I'll Be There

by Janet Woods

  * * * *

  Sunday dawned bright; a faint drifting haze added a touch of humidity to a perfect August day.

  Everything had ripeness to it, the roses looked like plump maidens in gaudy crinolines. Overloaded with fruit, tree branches bowed towards the ground. Prickly green shells guarded the chestnuts. Soon, they’d split and throw the shining nuts to the ground.

  She would take the children to gather blackberries soon, and rise at the crack dawn to pluck mushroom from the dew. Janey was looking forward to autumn with an ever-increasing impatience. Summer had made her feel full, like a bumblebee who’d supped too much nectar but was ever-greedy for more. She was bursting with love, with her own ripeness.

  Her father was waiting for her at the gate. He’s growing thin, he has dark circles under his eyes, she immediately thought. I’ll ask Griff to take a look at him and tell me what he thinks. She hugged him long and hard. I love this man – my father. I want him to know it deep inside where it counts. I want him to be as happy as I am.

  They used her car. The conversation between them was desultory as they drove to the harbor at Poole, as if he found it an effort to speak. There were lines of strain about his eyes, a tense stretch to his mouth. She must ask John if there was any progress with the Home Office.

  He brightened as the boat came into view. The Saffy Jane was solidly beautiful, her umbilical cord a stretch of unsullied white tying her to the land. She tugged gently at it, eager for her birth. Her hull was navy blue, her name painted in gold lettering, her cabin white.

  ‘We could go around the harbor for a quick trip, if you like. Just make sure you keep an eye on the children. She’s not quite finished off inside, and I don’t want them to hurt themselves.’

  Cable’s hung from the bulkhead, the woodwork was still raw and the seats lacked upholstery. But her brass-work gleamed bright, and her deck gently quivered as they headed around Brownsea Island. The two children stared in round-eyed wonder at the sight of gulls weaving about them and the water slipping by.

  After a while, her father brought her back to harbor, his experienced hands placing her in exactly the right position so he could slip on to the quay and secure her to the bollard. A smile played around his lips as he helped them ashore, relaxing his mouth a little. ‘What do you think of her?’

  ‘She’s wonderful. You must be so proud of yourself.’

  ‘I can’t really claim the credit. It was my father who designed her.’

  ‘But you who built her.’ She was laughing as she teased. ‘I insist on being proud of you, whether you like it or not.’

  He gave a self-effacing smile. ‘I guess I do like it at that. I’m just not used to it.’

  ‘Well, get used to it. I love you.’ There, it had slipped out quite naturally without her even thinking about it. She grinned when his eyes caught hers and she saw a misting of tears. ‘I do love you, dad, more than you’ll ever know. So I want you to promise me that you’ll look after yourself.’

  ‘Stop pushing me around, woman,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’ll be late for lunch if we don’t get going.’ Touched beyond measure, he told himself that his tiredness was probably something simple. He’d been living on nothing but sandwiches lately, and had a thirst on him he couldn’t believe. But it could wait. He’d try a pick-me-up from the chemist first.

  ‘I’ll get a check-up soon, if only to put your mind at rest. Remind me tomorrow.’

  His casual answer didn’t fool her one little bit.

  ‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll make an appointment with your doctor and drive you in.’ She placed a finger over his mouth when he began to protest. ‘Don’t bother arguing, because I won’t listen.’

  Jack didn’t let his annoyance show as he gently kissed her on the forehead. She was his daughter and she loved him. That was all that mattered to him. He’d do nothing to jeopardize their precious growing relationship.

  Nevertheless, the day placed a great strain on him. Mary made too much fuss, commenting often on how pale he looked. With both her and Janey’s eyes on him he managed to force down most of his lunch despite his lack of appetite. He felt bloated afterwards, and longed for the solitude of the cottage so he could sink into his favorite armchair and sleep it off.

  When he got up from the table he felt dizzy, and had to clutch the back of the chair before anyone noticed. He made an effort to appear alert on the way home, jerking himself awake each time he felt himself drifting off. The trip seemed interminable.

  When he finally closed the door of Canford Cottage behind him he was trembling with fatigue. ‘All I need,’ he murmured, heading for the comfort of his armchair, ‘is solitude, and sleep.’

  It had arrived! Suddenly and unexpectedly, there it was on her mat, an official envelope. Janey couldn’t believe it as she turned it over in her hands.

  John Bellamy esquire, c/o William’s House. Winterbrook, Dorset.

  She rang John.

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘I haven’t opened it. It’s addressed to him and marked confidential.’

  John laughed. ‘Then what are you phoning me for? Go and give it to him.’

  ‘What if ... what if it’s bad news? I couldn’t bear it.’

  There was a short silence from the other end, then a cautious. ‘How can it be bad news? It seemed cut and dried to me.’

  ‘But what if it is? He hasn’t been well lately. In fact, I’m picking him up in an hour to take him for a check-up. I know it’s an imposition, but could you ... would you mind?’

  ‘Ringing my contact and asking him the contents of the letter?’ Her sigh of relief made him chuckle. ‘It’s a little unorthodox and I can’t promise he’ll give me an answer – but yes, why not?’

  Fifteen minutes later he returned her call. ‘My contact refused to divulge the contents of the letter, but he indicated he’d prefer to receive it as soon as possible were it addressed to him.’

  Eyes shining, she waved the letter jubilantly under Pamela’s nose. ‘It’s arrived!’ She kissed Saffy and Justin, twirling them exuberantly around before setting them on their feet again. ‘Be good for Nana. I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

  Her heart warbled a duet with the birds as she jumped into the Anglia. Butterflies took up residence her stomach. No, they were helicopters stirring up her insides. Her mouth seemed to be reaching for her ears.

  If I don’t calm down I’ll swallow my head.

  In her eagerness, she selected the wrong gear, leaping out through the gate in an inelegant series of hops before she staled. She took a deep breath and counted to ten, restarted the engine and pulled smoothly away.

  In sixty seconds my father will be the happiest man alive!

  But her father didn’t answer her knock and the door was locked. Daisy whined forlornly at her from the other side.

  Dropping to her knees she gazed through the flap of the letterbox, calling out. ‘Dad! Are you in?’

  Of course he’s in. His car’s parked in the drive. He must have overslept.

  No amount of shouting of knocking brought a response. Uneasily she walked around the cottage, gazing through the windows. The kettle spouted steam so he couldn’t have overslept. All the windows were shut. The only movement inside was Daisy shadowing her from room to room. The dog’s tail wagged furiously as she gazed hopefully back at her.

  ‘Go and fetch your master,’ Janey ordered, gazing thoughtfully at upper storey. His bedroom window was ajar. She cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Dad, I know you’re in there. Answer me?’

  She thought she heard someone mumble. Five seconds later, Daisy’s head poked over the windowsill and she began to bark.

  Something was wrong! Heart pounding, she gazed desperately around her. Her glance lit on an old wooden ladder lying in the grass by the shed.

  Struggling under its weight she dragged it across to the house and placed it against the wall. It was slippery with moss, and didn’t quite reach. But if she was careful and tested each rung
first and then stood on the top one, she’d be able to see inside.

  The ascent was precarious. The ladder was rotten in parts and crumbled away under her feet. But as long as she held her breath it seemed to hold together – so she held her breath. Finally the top was reached. Pulling the window open and rising to the balls on her feet she leaned forward on to the inside sill.

  Her father was lying in the doorway to the hall, still in his pyjamas.

  ‘Dad!’ If she got a grip on the windowsill she could probably get inside. Throwing caution to the winds she took a grip on it, exerted pressure on the ladder, swung one leg up, then exhaled with relief.

  There was a sharp crack as the rung disintegrated beneath her. She lurched sideways, her hands taking her weight, her foot caught under the ledge on the other side. It felt as though her muscles were being stretched beyond endurance as she hung there for a moment. Then a superhuman effort saw her up and over, dropping to her knees on the other side.

  She crawled on all fours to her father. ‘Dad!’

  He mumbled something incoherent.

  At least he’s alive. Thank you, God. He was perspiring heavily, and was deathly pale. Shudders racked his body now and again but nothing she did or said would rouse him. He was unconscious.

  Griff! I’ll call Griff! Calm down and think clearly. Griff will be at the hospital. Call for an ambulance. Get him to hospital fast!

  She dialed emergency and explained the symptoms to a calmly reassuring voice at the other end of the line – then remembering the dog and kettle she dealt swiftly with those before going back upstairs. As instructed, she turned her father on his side and kept watch over him.

  She loved him so much she was thinking as she sponged the sweat from his dear, scarred face. Please let him be all right.

  She followed the ambulance to the hospital, tears streaming down her face, and then sat in the emergency waiting room for what seemed like an age. The place was crowded with people coming and going. Doctors, nurses, patients - all wheeled about in a purposeful frenzy. She half-stood when she saw her father being wheeled away on a trolley, then sat down again.

  The nurse had told her in no uncertain terms to wait, that she’d be informed in due time.

  A half hour passed, an hour – two, three. Was he dead? No, his face would have been covered. Pamela would be wondering what had happened to her. There was a telephone in a hallway, so she called her.

  ‘Can you ring Mary and tell her what’s happened.’

  Two men in white coats emerged from a room at the end of the corridor. They were moving away from her, talking. The walk was as familiar as the dark curly head. ‘Griff!’ She dropped the receiver back in its rest. ‘Griff, wait!’

  He turned, his puzzled frown becoming a smile when his eyes met hers. She practically ran up the corridor, and then she was in his arms and gabbling it all out against his shoulder. A sharp odor of disinfectant lingered about him. ‘I’ve been here for hours. Can you find out how he is? Everyone is rushing about in there and I’m frightened to ask in case it’s bad news.’

  ‘I suggest you take your young lady to the staff room with you, Doctor Tyler,’ the older man said with an indulgent smile. ‘Tell me the patient’s name. I’ll make enquiries and join you there.’

  Griff’s reassuring presence and a large mug of tea did much to calm her nerves, and when the man returned she managed a smile.

  ‘Hypoglycemia.’

  She glanced uncertainly at Griff.

  ‘Low blood sugar.’

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘It could have been if you hadn’t found him in time.’ The older man exchanged a glance with Griff. ‘There’s a possibility of diabetes mellitus. He’ll be hospitalized for a few days to undergo tests.’

  ‘Is he conscious, can I see him?’

  ‘He is. Doctor Tyler can take you to the ward in fifteen minutes.’ He nodded to Griff and glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll see you in theatre in one hour.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Janey said as he walked away. ‘You’ve been most kind.’

  ‘I’d better explain.’

  She winced as Griff took both her hands in his. ‘You don’t have to explain. I know what diabetes is. Just tell me he’ll live.’

  ‘Of course he’ll live.’ Griff turned her palms over and stared at the lacerations and splinters. ‘How did you manage this?’

  ‘I climbed up the ladder to dad’s bedroom and the top rung broke.’ She managed a grin. ‘I was left hanging from the window sill like a damned monkey with one leg over the edge.’

  His mouth crinkled at the corners. ‘That must have been quite a sight.’ He fetched a bowl of warm water and a first aid box. ‘Put your hands in there.’

  ‘Will it sting?’

  His eyes met hers, dark and serious. ‘Like hell, but I have the perfect anesthetic in mind.’

  It did sting. The kiss he gave her numbed the pain nicely. She yelped a couple of times when he picked out the splinters, bringing the same response. Finally he peppered her palms with antiseptic powder. ‘There, that should do nicely.’

  She kissed him this time. ‘I love you.’

  His eyes were as soft as his voice. ‘It would be advisable not to continue this line of treatment. I have afternoon theatre to get through. I’ll leave you with your father and drop in on him later.’

  She remembered the letter as the lift bore them swiftly upwards. With a flourish she withdrew it from her pocket. ‘This came from the Home Office. Will it be all right to give it to him now?’

  ‘Is it what I think it is?’

  ‘She nodded.

  ‘I’d say it’s the best tonic he could have.’

  Griff left her with the sister.

  ‘Five minutes, no more, Miss Bellamy. He’s very tired.’

  Miss Bellamy? It was the first time anyone has called her that. She didn’t bother correcting her.

  Griff was right. Gazing with disbelief at its contents, her father smiled through his exhaustion. ‘How did this come about?’

  ‘Mary, Pamela, myself, and John Smith. We’ve been working on it for some time.’

  ‘I told Mary to leave it alone. I didn’t want you to have to go through it all again.’ Tears came to his eyes and he shook his head. ‘This is a most wonderful surprise. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Then why are you crying?’ She was crying with him, the tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘Now, hurry up and get better. You’ve given me enough trouble for one morning.’

  She hugged him tight as the sister bore down on them, her love for him so fierce she never wanted to let him go. ‘I love you so much. You’re the best father anyone could wish for.’

  Griff smiled as he watched them from the doorway. For once, his father’s sixth sense had failed him.

  Jack Bellamy would survive.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The September sun rose though the morning mist, scattering the shadows in the village. The thatch of each tiny cottage glowed mustard bright, the windows winked orange gleams and the church tower began to blush.

  It promised to be a lovely day, as soft as love and as tender as dreams.

  The trees were ablaze with glory. Gypsy Autumn, tangy tangerine, yellow fiesta, hot-blooded red and lush burgundy.

  The air tasted like wine on Janey’s tongue, the earth drifted with fragrance, the dew pressed cool lips against her skin. She embraced the sun with her arms and laughed with sheer exhilaration. It was nonsense, of course.

  Bathe in the breath of a September dawn, and if the cock crows thrice nature will endow your marriage with a wealth of love, long life, and everlasting happiness.

  Gypsy folklore.

  The whole of the village seemed to take one quivering drawn out waking yawn. A hundred chickens began to cackle, geese honked, milk churns clanked, an engine started.

  A cock crowed thrice!

  She was smiling as she made her way home. The earth was a precious jewel. Spider webs were pearls of dew. Little ruby be
rries had replaced the flowers in the hedges, diamonds of mist sparkled where the sun touched.

  I’ve bathed in the breath of a September dawn. The cock’s crowed thrice. I’ll be happy with Griff forever. What else could I desire, she thought.

  * * * *

  There was to be a wedding in the village and everyone had been invited to the reception in the garden of the big house.

  Suits had been sent to the cleaners, hats trimmed with lace, dresses inspected for traces of last year’s Christmas pudding. Shoes were shone, corsets unearthed, nylons inspected for ladders, permanent waves applied. A ton of confetti was secreted in various pockets.

  Gifts had been wrapped, an opportunity presented to get rid of Aunt Emily’s vase, or the leather desk set with glass inkpots that had been lacking a desk to recline on for the past thirty years.

  ‘He’s a doctor he’s bound to have a desk, don’t he? It polished up real nice, just like new.’

  ‘Lady Brenda is arranging the flowers herself. Roses picked from her garden. The church looks a real treat.’

  ‘Ada reckons the cake is going to be four tiers high.’

  There was a derisive snort. ‘That Ada always was a show-off. Serves her right that young-un taking the prize off her this year. It might teach her to be a bit more humble in future.’

  Lacy white stockings were slide up Janey’s legs.

  Something old. The lead soldier, Lord William, was buried deep in her pocket.

  A drift of white silk whispered against her skin.

  Something new. A tiny gold Griffin hung on a chain at her throat, a gift of love.

  Satin over silk, her hair elegant and smooth, courtesy of Dion and Stephen, who’d clucked and fussed over her and hadn’t quarreled once. Tendrils curled at the nape of her neck and pearls were threaded like dew drops on the spider webs. He gown was borrowed from the Edwardians.

  Something borrowed. A lace edged handkerchief from Pamela at her wrist.

  Satin button-up boots that pinched her toes.