Val could feel the butterflies dancing around in her tummy as she and Sam crossed the tarmac to board the aeroplane that was awaiting them for their journey to Paris. This was despite the brandy and ginger that Sam had persuaded her to drink in the airport lounge bar.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘That will settle your nerves, although there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll enjoy it once we’ve taken off.’
Jonathan had driven them to the airport and she had tried to hide her anxiety from him. She felt, at times, that he still looked on her as one of the hoi polloi, unused to such things as foreign travel. It was good of him, though, to offer to take them to Manchester before returning home to begin his own holiday, touring in Scotland with Thelma and little Rosemary.
The plane did not look as big as she had imagined, neither from the outside nor inside the cabin. A smiling air hostess in a neat blue uniform with a jaunty little cap greeted them cheerfully at the top of the steps, pointing them to their seats.
‘You sit by the window,’ said Sam, ‘then you’ll have a good view.’
Val didn’t think she would dare to look out of the small window. It all felt rather claustrophobic with the seats crowded closely together.
‘OK now?’ asked Sam when they had stowed their hand luggage in the rack above their heads and sat down.
‘Yes, fine, thanks,’ she replied. She realised she was being silly and that there was nothing to fear. Look on it as an adventure, she told herself; the start of what promised to be an exciting week.
She was hugging a little secret to herself and she tried to think about that instead of dwelling on her fear of flying. She was almost sure that their ardent lovemaking following the house-warming party had resulted in what she so badly wanted. She was well over a week late now, something that very rarely happened. She hadn’t said anything to Sam, though. It was too soon, and the ‘time of the month’ was not something that she talked about, not even to her husband. She had been brought up to believe that it was a private matter, not to be discussed openly.
The air hostess stood at the front of the plane, telling them about emergency exits and oxygen supplies. ‘Just routine,’ said Sam, taking hold of her hand. Then they were told to fasten their seatbelts ready for take-off.
The aeroplane started to taxi along the runway, then there was a loud whirring sound as the propellers turned and the plane increased its speed. It went faster and faster until they were airborne. Val held on tightly to Sam’s hand then relaxed as the plane steadied on to a straight course. She felt her ears pop and she sucked hard at the boiled sweet that the air hostess had given them all. Sam told her it was to help to relieve the pressure.
She began to breathe more easily and even dared to peep out of the window. She could see the wing of the plane stretching out to the side of them, and beyond that the blue of the sky above the clouds. Through a break in the cloud she could see, far below, streets of houses and patches of grass, looking like a miniature toy village. Then, in just a few minutes, they were flying over the sea, crossing the English Channel.
Val was surprised that the journey was so short. No sooner, it seemed, had they seen the sea far below them than they were flying over the rooftops of northern France. It was just over an hour after take-off that the aeroplane made its descent. Seatbelts were fastened again for the landing. Once again Val gritted her teeth and held tightly to Sam’s hand. She was aware of the change in air pressure as her ears popped, then there were a few minor bumps as the plane touched down on the runway.
The air hostess said she hoped they had enjoyed the flight and that she would see them again. They made their way across the tarmac to the airport buildings. If Val had found Manchester Airport confusing, this one was much more so – crowded and noisy with voices chattering in a language she did not understand. The signs, too, meant nothing to her. She did not have even a smattering of schoolgirl French like some of her contemporaries who had gone to a different school.
Sam, though, a grammar school lad, understood the language well enough to get by. He guided her through passport control and the reclaiming of their luggage, then out on to the forecourt where, after a short wait, they boarded a taxi.
Sam had visited Paris once before with his parents and brother. He had decided to book at the same little pension in Montmartre. It had been clean and comfortable and in an ideal location; he hoped it would not have changed.
It was all bewildering but so thrilling and different from anything that Val had seen before. They began a steep climb up the cobbled streets of the district that Sam told her was Montmartre. She had seen pictures of the Sacré-Coeur and there it was in front of them, the dome of the great church outlined against the blue of the summer sky, towering over the rooftops.
Sam paid the taxi driver then dealt with the formalities at the reception desk in the small foyer. The proprietor helped them carry their cases to the lift, an antiquated cage-like structure which took them past several floors, almost to the top of the building.
‘I asked for a room on the fourth floor,’ said Sam as he humped the heavy cases into the room. ‘…and this is why. Come and look, Val.’
She gave a gasp as she gazed through the window at the vista of Paris stretching away into the distance. ‘Look, there’s the Eiffel Tower!’ she cried in delight.
Sam pointed out a few other places that he knew: the domes of the Grand Palace, the Pantheon and Les Invalides, although his knowledge of the city was not extensive. They were looking forward to exploring it together.
There was a washbasin in the room but the bathroom and toilet were along the corridor. It was late afternoon by now, and after unpacking the cases and a quick wash and tidy up they set off to find their way around. Sam had bought a comprehensive map and he told her that the best way to see Paris was on foot with the occasional journey on the metro.
They wandered along the cobbled streets of Montmartre, watching the artists at work. The hotel provided only bed and breakfast so they were free to dine wherever they wished in the evening. That night they dined early, as they were both hungry, at a little bistro where paintings by local artists hung on the walls. They dined by candlelight – the room was dark in contrast to the brightness of the street – on tender chunks of beef in a rich wine sauce with tomatoes, onions and peppers, followed by a dessert of chocolate profiteroles. They enjoyed half a litre of wine, with coffee to follow. Val had never enjoyed a meal quite so much; it was a memorable start to their holiday and the first of several more enjoyable meals.
They retired early to bed on the high mattress covered with a lightweight duvet, Val’s first experience of the continental style of bedclothes. She snuggled down contentedly after their tender lovemaking, feeling that she must be the happiest girl in the world.
Breakfast was served in the downstairs dining room, a rather bare, functional room where several more guests were already seated. The continental-style meal, however, was delicious. Freshly baked rolls with creamy, unsalted butter – the sort one rarely tasted at home – and homemade black cherry jam. Fragrant dark coffee was served in thick white cups with either milk or cream as desired.
Val was thrilled with all the places they visited during their five-day holiday. They rode on the metro to the Place de la Concorde then walked the length of the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe. She was delighted by the elegant shops on the Rue de Rivoli, where Sam bought her her first bottle of Chanel perfume, and the lovely Tuileries Gardens where they stopped a while to rest their aching feet.
They visited the Louvre – one just had to see the Mona Lisa – and took a boat trip along the River Seine. They ascended the Eiffel Tower, though not to the very top, for the most spectacular view of the city with the Sacré-Coeur in the far distance, near to their own hotel. They explored the Latin Quarter, then the peaceful Île de la Cité, and admired the magnificent stained-glass windows of Notre Dame.
On their last evening, they dined again at the little bistro in Montmartre where they sampled the famous French dish pot de feu, a delicious concoction of meat and vegetables; a hearty meal once eaten by poor people but now a speciality dish.
No visit to Paris would be complete without a visit to one of their famous stage shows. Sam decided to forgo the pleasures of the Folies Bergère or the Moulin Rouge, concerned about what Val’s reaction might be. He chose a small theatre close to their hotel where they were entertained for two hours by a dazzling spectacular of girls, scantily clad in satin and sequins, with plumed headdresses; conjurors and acrobats; ballet dancers and folk groups. The fantastic costumes, changes of scenery and lighting effects had the audience gasping in wonder. The French certainly knew how to put on a show.
The time for leaving Paris seemed to come very quickly. Val knew she would always remember her first trip abroad but it was really rather nice to be going home.
‘It’s been great, hasn’t it, darling?’ said Sam as they settled in their seats for the return journey.
‘Wonderful!’ she replied.
‘And you’re not nervous this time?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling happily. ‘I’m a seasoned traveller now.’
She was still hugging the same little secret to herself. It had been more than two weeks and there was still no sign of anything to dash her hopes. She was really starting to think that she might be pregnant, but it might be better to be absolutely sure before she said anything to Sam.
By the beginning of September she was almost certain. Why else would she have missed two periods? She did not feel sick, though. She had heard a great deal about the dreaded morning sickness but it did not seem to be happening to her. However, her breasts felt a little tender and she knew it was time to visit the doctor and make absolutely sure.
Sam was delighted at her news. ‘Clever girl!’ he said. ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘I didn’t do it all on my own,’ she reminded him. ‘I think the pair of us have been rather clever.’
She arranged to see their family doctor the following Monday morning. She told a white lie to the girls in the office, saying that she had a dental appointment, but she hoped that she would soon be able to share her good news with them.
She woke very early on the Monday morning, aware of a familiar dragging pain in her abdomen, the sort of pain she most certainly did not want to feel right now. She crept out of bed, quietly so as not to disturb Sam, and went to the bathroom. And there her fears were confirmed. She was bleeding.
Tears filled her eyes as she sat there. The loss of blood was quite severe and she was feeling quite poorly as well as miserable. She made herself comfortable, trying to hold back the tears as she returned to the bedroom.
Sam was awake and sitting up in bed. She burst into tears, unable to contain them any longer. ‘Sam, I’m not…’ she cried. ‘I’m not pregnant. I’m so disappointed and I don’t feel well at all.’
‘Oh, my poor love!’ He put his arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry, but never mind. There’s plenty of time. How long have we been married? Only five months. That’s no time at all.’
‘But I was so sure, Sam…’
‘Well, it wasn’t to be, was it? You get back into bed and I’ll go and make us a nice cup of tea.’
She nodded glumly. ‘And can you bring me some Anadins, please, Sam? This pain is quite severe.’
The tablets eased the pain, but she was unable to get over the fear at the back of her mind that there might be something wrong with her. She knew, deep down, that she was probably being silly. As Sam had reminded her, they had been married only a short while. She had never been a hypochondriac and had always tried to make light of any aches and pains, but she decided to keep her appointment with the doctor. Sam drove her there on his way to work, although he could not understand why she needed to go.
‘Cheer up, darling,’ he said, kissing her as she got out of the car. ‘Don’t come in to work today, I’ll tell them that you’re not well. I hope you’re feeling better by the time I get home.’
Dr Spencer had been the Walker’s family doctor for many years. He did all he could to set Val’s mind at rest.
‘I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, my dear,’ he said. He had taken her blood pressure and her pulse rate. ‘You are a fit and healthy young woman. What has just happened… it may have been a very premature abortion – nature’s way of clearing the womb of something that, maybe, was not quite right. There is no reason why you should not conceive. Just relax and try not to worry about it – that only makes things worse. It will happen in time, my dear. I’ll give you some tablets for the pain, and you should take a couple of days off work. Goodbye for now, Valerie…’
She took a bus back home after collecting her prescription at the chemist. She was feeling much better by the afternoon and decided to make a special meal for Sam that evening; his favourite, steak and chips. She supposed she might have been something of a misery that morning and knew she must snap out of it.
Cissie was sailing through her pregnancy with no problems. She looked positively radiant, with a rosy glow to her cheeks and a spring in her step despite her considerable bulk. She made no secret of the fact that they would both like a daughter this time. Val hoped that she would get her wish. What did it matter, though? Val thought, so long as the child was healthy.
She was still doomed to disappointment as summer came to an end, followed by the shorter days and darker nights of autumn. A dismal time of year, or so it seemed to Val. Some people loved autumn: the vibrant colours of the foliage, the mistiness in the air and the looking ahead to the Christmas season. But Val thought it was a dreary time; she knew, though, that it seemed so because the months were passing and there was still no sign of what she so badly wanted. October, November then into December. Val sensed a certain constraint in their relationship, although neither of them put the feeling into words. She feared that their lovemaking had lost some of its former joy and spontaneity, and she knew that this must be largely her own fault. She was so anxious to conceive that it sometimes felt as though they were just going through a routine.
Early in December she received a letter from Janice – the first one for several weeks – together with an invitation to the wedding to be held in Blackpool on 12 April. Janice was now working as an assistant chef at one of the large hotels on the north promenade and still living at home with her father and Ian. Phil was still looking for a suitable business venture, but they had decided they could not go on waiting indefinitely before planning their wedding. Hence the springtime marriage, after which Janice would live with Phil and his parents until they found a place of their own.
‘Something for us to look forward to,’ said Sam. ‘We can have a weekend in Blackpool. That will cheer us both up… I do understand how you feel, darling, but I keep trying to convince you that we have plenty of time and there’s nothing to worry about. I want to start a family as much as you do, but why the rush? We’re very happy, aren’t we? Just the two of us?’
Val nodded. ‘Yes, of course we are…’ But seeing Cissie with little Paul and Thelma with Rosemary convinced her that a child would make their marriage complete.
Cissie gave birth to a baby girl on Christmas Day, and by then Val was once again keeping her fingers crossed. She was ten days overdue.