An Unsuitable Mother. Sheelagh Kelly

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 remained anxious. ‘May I go and see him?’

      ‘No, I’ll get into trouble,’ said the woman, concentrating on bundling up the soiled linen. Then, just prior to leaving, she looked into Nell’s face and frowned, ‘How old are you?’

      ‘Eighteen,’ confessed Nell. Then it struck her, ‘No, nineteen – it’s my birthday.’

      The woman raised her eyebrows and offered, ‘Many happy returns.’

      Nell thanked her, knowing there would be few congratulations from her parents. Then, as the other made to leave, she enquired quickly, ‘How long must I stay in bed?’

      ‘Well, you’d usually be there ten days …’ the woman was quick to deter Nell’s look of horror, ‘but they’re letting them up more or less straight away in case of air raids, so it might not be that long.’ She smiled, and left.

      Intermittently dozing, the next thing Nell was aware of was being bumped by trolley to a ward that stank of kidneys, full of elderly patients who were too busy eating their breakfast to concern themselves with her. For some reason, certainly not from kindness, once she was in bed a screen was immediately pulled around it, and, shortly after this, her own breakfast was served. Brought by the intransigent midwife who had also delivered her, Nell chose not to ask her the time, but guessed it must be somewhere between six thirty and seven o’clock. Though agitated to hold her baby, she ate everything before her, then sat back and listened to the sounds of the old folk, imagining what must be going on at home, and wondering if her parents would ever forgive her.

      Therefore, it was a surprise when, immediately after her empty tray was removed, her mother and father appeared around the screen, accompanied by Doctor Greenhow. Obviously not to wish her a happy birthday. Dressed in his business suit, her father was still furious, and did not trust himself to speak, all parties looking shell-shocked by the events of the last twelve hours, and grossly uncomfortable at being there.

      Her mother did speak, but remained aloof. ‘Doctor’s arranged for you to be looked after at home.’

      Flooded with relief at being accorded this token of forgiveness, Nell gushed tearfully, ‘Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry I’ve put you and Father through –’

      ‘What’s done is done,’ interrupted her mother, who had brought along Nell’s coat and shoes. ‘Now, let’s get ourselves organised. Doctor’s brought some paperwork for you to sign, then we can leave here.’ Her attitude was one of distaste.

      Nell shifted position to ease her throbbing genitals, propping herself up with one arm whilst taking the form with her other hand. She was immediately suspicious. ‘But this says – Mother, I don’t want him adopted!’ Her heart had begun to race.

      ‘Just sign it!’ commanded her father, hat in hand, eager to get away.

      ‘Please, can’t I keep him?’ entreated Nell.

      ‘Stop making such a song and dance,’ hissed her mother, embarrassed and tetchy as she looked over her shoulder to check that no one could overhear. ‘It’s going to be difficult enough getting you into the house without the neighbours prying.’

      ‘But –’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Eleanor! For heaven’s sake you are eighteen years old, what possessed you to ruin your life?’

      ‘I’m nineteen!’ Nell was dismayed that her mother seemed to have forgotten. ‘It’s my birthday – and it doesn’t have to be ruined!’

      ‘Oh, I’m well aware of what day it is!’ The response was brittle. ‘It’s you who are living in Cloud Cuckoo Land. You were stupid enough to get yourself into this, but even you can’t be so dim-witted as not to realise what dire straits you’d be in should you attempt to bring it up yourself.’