An Unsuitable Mother. Sheelagh Kelly

      Standing in line outside the greengrocer’s on this Monday afternoon, after struggling to drag heavy sheets from the wringer to the washing line for much of the day, Nell constantly varied her weight from one hip to the other, trying to escape her agony. This procuring no relief, she stretched her body into an arc, pressed a hand to her lumbar region, and began to rub. Mother had heard there was a consignment of Spanish oranges arriving today, and, by the length of the queue, so had everyone else. Lord knew how long she would be standing there.

      ‘You’re entitled to go straight to the front in your condition, love.’

      Nell turned to attend the woman behind her, and, to her shock, realised that her abdomen was protruding from her open coat. An immediate prickle of embarrassment sprang outwards from her breast, causing her face to turn scarlet and her heart to accelerate, as her secondary reaction was to slump and pull her coat around herself, whilst trying not to meet the curious gazes of others who were now craning to examine her.

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ The speaker had noted that Nell wore no wedding ring. ‘My mistake …’

      Face burning, Nell reverted her gaze ahead, but the damage was done. She was to thank God when an angry commotion up front, over the unreliability of supplies, diverted attention from her, allowing her to break ranks and slip away.

      Thelma looked crestfallen at the lack of oranges in Nell’s basket when they coincidentally met up at the end of the avenue, both heading home through the late April sunshine. ‘But they said!’

      ‘Well, they said wrong.’ Nell was less than apologetic, her shoulders and spirits dragged down by the heavy basket of shopping. ‘Apparently the consignment was for the London area only.’

      Thelma sighed. ‘Oh well, I suppose that’s only right, they’re suffering the most.’

      ‘I don’t know about that!’ snapped Nell. ‘I stood for absolutely ages.’

      ‘Well, yes, thank you for going to the trouble, dear. I shall miss not having you to help me. Did Matron not give you a specific date to return? Not that I want to lose you, but you should really go and check …’

      ‘Yeah, I’ll go tomorrow,’ sighed Nell, changing the encumbrance to her other hand.

      ‘Yeah? We didn’t pay out good money for slovenly speech!’

      ‘Yes, then,’ Nell replied with a wince, feeling that she was about to crack in half. Notwithstanding this, when they arrived home she was to help prepare the evening meal by pulling vegetables from the back garden and washing and slicing them, whilst Mother worked beside her on the main dish. All the while Nell was teetering on the verge of blurting it out, anxious to confide in her mother before Father came in.

      ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when I was reduced to using this horrible stuff,’ sighed Thelma, having scraped the final slick of margarine from the greaseproof paper that had held it, and folding this away for later use. ‘How people can say it’s a substitute for butter … we might as well be living on a council estate.’

      Nell barely responded, though her eyes followed her mother to the cupboard, where she added the folded greaseproof to the umpteen jars and bottles, bits of string, and other useful things she had thriftily put by.

      Thelma went to the stove and stirred the contents of a saucepan that were now almost ready to serve. Then she cast a sideways glance at her daughter as they waited for Father to come in. ‘You’re very quiet, dear.’

      Nell came out of her trance with a start.

      ‘Are you worried that they might not take you back?’

      Looking into that concerned face, Nell was on the verge of saying something, then shook her head. ‘No, just tired.’

      And at that point her father came in. Another opportunity lost.

      With her parents tucking into their meal, Nell picking at hers, there was little said until halfway through. Then, ‘Next door’s had one of those new Morrison shelters delivered,’ Thelma informed her husband. ‘The stack of girders that went in, you would’ve thought they were erecting the Forth Bridge. All this clanking and banging, and poor Mrs Dawson trying to stop them demolishing her house in the process. Eh, you should’ve seen it, shouldn’t he, Eleanor? It was like Fred Karno’s!’

      They all chuckled, including Nell, Wilfred pausing to run his tongue underneath the pallet of his false teeth to evacuate debris, and clacking the dentures expertly around his mouth before saying, ‘I hear they’re saving a lot of lives. We can have one if you want.’

      ‘Thank you, dear, but I couldn’t abide one of those monstrosities cluttering up my dining room.’ Thelma hated anything out of place. ‘Not to mention actually having to go in it. I’d feel like a caged animal. No, we’ll continue to go under the stairs, it’s served us well enough up to now.’ And Wilfred had gone to such trouble, fitting it out with a light and comfortable seating that could also be used as beds.

      Nell was about to take another mouthful when something awful happened. She wet herself. Her knife and fork hovering over the plate, she felt a tremendous wave of panic rush over her, as she tried to control the muscles around her bladder, but the leak would not stop. With the lower half of her dress sopping wet, and her sphincter fluttering, she laid down her cutlery and, trying to appear calm, exclaimed, ‘Please excuse me, I’ll just have to visit the lavatory!’ And, to her mother and father’s bemusement, she rushed from the table.

      Leaving a dripping trail, she fled first to her room, and dragged a pack of sanitary towels from the back of a cupboard. Armed with these, and still leaking, she scurried to the bathroom, where she stripped off her wet dress and underwear, the corset posing all manner of irritation, then she tried to stem the flow with a towel, but in moments it too was swamped and chafing. Giving in to panic, she began to shake. Oh my God, she should have come clean months ago! It was going to be so much more of a shock to them now. She could well imagine the intensity of their recrimination. Even the rehearsal made her break down and cry.

      ‘What on earth are you doing?’ called her mother a good twenty minutes later, making Nell jump. ‘Your meal’s gone cold – and your father wants to be in there!’ With no response, she pounded up the stairs to mutter a warning. ‘I hope you’re not being extravagant with that toilet paper, else you can start buying your own.’ With a roll having doubled in price, she had issued this alert before. Ignored and aggravated, she banged on the door. ‘Eleanor! Answer me.’

      Under this constant harassment, Nell had no option.

      Thelma heard the bolt being drawn, and stood back, ready to announce, ‘Oh, there you are!’ But as the door opened a crack and she squinted through it, there stood her daughter, surrounded by sodden bath towels and things, and clutching a damp dress over her nakedness. Thelma gasped. Reflected in her mother’s horrified gaze, only truly in that moment did Nell realise the enormity of this.

      Lost for words, Thelma could do nothing but gape at her for many seconds. Whatever had happened to be prepared? Nothing could have prepared her for this! Finally, though, one of them had to speak. With Nell in tears, it was left to her mother to breathe, ‘Who was it?’

      Nell struggled with the lump in her throat. ‘I’m so sorry, Mother …’

      Thelma came to life then, was caught up in a paroxysm of loathing as she stabbed a finger at Nell’s room. ‘Get in there, and take your disgusting mess with you! And get something on!’ Then, turning tail, she stamped downstairs.

      Finding it hard to bend, Nell gathered the debris that lay around her, staggered with it to her room, there dropping it to grab the first thing to hand, a dressing gown, at the same time hearing her father’s bilious, ‘What!’

      ‘She’s in labour now!’ moaned Thelma, loud enough for their daughter to hear.

      ‘And you said nothing, woman?’

      The boom of his cannon fire was