The Hidden Women by Kerry Barrett

Author:Kerry Barrett
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008318529
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2018-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Lilian

November 1939

‘Feeling better?’ Ruth smiled at me as I wandered into the kitchen after taking an afternoon nap.

I nodded. ‘I was just tired,’ I said. I looked over her shoulder and pinched a piece of apple from her chopping board. ‘And hungry. Are you making apple pie?’

‘It’s for dinner,’ Ruth said. ‘But I can boil you an egg if you’re starving?’

‘Yes please,’ I said. I was permanently starving at the moment and thanked my lucky stars daily that thanks to Jemima, her green fingers and her chickens, we didn’t ever go hungry.

I sat down at the kitchen table and smoothed my dress over my growing bump. ‘The baby is kicking,’ I said. ‘Want to feel?’

Ruth put a pot of water on the hob to boil and came over.

‘Here,’ I said, guiding her hand. Obediently the baby gave a wiggle and then a hefty kick that made me breathe in sharply.

‘Uncomfortable?’ Ruth asked.

I shook my head. ‘Not so much uncomfortable as odd,’ I said. I gave her a sad smile. ‘The whole thing is odd.’

‘I know, lovey,’ Ruth said. She was still standing next to me with her hand on my tummy so I rested my head against her apron-clad front and let her stroke my hair. ‘Not much longer.’

I was about six months pregnant now and we’d been staying with Jemima for several weeks. She’d been gratifyingly pleased to see us when we turned up.

‘Thank bloody God,’ she’d said, gathering Ruth to her as soon as we’d got off the train. ‘I’ve been so absolutely bloody lonely.’

Jemima had been our saviour, really. Welcoming us into her home – and putting us to work – and helping with our deception. I’d played some piano for the local Sunday school, while Ruth worked in the kitchen garden at the farm, growing all sorts of vegetables under Jemima’s guidance. We had been lucky, in a way, that the weather was miserable; we bundled up in sweaters and thick coats and no one noticed my bump – or Ruth’s lack of one – when we walked into town.

Ruth even wrote weekly letters to my mother, telling her all about my pregnancy symptoms as though they were her own, and she sent regular updates to Bobby, who was now finished with basic training and learning how to fly bombers.

Now my pregnancy was getting harder to conceal, I spent more time on my own. Jemima had dusted off her old piano and had it tuned for me, which I was pathetically grateful for. But even with music as a companion I wasn’t completely happy. I was really tired now and feeling pretty wretched about the whole thing. More than anything in the world I wanted not to be pregnant. I knew Ruth saw my baby as the answer to all her prayers, and perhaps he or she would be. But I just saw it as a weight pulling me down. I was listless and completely miserable.

I missed Mr Mayhew dreadfully, and hated myself for missing him.

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