39
RUBY
August
I’m having a baby. Sam’s baby. Every time the thought popped into my head, I felt a wave of terror mixed with a fierce rush of elation.
So far, I’d kept it to myself. Doctor Williams had given me something that stopped me being sick, and Grandmother had believed me when I blamed my tiredness on work, although my ARP shifts had come to an end, something I was very relieved about, as I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to cope otherwise. As the weeks passed, I wore baggy jumpers to hide my slowly expanding waistline, and loosened my skirt by fastening it with a safety pin. And Father made things easier by continuing to pretend I didn’t exist.
Of course, it would only be a matter of time before I had to tell them; I knew that. But first, I needed a plan. I had to find somewhere else to live, perhaps one of the rooms in the middle of town that Vera used to rent. We were already on top of each other here; even if Father did come round, I couldn’t imagine trying to stay here with a baby. And I would have to pray that Howler would let me keep my job – I’d need every penny I could earn.
But perhaps staying in Bartonford was a mistake. Perhaps I should write to Vera for help – ask her if I could come to America to stay with her and Stanley for a while. If only I wasn’t so tired all the time! It felt as if my brains had been scrambled; I drifted around in a panicked haze, unable to settle on a decision about anything.
The only thing I’d managed to do was write to Sam, but there had been no reply. Lately, there’d been a little voice in my head that kept nagging at me: What if you never hear from him again? What if that night in Southampton was all he wanted, and now he’s got it he’s forgotten about you? It was getting harder and harder to ignore.
I’d never felt so alone in my life – not even when I’d thought Sam was dead. Only the thought of the baby – of that tiny life, growing inside me, my last connection to Sam – kept me going.
‘There’s a letter for you on the mantelpiece in the parlour,’ Grandmother said in her usual icy tone one evening, when I arrived home from work. I was so exhausted I could have gone straight to bed and slept the night through, but her words swept my tiredness away. Please let it be from Sam, PLEASE, I pleaded as I rushed in there.
But the handwriting on the envelope, although familiar, wasn’t Sam’s. The letter had a London postmark. I turned it over, frowning, to look at the return address. My heart did a quick double-thud when I saw the name: Mrs S. Novak.
I took it upstairs to read in the relative privacy of the bedroom I still had to share with Grandmother.
Ruby darling, Vera’s letter, which was dated a few days ago, began. I’m so sorry I haven’t written for such a long time. It’s unforgivable of me – you must think I’ve forgotten all about you! But so much has happened and there simply wasn’t time to sit down and pen you a letter until now.
As you might have guessed from the postmark, I am no longer in America. Stanley and I couldn’t find a decent place to live and there were problems with his family (goodness me, how someone like Stanley can have a mother like that, I don’t know!), so when a job came up with Reuters in London, he applied for it and here we are! The fare back to England cost us almost all our savings so for now we have rooms in Bloomsbury – it’s on the poky side but we can’t complain, especially when we think of all those poor people bombed out of their homes who still have nowhere to go.
I’m working for a local newspaper, theBloomsbury Chronicle, and once we’ve managed to save up a bit again, we want to start looking for a little house somewhere. Luckily, this part of London doesn’t seem to have been as badly damaged as some of the others, so overall it’s really quite pleasant here – we feel awfully lucky.
Gosh, doesn’t it seem funny to think the war is over? We thought it would never end, didn’t we? Of course in some ways it feels as if nothing has changed – we still need coupons for everything and can I get a new pair of stockings anywhere?? But if I never have to hear an air raid siren again as long as I live, I will die a happy woman!
I hope you’ll reply, darling, and that we’re still chums. I would love you to come and visit us!
All my love,
Vera xx
P.S. Stanley sends his love too. You should see the cabbages he’s growing in the back garden of our boarding house! They’re twice the size of anything Bartonford Town Council managed to grow in the town gardens – they’d be green with envy.
I clutched the letter, feeling relief wash over me. Snatching up a piece of paper, I scribbled a reply.
Dear Vera,
Thank you so much for writing. I’m not angry – don’t be a goose! I’m not surprised you didn’t have time.
I took a deep breath, wondering what to say next. Should I try to make polite conversation? Mention the weather, tell Vera what I’d had for dinner, what the latest gossip from the Herald offices was?
No, I had to get straight to the point. I took a deep breath and carried on writing.
Vera, I need your help. I’m in a bit of a fix. I am having a baby – Sam’s baby. Yes, Sam is alive! I’m guessing you don’t know, otherwise you’d have said in your letter, but he was rescued in Germany after being in a camp and a prison, and brought back to England, to a hospital in Southampton. He wrote to me from there – of course, I went straight down there to see him! We spent the night together and, well, I’m sure you can guess what happened after that.
No one knows yet. Sam was sent back to America before I found out, and I haven’t heard from him since he got there. I’ve written but there’s been no reply and I don’t know how to get hold of him or even where he is.
I wonder if I could come and stay with you for a week or two whilst I work out what on earth I’m going to do. Things are unbearable here – Father and Grandmother are both furious with me for getting engaged to Sam (for reasons I’ll tell you all about when I see you – finally their hatred of the Americans makes sense!) and I dread to think how they’ll react when they find out about this.
If you could help me I would be so grateful. I don’t know who else to turn to. I will pay my way while I’m with you, and I won’t be a nuisance, I promise – as soon as I’ve found a place of my own I will come back to Devon and get out of your hair.
Love,
Ruby xx
After a moment’s thought, I scrawled a P.S.:
Please reply to me at theHerald offices, not here!
I posted the letter the following morning. Days of awful suspense followed, until the following Friday when Alfie brought the post to the Herald offices. Nestled among the envelopes containing the small ads and obituaries there was a telegram, addressed to me.
Yes of course. Wonderful news about Sam – we had no idea! Come as soon as you can. Say if money needed. All my love, Vera
*
Another week later, and it was all arranged. I’d asked Howler for a holiday – I was owed it and more – and that Friday afternoon, I left work early, claiming a headache. Really, it was because I knew Grandmother was out that afternoon at a meeting of the Bartonford WI, and I would be able to pack my things in peace. In my handbag were return train tickets to London which Vera had sent me; I was leaving first thing tomorrow.
The suitcase I’d taken to Southampton was under my bed. I pulled it out, remembering that day and that night I’d spent with Sam. Only three months ago – it felt like years. I longed to feel Sam’s arms around me again; his lips on mine. Where was he? Why, why didn’t he write?
I began folding clothes into the suitcase, and sighed, wondering how much longer my things would fit, and how I’d manage to get new clothes when everything was still rationed with no end in sight. Perhaps Vera would be able to help with that, too. I undid my cardigan and turned sideways, looking at my reflection on the long mirror on the wardrobe door. I was beginning to show already, just slightly; my breasts were bigger too. I smoothed my hands over my stomach. Oh, Sam, I wish you were here.
From the bedroom doorway, I heard a sharp intake of breath.
I whirled round and saw Grandmother standing there, wearing her coat and clutching her handbag, a hat balanced on her curls. She was staring at me, her mouth open in a wide O. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.
I drew my cardigan around myself again, jutting out my chin. ‘Yes, Grandmother?’ I said, trying to sound defiant, although my heart was beating a rapid tattoo inside my chest.
‘You – you—’ she stuttered, still gaping at me. For a moment, my head whirled as I tried to come up with an excuse. Then I thought, Why should I? Before long, I’d be showing properly and it would be impossible to hide it.
‘It’s Sam’s, in case you were wondering,’ I said. ‘But don’t worry, I’m going away for a couple of weeks while I sort things out. I was going to write and tell you and Father about the baby when I got there, but well, you know now, I suppose.’
Grandmother turned and hurried from the room. It was the fastest I’d ever seen her move. Moments later, I heard the front door of the cottage thud shut below me. Where’s she going? I thought, and then, Oh, who cares? I finished packing and went slowly downstairs, where I poured myself a glass of water and sat down at the table.
Ten minutes later, Grandmother returned, with Father in tow. He was wearing his white coat, his spectacles slightly askew and had a notebook tucked into his pocket.
‘Look at her, Cecil!’ Grandmother said. ‘There – that’s the thanks she gives you! Everything you did for her, and she lets that American get her pregnant.’ She sniffed and turned to me. ‘Where is your Sam, anyway?’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Still going to send for you, is he? I don’t think so! A fine mess you’ve got yourself into now!’
Father didn’t speak. He wouldn’t even look at me.
‘But it will all be all right,’ she continued, her voice softening suddenly. ‘I know people who can help. I can have it all arranged by the end of the week. There’s a place in Plymouth – it’s very nice, quiet and clean. You can go there and they will take care of everything. When you come back we can tell people you were ill, and went away for a rest cure. No one need ever know there was a baby at all.’
I stared at her, going cold all over as I took in what she was saying.
‘No,’ I said at last. It felt like a tremendous effort to get the words out. ‘Absolutely not. I am not giving my baby away.’
Grandmother’s voice sharpened again. ‘Do you want everyone to talk, like they did with Jennie Pearson? I doubt they’ll let you keep your job at the paper, and then what will you do? Because if you think we’ll let you continue living here, you can think again!’
‘I’ve already told you – I’m going away for a couple of weeks. I’ll sort something out, and then you won’t have to worry about me.’
‘They won’t want you. No one will – not once they realise what’s going on!’ Grandmother’s tone was shrill now, her face twisted and ugly. ‘Cecil, help me! There must be something you can do – perhaps we can lock her up in the hospital while I arrange things.’
‘Lock me up?’ I choked. ‘Are you mad?’ I turned to Father. ‘Father! Make her stop! This is preposterous! I’m a grown adult, not a child! It will all be all right – you’ll see!’
Finally, Father looked up and met my eyes briefly, before sliding his gaze away again.
‘Ruby should do whatever she thinks is best,’ he said coldly, carefully, to Grandmother, taking off his spectacles and polishing them on a corner of his coat. His face was utterly expressionless. ‘She has made her bed – now she must lie in it. But if she insists on marrying that man I will have nothing to do with her anymore, or the baby.’
‘Cecil!’ Grandmother shrieked. ‘You can’t mean that! We have to do something! People will work it out. They’ll talk – it’ll be like Ellen all over again. Remember how ashamed you were, the lies we had to tell so no one found out what had really happened! If we send Ruby away and have the baby adopted we won’t have to deal with any of that nonsense.’
I just stared at them, letting Father’s words sink in. And in that moment, I made my decision: after I boarded that train for London tomorrow – whether Sam sent for me or not – I wouldn’t be coming back to Bartonford. The man standing in front of me wasn’t my father anymore; he was a stranger. He’d become one the day he told me my mother was still alive and he’d lied to me about her my entire life.
It was funny, because in a way, this was what I’d wanted – longed for – for years now: to be independent; to be free of the guilt and obligation that had kept me tied to Bartonford, to Father, to this dreary little cottage for so long. So why did the thought of leaving it all behind feel like such an awful wrench?
I was careful not to let any of this show on my face, though. I kept my face calm, determined that I wouldn’t let either Father or Grandmother know how I really felt. I’d save my tears for tomorrow. The thought of anyone trying to take my baby – Sam’s baby – away from me filled me with a fierce, desperate sort of anger.
‘Very well, Father,’ I said. I wasn’t worried about Grandmother; I knew her threats were empty ones. I was taller and bigger than her, and without Father to help her there was no way on earth she’d be able to force me to do anything. When neither of them spoke, I turned and went calmly back upstairs to finish packing my suitcase, feeling strangely relieved – at least the decision was made now.
Oh, Sam, I thought. I wish you’d written to me. I wish I knew where you were so I could let you know what’s happening.
But I couldn’t. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth.