by Nancy Revell
‘As fast as you can!’ he told the nurse, who took one look at the woman shaking uncontrollably on the stretcher, and the red staining on her clothes, and knew this was no time for dilly-dallying.
The two hospital porters positioned themselves at either end of Helen’s stretcher and followed Dr Parker as he led the way down a rabbit warren of corridors.
As soon as they arrived at the prep room, Dr Parker started scrubbing up and giving out orders to the two surgical nurses who had just been saying that it looked as though it was going to be a quiet night.
‘What happened?’ Dr Billingham came charging through the swing doors.
On hearing that it was Dr Parker who had demanded his presence in theatre, and that the patient was a pretty young woman with black hair, he’d known it was Mr Havelock’s granddaughter.
‘She’s into her second trimester. Back pain, followed by abdominal cramps. Just started haemorrhaging badly,’ Dr Parker said as the nurses helped both doctors into their white operating gowns.
‘She’s also got a slight concussion,’ he added as he prepared the cannula. ‘Looks like she fainted and hit her head as she fell.’
He looked round to see that one of the nurses was getting the drip ready.
‘God, we need to stop that bleeding,’ he said as the nurse stripped Helen of her clothes, now heavily bloodstained.
The swing doors flew open for the second time and both surgeons looked round to see the anaesthetist.
‘As soon as you can,’ Dr Billingham said, nodding across at Helen.
‘She’s eaten, but we’ll have to risk it,’ Dr Parker added. ‘No time to lose.’ A few minutes later, when Helen’s body had finally stopped bouncing on the trolley, she was hastily wheeled into the operating theatre.
The maître d’ was carrying out his usual checks after closing up for the day – a day that had been made even more hectic than usual after the drama earlier on.
Casting his eye over the café, he returned to check the float in the till and saw that a brown paper bag had been left next to it.
Looking inside, he saw it contained a rather expensive-looking, citron-coloured baby suit.
On his way to the staff cloakroom, he stopped and put it in the lost-property box. If no one came to claim it by the end of the week, he would give it to his week-old baby granddaughter.
She’d look as cute as pie in it.
Chapter Forty-One
When Helen opened her eyes, the first person she saw was Dr Parker, sitting in an armchair at her bedside. His head was nodding forwards, touching his chest every now and again.
‘What happened?’ she asked. Her voice felt hoarse and raspy, and it hurt to swallow.
Dr Parker’s head snapped up, and he brushed his hair away from his face. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. He reached over to the beaker of water that was on the top of the bedside cabinet and put it to Helen’s dry, chapped lips.
‘Have a sip,’ he said quietly.
Helen did as she was told, feeling the cold water run down her throat.
‘What happened?’ Helen asked again. Snapshots of them being in the café flickered across her mind.
Her hand automatically went to her stomach and she felt the tug of the drip she was attached to.
Her body felt different.
And then she remembered the blood.
There’d been so much blood.
‘Helen,’ Dr Parker said, taking hold of her hand.
Helen looked down and thought it was the first time she had noticed John’s hands. They reminded her of a pianist’s hands, long and slender but strong.
‘I’m so sorry, Helen,’ Dr Parker continued. ‘But I’m afraid you started haemorrhaging … Badly … And …’
He took a deep breath.
‘I’m so sorry, Helen, but I’m afraid you’ve lost your baby.’
Dr Parker had his eyes trained on Helen, waiting for his words to make their way through the buffer of painkillers.
He saw the moment of comprehension. He’d seen that look in the eyes of many soldiers this past year when they had come round from surgery and he’d had to tell them their worst fears had become reality.
As he looked into Helen’s emerald eyes, her pupils pin-pricks from the drugs she had been given, he felt a terrible pain in his own chest as he saw her heart break.
Dr Parker squeezed her hand, wanting so hard to take her suffering away, but knowing he couldn’t.
Dr Parker watched as tears pooled and spilled down the face of the woman he loved.
Helen slowly turned her head away.
As sorrow racked her body and she cried from the depths of her very soul, Dr Parker kept hold of Helen’s hand and allowed his own tears to fall silently.
Dr Parker stayed the night with Helen as she was consumed by her grief.
Occasionally she would stop crying and fall into an exhausted sleep before waking again.
As the anaesthetic wore off she asked more questions about exactly what had happened, and she listened as Dr Parker explained that she’d had a miscarriage, which was unusual at this stage of the pregnancy, but not unheard of.
He explained to her that they had had to operate to stop the bleeding. He didn’t go into too much detail, but reassured her that they had been able to do what was necessary without damaging her chances of being able to fall pregnant again.
What he didn’t say was that it was likely what had happened during this pregnancy could well happen with the next. He had a feeling that this might run in the family, recalling what Helen had said about her aunty Margaret.
That would be a conversation for another time, though. For the moment Dr Parker just needed Helen to recover as best she could. He knew this would scar Helen emotionally, but it was knowing how badly. Everyone was different.
As Helen drifted off again, he looked at her and it hurt him to recall how happy she had been about the baby she seemed determined was going to be a girl.
That was something else he wouldn’t tell her, unless she asked.
Her baby had been a girl.
When the sun started to filter through the blackout curtains, Helen looked across at Dr Parker.
‘How long do you think I’ll have to be kept in?’
‘At least another day or two,’ he told her. ‘We need to keep an extra eye on you because of the nasty bash you had on your head.’
‘I’ll have to tell work that I’m not coming in,’ she said. ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking, and I have a suggestion,’
Dr Parker said, as Helen pulled herself up in the bed. ‘I know you’re going to yell at me, but I rang your mother last night to tell her what had happened—’
‘God, she probably got up, got dressed and went out to celebrate,’ Helen said.
‘But I wasn’t able to get through,’ Dr Parker said.
‘You mean she didn’t answer?’
Dr Parker nodded.
‘That’ll be her sleeping pills,’ Helen explained. ‘A bomb could land on the house and she wouldn’t even stir … So, she doesn’t know?’ Dr Parker nodded again, thinking once again how similar Helen’s mother and his own were.
‘God, I don’t think I can bear to see her.’ Helen’s mouth was set tight as she thought. ‘Please, is there any way you can keep her from visiting?’
‘Well, I had an idea,’ Dr Parker said. ‘Knowing you’d probably feel the way you do, I thought that perhaps I should go and see your mother, perhaps with your grandfather as well, and tell them what has happened. I wondered – now tell me if you think this is a good idea or not – if I should meet them at Thompson’s and that way I can tell Harold that you’ve been taken ill with a ruptured appendix, that you’re all right, but have had an operation and need to convalesce for a week or so.’
Helen took Dr Parker’s hand, a hand that now felt very familiar as she had hardly let it go all night; she squeezed it with the little energy she had.
‘Thank you, John, I don’t know what I’d do withou
t you.’
John squeezed it back, not wanting to let go, but knowing he had to.
Chapter Forty-Two
Dr Parker just had enough time to go back to his digs, clean up, then nip to the Ryhope to explain his absence last night, before heading back into town and across to North Sands.
By the time he entered the admin building it had just gone ten o’clock.
When he walked into Helen’s office and found Harold there with Miriam and Mr Havelock, he politely asked Harold if he could first have a private word with Helen’s mother and grandfather.
‘Of course, of course! Just get Marie-Anne to come for me when you’re ready. There’s a pot of tea over on the side there. Please, just help yourself,’ he said, leaving the room and shutting the door firmly behind him.
As soon as Harold had gone Dr Parker went over to Miriam, who was standing by the large glass window, looking out at the office workers beavering away on their typewriters and comptometers.
‘Hello, Mrs Crawford.’ He put his hand out. ‘I’m not sure if you remember me – from the Royal? When your husband was ill?’
Miriam gave him a limp handshake.
‘Yes, of course, although it’s a period of my life I prefer to forget,’ she said, wandering over and sitting in a chair by the side of the desk.
Dr Parker turned to Mr Havelock, who was ensconced behind Helen’s desk as though this was his domain and no one else’s. He was smoking a thick Cuban cigar. He half pushed himself out of the leather swivel chair and shook hands.
‘We’ve never met,’ Mr Havelock said, his grip vice-like and belying his fragile physique, ‘but I have heard about you from various sources.’
‘First of all,’ Dr Parker said, pulling a metal chair from the corner of the room and sitting down, ‘thank you both for coming here. I thought it would be the best place to meet, all things considered—’
‘John, isn’t it?’ Miriam interrupted, her voice sharp and impatient.
Dr Parker nodded.
‘Why don’t you just tell us what this is all about? And why my daughter is not here with us now – at work?’
Dr Parker looked at Miriam’s perfectly made-up face and her blonde, slightly curly, bobbed hair, and thought how she didn’t look at all like her daughter.
‘I’m afraid your daughter,’ he said to Miriam, before directing his attention to Mr Havelock, ‘has been unwell. Very unwell. She started haemorrhaging last night and had to be operated on to stop the bleeding, but she is now out of theatre and is recovering at the Royal.’
Dr Parker looked at two shocked faces. ‘I’m so sorry that you’ve only just got to know, but I did try to ring you, Mrs Crawford. Unfortunately, though, I wasn’t able to get a reply.’
Mr Havelock gave his daughter a scathing look.
‘So, is my granddaughter all right?’ He looked at Dr Parker, who could see genuine concern on the old man’s face.
‘Yes, she’s fine … Well, as fine as can be—’ Dr Parker said.
‘So, what happened?’ Miriam snapped, no discernible concern or compassion on her face.
‘She’s had a miscarriage, I’m afraid,’ Dr Parker said simply. Miriam’s face lit up as she jumped out of her chair. ‘Really? A miscarriage? She’s lost the baby?’ Miriam walked over to Dr Parker and put both her manicured hands on his shoulders. She stared at him, needing him to confirm what he had just said.
‘Yes, Mrs Crawford. She has, indeed, had a miscarriage and lost her baby.’
Miriam looked as though she was about to burst into song she was so happy. Instead, she hugged Dr Parker with all her might. Tears of joy in her eyes.
Dr Parker had to fight the urge to push this horrid woman away.
‘Well, I can’t lie,’ Mr Havelock had also stood up on hearing the news, ‘this is the best news I’ve had all year. Thank goodness for that.’ He moved around the desk and – to Dr Parker’s continuing disbelief – shook his hand.
‘Well, all things for a reason, eh?’ Mr Havelock wasn’t even trying to disguise his satisfaction at the latest turn of events.
Dr Parker suddenly felt trapped. He badly needed to get out of this small office and away from the two mad people in it who were now beaming from ear to ear. It was as though he was in some strange, warped dream.
‘Well … anyway …’ Dr Parker stuttered, taking a step back. ‘Helen asked me to tell you both what had happened. Obviously, she’s not up to having any visitors, and has specifically asked that her wishes be respected. She’s hoping to be discharged tomorrow – Monday at the latest – so she said she will see you when she gets back home.’ Dr Parker started pulling at his tie; all of a sudden he felt as though it was strangling him.
‘Just like my sister!’ Miriam suddenly declared. She had walked round to the front of the desk and was pulling open the bottom drawer.
‘Sorry?’ Dr Parker’s voice was scratchy. His throat felt dry as a bone.
‘Helen obviously takes after Margaret, my sister,’ Miriam explained, taking out the half-bottle of whisky she knew Jack had kept stashed away when this office was his.
She looked at her father, who was lighting up a fresh La Corona cigar and puffing on it in earnest. He nodded whilst doing so.
‘Did they ever find out why?’ Dr Parker asked, his eyes darting from Miriam, who had located two tumblers from the top of one of the metal cabinets and was splashing whisky into them, to Mr Havelock, who was now intermittently puffing out small balls of smoke.
‘No idea,’ Mr Havelock answered. ‘Didn’t stop her trying though.’
Dr Parker stepped back so that he was in reach of the door.
‘Drink?’ Miriam raised the half-bottle of whisky. Dr Parker replied with a shake of the head.
‘I thought the best way round all of this,’ he said, watching as Miriam chinked glasses with her father, ‘would be to tell Harold, and anyone else who might want to know, that Helen had a ruptured appendix and had to be rushed into hospital and operated on. As a result, she’ll be recovering for a while, so will probably be off work for a week or thereabouts.’
‘Excellent idea,’ Mr Havelock said, putting his cigar down in the ashtray. ‘Very well done,’ he added, whilst rummaging around in the inside pocket of his jacket.
Dr Parker stared at the old man, who was making him feel as though he was back at boarding school being commended by his headmaster.
‘So …’ Mr Havelock continued talking as he proceeded to take out his chequebook, before patting the top pocket of his jacket and pulling out a gold-plated Mont Blanc fountain pen. ‘You enjoying it up at the Ryhope?’ he asked, opening the chequebook and scrawling in it.
Dr Parker nodded, thinking that ‘enjoying’ wasn’t a word he would have used for the operations and amputations he had to carry out on the increasing numbers of wounded soldiers that ended up under his care.
‘Yes, sir,’ Dr Parker said, ‘doing what I can to help.’
He was just about to make his excuses and leave when Mr Havelock stopped scribbling, ripped the cheque from its stub, and waved it in the air.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘I hope you’ll find this is enough for what you’ve done for my granddaughter. And …’ he paused and looked Dr Parker in the eye ‘… for keeping quiet about the awful predicament she got herself into – which now, thank God, has ended up resolving itself.’
Dr Parker opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at the cheque, making no attempt to step forward and take it from Mr Havelock’s hand. He jumped as Miriam leant over the desk and snatched if off her father to present to him.
‘No, no, please, I don’t need any kind of payment for what I’ve done.’ Dr Parker couldn’t keep the abhorrence he felt out of his voice. ‘I did what I did for Helen because I’m a doctor – and because I’m her friend.’
He knew he had to get out of the office and quickly, before he said something he might regret.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to go now,’ he said, his ha
nd flailing behind him and finding the knob of the office door. ‘I’m expected back at work in …’ he made a show of looking down at his wristwatch ‘… half an hour, so I really must dash.’
Mr Havelock and Miriam stared at the peculiar young man, with his mop of blond hair, who wasn’t grasping the very generous cheque with both hands and clicking his heels.
‘If you can apologise to Harold on my behalf, please, for leaving in such a dash.’ Dr Parker opened the door. ‘And I’ll tell Helen you were both asking about her – and that you’ll see her when she’s back home.’
And with that Dr Parker turned and walked out the office, closing the door behind him, before hurrying down the stairs and out into the yard as fast as he could, desperate to put as much distance between himself and those two monstrous people.
Marie-Anne stood by the side of Bel’s desk, pretending to explain something to her.
In reality, the pair were watching the mime being unwittingly performed by the three men and one woman presently milling around in Helen’s office.
‘So you don’t know why Helen’s not in today?’ Bel asked; like a skilled ventriloquist, she barely opened her mouth.
‘No idea, but I’ve got a feeling we’ll find out soon,’ Marie-Anne muttered under her breath.
They both watched surreptitiously as Harold left, closed the door behind him, and headed back to his own office.
‘Must be something serious, though. I can’t actually remember a time – ever in fact – when Helen hasn’t turned up for work. To be honest, I can’t even remember a time when she’s been late.’ She looked at Bel, whose eyes were fixed on the scene being played out on the other side of the large glass panels that divided Helen’s office from the rest of the administration department.
‘So, that’s Mr Havelock sitting in Helen’s seat?’ Bel asked, even though she knew exactly who it was.
‘Yes,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘He looks different from the photos in the paper, doesn’t he?’
