Chapter 15
The following Friday, Bobby was woken as usual by Marmaduke squirming in her womb. He could deliver some hefty kicks now she was approaching the six-month point in her pregnancy.
She lay with one hand on her belly, feeling the baby’s movements. She slid her palm over the swell, trying to work out how many little feet were kicking up a storm against her insides. But they were just tiny thumps, hard to pin down. The baby might have one leg or eight for all Bobby could tell.
A thought popped up: of the famous Dionne quintuplets who had been born in Canada ten years ago.
Lord, five babies in one labour! Poor Mrs Dionne. Surely Dr Minchin would know if there were that many babies in residence in her womb, wouldn’t he?
Bobby reached for her husband, but Charlie’s side of the bed was unoccupied. She turned on the lamp.
‘Charlie?’ she called out. She wasn’t used to him not being there when she woke up.
‘I’m here, love.’
He came into the bedroom, wearing his best suit. For a moment, Bobby’s sleep-addled mind wondered if he had another job interview. Then she remembered the rather grimmer reason he had to be up early and dressed in his best.
‘Oh. Sorry.’ She rubbed her hair. ‘I forgot about your trip. I ought to have been up to make breakfast for you.’
‘You need your sleep, and so does Marmaduke.’ He sat by her on the bed and kissed her hair. ‘I’m quite capable of making my own breakfast.’
‘I know, but I like to do it.’ She pressed a hand to her belly again, wincing. ‘Anyhow, Marmaduke seems to have had enough sleep. Right now he’s practising his football skills with my internal organs.’
‘Then I ought to administer some paternal discipline.’ Charlie rested his head against her belly. ‘You behave for your mother while I’m away, young man, or it’ll be no pudding for you for a week.’
Bobby smiled. ‘But that means it’ll be no pudding for me either.’
‘True. It’s difficult doing your fatherly duty with your child hiding from you.’
Charlie started to sit up, but Bobby rested a hand on his head.
‘Stay like that a minute,’ she said softly. ‘Marmaduke’s still when you rest your head there. He knows when his dad’s nearby.’
Charlie smiled, and planted a kiss on the stomach filling out her nightdress.
‘You’re beautiful, you know, Bob,’ he said quietly. ‘Never more than now.’
Bobby laughed. ‘You must be joking. I feel like a half-inflated barrage balloon.’
‘Well, there’s a lot to be said for half-inflated barrage balloons.’ He glanced up. ‘I don’t want to harp on about it, but I wish you’d give up work. I hate to think you might make yourself or the baby ill.’
‘We need the money, Charlie.’
‘I’ll find a way to keep us from starving. It’s more important that you stay healthy.’
‘But I like working, and I’m sure it doesn’t do me any harm. I feel fine. A bit tired, but none the worse for that.’
‘Still, it’s a lot of stress on your body. How long do you think you can keep it up? It can only be a few more weeks.’
‘I know. But a few more weeks is five pounds, and five pounds buys a lot of terry towelling.’
‘I’d rather have a healthy wife and baby than five pounds. Stop worrying and let me take care of you.’
‘Did you hear back from the bank yet?’
Charlie lifted his head from her stomach.
‘I wish you wouldn’t pin any hopes on that,’ he said. ‘They probably won’t even bother writing to tell me it’s a no when it was as plain as the nose on my face. But I’ll find some way to make money.’
‘Selling your gigolo services to Mrs Barraclough next door?’
‘Now there’s an idea. I could make our fortune in no time.’ He paused. ‘I’ve decided though… you’re right, I ought to take that damned gong. I don’t feel good about it, but you and the baby matter more than my foolish principles.’
Bobby wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Oh,’ was all she could manage.
‘Aren’t you pleased? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes. I mean I thought you ought to take it, but… I wish you wanted to, Charlie. Not for my sake or the baby’s but your own. I wish I could make you understand how much you deserve it.’
He looked away. ‘Isn’t it enough that I’m accepting it?’
‘Not for me. I feel like I’ll want to swell half out of my frock when the king pins it on, but I won’t be able to if I know you’re only accepting it because you feel you have to.’
‘It’s the only way I can feel. I’m sorry, Bob.’
Bobby sighed. ‘All right. It’s your grief. It isn’t for me to tell you how you ought to feel it. I just wish you could be as proud of yourself as I am.’ She swung her legs out of bed. ‘Have you got everything you need?’
‘Yes, I’m all packed.’
‘Did you get your sandwiches from the pantry, and put pyjamas and clean underwear in your case?’
Charlie smiled. ‘Yes, Mother.’
‘And have you packed your wash things?’
‘I was an airman, you know. Packing’s one thing I ought to be good at.’
‘Well, but have you got the scarf and jumper I knitted you?’ Bobby persisted. ‘There might be an air raid. You’ll need to wrap up warm if you have to spend hours in a shelter.’
‘I’ve got plenty of layers, don’t worry. I’m only away for one night, Bobby.’
‘Clean handkerchiefs?’
Charlie laughed. ‘All right, you’ve caught me out. I forgot the clean handkerchiefs. Do you feel better now?’
Bobby did feel a little better at finding he hadn’t remembered quite everything. It made her feel useful. She pushed on her slippers and went to fetch some freshly starched handkerchiefs.
‘And don’t forget your stick,’ she begged him as she tucked the hankies into his case. ‘I know it makes you feel self-conscious, but I’d worry half to death if I thought you’d gone all the way to London without it.’
Charlie took her in his arms.
‘I’ll miss having you fuss over me,’ he said softly. ‘Think of me while I’m away, won’t you?’
‘I will.’ Bobby stroked his scarred cheek. ‘How are you feeling about it?’
‘I don’t know if this makes me the most callous man alive, but… in a way, I’m looking forward to it. To seeing the boys, and feeling like I’m part of a gang again. I miss that bit of RAF life. Is that terrible?’
‘No, love.’
‘I’m even looking forward to seeing Hynesy.
I know what state he’s going to be in, and yet…
’ He paused. ‘It feels like a privilege to be granted a chance to say goodbye. We’ve lost so many pals who just went out one day and never came back.
I know it’s going to be emotional, I know he’ll be in terrible pain, but I’m glad to have the opportunity to shake his hand and wish him luck in the next life. ’
‘You think about death differently, when you’ve had to live with so much of it,’ Bobby said quietly.
‘I know it isn’t the same for me, but I lost friends in the RAF too.
Here.’ She gave him a kiss. ‘You can have that one on account, and I’ll be waiting with more and better when you get back. Hurry home, won’t you?’
‘I will. You take care of yourself, all right? And no running off with Ernie King while I’m away.’ He rested a hand on her stomach. ‘Look after this little one. I love you both very much.’
‘We love you too.’
With a last kiss, he left. Bobby heard him slide his stick from the umbrella stand, then the front door closed behind him.
Bobby didn’t go straight to work. She’d brought the corrected magazine proofs home the day before so she could take them into Settle first thing. There she would drop them off with the printer so they could be turned into the February number of The Tyke.
Her thoughts were filled with Charlie as she walked to the bus stop, some two miles from their cottage. It was going to be draining for him, saying goodbye to that poor boy. Bobby could only imagine how emotionally wrung out she would feel if she had a similar deathbed visit to make.
She took out her purse to see how much of her wage was left.
Hmm. Barely three shillings. It wasn’t much to last until Sunday, yet she would have liked to get a few nice things in for Charlie.
They had enough points for a can of salmon and some tinned fruit, if she could only spare the money.
Bobby knew she oughtn’t to fritter money away on luxuries, but the blackout hours felt so long and dreary in winter that it would be bleak to dine on nothing but vegetable soup and gritty slices of National Loaf every day.
Her gaze fell on the ten-shilling BBC postal order in her purse, and her mouth twitched.
Yes, that’s what she’d do. It was really bonus money, after all.
She had earned it herself, entirely unexpectedly, and Charlie deserved a little treat after his emotional journey.
She would get the salmon and a tin of pears or peaches, which would go well with some custard powder she had been hoarding, and a jug of beer from the Hart.
When her husband came home, they could have a proper beano tea: just the two of them, snuggled in front of the fire.
It was the first time Bobby had thought about the letter from Broadcasting House since the day it had arrived. Other things had pushed it from her mind. She thought about it now, however.
Charlie was right: her employment at The Tyke would have to end soon. But she still had this, didn’t she?
Perhaps she had been lucky with the two jokes she had sold.
Perhaps there would be no further postal orders.
Then again, it was Bobby’s brain that had furnished those jokes and who was to say she didn’t have more of the same in there?
And tonight she had a whole evening to herself.
If Bobby could pen… say, a dozen jokes good enough for Tommy Handley or one of the other radio comics, then that would be three pounds, wouldn’t it?
Maybe she was aiming too high, but still, more than a week’s wages for an evening’s work – now that would be something!