Pete was outside in the yard playing mud pies with three of the stockmen’s children when he heard his father give a shout. Immediately, he sat up and stared towards the house, while his companions, well used to birth, continued to mould the mud into strange shapes. Pete hesitated, then got to his feet, wiping his filthy hands on the seat of his small cotton breeches. Then he went towards the house at a gallop, running full tilt into his father as Andy emerged from the bedroom.
‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Pete squeaked. ‘Is the new baby here? Can I see it? I watched for a stork ’cos Mammy said them big white birds bring babies, but I never see’d ’im.’
His father sighed. ‘Where did Smiler’s little brother come from?’ he asked gently. ‘Did the stork bring him?’
‘Nah,’ Pete said scornfully. ‘He come out of his mammy’s belly. All the fellers’ babies do.’
‘And why should your mammy be any different?’ his father asked, taking Pete’s small hand in his large one and leading him towards the bedroom. ‘The stork is just a fairy tale for English kids.’
‘Oh,’ Pete said, digesting this. ‘But Father Christmas is real, isn’t he?’
His father did not answer directly but threw open the bedroom door. ‘Pete’s come to say hello to his new brother,’ he said loudly. ‘Storks, indeed! This young feller-me-lad has watched cows calving, horses foaling, pigs farrowing, chicks hatching . . .’
Pete looked doubtfully at his mother, then saw with relief that she was smiling, saw also that she held a white-wrapped, pink-faced, blond-haired baby in the crook of her arm. ‘Hello, Pete,’ she said gently.
Pete stole forward. A brother! He had always wanted a brother, had hoped that the new baby would be a boy and not a silly girl. He put out a tentative, and very grubby, finger and touched the baby’s cheek. ‘Hello, baby,’ he said softly. ‘I’m your brother, big Pete. And you’re my little frog.’
‘Frog?’ his mother queried. ‘Why frog? Oh, I know!’ She turned to smile at her husband over the top of Pete’s head. ‘Don’t you remember? I was reading
The Jungle Book
to him a couple of nights ago, and that’s what Mother Wolf calls Mowgli – her little frog.’ She turned back towards her small son. ‘Only Daddy and I thought we’d call him Jamie; that’s short for James, you know.’
Pete compressed his lips. ‘Jamie,’ he said firmly. ‘I like Jamie. It’s a nice name.’
‘Well, it’s better than Mowgli,’ his father said.
Chapter Three
June 1931
‘But Mammy, it’s my birthday. You said when I was five I could do all sorts of things, and Ella’s mammy wants to take us to the beach at New Brighton and then on the fun fair. We’ll have our dinners at a beautiful restaurant on the promenade and maybe have ice creams as well. Do, do say I can go.’
Jess, standing at the sink scraping potatoes, sighed, popped the last one into a pan of cold water and turned to dry her hands on the roller towel behind the kitchen door. Then she looked fondly at her only child. Deborah Anne Ryan was a pretty thing with Jess’s chestnut hair and wide blue eyes, and she had been born when Jess and Ken had quite given up hope of ever having a child. There was Nancy, having what seemed like a baby every year to her envious friend, yet she, Jess, had been married over four years when Debbie (as they called her) came along. The pregnancy had been a wonderful surprise, though it had meant she had had to give up a rather good job as an appointments clerk at the Stanley Hospital. But neither she nor Ken had grudged the loss of income, for they adored little Debbie and Jess really enjoyed being a full-time housewife and mother. Besides, after a couple of years she had augmented their income by working for their doctor two or three days a week.
‘Mammy? Can I go? Oh please, please, please, please, please!’
Jess smiled at her small daughter, though inwardly she was cursing the fact that Debbie and her friend Ella had been born on the very same day, which meant that the treat which Mrs Markham had planned for the two little girls was a birthday present, and if she refused the invitation she would be spoiling Ella’s day as well as Debbie’s. Yet a birthday was special; this year it fell on a Saturday and she and Ken had planned to take a picnic and go over to Eastham near Birkenhead. Jess had pictured them sitting on the grass beside a tumbling brook, whilst Debbie paddled, fished for tiddlers, and generally enjoyed herself. She supposed now, rather doubtfully, that they could take Debbie to New Brighton themselves, but the fun fair cost money and the woods were free, and besides, it would look horribly ungracious if she were to refuse Mrs Markham’s invitation and then come face to face with her on the beach.
‘Darling, I’ll have to think about it,’ she said now. ‘Daddy and I had planned a birthday treat for you. When he comes home I’ll see what he says.’
‘Oh, but Mammy, Mrs Markham wants to know now. If you won’t let me go, I expect they’ll ask that horrible Betty-Ann; she’s the one with blonde curls and a silly laugh. Ella doesn’t really like her, not the way she likes me, but if her mammy says she must ask Betty-Ann of course she will. Oh, Mammy, do let me go.’
Jess was just thinking, ruefully, that she was putty in her child’s hands when the back door opened and Ken came into the kitchen, whistling cheerfully. He was still wearing his chauffeur’s uniform and threw his cap on to the kitchen table as Debbie dived for his legs. ‘Watch out, queen, you nearly had me over then,’ he said gaily, picking Debbie up and swinging her into his arms. ‘I’m not really home, love,’ he added, addressing his wife. ‘But I’ve got a job in this neighbourhood – I’m driving an old feller out to his daughter’s place on the Wirral – so I’ve just popped in to tell you I’m liable to be late for tea tonight.’
Jess hurried over and gave him a peck on the cheek, then kissed Debbie for good measure. ‘Thanks, Ken, you are so thoughtful,’ she said gratefully. ‘I was going to prepare lamb chops, new potatoes and some peas, but now I know you’ll be late I’ll do a casserole instead. Look, have you got a moment, only there’s a bit of a problem. Mrs Markham has asked Debbie to go to New Brighton with them tomorrow, but as you know we’ve made – well, different plans.’
Ken looked surprised. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked breezily. ‘If the Markhams are going to the beach tomorrow, then why shouldn’t we take the birthday girl out on Sunday? Come to that, it would be a nice gesture to ask young Ella to come along with us as well.’
He grinned and set Debbie down carefully as she gave a whoop of joy. She began to dance around the kitchen, chanting: ‘Two treats for Ella and me, two treats for Ella and me.’
Jess sighed. The Markhams were a great deal better off than the Ryans, for – though Jess would never have admitted it to the other woman – it stretched the Ryans’ budget to its fullest extent to pay the fees of the small private school the two little girls attended. Ella and Debbie were good friends but Jess secretly resented the fact that her daughter was always keen to play at the other girl’s house instead of at her own, and would come home with tales of wonderful toys, a whole library of children’s books and a garden complete with swing, slide and a sandpit.
Jess had hoped that Debbie would make friends with children whose circumstances resembled her own, but the truth was that no one else in Debbie’s class had parents who struggled to make ends meet. Anyway, children, like adults, choose their friends for themselves and she knew Debbie would resent any attempt to make her play with the less fortunate children who attended the local council schools. Because they lived near Prince’s Park Debbie met such children there but never so much as glanced at them, even when they were playing a game in which she might have wanted to join. Instead, she would search for a child from her own school and then beg her mother for pennies to take a boat out on the lake, or for money to buy stale buns from the café so that she might feed the ducks.
Ken must have noticed his wife’s hesitation for he swung the back door open and shooed Debbie into the garden, telling her to play on her own little swing whilst he and Mammy had a talk. Then he turned to Jess, raising his eyebrows at her. ‘Not a good idea?’ he asked. ‘I know we were thinking of going as a family to the woods, but Deb would have much more fun if her pal’s there, you know. And we’ve got each other. I know you aren’t too fond of Mrs Markham and you think Ella’s a spoilt little madam, but from what you’ve told me Mr Markham isn’t much of a companion for either his wife or his daughter, being so wrapped up in his business. I’d take a bet that he won’t go to the beach with them, for a start. So be generous, queen, and let young Ella share our family fun.’
‘Yes, of course I will,’ Jess said, feeling her cheeks go hot. ‘You’ve put me to shame, Ken. You’re always so generous.’ She reached up and put both arms round his neck. ‘I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have such a wonderful husband,’ she said, just before their lips met. ‘Debbie shall go to New Brighton and I’ll send her with some money for ice creams – though I can’t imagine Mrs Markham licking a cornet.’
‘Well, if you’re the luckiest woman I’m the luckiest feller,’ Ken said, walking across the kitchen and picking up his cap to set it at a jaunty angle on his smooth dark hair. ‘See you later, love!’
Jess hummed to herself as she laid the kitchen table for supper, reflecting as she did so that Ken was indeed late, for it was almost half past eight and Debbie had been in bed for an hour and a half already. The child adored her father and always tried to stay awake so that he could read her a story when he came home, but she had had a full day at school and was excited at the prospect of visiting New Brighton on the morrow and had fallen asleep within moments of her head’s touching the pillow.
Jess took the cooked potatoes off the stove and carried them over to the sink to drain off the water. She would put them in the bottom of the oven to stay hot. Surely Ken would be in soon? The June evenings were long and light but his boss liked the men to be off duty by nine o’clock at the latest, preferably earlier, for though he did not pay extra for overtime work he always put a little something into the wage packet for what he would have called ‘out-of-hours driving’. If he stays out much longer we’ll be able to afford a trip to the cinema, Jess thought, if I can get Mrs Rudd next door to give an eye to Debbie.
Glancing round the kitchen and seeing that everything was ready for Ken’s return, Jess got out her writing case and the last letter from Nancy. They were both busy mothers now, Jess thought contentedly, spreading out her friend’s last epistle. The lapse in their friendship, which Jess knew had been partly because she had been so jealous of Nancy, was a thing of the past. Now the two women had a comfortable relationship, writing probably no more than three times a year, but making sure that each letter was full of news and snippets of information about husbands and families. Nancy’s eldest boy would be eleven in October and her youngest was only a year older than Debbie, and Nancy had declared, with what seemed like confidence, that three sons was quite sufficient, and she and Andy had decided not to have any more children. Jess and Ken would dearly have loved another baby and Ken had smiled at the assumption that one could regulate one’s family at will, but Jess knew that Nancy had been interested in Dr Marie Stopes’s theories of birth control and guessed that she was putting them into practice. Jess thoroughly approved; when she had been nursing, she had seen too much of the misery of women whose health and vitality had been drained by the birth and upbringing of a dozen or more children. She would have liked to have one more child herself, but realised that she and Ken were fortunate, for every child you produce means money you have to spend and, as it was, the three of them managed pretty well on Ken’s salary and the money she earned in the doctor’s surgery.
Jess had kept most of Nancy’s letters and now she reread the most recent. Her friend was delighted to tell her that her sister Anne had yielded to her blandishments and come out to Australia. She had spent six months on the Walleroo station and to Nancy’s joy had fallen for Andy’s brother Clive. The two had married and then moved out to manage a cattle station not far from Cairns. Jess was delighted, because she thought that, full though her life was, Nancy must often long for female companionship. After all, her friend had worked in hospitals for years, had slept in dormitories with thirty other girls, had grown used to sharing both triumphs and trials with her sister nurses. To be suddenly transported into a world of men with only the Aboriginal women to talk to must have been hard indeed. To be sure, Anne was some way off, but Jess did not doubt that they would manage to visit one another’s homes a couple of times a month.
Nancy, however, never grumbled or said she was lonely. She wrote of her thriving kitchen garden, which provided the family with delicious vegetables from June to October. She spoke of the wonderful fish which were pulled out of the river during the wet and of making delicious bread, cakes and pies using flour made from grinding the corn which they grew on the river banks. She talked of parties, usually given in May or June, where one travelled a hundred miles or more to see one’s neighbours. Naturally, such parties were rare, but they were much appreciated.
Jess thought of her own life and guessed it must seem dull to Nancy, but knew that she would not swap with her friend for anything. I suppose I was always timid, frightened to take risks or seize chances, she told herself, settling down with the inkpot close to hand. Nancy was always the daring one, but how lucky we both are! We adore our husbands, love our children deeply and would not exchange places for any money in the world. Of course I wish Ken and I could have another baby because I can see that it would be easy to spoil Debbie, but if it’s not to be then it’s not to be, and we are a happy little family.