Swansea Summer

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Nothing that’s happened is your fault, Jack.’ John had to repeat himself before he could be sure that Jack had heard him.

  ‘Helen wouldn’t have been pregnant if it wasn’t for me.’

  ‘And you faced up to your responsibilities and married her,’ John reminded him. ‘Didn’t you hear the doctor say this happens in a percentage of cases? That they have no idea why and can’t stop it from happening?’

  ‘But I made Helen carry on working and she saw to everything in the flat …’

  ‘No one’s ever made Helen do anything she didn’t want to in her life. And you saw to all the decorating and heavy work. If she saw to the rest it was because she wanted to. And as for working, being an office clerk is hardly grafting like a navvy.’

  ‘If she’d rested …’

  ‘The doctor said it would have made no difference,’ John interrupted firmly.

  ‘I should never have brought her back to Swansea. I should have made her get off the train in Bridgend …’

  ‘It would have made no difference. She still would have lost the baby.’

  ‘But she might have …’

  ‘Jack, look at me,’ John ordered, waiting until Jack lifted his head. ‘Nothing you did or didn’t do caused this to happen.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you.’

  ‘You had better start trying, because if you see Helen this afternoon looking the way you do now, she is going to know something is wrong and that could prevent her from recovering as quickly as she might.’

  ‘I have to tell everyone …’

  ‘If you want, you can leave that to me.’

  ‘It’s bad enough she lost the baby and she’s ill. But not being able to have any more.’ Jack set his mouth into a grim line as he fought to suppress the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

  ‘How about I tell everyone she’s lost the baby and leave it at that? No one else need know she can’t have children unless she chooses to tell them.’

  Jack nodded dumbly.

  John laid his hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘I think you know that I wasn’t thrilled when you told me Helen was going to have your baby.’

  ‘An ex-Borstal boy doesn’t make the best son-in-law.’

  ‘But you do, Jack. And I want you to know that I’m proud and pleased that Helen is married to you, because I’m confident that somehow you’ll find the strength to see both of you through this.’

  If Jack heard him, he made no sign. Unequal to dealing with Jack’s misery as well as his own, John cleared the glasses and whisky, and reached for his car keys. ‘We’d better be going.’

  ‘You’ll tell everyone we’ve lost the baby?’

  ‘I’ll tell them, Jack.’ John locked the door and followed him out of the building.

  Refusing all offers of help and breakfast, Jack packed the clothes Helen had hung in the wardrobe in the flat into his battered suitcase. Taking it, and the case he’d brought back from London, he left the basement by the front door; locking it with the key he’d taken from Helen’s handbag.

  Primed by John, Martin was waiting. He couldn’t conceal his amazement at the difference a few hours had made to his brother. Jack looked dazed and suddenly years older.

  ‘Mr Griffiths told you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That Helen’s lost the baby,’ Jack continued, checking that Martin knew what he and John had decided and no more.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack, I know how much you were looking forward to being a father.’

  ‘Perhaps this is fate’s way of telling me I would have made a lousy one,’ Jack answered, succumbing to a bout of self-pity.

  ‘You would have made a great one. And when Helen recovers …’

  ‘Does anyone else know?’ Jack broke in swiftly.

  ‘Mr Griffiths told Roy Williams and Mrs Hunt, and they’ve probably told Lily and Judy by now. I told Katie and Sam. I didn’t think there was any point in trying to keep it a secret with Helen in hospital.’

  ‘There isn’t.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ Martin reached for one of the cases.

  ‘No.’ Jack kept his grip on both of them.

  ‘Mr Griffiths said you wouldn’t eat breakfast. I could cook us something. There’s bacon and eggs …’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Jack glanced from the dresser to the table, evading his brother’s eye. ‘I need to be alone for a while.’

  ‘Katie …’

  ‘She’s here?’ Jack eyes clouded with exhaustion and Martin realised he simply couldn’t face people, not even him or their sister.

  ‘No, but she told me to tell you she’ll be upstairs all day if you want to see her.’ He paused, searching for something to say. ‘Everyone wants to help, Jack, they’re just not sure how.’

  Jack nodded as he opened the door to the passage.

  ‘Roy Williams has invited us upstairs for Sunday dinner.’

  ‘Mr Griffiths is driving me back to the hospital at two o’clock.’

  ‘I could make us beans on toast. Just the two of us, you won’t have to talk if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘You have to eat,’ Martin insisted. ‘If only for Helen’s sake. It won’t help if you make yourself ill.’

  ‘I’ll put my clothes away first.’

  Relieved at the small concession, Martin watched his brother walk to the room they’d shared. Jack slammed the door behind him. The noise reverberated through the house, rattling the casement windows.

  ‘They must have heard that at the other end of the terrace.’ Sam opened the door of the second bedroom and joined Martin in the kitchen.

  ‘The wind probably caught it.’ Martin knew it hadn’t, he also knew he hadn’t fooled Sam.

  ‘You going upstairs for dinner?’

  ‘No, Jack can’t face company and I want to stay within kicking distance.’

  ‘You won’t mind if I do?’ Sam asked clumsily, trying to be tactful.

  ‘No.’

  ‘If there’s anything I can …’

  ‘He’s my brother and there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Bloody bad luck.’

  ‘Bad luck!’ Martin echoed uncomprehendingly.

  ‘I don’t mean about Helen losing the kid, that’s rotten but if it had to happen, it would have been better if she’d been taken ill a couple of weeks ago. Then Jack wouldn’t have had to marry her.’

  Martin was too stunned by Sam’s attitude to reply. It was only later, after Sam had left for upstairs and he was opening a tin of beans, that he realised the truth in what his flatmate had said. If Helen had been taken ill a couple of weeks ago it would have been an entirely different situation. He could only speculate as to whether Jack would have wanted to marry Helen, or Helen Jack, if there hadn’t been a baby to force them into it.

  ‘Mrs Griffiths is still unavailable, Mr Griffiths. I have your messages and I will give them to her when she comes in.’

  The clipped tones of his mother-in-law’s housekeeper irritated John even more than they had done the night before. ‘Have you any idea when she’ll be home?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘She must have said …’

  ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, Mr Griffiths. Mrs Green …’

  ‘Dot?’

  ‘As I was saying, sir, Mrs Green had plans to visit friends for the weekend and Mrs Griffiths joined her at the last minute.’

  ‘And you have no idea where they’ve gone.’ John didn’t bother to conceal his scepticism.

  ‘Neither of them confided in me, sir.’

  ‘And her mother doesn’t know where she is.’

  ‘Madam is unwell. Mrs Griffiths takes care not to burden her with anything that might prove stressful, like the telephone ringing every couple of hours.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope madam’s condition doesn’t worsen while her daughter is away and can’t be contacted,’ John bit back angrily, before hanging up.

  ‘Only one visitor,’ the si
ster warned as Jack and John returned to the ward that afternoon. ‘And no more than ten minutes. Mrs Clay is very weak.’

  ‘Jack, you go ahead. I’ll be outside.’

  ‘The last cubicle on the right,’ the sister directed, ‘and be careful not to upset her. The doctor did tell you not to mention the baby.’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  Jack flinched as the thick crepe soles on his brothel creepers squeaked on the rubbery linoleum. He tried not to look in the other cubicles as he made resolutely for Helen’s but it was difficult. Vases filled with brightly coloured spring flowers stood, bizarrely at odds with the wan, sick patients in the beds.

  He had tried to imagine Helen ‘acutely ill’ but none of his imaginings had prepared him for the reality. She lay between blindingly white sheets, as pale and still as a marble sculpture in the Glyn Vivian Art Gallery. The only splash of colour was her blonde hair spread out on the pillow above her head and even that looked paler than usual.

  Tiptoeing in, he jumped at the noise from his own shoes as he stood beside the bed. He would have liked to hold her hand but they were both tucked beneath the sheet and he didn’t dare disturb the pristine bed-making. As he watched, her eyes flickered open. When she saw him, she tried to smile. He had to lean over to catch what she said.

  ‘It’s all right, Jack, you don’t have to worry any more. The pain has gone.’

  ‘I’m glad you called, Lily,’ Joy Hunt said as she opened the door to her. ‘Judy’s upstairs, sorting out her bedroom. She’ll be glad of some company.’

  ‘I called to invite her over because Katie doesn’t want to leave the house in case either of her brothers needs her.’ Lily braced herself. ‘You have heard about Helen?’

  Joy nodded as she saw tears in Lily’s eyes. ‘Come on now, none of that.’ She hugged her. ‘I spoke to John earlier; he told me that Helen’s going to recover.’

  ‘I know.’ Lily fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief.

  ‘Helen and Jack are going to need their family and friends more than ever, and knowing you, love, you’ll be top of their list of friends.’

  Lily wiped her eyes and stuffed her handkerchief in her pocket. ‘I’ll go up and see Judy.’

  ‘It’s horrible and unfair. They were both so happy and Helen was looking forward to having the baby.’ Judy lifted the underclothes she’d arranged in neat piles on her bed and dropped them into her chest of drawers to make room for Lily to sit on the bed.

  ‘Jack was just as excited as Helen about the baby. She told me that he had even talked about teaching him – he was sure it was going to a boy – to play football.’

  ‘But it has to be worse for Helen. She’s the one who went through all the pain of actually losing the baby and having an operation. I hate to think of her lying in hospital among strangers. She must be feeling desperate.’ Judy slammed shut the last drawer in the chest. ‘There has to be something we can do.’

  ‘Beyond making sure Katie is all right, and helping her to look after Jack, not much,’ Lily said bleakly.

  ‘Helen will need things in hospital and there’ll be small things like her washing to be done.’

  ‘Your room looks as though you never left.’ Lily moved the conversation away from Helen and Jack because she was in serious danger of crying again.

  Judy looked around. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Her cosmetics and toiletries were back on the dressing table; she’d replaced her precious collection of Wade porcelain animals on the shelves above her bed and lined up her books between a pair of heavy wooden bookends on the windowsill. Picking up a box filled with scraps of newspapers that she’d used to wrap and store her ornaments in, she placed it by the door.

  ‘No second thoughts about coming back for good?’ Lily went to the window and glanced through the titles of Judy’s books.

  ‘Not about leaving London.’ Judy sat on the dressing-table stool and picked up her hairbrush.

  ‘And Brian?’

  Judy brushed back a few stray hairs. ‘As I haven’t heard a word in two weeks, I assume he’s forgotten me.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that.’

  ‘I don’t know what to believe.’ Judy faced Lily. ‘If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell a living soul?’ She waited until Lily nodded agreement before continuing, ‘I offered to sleep with Brian the last night he was here and he turned me down.’

  Speechless, Lily stared at her.

  ‘He said I wanted him as a way out from a job I didn’t like.’ She opened the drawer in her dressing table and took out a framed photograph that had been taken at a police dinner dance. Brian was standing beside her, his arm round her waist. They looked happy, relaxed and well-dressed, she in a grey satin shirtwaister with a full skirt, he in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. ‘I tried to tell him I love him, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t think he believed me.’

  ‘It must have been a misunderstanding …’

  ‘You weren’t there, Lily.’

  ‘No matter what he said to you then, I’m sure that deep down he knows how you feel about him,’ Lily consoled.

  ‘He said I was only curious about sex.’

  ‘I should think everyone who hasn’t experienced it is,’ Lily observed honestly.

  ‘You too?’ Judy looked at her.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Have you and Martin …’

  ‘I’ve only just started going out with him.’ Lily didn’t want to discuss her relationship with Martin, even with Judy, until she knew exactly how he felt about her.

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps, in time, if things go right between us,’ she answered vaguely.

  ‘He hasn’t asked you to marry him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Brian did before we went to London.’ Judy looked at her hairbrush as she set it back on the tray on her dressing table. ‘I refused even to accept an engagement ring from him. I said all the things I always say whenever anyone brings up the subject of marriage; that I wanted a career and independence, and I wouldn’t even think about settling down until I’m thirty. Things I’ve said so often I didn’t stop to consider whether I believed them or not. Then when I came back here, saw Helen, Jack and their flat, and heard her talking about the baby I was unbelievably envious. Brian had asked me to marry him – granted not since we’d been in London – and I imagined myself in the same position as her, living in a flat instead of the horrid hostel, with a baby and Brian coming home every night – well, days sometimes, given the shifts he works – and it seemed so much better than sticking with a job I hated. That makes me sound as if I only wanted him for what he could give me but it’s not just that. I really do love him, Lily. I know that now. And he doesn’t believe me and I’ve lost him.’ She bit her lip to stop it from trembling.

  ‘You have to write to him.’

  ‘And tell him what?’ Judy choked back her tears.

  ‘Exactly what you’ve just told me, starting with you love him,’ Lily advised.

  ‘You think I’ll get him back?’

  Lily’s silence answered her. Even if she could sort out her problems with Brian and convince him that she had loved him all along, how could she possibly get him back when he was in London and she in Swansea?

  ‘You telephoned, John?’ Esme succeeded in injecting a heavy hint of reproach into her formal manner.

  ‘I did,’ John agreed tersely, retreating into frigid politeness.

  ‘The last time we met, you informed me that you only wanted to communicate with me through our respective solicitors.’

  ‘I was referring to matters relating to our divorce.’

  Her tone lightened as she slipped into a role she had always played well – that of the seductress. ‘You’ve reconsidered my suggestion of a reconciliation?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what possible reason can you have for harassing mother’s housekeeper? You know mother is unwell …’

&
nbsp; ‘Yes,’ he interrupted angrily. ‘And it amazes me that you went away for the weekend without leaving a telephone number where you could be contacted in case of emergency.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘The housekeeper insisted she didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘I told her I didn’t want to be bothered with non-urgent matters,’ she replied carelessly.

  ‘Like your daughter’s health.’

  John could hear Esme breathing at the other end of the line but when she finally spoke her voice was harsh, clipped. ‘Helen’s ill?’

  ‘She collapsed on the train yesterday afternoon when she and Jack were returning from honeymoon. She’s in Swansea General. They had to operate. They think she will recover but she has lost the baby.’

  ‘There is no baby!’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘The fool! I told her not to rush into this marriage.’ As the import of John’s news sank in, she turned furiously on him. ‘You should never have arranged the wedding so quickly.’

  ‘Given the circumstances, I’m glad I did.’

  ‘Even after this?’

  ‘Especially after this,’ John replied resolutely.

  ‘I’ll call and see her.’

  ‘They won’t allow visitors again until Wednesday evening.’

  ‘I’m her mother. I’m next of kin.’

  ‘Jack is next of kin, Esme,’ he corrected. ‘If there is any change in her condition they will contact him.’

  ‘You will let me know if there is any news?’

  ‘I will leave a message with your mother’s housekeeper.’

  If Esme saw the irony in his remark, she didn’t comment on it. ‘Shall I wait for you to call, then?’

  ‘If you are really interested in Helen’s condition, I suggest you telephone here late on Wednesday after Jack has visited her, or the warehouse on Thursday morning. Goodbye, Esme.’

  Leaving the hall, he went into the living room and opened the cocktail cabinet. Pouring himself a large whisky he turned to see Joe sitting, reading. ‘It’s not like you to spend a Sunday evening at home.’

  ‘With everything that’s going on with Helen, I didn’t feel like company.’ Joe closed his book.

  ‘Would you like a whisky?’

  ‘Please. It’s no better between you and my mother?’