Mrs Sinclair's Suitcase (19 page)

Nina rushed to the privy, looking wan and cold on her return.

‘So did you girls have fun last night?’ asked Dorothy, to break the unusual silence.

‘Not as much as—’ began Nina.

But Aggie shook her head.

Dorothy smiled sweetly and avoided the cool gaze of the squadron leader who, she could see, had finished his breakfast. She glanced at the clock. It was very nearly six o’clock. He must leave. She could not contemplate how she would bear this. Five minutes of separation would be too long, she thought, and she suppressed tears.

He put on his greatcoat, scarf, hat and gloves and picked up the kitbag he had packed before breakfast. He cleared his throat. Taking the hint, Aggie harried Nina to get ready, and the older pair watched as the girls trudged out into the snow and moved off for the North Barn, across the Long Acre field. They made slow progress in the falling snow.

‘I don’t want to go, my darling,’ said Jan, finally. ‘But I must.’

‘I know. I understand. But you will come back to me? As soon as you can?’

‘Of course I will. And you will write to me? Properly?’

‘Yes. I will. My letter will reach Kent before you do. How’s that?’

‘I am likely to have a new address soon. But write anyway, letters are sent forward. I’ll let you know my new posting as soon as I can.’

They hugged, and Dorothy cried. And they prepared to part, Dorothy slinging her coat over her shoulders to walk down the garden path and watch Jan roar off in the car. He would ignore the snow, he said. It was nothing compared to the snowfalls at home. A last kiss, a wave, the cold engine growling and the crackle of snow as he drove through it, and he was gone.

Once again, she stood alone.

She waved until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight. Conceitedly, part of her had hoped he would stay, claim illness, incapacity. But she knew him better than that. The snow drove her back inside to her hearth, to her empty house. She cleared away some of the breakfast things. She found his shirt, on her chair where she had left it when she got up to prepare for the big goodbye. She had sewn all of the buttons but one back on, and she had forgotten to give it to him. She would have to send it on. She drifted upstairs to the spare bedroom, where the smell of sweat and maleness lingered. The sheets were crumpled. Dorothy lay on the bed and closed her eyes. She wanted to remember last night forever, so she would have to start remembering it now, before the memories began to fade. She luxuriated in the feather pillows, which smelled of him. She thought of his hard warm body, his soft mouth, his tongue on her and in her.

Later, after she had slept a little, she rose from the bed and tidied herself, and resolved to have a bath. But first she must let out the hens, the poor things, and bake bread, and begin preparations for that evening’s meal for the girls. The washstand Jan had used that morning needed cleaning, the water disposing of. This she was reluctant to do. Even his dirt was desirable to her, sacred. She smiled to herself. She felt inordinately thrilled.

After tidying away the breakfast things, she set to making the bread. As she kneaded the dough, her mind dwelled on all that had happened in the last day and night. It was momentous, this she understood. To take a man like Jan into her life, into her body, into her very self, allowing him to possess all her emotions, to see her for who she was – it was new. She had not had that completeness with Albert even before the rape, the ugly name for the act she now accepted had been visited on her.

But life had to go on. Jan was gone, back to his work, back to play his role in the game they called war, and she was alone again. She would launder and sew and cook and play mother to the girls. Her life, her tiny life, punctuated at last by love, was not to change, could not really be changed. Perhaps, once the war was over … but she dared not think that any happiness of hers could endure. Happiness was an illusion.

She set the bread to rise in the airing cupboard. She would write to Jan, a wild, girlish letter proclaiming her love. He would be surprised to receive it so quickly, but she had promised. And she wanted to make him smile and remember, as much as she did. She would write to him every day!

She went to the small oak writing desk in the parlour and wrote feverishly for half an hour, perhaps an hour. About what? About joy. Between the lines, she wrote of her desire for wifeliness and motherhood. Ah, motherhood. Funny, but Dorothy had not considered the notion of falling pregnant, being pregnant now with Jan’s baby. Their coupling had been about them, their love, their lust. She wrote in her letter about her desire only for Jan, her dreams for their future, if they had one. After finishing her letter, reading it, rereading it, she found herself wanting to write it again but knowing it would be ruined if she did. She took an envelope, kissed the letter, tucked it inside, and addressed and stamped it. Pulling on her coat and boots, she ran through the snow, her hair flying behind her, to the postbox at the top of the lane.

Returning to her cottage, slow and deflated, she ambled, enjoying the chill crispness. She felt cleansed. The snow was falling like graceful ballerinas, and the world was silenced.

Until she thought she heard a shout. Again. Her name.

Was it Aggie?

Yes, there she was, holding on to her hat, running across the Long Acre towards the cottage. Dorothy hastened, and made it to her front garden as Aggie came through the rear gate, red-faced, out of breath, eyes wide in panic.

‘Aggie?’ said Dorothy. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s Nina. I think she’s dying!’

‘Dying?’

‘She’s up the North Barn. Can you come?’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘She said she felt bad this morning. She feels sick, and she’s getting awful pains. Shrieking her head off, she is. Please hurry, Dot.’

‘My God, is she poisoned?’

‘I don’t know.’

Dorothy locked the kitchen door, and the two set off. The snow was thickening. Why hadn’t she sent Aggie for Dr Soames? Dorothy wasn’t a nurse, she couldn’t help Nina. She wasn’t even a mother. She had never mopped a sweating brow, spooned broth, or cleaned up vomit other than her own.

Dorothy struggled to keep up with Aggie, who ran ever faster as they approached the barn. The snow was now falling thick and fast. Aggie pulled the barn door open. Entering, panting, Dorothy felt a surge of relief to be out of the cold. Aggie pulled the door to behind them. The barn was dark, and as she waited for her eyes to adjust, she cast around to find Nina. Her gloveless hands were cold. It felt as though her feet were shrinking in her gumboots. She breathed deeply, getting her breath back.

Nina was in the farthest corner, curled up on a pile of straw. She moaned, a strange lowing noise. She was an animal. And she was in pain.

‘Nina?’ Dorothy knelt beside the stricken girl, and felt her head.

She was neither hot nor cold. Aggie knelt on the other side of Nina, and held her hand.

‘Dot? Oh!’

‘Where does it hurt?’ said Dorothy, removing her coat and placing it over Nina’s shoulders. ‘Nina, listen to me. Where does it hurt?’

‘Oh God, everywhere! So bloody much …’ Nina squirmed and rocked, crying out.

Dorothy and Aggie stood up. Aggie looked small and lost.

But Dorothy ignored her childlike trembling. ‘Has she eaten anything strange? Anything she shouldn’t?’ she asked urgently.

‘I don’t think so. We all ate a lot yesterday—’

‘But we all ate the same, and you and I are fine and so was Jan. I don’t understand. Nina? Have you … you’ve been sick, yes? Oh yes, a little. No matter. Anything else? Have you … soiled yourself?’

‘Course she hasn’t!’ cried Aggie.

‘Nina?’

‘I had to go to the privy three times this morning but nothing since then. Oh. Oh no. Oh my fucking God.’

‘Aggie, run to Dr Soames. If he’s not there, try Mrs Compton. She’s better than nobody, I think she trained as a nurse once. And she has a telephone. I expect an ambulance will have to come. Something’s obviously wrong. Appendix, perhaps?’

‘But that can be dangerous, can’t it?’

‘I think so. She’ll be all right. But go for help now, please.’

‘You’ll stay with her, won’t you? Dot? She won’t die?’

‘Of course I’ll stay, and of course she’ll not die. The very idea! But I can’t help her much. Run, Aggie, now.’

Snow hurled itself through the heavy barn door as Aggie pushed it open. With one last anxious look at Nina, she left the barn and pushed the door shut behind her.

Nina was sweating now, eyes closed, and she lay still and quiet. Dorothy crouched down and touched the girl’s face.

‘I can’t bear it,’ said Nina, and she began to cry. ‘I’m going to die. I am.’

‘Nonsense. Aggie has gone for Dr Soames. You will be perfectly all right, Nina.’

‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!’

Nina flailed wildly for Dorothy. She pulled the older woman off balance, and Dorothy fell down beside her. Nina would not let go, gripping Dorothy’s arm harder, screaming into her ear. Dorothy struggled to free herself of the desperate girl, and sat back on her heels. She swallowed hard. She stared at Nina, writhing in the straw in agony, convinced she was going to die, and understanding dawned on her, fierce as an Egyptian sun.

She ran to the barn door, thoughts piling on thoughts, realisation flooding into her mind and galvanising her like nothing ever before. It was all there, it was all clear, all of a sudden. Oh, but she had been so blind!

‘Aggie!’ she cried into the blizzard, more loudly than she had thought herself capable of shouting. ‘Aggie!’

She waited, but Aggie must have gone out of earshot; her figure failed to reappear through the swirling snow. Dorothy slammed the door and threw herself back down beside Nina. She turned the girl’s face towards her own and looked squarely into her wild, frightened eyes.

‘Nina, when did you last bleed? You know. Your monthly? Can you remember?’

‘Buggered if I can.’

‘You’ve been putting on weight, haven’t you? I’ve had to let out your clothes several times, haven’t I?’

‘So bloody what?’

‘Have you felt any movements inside? In your body? Pokes and prods? Kicks? Somersaults?’

‘I’ve felt lots of wind. Sometimes it hurts.’

‘Nina. That’s not wind. Well, it’s not only wind. I think you have a baby inside you.’

‘What?’

‘And probably there’s not much time. I think we’re going to have to do this ourselves. It’s all right, Nina, hold my hands, that’s it. Hold tight. Bear with this one and we’ll get you out of your underclothes. All right, don’t panic, that’s it. Breathe, Nina.’

Nina, crying, moaning, gripped Dorothy’s hands.

‘Don’t fight it,’ said Dorothy, lowering her voice to a whisper as the girl’s cries subsided. ‘That’s it. My God, I can’t believe how blind I’ve been.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’re having a baby.’

‘Are you mad? A baby? Inside of me? A baby?’

‘Yes. That’s it. Hang on to me, there, that’s it. Well done. It will pass, all of this.’

Nina screamed, then gradually she calmed, and lay still again. ‘I’m expecting?’ she said.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I didn’t realise. I swear.’

‘How could you not know you were pregnant?’

‘I don’t know. I just didn’t know. That’s all I can say. Are you sure?’

‘Nina, you’re in labour. I think these are labour pains, coming in waves. It’s your body pushing the baby out. You’re giving birth!’

‘I’m having it now? But I can’t. Oh no, it’s coming back. Help me, Dot, please!’

Dorothy held the girl, and rocked her through the pain until it subsided.

Nina relaxed again.

‘How could you not know?’ scolded Dorothy. ‘Oh, you silly, blind girl. Didn’t you even suspect? Didn’t you think this might happen? Listen to me. You’re at the end of your pregnancy. You’re getting labour pains. They come and they go, and they are very, very strong. Yes? I know. Hold on again. That’s right, Nina. Breathe. Breathe. There’s a girl. Well done. Now, I want to take off your clothes, just your bottom half, and have a look. Because I have the feeling you may be having your baby quite soon. I … I know these things.’

Nina looked wildly at Dorothy, searching her face as if she could not speak Dorothy’s language, and did not understand.

‘Nina. Can I take off your trousers and your underclothes now, please?’

‘I can’t,’ moaned Nina, the agony seizing her again, and she writhed and thrashed and moaned.

The pains were coming so quickly, one hard on the back of the other, and Dorothy knew birth was imminent. She took off Nina’s boots and pulled down her breeches, which were wet. As if in a dream, Dorothy gently parted the girl’s thighs. Peering at her, she could see that Nina was, indeed, in the throes of labour.

‘You’re going to have a baby, Nina, that’s for sure. I can just see its head. Listen to me now. I know it hurts but you
are
having a baby. You’re in the thick of it. And it’s supposed to hurt and you are not poorly and you are not dying. I promise you. You must know that. Oh, why on earth didn’t you tell us?’

‘I didn’t know, I swear,’ she panted.

‘So you keep saying, but … Well, never mind now. Keep my coat around you, Nina, if you can. That’s it. Hitch up! That’ll be nice and warm for your baby when he comes out. We’ll have to keep him very warm – as warm as we can manage, at any rate. You’ll need something underneath you. Is there anything in here we can use? Anything at all?’

Dorothy looked around and spotted a tarpaulin in the opposite corner. Rushing over to grab it, she saw a line of cows in their pen, ephemeral breath floating out of their nostrils as they lowed softly, nibbling hay, staring as though in fascination at the drama of human birth unfolding before them. So focused on the labouring girl, Dorothy had not noticed them before. But now their presence was an unexpected comfort. Dorothy grabbed the tarpaulin, unfolded it and shook it out. Where on earth was Aggie? Hopefully reaching Dr Soames by now, or Mrs Compton. But even as she thought this, Dorothy shuddered inside. She wanted to do this herself. The intimacy of the barn, the inquisitive cows, the poor hapless labouring girl, and her – and her alone – to help bring this child into the world. And Mrs Compton … the woman was not to be trusted around newborn babies. Mrs Compton would ruin everything.