A Child of Jarrow (26 page)

Chapter 32

Kate was standing at the kitchen table, sweating over the ironing, when the pain seized her. She yelped in agony and dropped the iron. Doubling up, she almost vomited.

‘Mam,' she gasped, ‘Mam, help us!'

But her mother was down the street buying suet and potatoes for tea. She would take ages to walk the few hundred yards from the shop, putting down her load every couple of paces. Kate felt faint in the stifling heat of the kitchen. Outside, the hot June sun bounced off the brick walls and no air stirred in the baking streets. She sank to her knees, struggling for breath, panting on all fours like a dog.

After a moment the stabbing pain eased, leaving her light-headed with relief. Was this how a baby came, bursting out of the belly? Was she going into labour or was there something wrong with her?

‘Mam, come back quick,' she whimpered in fear.

She stood up and saw with horror that she had singed the sleeve of her stepfather's shirt. Kate knew she'd be in deep trouble for that. She lumbered over to the scullery for a cup of water. If she scrubbed it quickly, the stain might lessen. Halfway back, the shooting pain gripped her again and she dropped the cup. It bounced on the hard floor and broke.

Kate began to cry in panic, scrabbling on the floor to pick up the shards of pottery and shove them under the chest of drawers in the corner. The pain went, then minutes later it was back again. What should she do? Call a neighbour? But Rose did not want to bring in local help; they would deal with it themselves, she had decreed.

If she could drag herself through to the bedroom, it would be cooler. She would lie down until her mother came. Kate moved as swiftly as her lumbering body would allow. She was about to haul herself on to her parents' high iron-framed bed, then thought of John's disgust and flopped on to Jack's narrow desk bed instead. Lying gave her little relief. The pain was shooting down between her legs now, then to her horror, there was a sudden gush of water.

In seconds her petticoats and skirt were soaked. She wept in shame as the bed below her grew damp. It seemed an age before she heard Rose wheezing in the kitchen door.

‘Mam,' she croaked, ‘Mam, I'm in here!'

Her mother filled the doorway with her stout frame as she peered into the gloom of the back room.

‘What you doing on Jack's bed?'

‘Mam, I've wet meself,' Kate confessed. Then she doubled up in another spasm.

Rose struggled out of her coat and bonnet, discarding them on the big bed.

‘Let's have a look at you.' In a trice she could see what was happening. ‘Your waters have broken. Tak your dress off.'

‘What d'you mean?' Kate asked in fright.

‘You've started. The bairn's on her way.'

Kate clutched at her mother. ‘Stay, Mam. You'll not leave us, will you? I'm that scared.'

Rose thought how terrified she had been as a young wife facing the birth of her first daughter.

‘Don't fuss, hinny, I'm not ganin' anywhere.'

She helped Kate out of her wet skirts and fetched rags and brown paper to lay under her.

‘What's that for?'

‘There'll be blood.' Rose was matter-of-fact.

Kate began to shake. For the thousandth time she cursed Alexander and what he had done to her. Why should she suffer the agony and shame while he walked away without a backward glance? Bile rose in her throat. Sudden anger tempered her fear and gave her a spark of courage. Her mother kept referring to the baby as a girl, as if she knew, but Kate prayed it would be a boy. A lass had too many crosses to bear in this life. She'll be tarred with the same brush as me, Kate thought bitterly. Please, God, be a lad!

The heat of afternoon subsided and shadows cooled the backyard, but nothing changed. Just the relentless cycle of contractions, that neither increased in frequency nor eased off a fraction. Rose sat puffing beside her, exhausted with waiting and cooling her daughter's body with wet rags.

‘I'll have to get the tea on,' she said at last. ‘Your father won't tak kindly to his tea being late ‘cos a bairn's on its way.'

Kate lay squirming on the creaking bed, listening to her mother panting around the kitchen, wishing she could get up and help. She would much rather be peeling and cooking than pinned in this damp-smelling room awaiting childbirth. How she wanted rid of it, this leaden disgrace in her belly! Kate had thought little beyond the interminable hell of her pregnancy. Months ago they had talked of how she would go back to work and the baby would be given over to her parents. Good riddance! Her mother was welcome to Alexander's brat.

Quietly, they had accumulated a small drawerful of second-hand baby clothes with some of Alexander's money, but they never spoke of a time after the baby would be born. The rest of the money had been frittered away on paying off little debts to the grocer and the coalman, and retrieving items of clothing from the pawnshop. No more had been sent and Kate could not remember the name of the lodging house in Newcastle that Alexander had mentioned. Even if she had, they could not have afforded the tram fare, and John would have had to be told.

Kate dozed off under a blanket of pain. A clatter of boots and men's voices woke her with a start. She heard Rose's hushed explanation beyond the half-open door.

‘Don't you go bothering her,' she ordered. ‘You can both make yourself scarce after tea till it's all over.'

Later, when John had disappeared to the pub next door, Rose came in with a slice of meat pie and a cup of tea. Kate felt nauseous at the smell, but her mother told her to drink. The tea was strong and sweet, and Kate felt a flicker of energy return. She pulled herself up to get comfortable and caught Jack peering in at the door. He stared at her strangely and she was suddenly aware of her undressed state and hot bare legs straddling the bed. She quickly pulled the sheet back over her.

Rose noticed Kate's bashful gesture and turned.

‘Jack! Get out or I'll skelp ye! This is no place for a lad,' she ordered.

Jack scowled with embarrassment and disappeared. The front door slammed.

The sounds of evening came muffled from beyond the room: boys playing football in the dusty lane, a mother banging two pan lids to bring her children indoors, the squawk of a hen flapping on to a neighbour's wall. The glow of the long June evening faded from the kitchen and Rose went to light the lamp.

Maybe it was the agitation at her stepfather banging in from the pub, but Kate's contractions sharpened and Rose came bustling to her side, closing the door firmly behind. When Kate cried out, Rose tore off a piece of rag and twisted it into rope.

‘Bite on that, hinny. Can't have you screaming the house down - Father'll sharp complain.'

Kate looked at her in disbelief. She didn't care if the whole of Shields heard her, so long as the agony stopped. But she said nothing and when the pain tore through her again she clamped her teeth on the gag and retched. She clung to her mother as her body convulsed in a mad rhythm of its own.

‘Don't push yet,' Rose commanded, peering anxiously between her legs. ‘It's not time. Save your breath for the hard part.'

Kate sank back on the bed in despair. What could be worse than this? She was burning all over, streams of sweat running down her back and breasts. She could barely breathe in the fetid, stinking room. She was vaguely aware of John knocking into furniture in the kitchen, exchanging sharp words with Jack. The candle in the room burnt down slowly.

A while later, Rose roused her from semi-consciousness.

‘Can you still feel the pains?' she asked anxiously.

Kate nodded. Her whole body felt wrapped in a red-hot blanket of pain.

‘When you feel it come again, give a push, hinny.'

Kate hardly knew what she meant, or cared. She had no energy to push anything anywhere.

‘Haway!' Rose ordered, shaking her out of her stupor. ‘You've got to shove the bairn out!'

Kate tried to rally. She felt the next wave grip her body and gritted her teeth in a stifled roar as she jerked in response.

‘Again!' Rose ordered. Kate sweated and panted and heaved.

‘I cannot, Mam,' she sobbed, falling back again in defeat. The baby would not come.

Rose went to the door and hissed for Jack. ‘Gan and fetch Dr Dyer!'

John stirred from his reverie by the fire. ‘The doctor? We cannot afford him. You stop where you are, lad.'

Rose lost her patience. ‘He'll gan for him this minute unless you want a corpse on your hands by mornin'! The lass is all done in.' She pushed Jack towards the door. ‘Gan and fetch him - Sutton Street - tell him he'll get paid. Run!'

‘Paid with what?' John slurred.

But Jack did not wait for further argument. He clattered out of the house and ran down the lane as fast as he could.

Kate did not know whether he was gone five minutes or fifty. She seemed trapped in a dark, timeless world of never-ending pain. No amount of repentance could save her now. She was surely dying.

‘Kate?' A deep soft voice was calling her through the red mists. ‘Kate, can you hear me? It's Dr Dyer.'

Kate mouthed in reply, too parched to form words.

‘Fetch a cup of water, please, Mrs McMullen,' he ordered. ‘Put sugar in it and a pinch of salt.' Then he was dabbing her cracked lips with a wet rag and speaking to her in a low calm voice.

‘I'm going to give you something to ease the pain, Kate. Then together we'll bring this baby into the world. It's taking its time, that's all.'

‘Must know what it's coming to,' Kate whispered, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I wouldn't want to be born to this.'

‘It's a lucky baby having such a pretty and kind-hearted mother,' Dr Dyer said gallantly. ‘It'll all be over soon. Now drink this and stop worrying.'

Kate felt a surge of gratitude to the young Scots doctor. No one had spoken to her so kindly for a long time. She drank the medicine he proffered and felt herself relaxing, the waves of pain subsiding a fraction. With Rose's help, he hauled her into a sitting position.

‘Hold on to your mother when the pain comes. We'll not need this,' he said, discarding the gag. ‘You shout your head off if you feel like it.'

Kate roared and pushed with each contraction. This time she felt swept along instead of buffeted by the waves of pain.

‘Good girl, again!' Dr Dyer encouraged.

‘I can't,' she sobbed.

‘Yes you can. The head's almost through. We're nearly there!'

Kate cried in anguish and excitement, ‘Nearly there?'

‘Yes. Now come on, Kate; push!'

Using up her last ounce of energy, Kate yelled and thrust in a final effort. She felt as if a dam were bursting. There was pressure and searing pain and then she could feel the baby slithering out of her. Almost at once there was a numb relief, before the throbbing pain returned.

‘That's it!' the doctor cried. ‘Well done, Kate.' He was wiping the sticky, purple creature she had just ejected and clearing its mouth. A sharp tremulous noise, half cough, half cry of indignation, rose out of the baby.

‘What is it?' Kate rasped.

‘A bonny wee girl,' Dr Dyer smiled, holding her up for Kate to see.

‘I knew it was,' Rose murmured.

Kate sank back in disappointment and closed her eyes. The throbbing pain returned. All she wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake up.

Rose and the doctor exchanged looks.

‘You should get her cleaned up,' he said quietly, ‘both of them.'

‘Leave her be,' Rose answered, holding out her arms for the baby. ‘Let me see the lass.'

Dr Dyer handed her over. ‘She should try and feed her as soon as she wakes.'

Rose nodded, peering at the crinkled face. The warmth of the baby in her arms gave her an unexpected surge of delight. Her eyes were open wide, dark and soulful, as if they already held knowledge and experience. They gazed at each other for a long moment and Rose felt a stirring of possessiveness for her granddaughter that she had not anticipated.

‘She's been here before, this ‘un,' she murmured, cuddling her closer.

Dr Dyer went out to the scullery to wash his hands and tell the men that Kate had a daughter.

John struggled to his feet and said belligerently, ‘It's my lass now - mine and the missus's. That whore's having nowt to do with it from now on. So don't you breathe a word about Kate having a bairn, d'you hear?'

Dr Dyer looked at him in dislike, but said nothing. He turned to Rose, who was standing in the doorway, clasping the small mewling bundle.

‘Remember what I said about feeding. And keep an eye on Kate - she's very weak and possibly feverish. Give her boiled water to drink - and maybe a touch of whisky and sugar in it.'

‘Whisky? Can't afford that,' John growled.

Dr Dyer ignored him. ‘Call me if she gets worse, Mrs McMullen.' He dropped his voice. ‘I won't charge for it.'