by Sarah Hope
‘Mrs Reynolds? Mrs Reynolds?’
Shit. Where’s my phone? My phone? Where did I put it? Here.
‘Hello, ambulance please. 19 Glebe Close. Yes. Yes. I don’t know. She’s...she’s my neighbour. She’s collapsed. I don’t know if she’s conscious. She’s inside. I’m outside. I can just see her lying on the floor. Yes, yes. Please come quickly.’
‘Mrs Reynolds? Can you hear me?’ Why are these windows so stiff? It’s open a bit so I should be able to pull it open further. What’s stopping it? Here we go, a latch. Oh, what am I thinking? Sod the flowers.
Ouch, scraping my knee against the old but perfectly kept wooden window frame I pull myself in.
Oh poor love, looks like she’s gashed her head as she’s fallen. Right, first aid training please come back to me. Please.
A.B.C. is that it? Airways. Breathing. Circulation? Sounds about right. Okay her airways don’t look blocked, her mouth is half open so I guess she’s not choked on anything?
Breathing? Shit. I can’t hear her breathing. I don’t know, maybe she is. All I can hear is my breathing. It’s so fast it’s the only noise I can hear in here. Let’s go onto circulation. If she’s breathing she’ll have a pulse, right? So that should answer that question.
Come on, Mrs Reynolds. Give me a pulse. Please, please don’t do this to me. Give me a pulse. No pulse. No pulse. There’s no pulse.
Okay, calm down Lynette and focus. Get her wrist in a better position and try again. Gently but firmly I try to turn Mrs Reynolds’ left wrist and the locket it was grasping falls back around her neck. Okay there it is. There is a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s a pulse and a pulse is a pulse right?
Holding my own breath I listen carefully next to her nose and sure enough she is breathing. It’s shallow, but she’s still breathing.
‘Oh thank goodness. You gave me such a scare then Mrs Reynolds.’ She’s still unconscious, but she’s alive.
And there’s the siren now. The ambulance has arrived.
Chapter Twenty Three
Enid
‘Right, move along now love. We can’t have loitering in the porch in case of emergencies coming through.’
Shocked from my thoughts, I look at the hospital warden in disbelief. The entrance is deserted. Gingerly stepping out into the rain I dither on the pavement not knowing which way to turn. Not that it matters. No. Nothing matters anymore. With my baby boy gone, Mum and Albert dead, the only thing I have to hold onto is the knowledge that with Father being held in custody at least he won’t be waiting for me.
Peering back into the warm, hostile entrance of the hospital, the warden stares back, waiting for me to go.
Ouch, every step I take seems to pull at my stitches. That’s a good thing though; the physical pain. At least it’s something I can hold onto. I can’t hold my beautiful boy. At least I have the pain as a physical reminder of the pain and loss I carry inside.
Hollers from a street to my left slice through the quiet and I briefly glace to see two men being throw out of a pub. An image of Father’s face jolts into my vision. Crouching down so as not to draw any unwanted attention to myself I throw up the few morsels of dinner one of the nurses forced me to eat. I continue until bile comes up and my stomach feels as though its linings are sticking together. Leaning my forehead against the wet wall I wait for the nausea to pass.
Hearing the men’s footsteps and arguing coming closer, I push through the rain until I am standing alone in the middle of a narrow side road, lined with butchers and grocers shops comfortingly closed.
With the rain beating through my dress, every breath I take is forced. Lowering myself into a kneeling position on the cobbled road, the tears finally fall thick and fast. The desperate sound that escapes my mouth turns to wails as I ignore the clutching pain from my stomach. My womb contracting back, I was told. Soon they’ll be no evidence I’ve even ever been pregnant. No baby. My baby. My baby. My beautiful baby boy. Where is he? Looking up and down the street I jibe myself for half expecting to see him. Him being returned to me. ‘A terrible mistake,’ they’d say, ‘we shouldn’t have taken your son. Here he is.’
Why? Why did this happen? After all my protesting they knew I didn’t want him to be taken. They knew I wanted to keep my son. To love him. To hold him. To look after him. I’d always have been there for him. My baby boy. The nurses knew. That spiteful grandmother of mine knew. She hangs about. Not letting me even take a breath without staring scornfully at me. Until she knows my boy has been taken from the hospital grounds. My hope to have him placed in my arms. Gone. Forever. And then she leaves. She abandons me. In the hospital. In this strange town, strange street. With nobody and nothing.
Where is he? Where is my beautiful boy?
A noise from the end of the road makes me look up. Grabbing hold of a nearby lamp post I pull myself to standing, the pain shooting through me. Suddenly feeling dizzy and tired I struggle to the nearest doorway. A chemists. Offering a little shelter I lower myself down. Bringing my knees up to my aching stomach I lower my head into my lap and shield my face from the rain being cruelly swept on the wind towards me. The thought that if I go to find shelter on the other side of the street the rain would not be blown into my face, enters my mind. What does it matter though? What’s a bit of rain going to do to me now? What is left of me that hasn’t been broken already? I know my heart has and my life is of no importance anymore.
Maybe Father was right after all. Maybe I am not fit to raise a child. Sleeping in a doorway would be no life for a baby. What if he was right? The thought pierces my soul and I weep until there is no breath left in me to stay awake.
My baby’s cry wakes me in the night and fills my body with hope.
Where am I? The rain has subsided but my dress still clings to my sodden skin, soaking up the chill. Looking around it all floods back to me and I’m met with no baby just the stark, empty street. Moonlight now being the only source of light, casting shadows around me.
The cry must have been my mind playing tricks on me. Reminding me he is somewhere. Possibly near. Maybe it’s a sign from Mum. Telling me not to give up. Letting me know he is still within reach. Taking a deep breath I make a promise to myself and to my boy.
‘I’ll never forget the feeling of your little body in my arms. I’ll never give up on you my boy. One day I’ll find you Peter. I promise. One day.’
There is hope. There must be and whatever Father has done to me, put me through, I will not let him win. I will not let him dictate my life anymore. From now on I will not let him crush me any longer. I will find my son and I will make sure he knows why he was torn from me; that I didn’t give him up peacefully. I will love him with my whole heart, for my whole life, and I will tell him that. One day I will. That’s a promise Peter. One day.
Gasping with pain I push myself up and venture out into the darkness surrounding me. As I make my way towards the main road going out of town I suddenly know what I am going to do. Where I am heading.
Standing, gripping a roadside railing, I hold my thumb out, hoping someone will stop and offer me a lift. I now know that when I get to my aunt’s house I will have the strength and support to look for a job. When I have money I can look for my son. I can travel to find him.
Lifting my eyelids, the room looks hazy. Not like my bedroom at all. All I can see is white. Maybe walls? Turning slightly, I take a deep breath as the heaviness pushing down on my chest increases. Who’s that? A face. Short blonde hair.
‘Mrs Reynolds. It’s me. Lynette. How are you feeling?’
Lynette? Oh, yes, Lynette. What’s she doing here? Where am I?
‘Where am I?’
‘In hospital. You collapsed in your room. I’ll just let a nurse know that you are awake.’
‘Please don’t leave me.’ Grabbing her hand, the suffocating clinical smell hits me and my eyes focus. The rows of beds opposite, the blue curtains, the intense lighting. Panic thumps me in my throat. The last time I was in a hospital they t
ook my boy. ‘Don’t leave me.’
I breathe a sigh of relief as Lynette lowers herself back down in her seat beside me. Clutching her hand she waves to get the attention of a passing nurse.
‘Hello, Mrs Reynolds.’ She looks at me with a kind smile. She’s not taking me in though. The nurse that took me to see Peter smiled kindly like that. Then took him away anyway. ‘You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling now?’
‘How am I feeling? I’m in hospital aren’t I? How do you think I’m feeling?’ Would I be here if I felt okay? Silly girl. Is she even old enough to be a nurse? Obliviously not qualified yet. Not if she doesn’t know that a requisite of being in a hospital is to feel ill.
‘I think the nurse just wanted to know if you were feeling any better? Better than you were when you were brought in, Mrs Reynolds?’ With Lynette patting my hand I take a deep breath and force myself to remember where I am. Or more specifically what the circumstances are. Not that I actually know what I’m doing in this place ,just that it most definitely isn’t the same place I was in when I had my dear boy. Even so I certainly wouldn’t trust any of the folk in here. I’m sure they’re all the same.
‘Why am I here?’ Seeing Lynette’s face crumble at my question I guess it was her that found me. The last thing I remember is seeing my father’s face staring back at me from that photograph.
Chapter Twenty Four
Lynette
Having made it to the car through the dashing rain, I wipe the water dripping from my eyes, unsure whether it is from the rain or from the tears that sprang as I walked away from Mrs Reynolds. Poor woman, she still seems so disorientated. How bad do I feel leaving her despite her protests? She sounded so scared when I left but what else could I do? Having spent the whole day with her, trying to calm her nerves whenever a nurse or doctor approached the bed, I can see she has real trust issues with hospitals and, I suppose, who can blame her? Not after having her son taken away from her in a hospital. I know that it wasn’t the hospital’s fault but I guess Mrs Reynolds can’t see that at the moment.
Bless her, she’ll be fine I’m sure. I’ve told the nurses to contact me straight away if anything happens or she gets too agitated. I would have stayed overnight if I were allowed. She’s done so much for me, practically and emotionally, I owe so much to her. If it weren’t for her I would probably still be crying myself to sleep each night over Ste leaving.
Right, come on Lynette concentrate and get home. Ste will be dropping the kids off soon.
Stepping out of the shower I hear voices downstairs. The kids are back. Slipping on my slouchy joggers and black top I prepare myself to break the news about Mrs Reynolds. They’ll be so worried, bless them, she’s become an honouree grandmother in their eyes and they both so look up to her.
‘Mum, Mum. Guess what? Dad’s got a brand new Playstation and an Xbox.’
‘Woah Charlie.’ I grab onto the bottom of the banister as Charlie almost knocks me flying with his enthusiasm. ‘A Playstation and an Xbox. Is Daddy’s guilt finally kicking in?’ I can’t help myself, but at least I only mumbled it as Charlie races into the living room so he wouldn’t have heard me.
‘Lynette, please.’
‘Oops, didn’t think anyone heard that.’ Turning, I see Ste standing in the door to the kitchen. ‘Where’s Mandy?’
‘She’s in the living room, on her laptop I think. She said something about checking out some stuff for a neighbour?’
‘Oh. How was she at yours?’ I know he’s fishing for details, but Mrs Reynolds’ life is nothing to do with him, and I certainly don’t want to get into a cosy conversation gossiping with him.
‘She was okay. Gave Cindy the silent treatment though. Maybe you could have a word with her about that?’
‘You’re lucky she didn’t lay into her again. I’m sure someone who has the thick skin to take another woman’s husband off of her can cope with a little hostility from her lover’s daughter.’ Who does he think he is; ‘Maybe you can have a word with her?’? Although I suppose I shouldn’t have bitten back, no doubt World War Three will erupt now and I really haven’t got the energy for that.
‘Um, maybe you’re right.’
Wow, what’s up with him? Where are the barbing comments sticking up for the tart? Never mind. I don’t have the time to try and work this out.
‘Anyway, are you picking them up again next Saturday?’ I ask trying to usher him to the door.
‘Um...yes, yes I guess I am.’
‘Okay good.’ Now move it Ste. What’s wrong with him? Anyway whatever it is it’s not my problem anymore, he’s made that quite clear. ‘I’ll see you next Saturday then.’
He tears his eyes from the living room door and blinks at me, seemingly finally getting the message.
‘What? Right, okay. See you next week then. Bye kids.’
Playing for time until I tell the kids about Mrs Reynolds I switch the kettle on.
‘Mum, look. She’s had a message. Mrs Reynolds has a message. It might be her son! Can I go over and tell her now? Please Mum?’
Looking at Mandy’s sweet face shiny with excitement I know I’ve got to stop stalling and tell the kids about Mrs Reynolds being in hospital now. It’s been about half an hour since Ste dropped them off and I haven’t even gone into the living room to see how their day went. How am I going to tell them? Taking a deep breath I lead Mandy to the table and indicate a seat for her.
‘What’s up Mum? Aren’t you excited? It could be him, couldn’t it? It could really be Peter.’
‘Mandy, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.’
‘Oh no. Are you okay? What’s happened? Is it Nan? Is she okay?’
‘No, no it’s not Nan. It’s Mrs Reynolds. I went round to her house this morning to thank her for looking after you and Charlie last night and I... I found her collapsed on the floor.’
‘Is...is she? Is she alive?’
‘Yes, yes, she’s alive Mandy. Apparently she had a heart attack. She’s weak but she’s stable.’
‘Is she going to be okay?’
‘I hope so. I hope so.’ Bringing Mandy into my arms I lean my head on hers and breathe in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. ‘She’s a tough cookie Mrs Reynolds. You know that. She’ll be just fine. You give her time and she’ll be just fine.’ I just wish I could believe my own words but the image of Mrs Reynolds laid up in that stark hospital bed, face as pale as anything sticks in my mind’s eye.
‘Can I go see her tomorrow?’ Stroking her hair I hug her closer, trying to take the pain away.
‘Yes of course. We’ll all go.’
Tucking Charlie up in bed and replacing the book I’ve just read to him back on the shelf, I kiss him goodnight and think how much easier it was breaking the news about Mrs Reynolds to him. His only seeming concern was whether there was any blood and whether I had remembered to feed Freda. Of which I gently assured him I did, making sure my fingers were tightly crossed behind my back.
Hurrying downstairs, I pop my head into the living room to find Mandy glued to her laptop again.
‘Mandy, can you just listen out for Charlie for me please? I’ve just got to pop across the road to Mrs Reynolds’ bungalow to feed the cat.’
‘Huh? Yes, okay Mum.’
‘Thanks. And make sure you take a break from that thing soon. It’s not good for your eyes to be looking at a computer screen all night.’
‘Umm.’
Glancing back at Mandy before leaving the door ajar so she can hear if Charlie gets out of bed I don’t know if she actually even heard my last comment, she seems to be so engrossed in whatever game or forum she’s on.
Pulling my coat on, I glance in the mirror quickly. Out of habit more than anything else. What a state. No makeup and hair frizzy from not blow drying it after my shower. Still, it’s not like I’m going to run into anyone in this weather. I grab the umbrella and rummage in my bag for the keys to Mrs Reynolds’ place. Good job I didn’t leave them at the hospital with her
like I was going to.
Pulling my coat tighter around me I put up my umbrella and make a run for it.
Fiddling with the keys I let myself in.
It’s strange being in here without Mrs Reynolds. I feel like I’m trespassing and shouldn’t be here, but the cat needs feeding so the cat will be fed. Mrs Reynolds wouldn’t mind me coming in to feed her. Still, it doesn’t feel right.
‘Freda.’ I call her softly expecting her to come. She must be starving, the poor thing, ‘Freda.’ I try making that noise that sounds something between tutting and clacking that people do to make cats come to them.
No sign of the thing. Making my way to the kitchen I peer into the front room and switch the light on to see if she’s in there. No cat. Switching it off again I continue to the kitchen. Once there I clatter around getting a bowl out and looking for the cat food, not sure if I’m trying to make as much noise as possible for the cat’s benefit or to break the eerie silence enveloping the bungalow.
‘Freda, here girl.’ Oops, that’s what you say to dogs, no wonder she not coming, ‘Freda, dinner, din, dins.’
Where is the silly thing? Carrying the bowl with me I make my way back into the front room, trying to waft the smell of the cat food around.
‘Freda.’ Gently I push the door open to the bedroom. I quickly turn the light on and scan the room. Ah, there she is, curled up on the bed.
Standing in this room sends a chill through me as I recall this morning. I truly didn’t think she was alive when I found her. I tell myself not to be silly and emotional. She’ll be fine. In fact I’ll give the hospital a call when I get back and check she’s got off to sleep okay.
‘Come on now Freda. I’ve got din dins here.’
What’s that I’ve just trodden on? Oh no, how could I have not noticed the broken photo frame this morning? I guess I had other things on my mind. Kneeling down, careful not to cut myself on any broken glass, I pick up the photo from the floor.
