“There’s no reason for me ever to go back. I think I’d like to stay in Liverpool for the rest of my life—me life!” he corrected himself, and Eileen burst out laughing. She extended her arms towards him.
“Give us a hand, will you? I’ll be stuck here forever if I have to get up by meself.”
He took her hands, which felt soft within his own, and pulled her upwards. Once upright, still laughing, she stumbled against him, and he grasped her shoulders to prevent her from falling.
“Ta.”
Their glances met, and, to Mart’s dismay, perhaps she sensed the turmoil raging within him at the feel of her warm body beneath his hands because she flushed and looked away.
Ruth came out of the cottage at that moment and began to peg nappies on the line. She glanced at Eileen and Matt standing close together on the grass. “I thought it best to wash them now,” she called. “They’ll dry much better here.”
After Ruth had gone inside, Eileen began to walk down the garden to where her father was working. “Have you got any further with the adoption?” she asked Matt.
He wondered if she’d deliberately changed the subject to something which was personal to him and Ruth. He shook his head and tried to keep his voice steady as he replied, “Hardly. We’ve applied to the County Court and they’ve appointed someone called a Guardian adlitem, but nothing further can be done without the mother’s consent and there’s no trace of Dilys Evans anywhere. Ruth has written to every conceivable body she can think of, but all we get is a negative reply or no reply at all. She seems to have disappeared into thin air.” He couldn’t wait for it all to be sorted out so he could escape. The longer he stayed, the more he became a part of Ruth’s fantasy family.
“It’s a dead shame,” Eileen said sympathetically. “Our Sheila was only saying the other day, Michael is the spitting image of you. You’d never guess you weren’t his real dad, not in a million years.”
“I know,” said Matt. “Ruth says the same thing all the time.”
Jack Doyle shoved his spade in the soil and leant on the handle when they reached him. “I was just wondering how that pair of buggers were getting on in the North Atlantic?”
“Which pair of buggers is that, Dad?”
“Churchill and Roosevelt, a’course. They’re having a conference in the middle of the ocean. Didn’t you hear the announcement on the BBC the other day? It was Clement Attlee himself who made it,” he said proudly. “I reckon America will come in with us any minute now.”
“I only came to ask if you’d like a cup of tea, Dad, that’s all,” Eileen said patiently. “It’s too nice a day to start talking about the war.”
“Huh! That’s women all over,” Jack snorted amiably.
“The sun only has to come out and they forget there’s a war on.”
“Maybe so, but if it were up to women, there wouldn’t be a war to talk about, would there!”
The dad and Matt would like a cup of tea. How about you, luv?”
Eileen poked her head into the living room where Ruth was sitting on the settee, apparently staring into space.
She’d turned the wireless off and Michael was lying beside her, clutching his feet with his hands. He turned his head at the sound of the strange voice and began to gurgle a welcome.
With some difficulty, Eileen knelt on the floor and rubbed her cheek against his chubby one. “Aren’t you the cleverest baby in the whole wide world?” she cooed.
Michael gurgled agreement and pulled Eileen’s nose. “I wonder why people always speak to babies in such a stupid way?” she said.
“What were you and Matt talking about?”
The question took Eileen by surprise. Although Ruth’s tone was pleasant, it seemed a strange thing to ask. “This and that,” she replied. “Nothing important. Why?”
“I was just wondering.”
Eileen sat on her heels and regarded the woman. Ruth appeared terribly strained. There was a pinched expression between her eyes and deep, drawn lines around her mouth. She’d also lost weight lately, and it didn’t help that she’d started to use quite a lot of make-up: carmine lipstick which only exaggerated the downward curve of her lips and rouge which made clownish patches on her white face.
As soon as Brenda Mahon had started sewing again, Ruth had ordered three frocks. She had one on today, a turquoise crepe-de-chine with little white flowers, yet it seemed to do nothing for her. In fact, the pretty colour only made her look sallow.
“Are you all right, luv?” Eileen asked, concerned.
“Just worried,” Ruth made a sweeping gesture with her hands, “about everything.”
“Never mind. Dilys is bound to turn up some time.”
“I suppose so,” Ruth said dully.
Eileen went out to make the tea, feeling guilty that she’d been outside virtually the entire day, leaving Ruth, who didn’t like the sun, indoors alone. The truth was, once Sheila had decided to give the cottage a miss, Eileen had been quite looking forward to a few hours of quiet contemplation, about Nick, her baby, the future. It was difficult to hear yourself think at home since the Reillys had moved in.
At first, it had just been Matt coming to help Dad with the garden, but then, at the last minute, Ruth had decided to come too . . .
Why, wondered Eileen, when she didn’t like the sun, and never seemed particularly happy in the cottage? Now she thought about it, Ruth and Matt had scarcely exchanged two words all day, so she clearly hadn’t come to keep him company.
As she set the cups out in a row and began to pour the milk, the baby turned a cartwheel in her stomach, and she winced, “Ow!” It had become increasingly active lately, particularly when she was in bed at night. She remembered Matt preferred his tea without milk, so drank it herself, patted her stomach and murmured, “That’s for you!”
Matt! She could have sworn there was a look in his eyes when he helped her up, the same look she saw in Nick’s eyes, a look that definitely shouldn’t be there.
Jaysus! She liked Matt, though it was difficult to do otherwise because there was little to dislike. Despite his pleasant manner, he seemed empty of emotion and real feeling, but if she hadn’t imagined the look, then she’d been wrong in her assessment.
Yet Ruth and Matt had only been married just over three months!
With concern mounting, she wondered if Ruth had noticed anything. Perhaps that was another reason why her nerves looked on the point of cracking, she was suspicious of Matt. She’d come into the garden, Eileen remembered, just as he was hauling her to her feet.
“Is the tea ready?” Ruth appeared, Michael on one arm.
“I was just about to pour it.”
“I’ll take Mart’s out to him.”
Ruth remained tightlipped and silent on the journey home. When they entered the house, Matt immediately went upstairs without a word and shut himself in his bedroom. He had no idea why Ruth was in such a bad mood, but sensed it was to do with him, that he’d done something wrong. He threw himself on the bed. The situation was becoming impossible.
Downstairs, Ruth was thinking exactly the same as she laid Michael in his basket. If things didn’t sort themselves out soon, if she didn’t hear from Dilys, if Matt didn’t stop behaving as if she were invisible, she felt as if she could quite easily go mad.
She’d noticed the way Matt looked at Eileen Costello. In fact, she’d been aware for weeks of how well they got on.
Matt never talked to her as he did to Eileen, and it was difficult to miss how his face lit up on the few occasions he’d come home and found her there. It was why she’d decided to go to Melling that day, as soon as she realised there would only be the three of them there.
Her hands shook as she filled the kettle for Michael’s bottle. Eileen Costello was a single woman and she and Matt were the right age for each other . . .
Ruth placed the kettle on the hob and looked at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. She looked terrible*. She rubbed the rouge off her cheeks with the back of her hand, then the lipstick. Her reflection improved, but only slightly. She still looked like a ghost, just less garish. She’d been trying to make herself attractive for Matt, when all she’d done was look ridiculous.
There was no sound from Matt upstairs. Ruth remained, staring at herself in the mirror, feeling sick at heart, until the kettle boiled. Michael began to cry, but if she picked him up now, how could she make the bottle?
“Shush, love. Mummy won’t be a minute.”
Panic-stricken, she rushed into the kitchen with the kettle, talking to the baby as she measured out the water, the evap.
“I won’t be long, Michael,” she called desperately.
“Shush, now!”
She couldn’t stand to hear her baby cry. Only bad mothers left their children to cry alone, and bad mothers didn’t deserve to have children. Bad mothers should have their children taken away.
The boiling water spurted over the neck of the feeding bottle onto her hand and Ruth almost screamed in pain.
Somehow, she managed to squeeze the teat on, and wrapped a nappy around her scalded hand.
Seconds later, clutching Michael, she sank into the easy chair, and he began to suck eagerly on the bottle.
“You’ll have your mummy a nervous wreck,” she whispered, as she stroked his soft fair hair with her left hand.
The bottle was soon finished and Michael began to doze. Ruth felt too tired to move, and after a while felt her own eyes begin to close. Fortunately, it was too late for Dai to pay a visit. No doubt, he’d called when they were still out and would be in the King’s Arms by now. She was almost asleep when there was a knock on the door and she dragged herself to her feet, laid Michael in the basket, and went to answer it. It couldn’t be Dai, who always let himself in by the back way.
A plump young woman was standing outside. She wore a blue moygashel suit with a little veiled matching hat over one eye, and grinned when Ruth looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“You don’t recognise me, do you?”
Ruth gasped. “Dilys! I would never have known you.
You look very grown-up - and what a lovely suit! It’s terribly smart.” The girl’s spots had completely gone and her skin looked fresh and clear. Her brown hair had recently been permed. “Oh, am I glad to see you!” Ruth cried. “Where on earth have you been? Come in, dear.
Come in.” She was about to hug the girl, when a man, who’d been standing out of sight, appeared behind her.
Dilys said coyly, “This is me husband, Reg. We only got married last week.”
“Married! Congratulations, both of you.” Ruth shook Reg’s hand. He looked much older than Dilys, twice her age, at least. He was a dark, unsmiling man with thinning hair.
“This is the third time we’ve called today,” he said in a complaining voice. “Have you been out somewhere?”
“We spent the day in the country,” Ruth explained, slightly taken aback by the inference she should remain at home just in case Dilys might decide to turn up out of the blue.
She stood aside to let them in. “I’ve been trying to find out where you were for months, Dilys,” she said as she followed them down the hall. “I must have written at least twenty letters.”
“I’ve been working in a cafe in Portsmouth,” Dilys began. Her tone changed. “Oh!” she said softly.
By the time Ruth reached the living room, Dilys was on her knees beside the basket on the floor. “Is this him? Is this my baby? Look at him, Reg! Isn’t he adorable?”
“He’s called Michael,” Ruth said thinly, as a dreadful suspicion entered her mind. My baby! “The reason I wanted to contact you, Dilys,” she said hurriedly, conscious that the words seemed thick on her lips, “is that I’d like you to put in writing . . . ”
But Dilys wasn’t listening. “Michael!” she breathed.
“Michael! It’s a lovely name. In fact, it’s a name I might have picked meself. Isn’t he huge for six months, Reg?”
She looked up at her husband, smiling childishly like the Dilys of old. “Six months, one week, and two days.
There’s scarcely an hour passed since that I’ve not thought about him.”
She picked the baby up, and although he didn’t wake, he seemed to snuggle comfortably against her breast as if he knew it was where he always should have been. Reg reached down and squeezed her shoulder. “He’s a fine little chap, love.”
Ruth watched, feeling as if the world were collapsing around her ears. They’d come to take Michael away! If they did, if they did—she tried to visualise a world without Michael, but couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried. Once her child had gone, there wouldn’t be a single reason left to stay alive.
“You’ve done a wonderful job, Ruth,” Dilys said gratefully. “I knew my baby would be safe with you.”
“But, Dilys, you said . . . ” Ruth stopped, unable to continue. She began to sway, and grasped the door to prevent herself from fainting. Neither Dilys or Reg noticed. They were only interested in the baby.
Reg suddenly seemed to remember Ruth was there. He reached in his inside pocket and drew out a wallet. “I’d like to compensate you for the expense you’ve had looking after Michael. Would ten pounds be enough?” He put the notes on the mantelpiece. “We don’t want any of his things, by the way. We’ve got all new stuff at home, and we brought enough clothes with us in the car.”
“Compensate me?” Ruth began to laugh hysterically. “Compensate me? You must be mad, both of you, if you think you can just walk in and take my child away.”
“He’s not your child,” Dilys said pettishly. “He’s mine!”
She looked uneasily at Reg as Ruth continued to laugh.
“No!” Ruth snatched the baby out of Dily’s arms. “He’s mine! You gave him to me, remember?” She looked down tenderly at the sleeping baby. “He’s mine!”
“Now, look here!” Reg tried to drag the baby back.
“Mind you don’t hurt him,” Dilys cried, and Ruth began to scream.
“What’s going on!” Matt appeared in the doorway, looking angry and bewildered.
“Matt!” Ruth had forgotten all about him. “Oh, Matt,” she sobbed, “they’ve come for Michael. They’re going to take him away from me.”
Matt was never quite sure what made him do it, but he went over and took Ruth in his arms. For better or worse, she was his -wife and there was no way he would stand by and see her manhandled by a stranger. He held her trembling body, murmuring, “Shush, now,” whilst the enormity of the situation sank in. What the hell would this do to her?