Open Writing

She’d been sitting in the oak tree since lunch, reading Capt W E Johns’ Biggles, soaring with him through the air, helmeted and goggled, the icy wind whipping her cheeks. Having finished the book, she climbed down and washed her hands for dinner.

“Pass your father the peas and the cauliflower cheese, darling,” her mother said, expertly carving slices off the beautifully roasted leg of lamb and carefully placing them on the side of the plate alongside the roast potatoes. Father claimed he lost his appetite if he had to look at an unattractively arranged plate, and after much argument, Mummy had finally accepted that to placate him she must do as he asked.

“I saw Maureen Sawyer’s husband this morning John,” she continued once she had finished serving the three of them, opening her napkin and laying it on her lap. “He tells me that Maureen’s had the baby and can you believe it, it’s nearly three weeks old already. I was wondering why I hadn’t seen her in her garden these last couple of weeks, but never realised the baby had been born already. Isn’t it exciting?”

She helped herself to a large spoonful of mint sauce and added more cream gravy to her already overburdened plate.

“In fact,” she continued, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth, “Trevor, he looks just like a Trevor, don’t you think, Trevor said that we can go round to visit the new arrival whenever we wish. Maureen is pretty well housebound at the moment and will be glad to have somebody to talk to. He says she must be missing the company of others, now she’s only got the baby and three-year old Matthew all day.”

Listening to her mother prattle on, Patricia wondered at her supreme indifference and ignorance of what a new baby in the household could mean, how disruptive it was of all routine, and how a mother, especially a mother of a displaced 3-year old, was the last person to welcome a visit from an inquisitive neighbour and her 12-year old daughter at this time. It was only a couple of weeks after her return from hospital, and she was still settling the new arrival in, as well as trying grab an hour or two in which to relax.

When dinner was finished and the servant instructed in his duties for the next day, and Mummy was satisfied that the kitchen had been properly cleaned, to Patricia’s surprise Mummy suggested they pay the suggested visit next door, “To welcome the new arrival,” as Mummy archly put it. Patricia fetched her woolly cardigan, the evening had turned cool after the afternoon’s rain, and together with her mother, she reluctantly walked over to visit the neighbour.

After being welcomed a the front door by Trevor - and her mother was right, he actually did look just like a nerdy, weedy Trevor - they made their way to the bedroom where, sitting in the soft glow, head and hair haloed by the reading light at her side, they found Maureen breastfeeding the beautiful infant. Dressed in a warm orange gown, with one pearly breast exposed, she cradled the rosy baby in the crook of her arm. The tiny child was firmly latched on to her dark pink nipple and her head was bent as she gently stroked his cheek with her finger as he contentedly sucked and swallowed. There was a look of adoration on her face; complete absorption in this mother and baby bonding. The room smelt faintly of post-partum blood, baby shit, talcum powder and soap. Standing in the corner was the baby’s bath where a towel dripped slowly onto the carpet.

“Oh, it’s you Millie,” whispered Maureen as Mummy and Patricia entered the room. “As you see, I’m just feeding Joshua, I haven’t even had time to clear up his bath. Won’t you dump those towels in the bathroom?” and she gestured to Patricia, as she expertly held the baby against her shoulder and rubbed his back.

Returning from the bathroom, which was in an equal mess after Matthew’s bath time with Daddy, Patricia was just in time to hear Joshua emit an extraordinarily loud burp for such a tiny baby. The two women burst out laughing on hearing it.

“Well, nothing wrong with his digestion,” remarked Mummy, patting her immaculately coiffed hair, and glancing at her perfectly painted scarlet nails, all the time taking in the general shabbiness and untidiness of the room. The narrow space between the bed and the wall, the overstuffed wardrobe with overcoats and dresses hanging along the picture rails, the sagging mattress and the rows of worn shoes tucked under the bed in company with an old-fashioned chamber pot made her narrow her eyes and twitch her nose disdainfully.

Twitching a lace handkerchief out of her sleeve she touched it to her nostrils, her expression clearly indicating that this was certainly not what she was used to. She was obviously regretting her sudden impulse to visit. This was a woman who after all, was only a next door neighbour, somebody whom she felt it her duty to know, a mere acquaintance; hardly in the ranks of those whom Millie considered her social equals.

But the experience was having a much deeper effect on Patricia.

The baby, now latched onto Maureen’s other breast, quietly sucking away, was bathed in the glow of maternal love and security, cradled in his mother’s arms and only moments away from sleep. He was secure in the infant knowledge that all was well with his world, that nothing would go wrong. Somehow, Patricia felt she had been initiated into one of the mysteries of womanhood; the utter, single-minded devotion of a mother to her child in the first few weeks after birth, the need for both to experience this bonding. The mother’s excitement and wonder at the creation of life and her joy at seeing this tiny new human stirred something in Patricia’s heart. She saw the mother’s recognition of her thoughts and fears made flesh and blood, and her delight as she noted family likenesses as these minute expressions flitted across her baby’s face.

Going home, Patricia felt that this had been one of the most significant events of her life, and that it had helped her to an understanding of what it would be like one day when she have her children of her own. One day, she would lose her tomboy interests; she might even lose her ambition to fly. When the time came she would gladly accept motherhood and its disciplines. She felt she was starting to learn about adult expectations and that this visit had given her a peep into the secrets of grown-ups. Perhaps as the years passed with this charming family next door, she would come to know more about what it meant to be a parent.