The Key of My Heart Chapter 8

Chapter 8 Eventually I couldn’t hide my growing bump any longer. Everyone at work was very sweet about it, and Joe found me a high stool so that I could sort of semi-sit as I washed up. They all knew how much I needed this job, and that I was planning to work as long as I possibly could, and come back as soon as I could afterwards.
“I’ll hold it open for you Fride,” Joe said. “I can always get a student in to cover for you – they never stay long anyway. You – you’re like family to us now.” Every week I went and paid a little bit more towards that cot. I was nearly there now, which was just as well, because I still needed to paint it. And save up some more to buy the mattress. The table and weird chairs had gone, and the current stock looked like it was the contents of a grandmother’s house. I rather liked the table and chairs – but goodness only knows where I would have put them! I was getting to know the owner quite well by now. She was amused by the way the baby kicked and leapt around.
“I sometimes think there’s a kangaroo in there,” I said, laughing. “Here – you can have this poster to decorate the kangaroo’s bedroom. I don’t think anyone’s ever going to buy it!” I thanked Sugar, but thought, “Bedroom! If only you knew!” That night I took a good look round the room. If I moved my bed, then that little corner could be the baby’s so-called bedroom. At least it would give her a corner of her own. I had a feeling you weren’t supposed to haul beds around when you were pregnant, so I did it very carefully. Then I put the poster up and admired the baby’s bedroom. Finally I had earned enough to pay for the cot! The next step was to sand it down and paint it. And keep saving for the mattress – and hope I could save enough in time. And then the nicest of surprises happened! I’d got the cot painted and then Priya and David turned up with a huge parcel. They’d clubbed together, all four of them, and bought me a mattress and some bedding!
“We went for yellow,” Priya said, “as you don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
She was right – I didn’t. Priya had come with me to my ultrasound scan appointment, but the baby was being incredibly modest. David hung around a bit after Priya left (despite me bursting into tears because I was so grateful to them).
“You know, Pierre and I could wash down the walls and clean up the floor for you. Do you think Ma Woodward would mind?”
“No. She said I could paint the place if I wanted, as it couldn’t look any worse. But I can’t afford any paint yet.”
“Well, we can at least clean it up for you, ready for painting when you can afford it. We’ll come round at the weekend. You can go round to Priya’s or Niamh’s while we make a mess – I mean, an improvement – here!”
And I’d be at work for most of the day, so I wouldn’t have to impose on Priya or Niamh too much either. I thanked him, profusely. They were as good as their word too. When I came back from work on that Sunday night, the whole place looked much cleaner and brighter. They’d done wonders with the floor – Pierre explained later that he knew a guy who had a sander, so he’d borrowed it. And put the cot and my bed in the garden while they’d done the floor! And then, suddenly – too soon, it seemed – I was heading off to the hospital with some quite definite contractions. Priya came too, carrying a sports bag (borrowed from Pierre) containing clean nightwear (my own) and soap and general washing gear (a gift from Niamh. She’d had a birthday, and all four of her aunts had sent her bath stuff, and not a lot else. I was grateful for Priya’s company, but she told me she was grateful to me for letting me be her birth partner. Two days later, after a very straightforward delivery, I was home again, with Amber nestled close to my heart. And as I looked at her lying there, wide-eyed, I knew that I would do anything in my power to keep her healthy, happy and safe. It was six weeks later, and I was woken by Amber crying in the night. I picked her up and, without thinking, started singing to her. She calmed instantly. Then I realised what I’d been singing – the song I had written and Jasper had had set to his jazz-based tune.
I stopped mid-word. And Amber’s bottom lip began to quiver again. I looked into her tear-filled eyes, and began again, even though my voice was a bit wavery, and my own tears fell onto her face.

“Honey, I’ll buy you a villa in France.
You can sit in the sun and watch the waves dance.
So will you be my poppet and my sweet?
And will you be my sugar candy treat?” Amber lay, contented, in my arms as I went on singing.

“But I do not want a villa in France.
Nor to sit in the sun and watch the waves dance.
So I’ll not be your poppet or your sweet.
And I’ll not be your sugar candy treat.”

And then she smiled at me! The first time she’d ever done so! Jasper’s and my song made her smile! I was determined to keep the house clean. I wasn’t going to descend into the sort of squalor Gerda had lived in. Okay, we had next to no money, but soap was cheap. Amber loved being sung to. I would cuddle her and sing to her whenever we had the chance. I still couldn’t see very far into the future, but I would take things one day at a time. Amber was here – and if Gerda had got her own way, she would never have been born. Going back to work was pretty straightforward – I just scooped Amber up and headed off to Joe’s with her. We made a cosy nest for her in a small unused store room off the kitchen and I fitted in feeding her round my work. She was a very sunny-tempered baby, and she thrived on the attention she got from the other workers. Joe was very understanding.
“My Mamma, she came here with no English and three small children. My Pappa died soon after they got here – she knew all about working to keep a family alive. But people helped her, and she said to me, Joe, you help others too. You pass this on. I tell her about you, and she says, if this girl looks like she wants to be a good mother, you help her do that. And I think that is what you want, so we help you.” At the side and back of the house was a little patch of land, mostly mud and brambles at the moment, but I wondered if it could be something more. Amber was only a baby now, but she would need somewhere to play later. I wondered if Ma Woodward would mind if I cleared it. Next time she was round for the rent, I asked her if that would be okay. She said fine – and she’d lend me a spade. Then she asked if she could hold Amber. I passed her over very happily, and watched Ma Woodward’s strong arms enfold her tenderly. Her face softened in a way I’d never seen before. She knew why I’d left home – I’d told her, when my pregnancy became too obvious to ignore.
“This is one clean, happy, healthy baby. You did right, you know, girl, leaving like you did. Someone made me get rid of my baby.” She paused, turning her face away from me.
“That child was made in love, too. But after I lost it – well, I couldn’t face the father again. I felt he should have stuck up for me – I didn’t realise he was just as scared and confused as I was. He wasn’t nothing but a boy, really.” She stopped again. I said nothing, but my eyes were full of tears for her story.
“I never had another one. You take care of this little gift you got here – you’re doing a good job so far, girl.” Ma Woodward had brought round a spade for me to attack the weeds. But before I started on them, I was going to sand down and paint my bed – I still had some of the paint left I’d used for the cot. I’d heaved the bed outside to keep the dust and smells away from Amber. I lay back on it for a moment, pretending I was lolling round on a sun-lounger somewhere warm and exotic. Then I got off it and set to work! It was several days’ hard work (though realising I could leave the mattress behind did make life simpler!) but eventually the bed looked smart, even if the bedding didn’t. I was perpetually tired – work, broken nights with Amber, and doing the bed were all taking their toll on me. Any chance I got, I fell asleep! When I was up with Amber in the middle of the night though, Ma Woodward’s story would come back to me. At first I found myself weeping for her loss, which might so easily have been mine as well. But then I got to thinking about what she’d said about the father. Had I relied on Jasper too much? It had been so lovely to feel looked after again, that I had let him be the older one, the wiser one. But he’d only been a year or so older than me.
And I thought about the other thing she’d said about her baby – that it had been a child of love. Well, so had Amber. I had loved Jasper – and he had loved me. That was what Amber needed to know: that we had loved each other, and that she was the child of that love.