by Anna Jacobs
“Lizzie.”
“Lizzie Kershaw?”
“Yes.”
“If you’ve been messing about with that lass, I’ll skin you alive.”
“I haven’t been messing around. We’re just friends, me an’ Lizzie.” But he avoided Peter’s eyes as he spoke, glad of the dimness. “We just go for walks in the park together and—and talk.”
Peter stood over him, taller than Jack ever would be and looking very stern. “So what’s the problem, then?”
“It’s—well, a friend of Lizzie’s family stopped me in the street one day. He said if I wasn’t serious, I should leave her alone.”
Peter considered this for a minute, then nodded. He might have done the same thing himself if someone had been paying undue attention to a sister or cousin. “And are you serious?”
Jack shook his head. “No—well, I like Lizzie a lot, but we’re too young to—to think of marriage.” He paused, trying to explain to himself as much as to his brother. “And anyway, I want to learn to fly planes one day, and—and, well, I don’t think she’s ready to—to settle down, either. We’re just—you know, good friends.”
Peter’s lips twitched and he moved back into the shadows, not wanting to reveal that he found this situation amusing. His baby brother walking out with a lass! “I think if you’re not serious, then the family friend is right. You shouldn’t see so much of Lizzie. It’s not fair on her. Who was it spoke to you?”
“Oh, just someone.” Jack didn’t even want to mention Sam Thoxby, because he was ashamed of how afraid he’d been.
“You’re sure she doesn’t think you’re courting her?”
“No, of course not.” Well, he hoped she didn’t.
“Then you should stop seeing so much of her, I reckon. You’ll be in no position to support a wife and family for years, young fellow my lad.”
“No. You’re right. And—thank you for listening to me.”
Peter walked away, smiling. Well, at least Jack had good taste in girls. But he hoped Lizzie hadn’t had expectations. He didn’t want her made unhappy. He enjoyed having her around, all cheerful and willing. She was a lovely young lass.
His well-meaning words had an unexpected effect on his brother.
Jack lay awake for hours that night before he could get to sleep. Support a wife and family! That was the last thing he wanted, the very last. He’d seen lads who’d had to marry young, because they’d got a lass into trouble, and they soon started looking unhappy and full of care. One, whom he’d known a little from the group of lads who met sometimes at the corner of the main street of an evening, had said to him bitterly, “Watch your step, Jack lad. Don’t ever get yourself into hot water like I did. You pay for it for the rest of your life.”
There was a lot Jack wanted to do before he got married. Mainly fly planes, though of course he hadn’t told his mother and father that yet, only his brother. Which would mean leaving Overdale and upsetting Mam. But he was still going to do it. Though not yet.
Support a wife and family!
Oh, no! That was the last, the very last thing he needed. He’d miss seeing Lizzie, talking to her, but he wasn’t going to mess up his whole life. Not for any girl on earth.
* * *
Percy promised to take his mother over to visit Eva after Christmas but she came down with the influenza. No one was at all surprised when she was so bad they had to have the doctor in. James Balloch was a new man to the terraces of Southlea, a stern young Scot with a heart of gold where his patients were concerned, however much he tried to hide it. He gave Polly, who’d stayed at home from school, very strict instructions about looking after her mother and not letting her overstrain her heart while she was ill.
Meg lay back in relief. It was almost worth being ill to have a good rest. No one knew how hard it was for her sometimes to keep going, how tired she got. “Will you—tell my son that, doctor?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll make sure your family look after you, Mrs. Kershaw.” Because he’d lost a few patients whose families hadn’t looked after them and as a consequence had stopped mincing his words.
At a family conference, it was decided that Polly, now nearly thirteen, should stay home from school to look after her mother for as long as was necessary. She nursed Meg with her usual devotion to anyone in need, and did most of the cooking, while Lizzie and Johnny did the shopping and the two sisters shared the housework, all the time bearing meekly with their mother’s complaints. Lizzie tried to make Johnny help them round the house, but it was more trouble than it was worth. So far as he was concerned, housework was women’s work and he wasn’t having anyone calling him a cissy. Percy lent a hand sometimes, though, and didn’t seem to mind it.
The lodgers helped where they could, as well, behaving more as if they were family members than paying guests. Miss Harper did some cooking and shopping, though she stayed away from the invalid, and Miss Emma also lent a hand after work. But meals were necessarily scrappy affairs, and they all missed Meg’s excellent cooking, because Polly (kept dancing attendance on her mother) just didn’t have the time or ability to do anything fancy, and Lizzie (who was a better cook) got home from work too late to help in that area.
Meg, enjoying the rest, soon felt better than she had for ages and stretched out her illness as much as she could. She was disappointed when the doctor said she had to get up and start doing a few things. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“If you stay in bed any longer, you’ll lose the use of your arms and legs,” he joked.
“But I still feel exhausted if I do anything, doctor.”
“Your chest is clear now and you must start to build up your strength again. You need to move about, do light work around the house.”
So she went down and sat in the front room, and when anyone tried to get her to do anything, pretended to feel faint. But after a quiet word with Dr. Balloch, Percy insisted that Polly go back to school, so Meg had to start taking over her old tasks again. She still did as little as possible, leaving most of the heavy jobs to her daughters when they came home from work and school.
Then Lizzie started looking pale and sounding hoarse.
“Are you all right?” Percy asked one evening.
“Oh, it’s just a bit of a cold.”
“Perhaps you’d better take a day off work. We don’t want you coming down with the influenza as well.”
The thought of being at home with her mother all day was enough to make her shrug her shoulders and say, “I’m all right! Just leave me alone, will you?”
But she wasn’t all right. And she felt worse the next morning, far worse. As she was lingering over her breakfast, wondering whether to take Percy’s advice, her mother said sharply, “Get off to work, then! I don’t want you under my feet all day.”
So Lizzie trailed off. But the wind was icy, seeming to cut right through her, and when she arrived at work, shivering and white, Sally Dearden took one look at her and told her to go home.
“You’ve got the influenza, Lizzie Kershaw, and I don’t want you passing it on to us, thank you very much. Go home and get yourself to bed.”
“I don’t want to—let you down.” She broke off as a cough erupted and nearly tore her apart. It felt as if someone was sticking knives into her back.
Sally waved one hand dismissively. “You’ll get better more quickly if you rest. Get off with you.”
As Lizzie walked through the streets, the wind was icy and she coughed a lot. She was now feeling so dizzy that she had to stop a couple of times to lean against the nearest wall.
“Eeh, you do look bad,” Fanny Preston said when she met her at the end of the street.
Lizzie hardly heard her. She staggered through the front door, tears of relief trickling down her cheeks, to be greeted by the sight of her mother pottering around the kitchen, looking rosy and happy. She paused in the doorway, trying to pull herself together, wishing her head wasn’t thumping.
Meg turned and scowled when she saw who it wa
s. “What are you doing at home?”
“Mrs. D sent me.”
Meg clutched her chest in shock. “You’ve never lost your job!”
“Of course not. I’ve got the influenza.” Lizzie began to cough again and had to clutch the doorframe to stay upright. “She says I’m to go—to go to bed.”
Meg didn’t want to share her quiet house with this daughter. “Just playing your usual tricks, if you ask me. It’s a bit of a cold, that’s all. And don’t expect me to rush up and down those stairs all day, waiting on you! I’m not fully recovered myself, yet.”
Lizzie, who had been going to fill herself a hot water bottle, turned and walked slowly upstairs, shivering at the malevolence in her mother’s expression. When she got into her bedroom, which was chilly and felt damp, she scrambled into her nightdress and wrapped an old shawl around her shoulders. As she crept into the bed, coughing, she wished that she had stayed to get that hot water bottle. She huddled all the covers round herself, but couldn’t seem to get warm.
Miss Harper heard the sound of coughing from the girls’ bedroom and hesitated outside the door, then shrugged and went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. “Is one of the girls ill?” she asked Meg.
“It’s that Lizzie. She’s not bad, just wants to laze around. Ignore her.”
But when Miss Harper carried her cup of tea back upstairs, she heard muffled weeping coming from the bedroom and couldn’t ignore that. She tapped on the door and when there was no answer, pushed it open a trifle. “Lizzie? Are you all right, dear?”
The face that peered back at her from under the bedcovers was bleached white, even the lips looking bloodless, and Lizzie was shivering so hard that Blanche could see it from where she stood. She didn’t make the mistake of going into the room, because she was terrified of catching anything herself. “I’ll go and fetch your mother, dear.”
“She w-won’t come.”
Blanche went back downstairs. “Lizzie’s really ill, I’m afraid, Mrs. Kershaw. I do think you should go up and see her, maybe take her a warm drink. She’s shivering and—”
“If she wants a hot drink, she’ll have to come down and get it. I’ve just been ill myself. I have to be careful.”
Without a word, Blanche went back upstairs, listened again to the sound of hopeless weeping, then put on her hat and coat, feeling furious. Only when she was outside did she stop and wonder who to fetch. Polly? No, Mrs. Kershaw would just send her back to school. It had to be Percy. Only he had the authority to get something done.
When she got to Pilby’s, she hesitated a moment at the gate. It was such a big place, with all those huge workshops and sheds, and it looked so dirty. Almost she turned away, then she thought of the sick girl, lying alone and weeping, and gathered her courage together.
Inside the yard she found her way to the office and asked for Percy Kershaw. “His sister is very ill indeed, I’m afraid.”
When Miss Harper had explained in a low voice why she’d come, Percy looked sickened. “Is there no end to her malice?” he whispered before he could prevent himself.
“I’m sorry to trouble you at work, but I daren’t care for Lizzie myself, given my own state of health. Your sister seems very bad. I think you should send for the doctor and get someone in to look after her. Perhaps Polly again?”
“I’ll go and tell the foreman, then I’ll come back with you, sort something out.”
“I, um, think it’s best if we don’t arrive home together. It’ll make your mother even angrier. You could perhaps hint that Mrs. Dearden sent a message to you at work?”
“All right.”
He told the foreman briefly what had happened.
Ben stared at him. “But your mother’s at home! Why can’t she look after things?”
Percy was sick of hiding the truth. “Mam hates our Lizzie. She’ll not lift a finger to help her.”
“Eeh! What a thing to say!”
“Aye, but it’s true all the same. You know I wouldn’t ask for time off if it weren’t necessary.”
As he walked along to get his coat, Percy nearly bumped into Sam.
“What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve lost ten bob and found a farthing.”
“It’s our Lizzie. She’s ill. Really ill, Miss Harper thinks. And Mam is refusing to look after her, won’t even take her up a hot drink.”
“Your mother is a wicked old bitch!” Sam snapped.
Percy nodded. “Trouble is, she’s getting worse. I—I worry that she’ll do Lizzie real harm one of these days. Since Eva left, she’s been so strange at times.” He sighed and finished buttoning up his overcoat. “What the hell am I going to do about looking after her, though?”
“I’d send my gran over but she’s got the influenza herself.” Sam frowned. “What about getting one of the neighbours round?”
Percy shook his head. “My mother would go mad if we brought one of them in.”
“Well, you’ll have to do something if the lass has got it really bad.” And Sam decided he’d go straight round after work himself to make sure Lizzie was being cared for.
Percy nodded. “Aye. Well, best I go and see what’s what first. No use borrowing trouble till you know what you’re facing, is it?”
* * *
At home he opened the front door quietly, tiptoed along the hall and found his mother in the kitchen, toasting her feet on the fender and sipping a cup of tea. She looked up, startled to see him.
“Eeh, Percy! You did give me a turn. What on earth are you doing home at this hour?”
“I had a message to say Lizzie was ill.”
Spots of colour burned suddenly in Meg’s thin cheeks. “It’ll be that Sally Dearden interfering again. And even if Lizzie is ill, why you had to come home from work, I don’t know. What will they think at Pilby’s? Anyway she’s not really ill, just a bit under the weather.”
“I’ll go up and see for myself.”
“She’s all right, I tell you. Sleeping. You get back to work or they’ll dock your wages.”
“They’ll dock them anyway now so I might as well see how she’s going on. Have you been up to see her lately?”
“Of course not. I’m only just getting better myself.”
He looked at her, not hiding his disgust. “You didn’t even take her a cup of tea, did you?”
Meg avoided his eyes. “She’s asleep.”
“How can you know that if you’ve not been up to see?”
“There hasn’t been any noise. If she was awake, I’d hear the bed creaking.”
He stood over her, anger making a muscle twitch near his left eye. “Make her a cup of tea now, Mam, while I go upstairs. And fill her a hot water bottle, too.” Then he walked out.
Muttering to herself, Meg lit the gas under the kettle again and went to fetch the flat-based earthenware bottle she always called a “hot piggie.”
As Percy knocked on Lizzie’s bedroom door, he heard a voice muttering inside. His sister was lying half-covered on the bed, tossing and turning, so lost in fever she didn’t even notice him.
He tried to tuck her up under the covers but she beat him away, murmuring in delirium. Appalled, he ran downstairs and began to pull on his coat again.
Meg peered out of the kitchen. “There, I told you she was all right. You get yourself back to work.”
“I’m going to fetch the doctor. She’s bad—far worse than you were.”
James Balloch took one look at Lizzie then turned to Percy. “I think we should get her into hospital. She’s seriously ill. Pneumonia, I’m afraid. She must have been coming down with this for a while. Why didn’t you send for me sooner?” When patients looked like this, he didn’t give a lot for their chances, though he was amazed to see how neglected this lass was. Usually the families had drinks by the side of the bed, and someone nearby keeping an eye on the invalid. “Who’s been caring for her?”
“No one.”
The two men exchanged glances. “Your mother still playing at be
ing ill?”
Percy nodded.
“But surely even she—”
“Um … she doesn’t like Lizzie.” It felt awful to have to admit this to a doctor.
Lizzie had begun to shiver violently again and huddled down under the bedclothes, whimpering.
The doctor spoke briskly. “Well, I’ve got my motor car outside. If you’ll wrap your sister up in a blanket and carry her downstairs, I’ll drive you to both to the hospital and see her admitted.”
* * *
For several days, Lizzie hovered between life and death. Sam sent her flowers but the nurses wouldn’t put them by her bedside, saying she needed all the oxygen herself. When he was allowed in to see her for a minute, he was shocked by her pallor. He was suddenly terrified he’d lose her. He’d waited so long, so very long, for Lizzie to grow up.
“How much is it for a private room?” he asked abruptly, looking round the long ward with its twenty beds full of wheezing, coughing patients, for the epidemic was at its height.
Percy looked at him aghast. “We can’t afford a private room.”
“I can.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d better tell you now that I mean to marry your sister one day. I’ve been waiting for her to grow up and I’m not having her die on me like this. She’s mine!”
“But—you haven’t even been courting her, Sam.”
“I was just about to. Let’s go and see that bloody starched-up head nurse with the silly hat on.”
It was arranged very quickly.
Gran Thoxby fell ill that same day, but she didn’t seem too bad so Sam just paid a neighbour to come in and look after her. She grinned at him from the bed and wheezed, “Treating me like a queen, eh? You’re a good lad, Sam.”
When she died quietly during the night, he stood for a long time by the bed before saying abruptly, “You did well by me, Gran. I’ll give you a decent send-off.”
In the morning, after he’d got a death certificate from the doctor and booked the funeral, he went out to the hospital to see Lizzie.
“I’m not having you dying on me as well,” he told her, holding her hand fast in his.
Lizzie blinked up through a fever dream to see a large figure standing by her bed. It seemed to her weak, watering eyes to be haloed in light from the window behind. “Dad!” she sighed. “Oh, Dad, I’ve missed you so.” And after that she started to get better.
