But then she looked down at Zelda’s back and realized that the strong, resilient woman’s shoulders jerked slightly with sobs.

Audrey leaned forward, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Why are you crying? Can’t you see how good this will be—good for all of us.”

There was no response. She had retreated into a world of her own.

“I know it’s always been a struggle for you, but—”

Suddenly, Zelda flung around, shoving Audrey’s hand away from her. “You have no idea how much of a struggle my life has been. You come in here with your nice ideas, talking about a revolution in womanhood, how we can be a big happy family, but you don’t know anything about the working-class world. You don’t know how I’ve had to fight for every inch of space I take up in the world, from the moment my mother banished me to the dirtiest corner of the room we all shared, to the cupboard of a room I had when I first lived on my own.” Her face was red with tears and anger—a lifetime of rage built up inside.

“But—” Audrey tried and failed to comfort her.

“You have no idea what it is like to be punched down at every turn, to have to soldier on, pulling yourself up, learning how to fight back. Well, now I can fight. If this stupid war hadn’t come along, I would have been winning—maybe even got a job as head chef. Then—and finally then—I would have some sense of victory. You speak of freedom. But you don’t know what that means to me—freedom to be the person that I am, to be free to fight for myself, to be free to make quick decisions to save my skin. Having a child is not a choice for me, can’t you see? I have to be on my own, working hard, without having to think about saving someone else, too. Now get out!”

    Her eyes glared, red and intense, into Audrey’s. Never had Audrey seen her so unmasked, so real. Never had she known the true power and force within her.

“You underestimate yourself, Zelda,” she said, getting up and slowly going to the door. “You have just shown me all the strength and resilience you need to do this. You don’t have to deny yourself the one thing in life you need the very most—a family. Not only with us, but with this little girl. She is yours, your very own family. She will grow, and you will love her more than you have ever loved anything—more than you love yourself. You will feel part of something larger than yourself, something heavenly and magnificent.”

“A baby doesn’t fix broken lives, Audrey. It only gets in the way,” Zelda snarled. “Leave me alone.”

Audrey opened the door to leave, the little baby sleeping in her arms. A sense of dread overwhelmed her. There was nothing that she could say or do. Zelda, her face still wet with tears—tears of a life spent running, fighting—was going to sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of her fear.

Suddenly angry, Audrey said, “You’re a coward, Zelda. You can’t see that you have strength enough for two of you. You’re more than this. More than you ever imagined.”

And with that, she left the room.

Zelda

The doorbell rang downstairs, and Zelda felt the blood run fast through her veins. She tried to breathe. She tried to think about something else.

Anything but the baby.

It was the woman from the adoption agency. She recognized her voice from the telephone call. Shrinking down in the bed, she was beginning to feel her body recover from the birth, which was at least one good thing.

There was little else to be pleased about.

It seemed to her that when you make a decision about what is best for you, people can be unwilling to accept it. Since the birth, she had hidden in bed, trying to escape. Yet one by one, they had trudged in, sat, talked, and then, eventually, left.

She didn’t want to see the baby.

She didn’t want to hold the baby.

The baby wasn’t hers—well, it wouldn’t be for long—so what was the point?

The sooner the woman came and took the baby away, the better.

She heard someone open the front door. It was Nell, she could tell by her voice. Then came the woman’s voice, deep and forthright, as if she were older, more practical. Then came the sound of footsteps as Nell showed the woman into the drawing room to wait and asking if she’d like a cup of tea, and then Nell hurrying into the kitchen.

    Words must have been exchanged in the kitchen, as the next thing Zelda heard was someone walking through the corridor downstairs, Gwendoline greeting the woman in the drawing room, talking about the war, the rations ruining Christmas again.

Anything but the baby.

But then, a new set of footsteps came from the kitchen. Lightly dashing, they came up the stairs, and before she knew it, the door was being opened as Nell hurried in.

“I told you to give her the baby,” Zelda said. “She doesn’t need to see me.”

Nell was flustered, rushing around the bed so that she could see Zelda’s face.

She was holding the baby.

“You have to take the baby, quickly. Sit up, sit up! Take her.” She was nervous, panicked almost.

Zelda turned around to her. “Why, what is it?”

“I need to fetch Audrey. She’s making a pie delivery.”

Nell was holding the baby out for her to hold, but Zelda simply couldn’t bear to take the little thing. She looked so tiny, so fragile. She had tried not to even look at the baby after she was born, but now, the sight of her made her curious, concerned for her.

“What happened?”

Nell was as white as a sheet. “It’s the woman from the agency, Gwendoline knows her from the WVS. She says she can’t be trusted.” Nell was urgently holding the baby forward for her to take. “There aren’t enough homes for unwanted babies. Everyone’s so busy with evacuees and unwanted pregnancies, they go straight to orphanages.” Her eyes pierced into Zelda’s. “And I know what those places are like.”

“But—”

“Just take the baby and I’ll get Audrey.”

    With that, she thrust the baby at Zelda, who had no choice but to take her, and then she darted out of the door.

There are moments in life when time stands still. There is no anticipation, no denouement, only the here and now.

And for the heart-stopping minute when she held her baby in her arms, Zelda saw her life—her angry, tough, relentless struggle—and wondered what it was all for. What was the point of it all?

The agitation had woken the baby, and now she sleepily opened her eyes, her little face dainty and disarming.

“Audrey was wrong. You don’t look like me.” Then she breathed a little laugh. “But you don’t look like Jim Denton either, so that’s one good thing.”

The girl looked up at her, a tiny hand going up to her mouth. Zelda reached out a finger and slipped it into the little hand, and miraculously, it just closed in, grabbing it tightly.

“I’m not breastfeeding, if that’s what you want,” she said, but then added more softly, “but I’m sure Nell can get you a bottle when she’s back.”

Her body felt warm against Zelda’s, reminding her that not long ago, she had been inside her.

“How extraordinary that a little girl like you can grow inside me.”

She tried to take her finger away, but the baby gripped it more. So Zelda left it there.

“I wonder what kind of life you’ll have,” she whispered. “Lots of toys, a big house, a mother and father who will love you.” Her smile faded. Zelda had never known her dad, and her mum was so horrid she’d have been better off without her. “That’s why you’ll be better off without me,” she said. “You’ll be adopted by people who know how to love, to care for someone. You won’t have to live a life like mine.”

Deep inside, Nell’s words about the orphanage flitted in and out. Surely, they wouldn’t send her to a place like that? In any case, even if they did, she was a tough little thing. She’d learn how to fight for herself, just as Zelda had.

    Minutes passed. Little by little, she looked over the child. First, she stretched out one leg, watched how the toes curled down as she ran her finger down the foot. Beneath her soft lilac swaddling blanket, she was wearing a long white cotton dress. On one of her visits, Audrey had told Zelda that she had been given it, along with other girls’ clothes, by one of the women in the village. She had washed and ironed it specially for the big day, when she was going to the adoption agency.

“Don’t you look fancy!” Zelda whispered as she saw the embroidered dress. “Everyone will want to keep you!”

Her thoughts turned anxiously to Gwendoline’s comments about the woman downstairs. She recalled the woman’s voice on the telephone, how severe she’d sounded.

“A lot of those busybody women are much less fierce than they seem, aren’t they?” she murmured. “Audrey will sort it out.”

The baby looked up at her, and then gazed around the room. Without thinking, Zelda wriggled to the side of the bed and got up, padding over to the dresser and showing the baby first a bracelet with blue Bakelite gems, then some long black-and-white art deco earrings, dramatic long triangles for an avant-garde look.