Chapter 22 #2
‘I thought there’d been enough suspense for one afternoon.’
‘Fair enough.’
This announcement didn’t seem to produce quite the shockwaves the previous two had. Lilian had been expecting it, of course, and Mary didn’t seem excessively surprised. The men looked a little dazed, perhaps. The girls, as Charlie had predicted, squealed with delight.
‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ Florrie demanded to know.
Bobby laughed. ‘Yes.’
‘I hope it’s a boy.’
‘I hope it’s a girl,’ Jessie said. ‘If it is, will she be called after me?’
‘No, she should be called after me,’ Florrie said. ‘I’m oldest.’
‘I’m committing to nothing until he or she arrives,’ Bobby said with a smile.
‘When will it be born?’
‘It ought to be mid-May.’
Mary frowned. ‘You must be five months gone already then.’
‘Six months come Valentine’s Day.’ Bobby shot her an apologetic grimace. ‘I’m sorry, Mary. I ought to have told you all sooner.’ She glanced at Reg. ‘I hope you’re not angry.’
Reg remained silent, however.
‘It’s wonderful news,’ Lil said, beaming. ‘Isn’t it, Tony?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Tony said. ‘You’re leaving the mag then, are you, Bob?’
Lilian glared at him. ‘Really, that’s the first thing you think of to say?’
He shrugged. ‘Got to be a conversation about it, hasn’t there?’
George Parry shook Charlie’s hand, then pressed Bobby’s shoulder. ‘Heartiest congratulations to you both. I’m sure we can’t wait to welcome him or her.’
Mary gave Charlie a hug, then Bobby. ‘Aye, congratulations, you two. Although rightly I ought not to speak to either of you. You’ve left me barely any time to get some knitting done.’
‘Congratulations to you, Nana,’ Bobby whispered as Mary embraced her. ‘Please don’t be cross. I so wanted to tell you, but…’
‘I know.’ Mary brushed a tear from her cheek. ‘Don’t worry about Reg. I’ll talk him round.’
‘You guessed, didn’t you?’
‘Let’s say I had my suspicions.’ She held her back. ‘Now be sure you leave everything unlocked if you have the babby at home, back and front door and any other lock in the house. It’ll ease the birth. You must turn over your mirrors as well.’
Bobby smiled, accustomed to Mary’s store of old superstitions, and promised it would be attended to.
‘Bobby, will the baby like stories?’ Florrie demanded. Her eyes were glittering, already thinking about how many new tales she could add to her book before the baby’s arrival.
‘I’m certain of it,’ Bobby said.
‘Tha reminds me of another little lass, Florrie,’ Rob told her, getting up. ‘Always wi’ her it were stories, stories, stories.’
‘Who is she, Mr Bancroft?’ Florrie asked.
He smiled at Bobby. ‘Well, happen she’s a mite bigger now. You remember, Bob? They were always about little girls with brown hair and twin sisters and their heads full of books, cracking spy rings and whatnot.’
‘I remember,’ Bobby said softly.
She had been worried that her dad, too, might be resentful she hadn’t shared her news sooner, but since he had been nursing a secret of his own for months, he had less cause to take the moral high ground than Reg and Mary.
Anyhow, he didn’t look angry. He was smiling as he pressed her shoulder, although there was a sad, tender expression in his eyes.
Bobby waited for his congratulations, but he didn’t offer any.
‘Come over to t’ cow house when you’ve done here, lass,’ he said. ‘Summat to give thee.’
‘All right.’
After shaking hands with Charlie, Rob disappeared.
Bobby turned to Reg, who had remained silent in his chair while the rest of the family fussed about. ‘Um, can I talk to you in the parlour?’
‘Aye.’ Reg blinked a few times, then reached for his stick. ‘Aye, let’s get it over with.’
He followed her to the parlour, which felt oddly bare without their desks. Reg’s wolfhound Barney, who had been banished here with his sister while the family ate, sidled up to Bobby’s legs and she tickled him absently between the ears.
‘Reg, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,’ she said. ‘I felt terrible about it, but…’
‘But you wanted to keep working.’ He shook his head, scowling. ‘Bloody stupid of you, five month in.’
‘You’re angry,’ she murmured. ‘But what could I do, Reg? I knew you’d never keep me on if you knew. Charlie was out of work, and we needed the money.’
‘I’d have given you the damn money, lass. You think I’d leave my own brother scrambling for pennies with a bairn on the way?’
‘I didn’t want you to give it to us. I wanted to earn it.’
‘Striding over the fells in that condition,’ Reg muttered. ‘Suppose you’d lost the babby, eh? How d’you think I’d feel, knowing it was me who sent you out there?’
‘Honestly, you men act like we’re as fragile as eggshell once we’re expecting,’ Bobby said, her patience fraying. ‘Dr Minchin told me it wasn’t dangerous to keep working, as long as I didn’t over-exert myself.’
‘Aye, well, it’s not only that.’ Reg pushed his fingers into his thinning hair. ‘I never should’ve taken you on again when you came back from war. You were supposed to be at home, looking after our Charlie. That’s why they let you out, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes. But the best way for me to look after him while he was out of work was by earning money. Charlie would hate being forced to take charity from you and Mary.’
‘That’s summat, I suppose,’ Reg said, in a less harsh voice. ‘I remember when the boy wasn’t too proud to beg a loan so he could waste it on girls and horses. Good to know he’s finally grown up.’
‘He’s a different man these days,’ Bobby said quietly.
Reg sighed. ‘I knew it was only a matter of time, but Lord knows how I’ll manage without you. Not that I’d ever admit it to the missus, but I was starting to enjoy retirement. I’ll have to step back in now. Scott does all right but I wouldn’t trust him in an editor role.’
Bobby felt a sadness at this. She would miss being the deputy editor, plotting out each issue. She felt bad for Tony too, who would be counting on a promotion.
‘Will you take on a junior reporter?’ she asked.
‘Huh. Where from? I had trouble enough getting you pair, with war taking all the lads. Now it’s even come for the lasses, if I was minded to try that again after the trouble it caused last time.’
Bobby flashed him a smile. ‘Come on, Reg. I wasn’t so bad in the end, was I?’
He smiled back, unable to keep up his bad temper. ‘You’ve certainly been good for our Charlie. Can’t say I regret the way you turned things upside down around here, all told.’
‘You’re not so cross with me that you’ll go on grandad strike then?’
‘Grandad.’ He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. ‘Aye, suppose I am in a way.’
‘That’s what Charlie and I were hoping you’d be. Like I told Mary, you two would always be Nana and Grandad to any children of ours.’
This seemed to shift the last of Reg’s grump. He looked pleased, and a little touched.
‘Well, look after yourself then,’ he said to Bobby, covering for his emotion with gruffness. ‘No more of this nonsense about working. Charlie told me he’d got that clerk’s position. No cause for you to be anywhere other than at home now he’s earning.’
‘He told you that?’
‘Aye. Shame he can’t get more with his fancy education, but better than sitting on his ar— on his backside at home.’
So Charlie had told Reg he was to be a clerk. Well, a clerk wasn’t a million miles from a secretary, Bobby supposed. If it helped the boy’s pride then she guessed it didn’t matter what he called himself.
‘And what about the magazine?’ she asked. ‘How will you manage?’
Reg shrugged. ‘Make up the difference with freelance pieces, same as before. Not the cheapest way of doing things but it’ll have to do till the war’s over.’
Bobby put a hand on his arm. ‘You won’t consider…’
‘What?’
‘You won’t consider keeping me on? Not as deputy editor but just part-time, working from home. If you only paid me a third of my salary, I know I could produce twice as much quality copy as any freelance.’
Reg snorted. ‘Don’t talk daft. I need someone who can go out and get me stories.’
‘Tony can write those pieces, but there’s plenty I could do. Half of what goes in the mag is from desk research alone. Charlie can fetch me books from the library when I get too big to go. It would help supplement his wage, and I’d love to stay involved.’
‘You think like that now, when you’ve not got a bairn demanding your constant attention. I’m sorry, Bobby, but you won’t be able to have everything. That’s just the way things are.’
‘I don’t want everything. I just want…’ She sighed. ‘I just want a bit of what you have – what men have. Something to do with my brain between changing the baby and cooking the dinner. The ability to earn by doing what I’m good at. Is that really too much to expect?’
‘Should’ve thought about what you had the right to expect before you were expecting,’ Reg told her shortly.
‘You really think that when you’ve been up five or six times in the night, cooking and cleaning all day on a few hours’ sleep, you’ll want to sit down and write me a piece on drystone walling? ’
‘You might at least try me. If I produce shoddy work, I promise there’ll be no hard feelings about terminating the arrangement. But I’m sure I could find a way to make it work – I’m sure of it, Reg.’ She met his eyes. ‘Just think about it.’
He shook his head. ‘No, Bobby. You can work next week to get everything finished off, then that’s an end on it.’
‘Why not, though? You used to think a woman couldn’t make it as a reporter out here, until I proved you wrong.
You said yourself it had forced you to change your ideas.
Why can’t you change your ideas about this?
I just want to do something that matters with my life, the same as you did when you started the mag. ’
Reg lifted an eyebrow. ‘Raising the next generation don’t matter?’
‘I mean something that matters to me, as a person in my own right.’ Bobby pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound impatient. It’s just frustrating that something has to be done a particular way solely because that’s how it always has been done.’
‘Oh, shoo, dog,’ Reg said, rebuffing Winnie as she attempted to snuffle in his pockets. ‘What worries me isn’t doing things the way they’ve always been done. What worries me, lass, is you.’
Bobby blinked. ‘Me?’
‘Aye. So eager to be always working, working, working. You’ll never be a mam first and foremost while your mind’s half on your job. A wife and mother has her own work to do and it’s not writing ruddy articles.’
‘Yes, but—’
He patted her arm. ‘Look, I’m not saying I aren’t sorry to lose you. You’re a damn good writer. Happen in fifteen year or so, when your bairns can fend for themselves, you might put your hand to summat. But I’m sorry: it’s time now to think of your family.’