It was a boy and he’d been given away. Flo’s heart leaped to her throat and pounded as loudly as a drum. “I want my baby,” she croaked. “I want him this very minute.” She struggled out of bed, but her legs gave way and she fell to the floor. “Tell me where Martha took him, and I’ll fetch him back.”
“Flo, luv.” Mam came over and tried to help her to her feet, but Flo pushed her away and crawled towards the door. If necessary, she’d crawl in her nightdress through the snow to find her son, Tommy’s lad, their baby.
“Oh, Flo, my dear, sweet girl,” Mam cried, “can’t you see this is the best possible way? It’s what we decided ages ago. You’re only nineteen, you’ve got your whole lite ahead of you. You don’t want to be burdened with a child at your age!”
“He’s not a burden. I want him.” Flo collapsed, weeping on to the floor. “I want my baby.”
Martha came in. “It’s all over, Flo,” she said gently.
“Now’s the time to put the whole thing behind you.”
Between them, they picked her up and helped her back to bed. “C’mon, luv,” Martha said, “Have another few spoons of brandy, it’ll help you sleep and you need to get your strength back. You’ll be pleased to know none of the neighbours have been round wanting to know what all the racket was last night, which means we got away with it, didn’t we?”
Why, oh, why hadn’t she just taken a chance, run away and hoped everything would turn out all right? Why hadn’t she made it plain that she wanted to keep the baby? Why hadn’t she married Albert Colquitt?
In the fevered, nightmarish days that followed, Flo remained in bed and tortured herself with the same questions over and over again. She cursed her lack of courage: she’d been too frightened to run away, preferring to remain in the comfort of her home with her family around her, letting them think she was agreeable to the adoption to avoid the inevitable rows. She cursed her ignorance in assuming that she’d have the baby, leap out of bed, and carry him off into the unknown. Finally, she cursed her soft heart for turning down Albert’s proposal because she didn’t want him hurt at some time in the far-distant future.
All the time, her arms ached to hold her little son. The unwanted milk dried up, her breasts turned to concrete, and her insides felt as if they were shrivelling to nothing.
She didn’t cry, she was beyond tears.
“What did he look like?” she asked Sally one day.
“He was a dear little thing. I’m sure Mam wished we could have kept him. She cried when Martha made her give him up.”
“At least Mam held him, which is more than I did,” Flo said bitterly. “I never even saw him.”
“That’s what happens ‘when women give their babies up for adoption. They’re not allowed to see them, let alone hold them, least so Martha says. It’s what’s called being cruel to be kind.’ Sally’s eyes were full of sympathy, but even she thought that what had happened was for the best.
“Our Martha seems to know everything.” Flo had refused to speak to Martha until she revealed the whereabouts of her son.
“That’s something I’ll just have to get used to,” Martha said blithely, “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to because the names of adoptive parents are kept confidential.
All I’ve been told is the baby’s got a mam and dad who love him. That should make you happy, not sad. They’ll be able to give him all the things that you never could.”
Flo gripped her painful breasts and glared contemptuously at her sister. “They can’t give him his mother’s milk, can they? There’ll be no bond between him and some strange woman who didn’t carry him in her belly for nine whole months.”
“Don’t be silly, Flo.” For once, Martha was unable to meet her sister’s eyes. She turned away, her face strangely flushed.
March came, and a few days later the weather changed dramatically. The snow that had lain on the ground for months melted swiftly as the temperature soared.
Spring had arrived!
Flo couldn’t resist the bright yellow sunshine that poured into the bedroom, caressing her face with its gentle warmth. She threw back the bedclothes, and got up for the first time in a fortnight. Her legs were still weak, her stomach hurt, her head felt as if it had been stuffed with old rags, but she had to go for a walk.
She walked further every day. Gradually, her young body recovered its strength and vigour. When she met people she knew, they remarked on how fit and well she looked. “You’re a picture of health, Flo. No one would guess you’d been so ill.”
But Flo knew that, no matter how well she looked, she would never be the same person again. She would never stop mourning her lost baby, a month old by now. There was an ache in her chest, as if a little piece of her heart had been removed when her son was taken away.
Sally had left the butcher’s to take up war work at Rootes Securities, an aircraft factory in Speke, for three times the wages. She was coping well in the machine shop in what used to be a man’s job. Even Mam was talking about looking for part-time work. “After all, there’s a war on.
We’ve all got to do our bit.” Albert was out most nights fire-watching, though so far there hadn’t been a fire for him to watch.
Flo realised it was time she got back to work. Sally suggested she apply to Rootes Securities. “If we got on the same shift we could go together on the bus. You’ll find it peculiar, working nights, but it’s the gear there, Sis. All we do the whole time is laugh.”
Laugh! Flo couldn’t imagine smiling again, let alone laughing. Sally fetched an application form for her to fill in and took it back next morning. Later, as Flo roamed the streets of Liverpool, she thought wistfully of Fritz’s Laundry. She’d sooner work there than in a factory, even if the pay was a pittance compared to what Sal earned.
Since emerging from her long confinement, she’d passed the laundry numerous times. The side door was always open, but she hadn’t had the nerve to peek inside.
She felt sure the women, including Mrs Fritz, had guessed the real reason why she’d left.
On her way home the same day, she passed the laundry again. Smoke was pouring from the chimneys, and a cloud of steam floated out the door.
“I’ll pop in and say hello,” she decided. “If they’re rude, then I’ll never go again. But I’d like to thank Mr Fritz for the lovely necklace he sent at Christmas.”
She crossed the street, wondering what sort of reception she would get. To her astonishment, when she presented herself at the door, the only person there was Mr Fritz, his shirtsleeves rolled up, working away furiously on the big pressing machine that Flo had come to regard as her own.
“Mr Fritz!”
“Flo!” He stopped work and came over to kiss her warmly on the cheek. “Why, it’s good to see you. It’s as if the sun has come out twice today. What are you doing here?”
“I just came to say hello, like, and thank you for the necklace. Where is everyone?”
He spread his arms dramatically. “Gone! Olive was the first, then Josie, then the others. Once they discovered they could earn twice as much in a factory they upped and went. Not that I blame them. I can’t compete with those sort of ‘wages, and why should they make sacrifices on behalf of Mr and Mrs Fritz and their eight children when they have families of their own?’
Mrs Fritz came hurrying out of the drying room with a pile of bedding. Her face hardened when she saw Flo.
“Hello,” she said shortly. She scooped clean washing out of a boiler and disappeared again.
Her husband wrinkled his stubby little nose in embarrassment. “Don’t take any notice of Stella. She’s worn out. Her mother is over from Ireland to look after the children, as we work all the hours God sends, including weekends. You see, Flo,” he went on earnestly, “lots of hotels and restaurants have lost staff to the war and they send us the washing they used to do themselves. Business has soared, and I hate to turn it away, so Stella and I are trying to cope on our own. I’ve hired a lad, Jimmy Cromer, to collect and deliver on a bike with a sidecart.
He’s a right scally, but very reliable for a fourteen-year-old.”
He managed to chuckle and look gloomy at the same time. “One of these days, Stella and I will find ourselves buried under a mountain of sheets and pillowcases, and no one will find us again.”
“Would you like a hand?” Flo blurted. “Permanent, like.”
“Would I!” He beamed, then bit his lip and glanced uneasily towards the drying room. “Just a minute, Flo.”
He was gone a long time. Flo couldn’t hear what was said, but sensed from the sound of the muffled voices that he and Stella were arguing. She supposed she might as well get on with a bit of pressing rather than stand around doing nothing, so folded several tablecloths and was wreathed in a cloud of hissing steam when he returned.
“We’d love to have you, Flo,” he said, rubbing his hands together happily, though she guessed he was putting it on a bit. Mrs Fritz had probably agreed because they were desperate. As if to prove this, he went on, “You’ll have to make allowances for Stella. As I said, she’s worn out. The children daren’t look at her in case she snaps their heads off. As for me, I’m very much in her bad books. She regards me as personally responsible for the war and our present difficulties.”
As the profit from the laundry had provided the Fritz family with a high standard of living and a big house in William Square, one of the best addresses in Liverpool, Flo thought it unfair of Stella to complain. She said nothing, but offered to go home, change into old clothes and start work that afternoon.
Mr Fritz accepted her suggestion gratefully. “But are you sure you’re up to it, Flo? Your mother said you were very ill each time I called.” He looked into her eyes and she could tell he knew why she’d been “ill” but, unlike his wife, he didn’t care. “There’ll be three of us doing the work of six.”
“Does that mean the wages will be more?” She was glad to be coming back, but it seemed only fair that if she was doing the work of two women, she should get an increase in wages. He might not be able to compete with a factory, but if business was soaring he should be able to manage a few extra bob.
He blinked, as if the thought hadn’t entered his head.
Just in case it hadn’t, Flo said, “I’ve applied for a job in Rootes Securities where our Sally works. She’s paid time and a half if she works Saturdays.”
Mr Fritz’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Don’t worry, my dear. I promise your pocket won’t suffer if you work for me. I’ll pay you by the hour from now on, including time and a half on Saturdays.”
Flo blushed. “I didn’t mean to sound greedy, like.”
He pecked both her cheeks and chucked her under the chin. “I haven’t seen you smile yet. Come on, Flo, brighten up my day even further and give me one of your lovely smiles.”
And to Flo’s never-ending astonishment, she managed to smile.
Stella Fritz had seemed such a sweet, uncomplaining person in the days when Flo hardly knew her, but after they’d worked side by side for a short while, she turned out to be a sour little woman who complained all the time. Perhaps she was worn out and missed being with her children, but there was no need to be quite so nasty to Mr Fritz, who was blamed for every single tiling, from exceptionally dirty sheets that needed boiling twice to food rationing, which had just been introduced.
“Bloody hell! She was only a farm girl back in Ireland,”
Martha said indignantly, when Flo brought up the subject at home—Flo’s vow never to speak to her eldest sister had been forgotten. “She’s dead lucky to have hooked someone like Mr Fritz. Have you seen their house in William Square?”
“I hope she’s not nasty to you,” Mam remarked. “If she is I’ll go round there and give her a piece of me mind.”
“Oh, she just ignores me, thank goodness.” It was a relief to be beneath the woman’s contempt. It meant she could get on with things without expecting the wrath of Cain to fall on her because the chain in the lavatory had stopped working or the soap powder hadn’t arrived.
Mr Fritz said privately that he’d never felt so pleased about anything in his life as he was to have Flo back. She told him he was exaggerating, but he maintained stoutly that he meant every word. “I love my wife, Flo, but she was beginning to get me down. The atmosphere has improved enormously since you reappeared on the scene. Things don’t seem so bad if you can make a joke of them. Until you came, it all seemed rather tragic”
Every time Stella went into the drying room, or outside for some fresh air, he would make a peculiar face and sing, “The dragon lady’s gone, oh, the dragon lady’s gone.
What shall we do now the dragon lady’s gone?”
When the dragon lady returned, he would cry, “Ah, there you are, my love!” Stella would throw him a murderous look and Flo would do her best to stifle a giggle. She thought Mr Fritz was incredibly patient. A less kindhearted person might have dumped Stella in one of the boilers.
She scarcely noticed spring turn into summer because she was working so hard, sometimes till eight or nine o’clock at night, arriving home bone weary, with feet swollen to twice their normal size, ready to fall into bed where she went to sleep immediately. Sally was equally tired and Martha’s brewery was short-staffed, which meant she often had to work late. In order to hang on to their remaining staff, the brewery increased the wages, or the pubs might run out of beer, a situation too horrendous even to contemplate. Mam got a part-time job in a greengrocer’s in Park Road. The Clancy family had never been so wealthy, but there was nothing to spend the money on. Rationing meant food was strictly limited, and the girls hadn’t time to wander round the shops looking at clothes. They all started post-office accounts, and began to save for the day when the war would be over, though that day seemed a long way off.
By now, the war could no longer be described as “phoney”. Adolf Hitler had conquered most of Europe; in June, he took France, and although thousands of British and French soldiers were rescued in the great evacuation of Dunkirk, thousands more lost their lives or were taken prisoner. The British Isles was separated from the massed German troops by only a narrow strip of water. People shivered in their beds, because invasion seemed inevitable, although the government did all it could to make an invasion as hazardous as possible.