Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,38

that in this office but, without your parents’ support, there are very few options for you, I’m afraid. Meagre benefits; barely any landlords who’ll take on an unmarried mother with a baby… And how would you manage a job to pay the rent with a small child to look after?’

‘But I wouldn’t be on my own. I have a boyfriend. We’ll find a way to make it work.’

‘Oh, the boyfriends are full of promises aren’t they? But where is he now?’ she asked, sneeringly. ‘No, I’m afraid it’s all arranged. It’s better all round if you can stop living in daydream land and accept the reality. Your parents will be here to pick you up on the day of the removal. You’ll go back home and this will all seem like a distant memory. You’ll get on with life.’

‘But, but…’ I felt utterly distraught at this callous woman’s words. ‘What about the feeding? Feeding the baby?’

The woman consulted the file again. ‘No, you won’t be allowed to feed it. Don’t worry,’ she said, closing her file. ‘They’ll give you some tablets to stop the breast milk. You can go now,’ she said, standing up.

I had tears running down my face, but my Moral Welfare Worker was unfazed by this. ‘It’s for the best, you know,’ she told me as I stood up to leave. Perhaps, I thought, my heart breaking, she really did believe that.

***

I couldn’t go back to my chores; instead, I ran up to the dorm and threw myself onto the bed, sobbing until I thought I might do the baby some damage. Eventually, I heard footsteps along the corridor. I knew I’d be in trouble with the nuns, but I didn’t care. Though, in fact, it turned out to be Janet.

‘There you are!’ she said. ‘And look at the state of you! Bloody hell, you’ll do yourself a mischief sobbing away like that. Come here, now. Give Janet a cuddle.’ She sat down on the bed next to me and took hold of me. I carried on crying but there was something comforting about being rocked in Janet’s arms, while she just made hushing sounds. As I began to calm down, I thought what a lovely mum poor Janet would make.

When she was sure I’d stopped crying, she pulled a hanky out of her cardigan pocket and passed it to me. I blew my nose.

‘Had your chat with the Moral Welfare Worker, did you?’ she asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘She has everyone in floods of tears, that woman! It’s not just you. Nasty old cow,’ Janet muttered and I leant my head against her shoulder, feeling quite spent after all that crying.

‘She told me my father’s given instructions about after the birth. I’m not going to get the usual six weeks with the baby. She said it’ll be “removed” the day after I have it and then I’ll just be packed off back home right away.’

Janet looked shocked. ‘What sort of a father is he?’ she asked. ‘Mind, I don’t have one me-self so what do I know? Mine went and bloody got himself killed in a fight when I was five. Stupid idiot.’ She sighed and inspected her fingernails, which were bitten to the quick. ‘It might be easier, you know. To keep your goodbyes short and sweet. I’ve seen them girls when they have to say farewell to their babes when they’ve spent time feeding ’em and changing ’em and whatnot. Maybe it’ll be better not to have that chance to bond.’

‘That’s what she said, that horrible woman. But I don’t want to give the baby up at all – not straightaway, not after six weeks, not at all!’

‘There’s only one way that’s gonna happen, though, ain’t there? And I ain’t seen no sign of that boy of yours so far.’

‘It’s early days,’ I said, desperately. ‘Maybe next Sunday he’ll be here.’

Janet gave me another hug then held me back as if to scrutinise me. ‘You’re a right romantic, you are,’ she said, shaking her head and looking as though she wasn’t quite sure what on earth she was going to do with me.

Chapter Twenty-one

August 1969

Susan

Several Sundays later, to my surprise, I was told I did have a visitor. My heart began to race as I dared to hope it might be Robin. I hadn’t even received a letter from him, nor Penny, although I’d written to them both more than once. It was like I’d disappeared off the face of the Earth.

‘Who is it?’ I