An Unsuitable Mother. Sheelagh Kelly

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      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 that a nurse could vindictively inflict pain was enough to stun Nell to silence, as more cruelty was imposed. ‘I’ll bet he’s not on the scene any more, is he? Ran like a rabbit when you told him.’

      Don’t say that about him! roared Nell’s mind through her adversity, he was a hero, I loved him. But, cowed by humiliation, the only insurrection she could whisper was, ‘He’s dead.’

      ‘Then he’s better off,’ snapped her torturer, and left the room.

      The spasms grew such that Nell thought she could stand them no longer. Yes, Billy was better off dead, and she with him! All she wanted to do was sleep, but the contractions were so extreme now that they kept jolting her awake, and with them came a series of involuntary shrieks. ‘Please, won’t you give me something to stop the pain?’

      But just when Nell thought she was indeed going to die, a change came upon her, an urgent signal that her body wished to expel its unwanted lodger, and the might of this drawing forth an involuntary belch. Thankful that the pain was not quite so excruciating now, as each spasm subsided Nell took grateful advantage and closed her eyes, craving sleep.

      ‘Don’t nod off – you’re supposed to be pushing!’ Again her violator was there, rough and cold and unhelpful, as if Nell had disturbed her own peaceful night.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ whimpered Nell. ‘I’m trying!’

      ‘Try harder! And stop clamping your legs shut – it’s a bit too late for that now!’

      At three o’clock in the morning, Nell’s tiny baby came slipping and slithering into an unwelcome world, the waxen face coated in its mother’s blood.

      ‘Is it all right?’ Nell was wide awake now and craning forward anxiously, as the baby’s face flooded red and began to bleat. ‘What is it?’

      The midwife was busy snipping and poking and prodding, saying without enthusiasm, ‘A bit puny, but it’s all right. I don’t know why you’re bothered what it is, seeing all the trouble he’s caused.’

      ‘A boy!’ Nell felt a rush of tearful adoration for Billy’s son, checking that he was whole and healthy, before falling back exhausted, but exhilarated too, at having produced another human being.

      Then the midwife was jabbing her crudely again. ‘Not finished yet. Give another push!’

      Having little experience in maternity, Nell panicked. ‘It’s twins?’

      ‘No, you clot, just the placenta.’ Having delivered this, the midwife conducted another intimate examination. ‘You’re luckier than you deserve. You don’t need any stitches.’ Then she spread a sheet and blanket over Nell, and carried the baby from the room, saying, ‘There’ll be somebody along to see to you in a minute.’

      ‘Can I hold him?’ Nell’s head shot up again.

      ‘Later,’ said the midwife, on the point of exit.

      ‘Is my mother here?’

      The midwife looked derisive. ‘Do you think she wants anything to do with you?’ And on this brutal note, she was gone.

      Nell was to lie there then, subdued and tearful, clinging to Bill’s wedding ring as an anchor, until someone did eventually come along to make her comfortable, not a nurse but one of the domestic staff, who had obviously been dragged from her bed. By then, though, Nell was too fidgety to sleep. Sipping the cup of tea that the woman had kindly donated after washing her and putting her into an institutional nightgown, she asked, ‘Where have they taken my baby?’

      The bleary face did not look at her as its owner went about the business of clearing up the gory detritus. ‘He’ll be in the nursery.’

      Nell СКАЧАТЬ