My Name is Eva(72)

‘About five months.’

‘Then it’s a little late to do anything about it.’ Brigitte shook her head. ‘You should have told me before.’

‘But you deliver babies, not, well, you know…’

‘That’s true, but I understand how women’s bodies work. And as much as birth is a miracle, it can also be a curse.’ She put both hands on Eva’s shoulders and looked at her calmly with ice-blue eyes. ‘Have you thought what you will do?’

Eva shrugged and shook her head. ‘I will have to go home, I suppose.’

‘To your parents? Will they help you?’

Eva put her head in her hands. ‘No, I couldn’t go back to them. They’d be horrified. I’ll have to find somewhere to stay in London and manage somehow.’

‘And then what? When the baby comes, will you keep it?’

‘I don’t see how I can. I’m widowed, I have to earn a living. And anyway, I don’t even want it.’ She spat the last words with vehemence.

‘Do you want to tell me who is the father?’

Eva wrenched herself away from Brigitte’s embrace and rolled over on the bed to face the wall. ‘It’s no one special, no one I’ll ever see again.’

In a quiet voice, Brigitte said, ‘You must do whatever you want. But please don’t put yourself or the child at risk. It is too late for that. And I can help you when it comes.’

Eva rolled back and stared at her. ‘With the birth, you mean?’

‘Yes, with that, of course, but also, if you are not going to keep the child yourself, then I can find a good family for you. There are many people who have lost children during the war or find they can no longer have their own. It is not difficult to find a healthy newborn a good home.’

‘They wouldn’t have to know anything about me, would they?’

Brigitte smiled. ‘They don’t have to, if you don’t want them to. There are honest, decent couples here, who will soon be going to their new homes, who would be glad of a child to complete their family. You would be giving them hope and a reason to build a good life for the future.’

‘I would, wouldn’t I? Hope.’ Eva fell silent, chewing her lip, then said, ‘But I’d like the baby to stay here. Not in the camp, of course, I mean one of the nearby villages. I don’t like the idea of it going to Poland or Canada or America, so far away from its beginning.’

‘It’s your decision, my sweet. I’ll discreetly ask around when I’m out of the camp. I’ll sign you off on sick leave when you get too big and I can find you a private corner where you can give birth. We can keep it very quiet. Would that help you?’

Eva burst into tears, but they were tears of gratitude, not sorrow. She had been so worried about her condition and knew she couldn’t tell Brigitte how she had become pregnant. It was all a secret and even though the snows were long thawed, there had been no news of Peter. Eva never returned to the D?gens’ farm, but she had prepared a cover story in case she was ever asked about that disastrous skiing trip. She’d simply say, ‘He went off and left me’ or ‘I think I’d upset him’, and feign ignorance of his whereabouts. The country was gradually becoming more settled, but it was still far from humdrum normal life, so the disappearance of anyone, let alone a young man who could have been involved in unregulated activities, didn’t arouse suspicion.

‘Thank you so much for being so understanding.’ Eva grasped Brigitte’s hand with its clean, scrubbed nails and held it tight. ‘I couldn’t think clearly and decide what to do for the best.’

‘Don’t worry, ?lskling, Sally and I will look after you. So far you seem well and healthy, so probably the baby is fine too. I’ll check your blood pressure tomorrow. Let me feel your belly for now.’ Brigitte leant over the bed and Eva pulled up her pyjama top and eased her trousers below the bulge. ‘It all feels normal.’ She stood up and gazed down at Eva, then said, ‘I have to ask, have you any infection, any discharge perhaps?’

‘No, nothing, thank goodness.’

‘That’s lucky then. But you must tell me if anything, anything at all, changes, okay?’

‘I will. Thank you again.’ Eva wiped her eyes with her cuff and lay back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling. There was going to be a baby, a real baby, not the phantom child of her flight from Bad Nenndorf. She and Hugh had talked about having children when they first married – he wanted three and she thought two would be plenty – but then the war started and they knew it would be better to wait until it was over. Then Hugh was killed, so she would never have his children. Tears began to form again, but she willed them away. If she couldn’t have Hugh’s children, she wouldn’t have any. This child would stay where it was conceived, in hate, not love, but she would make sure it would find love somehow and learn to live well.





65





15 May 1947



My dearest darling Hugh,

Until now I could not find any reason on earth for coming to terms with your death, but for once, I now find myself feeling glad you are not here at this time. If we had still been together, I know this misfortune could not have occurred, and if it had, I would have been ashamed and distressed. As it is, I am thankful you are not here to be humiliated by my fall from grace. But I think you would approve of the arrangements I have made, which will ensure neither of our families will ever be disgraced and embarrassed. When I eventually return to England after the birth, the child will be settled with a local family here in Germany, where it will learn to think, live and speak like a true German, but hopefully, a better, kinder one than many of recent times.