Sarah gave her a glass of water and waited until the coughing eased. “Harriet mentioned that you went to Durham every Thursday. Is there anyone there I could phone?”
Lucy’s whole body stiffened and her face was like chalk. “Harriet told you what about Durham?” she rasped.
Sarah was suddenly reminded of her boss’s reaction the first day when she had changed the window. She had obviously said something now that had touched the same nerve, although she couldn’t imagine what could be so secret about her visits to Durham.
“She didn’t actually tell me anything,” she said in a calm and level voice. “She just said you wouldn’t be fit to travel to Durham and I thought you might have to let the people know you weren’t up to going.”
Lucy closed her eyes and seemed to be struggling to get her breath under control. “It’s okay . . .” she eventually said. “I’ll ring them myself tomorrow.”
Sarah took the used dishes and glasses back downstairs and washed them. Then she brought a fresh glass of water and checked if there was anything else Lucy needed before she left.
“I will probably just sleep now,” Lucy said, her throat sounding tight and tender. “Hopefully the antibiotics will work well overnight.”
“Is it okay if I ring you tomorrow to check you are all right?” Sarah asked.
“Yes . . . thank you.” Lucy’s eyes seemed to fill up.
Sarah couldn’t tell whether it was her illness or whether she was upset.
She decided she would say nothing for fear of saying the wrong thing again.
Chapter 18
Lucy woke around seven o’clock on Thursday morning, feeling not a great deal better. She took a few sips of water, then she went back into a fitful sleep. At one point she dreamt she was being chased down a dark tunnel by men dressed in long, strange robes. She woke out of the dream panicking and sweating around ten o’clock. She lay for a few minutes, letting her heart settle to a normal pace, and then she pulled her dressing-gown on and made her painful way to the bathroom. Her throat still ached along with all the muscles in her back and legs. When she finished, she went downstairs – taking it a step at a time – to make two calls.
She dialled the first number.
“St Lomand’s Nursing Home.”
She recognised the staff sister’s voice. “It’s Lucy Harrison.” Her voice was so croaky she had to immediately repeat it.
“Miss Harrison, you don’t sound at all well . . .”
“Tonsillitis – I didn’t make it in for visiting last night and I won’t make it tonight.”
“You would be best to stay at home and rest,” the sister advised. She paused. “We thought that you were having a break from visiting . . . after the last episode.”
“Bitch . . . whore . . . trollop! No daughter of mine!” Her father had screamed the words at her. All conversation in the ward had come to a halt, as everyone listened in a mesmerised silence. Most of the patients were unable to hold a coherent conversation, and their visitors welcomed any diversion that helped the clock hand tick closer to the end of the long hour.
Lucy swallowed, feeling as though a razor blade was stuck in her throat. “No,” she said. “I had hoped to come in . . .”
“Prostitute . . . murderer . . . good-time-girl! The words ricocheted around the walls of the ward like bullets. His vocabulary had always been extensive, but these outbursts had been said in private before – and in a hushed tone.
“Miss Harrison, we understand if you want to take a break. No one is judging you. It’s very hard taking that kind of behaviour, and we want you to know that we don’t take any notice of the things that patients say. We get it all the time.”
“You’re a sham! You’re not fit to be a businesswoman – they should run you out of town. You should be made to wear a badge on your arm to show your true colours. Like they did with the poor Jews – only they did nothing wrong!”
Lucy closed her eyes, trying to block out the memories of the last time she had seen her father. Blocking things out was the only way she coped.
“How is he?” she asked, pulling her dressing-gown tighter around her. “Is he eating better?”
He had thrown the remnants of a bowl of cold soup over her. Then a nurse had been summoned into the office to explain why it hadn’t been removed from his locker earlier, and why it hadn’t been noted down that he hadn’t been finishing his meals.
There was a silence.
“He’s asleep at the moment but he has had some breakfast. He wasn’t too good last night. He was difficult with one of the younger nurses – similar to the way he was with you. He actually hit her.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry . . .”
“Don’t worry – we’ll talk about it when you feel better.”
Lucy rang off then sat for a few minutes staring down the hallway, before dialling the second number.
“It’s Lucy Harrison,” she said when the phone was answered. Her throat and voice had warmed up a little. “I’m afraid I’m ill, so I won’t make it in for my usual Thursday visit today.”
“Thank you for calling, I’ll pass that message on.”
“Please tell the group I’ll be there next week.”
She sat for a few more moments and then stood to tie the belt of her dressing-gown when she was startled by the shrill ring of the phone. Her hand flew to cover her heart and when she had caught her breath she picked it up.
“Miss Harrison?” a male voice said.
“Yes?”
“It’s Peter Spencer – from Spencer and Brown Solicitors here in Newcastle.”
“Hello, Mr Spencer.” She relaxed a little. He was always a pleasant, courteous man to deal with.
“I must apologise for not getting back to you sooner. I’m afraid there’s been a bereavement in the family and I’m just back in the office today.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that . . .” She cleared her throat. “I hope it wasn’t anyone close?”
There was a silence. “Actually,” he said. “It was my wife.”
Lucy’s face flushed. She wished she had said nothing. “I’m so sorry . . .”
“She had been quite ill for several months,” he said, as though sensing her discomfiture. “In many ways it was a relief at the end, although I shall miss her terribly.”
“Of course,” she said. “I hope things get easier for you.”
“Thank you. Now, a date for our meeting.”
She thought quickly. She didn’t want to explain about being ill – it would sound trite given that he had just nursed a seriously ill woman. “Can I make it some time next week?”
“How about Wednesday? Say, three o’clock?” Then he paused. “How did the young Irish girl get on in the house in Victoria Street? Has she settled in all right? I haven’t had a chance to go around there with everything that has happened recently.”
Peter Spencer owned several houses in Victoria Street. When Lucy had been looking for a room for Sarah, she had been advised to go to him. He had a good reputation as a landlord as he was fair with his tenants and kept the buildings well maintained.
“Yes,” she said. “I think so . . .” It dawned on her that she hadn’t asked Sarah for weeks how things were. She seemed so competent and organised that she was sure everything was fine. She must ask when she saw her next.
She went back upstairs – back to the comfort of her bed. To hide under the warm sheets and blankets. But it would only be for as long as the tonsillitis lasted. She had been down this route before and knew she had to break the cycle sooner rather than later. Each time she had hidden away, it had got harder to face the world and all her responsibilities. Harriet had helped her wake up to that. Amazing that a younger woman could see the patterns in her life that she couldn’t see herself.
Things had improved beyond measure now, thanks to Sarah Love. Her arrival had brightened up the dark and dismal shop with her coloured handicrafts and her cheery welcoming smile. And she seemed to sense the days that were dif
ficult for her employer. The days when she wasn’t firing on all four cylinders. Days when she hadn’t slept and didn’t have the energy for work, or when her medication left her dull and lethargic. She cringed with embarrassment when she remembered falling asleep in the kitchen on Sarah’s first day, and was grateful that the girl had been kind enough not to make an issue of it.
Since Sarah had started work in Harrison’s, Lucy no longer dreaded getting up every morning. The shop owner could relax knowing that everything would be all right whether she was there or not, that the young Irish girl could cope on her own. In many ways she envied her. She was young, bright and beautiful and her whole life was in front of her. Of course she had problems like everyone else – her shattered wedding plans for one thing – and had probably made her own mistakes. But it was within the normal realm of things. There was nothing major to hold her back from achieving anything she set her mind to.
Lucy pulled the blankets up around her neck. What she would give to be in Sarah’s shoes! To be back in her twenties when life was simple and straightforward. Back when she had hopes and dreams.
Any dreams she had these days were the nightmares she woke from.
And all the hope was ground to dust amongst the debris of all the mistakes she had made.
Chapter 19
When Sarah arrived back at the house, tired after her long walk, she went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on. It was only when she was at the tap filling it that she saw Vivienne sitting at the table eating on her own.
The student doctor glanced over and then gave a cool, slow “Hi . . .”
Sarah held her gaze for a few moments and then turned on her heel and walked back out without saying a word. Thirsty and hungry as she was, she knew she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with Vivienne.
She was making for the stairs when she realised she had left her handbag in the kitchen. A feeling of dread washed over her. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to walk back into the room. She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘Oh no . . .”
She stood in the hall trying to decide what to do, then she realised she was breathless and shaking. She took several deep breaths and tried to hold her body still. Then, a feeling of indignation rose up inside her. For a whole month she had avoided this girl and had stayed confined to the four walls of one room. After a day’s work she should feel free to come downstairs and listen to the radiogram or relax in one of the comfortable armchairs by the fireside or sit every night at the large table. She paid the same rent as the others and paid her share of the bills. She was clean and tidy and did more than her share of the housework.
She was entitled to live in a relaxed manner in this big old house that was now her home.
She had endured long months of feeling like an outsider in her own home back in Ireland because of Martina, and now this girl was doing the same thing to her in Newcastle. She wondered why people thought she deserved such treatment and how much longer she could take it.
And then it struck her. She didn’t need to feel like this. She had a choice. She could just walk away. She had the money James had given her – plus her own savings – and she had a decent wage. She could afford to rent a room anywhere in Newcastle. She could even afford to book into a nice hotel for a few weeks or even months.
Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
She didn’t need to stay in a house where she wasn’t wanted, where she was regarded as a second-class citizen. She wouldn’t take that treatment any more. As the realisation hit her, she suddenly started to smile. She was free! She could say and do anything she wanted. She had nothing at all to lose.
The sudden clarity in her thinking propelled her straight back into the kitchen.
“Vivienne,” she said, in a firm, confident tone, “I’d like to speak to you.”
The student raised her brows. “Yes?”
“I should have said this to you weeks ago.”
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed.
“I overheard the nasty things you said about me personally and about the Irish in general. I heard you say that you didn’t want me living here and that I wasn’t a professional woman. I want to tell you now that I don’t want to live with someone like you. You may be more educated than me but your behaviour is that of an ignorant, mannerless person.”
Vivienne’s eyes widened in shock. “Just hold on now –” she started.
Sarah’s hand flew up to halt her and her deep-blue eyes glinted. “I am not finished yet!” She was almost shocked by the ferocity in her own voice and could see the stunning effect it was having on her housemate. “In my opinion, someone with your views is unfit to work as a doctor, where you’ll be treating people from all sorts of backgrounds. I think the Medical Board should know that they are employing someone who is prejudiced against Irish and coloured people, and probably anyone else who isn’t the same as herself.”
The medical student’s face paled. “Good Lord . . .” She swallowed hard, taking in Sarah’s threat. “It really wasn’t meant that way . . .”
“Then how was it meant?”
The door opened slowly and the other three girls stood in an awed silence at the door. They had obviously heard Sarah’s raised tones. Their presence didn’t daunt her one little bit. In fact, it only fuelled her temper further. She didn’t care what they thought. She was going from this house now and it didn’t matter a damn whether they chose to speak to her again or not. Elizabeth and Anna had listened to Vivienne with hardly a word of protest when she had spouted all those awful things about foreign nurses and Irish people being dirty. Their opinion didn’t matter to her now.
Sarah turned back to the ashen-faced Vivienne. “Well?” she demanded. “I’m waiting to hear exactly what you meant when you said that I wasn’t fit to share a house with you all – that my job wasn’t good enough and that the Irish should be banned along with blacks and dogs.”
“Did she actually say that to you?” Jane asked in a shocked voice.
“Of course she didn’t say it to my face,” Sarah told her, “but I overheard her saying it to Anna and Elizabeth. It was a Saturday afternoon when you were working – when I had just arrived.”
“There must be a mistake!” Jane turned to the other girls. “Surely Vivienne didn’t say anything like that?”
“She bloody well did!” Sarah snapped. “I might be Irish but I’m neither deaf nor stupid.”
The two girls looked at each other now, then Anna’s gaze moved to the floor and a deep flush came on Elizabeth’s face and neck.
Sarah could see the girls squirming but she was determined to do nothing to ease their discomfort. She felt they deserved it because they had not stuck up for her when Vivienne was so nasty.
Jane held her hands out. “But we would never allow anyone to say –”
Sarah cut across her. “But they did allow her to say it. I heard it with my own ears. And they didn’t correct her – they only tried to get her to change the subject.”
“I spoke up for you,” Elizabeth protested in a strained voice. “I told her you were a lovely, beautifully dressed girl – smarter than the rest of us. And I said you were spotlessly clean and tidy in the house.”
“You didn’t tell Vivienne how wrong she was when she said there should be a notice up banning Irish, blacks and dogs!” Sarah was surprised at the viciousness in her own voice. The last time she had felt so angry was when she slapped Con Tierney.
Elizabeth started to cry, but Sarah ignored her and whirled around to Anna now. “And you just told her to stop arguing – you didn’t tell her what she said was wrong and prejudiced.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “I really am. But she has said nasty things to me. She’s always making little digs about my clothes and my weight.”
“You should have spoken up for yourself before and it might have made her think twice before doing it to someone else.” She looked over at the three girls. “I’ve been here nearly a month now and I’ve spent practically ever
y day locked in my room because of what happened. I don’t know what kind of people I’ve landed amongst.”
“That’s not fair,” Jane told her. “I would have spoken up if I’d been here. I don’t agree with people being nasty towards others because of their colour or religion.”
“And neither do I,” Anna said. “I just didn’t want to get into a big row over it.” She looked sorrowfully at Sarah and shook her head. “I didn’t know you overheard and I just wanted it forgotten.”
“Avoiding things doesn’t help,” Sarah snapped. “It would eventually have come to this. I would have sensed that I wasn’t wanted.”
“I can’t speak for Vivienne, but the three of us like having you here,” Elizabeth said. “We all said how nice you were. We just thought you liked your own company and we didn’t want to distract you from your work.”
Sarah softened a little. “You have all been nice to me in other ways. I don’t want you to think I wasn’t grateful for the cooking and the cups of tea you’ve brought up to my room . . .”
“Look,” Vivienne said, her voice trembling now. “You’ve got me all wrong. It wasn’t meant like that. Sometimes – when it’s the time of month – I say things I don’t mean. I even do it with my own family.” She looked at Sarah. “It was just the mood I was in – I’d been working for twenty-four hours with only a short break.”
Sarah looked at her scornfully now. “Your work hours are not an excuse for bad behaviour and, if I recall correctly, you had actually just come back from a break at home.”
“Well, I definitely had my period . . .” Tears suddenly came into her eyes. “I’m very sorry . . . I didn’t mean it. I lash out at everyone when I feel like that.”
Anna turned to her medical colleague now. “I agree with Sarah. It’s no excuse for the things you said about her being Irish and about her job.” Her voice was strained and shaky. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up and tell you what I really thought. I’m actually ashamed of myself.”
Sarah Love Page 16
