Secrets in Store. Joanna Toye
tea for her and handed her the cup.
‘Now look here, Beryl,’ she said. ‘You know what we do round here when someone’s in trouble. We all pull together. We did it last year, when you first found out you were expecting, and we’ll do it again. It’s a crying shame Les won’t be with you, but you won’t be on your own.’
Lily nodded vigorously.
‘The fact is,’ Dora continued, unconsciously echoing what Reg had said to Lily, ‘you’re not the only one. You’re far better placed than some, and far, far better placed than you might have been. You’ve got a good home, a good husband in Les, and you’ll have all the help and support you could wish for from Ivy, I know you will.’
‘And me and Mum,’ put in Lily. ‘Whatever you need. Gladys too, I bet.’
‘I know, I know …’ Beryl wiped her eyes with a sodden hanky. ‘You’ll think I’m stupid,’ she snuffled, ‘and I am, it’s not like I haven’t known it was coming, but I dunno, when it actually happens … I was in the phone box speaking to Les, and when he told me, I felt my legs just go from under me!’
Lily reflected that given the size she was, Beryl must have been pretty firmly wedged in the box anyway, so there was little or no chance of her sinking to the floor, but she gave her the benefit of the doubt. If you weren’t allowed a bit of poetic licence when you were pregnant, then when were you?
Beryl applied her hanky to her eyes again, sniffed, and tried to collect herself.
‘It’d mean a lot to me, Dora,’ she quavered, ‘if you’d be with me when the baby comes. Ivy’ll be there if she can, I know, but with Susan …’
‘You don’t have to ask, Beryl,’ Dora replied. ‘Take it as read.’
‘Thank you,’ Beryl said in a small voice. ‘You’re golden, you really are.’
Beryl’s appeal came as no surprise to Lily. For two plain-speakers forced together by circumstance, Beryl and Ivy got on surprisingly well, and Beryl showed an equally surprising patience with Susan. But Ivy knew her daughter-in-law: when it came to childbirth she was unlikely to be the grin-and-bear-it type. Ivy had pointed out that the sight and sound of Beryl in labour could frighten Susan into fits; Les had agreed, and had promptly booked Beryl into the local maternity home.
But Beryl was no fool either. In the short time since Les had told her about his posting, she’d obviously realised that encouraging words and forehead-swabbing, when it came to it, would be much more likely to come from the ever-practical but relatively more compassionate Dora.
‘If I could add one thing from the, er, male perspective?’
Sid was shuffling the cards, which had also appeared from his kitbag – he never travelled without them. A pile of matchsticks indicated he’d inveigled Jim into a game of pontoon. They all swivelled to look at him as he laid down the pack.
‘There’s no other way to put this, Beryl, but frankly Les did his bit last summer. Even if he was here, the maternity home’s no place for a bloke! He’d have most likely been down the pub if he’d got any sense.’
Dora shot him a look that would have quelled, if not felled, anyone less robust, but Sid, being Sid, got away with it. Beryl gave a damp smile.
‘You’re right there,’ she admitted. ‘He’s said as much!’
‘Exactly! So when you’re screaming in agony bringing the little one into the world, far better that he’s throwing up over the side on the high seas or in some miserable billet suffering as well, don’t you think?’
Lily had to hand it to Sid. Whenever she’d tried to make a joke of anything serious, like Reg’s posting or Jim’s medical, she hadn’t convinced even herself, but somehow, annoyingly, he managed it. Beryl even half-laughed.
‘Yeah – and serve him right!’ she sniffed. ‘I mean, he’s looking forward to the baby and everything, real excited he is, but even if he was here, it’s not like he’d be changing the nappies, is it, or doing the feeds?’
‘In my experience, not in a rain of pig’s pudding.’
Dora had pronounced, and after that, no one was likely to disagree.
Gradually the evening got its usual rhythm back. Dora swept Sid’s cards and matchsticks off the table – she didn’t approve of gambling, either, however harmless. Lily re-laid the cork mats and got out the pudding spoons – five of them, because Beryl bravely thought she might manage ‘just a bit’ of the blancmange that was on offer.
With Beryl accepting her second helping (typical!), the conversation turned to naming the baby. That was something that would have to be decided, surely, Lily asked, before Les went away? Or had they already chosen?
Boys’ names, it seemed, were still a subject of discussion – Ivy was pushing for Cuthbert, her father’s name, and Beryl was resisting – but she and Les had settled on a girl’s name – sort of.
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