Free A Child's Voice Calling by Maggie Bennett Page B

Annie’s hand and talked her through the contractions. They had not long to wait and a baby girl was born within twenty minutes. Her lusty cries greeted her father as he arrived home in no happy mood.
    ‘A daughter for you this time, Court, and your wife’s due for a rest,’ said the doctor pointedly. ‘If you’d care to come and see me we can talk about preventive measures.’
    Jack nodded, frowned and finally forced himself to smile upon the newcomer who was to be called Daisy.
    What had gone wrong with his life, Jack Court wondered. Take today, three consecutive races won by the favourite and Dick Sammons swanking at the wheel of his own motorcar, while he, the best bookmaker between here and Goodwood, had come home to a houseful of chuntering women, bawling children, yet another baby and God only knew what mess being ladled out at the kitchen table and masquerading as a man’s supper – talk about a bloody workhouse! And now this old know-all of a doctor telling him what he should and shouldn’t do with Annie in bed. Huh! Chance would be a fine thing these days. If she wasn’t having a child or feeding a child or bleeding or moaning about being tired or sighing over that poor little imbecile whose life had fortunately been snuffed out – God! Here he was at thirty-four, in the prime of his life and stuck with this lot. He could hardly be blamed for sometimes accepting what was on offer elsewhere . . .
    Mabel’s days were now filled with housework, running errands, going to school and escorting younger children to and from Hallam Road with her – and always hurrying back to her darling baby, her little Daisy, a dark-haired little thing who cried a lot but always responded to Mabel’s soothing voice and touch. The first word she spoke was not ‘mama’ or ‘dada’ but ‘Maby’, accompanied by a broad smile and holding out her little arms to be lifted up.
    ‘I loves ’oo, Maby – I loves ’oo!’
    Albert too was a favourite with his youngest sister and would pull comical faces to make her laugh. One of his tricks was to get under the table and then pretend to bang his head on it. Out he would come on his hands and knees, loudly boo-hooing and rubbing his head, which made the little girl shout with laughter and beg him to ‘Do it again, Alby!’
    ‘Nice to be appreciated.’ He grinned at Mabel who was glad to see him in a good humour. A lot of his time was spent out with other boys who found ways and means of making a sixpence or two. One way was by discreetly taking scrawled notes from back doors and bringing them to Jack Court with small sums of money. ‘Running messages’ they called it and Jack gave a warning frown if they ever opened their mouths.
    It was during Daisy’s first year that Mabel found an opportunity to ask her mother about something that had long been on her mind. They were in the kitchen together. ‘Mum,’ she began, ‘yer told me I was named after yer mother.’
    Annie stiffened slightly. ‘Yes.’
    ‘If I was named for her, who was Albert named for? And Alice and George and Daisy?’
    ‘Albert was named after Queen Victoria’s husband and Alice after the little girl in Mr Carroll’s story of Wonderland. And your dad and I both liked the name o’ Daisy.’
    ‘And Georgie?’
    ‘He was named for my own dear father, George Chalcott. A better man never lived. Mabel, have you put those peas in to soak?’
    ‘Yes, an’ the ham bone’s simmerin’, doesn’t it smell good? Mum, what was yer mother like? Yer never talk about her or any o’ yer family.’ Annie Court’s face seemed to close up, though her tired blue eyes softened at some far-off recollection, which encouraged Mabel to persist. ‘And did yer live in Hampshire with her an’ yer father?’
    ‘Yes, but I lost them both before I married your father and came to live in London.’ Annie spoke abruptly, with an edge to her voice, and again Mabel sensed a mystery of some kind.
    ‘Did yer have a big house to