Sadie Frost - Crazy Days

W ith a finger, Mary wiped the bead of sweat from her forehead, tracing its journey down her temple. It was a useless task as no sooner had she brushed it away than more beads formed on her chest, her neck and even her arms. It was as if what was inside of her was pushing everything outwards. She repeated the words to herself, If the contractions are two minutes apart you are entering the final stage of labo She resisted the urge to shout out and forced herself to concentrate on the facts in the book, dog-eared and dirty, clutched to her chest like a bible. The childbirth manual that shed found in a second-hand bookshop in Camden Town was her only source of knowledge. There was no one else she had been able to ask about her expanding stomach and all the complicated feelings that came with it.

After the cramping pain had subsided she tipped her head back and studied the anaemic little delivery room that they had shoved her into at the Whittington Hospital. The only sound, apart from her own breathing, was the ticking of the clock on the wall, which displayed the date in a little box within the face: 19 June 1965. So this was to be the day. She gripped the book to her breast and nursed her belly with the other hand, rubbing the material of the crme anglaise-coloured nightdress that shed chosen with great care for the birth. Shed so desperately wanted the birth of her first baby to be special, but she was totally alone. No mother or father or sisters or friends. Shed resigned herself to that months ago. But I want him to be here. Him. Where is he? Where was he when she needed him? Even the nurses were too busy to sit and comfort her, and she felt ashamed. Of what, she didnt know exactly.

She returned to the book and wondered if she would ever have got this far without it. All her friends back home were busy with homework or enjoying school discos. London was huge and unfriendly, and however much she adored him, he hadnt been much help at all. A vast, shuddering pain interrupted her reading and the book slipped from her grasp as she reacted to the searing rip as if someone was chopping her open from the inside. Her cry brought a nurse to the door, a stern woman with a time-worn face.

Nurse! said Mary, panting. I think my babys coming.

Just keep breathing, love, said the nurse, distracted by something that was happening outside the door. Weve just got something to deal with out here. And then she disappeared again. Through her pain Mary heard shouting in the corridor but instead concentrated on the cruel strip light on the ceiling as if it was a beacon showing her the way. The shouting became louder and she made out a mans voice. She heard Fuck you! and Let me through, you bastards! and other swear words, but it meant nothing to her because of the pain. She couldnt understand who was shouting and why. All she wanted right then was him beside her, holding her hand. She leaned her head to one side and a tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered the first time shed ever set eyes on him, standing on that bridge in Ashton, over a year earlier.

She hadnt really wanted to meet him but her mate Maureen had persuaded her.

Come on, Mary, whats up with you? Dont you want to meet a fit lad? Hes not from round here.

Wheres he from then? shed asked.

Ashton-under-Lyne, Maureen replied in a magical whisper, as if Ashton was the most exotic place in the world. Mind you, compared with Denton, where Mary had spent all her life, it was. Even a town five miles away offered excitement and new possibilities. And hes like 18 and hes dead grown-up and hes got this nose thats like dead flat, like a shark. Hes been in loads of fights and hes not like other lads round here. Hes right nice. And he knows stuff. Come on, Mary, come and meet him. He said that I could bring a friend and hell take us both out.

Mary listened as she pushed her hair back into place, using the window of her parents sweet shop as a mirror. Maureen only wanted her to go along because she was too scared to go and meet him on her own. OK then, she sighed, as if it were a big hardship. If it makes all that much difference to you, Ill come.

She and Maureen were the adventurous ones at school, and Mary had always been up for a bit of excitement to ease the dull life that her parents wanted her to live. Mary dreamed of something other than the terraces of tiny, red-brick houses in Denton, a working-class hinterland a few miles from the heart of Manchester. She dreamed of anything else but her parents shop. Through the window she could see Tom Nolan, her father, serving a customer, his bald head shining, a healthy, sturdy man who loved his beautiful daughters. Of the three strong-willed, intelligent Nolan girls, Mary was the youngest and the most easily led. She didnt want to work in the sweet shop or a bakery and had already got herself a part-time job as a magicians assistant at the local theatre. At the tender age of 15 she was far too interested in the glamour of the stage and the adult world for her fathers liking.

Eh, brill, said Maureen, doing a little jump. Ill meet you tomorrow and well get the bus to Ashton. Were to meet him on the Guide Bridge at four o clock, she said, skipping off happily. Mary caught her fathers eye through the window and waved at him. For some reason, the description of the boy that Maureen had given her had piqued her interest more than usual. That night she conjured up a mental picture of him, which meant that as she approached the windy bridge the next afternoon with Maureen, she couldnt help but be a little nervous. As they walked along, their smart, pointy shoes clacked against the pavement and their linked arms were tensed together in excitement. David stood alone on the middle of the bridge with his hands shoved in his pockets, braced against the wind, watching them. It was a chilly day, rain was drizzling and, from where Mary stood, Ashton seemed as depressing as Denton. As they got near, the boy took his hands out of his pockets, removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke into their path before flicking the butt down into the river below.

All right? he said, and gave them a broad smile. Im David Vaughan. Or Dave the Rave, as people call me.

Mary smiled cautiously and looked away. Something about him made her heart flutter. It wasnt really the way he looked, which wasnt exactly what she had imagined. He was dressed in tight corduroy trousers with the waist button missing, a windcheater and a shirt that was up- to-the -minute mod fashion but a bit grubby. His hair was messy and cut awkwardly around his face, which wasnt handsome, but rather chiselled out of some rough stone and then maybe sand-blasted to leave smooth, round cheeks. His eyes seemed sad but were soft and kind at the same time and his nose well, Maureen had got that part right. It was flat and crooked, as if it had been punched a fair few times and then some. Mary stole another look at him and summoned up the courage to speak.