LITMIR.BIZ

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have to look at her – and please stop calling me woman!’

      Nell sobbed, and gripped the edges of the dressing gown around her enlarged form as they continued to bombard each other.

      ‘If it’s that obvious why didn’t you confront her before?’

      ‘It wasn’t obvious – I had no idea! And why didn’t you?’

      ‘You’re the blasted mother, you should know about these things – anyway, this is doing not the slightest good. Get her down here, I want to speak to her!’

      ‘I told you, she’s in labour, she’s … dribbling all over the place! The bathroom’s awash with – look, it’s no good arguing, we’ll have to fetch Doctor Greenhow!’

      ‘She’s not going to have it right this minute, is she?’ snarled Wilfred. ‘I want to talk to her first, find out who’s responsible!’ And he pushed Thelma aside and hared up to Nell’s room, barging in without knocking.

      ‘I’m sorry Fa –’

      ‘Who was it?’ he demanded. ‘And why have you waited until now? Where can we get in touch with his parents?’

      ‘He’s dead!’ wept a shivering Nell. ‘He was killed after we –’

      ‘Slut!’ Wilfred Spottiswood brought his fingers hard across her face.

      Nell reeled, but the shock of it stopped her crying and she stared at him in disbelief, her lips parting to offer soft reproach. ‘We were going to be married …’ As evidence, she offered the ring on its chain that hung from her neck.

      ‘Well, you’re not now, are you?’ flung her father, trying to swipe it from her.

      But Nell reared away to protect the treasured ring, tearfully begging him to comprehend that, ‘We loved each other!’

      ‘You don’t know what love is!’ sneered Wilfred, growing nastier by the second. ‘You brazen little cat, you certainly know nothing about respect! If you’d none for yourself you could at least have had some for your parents!’

      Bill’s wedding ring still in her fist, tears streaking her cheeks, Nell grasped the dressing gown around her contracting trunk, and begged them both, ‘Please try to understand –’

      ‘Try as I might, I’ll never understand!’ interrupted her mother, her face contorted with disbelief. ‘It’s always been apparent you’ve no care for your parents’ reputation, but how could you walk around for so long with … that in you, and not be cowed by shame? As if you’re actually proud of being labelled a scrubber!’

      ‘I’m not!’ protested Nell in self-defence. ‘We would’ve been married by now if Bill hadn’t sacrificed his life for another.’ And her face crumpled in more tears.

      ‘Bill?’ yelled Mother. ‘Oh, it’s all coming out now, the lies you must have told! Well, he’s certainly left us all in the lurch, hasn’t he? But he’s not the only one – how could you be so completely and utterly selfish? As if there isn’t enough for us to worry about with a war on!’

      Nell wanted to plead again for her mother to empathise, but knew now that she never would, could never have never felt the same depth of passion that she herself felt for her man. Shaking with emotion, daring now to peer through the scalding veil of tears at her father with his glittering eyes and his sour, discontented face, she knew that even the merest attempt to explain would be useless. Besides, she was robbed of the will by another stronger pain in her lower back, as if a giant hand was gripping and squeezing it.

      Seeing her wince, Thelma advised quickly, ‘We’ve got to get her out of here before she has it!’

      ‘Is it going to be born now?’ groaned Nell.

      ‘You stupid girl, what did you think was happening? What did you think would be the consequence of your sordid – oh, we’ll argue about this later. Wilfred, I just want her out!’

      Of similar mind, Wilfred let fly at his daughter. ‘Don’t think I’ve finished with you, not by a long chalk!’ And, charging for the stairs, he added over his shoulder, ‘I’ll go and fetch the doctor!’

      Disdaining coat and hat, he pedalled off to the telephone box, leaving his wife to observe the unfolding horror.

      By the time the doctor had arrived in his car, Nell’s labour pains had begun in earnest.

      The elderly Doctor Greenhow doffed his homburg, though retained his coat and scarf, and, without examining the patient, declared in his gravelly voice, ‘I’ll ring for an ambulance to take her to hospital, at least we’ll have her away before the baby’s out.’

      ‘Not the maternity hospital?’ breathed Thelma, touching her plump breast in concern, for that was in too close a suburb. ‘Oh, Doctor, the whole of Acomb will be aware of it before daybreak – can it not be somewhere else?’

      The GP had treated the Spottiswoods for years, knew the parents’ characters inside out. Transposing himself to their unenviable position, he spent only another few seconds watching Nell squirm, before deciding, ‘I’ll telephone the Infirmary, see if there’s anyone qualified in midwifery on duty.’

      Whilst Thelma showed deep gratitude, there came a squeal of pain and panic from Nell. Her mother immediately ran to her, but not to comfort. ‘Bite on your sheet!’ she commanded, and thrust a handful of bedding towards Nell’s mouth. ‘Bite on it, I said! At least spare us the indignity of your squawks.’

      Trying to be quiet, Nell bit on the sheet and closed her eyes against the discomfort, squirming into the mattress.

      ‘I just paid six guineas for that bed last year, and now she’s completely ruined it!’

      Old Doctor Greenhow drove off to the phone box, returning fifteen minutes later to say that all was in order. ‘An ambulance will be arriving any minute. I’ve warned them not to put the bell on.’

      ‘Thank Christ it’s dark,’ breathed an irascible Wilfred Spottiswood, pinching his grey temples as if to contain some volcanic eruption.

      The ambulance did arrive very quickly, its two-man crew helping Nell downstairs then depositing her in a wheelchair, which was propelled down the garden path.

      ‘Don’t you cry out,’ warned Thelma through clenched teeth, making sure that Nell was completed swaddled in blankets to hide that odious bump. ‘Don’t you dare make a sound.’

      ‘Ooh, what’s up wi’ your Nell?’ Geoffrey Dawson lolloped out of the darkness in an over-large boiler suit and Wellington boots, on his way out to fire-watch.

      Thelma whirled in alarm at the inquisition. ‘Suspected appendicitis – so we can’t delay, Geoffrey!’

      ‘Are you coming with me, Mother?’ Deposited in the ambulance, the curious youth still watching, a frightened Nell raised her head from the stretcher to ask, just before the doors were closed.

      Then came a rocky ride towards the city. Having heard where they were taking her, despite her pain and only wanting it to be over, Nell prayed, please don’t let there be anyone on duty that knows me, please, please. Jerked from side to side in the ambulance, finally lifted out then wheeled along the familiar echoing corridors, she was relieved to be steered into a small ward that had no beds, only a trolley, and was no bigger than a cupboard really. But the relief was short-lived, for, as she was helped to clamber aboard the trolley, the contractions grew so intense that she could not help but cry out.

      ‘Be quiet and lie down, you’ll wake the patients,’ came the brusque command of the midwife about to examine her.

      ‘It hurts!’ moaned Nell, beseeching sympathy.

      But none was to come from the one who probed so intimately, violating her body as if gutting a chicken. ‘Yes, well, your type don’t think about that, do you, when you’re rolling about with some soldier?’ The shock of realising

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