’t expect the baby to be born before then.’

‘Well, never mind, his daughter will be a lovely surprise when he gets back.’

‘Yes, she will, won’t she,’ Emma said, managing a smile.

‘Well, pet, here’s Nurse Jones to get you cleaned up too, and then you’ll be taken to the ward.’

‘What…what time is it?’

‘It’s six in the morning.’

Emma’s head reeled. She must have been in labour all night. All she wanted now was to get out of this hospital–to go home. Her stomach lurched. Horace had left her, and what was she going to do? She may have the house to live in, but she had hardly any money, not even enough to buy a cot for the baby. Oh God, it was all too much. She felt a wave of utter tiredness. When the nurse took her daughter, Emma didn’t protest, instead she meekly allowed them to give her a bed bath before her eyes closed and she escaped into the sanctuary of sleep.

When Emma awoke two hours later she was amazed to find herself in a ward. She dragged herself up into a sitting position, grimacing a little, but seeing a nurse she attracted her attention. ‘Can I see my baby?’

‘She’s in the nursery, asleep. Breakfast will be here shortly, and then the babies will be brought in for a feed. You’ll see her then.’

Emma wanted to protest, to say that she wanted to see her baby now, but found the stern-looking nurse intimidating. As the woman walked away, her starched uniform rustling, Emma looked down the ward. It was long, with beds on both sides all occupied by young women. A voice came
from the next bed. Emma turned her head to see a blousy-looking woman.

‘What did you have, dearie? A boy or a girl?’

‘A girl,’ Emma said.

‘You’re lucky. I had another bloody boy and that makes five.’

Emma forced a smile. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, she just wanted to think. It was strange really. She’d given birth, but not one of her family knew, and Horace–my God, he didn’t think the baby was his! How could he? How could he have accused her of sleeping with another man?

She slumped back on her pillow, closing her eyes to avert any further conversation. As soon as she could, she’d leave the hospital. They couldn’t stop her, and anyway, just let them try. She had to sort things out, to raise money somehow, and she couldn’t do that if she was stuck in here.

Emma left the hospital three days later, and it caused a furore. The doctor was annoyed, advising against it, but she didn’t care. Nothing was going to stop her, not even the matron who marched into the ward like a ship in full sail.

Once outside, she looked up and down the street, and without money for the bus fare home she began to walk, cutting across the Common with the baby clutched to her chest. With no baby clothes, her daughter was dressed in a hospital
nightgown, and wrapped in a blanket that she’d promised to return.

It wasn’t long before Emma felt her weakness, her legs rubbery underneath her. She had lost a lot of blood during the birth and knew she was acting foolishly, but hadn’t been able to stand the sly innuendoes from some of the other women in the ward. When the doors were opened in the evening to admit a stream of visitors, none had come to her bed, and though she had told them that Horace was away on business, it was obvious they didn’t believe her. They looked pointedly at her wedding ring as though it was made of brass, and she had borne their looks of disgust until she could stand it no more.

The baby stirred and Emma looked down at her daughter, her heart surging with love. She had racked her brains for a name, but now suddenly Patricia popped into her mind and there it remained. Yes, she would call her Patricia and, despite Horace’s horrid accusation, she would be Patricia Bell on her birth certificate.

Emma was staggering by the time she arrived home, carefully laying the baby on the sofa in the drawing room and flopping down beside her. The house was silent, and after the noisy ward, soothing as she rested for a while.

Thirsty now, Emma checked that Patricia was still asleep before going to the kitchen. She made
a pot of tea, waited for it to brew, and then poured a cup, adding a liberal teaspoon of condensed milk. Back in the drawing room she sat beside the baby, thoughts turning. Her most pressing problem was money. Patricia needed nappies, clothes, a pram, and of course somewhere to sleep, but Emma didn’t have a penny to her name. Oh, she was too tired to think, and she was still so sore, worn out by the events of the day.

After resting for a while, Emma’s hard upbringing came to the rescue. She had been used to make do and mend, resourceful as she cut up old towels for nappies. Pleased there was enough food in the larder for a few days, and after making herself something to eat, she lined a large drawer with soft linen to use as a cot.

It was enough for now. As the evening drew to a close she wearily climbed the stairs to bed. When Patricia woke up in the night, Emma tucked her beside her in the bed, holding her daughter as she suckled, her heart full of love, along with worry about their future.

Over the next two days, Emma was content to be alone with her baby. She knew she had to sort out her financial situation soon, but couldn’t seem to arouse the energy. Instead she doted on Patricia, holding her constantly, with a fierce, protective love.

The larder stocks were getting low, but as long as she produced enough milk for the baby, Emma struggled to keep her worries at bay. She bathed Patricia in the kitchen sink, gently splashing warm water over her daughter, loving every tiny finger and toe, still unable to believe that she had ever considered an abortion.

On day four, Emma knew she had to face up to her problems, and not only that, she wanted to show off her baby, wanted her family to see Patricia. Oh, they would love her, she was sure of it, but how could she take the child out wrapped in only cut-down blankets? Patricia needed
clothes, proper nappies, and as Emma kissed the top of the baby’s soft, downy hair, worry began to eat at her stomach, making it clench in fear.

So much had happened that she had tried to block it from her mind, concentrating instead on her baby. But now it hit her. She was alone; she was penniless, left to bring up her daughter on her own.

Oh, Mum, Mum, she thought, I wish you were here. You have a granddaughter and she’s beautiful. Oh, you’d have loved her, Mum, but what am I going to do? Unbidden tears came then, tears that Emma was unable to stop.

Gradually, Emma stemmed the flow, dashing her hand across her sodden face. Despondently, she rose to her feet, still holding Patricia as she wandered into the drawing room. Yes, she had this lovely house, but for how long? Horace had threatened to sell it, and anyway, she didn’t have the money with which to run it. Her eyes took in the luxury that surrounded her, and it was then that she was struck by an idea that could solve her immediate problems.

Emma looked at a porcelain figurine, calculating, but then there was a knock on the door and she went to answer it. Dick was standing on the step and she felt a surge of relief.

‘Oh, thank God you’ve come.’

His eyes widened when he saw Patricia in her
arms. ‘Bloody hell, you’ve dropped the sprog. Are you all right, Em? You look a bit rough. Have you been crying?’

‘Yes, but don’t worry, I’m just tired, that’s all. I lost a lot of blood during the birth and it’s left me a bit weak.’

Dick looked doubtful, but followed her through to the kitchen.

‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you,’ Emma told him.

‘She’s a little cracker,’ Dick said, his eyes soft as he gazed at Patricia. ‘Bloody hell, I’m an uncle!’

‘Would you like to hold her?’

‘Yeah, all right.’ Gingerly he took the baby, smiling down on her.

‘I expect you’ve been worrying about Luke, and you were right to worry,’ he began. ‘Honestly, Em, you could have knocked me down with a feather when he told me—’

With more pressing concerns, Emma interrupted, ‘You can tell me about Luke later, but for now I need you to take something to the pawnbroker for me. Don’t pawn it, sell it, and get as much as you can.’

‘What? Hang on, Em. What’s all this about? I know Horace ain’t a rich man, but surely you don’t need to pawn stuff.’

‘Horace has gone.’

‘Gone! What do you mean,
gone
?’

Dick listened, jiggling the baby as his jaw dropped. When she had finished, he growled, ‘The bastard. Did you tell him that he’s wrong? That the baby’s his?’

‘He didn’t give me a chance.’

‘Surely he’s still got to support you? Look, where’s he gone? I’ll round up a few of the blokes off the market and we’ll soon sort him out.’

‘I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere.’

‘Bloody hell! Here, you’d better take the baby.’ As Emma took Patricia from his arms, Dick urged, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find Horace.’

‘I doubt that. He’s a clever man and no doubt has covered his tracks. To be honest, I don’t care if I never see him again. As long as I can raise some money, I’ll be all right.’

‘Instead of flogging bits and pieces, why don’t you sell this place?’

‘I can’t. It isn’t mine–it’s in Horace’s name, and you can be sure he’ll have made sure I can’t sell it.’

‘The bastard!’ Dick spat again. ‘Here–what about Dad’s flat?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m sure Dad would have been round here if he’d been given notice to quit.’

‘Yeah, and I suppose if the worst came to the worst you’ve got plenty of room for them in this place. Though after what I’ve got to tell you I don’t think you’ll want Polly here.’

‘Polly’s all right, but I wouldn’t take Dad in, not after he almost blackmailed me into marrying Horace.’

‘He did what? Bloody hell, I always thought it was a bit odd that you married the man.’

‘Dad was way behind with the rent and it was the only way to stop us being evicted. It’s all right, don’t get upset. I’m just as much to blame. I loved this house and wanted a better life, so much so that I virtually sold myself.’

‘I reckon Dad’s new flat was part of the deal,’ Dick said bitterly.

‘Maybe, but it doesn’t matter now. My marriage is over, and despite the worry over money, I’m glad.’

Patricia stirred, and moments later began to cry. Dick turned away as Emma unbuttoned her top, and continued to keep his eyes averted whilst the baby suckled. Struck by a thought, Emma said, ‘What about you and Luke? Would you both like to move in here?’

‘No offence, Em, and I can’t speak for Luke, but to be honest it’s too far away from the market. Anyway, I rather like having my own place. After years of sleeping in that loft, it’s heaven.’

Emma understood and hid her disappointment. ‘All right, but I really do need to buy some things for the baby. Can you go to the pawnbroker now?’

‘Yeah, all right. I suppose it won’t hurt to leave the lad in charge of the stall for a bit longer. What do you want to sell?’

‘Lad–what lad? Why isn’t Luke on the stall?’

‘He’s having a bit of time off.’

Emma was distracted again when Patricia began to whimper. Wind, she thought, placing the baby against her chest and gently patting her back. That done, she decided a clean nappy could wait, and asked Dick to follow her into the drawing room.

‘Here, would you like to hold her?’ Emma asked, and as Dick took the baby, she considered the ornaments. There were so many that she loved and hated to part with, but with no other choice, she selected a fine porcelain figurine of a woman sitting on a panther.

‘Horace made it clear when I came here as a cleaner that this is a valuable piece. It’s Parian porcelain by Minton, so don’t let the pawnbroker take you for a mug.’

‘I’ll do me best, Em,’ Dick said. Passing the baby back again, he took the ornament. ‘I shouldn’t be long and we can talk about Luke when I come back.’

Emma walked with him to the door, her heart lighter now. The sale of the ornament would give her some much-needed money and time to make a longer-term plan.

*    *    *

It was over an hour later before Dick returned, handing her a few notes. ‘This is the best I could do, Em.’

Emma stared at the money with dismay. ‘But that ornament must have been worth more than this.’

‘I didn’t know enough about it to argue. He was a right old skinflint and, to be honest, I didn’t have time to haggle. I’ve got to get back to the stall.’

‘Oh, Dick, I’m so sorry. I should have realised that you wouldn’t leave the stall unless it’s important. You came to talk to me about Luke but I hardly gave you the chance.’

‘It’ll have to wait now. I’ll pop back this evening.’

Emma nodded, laying a hand on Dick’s arm. ‘Thanks for going to the pawnshop for me. It was good of you, and though it isn’t as much as I expected, this money will keep me going for a while. I bet Luke will be chuffed to hear I’ve had my baby. I can’t wait to see his face this evening.’