A Blessing In Disguise by Elvi Rhodes

worker coming to the fore.
    I am left with Emmeline and Gloria, and I try not to go too near, but fortunately my mother is back in no time at all and applies herself to the baby, talking all the while. ‘Ooh! what a nice old mess you’re in! Let’s wash this dirty little botty shall we?’ And so on.
    Did Father Humphrey Payne ever have to go through this at Holy Trinity, I wonder? Of course not! If faced with it he would simply have lifted the phone and called for one of his parish slaves (female) and she would have been around in a trice (just as your mother was, a small voice niggles at me).
    While this is going on I try to converse with Emmeline, but get nowhere. All she wants is to be off, preferably with the money; if no money, then without, and better luck somewhere else.
    Eventually my mother says, ‘There! Who’s a lovely clean girl, then!’ and I say to Emmeline, ‘Now you can feed the baby and while you’re doing that we’ll get you a nice cheese sandwich . . .’
    â€˜I don’t like cheese,’ Emmeline says.
    â€˜Have we some ham left, Mother?’ I ask.
    â€˜Yes dear,’ she says. ‘Do you like mustard?’ she asks Emmeline politely. ‘Or perhaps not if you’re breast-feeding?’
    â€˜I’m not. She’s on the bottle!’ Emmeline says quickly.
    â€˜Oh! Well I don’t think . . . We don’t have a feeding bottle. But not to worry,’ my mother says. ‘I’ll nip down to the chemist’s . . .’
    â€˜And in the meantime I’ll ring Social Services and see if they can get you somewhere to sleep,’ I tell Emmeline.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t want the Social!’ she protests. ‘They’re no good!’
    â€˜I can’t have you with nowhere to sleep,’ I say firmly, picking up the phone. ‘Let alone little Gloria.’
    â€˜I’ll make do with five pounds,’ she says desperately. But I am already being put through to Social Services.
    â€˜What did you say the woman’s name was?’ I’m asked.
    â€˜Emmeline. Just a minute, I’ll ask her for her last name.’
    â€˜Don’t bother!’ the woman at the other end says. ‘It’s Fieldhouse. Emmeline Fieldhouse. Did she ask for ten pounds and then drop it to five?’
    â€˜That’s right. But there
is
the baby to think of.’
    â€˜Is the baby Gloria or Peter?’
    â€˜Gloria. How do you . . . ?’
    â€˜Peter is her cousin’s baby, Gloria is her sister’s. She borrows them.’
    â€˜No wonder she couldn’t breast-feed her.’
    â€˜What did you say?’
    â€˜Nothing!’
    â€˜Hang on to her, Vicar,’ the woman says. ‘We’ll send someone to collect her and deliver her back where she belongs.’
    â€˜Which is where?’ I enquire.
    â€˜With the Travellers. They’re camped this week at the top of Thurston Hill. Travellers, not gypsies. Emmeline is known the length and breadth of three counties, though I don’t remember that we’ve ever picked her up from your Vicarage before.’
    Full marks to them, they collect her pronto. I slip two pound coins in Emmeline’s pocket as she leaves and my mother gives her a block of Cadbury’s milk chocolate. ‘But not for the baby,’ she warns. ‘It’s too rich.’
    When they’ve gone my mother and I move to the sitting room, which is otherwise empty.
    â€˜Where’s Dad?’ I ask.
    â€˜He thought he’d take a walk down to the pub as it’s our last evening here. Just for an hour or so, he said.’
    So I could have popped in to the Ewe Lamb and my father would have been there to greet me. It would have been a pleasant introduction. On the other hand, my mother would have been left to deal with Emmeline so it’s as well I didn’t.
    â€˜And I take it Becky is in her room?’
    â€˜Actually,