by Ellie Dean
Peggy watched as Mrs Finch rubbed the tiny back and elicited a burp from William. He was small, but he seemed healthy and contented enough. ‘Julie’s not very big either, and from what she’s told me, William’s mother was very tiny.’
‘You don’t think . . . That’s to say . . . He’s not really Julie’s, is he?’
Peggy shook her head as she took the empty bottle from a drowsy Rose. ‘Julie made a point of showing me his birth certificate.’
Mrs Finch sighed as she carefully wrapped the soft blue blanket round William. ‘He’s a dear little thing, but Julie will be heartbroken if his father turns up and carts him off. There’s nothing worse than losing a child once you’ve loved it.’
Peggy frowned as she set Rose over her shoulder and tried to wind her. ‘You said that as if you’ve experienced such a terrible thing.’
‘I had a little girl,’ Mrs Finch replied softly, her gaze settled on the sleeping baby in her arms. ‘She died shortly after she was born, but I’ll never forget her – never.’ She blinked rapidly and took off her glasses. ‘You’ll have to take William and put him in the pram,’ she said rather briskly. ‘I can’t get out of this damned chair without both hands free.’
Peggy cocooned Rose in her own pink blanket and placed her gently in the old family pram before gathering up William and putting him beside her. Drawing a soft sheet over the pair of them, she wheeled the pram into the hall. They looked so sweet lying there – one so fair, the other so dark.
Harvey sauntered into the hall and made himself comfortable by the pram. He would stay there now until Ron took him out for their usual walk across the hills.
Peggy reached into the pocket of her apron and gave him two dog biscuits, which he began to chew with alacrity. She returned to the kitchen just as Ron came up the cellar steps and dumped an armful of firewood onto the floor. ‘Ron,’ she protested. ‘I’ve just cleaned the lino.’
He began to stack the small logs in the basket by the range. ‘Time we had new lino in here anyway,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’
Peggy doubted very much that there was any lino to be had in Cliffehaven – but then Ron and Jim were always surprising her with the things they managed to find. ‘That would be nice,’ she sighed, ‘but I don’t want it if it isn’t come by honestly.’
He looked up at her as he knelt by the range, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Now, Peg,’ he said, ‘as if I’d do anything like that.’
She giggled as she sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘You already have,’ she retorted, ‘but there’s obviously little point in me trying to keep you on the straight and narrow.’
‘Marrow?’ said Mrs Finch. ‘I thought we were having brisket tonight?’
Peggy assured her they were, and watched as the old woman gathered up her vast knitting bag. Mrs Finch loved knitting, but her arthritic hands made it difficult, and she kept dropping stitches and making a right mess of it all. The matinee jacket she’d started six months ago had never been finished and now she was trying to follow a complicated pattern for a jumper, which she planned to give Ron on his birthday. By the look of things, that wouldn’t be finished either.
Ron finished stacking the wood and swept up the bits from the worn lino before making a pot of tea. He sat down with a grateful sigh, waiting for the tea to steep, and then poured them all a cup.
Peggy watched this unusual display of domesticity and wondered what he was after. She carried on smoking her cigarette, knowing she’d find out sooner rather than later.
Ron sipped his tea and fiddled about with his pipe and tobacco. ‘Peggy,’ he said eventually, ‘there’s something I wanted to ask you.’
She smiled. ‘I thought there might be. What is it, Ron?’
‘What do you know about Eileen Harris?’ he asked flatly.
His question startled her, and she was immediately wary. ‘Not much. Why?’
‘Did she and Rosie fall out over something? Was there a scandal some time ago which involved the pair of them?’ He left his tea to cool as he regarded her steadily through the pipe smoke.
This was dangerous ground, for she’d thought that old scandal long dead and buried. ‘Has Rosie said something about it, Ron?’ she asked carefully.
‘Not in so many words, but enough to make me curious, and I’ll not be having my Rosie upset for anything.’
‘Oh, Ron, I’m sorry, but it’s not me you should be asking. Rosie and Eileen did fall out, but it was some years ago, and picking away at old sorrows does little good. I’d advise you to let it rest. There’s nothing you can do about it – not now.’
‘So you do know what happened?’ he persisted.
Peggy nodded. ‘But I made a promise to Rosie, and I’m not going to break it, Ron. If she decides to tell you, then that’s up to her. But I doubt she will – she’s too wise to pick over old bones.’
He was about to reply when there was a loud rapping at the door. Harvey began to bark, Rose Margaret began to wail and Mrs Finch dropped her knitting.
‘I’ll see to Rose, you get the door,’ said Peggy, rushing into the hall.
Ron stumped moodily after her and flung the door open, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind for interrupting such an important conversation.
One look at his eldest son told him this was no social call, and he went cold with dread. ‘What is it, Frank?’ he rasped.
‘It’s . . . It’s . . . ,’ he stuttered, the tears welling, his handsome face lined with grief as he stepped into the hall and silently handed his father the telegram.
Ron’s hands shook as he drew the single sheet of paper from the brown envelope. The words, so terse and cruel, struck at his heart.
DEEPLY REGRET TO REPORT DEATH OF YOUR SONS SEAMUS AND JOSEPH REILLY ON WAR SERVICE LETTER FOLLOWS COMMODORE RNR BARRACKS CHATHAM
‘My boys,’ sobbed Frank as he stood like a crumbling monolith in the hall, his great calloused hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. ‘My beautiful, precious boys are gone, Da. And Brendon’s still out there on the Atlantic and . . .’
Ron could barely see him through his own tears and his heart was squeezed with a terrible pain as he gently guided his son into the kitchen and pressed him into a chair. Frank had always been strong, both in mind and in body, and here he was, a shell of a man, withered and shrunken by his overwhelming and bewildering loss.
Frank didn’t even look up as Peggy placed a glass of brandy in his hand, just sat there deep in his grief, as his father perched on the arm of the chair and held him close. ‘Pauline’s on her way back from visiting her mother in Dorset,’ he finally managed after a restorative sip of the brandy. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to tell her.’ His voice cracked. ‘She loved those boys more than life itself – and it will break her heart.’
‘When is she due home, Frank?’ asked Peggy softly. ‘Do you want me to tell her?’
Frank shook his great head, his dark hair falling over his red-rimmed eyes. ‘Thanks, Peg, but I’ll . . . I’ll do it.’
Ron’s own sorrow weighed heavy, his memories of those boys intense and heart-breaking, yet he had no words of comfort for his son. What could he say that would ease this awful pain; what meaningless clichés could possibly cut through the crippling grief that beset them both? He kept his arm round the broad shoulder and held on tight as his rugged, virile son shrank into him and wept like a small boy.
Julie had managed to get through the day by not stopping for her usual gossip or cup of tea with her elderly and rather lonely patients. Her thoughts were continually returning to William and the appointment at the hospital, her hopes and fears battling one another as she tried to concentrate on the job in hand.
Despite her troubled thoughts and the need to be at the hospital on time, she knew the minute she walked into the house that something terrible had happened, for she could hear the sound of sobbing in the kitchen.
Peggy was red-eyed, her voice tremulous as she told Julie about Frank’s two boys, and Julie’
s soft heart went out to her. She knew what it was to lose those closest to her, understood the awful, mind-numbing anguish Frank must be going through, but was all too aware that there were no words to soothe. Grief was such a personal thing – it set a person apart from the world, and it was only through time that the healing process could begin.
As Peggy poured out her heart, the thought of her own three brothers who were in the middle of the fighting somewhere in Africa made Julie go cold. She couldn’t lose any more of her family – she simply couldn’t. And yet, the longer this war went on, the more likely it was that she too would get one of those awful telegrams. She shivered, battling to overcome the gnawing fear that gripped her.
‘They’ve gone to the station to meet Pauline’s train,’ Peggy said through her tears. ‘Poor Pauline, she’ll know the minute she sees them together that it’s bad news. You see, Jim and Frank fell out years ago and they’ve hardly spoken since.’ She sniffed back her tears and determinedly dried her eyes. ‘It was probably over some silly thing, but this – this is something that must bring them together. Surely?’
‘Let’s hope so,’ murmured Julie, her mind still on her brothers. ‘Family is so important, especially now.’
‘We’re hoping Brendon will get compassionate leave,’ sighed Peggy as she attended to a wailing Rose Margaret. ‘But it would be even better if he could be taken off those Atlantic convoys and brought home to a safe desk job – or better still, back to Frank’s fishing boats. It would be too cruel if Frank and Pauline were to lose all their sons.’
Julie kept her own dark fears at bay and comforted Peggy as best she could. But time was moving too swiftly and, if she wasn’t careful, she’d be late for her appointment. She fed and changed William and, after checking that Peggy was occupied with Rose, hurried upstairs to change out of her uniform.
Peggy seemed calmer by the time she returned to the kitchen, but Julie didn’t really want to leave her. ‘I’m sorry, Peggy, but I have to go out with William,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’
Peggy frowned at this change in Julie’s routine but didn’t question it. ‘Mrs Finch is having a bit of a lie down, but Cissy is on her way, and the other girls are due back any minute.’ She shot Julie a watery smile. ‘I’ll be fine, really.’
Julie gave her a hug and hurriedly left the house, almost breaking into a run as she pushed the pram along Camden Road. Beach View’s happy atmosphere had been shattered, and she wanted very much to help Peggy in any way she could. At least she had her family around her, and that had to count for something, Julie thought sadly, for there was nothing worse than having to bear such a burden alone.
She determinedly shook off the gloomy thoughts and decided Dr Michael didn’t need to know what had happened at Beach View this afternoon – not yet, anyway. No doubt the news was already spreading through gossip-riven Cliffehaven, but now it was time to concentrate on William and the appointment.
She arrived at the hospital with five minutes to spare, to find Dr Michael waiting anxiously on the forecourt. ‘I didn’t think I’d make it,’ she panted as he helped her lug the pram up the steps and into the large reception hall.
‘I saw your list for the day and didn’t think you would either,’ he said dryly. He smiled down at William, who was blowing raspberries and batting his hands against the blankets. ‘Seems a lively young chap,’ he said warmly before he set off down the long corridor.
Julie almost had to run to keep up with him as they headed to the back of the hospital, and when they’d reached the plush annexe which housed the consultants’ rooms, she was more out of breath than ever. ‘Hang on a minute,’ she gasped. ‘I need to get me breath back.’
‘Sorry,’ he said ruefully. ‘I forget sometimes that not everyone has such long legs.’
Julie adjusted her beret and scarf, tugged off her gloves and tried to restore some sense of calm. ‘Right,’ she said, her pulse still racing as she lifted William from the pram. ‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’
Julie’s first impression of Sam Watson was of a well-dressed, handsome man who looked less careworn than Michael, and rather too young to be an expert in anything. But the name plaque on his door and the certificates on his wall confirmed that he was, and Julie felt a little more reassured.
He clapped Michael on the back and shook Julie’s hand, his manner easy, his smile warm and friendly as he exchanged pleasantries with Michael and waved them towards the comfortable armchairs that had been set beside a low table.
‘I try to keep things informal,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Mothers are nervous enough when they come and see me, no point in frightening them further.’
Julie eyed the room as she sat down with William in her lap. It had been painted a pale yellow to match the pretty nursery curtains at the window and the lino on the floor. A box of toys stood in a corner next to an old rocking horse, the chairs were covered in chintz, and there was a pile of comics and rag books on the low table in front of her. It was certainly a pleasant room, but she found it hard to relax when so much was riding on this consultation.
‘So, Sister Harris, I understand you have some concerns over William’s hearing?’ He rested his elbows on the arm of his chair, his fingers steepled against his chin. ‘As I don’t have any medical notes to rely upon, perhaps you could start by telling me about his mother’s medical history, her labour and delivery.’
As Julie began to tell him about Franny’s childhood attack of rheumatic fever, he pulled a pad towards him and unscrewed the cap of a fountain pen. He wrote copious notes as she continued through Franny’s pregnancy and delivery, her voice breaking as she relived the last few terrible moments of her life.
He stopped writing and looked at her with compassion. ‘Is there any history of deafness in the family?’ he asked softly.
Julie shook her head. ‘Not in mine, but I don’t know anything about the father’s.’
‘Then tell me about William,’ he coaxed. ‘I assume he was given a clean bill of health by the hospital before you brought him down here.’
She nodded. ‘He was kept in for a few weeks because he was a little premature and rather small. And although he’s still a bit underweight for his age, he’s feeding well and seems very contented.’
‘Has he suffered any chest infections or colds recently?’ As Julie shook her head, he rose from his chair and reached out his arms for William. ‘May I?’
Julie handed him over and William kicked his legs enthusiastically as the doctor smiled at him and jiggled him about.
‘Hello, little chap,’ he murmured, testing the strength of those kicks with his hand, bending and flexing the waving arms. ‘This is a good game, isn’t it?’ he continued, his capable fingers gently probing his neck and feeling his head.
Julie watched anxiously as he carried William to the far side of the room and placed him on a small examination couch. With deft fingers he undressed the baby and carried on talking while he continued to test and probe. Then he put a stethoscope on William’s tiny chest and listened for what seemed like ages before he turned his attention to William’s ears, peering through his otoscope.
Julie had shifted to the very edge of her chair as the examination went on, her gaze fixed on the doctor’s every movement and the slightest change in his expression. But she could tell nothing from that pleasant face. She glanced at Michael, who was also watching, but he wasn’t giving anything away either.
Sam Watson covered William with the blanket and turned back to Julie with a smile. ‘That will do for now,’ he said. ‘You can dress him again while I make some notes.’
Julie dressed him swiftly and carried him back to her chair. There was a heavy silence as the consultant scribbled on his pad, and she was beginning to get very frightened for William.
He finally put down his pen and sat back. ‘I think I can safely say that his deafness is caused by otitis media, or what we in the trade call glue ear,’ he said with a warm, encouraging smi
le. ‘It’s a common condition in small children and nothing to be too alarmed about.’
Julie felt an immense surge of relief. ‘So, William isn’t deaf?’
‘His hearing is certainly impaired in both ears for the moment, but I have every hope that will change very soon. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any infection in the middle ear, but there is some inflammation and a build-up of fluid.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, Sister Harris, that the three tiny bones in the middle ear carry sound vibrations from the eardrum to the inner ear. When fluid is present, the vibrations aren’t transmitted efficiently and sound energy is lost. This means everything is muffled or inaudible to William.’
‘I should have realised what was wrong,’ she said fretfully.
‘Not at all,’ he replied firmly. ‘As there is no infection, he didn’t show any outward signs of fever or pain, and he wouldn’t have been bothered by it at all.’
‘But you can do something about it?’
‘This type of hearing loss is almost always temporary,’ he said. ‘His eardrum looks dull and pulled inwards, and bubbles and fluid are visible behind the eardrum – all classic signs of glue ear. It is highly likely to be the cause of his hearing loss.’
Julie’s medical training had included lectures just like this, but she was so grateful that William could be cured, that most of it went over her head.
‘So,’ he said as he set the model aside. ‘What do we do next?’ He smiled. ‘It’s really a case of wait and see.’
‘But doesn’t he need antibiotics, or something to clear that fluid?’ asked Julie.
‘This type of otitis media usually clears up on its own within a month or two and, as there is no infection, I don’t recommend antibiotics or surgical intervention such as grommets. As William gets older the Eustachian tubes will widen and lie at a sharper angle, which will help them drain much more easily.’
‘But how will I know if the inflammation has gone down? And how do we get rid of that fluid?’
‘Studies have shown that the fluid will drain naturally if you raise the head of the cot, put a pillow under the pram mattress and feed him in a more upright position. I don’t recommend the use of a dummy – all that sucking will merely put pressure on the inner ear. Wipe any fluid away and keep the outer ears clean. You must also do your best to avoid people with coughs and colds. We don’t want him getting a chest infection, which could exacerbate the situation.’
