David Essex - Faded Glory

Danny put his arms around Wendy and held her close. He felt her relax against him. They were having a child of their own. That very special bond of parenthood was going to be theirs now. It was time to jump into the unknown.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said. “I love you, Wend.”

They talked well into the night about all the changes they would need to make. They discussed a few names for the baby, both girls’ and boys’. They talked about money, and how they would cope.

“I met these two fellas tonight,” Danny said as Wendy rested her head on his shoulder. “They reckon I could turn professional with their help, maybe make some money. I’ll meet them, talk to them.”

They were both aware that the most immediate hurdle was to tell Wendy’s parents. Danny was no coward, but the thought of confronting Wendy’s strait-laced folks with the news of a baby conceived out of wedlock was nerve-racking. But he realised that if they were going to have this baby, goodwill from Wendy’s folks was an important factor.

“So you’ll come over tomorrow?” said Wendy as Danny kissed her good night. “We can tell Mum and Dad together.”

He was twenty-three, but Danny had always felt like a boy. For the first time tonight, he truly felt like a man, facing all the responsibility that a baby would bring. He felt ready for it, ready to take it on, whatever the outcome, whatever Wendy’s parents thought.

“Of course I will,” he said, holding Wendy tightly. “I’ll be here at six.”

Danny spent most of the next day thinking about how Wendy’s folks might react. He practised little speeches, tried to imagine the questions they would be asked and what answers he would give. He guessed Wendy was doing more or less the same on her shift at the sugar factory. It seemed a longer day than usual, as Danny longed to get everything over with and out in the open.

On the dot of six, Danny arrived at the Bristows’ looking as smart and responsible as he could. He knew that his shiner of a left eye might take the edge off his carefully thought-out presentation, but it couldn’t be helped.

Wendy greeted him with a reassuring hug and kiss.

Danny patted her back. “Don’t worry Wend,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”

Mr Bristow had not made it home from work yet. Wendy and Danny waited tensely in the living room as Mrs Bristow bustled around the kitchen peeling potatoes for the evening meal.

“That’s quite a bruise you’ve got there, Danny,” she said. “Did you win the fight?”

“Yes, Mrs Bristow,” said Danny. His throat felt dry with nervousness. “Although the ring collapsed so they called it a draw.”

“That sounds dangerous,” said Mrs Bristow. “Wendy love, can you lay the table?”

Danny watched the clock on the mantelpiece as Wendy laid out the cutlery. What if he couldn’t actually speak when the moment came? What if he failed to make his point and prove himself as a responsible future father of the Bristows’ grandchild? He’d decided to call it “the forthcoming baby”. It sounded better than “Wendy’s pregnant”.

“Are you all right for a drink, Danny?” asked Mrs Bristow.

Danny and Wendy had agreed they would tell her parents together, although part of Danny thought that if the news was broken to Mrs Bristow first and she was positive about it, they could get her on side to convince Mr Bristow.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bristow,” he said, with as much charm as he could muster.

He hadn’t got round to telling his own mother the news as yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be a problem. Rosie was so wrapped up in her own world that as long as the newborn didn’t clip her wings in any way, she would be fine. Telling Mr Bristow was going to be something else entirely.

A key sounded in the door.

“I’m home,” said Mr Bristow cheerfully. “What’s for dinner?”

Danny jumped to his feet, but Wendy grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. They looked at each other. This was it.

“Come into the living room, Dad,” Wendy said. “Mum? Leave the dinner for a moment. I – we’ve got something to tell you.”

“Something good?” said Mr Bristow, taking off his shiny black shoes and putting on his tartan slippers as Mrs Bristow appeared from the kitchen with a questioning look on her face.

“Danny and I have an announcement,” said Wendy. She paused and took a breath. “We’re having a baby.”

Danny smiled as brightly and hopefully as he could, stretching out for Wendy’s hand. “And we’re really happy,” he added.

“Right,” said Mr Bristow.

Danny was reminded of his own reaction to Wendy’s news, except Mr Bristow’s “Right” had a different undercurrent.

There followed a strange silence. Danny felt like he was in the dark, without a clue whether the news was going down well or badly.

Mr Bristow paced across the room, stopping by the fireplace to tap and empty his pipe into the grate. Danny watched, holding his breath.

“Do you intend to have this baby?” Mr Bristow asked at last.

Wendy’s face showed a determination to keep the situation calm.

“Yes Dad,” she said. “We want to have it. We’re happy about it.”

“We do love each other,” Danny put in.

“And we will love the baby,” said Wendy.

Mr Bristow reached for his tobacco pouch, filled his pipe meticulously with tobacco and lit it, resulting in a cloud of blue, sweet-smelling smoke. As the first cloud of smoke evaporated into the tense air, he looked Danny in the eye.

“You’ll be getting married, of course,” he said.

“Of course,” said Danny hurriedly. The thought of a wedding was not really on the top of his list, and a shot-gun wedding had never entered his mind.

“Good,” said Mr Bristow. “That’s good.”

The awkwardness was broken unexpectedly by Mrs Bristow.

“Well!” she said, giving her daughter a loving hug. She extended her arms to Danny. “I’m pleased for both of you! My goodness, so many plans to make!”

Mr Bristow’s expression softened a little. “This will change your lives, you know that,” he said.

Danny nodded. “For the better, sir.”

“I hope so, son,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll go and get washed and changed for tea.”

When he had gone upstairs, Mrs Bristow smiled encouragingly at Danny.

“Mr B’s a little old-fashioned,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not right that you’re not married and having a little one, but I know how much you care about each other and I know this baby will be well loved. And you, my little girl,” she said, turning to Wendy, “you will be a good mother.”

Wendy gave her mother a big hug, dragging Danny into the embrace. Danny closed his eyes in relief as warmth and love filled the room.

Over sausage and mash, there were many happy logistics from Mrs Bristow about wedding plans and baby plans. It was as if she had been waiting for this news her whole life. Mr Bristow had a more considered response, bringing practicalities to the table such as: “When will the wedding be? When is the baby due? Where will the money come from? Where will you live?”

Danny tried to make the point that he would be a good dad and support his wife and baby, even if it meant working long hours on building sites.

“And there’s the promoters you told me about last night,” Wendy reminded him, and Danny explained about Costa and Cohen too, and how maybe there was money there if he made the professional fight circuit. He was confident in his boxing family and his ability, although he was fully aware that a baby was a lifestyle changer. If it meant working all hours as a hod carrier to give the little one the start it deserved, he was ready, willing and able.