by Nancy Revell
‘Oh, that’s strange. I thought he said he was due to stay for at least another year?’
Dr Parker shifted a little uncomfortably.
‘Well, I think that was the plan, but I believe it was a combination of factors, not just the fact this position came up.’
‘Such as?’ Helen asked. There was something in Dr Parker’s tone, as if he was purposely holding back information.
‘Well, I think his wife needed him back home.’ He paused. ‘Having said that, to be honest with you, we were all a little surprised he has been allowed to go back as this hospital is still pretty short of surgeons.’
Helen felt as though she had just been punched in the gut.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ Her voice was breathy.
‘We were all surprised,’ Dr Parker repeated, ‘as this hospital’s short of decent surgeons. Actually, surgeons full stop – decent or otherwise.’
‘No,’ Helen’s voice had fallen to a whisper, ‘I meant about his wife? He has a wife, does he? Theo’s married?’ Helen had gone as white as a sheet.
‘Yes.’ Dr Parker looked at Helen and knew his suspicions were right. Helen had been Theo’s latest squeeze.
‘Yes, he has a wife. A wife and two young children.’
‘He’s got two children?’ Helen could not hide her disbelief.
‘Yes, a boy and a girl. Stanley and Tamara.’
Helen looked down at the ashtray in her lap and the cigarette that had burnt down to the stub.
They were the names of his brother and sister. The ones he lived with at home with his mother and father.
‘Tamara and Stanley,’ Helen repeated the names.
Dr Parker looked at Helen. It was the first time he had ever felt sorry for her.
‘And, you say, his wife needs him in Oxford?’ Helen’s mind was struggling to comprehend everything she was being told.
‘Yes,’ Dr Parker felt a reticence about telling her everything, but knew she needed to hear this.
‘It would appear his wife is expecting again. Their third. That’s why she wants him back down there, and it was one of the reasons, I believe, that he was put ahead of a long line of other candidates. Oxford, as you can imagine, is quite a sought-after place to work.’
‘Theo’s wife is expecting?’ Helen repeated the words more to herself than for any kind of affirmation. ‘Their third?’
Dr Parker nodded. ‘It sounds like she might be near her due date.’
All of a sudden the door swung open.
‘Bloody hell! Parker! There you are! You’re needed in trauma. Emergency.’
Dr Parker stood up and looked at Helen.
‘I’m so sorry, Helen, I’m going to have to dash. Are you all right?’ He could see that she wasn’t. He quickly took the ashtray off her lap and took hold of both of her hands and held them tight.
‘If you need me for anything,’ his voice was serious, ‘just phone, or come to the hospital, there’s not many hours in the day when I’m not here.’ He tried to force her eyes to focus on him. He didn’t like the slightly vacant look she had.
‘Even if it’s just for a chat. I’m here. All right? Do you understand?’
Staring up at him, Helen nodded before Dr Parker rushed off and she was left alone in the small room, with its small window, in a state of complete and utter shock.
The second shock she’d had within as many hours.
Chapter Fifty-One
Helen somehow managed to retrace her steps through the maze of windowless corridors and found herself stepping out of the hospital’s main entrance and into what was a rather perfect midsummer’s evening.
In a daze she walked down the long path, through the hospital grounds and out onto the main road, where she spotted a single-decker bus, its engine idling. Stepping on board, she paid her fare and took a seat. Gazing out the window as though in some kind of hypnotic state, she felt the bus jerk into first gear, and then second and third, and she watched the changing scenery as she and a bus half-full of passengers were transported from the village of Ryhope back to the centre of town.
Getting off the bus and walking up Fawcett Street, she stopped for a moment and looked up at the Italian Renaissance clock tower that made up part of the town hall. Standing stock-still, her neck craning, it took a few moments for her mind to register the time – it was just a few minutes before seven o’clock. Only when a group of chattering merchant navy sailors accidentally knocked into her were her eyes forced away from it.
‘Sorry, darlin’.’ The sailor’s cockney voice was genuinely apologetic.
Helen watched as the group of petty officers carried on their way.
Two highly explosive bombs had just gone off in her life – one straight after the other. She felt as though she were wandering around in the debris with no idea what she should do, or where she should go next.
She looked around her as if she might find her answer on these streets, but all she could see were women like herself, young and dressed up, and men, either in uniform or smart suits, heading off for a night on the town. In all her life, she had never felt so completely alone, so desperate, so confused – so burdened. But most of all, in so much dread of what life now held for her.
For an instant she considered going to work, until she remembered the town-hall clock. It was late. Too late to go to work.
Home. Just go home! a voice in her head commanded, but every part of her being rebelled. The prospect of going to an empty house with just her thoughts for company filled her with dread.
Walking past Meng’s French restaurant, which was considered the finest place to eat in town, Helen recalled how she had suggested to Theo that they go there. She had even dropped hints that it was known as the best wedding venue a girl could want. But, of course, they had never set foot inside the place. Just like they had not set foot anywhere that was even half decent.
Finally, Helen allowed her anger to break through and surge forward.
God, how Theo had taken her for a ride! Helen felt like screaming the words aloud as she forced herself to walk past the huge glass windows with their tiers of cakes and confections on display.
But then hot on the heels of her anger came a plethora of self-recriminations.
What a fool you’ve been!
You stupid girl!
Of course, Theo didn’t want to go anywhere like this!
Of course, he had laughed his way out of it, joshing her along, telling her that they were young and should experience life – a different side of life.
Of course, he had only wanted to take her to working-class pubs, like the Burton and the Wheatsheaf, because they were places he would not be recognised. Places he would not risk bumping into someone who knew him. Someone who would expose him as being a married man.
With two children.
And another on the way.
How stupid she was to have been so easily coerced into letting her hair down, into seeing how the other half lived – into believing it was all just a bit of a lark. Like an idiot, she had gone along with it.
And, by God, it all had just been a game to him.
The going out.
The staying in.
The lovemaking.
He had used her. No. Worse still. He had conned her.
Conned her into going out with him.
Conned her into thinking he would marry her.
Conned her into bed.
Conned her into believing there was another life awaiting her.
Well, there was no arguing the toss now – there certainly was another life awaiting her. That much was for sure. But it was certainly not the other life she had so desperately craved.
As Helen continued walking up Fawcett Street, she felt the outrage and the fury gather momentum inside her. Stepping onto the cobbled main road that led to Bridge Street, Helen was immediately deafened by the sound of a blaring horn and the screech of brakes. She jumped out of her skin.
‘Open your eyes, yer stupid
mare!’ the driver’s enraged voice shouted at her.
Helen hurried over to the other side, this time checking to her left and her right for any other oncoming vehicles.
Stupid! Yes, she was. The most stupid woman on the whole of this planet. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Just before she reached the pavement she went over on her heel. The pain was excruciating but she managed to stay upright and not go sprawling on all fours. She hobbled to the shop doorway on Mackie’s Corner and grimaced with pain, waiting for it to subside. She looked ahead of her: St Mary’s Church was on the left, and there, on the right, where a shiny black Rolls-Royce was pulling up, was the Grand Hotel.
Of course – why didn’t she think of that before? Her mother. She would go and see her mum. She was bound to be at the Grand now. She would go and see her. Tell her everything. Tell her about Theodore. How he had used her, lied to her, conned her and then cast her aside like a piece of rubbish. Her mum would help her! She would know what to do. Her mum was strong. Stoic. Look how she had dealt with her father’s betrayal! But most of all, she was her mother, wasn’t she? And if ever there was a time she needed her mum, it was now.
Despite the pain in her ankle, Helen practically ran the remaining hundred yards to the entrance of the hotel. She hurried up the front steps and pulled open the heavy glass front door before the doorman had a chance to do it for her. Hobbling into the main foyer, she looked around her at the reception area and lounge bar, which was filled with oversize potted plants and plush hide-covered furniture, the hotel’s famous stained-glass windows framed by swish velvet curtains.
Panic shot through her.
Her mother wasn’t here.
But she was always here! Wasn’t she? Seeing the front desk, Helen staggered a little towards it.
‘Is Mrs Crawford here?’ she asked, not even attempting to keep the desperation out of her voice.
The young woman sitting behind the wide leather-topped desk looked at Helen warily.
‘Yes, she is, who should I say is here to see her?’
‘I’m her daughter!’ Helen snapped. ‘Where is she?’
The receptionist faltered for a moment.
‘She’s with the Commander on the first floor.’
Helen limped towards the wide sweeping staircase. Grabbing the thick wooden handrail, Helen made her way up the carpeted steps. She could hear the receptionist’s voice calling after her, somewhat belatedly, telling her she should wait for Mrs Crawford in the downstairs bar.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Helen looked about her. There was another bar and a buffet, which, judging by the number of men in uniform, was solely for the use of the Royal Navy.
All of a sudden Helen heard a burst of laughter from behind a large blue door. The slightly guttural laughter she knew to be her mother’s after she’d had a few. Helen’s ankle was now throbbing but her need to get to her mother and offload all her troubles was now all-consuming. Helen didn’t think she had ever needed her mum so much in all her life.
Without knocking, Helen swung the door open. As soon as she spotted her mother, standing in the middle of the room with a drink in her hand, Helen rushed towards her.
‘Oh, Mum. Thank goodness you’re here!’
Miriam stared at Helen in disbelief. Her mouth had dropped open. How had her daughter known to come here? To the Commander’s room? That bloody dim-witted girl on reception!
‘Helen, darling?’ Miriam forced herself to give her daughter the clearly required hug and gentle tap on the back.
‘My goodness, what’s happened? You look in a state!’ she added, conscious of the interested looks coming from the Commander, with whom she had been enjoying a rather flirtatious relationship for a while now. His second in command was cosied up on the chesterfield with Amelia.
Helen suddenly became aware that they were all staring at her.
‘Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry for just turning up like this.’ Helen looked imploringly at her mother. The atmosphere in the room had gone from light and frivolous to a stunned, slightly embarrassed silence.
‘Don’t you worry about that, my dear.’ The Commander, who had been by the drinks cabinet, put down his glass and walked over to Helen, who was now standing by her mother’s side. He took her hand and patted it.
‘Looks to me as though you need to have a private moment with your dear mother here.’ He smiled at both mother and daughter.
‘Yes, yes,’ Amelia agreed as she was helped up from the sofa by her lieutenant, ‘you two just take your time.’ Helen noticed her mother’s friend was flushed. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’
Helen watched as the three of them walked out of the room and quietly shut the door behind them.
As soon as the coast was clear, Miriam rounded on her daughter.
‘What the hell’s got into you, coming in here? Just barging in like that. God, what a total embarrassment!’ She strode over to the cherrywood drinks cabinet and poured herself another gin, only looking up to shoot daggers at her daughter. She made no attempt to offer Helen a drink.
‘I didn’t know where else to go,’ Helen started to defend herself as she watched her mother slosh a good measure into her glass.
‘What about home!’ Miriam snapped. ‘You could have gone home, like any other normal person would have done.’
‘But I didn’t want to go home.’ Helen heard her voice become child-like. ‘I needed to see you … Wanted to see you … To talk to you.’
Miriam finished mixing her drink, turned round and scrutinised Helen.
‘Look at the state of you! God knows what people are going to think of you, coming here looking like this.’ She took a large gulp. ‘Have you seen the state of you?’
Helen caught her reflection in the art deco mirror that was taking up a good part of the wall opposite. The vision shocked her. She looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards, and her make-up had either worn off or was smudged.
‘Oh, Mum.’ Helen felt tears start to well up in her eyes. ‘I’ve got myself into the most awful mess.’
‘Well, I can see that!’ Miriam said, walking over to the chesterfield and perching herself on its wide arm. ‘And I can guess exactly what it’s about. Or rather, who it’s about.’
Helen looked at her mother, stunned.
‘You know?’
Miriam’s eyes went to the ceiling. ‘Of course I know, Helen!’
‘What? About Theo?’ Helen asked. She was still standing on the same spot in the middle of the room.
‘Yes, “about Theo”,’ Miriam repeated.
‘You know?’ Helen started. ‘You know—’
‘Of course I know!’ Miriam hissed. She wanted to shout at her daughter, but didn’t want anyone to hear.
‘I know that your darling Theodore from Oxford – the one I went to an awful lot of trouble to organise a dinner party for in the expectation that I might finally get you married off – is actually already married!’ Miriam almost spat out the words in disgust. ‘Honestly, Helen, how on earth you didn’t realise is beyond me!’
‘You knew he was married?’ Helen’s voice was quiet. Saying the words made them all the more real.
‘But I don’t understand. How did you know?’ Feeling her legs starting to shake and the ankle throb even more than it was already, Helen staggered a little to the armchair adjacent to the chesterfield and sat down. She dumped her handbag and gas mask on the patterned oriental rug that was as big as it was beautiful. She started scrambling around for her cigarettes. Finding them, she pulled one out and lit it.
‘To be honest, I’m surprised I didn’t find out sooner than I did!’ Miriam leant forward, her legs crossed, both hands nursing the thick glass tumbler.
‘How? How did you know? When did you know?’ Helen implored.
‘Your grandfather. He wanted to tell you before. I actually came to Thompson’s to tell you that he wanted to see you face-to-face because he didn’t trust telephones, but you never went, did you? Too bus
y working.’ Miriam said the word as though it was something to be ashamed of.
‘By the time you did see him, you and “married Theodore from Oxford” had already broken up, so your grandfather, thoughtful soul that he is, didn’t see the need to make the whole debacle even more painful for his darling granddaughter.’
‘How did Grandfather know?’ Helen was becoming confused. Theo’s marital status had come like a bolt out of the blue to her just over an hour or so ago, and now it would seem that every man and his dog knew. Even those who had never met him before!
‘You know your grandfather.’ Miriam rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘He might look decrepit, but the old man’s still as sharp as a pin. And he still wants to feel like he’s in charge. When we told him that you were stepping out with one of the doctors at the Ryhope and that he was called Theo and he was from Oxford, he took it upon himself to find out just about everything there was to know about the man.’ Miriam paused to take a drink.
‘The sad thing is, from what I can gather, your grandfather was quite excited about the prospect of you finding a suitable husband, especially one that was a surgeon, from good stock – and hailed from Oxford. To all intents and purposes, Theodore Harvey-Smith, which I gather is his full name, was an exceedingly good match – or might well have been, had he not already been married!’
Miriam took another drink to calm her nerves.
‘Thankfully your grandfather managed to get shot of him before he could cause any embarrassment to the family. Sent him packing, back to Oxford, back to his wife and his two – soon to be three – children.’
Helen suddenly thought of what Dr Parker had told her. That a position had come up at the Radcliffe Infirmary and Theo had been lucky to get the position. Clearly, neither luck nor his wife’s impending labour had had anything to do with it.
‘Let’s just be thankful for small mercies,’ Miriam continued, ‘that no one else knew about the whole charade. God, I can just see the gossips now, loving the fact that my daughter was naïve and idiotic enough to be taken in by a married man.’
Helen stared at her mother, struggling to take on board the vile words falling out of her mouth. But worse still was the realisation that all her mother was really bothered about – all she had ever been bothered about – was her reputation. It was always her, her, her. And always would be.
