The Yorkshire Pudding Club (28 page)

It had been a week and a half since Elizabeth had last seen John, when they had gone out for a Chinese and he had cost her a fortune, albeit nothing compared to what he had spent on the baby. He had even ordered a double portion of banana fritters for afters whilst she sat with a jasmine tea in one hand and her Gaviscon bottle in the other, although even anti-heartburn medicine was giving her heartburn these days. He had walked her to the door and then said he was not coming in for a coffee.

‘I haven’t asked you in for a coffee,’ she had tutted, and he’d laughed like the school Santa had when she’d sat on his knee as a little girl, and when he’d asked her what she wanted for Christmas, had said, ‘Tony Curtis.’ Then John had ruffled up her hair as if she was his kid sister and driven off home. All that insisting she had done that she didn’t want him, and there she was heavy with disappointment that he’d not even tried to hug her, or kiss her. He had backed off, just like she had wanted. So why did she feel so painfully dejected?

A couple of nights ago he had rung to ask how she was and to say again that he was really busy with the
last house. He was slightly behind schedule, he explained, and was working like a madman to get it ready for the new owner.

‘Oh, you’ve sold it then. Well done!’ said Elizabeth.

‘Aye well, with craftsmanship like mine, what do you expect?’ he said. ‘You’ll have to come and have a look around when it’s ready.’

‘I will,’ she had replied. ‘I’ll come and check that you’ve done it right.’

‘You cheeky little beggar! I’ll give you “done it right”!’

She doubted she would be able to climb all the stairs though, as his houses had a second floor, and going up one flight to the loo was wearing her out these days. She wished she had a downstairs bathroom like Janey and Helen because she seemed to want to go every two minutes, just like she did in the beginning, but the midwife said that was perfectly normal. She was going every week for her antenatal appointments now and on the last one she had written out her birthplan, which had looked very different to the mental one she had composed prior to her last Parentcraft class. It read:
Drugs to be decided at the time, averse to nothing that helps
as opposed to the first draft:
As natural a delivery as possible, gas and air possibly.

There was still a blank on the birth partner section. She reckoned that if Helen and Janey had not beaten her to it, they would probably be too tired to go through a birth with her. They had about six–eight, max–weeks to go and were all slowly grinding to a halt. It was knocking them all out taking the top off
their Gaviscon bottles, what with the weight they were all piling on by the second and the vicious heat of a summer that made 1976 look like an Ice Age. The only good thing about the weather was that it was too warm to wear tights, because Elizabeth could not have got into them in a million years. Shaving her legs was a nightmare, even trying to get her drawers on in a morning was like a Houdini act in reverse. At least after today she could swan about in a dressing-gown from dawn to dusk if she wanted to, because she was so tired that she had pulled her date forward in line with that of the other two heifers.

This time tomorrow, they would all be on the first day of their maternity leave.

‘I’d like, from us all, to wish Janey good luck, good health and a very happy maternity leave,’ said Barry Parrish, and everyone applauded and yelled, ‘Speech, speech!’

Janey’s desk was undetectable below a huge pile of presents and it felt like the whole building had formed a circle around her. A smiling, happy circle that radiated warmth and lots of good feeling.

‘Well, I’d just like to say that I’ll miss you all very much, but as the great man himself said, “I’ll be back’”–and she did a weighty impression of big Arnie that made them all laugh. ‘I’d like to say as well, thank you for the lovely presents. I’m truly touched,’ and this she said with genuine gratitude too. Her team had done a lot of crafty homework, finding out the things she didn’t have so they would not duplicate. They had also bought
her the biggest pair of ugliest pants they could find on Wakefield market, to discourage George from going near her afterwards. They had drawn a No Entry sign on them and written
for 6 years
underneath, which had made her crease over. People only do daft things like that for someone they like, she thought, and felt like crying.

Barry Parrish had given her the last hug and pushed an envelope into her hand. ‘This is an extra little something from me, Janey. I knew you could do this job and you’ve done me proud.’

Janey beamed, just as much as if her dad or her granddad had said that to her.

‘I’d like to raise a toast to Helen: good health and good luck,’ said Teddy Sanderson, raising a glass of champagne in her direction, and everyone repeated, ‘To Helen, good health and good luck,’ and took a sip.

‘Thank you so much, everyone,’ said Helen, savouring the cool taste, knowing the heartburn would take its revenge on her pleasure later.

‘Helen, please come back to us, we shall all miss you terribly,’ said her boss, tipping his glass to her in an extra, fond toast, and some of the other solicitors joined in a chorus of ‘Hear! Hear!’ behind him, then drifted off back to their offices when the champagne had been drunk. The band of secretaries scurried around clearing up the pink wrapping paper and the ribbons and bows that had dressed a Steiff teddy bear, some beautiful little pink baby outfits and a thick furry pink pram blanket.

Teddy Sanderson helped Helen carry out the presents to her car, which was parked in one of their reserved spaces outside the back door exit. She nervously over-arranged them in the boot because the air was crackling with a strange tension and she wasn’t sure how this particular goodbye was going to be performed.

‘And this is from me, for you,’ he said, taking a package out of his inner suit pocket. ‘Because everyone forgets the mother, so this is to redress the balance.’

‘Oh, I didn’t expect…’ said Helen, silencing herself and hoping the butterflies flipping about in her tum weren’t going to suddenly come flying out of her mouth and waft Teddy Sanderson to death. She opened up the exquisitely wrapped box to find a locket in white gold, engraved on the back with
To H from T
, along with a small horseshoe.

‘It’s beautiful, Teddy, thank you so much,’ she whispered, battling with some very sudden tears.

‘To wish you luck, dear Helen,’ he said, and he bent to kiss her cheek. His lips lingered slightly longer than a simple, platonic goodbye merited, but Helen did not mind that one bit.

‘…And she’s been bloody useless and I’ll be glad to see the back of her. Good riddance!’ said Terry Lennox as Nerys and the girls in the office shook their heads in despair and Elizabeth looked at him with mock weariness.

‘All right,’ he began again, ‘I’ll be serious for a minute. Elizabeth, you’ve been a breath of fresh air
and an absolute joy to work with, and you make a cracking cup of coffee, despite what I usually say about it. I think I speak for all of us when I say, “Good luck, old bird and come back to us safe and sound with a lovely little healthy baby in your life”,’ and he gave her a kiss and then everyone else gave her a kiss and little Nerys started crying because Elizabeth
was
lovely and she
would
miss her. She had always felt awful about not being able to stop those horrible rumours that had been circulating about her. Luckily, all that business was now over. There had been a post-script of gossip though, that Sue Barrington had had her long-overdue come-uppance from Elizabeth in a loo at the other end of the building. Lots of people who had fallen foul of Sue Barrington had cheered at that. Anyway, Sue had not so much as mentioned her name since, and she talked about
everyone
.

‘Back to flaming temps then again. I hope you aren’t going to be one of these women who only comes back for about five minutes, just to get her maternity pay and then buggers off for good!’ said Terry Lennox, delivering her a coffee as Elizabeth tidied off some loose ends at her desk when the throng around it had dispersed. She looked at the cup and then at him as if he was an alien and had just given her a rock from his planet.

‘What’s up with you? I can boil a kettle, you know!’ he said.

‘I’ll come back, even if it’s just to make your life a misery.’

‘You don’t make my life a misery, lass,’ he said in a
voice that punched her in the gut with its unexpected tenderness. ‘Here, by the way,’ and he shoved a folded-up cheque unceremoniously into her hand.

‘Terry! Five hundred quid? God…’

‘Buy yourself some gin and chips,’ he said. ‘It was the only thing that kept our Irene going and sane. Trust me, you’ll need all the strength you can get. I should know, we have three of the buggers. Look after yourself, Elizabeth, you’re a good girl,’ and he gave her a nice kiss on the cheek that was appreciative and giving, and did not ask for anything back from her. Nerys appeared at her side to help her carry her presents down to the car.

‘Don’t be going soft, Adolf, I’m not used to it and I’ll start blubbing,’ she said, as he helped her on with her jacket. She would make a fool of herself in a minute if she didn’t get away. She and Nerys started to walk out.

‘Oy, you,’ he called after her. ‘I lied about the coffee. You
are
bloody useless at making it.’

They met that evening for their third and final Parentcraft class, as usual, in the car spaces at the back of the park. There was a nice cool breeze, for which they were all grateful as it was like carrying a central-heating boiler around, having a little baby inside. They bought an ice cream from the van and excitedly swapped stories about their last day at work and all the presents they had received. The giddy sensation in their stomachs made it feel as if they were back at Barnsley Girls’ School and had just broken up for the six-week holiday. Then they all set off for the church hall; it was only a short walk away, but it was as much as they could manage in their thirty-fourth week.

Carol was conspicuous by her absence. Apparently she’d had her baby three days before at home–a little girl called Palma. Mandy smilingly delivered the news, whilst secretly hoping she’d had enough stitches to keep her at home sat on a rubber ring and away from the last of her three classes. Elizabeth was happy for her, but disappointed that she had never got the chance to ask her if she had bonded with all her babies straight away. She was starting to get fixated about it, having
dreams that she was looking at her baby and feeling nothing, even though she wanted to, as if a wall stood between them.

It was to be a mixed bag of a lesson that week.
Any Questions
was the subject on the whiteboard, although Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to ask the one that was torturing her most of all–they would all look at her as if she was a freak if she did.

‘How likely is a Caesarean delivery?’ asked Marc with a ‘c’, after the subjects of babies mixing with dogs and cats, sleep, the best first toys and cutting baby nails had been exhausted.

‘Well, the odds are that one of you in this room will have one,’ said Mandy. Elizabeth’s jaw dropped open because she thought only actresses and Posh Spice had those–weren’t they more of a cosmetic thing?

‘Sometimes, if the baby is breech or goes into distress–basically starts poohing inside you–then a Caesarean will be performed, or c-sections, as they are sometimes called. Emergency Caesareans can be quite scary as the room will suddenly fill with surgical staff, but that’s a good thing in a way because they just want to get your baby out without any fuss or nonsense,’ said Mandy with a beatific smile. ‘They’ll make a slit just here,’ she indicated a low-down horizontal slash, ‘and you can be awake or asleep during this procedure.’

‘Awake?’
said Pam, so loudly that the echo returned to her from the back of the stage.

‘Oh, don’t worry. You’re all numbed up and there’s a screen there so you won’t be able to see a thing. Then you’re stapled…’

‘Stapled?’
said someone else even louder, and with panic vibrating their voice to full-on falsetto.

‘Or stitched, depending on the surgeon. They all have their preferred methods.’

Helen noticed that Mandy’s voice seemed to jolly up the more she panicked people, thereby allowing her to move in and give comfort. She wondered if she had some form of Munchausen’s.

Then they all gratefully left that subject for ‘hazards in the home’. Apparently, everyone’s house was a lethal death-trap for a child, and Janey wondered how she had ever made it to adulthood with all the sharp edges in her parents’ house, especially with her mum’s penchant for fancy glass tables. Thinking back, though, the only domestic accident she could remember having was when she cut her face open on the zipper of a cushion whilst doing illegal roly-polys on the sofa.

‘A health visitor will come round to your houses to make sure everything is okay in the days when you get back from hospital,’ said Mandy, summing up. ‘No one expects you to have a sparkling home, but try and keep on top of the kitchen and the bathroom. Be firm with visitors as well because they will all want to come and see the new baby, most likely when you just want to sleep. Remember, when the baby sleeps, you sleep. Don’t try and catch up with the ironing–you need your rest. The best friends will be the ones that come and vacuum up for you, not sit there for hours with the baby
you
want to cuddle. Get your partners to pull their fingers out and look after
you
for a change.’

That would have been nice, thought Elizabeth, being
looked after when I got home. As it was, she would have nothing but an empty house to come back to–no Penelope Luxmore fussing around her, no George shoving a meat and potato pie on a tray for her.

I can’t do this.

You’ll have to
, countered another voice, a robust no-nonsense voice. It sounded like her Auntie Elsie’s.

You’ll have to…

They all made plans then to convene on Tuesday evening at the hospital for their ‘Stork Walk’, a look around the Labour Suite and the wards to acclimatize them for the big one to come. Janey braved the video box and took out
Four Births
.

‘Look, come round to mine one day next week–let’s make it Wednesday,’ she said. ‘I’ll cook and we’ll watch it.’

‘You’ll what?’

‘Okay, okay, we’ll get a takeaway in.’

‘That Carol told us not to watch anything like this.’

‘Well, we’re all going to be doing it soon,’ said Janey, ‘so, personally, I think it will help to see what we have to face.’

Within the next eight weeks max she would have had her baby and she was impatient for it to happen. She was fed up with pregnancy now; she had got used to the extra energy her first two trimesters had given her and she wasn’t enjoying feeling like a wound-down clock. She had read that some mothers felt what sex child they were carrying–like Helen had–but she herself did not have a clue. Some nights she had strong
dreams it was a little girl, only to dream the next night that she had a baby boy, but she didn’t care; she just wanted it healthy. And she wanted it out.

Elizabeth lay back in the bath looking like, she supposed, a giant half-submerged hippo. Although, stick a palm tree on her stomach as it rose out of the water and she could do a jolly good impression of a cartoon desert island. Thank God there’s no one here to see me looking like this, she thought, and then she remembered how George looked at Janey, who was fourteen times bigger and rounder than she was. Her friend really had never been as pretty ever.
Radiant
–that was the word they used to describe mums-to-be who looked like Janey did.

Elizabeth’s stomach suddenly rose and shifted like someone wriggling under a pink tent. She had come to enjoy the sensation of the baby jiggling around inside her. He usually started his main gyrations when she had settled down at night in her snuggle of cushions and supporting pillows and had got as comfortable in bed as she was likely to. She let herself go with the sensation of lying there, feeling him twizzle inside her to get comfortable, like Sam used to do on the rug. She would miss this more than anything, knowing he was safe inside her and that no one could ever hurt him whilst he was there, nestled up near to her heart.

How could her mam have gone through all this and then left her?

The weekend was full of terrific thunderstorms that gave everyone some cool respite from the unrelenting
August heat, but on Monday the rested sun fired up again with a vengeance. Elizabeth set off to the hospital for her last visit to the consultant, puffing like an old tired train. She parked in the nice wide mother and toddler spots in the hospital car park and plodded across to the high square building in her flat ballet pumps. For someone who had power walked everywhere on heels since she was sixteen, it was nice to be forced not to rush. Even if she had wanted to, snail’s pace was all she could manage these days.

The appointments were running over half an hour late, but she was quite happy sitting with a bottle of orange and a
Women by Women
, which apparently was the magazine for the ‘woman of today’, whatever that meant. Am I a woman of today? she mused, concluding that she probably wasn’t. Her thoughts had been too firmly in the past for too many years than was good for her. Now she should not only move forwards, but make up some time too.

‘Elizabeth Collier,’ called a nurse eventually, and Elizabeth put down the magazine, scooped up her bag and went straight through to Mr Greer, clutching her notes and her urine sample.

‘So, how are you keeping then?’ he said, as she tried to make a dignified climb onto the couch after her blood pressure had been taken.

‘I’m tired, I know that much,’ she replied, and he nodded sympathetically. She had only gone up two steps and it felt like she had just scaled Everest.

‘Yes, the weather we’ve been having doesn’t do ladies like you many favours, does it? I expect you
enjoyed the rain at the weekend as much as the ducks did.’

‘I feel like a duck the way I’m waddling these days,’ she replied, but Mr Greer was concentrating too hard to laugh. He felt around and manipulated her stomach gently, then he said, ‘Hmmmm,’ in a way that made her immediately start to worry.

‘You’re presenting breech,’ he said.

‘Am I?’ she said, a cold sweat breaking out at the back of her neck. The word ‘breech’ had a strong association with ‘Caesarean’, which led onto ‘emergency’, which led onto the sorts of fears she didn’t want to think about in detail.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ said Mr Greer, ‘but you’ll probably find that his position might cause you quite a lot of heartburn.’

‘It does already,’ said Elizabeth. The baby’s head was like a coconut under her breast.

They listened to the baby’s strong heartbeat and Mr Greer addressed Elizabeth’s fear balance with a few ‘excellent’ comments.

‘I think I’ll see you again in two weeks, just to make sure. The nurse will make an appointment for you,’ said Mr Greer eventually, with a gentle smile as he helped her off the couch. ‘Have you anything you’d like to ask me in the meantime?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Elizabeth, who had, but she suspected even nice Mr Greer, with his vast experience, would not be able to answer how to guarantee that she would love her baby. And how not to die in childbirth.