In the Still of the Night

by Charlotte Lamb

  ‘OK, people, let’s have you!’ Henry yelled, and Annie put down her empty paper cup. Mike gave the little blonde a last, confident pat on the behind, and walked back on set. Annie followed, imitating his swagger.

  There was a smothered chuckle from some of the lighting men. Mike swung round, gave her a narrow-eyed, suspicious look. She didn’t meet his eyes, her face innocent, calm as a glass of milk.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Mike asked.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Come on, come on,’ Henry snarled. ‘Stop brawling and do some fucking work, will you?’

  Trudie Lang hated the night time on the ward. She had been there for days now; she couldn’t remember how many but it seemed like a lifetime. They gave her a sleeping pill every night, with her cocoa, but sometimes she didn’t take it, she just pretended to, holding it under her tongue until the nurse had left and then slipping it out and hiding it in her secret place, a hidden pocket in her plastic-lined toilet bag.

  Who did they think they were? Hardly out of their teens, some of them, girls of eighteen or nineteen, ordering her about and treating her like a crazy person.

  ‘Now then, Grandma, got to take your pill,’ they said. ‘Open your mouth and show me it’s gone. I don’t trust you.’

  ‘D’you think I’m running a drugs racket in here? Selling sleeping pills to all the old loonies?’ She stuck her tongue out at them, and then they switched off her light and went away.

  Trudie was saving the pills up. If it got worse she would take them all and get away from here while she was still herself. One day she knew she wouldn’t even remember who she was and then it would be too late. The pills were her safety exit to a kinder oblivion than the one waiting inexorably for her along the line.

  It was a high price to pay, though, lying here in the dark, wide awake, listening to the other patients snoring, breathing, calling out in their sleep in quavering, old, frightened voices. It reminded her of her first husband’s death. She had married Frank because nobody else had asked her and at least she would escape from her home, and her father’s relentless pressure.

  ‘Oh, I was weak, weak as water, I should have stuck to my guns,’ Trudie said aloud.

  That first marriage had been a disaster. She had been expected both to work in the greengrocer’s shop and to run the house. There had been no love, and no children. Frank had said it was her; he was full of resentment, told her she was barren, kept wishing he had never married her. After a few years, they hadn’t even slept together. He had ignored her around the house except to complain – until the illness started and then he’d become pathetic and taken to his bed. She had almost liked him once he was powerless and dependent on her. She treated him like a baby, fed him and changed him and kept him clean, and he was grateful, but it went on too long. The daily strain wore her down; she’d felt as if she was dying too, at times.

  His death was a release for both of them. She had been thirty-five, young enough to marry again, and this time she had chosen the man. Her parents were dead by then, and Trudie had nobody to please but herself.

  He had been a good man, too, had Bill Lang. A quiet man, a solicitor’s clerk. She had met him when she went to the solicitor’s office so that she could have Frank’s will explained to her.

  She was left the shop, but there was very little money; Bill had visited her a few days later, bringing her some papers to sign, and advised her to keep the shop going.

  She made him tea and brought scones and home-made biscuits, and he had stayed a long time; they found it easy to talk to each other.

  He had told her about his own first marriage – his young wife had died in childbirth, her baby had died with her, and he blamed himself.

  ‘She was a little slip of a thing. I should have waited until she was older, we were both eighteen, it was selfish of me, but I loved her so much, and I killed her.’

  ‘Oh, no, don’t say that!’ Trudie had protested, shocked.

  ‘It’s the truth, and that’s why I couldn’t face marrying again and having some other woman go through what my Jenny went through.’

  She had told him then that she couldn’t have babies, she had never been able to have one with Frank. She was afraid it would put Bill off, but he had asked her out to dinner the following weekend and again they talked easily, so relaxed together it was as if they had known each other for years.

  After she had been widowed for six months Bill asked her to marry him. They were both conventional: they didn’t want fingers to be pointed at them. The neighbours were openly critical of a recently widowed woman seeing so much of another man, so they waited another six months before they actually got married.

  By then Bill had told her, ‘I don’t want kids, Trudie, I couldn’t risk it, I couldn’t bear to see you die the way my Jenny did. I’m not marrying you to have kids. I’m lonely, Trude, and I think you are, too. I think we can be happy together, don’t you?’

  She did; she hated living alone, she hated the silences, thick as centuries-old dust, the empty rooms, the feeling of dread she got at night when she was alone and afraid someone might break in and murder her in her bed.

  So they had married, and six months later she was told by her doctor, smiling slyly at her ignorance, that the worrying symptoms she had noticed meant that she was pregnant.

  ‘I can’t be!’ she gasped.

  ‘You’re married, aren’t you?’ he said, almost laughing out loud.

  ‘But I thought I couldn’t … I never had one with my first husband.’

  ‘Then that couldn’t have been your fault, because you are definitely pregnant now,’ smiled the doctor.

  ‘Oh, my God, what will Bill say? He doesn’t want any kids. He’ll be afraid I’ll die.’

  ‘Why on earth should you die? A healthy woman like you should have babies as easy as shelling peas.’

  ‘His first wife died and her baby died with her.’

  The doctor sat silent, gave a sigh. ‘Ah, well, send him along to me, I’ll reassure him. Now, don’t you let him worry you. You aren’t going to have any problems.’

  Bill had burst into tears when she told him, and despite everything the doctor said to him he had watched over her like a mother all the months of her pregnancy, made her stay in bed, treated her like an invalid, but the doctor proved to be right. She had had the baby easily enough, although it was a first birth: a lovely little girl with dark, dark blue eyes and a skin that looked perfect even then.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Bill had said, perspiring with relief the day she was born, holding her gingerly, as if she might break.

  He adored her from the first, but he was determined that Trudie should have no more babies, so he had had a vasectomy, and Annie had been their only child. They loved her the more for knowing there would be no others.

  Bill had died of a heart-attack after running for a bus one hot summer day when Annie was eleven. He hadn’t ever complained of his heart before. He had never had a day’s ill health.

  It had been a terrible shock for Trudie and Annie, coming out of the blue like that. Annie had loved her father almost as much as he had loved her, and Trudie had become very fond of him although her feelings had never been deep. She had married Bill because she felt comfortable with him and she was lonely, and she knew he had married her for the same reasons. Neither of them had been wildly romantic.

  All her capacity for loving had been focused on Annie from the minute the baby was laid in her arms. She had responded instantly to the child’s weakness and helplessness, to knowing it needed her, and with Annie still there, needing her, she was able to cope with Bill’s death, although it came as a terrible shock.

  ‘It always is,’ she thought aloud, and jumped when someone answered her from the dark.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What?’ she repeated, bewildered, blinking into the shadows.

  ‘You said something always is …’

  ‘Death,’ she said, ‘a shock … it’s always
a shock even if you know it’s coming.’

  ‘That’s true, but it can be kind, too, can death – it can be your friend,’ said the nurse, coming towards her bed, and she smiled, recognising the face.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Cinders. I didn’t think you were on tonight!’

  ‘I wasn’t, but Claire got a migraine and had to go off, she rang me and asked if I could take over, so I’m working a split shift. Feel like a cup of tea? I was just going to have one.’

  ‘I’d love one,’ Trudie said eagerly.

  ‘Well, don’t go anywhere. Wait here till I get back.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing! God, if I could walk I’d be out of here like a shot!’

  ‘If you could walk, we’d throw you out, don’t worry!’ Cinders grinned.

  Trudie giggled like a little girl. ‘I believe you!’

  Cinders went to the door. ‘OK, love, I’ll be back soon, and we’ll drink our tea together, have a nice chat.’

  Those were the best nights, when Cinders was on; she always made sure of staying awake if Cinders was on duty. They often had a cup of tea or cocoa together. Trudie had begun calling the nurse Cinders because at night there were so many dirty, routine jobs left over from the day rota, like taking the soiled bandages to the boiler and disposing of all the garbage a busy ward managed to make during the day – and it was Cinders who seemed to be the one who got the worst tasks.

  They were very understaffed in the ward; the nurses all got bad-tempered at times but Cinders never did, whatever the provocation. Trudie was always glad to see Cinders coming on duty.

  ‘Did you see the show tonight?’ Trudie asked when Cinders brought the tray of tea and Nice biscuits.

  ‘Now, what do you think? Of course I did, never miss it, do I?’ Cinders passed her a mug of tea and a couple of biscuits.

  ‘Derek Fenn looks older every time I see him. Getting past it, losing his hair, and those teeth don’t fit, do they? Ought to get some better teeth than that.’

  ‘Derek Fenn?’ repeated Cinders, not really listening.

  ‘You know – the desk sergeant.’

  ‘Oh, the father figure who patronises her every time he opens his mouth!’

  Trudie giggled. ‘Father figure! He wouldn’t like it if he heard you call him that. Oh, quite the ladies’ man, Derek Fenn, once upon a time, that is. He was after our Annie once, years ago, mind.’

  Cinders sat up. ‘But he’s old enough to …’

  ‘Be her father!’ ended Trudie, chuckling. ‘Well, that never stops them, does it?’

  ‘She didn’t …?’

  ‘Didn’t what?’ Trudie couldn’t remember what they had been talking about, and panic surged through her. ‘What was I saying?’ she whispered and Cinders gave her a soothing smile.

  ‘Derek Fenn, love, remember? You were saying he chased Annie once – remember? How did Annie feel about him?’

  Suspiciously, Trudie said, ‘Why are you asking so many questions about my Annie?’

  ‘I thought you liked talking about your Annie? If you don’t, never mind, we’ll talk about anything you like.’

  Trudie subsided, her little flurry of temper gone. ‘I just don’t want you telling anyone what I say – reporters are always trying to get sleezy stories on stars. And Derek Fenn has plenty of sleeze in his life; he’s a drunk, can’t stay off the stuff. Why d’you think his career went down the drain? He was at the top once, now look at him … grateful to play a bit part for peanuts. My Annie would never have let him lay a hand on her, though, don’t worry! But she never forgets he got her her first big chance.’ Trudie leaned back, sighing, closing her tired eyes, remembering those days. ‘She almost never made it in the business. She said to me, “It’s over, Mum, I’ll never be an actress now.” It broke my heart.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I wanted to be an actress when I was a girl – my parents wouldn’t hear of it. From the minute my little Annie was born I was determined she was going to get what I didn’t. I knew she would make it, there was always something special about her – oh, she wasn’t pretty, but I knew somehow, always knew, she could be a star.’

  ‘She’s that, alright!’

  ‘I made sure of that. If I hadn’t pushed her she’d never have taken that job with Derek Fenn. But nobody was standing between my Annie and her future, nobody! That bastard! If I could have got my hands on him I’d have killed him. She was all for giving up; I had to do something fast or it would all have been over. But my little nest egg had run out by then, I was short of money myself.’

  ‘Why did Annie need money? Was this for drama school?’

  The old woman opened her eyes then and gave the nurse a sharp, narrow, wary look.

  ‘I didn’t say she needed money.’

  ‘Yes, you did, you said …’

  ‘I never said any such thing. I was talking about the show. Good tonight, it was, although I hate that superintendent … what’s that actor’s name? Too pretty, teeth too white, smiles too much, over acts, but thinks he’s the cat’s whiskers.’

  Cinders never made her feel she was going crazy just because she forgot things now and then. ‘Mike Waterford.’

  ‘Mike Waterford, that’s right,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift, doesn’t he? My Annie can’t stand him.’

  ‘So the press stories aren’t true? She isn’t having an affair with him?’

  ‘With Mike Waterford! Never on a Sunday. No, she hates the man. My Annie hasn’t got any time for men now. One man let her down badly … No, she doesn’t want any men around her now. Pity, she’s a lovely girl, but she’s learnt you can’t trust them.’

  ‘Not even Derek Fenn?’

  ‘He’s different,’ the old woman reluctantly admitted. ‘He’s a bit of a bastard, too, but he came along just at the right moment, I’ll say that for him. He saw her act at drama school and came round to see us, and offer her this part in a TV series he was doing – I’d prayed and dreamed about a chance like that for her, and I had to tell him the silly little bitch had got herself knocked up.’

  ‘What?’

  The startled voice made Trudie jump. ‘What’s wrong?’ she whimpered. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘You said she had a baby. I never heard about any baby.’

  Whispering, Trudie said, ‘No, you’re lying, I never mentioned a baby.’

  ‘You just said …’

  ‘There was no baby!’ Trudie looked over the nurse’s white shoulder, checked the whole ward, as if she was passing on state secrets, then whispered, ‘She couldn’t have it, see? She was just starting her career, she was only a kid herself. A baby would have ruined her life. She had this marvellous chance offered to her, but she couldn’t take it because she would have started to show before they began filming. Derek Fenn said, “Get rid of it. You’ve got star quality,” he said, “don’t waste it.” But we didn’t have the money. I only just kept us going with what I earned in the shop, it was a real struggle for me. Derek Fenn lent us the money, he paid for the abortion and took it out of her salary over the next few months.’

  ‘An abortion? Annie … had an abortion?’

  ‘I said to her … “these days plenty of girls do, it’s legal, it will be safe.” She had it done by a proper doctor. She went in one day and was out the next, it was all very quick and simple.’

  ‘Who was the father?’ Cinders hoarsely asked.

  ‘Nobody you’d know – some stupid boy who lodged with us for a while, nobody important.’

  Trudie closed her eyes, her lips moving silently, her worn hands clenching on the bedclothes.

  ‘Nobody, he was nobody,’ she mumbled barely audibly.

  The nurse watched her, realising she had drifted off again.

  It was a moment or two before Trudie opened her eyes with a start, stared at Cinders wildly.

  ‘Where am I? Who are you? You’re … you’re … what are you doing here?’ She opened her mouth wide on a gasp of panic. ‘Where am I? Where’s my Annie? Stay away from me!
Don’t you come near me!’

  ‘It’s me … Cinders … you’ve been asleep and forgotten,’ Cinders said, looking anxiously round the shadowy ward, in case Trudie had woken everyone else up. But nobody had stirred; the rows of bodies in narrow beds lay still in drugged sleep. Everyone in this ward got a sleeping pill; many of the old people were half-senile and if you didn’t watch them like a hawk they got up and wandered off, giving hospital security a headache. It was easier to give them all a sleeping pill, including Trudie, but Cinders suspected Trudie didn’t take her pill. Where was she hiding them? Maybe it was time they did another search of her bed and cabinet?

  Subsiding, Trudie gave a heavy sigh. ‘I … I thought you were someone else for a minute. I get so muddled, are they putting something in my tea? What’s happening to me?’ She began to cry weakly and the nurse bent over her, soothing.

  ‘Don’t cry, Trudie, there’s a good girl. Look, you haven’t finished your tea – and it’s your favourite mug with bluebells on it.’

  Trudie took it in both of her trembling hands and sipped noisily; the warm tea oozed down her throat. After a moment or two, she had calmed down enough to turn chatty again. ‘My Annie bought me this – to remind me how we used to pick bluebells in Epping Forest. Bill, my second husband, drove us out there every weekend. Annie and me, we loved to pick bluebells in the spring. There were millions of them under the trees, sheets of blue. We picked armfuls.’

  ‘These days they tell you not to touch them,’ Cinders said.

  ‘Well, nobody told us that years ago!’ she said crossly, putting down her empty mug. ‘Mind you, we always took care not to pull the plants up. We broke the stems off higher up, so the root stayed in the earth. They’re white, the stems at the bottom, like an onion. Wonderful smell, the earth in spring …’

  She closed her eyes and sighed; a second later she was asleep as suddenly as if she had switched off like a light.