The patients were gawping at me too, wondering what was wrong, if there was anything that they needed get to concerned about. But thank goodness for Persey, who smiled at me.
‘Tell us,’ Dr Basildon said, ‘what is the joke?’
For a split second, I imagined repeating what Daniel had said and laughed harder. How they would balk at those words coming from my lips!
‘It’s from a cracker, sir, that I opened earlier,’ Daniel intervened. ‘It is just something silly.’
‘Come on, stand up.’
It was the first time I had seen Daniel nervous. He rummaged in his pocket. It was a lie – the cracker excuse had to be a lie. I wondered how he would save himself, save both of us, but he pulled out a tiny piece of paper and cleared his throat before he began.
‘He says, “Do you still love me as much as you did last evening, my darling?” She says, “Why, yes, no one else has been here since then.”’
Daniel put the paper back in his pocket and sat down, blushing as he did so.
It was a bad joke, but the patients nodded and muttered in good spirits. Dr Basildon laughed once, plucked a grape from its vine, and shook his head slightly as if disappointed.
‘You found that amusing, Miss Owen?’ Mrs Basildon said.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ I had managed to stop my laughter.
‘A joke about a woman with loose morals. I could see why that might resonate with you.’
The room fell silent. I held my head up, blinking as water filled my eyes, biting the soft flesh of my cheek. Perhaps on another day, it might not have meant so much, but today it almost crippled me.
Mrs Basildon’s knife clinked against her plate as she cut into a slice of cheese.
‘I thought it a good one. Well done, Daniel,’ Mr Merryton said, turning in his chair to wink at his attendant. ‘Mrs Leverton, have you anything in your cracker?’
Persey read her joke and laughed too hard, doing her best to keep the attention from me. Daniel whispered an apology and asked if I was all right. I nodded stiffly, keeping as still as possible. If I could remain still, I could remain in control.
I sat like one of the stuffed animals in the day room’s glass cabinets until the macaroons had been eaten and the coffee had been drunk. Dr Basildon made a closing speech whilst his wife gathered the boxes from under the tree and handed them out to the patients.
Finally, I pulled myself to my feet and helped Mrs Leverton out of her chair. She took my arm, but I don’t know who needed the support more, me or her. We were the last out of the room, with only Dr Basildon behind us.
‘Miss Owen,’ he said quietly, though his wife had already left the room. ‘A word in my study, when you have seen to Mrs Leverton.’
‘Come in.’
His study had no Christmas decorations; the scent of soap was as strong as ever. I waited just inside the door.
‘Have a seat.’
He poured two glasses of brandy and put one before me on the desk. I took a sip of it, the first brandy I had ever tasted. It burned my tongue and stung my throat, like lemon juice on an open wound.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Owen?’
I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
‘Are you worried about your father?’
I swallowed the last sticky traces of brandy, nodded again.
‘Perhaps we could arrange for you to take some time off to care for him?’
‘It is only the influenza, sir.’
I shouldn’t have lied about Da like that. It was chancing fate – say too much, and it will all come true in the end.
‘You seem… different, Miss Owen, like there is something on your mind?’
I should have liked to tell him what was on my mind. I got the feeling that I wanted to startle him, as if I could stab him with my confession, for he was looking at me like I was something to be pitied. I did not want pity. ‘I didn’t like the way your wife spoke to me, sir.’
There it was. A flinch, the truth punching him in the guts.
‘I must apologise for Mrs Basildon.’
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.
‘She was implying I am a loose woman.’
For the first time ever, I saw a fleeting hint of colour flood his face.
‘Why would she do that, sir?’
‘You must not worry yourself.’
‘I have a right to know why someone is accusing me of being a whore.’ My voice had grown louder than I had wanted it to. The last word rung out, refusing to leave the atmosphere.
Dr Basildon snatched at his bow tie, pulled it out of his collar, and dropped it on the desk.
‘My wife gets these… notions in her head.’
It was not a good enough explanation, and I could feel myself bubbling up inside. I should have left before I said anything else.
‘Then I suppose she is in the right place, at least.’
I had said the words out loud. I had said his wife was mad – my employer’s wife; my better! I wondered how I might get the words back into my mouth, locked into my head once more. I was sure he would sack me there and then. And if he sacked me, I would have to abandon Mrs Leverton after I had promised never to do so. I would have to go home, shamed once more, and I would end up like my mother, scrubbing my neighbours’ floors for a pittance, and I would be forced to watch Mabel living a life that was supposed to be mine.
‘Forgive me, sir. I didn’t mean to say that.’
‘You are forgiven.’
I watched him, certain he would change his mind, that his calm exterior would break at some point. But insulting his wife would not do it, so it seemed.
I sighed the tension out of myself, and as the anger trickled away, the heartache returned. I was sick of crying. How many tears could one person shed before they ended up like the hard and shrivelled shell of a walnut? But tears came, nevertheless, and I was unable to stop them.
‘Katy, what is wrong?’
It was an ugly cry. Tears poured off my cheeks, splattering onto my skirt, and snot slipped over my mouth. Dr Basildon came to my side and crouched down into my line of vision. I shielded my face with my handkerchief, inhaling the perfumed scent of potpourri.
‘Katy, you must tell me, and I can help you.’
I no longer wanted to confess. The horror of Mrs Basildon’s accusation was that it was true. I had given myself to Bertie, so in love with him that I had been blinded by his promises. I was tainted, dirty. I remembered the times when I had kissed him, pressed into him, purring for him like a kitten. I had been a fool, and Mrs Basildon was the only one who could see my sin written on my face.
My sobs worsened the more I tried to contain them. But then arms came around me, and a warm body embraced me and rocked me back and forth.
Ma had done this when I was little, when a rough play had left me with bruises, when I had burned myself against the fire, when Da had shouted at me for not being quick enough with my letters. It was Ma now, holding me close, whispering into my hair that everything was all right. I was in our tiny kitchen again, the range warming my legs through my skirt. If I were to open my eyes, I would find the kettle on the hot plate, steam oozing from its spout. I would see the palm-sized photograph of our queen on the mantlepiece beside the jar where we kept the tallow candles. There would be a bowl of green beans, ready for cutting, in a basket on the table, the table with the wobbly leg.
My tears began to slow. The sopping handkerchief fell into my lap as I let my head flop against Ma’s chest. I was so tired. I was beginning to drift into sleep, hoping nightmares would not be able to find me whilst Ma was protecting me.
Ma stroked my hair. Her palm swept over my ear and around to my neck and lifted my face up towards her. I opened my sleepy eyes.
Dr Basildon was inches away, his blue eyes as bright as I’d ever seen them. His thumb came to my cheek, slipping over my wet skin. His mouth opened a touch, and I could feel his breath on my lips.
And then my mind caught
up.
I jumped up, and the warmth of my ma bled away, as if I’d been stripped naked. Dr Basildon and I stared at each other for one dreadful moment. He perched on the arm of my chair, his hands hooked as if he were still holding onto me, his face blanched.
I bolted for the door.
Marion was supervising Mrs Leverton in the day room. I thanked her, then took Persey to change her clothes.
Annie lifted her head from the blankets as we entered the chamber, wagged her tail, but didn’t get up. Persey patted her head after placing the unopened Christmas present on the table.
‘Don’t you want to see what it is?’
She looked at the present, then at me. I made myself busy preparing her clothes and heard her untie the ribbon, the wrapping paper fall open.
‘A book.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘It’s the same every year. Some sort of moral drivel.’ The book thumped onto the table. ‘What did Dr Basildon want with you?’
‘I… I can’t discuss that with you.’
‘It was about me?’
‘Mmh.’
She sat on her easy chair and lifted Annie onto her lap.
‘You’ll ruin your dress.’
‘I can get another one. Henry spares no expense to keep me well attired in here. Sit down, Katy. You look exhausted.’
After a moment’s hesitation, I slumped on her bed. How I could have lay back on it – it was so much softer than my own – and closed my eyes!
‘You are heartbroken.’
I could not deny.
‘What happened?’
I told her as much as I could remember about what happened with Bertie. I told her all that mattered.
‘I am sorry for you, Katy.’ She ran her hand from Annie’s head, along her spine, to the tip of the dog’s tail. ‘I always question why they call it heartbreak. I never felt like only my heart was breaking, never just one part of me. It is an all-consuming pain. It begins in the brain, in the memories, the realisation of it each day, opening the wound again and again. And it sinks down into the stomach somewhere, as if someone is reaching a hand into you and is beating your insides like cake batter.’
‘Does it get better?’
Persey considered the question as she gazed at Annie. ‘It changes over time. The pain is not so sharp, but you will not think that now. At the start it is so agonising you believe you will die from it.’
‘I cannot stop thinking about it.’
‘These tears will stop. Then a rage will come upon you. We become demons when we are denied the thing we most desire in life.’
We were both lost in our thoughts for a while. Piano music began to drift up from the day room below, then someone’s voice singing. It was a sweet sound, so I thought it must be Nella entertaining the patients with a Christmas carol. We were due to play games later. Alice had requested charades, Mrs Beckwith had suggested Pass the Slipper.
I rallied myself and Persey to our feet and unfastened her Christmas gown, slipping on her usual black dress, which was more comfortable for the informal evening. I knew she had been looking forward to the games, and I did not want to spoil them for her with talk of heartache. I arranged my face into a smile.
‘Let’s enjoy Christmas.’
20
1956
Iris closed the diary. Kath’s eyes had shut, and her breath trickled in, as weak as a stream in summer.
‘It was the best Christmas night.’ Kath poked her dry tongue over her cracked lips. Iris gave her some water. ‘Persey won charades. She laughed the whole time.’
Persephone Leverton’s record book was like a magnet, drawing Iris to her handbag, calling for her to tell Kath the truth. But how could she? How could she tell Kath that her dear friend had drowned? It was happening to Kath too, her lungs filling with liquid, the oxygen being squeezed out of her.
‘Sleep now.’ Iris tucked the quilt close to Kath’s chin. After the storm, the days had been cooler, the breeze through the window chilling rather than comforting. Iris kissed Kath’s cold forehead and tiptoed out of the ward.
She stopped to look back at Kath through the glass. The ward lights were low, all the patients settled in for the night.
‘Here.’ Nurse Okeke handed her a cup of steaming tea. They stood together and watched the beds.
‘She hasn’t got long, has she?’
The nurse blew across her tea. She didn’t need to answer.
‘Does it affect you? When they go?’ Iris said.
‘I would not be human if it didn’t.’
There was some comfort in knowing Kath would be mourned by more than just Iris.
She drank the tea, keenly aware of how her handbag, weighted with Persey’s record book, strained her shoulder. ‘I’m lying to her.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the nurse turn her way.
‘At least, I’m not telling her the whole truth. Her friend died. Suicide. Years ago, but… I don’t want her to think of Persey like that. I want her to remember her how she was when she knew her. I don’t want everything to be tainted.’ She met Nurse Okeke’s gaze. ‘But if I do that, I’m just like everyone else, aren’t I? Keeping the truth from her, when that is all she wants.’
Miss Okeke placed her cup down on the desk. She looked at Kath, her head tilted slightly to one side. ‘She needed the truth once, a long time ago, I believe.’ She smiled at Iris. ‘She’s not mad.’
Iris pressed her head against the window and sighed with relief. She had known it, but to have someone else confirm it made her feel faint. Not that it mattered now; they were both too late to help Kath.
‘Let her have her last days in peace,’ Nurse Okeke said. ‘She will know what happened to her friend soon enough.’
Kath’s pale eyelids, as thin as moths’ wings, trembled as dreams fluttered in her mind. Iris hoped she was reliving that special Christmas night, sitting beside the fire as Persey’s laughter harmonised with the piano music.
‘You must rest.’ Nurse Okeke took Iris’s cup. ‘Rest for her sake. I will take care of her tonight.’
Shirley had not been at work since the picnic. Nurse Carmichael groaned at the lack of reliable staff as she helped Iris strip the soiled bed sheets with a face as sour as the smell.
On Thursday, Shirley returned. She looked awful, the effects of a stomach bug showing in the gauntness of her face, the gingerly manner in which she performed all tasks. She was unusually quiet and flinched at any noise.
Nurse Carmichael asked Iris to keep an eye on her and to keep her away from the patients as much as possible. The last thing they needed was a bout of diarrhoea and sickness sweeping through the ward, but they were so short-staffed that Shirley was not sent home.
Shirley avoided everybody for most of the day. At lunch time, she took one bite of a cheese sandwich then threw it in the bin. She sipped from a glass of water, kept her gaze locked on the tabletop, as if the room around her were spinning, then staggered to her feet and ran out of the ward.
Iris found her in the staff toilets, heaving and spitting. Iris checked the other cubicles to make sure they were alone.
‘Shirley?’
She heard the creak of a toilet seat, the heavy slump as someone sat on it.
‘Shirley?’ She pushed open the door.
Shirley was hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘You’re only scared for the patients,’ Shirley grumbled, snatching some toilet paper and pressing it to her mouth.
‘I’m worried about you. You’re far too ill.’
Shirley rolled backward, blowing up into her face and displacing some loose strands of hair. Her skin shone with sweat and her cheeks were as red as a teething toddler’s. Iris would have no more of this. Before Shirley could say anything, Iris had unfastened her top buttons and pushed down her collar, flapping the shirt to get some air onto Shirley’s sticky skin.
Shirley winced and pulled
away, but Iris saw it – one vibrant bruise on the top of Shirley’s left shoulder.
Shirley pulled her collar together. Her fingers shook as she tried and failed to fasten the buttons.
‘Who did that to you?’ Iris said, though she knew.
Why had she not questioned Shirley before? The doubts had been scratching at the back of her mind for so long. And now Shirley was like this.
‘I fell.’
‘What else has he done?’
Shirley shook her head. ‘It was me. I tripped.’
Iris grabbed her arm. Shirley wriggled as violently as she could but the sickness had weakened her, and Iris managed to shove her sleeve up as far it would go. At the very top of her arm was another bruise, older by the yellowness of it.
Iris fell to her knees before her friend. When she saw Shirley crying, Iris couldn’t stop herself from doing the same. She pulled Shirley into a hug and let Shirley’s tears drip onto her uniform. They stayed like that for minutes, until Iris’s kneecaps had stopped aching and had turned numb.
‘You have to leave him, Shirley.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Of course, you can. It’s not too late. It’s good, really, that you know this now.’ Iris took her hands. ‘This isn’t how love is supposed to be.’
‘Dad does it to Mum.’ Shirley wiped the back of her hand across her nose.
Iris swallowed the sickness she felt rising. ‘That is not normal, Shirley, trust me.’
‘He loves me, though. He doesn’t mean to do it. I wind him up. I’m stupid—’
‘Don’t you ever believe that!’ She cupped Shirley’s cheek. ‘This is not your fault. You are beautiful and intelligent.’
Shirley scoffed and rolled her eyes. ‘You’re the clever one, Iris.’
Where had she gone? Shirley, who turned every man’s head, who only had to smile to get anything she wanted? The girl sat before Iris was a wreck of her former self.
‘You’ll stay with me tonight.’
‘What?’
Iris jumped to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her knee joints as bone ground against bone. ‘You’re not going home. You’ll stay with me and have a good night’s sleep and get yourself thinking straight.’
Woman on Ward 13: A haunting gothic novel of obsession and insanity (Iris Lowe Mysteries) Page 17
