Had they forgotten her? Maddie had been left in the lying-in room for hours
now. Just her and the black cloud of despair that hovered around her.
One of the girls had smuggled a little food into her: brittle toast with a
scrape of jam. Hard, unappetising food that stuck in your throat. When what
she really fancied was soft food. Some porridge or gently scrambled egg.
Food that didn’t choke you – or make you feel sick.
Maddie thanked the girl who had taken a risk coming to see her. The
staff wouldn’t like it. If she had been a pariah before, what was she now?
She’d slapped the midwife across the face and thrown a pillow at Matron,
not the sort of pliable patient they expected to fall in with their archaic rules
and punishments. But Maddie was unrepentant.
She wanted to howl, like a demented, wounded animal. Her baby was
gone. A boy or a girl? They wouldn’t tell her. And when she’d pleaded to
hold her child, she’d been ignored, treated like a leper. As if she were the
one to blame. God’s retribution, Sister Bennett had called it. But even now
in the depths of her pain, Maddie could not believe that. If there was a God
that she could believe in, then He would be a kinder, gentler sort of deity,
one who used His powers for good. Not to kill small, innocent babies, or
punish their mothers.
So, Maddie Brady didn’t howl. Or scream. Or seek revenge on those
who had treated her unfairly. But the emotional scars would stay with her,
like the hole in her heart where her baby should be. Yet she had to carry on,
despite the mental pain.
The physical pain was still with her. Her body was encased in it, and she
felt weak. But that would go. It had to. Because she needed to get dressed,
pack her suitcase, and leave this place behind. She was free. She’d signed
the release papers that Sister Bennett had thrust so callously in front of her
and they couldn’t keep her there against her will.
The door opened again, and a nurse came in.
‘I’m to wheel you out to the ambulance,’ she said.
‘An ambulance?’
‘Yes. You’re off to Redruth. They’ll sort you out at the hospital. We’ve
got two more births on our hands right now, you’re best off there.’ The
woman dropped her head, couldn’t look Maddie in the eye.
‘But my things, and my uniform…’
‘All packed. In the ambulance already.’
‘And my photograph?’
‘Everything’s packed,’ the nurse mumbled. ‘Best you forget everything
and move on.’
She was pushed out to the waiting ambulance, helped in by the driver
an old man who looked as if he should be sitting in a fireside chair with his
feet up. Yet there he was, still working. Taking the place of younger men, so
they could go off to war.
The man gave her a cheerful grin. ‘Soon have ye back on yer feet, my
’ansum,’ he said kindly, and winked. ‘They lot at Redruth know what
they’re about.’
‘Bless you,’ said Maddie. She could have kissed him. Right on the top
of his grizzled head. Or on his wrinkled cheek. Another small pocket of
kindness in what had been a barren desert lately. She didn’t know whether
to laugh or cry.
You see, said the small voice inside her head, there is a God. And for a
moment she forgot her terrible grief. For the first time in days, Maddie
smiled.
Maddie got her strength back after two weeks. But they kept her in for three
at Redruth hospital – convalescing was the word the ward sister used.
Maddie had to prove that she could walk around unaided. And that she
could sit down, comfortably. The comfort part might take a bit longer, and
the chairs would need to be padded, but at least now she could sit without
her eyes watering. And the tugging pain in her breasts had finally gone. No
more steeping them in Epsom Salts as her milk dried up. That had been a
psychological hurdle to overcome, knowing there was no milk now.
Another sadness to be conquered. The symbol of a missing baby.
The three weeks in hospital put some distance between her and her
stillborn child, although there would never be enough distance to forget.
And she didn’t want to. Each year she would remember the birthday: 10
November in the year 1941 was the date of a birth and a death. And she
would add a year, every year.
No one from Rosemundy had been in touch with her. If there had been a
funeral already, no one had invited her. ‘Forget it and move on,’ the nurse
had said. A cold, callous thing to say.
Maddie might move on, but she would never forget. That much was
sure. Another thing she was sure of now, she would never go back to
Rosemundy House again. At first, she’d thought she might. She’d wanted to
go there and ransack Matron’s office, force her to hand over the precious
photograph of Rudi. It hadn’t been returned in her suitcase as the nurse had
promised. And to pick up her baby’s death certificate. And birth certificate.
Would there even be one? She didn’t know. And what difference could it
make, anyway? It wouldn’t bring her baby back, nothing could do that.
‘Well, you’ve had yourself a nice little holiday, Maddie.’ The ward
sister smiled. It was a tired smile. Most of the nurses were busy there.
Rushed off their feet. But they usually took time to smile at you.
‘Three weeks of lying around and not a single floor to scrub. It really
was a holiday,’ said Maddie.
‘They make you girls scrub floors? Not when you’re in labour, surely?’
The woman was astounded.
‘Good for the soul, Sister,’ said Maddie.
‘You hear things, of course, but I never imagined they were true. That’s
appalling.’
‘I think so too. You could tell someone,’ said Maddie. ‘They’d listen to
you.’
‘I will…’ The woman nodded once, briskly. Then: ‘You’ll be leaving us
tomorrow, going home.’
‘Thanks for getting me on my feet again,’ said Maddie.
‘It’s what we do,’ the sister said and smiled.
Going home? She wasn’t sure where that might be.
She had the name of a lodging house not far from her old billet in West
London. Nothing fancy and a reasonable price. She had some money saved.
It should be enough until she got sorted with a job. That was one good thing
about this war: lots of jobs. War work in factories. If you were young
enough, it was your duty to sign up for some kind of work, unless you were
in the forces.
She phoned Commander Worthing. She’d promised to. It was a sad call,
for both of them. She knew that Helen Worthing was used to being in
control, used to thinking on her feet, assessing changing situations. The
army had done that for her. She heard it in her CO’s voice – the shock. The
sadness. That the baby Maddie had refused to give away – had fought so
hard to keep – was no longer there.
‘You’re to come and see me in my office when you get back. I’m still
your commanding officer.’
She’d agreed, of course. It was an order. And technically, Maddie
supposed, she hadn’t been mustered out, must still be in the ATS, if only for
a day or so until she saw the commander.
She sorted out her new lodgings with the landlady in Hammersmith
Grove. ‘The attic,’ the woman said defensively, waiting for Maddie to
complain. ‘The only room I have left. But there’s a war on, lots of people
need lodgings. People bombed out.’ But Maddie didn’t complain. Whatever
it looked like, it was a roof over her head. A safe space where she could
regroup and contemplate the future.
Even though that was a future without her best friend Molly. And a
future without her baby
