‘You look great.’ Jack bent over the wheelchair and kissed Helen’s cheek.
‘Bet you’ll be glad to get her home,’ the porter commented.
‘You can say that again.’ Pocketing the pills and prescription the sister had given him for Helen, Jack took the suitcase from the porter and held the umbrella over the chair with his free hand as the man pushed Helen out of the foyer towards the car.
John left his seat and opened the back door. Helping Helen into the car as Jack lifted her cases into the boot, he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Wobbly,’ she admitted, ashamed of her weakness. ‘And strange.’
‘Strange good or bad?’
‘Everything seems so cold, bright, colourful and’- she looked around – ‘big.’
‘That’s only to be expected after you’ve been cooped up in an overheated hospital for the best part of a month.’
Jack folded the umbrella and tossed it on top of Helen’s suitcase before slamming the boot shut.
‘You sitting in the front with me, or in the back with Helen?’ John climbed into the driver’s seat.
‘The back, Mr Griffiths.’
Under pretence of adjusting the rear-view mirror, John watched as Jack sat beside Helen and reached for her hand. She allowed him to fold it between his, but she continued to glance nervously around her, as if the world were suddenly too vast for her to take in. He gunned the ignition and switched on the windscreen wipers. ‘Jack’s got the flat all ready for you, love.’
‘I’d rather go home.’
Struck by the panic in her voice, he looked at Jack who was staring at him in the mirror.
‘Whatever Helen wants, Mr Griffiths.’ Jack wrapped his arm round Helen’s shoulders.
‘Home it is, then.’
‘Telephone call for you, Miss Sullivan.’ Miss Oliver, the manager’s secretary, interrupted Lily as she was taking her morning tea break in the staff room. ‘You know the manager’s policy on private calls during office hours. Emergencies only.’
‘Yes, Miss Oliver. I’m sorry, but I’ve told my uncle and my friends I’m not allowed to receive calls.’
‘Then we’ll assume it’s an emergency, shall we? You can take it at your desk.’ Miss Oliver relented, granting that as it was the first private call she could recall Lily receiving at work, it might well fall into the category of ‘emergency.’
‘Thank you, Miss Oliver.’ Lily carried her teacup to the sink.
‘Leave that, Lily. I’ll wash it with mine.’ Marion, one of the typists, offered.
‘Thanks.’
‘Go on, quick, it might be the love of your life.’
Blushing, Lily walked through the office to her desk and picked up the receiver. ‘Lily Sullivan.’
‘Anyone would think I wanted to speak to the queen, the palaver they put me through to get to you.’
‘Who is this?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you recognise my voice?’
‘No.’
‘And I thought we were friends.’
‘Joe, what are you doing telephoning me here? The bank doesn’t allow private calls …’
‘I had to do something to speak to you,’ he broke in impatiently. ‘If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were avoiding me. Every time I’ve seen you the past couple of days you’ve either been with Martin or Katie …’
Lily glanced at her watch, there were only a couple of minutes of her tea break left and she dare not allow the call to run into her working time. ‘What do you want, Joe?’
‘I had no idea you could be a Miss Snappy Boots.’
‘I’m in work. Did you telephone for a reason?’
‘To invite you to my graduation ball.’
‘I’m going out with Martin.’
‘Surely he can spare you for one evening. I’m in desperate need of a date.’
‘Ask someone else.’
‘I don’t want to. Please, Lily, it’s important to me that you come. You know how hard I’ve worked …’
‘No, Joe.’
‘It’s Martin, isn’t it. He doesn’t like you talking to me.’
‘It’s me, Joe, not Martin.’ She sank down on to her chair. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you that could give the wrong impression about us.’
‘To who – Martin?’
She saw Miss Oliver watching her through the glass partition. ‘I have to go, Joe. Goodbye.’
John stopped the car outside his house and turned to Helen. ‘I’ll help Jack get you inside and see you settled …’
‘I don’t need any help from you or Jack,’ Helen countered irritably. ‘I’ve been walking around the ward now for over a week.’
‘And you fainted last Wednesday.’ John intercepted a perturbed look from Jack, who’d retrieved the umbrella and walked around to the driver’s side of the car to open the door for Helen.
‘I’m not likely to do that again. Unless there’s something besides Jack’s National Service that you two are keeping from me.’
‘I promise you there’s nothing.’ Jack offered her his hand.
‘Don’t rush me.’ She winced as the skin over her operation scar stung when she tried to leave the car. The doctor had assured her that it wasn’t serious, simply her body adjusting to the healing process. But the memory of the agonising pain that had landed her in hospital was too recent and raw for her to ignore any hurt.
‘I’ll take your cases into the house while you get yourself together.’ Handing John the umbrella, Jack lifted Helen’s vanity case and suitcase from the boot and carried them to the front door. It was open, the tiled floor in the inner porch sodden and slippery with rain. Dropping the vanity case on to his knee so as not to wet it, he reached for the doorknob but the door opened before he touched it. He stepped inside and saw Esme.
‘Jack.’ Esme’s hand fluttered upwards to pat her blonde permanent wave as she acknowledged him.
He noticed an uneasiness in Helen’s mother that would have escaped him only a few short weeks before. A pulse at her temple throbbed beneath a heavier coating of make-up than he had ever seen her wear. Her mouth set into a thin line as she clenched her jaw and her eyes glittered, hard and bright, as she focused on a point somewhere to his right.
‘You can leave Helen’s cases here.’ She indicated a spot at the foot of the stairs. ‘The daily will take them up.’
Jack dropped them wordlessly.
‘Is Helen going to stay in that car all day?’
Turning, he walked back to the car. John had helped Helen out and for all her assertions of independence she was clinging to his arm.
‘Mrs Griffiths is in the house.’ Jack eased Helen’s hand from his father-in-law’s arm on to his own.
‘You’ve brought my mother back to look after me?’ Helen would have fallen to the pavement if Jack hadn’t put his arm round her waist to support her.
‘No!’ John looked at his front door.
‘Then why is she here?’
‘If we go inside we’ll find out,’ Jack muttered. The street was deserted but given the number of open skylights, he was aware that any number of people could have been listening.
‘I am not going into that house while she’s there,’ Helen insisted adamantly.
‘You need to get out of this rain.’ Taking the umbrella from his father-in-law, Jack tried to shield Helen from the worst of the downpour.
‘I am not going in while she’s there,’ Helen reiterated.
‘Then go down to the flat.’
Helen thought of all the wedding presents waiting to be used, the rooms she had taken so much time and trouble to plan, the set of baby clothes she had sneaked in secretly with her trousseau and hidden in one of her handbags because she couldn’t resist them. ‘No!’
‘Then get back into the car or go next door. If you don’t get out of this rain you’ll catch pneumonia.’ It was the harshest speech Jack had made to her since she’d been in hospital and it had the desired effect.
‘Yes, but it’s hardly comfortable.’
‘It will do until my mother leaves.’
‘She’ll insist on seeing you, Helen, even if you hide next door. If not today, then tomorrow or next week. All you’ll do is delay the inevitable.’ Dreading yet another confrontation, John looked at the front door again, but if Esme was listening she was keeping out of sight.
‘I won’t see her.’
‘That’s your decision but she’ll probably accuse Jack and me of keeping you from her.’
‘Let her,’ Helen countered defiantly.
‘Legally, you’re still a minor,’ John reminded her.
‘I’m married.’
‘A married minor but still a minor,’ John pointed out quietly. ‘She could go to court to get access to you and then you’d have to explain to a judge why you don’t want to see your own mother.’
‘You expect me to talk to her? After everything she’s said and done to me and Jack? She’s hateful, I detest her,’ she burst out furiously. ‘Just the thought of being in the same room as her makes me sick.’
‘Then tell her just that, love, and I’ll do my best to make sure she never tries to see you again.’
‘We’re all getting soaked,’ Jack reminded them, as Helen stood, staring at her father.
‘If I see her now, it will be for the last time.’
‘I can’t promise you that, love,’ John answered honestly.
‘But you won’t let her back in the house.’
‘That I can promise.’
‘How lovely to see you, Helen. But you are so pale. And you were so long leaving the car. Are you in pain?’ Esme enquired in a nauseatingly sweet voice as, leaning on Jack’s arm, Helen finally entered the house.
‘No. I didn’t want to come in because I didn’t want to see you.’
Conscious of the daily upstairs in the bedrooms and John and Jack in the hall, Esme forced a smile. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying, darling. You’re upset …’
‘I am only upset because you’re here.’
‘Helen, darling …’
Shrugging off her mother’s hand with a force that alarmed Jack, Helen screamed, ‘Go! Now! None of us wants you here.’
‘Darling, you’re hysterical …’
‘Get out!’ Helen’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Please, just get out.’ Her anger dissipated as she burst into tears.
‘I have your bedroom all ready.’ Esme tried to push Jack aside but he stood firm, keeping his grip on Helen’s arm. ‘If you’ll allow me to help my own daughter upstairs, Jack …’
‘No!’ Helen tried to push Esme away from her, but weakened by enforced bed rest she had no strength to make more than an ineffectual gesture.
‘Esme, for Helen’s sake, please leave.’ John lifted his wife’s mac from the stand.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m her mother.’
Helen swayed on her feet as her eyes flickered closed. Scooping her into his arms, Jack shouldered the living room door open and carried her in. John picked up the telephone and began dialling. Esme followed Jack, watching from the doorway as he lowered Helen to the sofa. As soon as he was certain she was secure, he kicked the door, slamming it in Esme’s face.
‘Mrs Jones.’
The daily appeared on the landing, as John replaced the telephone receiver. ‘Yes, Mr Griffiths.’
‘Did you let Mrs Griffiths into the house?’ John was speaking to the daily but he was watching Esme.
‘Yes, Mr Griffiths.’
‘Please don’t do so again,’ he ordered. ‘She no longer lives here.’
‘How dare you …’
John held up his hand to silence Esme as the daily moved back. ‘Please stay, Mrs Jones.’
‘Sir …’
‘I’d take it as a personal favour. In future the only people you will allow into this house are Joe, Helen, Jack and myself. Do I make myself clear?’
‘I know you and Mrs Griffiths have a private problem, Mr Griffiths,’ the daily faltered. ‘I hope you understand, sir, but I’d rather not get involved.’
‘Unfortunately it is not private and although it might be embarrassing for you, I’d appreciate it if you remained with me until my wife leaves the house as I may need you as a witness.’
Remembering who paid her wages the woman replied, ‘Yes, Mr Griffiths,’ and stayed on the landing.
‘And just in case you have a key, Esme, I’ll call a locksmith at the first opportunity and order him to change all the outside locks.’
The doorbell rang, John opened it and ushered in the doctor.
‘Where is she?’
‘In the living room.’ John opened the door, closing it after the doctor had entered the room.
‘I should be with her.’
John blocked her path. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough for one day.’
He stood watching Esme, aware that she was as conscious of Mrs Jones’s presence upstairs as he was. He heard the doctor speak and Jack’s muffled reply. After ten long minutes they heard Helen whimpering. The three of them continued to stand, silent, immobile, until the door opened and the doctor emerged.
‘How is she?’
‘Not good, John. She came out of the faint in a state bordering on hysteria. I had to sedate her. By rights I should send her back to hospital.’
‘Then why don’t you …’
Ignoring Esme, the doctor continued to address John. ‘I’ll be back before evening surgery to check on her again.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Jack told me he’s leaving on Sunday. I can’t promise anything but I’ll make a couple of phone calls and try to get him a week or two’s grace.’ The doctor closed his bag.
‘He’s already had a month.’
‘It’s worth a try.’ The doctor slipped on his coat.
‘Absolutely,’ John agreed.
‘Keep a close eye on Helen,’ he warned. ‘She should sleep until late afternoon. But if she comes round to another attack like that, send for me straight away. If you can’t get hold of me, then telephone for an ambulance.’
‘Surely it is only hysteria.’
The doctor acknowledged Esme’s presence for the first time. ‘Hysteria can be dangerous, Mrs Griffiths, especially for a young girl recovering from the mental and physical trauma of the surgery your daughter has undergone. I don’t know what’s gone on here and I don’t want to know, but Helen told me she doesn’t want to see you and it was you who upset her.’
‘I am her mother …’
‘Believe me, now is not the time to try to resolve any differences you may have with your daughter.’
Esme looked from the doctor to John. ‘The only problem I have is my husband setting Helen against me.’
‘I’ve given you my professional opinion,’ the doctor said coolly. ‘Precipitate another attack like that one and you risk severe consequences for Helen. At the very least I’ll have to return her to the hospital.’
‘It seems to me that she shouldn’t have been discharged today,’ Esme challenged.
‘And it seems to me that you should leave her alone until she has regained her health, Mrs Griffiths.’ The doctor opened the door and looked at the teeming rain. Setting his hat on his head, he turned up his collar. ‘You will telephone if she has another attack, John?’
‘Of course and thank you.’
The doctor ran to his car.
Jack opened the living-room door and looked out into the hall.
‘You wanted something?’ Esme questioned.
‘To carry Helen up to bed.’
‘Give us a few minutes.’ John waited until Jack closed the door again. ‘Goodbye, Esme.’
‘Shall I get your cases for you, Mrs Griffiths,’ Mrs Jones called down.
John looked at his wife in disbelief. ‘You brought luggage?’
‘I had to move out of mother’s …’
‘So t
hat is what this all about. You had to leave your mother’s house and thought you could move back in here.’
‘I was thinking of Helen.’
‘Really?’ he queried cynically.
‘Where else am I supposed to go?’
‘You have the shop and flat in Mumbles. If you don’t want to live there, you have the rent from the shop and the allowance I pay you, which is sufficient to rent almost any house in Swansea.’
‘Not like mother’s in Langland.’
John refused to take the bait. ‘Shall I call you a taxi?’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘Take the first one you can get. Helen should be in bed and we can’t risk carrying her upstairs while you are still in the house.’
‘Joe, can you spare a moment?’ Hilary Llewellyn asked as her students began to file out after their final tutorial before their examinations.
‘Of course, Miss Llewellyn.’ Joe hung back as Robin signalled that he’d wait for him.
When the room was empty apart from Joe and herself, Hilary closed the door and sat behind her desk. ‘We need to discuss your work.’
‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ Joe watched as she flicked through a pile of assignments on her desk.
‘You tell me.’ Extracting an essay he recognised as his, she slapped it in front of him. A large, glaring C had been etched on the front page in red ink. ‘What’s going on, Joe?’
He looked apprehensively from the essay to his tutor. He knew exactly what was going on. He had written that essay on the Brontës the morning after he had watched Martin and Lily kissing in her back garden.
She picked it up and handed it to him. ‘Some students believe a C is adequate – after all, it is a pass, just – but it is totally unacceptable for a student of your intelligence, breadth of thought and capabilities to present work of this standard.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered.
‘I’m giving it to you now, so you can take another long hard look at it. If you’d care to rewrite it over the weekend and get it to me first thing on Monday morning, I’ll mark it by Tuesday. I know it won’t affect your degree and that you’ll be studying for the examination but if this’ – she tapped the paper contemptuously – ‘is an indication of the standard you’ll present at your finals, you had better prepare yourself for a third.’
Swansea Summer Page 32
