Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [117]
The other wall had been decorated by artistic residents. There were sketches of bears and moose, caricatures of some of the men, and many voluptuous, semi-naked women that made Beth blush.
The first time she had gone into one of the dormitories to sweep the floor she had recoiled in horror at the stink of sweat and feet, but she supposed it couldn’t be otherwise when so many men slept in such a confined, badly ventilated space. Besides, they worked long hours and could only get to the bath-house further down the street about once a month. Yet mostly they kept their few possessions and spare clothes tidy in a box or kitbag beneath the bunks. These were nomads, moving anywhere there was work. They were a tough breed, unfettered by wives or family, oblivious to cold or heat and often to injury too. All they appeared to need was a few pals, drink and food and they were content.
By the time the first group of tousled men came in yawning and coughing, Beth had got the plates, trays of food and bread on to the serving counter and was there ready to dish up. She had put the coffee and tea at the end of the counter for them to pour themselves.
Most of them only grunted a greeting, for they were only half awake, but when the big American the men called Tex got his turn to have his plate filled he looked at her sharply and frowned.
‘You all right, honey?’ heasked. ‘You look awful pale today.’
‘I slipped on some ice on the way here,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘No bones broken, just a bit shaken up.’
‘You take it easy for the rest of the day then,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to lose a pretty little thing like you!’
By ten in the morning Beth had finished most of her cleaning chores. She usually took a break then, had a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich and read the newspaper before starting on the preparations for the evening meal. But the meal tonight was stew, and as the meat the butcher usually sent was inclined to be tough, she liked to get it simmering early in the day.
As she hauled the big heavy stew pans from their shelf under the counter to the gas stove, she felt a sharp pain shoot through her belly. She got the pans up on to the stove, but then another pain gripped her.
She sat down on a chair, telling herself it was nothing but cramp, or that she’d just picked up the stew pans awkwardly. But then it happened again for the third time, and instinctively she clutched at her belly in exactly the same way she’d seen her mother do when she went into labour with Molly.
A feeling of dread washed over her. Could it be that she was going to lose her baby?
Maybe she hadn’t been delighted about it at first, but she’d grown to welcome the idea, and in the last month she’d thought of little else but holding her baby in her arms.
What did women do to make sure they didn’t lose their babies? Would lying down flat do it? Or should she ask someone to get a doctor for her?
But who? All the men were gone for the day. The bunkhouse was owned by Mr Sondheim, but aside from Friday night when he always came to collect the rent from the men, he only popped in occasionally. He had called in more often when she first started here, but it seemed he trusted her now and only came to pick up the food bills, and to check that no one had left or there weren’t any men staying here without his permission. He wasn’t likely to come today as he’d called the previous day.
Beth got up from her chair, hoping that the pain would just disappear, for Mr Sondheim wouldn’t be pleased if she failed to have the evening meal ready for the men. She got as far as the counter where she’d put the meat ready to cut up when another pain came. This one was even more intense and lasted longer too. Somehow she