Audrey Ellis - Searching Fifty Shades Of Grey

“Found it – what an idiot I am!” It seemed too good to be true. Perhaps he was dreaming and he would awake to a deeper darkness and loss. He heard at that moment, voices carrying in the air. Perhaps he ought to introduce himself. His thoughts quickly returned to his parents assuming they'd be half way to Coventry. No doubt they had pulled into a transport cafe for a cup of tea.

He thought of May and realized she’d be expecting him to ring her. She’d be anxiously waiting for his call. Where, though, was the phone box? How stupid of him. He should have asked his ma and pa before they left for their home in the van. He unfolded his thin collapsible cane as he felt his way to the front door. How could they think of giving up now?

Meanwhile May waited…..

“Come on, honey. You know you can do it. This is special. What you have been looking forward to for months.

“This isn’t what I expected, nurse…not this time…not when everything is going right. We have a house to move into…in fact my husband should have phoned me by now. He said he would”.

“Then he will. Would you like me to get the phone from the corridor and bring it to your bedside so you can ring…maybe your mum and dad? Here, sweetie, take her, she needs her mum’s love – what a little treasure!”

“If only a phone call could put things right…it goes far deeper. Maybe I will fail. Perhaps I won’t be a good mum”!

“I don’t believe you are going to be beaten by what people say about you. If any of us took notice of others opinions we would all be stuck and if you are depressed!”

“I’m not depressed nurse, but frustrated, and want to go home like the other mums”.

“You will be ready soon but it’s best that don’t go home until you feel a little more confident. At least when you are here you have someone to listen and support you. To get help, though, you must reach out though mustn’t you? Anyway, you know that there’s nothing wrong with low moments. Here darling, let me wipe those tears”.

“I’ll get a bowl of water, and a towel, so you can freshen up. That’s right, you plump those pillows up. I’m drawing these curtains and I’ll fetch you a lovely cup of tea. Promise me though, that you will talk to your nurse if you carry on feeling like this. I will make some notes on your files. What fantastic flowers. Hug that baby of yours and love her and you won’t go far wrong”.

How could May admit that she felt nothing but an awful flatness, a heavy head and an enormous fear for the future? True, she wanted to be happy, but happiness and relaxation always seemed to precede the fiercest of storms. This made no sense, but it was how she was feeling. She couldn’t relax. Was her baby’s breathing normal, or might she be too hot rather than too cold? What if she got her fingers trapped in her crocheted dress? Or she choked on her milk? Or what if she didn’t stop crying? Or failed to put on weight? Or she dropped her? Or she missed her feed? Someone might report them for not caring for her properly, even for the smallest mistake.

The young nurse returned with the trolley and phone.

“You’re in luck, honey. It’s Mr Nesbitt himself, wanting to talk to you. I will take Esther from you for a while…come here little one…come to Pat…let me sing to you”.

“You’re in a shop now; who’s with you? Then the phone went dead.

“Of course you can do it, honey, but take your time…babies are tougher than we think, and that includes this little mite, though she definitely doesn’t think much about her first bath, does she? Listen to her squall.

Pat, sensing the new mum’s fear, lowered her voice and moved closer to May

“That’s fine. You are doing well with enough support for her little head. Yes, I know she is slippery but don’t worry, you have her firm in your arms. She is gorgeous, and what a pair of lungs. I saw that young fellow of yours soon after she was born, standing outside the nursery listening. He seemed really proud”.

“We both are, Pat”. She chose not to tell her that. Esther wasn't...... If she'd done so what would the nurse have thought of her?

“You are doing fine. That’s it, now those fiddly toes and fingers”.

In theory, Pat ought to be someone to whom she could express her fears, as she seemed to have the knack of making her feel ordinary.

She was simply an anxious mum whose only difference was her disability, instead of someone who was without personality, which often seemed to happen to her in all sorts of situations. She felt dead inside with no room for resentment? It was a baby she held in her arms rather than her baby who kicked and slipped and splashed her towelling apron. May thought of........ Surely if she talked to James he wouldn't understand why she felt so sad. Was she going mad?

Her body started to tremble however hard she tried to control her fears and conceal the agony she felt. Tears slowly rolled and dripped from her chin.

There were so many opportunities to grasp, but, still deep within her pain that couldn’t be explained....not ever!

May, James and their newborn infant eventually sought happiness in their post-war ‘House on a Hill’, tucked away amidst 3000 similar overspill homes. Some occupants seemed happy with their homes complete with inside toilets, fitted kitchens and gardens to call their own. Others seemed despondent with the quietness they found. Peace being a blessing. German prisoners of war had played a significant part in the earlier building of these homes. These foundations a result of bombed-out rubble left from the destruction of London. Demolished air-raid shelters used as hardcore on the spreading, winding and climbing roads where together they pushed Esther’s pram.

May pushed their child past safe wide spaces. She sat on a slatted seat, where she felt the need to pinch herself from the dream they shared; with some of her fears eased. Rooks wheeled round noisily above, painting the sky black, whilst house sparrows sang in the eaves close by. May rose proudly with her still sleeping infant, and tapped gingerly past muddy playing fields. Nearby, boys in red and white rugby shirts leaped as if to touch the sky, pirouetting then tumbling and slithering into a heap, whilst May, unseeing but ever-knowing, slightly breathless, continued her walk up the hill.

Into the shoe shop to buy laces for James, grocery, Player’s cigarettes and stamps for letters to send back home. Above these shops were flats where families got on with their lives. At the bus stop outside she heard a woman complaining.

“It costs ten pence to go to Romford and back”.

“Yes” answered her companion.

“I'm lonely here. I must have fun whilst I am young. I want to be part of life again. I would far rather live in a flat in London than a house in Harold Hill. If I have my way it will be a case of here today and gone tomorrow!”

May wondered, as she walked by them, stopping and crossing over to a Roman Catholic Church. There, a toddler in a white dress and matching ankle socks scampered towards a tree. |It was then May heard a deep voice that resonated and called out …....

“Stop and then wait!”

The wheels of this pram spun many more times after this. The babies that sheltered beneath its hood increased to two and then three. Esther learned to keep close to the pram never allowed to run free.

She loved playing at the bottom of their garden. Sometimes she’d linger as her father dug. One day burying her doll with his potato seeds! Once, he had said to her how he could do with a bigger garden, and she quickly replied, asking

“Why not move our fence a little bit?”

She would wait her turn each winter to sit on a sledge as it cruised and slithered on ice, or sit clinging in summertime onto an orange box go-cart her father had helped her growing brothers to construct. The steering would eventually spin out of control. They would tumble onto the ground laughing loudly whilst their mongrel dog Rex ran beside them barking.