Forget-Me-Not Child Read online

  Although there were pram suits in Britain they were woolly, knitted ones but the American coat, leggings and bonnet and even mittens and bootees were made of some sort of fleecy material. The bonnet was trimmed with lace and Barry thought Connie looked enchanting with the lace framing her pretty little face, tendrils of blonde curls escaping at the sides and over her forehead. More important than how she looked though was how warm she would be and with the fleece suit on and tucked into the commodious pram with a couple of woollen blankets she would be as snug as a bug in a rug and with a bit of luck might sleep all the way through Mass.

  Just before they left for Mass Barry had gone upstairs for his overcoat and as he was coming down again he saw Angela holding Connie in her arms and he felt such love and pride for them that his heart stopped beating for a moment and he wanted to wrap his arms around them and never let harm come to them.

  He remembered that when Connie had been born, her hair was so blonde it looked as if she had no hair at all if a person didn’t notice the down on her head. But now she was seven and a half months old she was developing the curls Angela had as a child. Mary always said she was the image of her mother at the same age and Barry could plainly see why Angela’s mother named her so because angelic was the word that sprang to mind whenever he looked at his daughter.

  He loved them both with an intensity that almost frightened him, for times were precarious for the working classes, because diseases were rife and people were fragile and sickness spread like wildfire in the cramped, insanitary hovels they lived in, and women like Stan’s poor wife could also die in childbirth and he knew he really wouldn’t want to go on if he lost them. ‘Barry,’ Angela called and Barry realized he was still standing on the stairs caught up in reverie. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine. Just thinking.’

  Angela laughed. ‘You don’t want to do much of that on Christmas Day,’ she said. ‘Leave that for every other day of the year.’

  ‘I will,’ Barry promised. ‘I will close my mind from this moment on and not think of another thing for the rest of the day.’

  ‘You are a fool,’ Angela said, but fondly. ‘If you get your coat on we’re ready.’

  Angela loved going to Mass on Christmas morning. She liked the church all ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus, the white and gold altar cloths, the flickering candles lighting up the whole altar, the figure of Baby Jesus put into the manger at last completing the nativity. And when the priest came to begin Mass she knew his vestments would be white and gold too and he would carry a candle set in a golden candlestick that would gleam and glisten and behind him would be four altar boys in red cassocks and white surplices keeping pace with the priest.

  She also enjoyed meeting friends and neighbours and wishing them Happy Christmas, but as they neared the church Angela noticed a lot of the poorer women looking at her coat with envy and she felt so sorry for them, because a good few had only a threadbare dress, a thin shawl and down-at-heel boots to keep out the cold of the day, and for a moment the joy went from her.

  Maggie voiced what many of the women who passed Angela in the porch might have wanted to say. She grabbed Angela by her two wrists and spun her round. She cried, ‘Well will you look at the set of you. Tell me, is this all from Santa?’

  ‘It is,’ Angela said with a broad grin in answer to Maggie’s pleasure.

  ‘Well then, my girl, I’d have said you have been thoroughly spoilt,’ Maggie declared.

  Angela agreed with her, but she wasn’t the only one spoilt that Christmas, for Santa had left Connie a truck full of coloured bricks and a number of board books courtesy of Maggie’s mother. ‘Wouldn’t take a penny piece for them,’ Mary said. ‘Was a bit offended I had offered. She said she was glad to see the back of them, but it has certainly made Christmas for Madam here.’

  And her Christmas got better for that morning Maggie had given her a monkey on a stick and when Stan arrived just before lunch, he had a large bag with him and from it he pulled out a big soft brown teddy bear almost as big as Connie. ‘He’s lovely,’ Angela said, taking it from Stan and stroking his soft fur. ‘But you needn’t have bothered, you only had to bring yourself.’

  ‘Not at Christmas,’ Stan said. ‘And it gave me great pleasure to buy a present for a child.’

  Angela could say nothing to that but, ‘Well thank you, it was very kind of you.’

  ‘You and Mary have not been forgotten either,’ Stan said. ‘I thought most women like perfume, but there is so much of it I hadn’t a clue what to buy. But the girl advised me.’ And he took from the bag two small packets. ‘I got them different so you could share,’ he explained. ‘The girl told me the younger women go for this one,’ he said, handing one to Angela. ‘April Violet,’ she said, opening it up and revealing a little bottle, then dabbing some on her wrists. Even the bottle was beautiful and the perfume inside looked deep purple.

  ‘Mary this is yours,’ Stan said and handed Mary a yellow packet. ‘Tiara Bouquet,’ Mary read. ‘Oh I can’t wear this unless I have my tiara on.’

  ‘Won’t get much wear then,’ Angela said with a laugh. ‘Come on, stretch a point because it’s Christmas and dab some on your wrists and we can compare. Thank you, Stan, for such lovely gifts.’

  ‘Oh yes, thank you, Stan. That was such a thoughtful thing to do and we never expected it.’

  And neither woman said that they had never had proper perfume in the whole of their lives. Even at Christmas and birthdays, it was too expensive to contemplate and now Angela had got perfume she didn’t know when she’d use it for the only place she went was church for Mass. But surely even the Church couldn’t object to a dab of it. It would seem criminal not to use something Stan had spent so much money on.

  Stan hadn’t finished however and out of the bag came a bottle of whisky and cigars for Barry that caused his eyes to open wide with delight. ‘Oh you couldn’t have done better mate, I love a drop of whisky.’

  ‘Do you?’ Angela said. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t allow myself to indulge in it,’ Barry said. ‘As for cigars I don’t think I’ve ever tasted one, but my Dad used to speak of them with reverence. Not that he ever had many, just like this, a few bought at Christmas.’

  ‘Well you seem to have pleased everyone in the room,’ Mary said. ‘Makes my presents to you seem a bit mundane and ordinary.’

  ‘I didn’t expect a present from you at all,’ Stan said in surprise. ‘You’ll be giving me a fine dinner and the chance to celebrate Christmas with your family and that is present enough for me. My gifts were just to say thank you.’

  ‘I only bought you socks,’ Mary said. ‘In my experience men are very bad at shopping for themselves and no one can have too many socks.’

  Stan laughed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘they may seem like mundane presents to you, but I am immensely grateful because you are right, I am bad at buying things for myself and I don’t think I own a pair of socks that haven’t holes in them somewhere, so new ones will come in very handy.’

  ‘Mammy,’ Barry said suddenly, ‘the smell of that dinner cooking is making me feel light-headed, for I hadn’t much breakfast after Mass, to make room for it.’

  ‘Get away with you,’ Mary said. ‘And you know the best thing you can bring to a dinner table is a good appetite. But we have the soup first anyway and that’s just to be heated up so it will be ready in a jiffy.’

  ‘Right, I’ll sort out the table,’ Barry said.

  ‘And I’ll cut the bread,’ Angela said, sitting Connie on the mat in front of the guarded fire, her truck full of bricks beside her.

  ‘What shall I do?’ Stan asked.

  ‘Nothing, you’re a guest.’

  ‘Oh please, that makes me feel uncomfortable and I’d rather be doing something.’

  ‘All right then, I have a very important job for you,’ Barry said and he jerked his thumb towards Connie as he spoke, ‘and that is to entertain Madam there.’ Stan felt
panic rise in him. He would rather do any job but that one, for he wasn’t any good with kids. He turned his gaze almost with dread towards the baby who was regarding him with large blue eyes. And then Connie smiled and the smile was so wide and radiant Stan felt his heart give a flip and the next he knew he was on his knees beside her on the rug and building a tower with the bricks. Connie crashed it down with a cry of delight and chuckled at the very dismayed look on Stan’s face.

  Her laugh was so infectious Stan built another tower which had the same reaction, and another, and was almost sorry to be called to the table despite his hunger. Angela had caught sight of his face as he got to his feet after playing with Connie and thought Betty hard and unfeeling to keep him apart from his son.

  Maybe he couldn’t be a father in the normal way, but he certainly should have been given the chance to build some sort of relationship with him. The fact that Betty and Roger were not Daniel’s real parents would eventually come to light as these things inevitably do, and Angela wondered if the boy would resent the pair of them for separating him so totally from his natural father.

  Still, she told herself, it really was none of her business and anyway, it was Christmas Day and no sad thoughts allowed. There could be few sad thoughts around the table with Connie there. She could understand little but seemed to delight in everything and her infectious chuckle and her evident pleasure that caused her to clap her hands with glee amused everyone and chased any mournful thoughts away. So it was a cheerful meal and Angela thought Stan such good company she thought he might easily become a regular guest at Christmas.

  The meal was fabulous and after it the women washed up while the men sat before the fire and smoked a cigar and kept an eye on Connie. And when it was all done and put away, Angela remarked, ‘Not the weather for a walk today,’ for icy sleet was falling from a sky the colour of gun metal.

  ‘No,’ Stan agreed. ‘Not the day at all.’ And then he added, ‘I suppose we could always have a sing-song. I used to sing a lot at one time.’

  ‘Did you?’ Angela said because it was the last thing she had expected Stan to say, but his word tugged a memory for Mary who said, ‘Oh my goodness, that struck a chord. You used to sing with your wife, Kate. She had a lovely voice.’

  ‘Did you do it professionally?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ Stan said. ‘We’d just do it for our own selves though Kate used to sing in the choir at Mass, so we’d sing any new hymns she had to learn at home and it would help her remember the words and then we might do others we both knew well just for fun.’

  ‘I’d hear you,’ Mary said. ‘Anyone passing would hear you and Kate used to sing even if you weren’t there.’

  Stan nodded. ‘She used to sing to the child she was carrying, who turned out to be Daniel,’ Stan said. ‘Some people thought she was crazy. She used to sing him lullabies because she said he could hear and he would know the songs when he was born, and when she would sing them to him he would remember and know how much she loved him. I have never sung a word since the day of Daniel’s birth. Even at her funeral I chose her favourite hymns and found I couldn’t open my mouth.’

  There was a sudden silence as Stan stopped speaking because they had all been hanging on every painful word. There were tears in Angela’s eyes and in Mary’s and Barry had an unaccountable lump in his throat. Even Connie sitting on the rug watching them all was silent, feeling the solemn atmosphere.

  Suddenly, Stan got a grip on himself and said, ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. Here I am, a guest, and this is how I repay your hospitality, doing my best to put a damper on Christmas.’ He gave a sudden sigh and almost immediately launched into ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’.

  It was too much for Angela. She had been moved by what Stan had said and now his rendering of the carol and the look on his face, showing what it had cost him to sing again after all this time, caused the lurking tears to start to trickle down her cheeks. To cover herself she lifted the baby onto her knee and began to sway in the chair in time to the music. There was a spontaneous burst of applause when Stan had finished, with Connie joining in enthusiastically, much to everyone’s amusement.

  ‘You have a fine voice,’ Barry said and the women agreed.

  Stan went very red in the face, he was not used to being praised, and he held up his hands.

  ‘Oh, stop please,’ he cried. ‘And it’s not that I am ungrateful, far from it, and I found it very hard and very emotional to sing that, for it was Kate’s favourite carol and I never sang it on my own, we always sang it together. You know, it would help me if you all join in.’

  And they did and sang all the carols they could remember. Some time into the singing, Angela realized Connie had fallen asleep and she laid her in the pram in the room knowing the bedroom would be icy.

  ‘She’s a lovely child you have,’ Stan said. ‘I’m usually useless with kids.’

  ‘I’m sure that isn’t true,’ Angela said.

  ‘Oh I assure you it is,’ Stan said. ‘You all know I have a son?’ They nodded and Stan continued his story. ‘Kate’s sister Betty is bringing him up and she doesn’t want me around. When I got to think about it when I thought I was more or less over Kate’s death, well maybe not over it, but coping better at least, I wanted to get to know my son and I booked the weekend off work and I went to Betty and said I wanted to have Daniel for the weekend and get to know him a bit.’

  ‘How old was he then?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Not very old,’ Stan said. ‘He was just over two and of course didn’t know me from Adam and he didn’t like my house and wanted to go home. I took him to the park and spent hours pushing him on the swings and roundabouts and kicked about with a ball I’d bought, and we had fish and chips for dinner but the child still wanted to go home, wanted his “Mammy and Daddy”. I tried to soothe him, but he wouldn’t be soothed, so I picked him up and he started to scream as if he was being murdered and then he was screaming that he hated me. He squirmed, kicked and punched me so I had to put him down and he curled himself in a tight ball and wouldn’t uncurl himself, or speak one word to me, and I was worried to death.’

  ‘I bet you were,’ Angela said. ‘But Daniel was only a very little boy and he was probably confused and frightened. So what did you do then?’

  ‘I tried to think what Kate would want me to do and I knew she would want me to do what was best for the child, so I repacked the little case he had brought with him and the child uncurled himself quick enough when I told him I was taking him home.

  ‘As we approached I saw Betty was looking out of the window and I thought she was probably bewildered and maybe a bit anxious because I was supposed to have Daniel for the whole weekend and here we were, back already. Betty hadn’t been keen on the idea of my taking him for the whole weekend anyway because she said that was a long time for a small child to stay with someone he didn’t know that well and she was dead right. She knew Daniel far better than I did.

  ‘Anyway she came out to meet us to find out why I was bringing Daniel back so soon. Daniel gave a cry as he saw his mother approach and he pulled his hand from mine and ran down the road towards her and into her waiting arms. When she lifted him up he wrapped his arms tight about her, buried his head in her neck and burst into sobs.’

  ‘Ah poor wee boy,’ said Mary.

  ‘Aye,’ Stan agreed. ‘I saw that after. But at the time, I couldn’t speak and if I’d tried I would have bawled my eyes out too. So though I saw Betty looking at me quizzically I could only shrug my shoulders and spread my arms wide.

  ‘And then Daniel sat away from his mother’s embrace, scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve and pointing at me he said, “Don’t make me go with that nasty man again, Mammy. He is horrid.” ’Course, Betty accused me of doing something to the boy and I could only shake my head and then I just handed Betty the case, turned on my heel and left. I have seen neither of them since that day and it was five years ago.

  ‘Betty and
her husband applied to adopt Daniel about a year after that. By then I was feeling like a real rubbish father.’ He looked at them all listening to him and he said, ‘The hardest thing in the world after the death of my wife was to hear my son screaming out over and over that he hated me. I really thought Daniel would be better off not knowing anything about me and I signed the papers, so Betty and her husband are Daniel’s parents legally. His name is Daniel Swanage and I have no part in his life.’

  ‘I think that is one of the saddest things I have ever heard,’ Angela said. ‘If his adoptive parents really love him, Daniel will survive this. I am testimony to that, but it’s you that will be hurting and you that have lost the most.’

  ‘And don’t think a little boy meant those words,’ Mary said. ‘If you had got to know him first, defied Betty and gone to see him every weekend and took him out and gave him a fun time, the outcome of that weekend might have been different.’

  ‘I know, I have thought that myself,’ Stan said. ‘And the beggar of it is, it’s too late.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Mary. ‘That’s the rub.’ She got to her feet and said, ‘Throats need lubricating after all that singing,’ and she got up to make tea, but Barry waved away her offer of tea for him and Stan. ‘We’ve got something more interesting,’ he claimed and got up and brought bottles of beer he had got in for the festive season and the bottle of whisky Stan had brought him and put them all on the table as Stan got a deck of cards from his pocket.

  He showed them some card tricks first and they were amazed at his skill. ‘D’you know any card games?’ Barry asked. ‘I never had a pack of cards because Daddy didn’t approve of gambling.’

  ‘I don’t approve of gambling either,’ Stan said. ‘My money is too hard-earned to lose it all on a game of chance. I do it just for fun and it’s great entertainment for a winter’s evening.’