by Nancy Carson
After the pleasantries, Donald took out his stethoscope.
Without being asked, Eve undid the top buttons of her frock. ‘Should I strip off?’
‘No need, Mrs Bishop,’ Donald replied. ‘I just want to listen to your heartbeat.’ He slid the end of his stethoscope over her chest while he listened. ‘Mmm … sound as a bell … Now I want to smell your breath.’ He put his nose near Eve’s mouth and she breathed self-consciously into his face. ‘Mmm … Tell me how you’ve been feeling, Mrs Bishop. What sort of things that have been happening recently that don’t seem normal?’
Lizzie had to repeat the question for her.
‘I’m feelin’ tired all the while, Donald,’ Eve answered. ‘And every half hour I’m havin’ to make water.’
‘Are you having to do that in the middle of the night, too?’
‘Two or three times a night. I’m sick of emptying the slops of a morning.’
‘Are your bowels loose?’
‘Me bones loose?’
‘No, your bowels. Have you been constipated?’
‘Oh … yes … terrible.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I get that weak with hunger, Donald. I tell you, I could eat a man off his hoss. And I could drink a marl hole dry, I’m that thirsty.’
He turned to Lizzie. ‘Anything else, Lizzie? You live with your mother. Have you noticed anything?’
‘Only that she eats well, but I think she’s losing weight.’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Losing a bit of weight wouldn’t do her any harm under normal circumstances, but to me it’s a symptom of her illness.’
‘What d’you think’s up with her, then, Donald?’ Joe asked.
Donald sighed and took the stethoscope from around his neck, folded it and put it in his bag. He looked at Joe, then at Lizzie. ‘Her symptoms are consistent with diabetes.’
‘Diabetes?’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘All we know is that it’s a disease that affects the way the body uses sugars and, to a lesser degree, fats. The problem’s caused by a little thing in the belly called the pancreas gland. The disease causes certain of its cells to degenerate so that it can’t cope with sugar and so the body passes the sugar out through the kidneys in the urine.’
‘So what’s the cure?’
‘There is no cure, Lizzie.’
‘No cure?’
‘Having said that, if I’m right in my diagnosis, I believe we can control it so your mother can lead a near normal life. First, I need to double check, of course. I need a sample of her water and a sample of her blood.’
Donald’s words were going round and round in Lizzie’s head in a jumbled whirl. They did not add up to good news. A near normal life? A disease? The pancreas gland? No cure?
‘What’s it mean, Doctor? Will mother be an invalid for the rest of her life?’
Donald saw the anxiety in her eyes and was concerned to put her mind at ease. ‘No, it doesn’t necessarily mean that, Lizzie. We’ve caught it just in time, I think. It’s a good thing you sent for me when you did, because she would’ve become rapidly worse. In another week or two your mother might have slipped into a coma and that would have been a different kettle of fish. What it does mean is that your mother’s got to have a very strict dietary regime. That’s the only way of treating this disease in the long term. But if she sticks to it, God willing she should be able to lead a fairly normal life. That means no sugar in tea, no cakes, puddings, sweets or chocolate. This has to be done carefully though, because we still have to maintain some level of sugar in the blood.’
He paused a moment, evidently deep in thought, his fingers stroking his chin again.
‘That’s the standard treatment,’ he went on, ‘but I’d very much like to try something different. In my opinion as a medical man it seems more logical to try and starve her for a few days until her water is free of sugar, then to build up her dietary with fat and protein. I should warn you though, that this isn’t the recognised way of treating the symptoms. It’s never been tried officially to my knowledge, but I’m absolutely certain it would give us much quicker and more positive results. I’d like your permission to embark on that course of treatment before I do, of course.’
Joe said, ‘But if it’s never been tried how do you know it’ll work, Donald? You might do her more harm than good.’
‘I’ve studied this disease as closely as anybody, Joe. I wrote a thesis at university on Diabetes Mellitus – its full name – and I’ve since had a paper published on it. When I was training I treated people in hospital who had the condition and, strangely, the one who fared best was a woman who couldn’t take food. Only in the last ten years or so have we really begun to understand diabetes, but the more we understand it, the better our treatments get. And knowing what I know, I’d stake my doctorate that starving her for a few days would work.’
‘I trust your judgement, Donald,’ Joe said solemnly. ‘You must know more about it than most doctors, so we have to be thankful for that. As far as I’m concerned, do what you think’s best. What d’you say, Lizzie?’
‘You seem to know what you’re talking about, Doctor. If you think it’ll get Mother better quicker, I reckon you should do it.’
Donald smiled. ‘Good. Of course I shall keep a weather eye on her meanwhile. Now, I’m going to ask her to give me that urine sample. Then I’ll explain it all to her.’
*
So Eve was put to bed and Lizzie took time off work to look after her. Donald Clark’s diagnosis proved to be correct and his new method of treating her worked remarkably well. In consequence, the improvement, he was certain, was far more rapid than it might otherwise have been. Within a few days she was allowed to get up, and her new diet, although severely restricted, stabilised her condition. It required some new thinking on Lizzie’s part. She had to ask herself every time whether or not she had put sugar in her mother’s tea, and usually tasted it just to make certain she had not. Eve’s intake of fat was restricted and it seemed such a pity to have to deprive her of dripping, butter or fried bread; or fried anything, come to that; almost everything she enjoyed.
Donald Clark’s success at treating Eve’s illness drew increasing esteem from everyone; always useful for a new doctor, but particularly so for him since he was being decried already because of his growing reputation for liking a drink. The whole neighbourhood soon got to know about his miraculous treatment. Only a few years earlier, patients suffering from the sugar sickness were fortunate to survive, because doctors did not understand it. Donald refused all payment for his treatment too. It was, he claimed, experimental, so how could he possibly charge for research work that was helping him as much as it was helping Eve?
*
In the run up to Christmas, Phyllis Fat married her Hartwell Dabbs, and Jack ’Ardmate, née Hardwick, wedded Maria Soap, née Hudson. Eve improved sufficiently for Lizzie Bishop to return to work and Lizzie regularly saw Daisy Foster thereafter. She was even introduced to the handsome, blue eyed, black-haired lad called Ben, and there was no doubt that Lizzie really fancied him. Fern, Ben’s sweetheart, saw ever more reason to be jealous of Lizzie, since it was obvious that he in turn fancied Lizzie.
After their last meeting, which was at the Opera House, where they had splashed out and booked sixpenny circle seats to see Vesta Tilley, Lizzie was somewhat concerned about the effect Ben was having on her. He only had to smile at her and she would blush and feel her stomach turn over. But there was no point in dwelling on him because of Fern, who seemed a respectable girl and obviously idolised him. But as the days turned into weeks, Lizzie realised she was thinking more and more about this Ben, and even found herself talking about him to May.
Meanwhile, Eve’s improvement continued apace.
Christmas came and went, bringing bitter cold and frosts. The usual procession of visitors called to see Eve. Her other daughter, Lucy, with her husband, Jimmy Sharpe came down from Stockport and stayed till Boxing Day. May and Jo
e invited Eve and Lizzie and Lucy and Jimmy to have their Christmas dinners with them, which they did, and they all spent the afternoon and evening pleasantly together.
On returning to work the day after Boxing Day, Lizzie was surprised to see Daisy Foster enter Theedham’s shop, dressed up for the weather.
Daisy said, yes, she’d enjoyed Christmas, thank you. ‘And guess what?’
‘What?’
‘Me and Jimmy are thinking of getting engaged.’
‘No! … Honest?’
‘Honest.’
‘I thought you said it wasn’t serious, Daisy.’
‘It wasn’t. But it’s getting to be.’ Daisy smiled contentedly.
‘Lucky you! Oh, congratulations. I’m ever so pleased for you.’
‘But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here on a special request, nothing to do with that.’
‘Oh?’
‘You know Ben, Jimmy’s mate? He’s sent me with a message. He wants to know if you’d like to go out with him.’
Lizzie’s eyes lit up, then she put her hands to her face in disbelief and delight. ‘Honest, Daisy? You’re not pulling my leg?’
‘Honest. He asked Jimmy to ask me to ask you.’
‘But what about Fern?’
‘Fern? Him and Fern have fell out.’
‘If they’ve fell out, I’d love to go out with him. When, though?’
‘Well, he was talking about New Year’s Eve. I think the idea was for the four of us to go to a New Year’s Eve ball.’
‘Then he must’ve finished with Fern if he wants to see me on New Year’s Eve,’ Lizzie reasoned.
‘What shall we tell him then? We have to let him know.’
‘I don’t know, Daisy,’ she said ruefully. ‘I can’t go out New Year’s Eve … Damn … May and Joe are having a party. It’s their wedding anniversary and they’re expecting me …’
‘Oh, shame.’ Daisy looked genuinely disappointed.
‘Hang on, though. I’ll ask May if you, Jimmy and Ben can come as well. D’you think that’d be all right? Would you like to come, Daisy?’
‘I don’t mind. I’m sure Jimmy wouldn’t mind either. Nor Ben.’
‘Hang on then.’ Lizzie went to the back of the shop where May was sorting out a fresh stock of candles. ‘May?’
May turned to Lizzie. ‘What’s up, my wench? You look as if you’ve lost a sovereign and found sixpence.’
‘May, you know that chap Ben I’ve been telling you about?’
‘Yes.’
‘He wants to go out with me on New Year’s Eve … but I’ve said I can’t, ’cause of going to your party … ’
‘So?’
‘Well he wants me to go out with him and Daisy and Jimmy as well.’
‘Four of you together?’
‘Yes. So, I was wondering if they could come to your party instead …’
‘So’s you don’t miss the chance of seeing him, you mean?’
‘Well … yes.’
May smiled knowingly. ‘’Course they can come. The more the merrier. Just tell ’em to bring a bottle or two o’ beer. It’ll be nice to have some young faces among all the old fogies. Anyroad, I want to get a good look at this Ben.’
Lizzie’s face lit up. ‘Oh, thanks, May … Thanks … If I can do you a favour some time …’
‘I daresay the time will come.’
She returned to Daisy beaming. ‘May says they’d love to see you.’
Lizzie tried not to raise her hopes too high though. After all, look what happened with Stanley Dando.
Chapter 6
By New Year’s Eve, a Tuesday, the weather had become settled. A clear, blue sky afforded bright sunshine during the day, but promised a hard frost that night. Eve and Lizzie visited Joe’s house early to help prepare sandwiches and get everything ready for the party. May lit a fire in the front room and cursed when smoke blew back down the chimney, making her eyes run.
‘I should think Father bloody Christmas is still stuck up the blasted chimney,’ she complained, shoving a strand of hair from her eyes with the back of her coal-blackened hand.
‘I doubt whether it’s ever been swept while the Dowtys lived here,’ Eve commented.
Joe had ordered a firkin of best home-brewed bitter from The Shoulder of Mutton and it was standing chocked up on the scullery table with a pudding basin under the tap to catch the drips. There were four bottles of whisky, a bottle of gin and two bottles of port to offer as well, besides a gallon of lemonade.
Lizzie awaited Ben’s arrival excitedly. She hardly knew him. They’d never had a conversation without somebody else being there. But the way he smiled at her, and the honesty and candour brimming in eyes that sparkled whenever he saw her, churned her stomach with longing.
He duly arrived with Daisy Foster and Jimmy Powell shortly after half past eight. Their faces were glowing from their brisk walk in the bitter cold, but they were dressed warmly in good overcoats, hats and gloves. Lizzie introduced them to Joe and he made them welcome. He took their hats and coats and offered them drinks, which Lizzie was happy to serve in the front room as they settled round the fire. Then she, Daisy, Jimmy and Ben, all sat in a group, squashed up together occupying one half of the sofa and an adjacent armchair.
‘It was nice of you to invite us,’ Daisy said to May and Joe equally. She shuffled to get comfortable on the armchair she was sharing with Jimmy.
‘The more the merrier,’ Joe quipped. ‘Where’ve you had to come from?’
It was Ben who answered. ‘Tividale. It isn’t far, but it’s all uphill. Here, Joe … Do you smoke?’
‘Oh, thanks … How long’s it took you to get here?’
Ben tapped the end of his cigarette on the packet. ‘About twenty minutes. It warms you up a treat, though, on a night like this. There’s a tidy frost.’
Lizzie thought Ben looked wonderful. He wore a dark grey suit with a waistcoat, a maroon and blue necktie, and a white shirt with an immaculate, starched collar. His black hair looked even blacker now it had been greased and sleekly brushed and his eyes danced with the reflected light from the oil lamps and candles. He was clean shaven with a clear complexion and his features were fine and masculine. He was possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen, even more handsome than Stanley Dando, or Jesse Clancey. He was about six feet tall and lean, but with broad shoulders; a picture of vigorous health, and Lizzie couldn’t take her eyes off him. She felt flutters in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of being alone with him. Being in the same room now, but not able to speak or act freely was immensely frustrating. She wanted to manoeuvre herself closer so she could touch him, so he could touch her, either by accident or by design. She wanted to catch the scent of him; see his eyes crease at the corners from close-to when he smiled. And she wondered if he felt the same about her.
He did. He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked in the cream dress with the pale green trimmings. He admired everything about her, not just her looks, but the easy way she seemed to have with people; and, best of all, there was no side on her – she didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. For ages he’d wanted to ask her out, but with Fern always at his side it had been impossible.
‘Lizzie says it’s your wedding anniversary,’ Daisy was saying to May.
May linked her arm through Joe’s and glanced up at him affectionately. ‘Twelve months tomorrow.’
‘And it only seems like twelve years,’ Joe chipped in and took a playful slap on the arm for his trouble. He drew on his cigarette and smiled impishly. ‘And afore anybody asks – no, there’s ne’er a babby on the way – but it ain’t for the want o’ tryin’.’
May hit him again, while the men guffawed. ‘You’m gettin’ engaged an’ all, aren’t you, Daisy?’ she enquired, desperate to avoid more embarrassing comments.
Daisy nodded and looked at Jimmy admiringly. ‘We’m thinking about it, eh?’
‘Maybe next year,’ Jimmy confirmed.
‘Any plans yet to
get married?’
The couple looked at each other again and grinned self-consciously. ‘Not for a couple of years at least. We want to save up and get some money round us.’
‘That’s good sense, Jimmy,’ Joe proclaimed. ‘You can’t argue with that. What d’you do for a living, mate?’
‘I’m a moulder at a foundry in Tividale – Holcrofts.’
‘I know of Holcrofts.’
‘Ben works there as well. He charges the cupola.’
‘The money good?’
‘It’s all right. We got plenty work, an’ all, eh, Ben?’
‘Plenty,’ Ben agreed. ‘But I want to come off charging. I’m keen to be a ladle man. It’s hard, specially in the summer when it’s hot, but the pay’s better. A lot better.’
Ben was enquiring about Joe’s work when they heard a knock at the back door. It was Tom Dando and Sarah. Sarah came in complaining about the cold. Sylvia would be coming soon with Jesse, she said, when she’d spent half an hour with Ezme and Jack.
‘Help yourselves to drink,’ Joe invited.
Five minutes later Eliza and Ned Bradley arrived, May’s mother and father. They made a fuss of Eve and asked how she was.
‘By Christ, it’s cold enough for a walking stick,’ Ned quipped, warming his hands in front of the fire. ‘It’s icy already. I reckon I’ll be sliding round on me arse all the way ’um.’
‘Like a fairy on a gob o’ lard,’ May suggested.
While Eliza and Ned made themselves known to the folk they hadn’t met before and supped their first drinks, Beccy and Albert Crump arrived. Joe asked what they wanted to drink.
‘A glass o’ port for me, please, Joe,’ Beccy said, rubbing her cold hands.
