by Sandy Taylor
There was something about the bright way she said this, something that made me think she did not quite believe it herself.
‘You have to be positive, Mary,’ I said. ‘For Peggy’s sake. For mine.’
‘Yes,’ Mary said, but she did not look at me.
I followed her gaze through the window. There was a very small but pretty garden beyond. A nurse was pushing the handles of a wheelchair. A very old man was wrapped up in blankets inside the chair. Beside them was a little girl picking daisies from the lawn. She had beautiful, strawberry blonde hair, just like Peggy’s. I glanced across at Mary, and she shot me back a too-bright smile. I felt something break deep inside me.
Mary sniffed and wiped her nose with her forefinger.
‘You’ll never guess who’s in here too!’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘Louise Morgan! You remember Louise? She was at school with us. She was always being sick!’
‘What’s wrong with her this time?’
‘No she’s not a patient, she’s a nurse!’
‘That figures,’ I said, ‘she’s had all that experience of hospitals.’
‘It was nice to see her again,’ said Mary. ‘We were talking about old times. She told me…’
‘What?’
‘That you were always very kind to her.’
I laughed. ‘I barely remember her.’
‘You were nice to everyone.’
Mary picked at her fingernails. ‘I’m sorry, Dottie. I’m sorry I hurt you.’
I shook my head.
I reached over and took hold of her hand. ‘It doesn’t matter any more,’ I said and it didn't. All that mattered now was Mary.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mum had cooked some chips to go with our Spam for tea.
‘It’s nice to see you’ve got your appetite back,’ she said. ‘You’ve been eating like a bird these past weeks.’
‘Like a very big, fat bird,’ said Clark. I stuck my tongue out at him. He kicked me under the table. Dad told us to grow up. It was just like the old days.
‘Mary’s on some new tablets,’ I said. ‘From America. She looks about a million times better.’
Mum paused with her vinegar bottle halfway over her chips and looked at me.
‘Oh, Dottie!’ she said.
‘She’s one of the first people in England to have them,’ I said. ‘They don’t know for sure what will happen, but at least…’
I was going to say, at least they hadn’t given up on Mary, but I couldn’t get the words out. Mum put the vinegar down and Dad made a funny sort of sniffing noise.
‘Does that mean she might not die after all?’ Clark asked.
I nodded.
‘She might get better?’
‘Yes.’
Dad blew his nose loudly.
‘Just for once,’ he said, ‘can we not talk about hospitals and tablets at the dinner table?’ He pushed back his chair and got up from the table.
I looked at Mum and she looked back at me.
‘We all have to deal with it in our own way,’ she said.
For a week or so, Mary did seem to get better. Visiting the hospital became less of a tragic event, and more of a social one. The ward always seemed to be full of Mary’s brothers, those boys with their big feet and their noise and their smells of petrol and sweat and outdoors. Everyone liked having them there, all those pale, exhausted women seemed to come back to life a bit when the boys were walking down the aisle between the beds. They said ‘hello’ to everyone, they gave a bit of banter. It was almost fun when the boys were there. It meant everything started to feel normal.
Then one day, I came in early and I saw the pram at the end of the ward, beside Mary’s bed and a black jacket hooked over the handles. I turned round at once and hurried back up the aisle, but at the swing doors at the entrance to the ward, I found myself face to face with Ralph. He was carrying Peggy in one arm and a vase full of water in his other hand. When he saw me, it slipped from his hands and the vase bounced once on the lino, spilling the water all over the floor.
‘Christ!’ Ralph said. ‘I’m sorry!’ He passed Peggy to me and leaned down and began to mop at the water with his handkerchief. The nurse at the desk picked up the vase and waved us away.
‘Leave it, leave it!’ she said. ‘I’ll sort it out.’
Ralph and I stood and looked at one another. Peggy was a warm, heavy, solid little bundle against my chest. I felt a lurch deep inside me. I breathed in the scent of her, the soap and milk and soft-haired essence of the baby. She grunted a little and smiled up at me. It was lovely to hold her again.
‘Oh God,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
Ralph breathed in, and then slowly out.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ he said.
‘I didn’t mean…’ I stopped. I did not know what to say to him. I didn’t know what to do. Ralph didn’t either. He scratched behind his ear.
‘Mary’s sleeping,’ he said. ‘She’s not quite so good today.’
‘I’ll come back later then,’ I said, but I held onto Peggy. She was wearing a little summer dress, patterned with daisies that I had not seen before and a white knitted matinee jacket. Her chin was wet and a little red.
‘She’s teething,’ Ralph said. ‘Her mouth’s sore.’
‘Poor thing.’
‘I was going to take her out. For a walk, I mean, while Mary’s sleeping.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay here then, while you’re out, in case Mary wakes up.’
Still I held onto Peggy.
Ralph sighed. ‘Could we go outside together for a minute?’
I couldn’t think of any reason not to.
Ralph fetched the pram and I lay Peggy in it. She fussed at first, but we walked out of the hospital and into the gardens. I pushed the pram along the path, smiling down at the baby, talking to her so I did not have to say anything to Ralph.
After a while her eyelids grew heavy and she yawned like a kitten, and then she fell asleep, and there was no reason not to sit beside Ralph on a bench in the shade of the horse chestnut tree and to watch the sparrows and wood pigeons pecking amongst the dappled shadows on the lawn.
For a moment or two, neither of us said anything, and then Ralph started to talk as if he couldn’t get his words out quickly enough.
‘I know you think this isn’t a good time and maybe it isn’t, but I don’t think there will be a good time, I don’t think there will be a good time ever again,’ he said, ‘and I need you to hear me because I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I’m supposed to be strong for Mary and look after Peggy and…’
Ralph put his head in his hands and suddenly his whole body was heaving with sobs.
I hesitated for a moment, then tentatively I put my arms around him. I was overwhelmed by a wave of feelings, and I gave in to them. I held onto Ralph, my cheek against his hair, until he had calmed down. I held onto him. For a few moments it was just the two of us in the world.
When he calmed down I passed him the hankie that I kept up my sleeve and he rubbed at his face.
‘I don’t know how to do this,’ he said. ‘Any of it.’
I pushed his hair back out of his eyes. I wanted to kiss away his pain. I wished there was something I could do to make it easier for him.
‘None of us do,’ I said. ‘We’re all just making it up as we go along.’
‘I hurt you again, didn’t I?’
‘I think it was me that hurt me, but it doesn’t matter now.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No, not now.’
We sat for a while, and it was all right, it was not difficult being so close together, with the people walking past, the nurses coming off duty, the visitors clutching carnations wrapped in paper and baskets of fruit. It wasn’t difficult sitting beside Ralph at all.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Summer was here properly now. The schoolchildren were wearing their summer clothes, the beach
es were busy every afternoon and Brighton had put on its bright, cheerful summer face.
Down the ward I could hear coughing and the rattle of the tea trolley, murmurs of conversation, laughter. There was a nice lady who brought round tea and biscuits every afternoon. She had a way of finding something funny and cheerful to say to everyone.
‘The tea’s on its way,’ I said, ‘could you manage a custard cream?’
Mary smiled or grimaced. I’m not sure which. The edges of her lips twitched. A white crust had formed at the corner of her mouth.
‘So thirsty,’ she said in a hoarse whisper.
‘Would you like some water?’
‘Mmm.’
I moved onto the bed and gently lifted Mary until she was propped almost upright against the pillows. Her skin was faintly blue, as if it were changing into water, or sky. Mary was fading; she was literally fading away.
I poured some water from the metal jug into the glass, and held it to Mary’s lips. The water tipped into her mouth and most of it dribbled out again and ran down her neck and her chin, soaking the top of her nightdress.
‘Oh, Mary, I’m sorry!’ I cried.
Her mouth was open again, she was leaning towards the rim of the glass.
‘Thirsty,’ she whispered, and we tried again.
This time I managed to get it right and Mary took tiny sips of water, then she shook her head.
‘Want to have a little sleep?’ I asked, putting the glass back on the table. She nodded her head and already her eyes were closing.
I walked over to the window and stared down at the garden, it looked so peaceful. I desperately wanted some of that peace, even if it was only for a moment. I turned away and looked back at Mary. Suddenly she opened her eyes and stared at me.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Do you think I’ll see Harold?’
For a second I couldn’t think what she was talking about. ‘Harold?’
‘My hamster, do you think Harold will be in Heaven?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ I said, smiling at her, ‘but that won’t be for a long time.’
‘Good!’ she said and closed her eyes again.
Mary’s hamster, Harold Pickles. I smiled. Mary had been given Harold for her ninth birthday. We used to spend hours teaching him how to jump over matchboxes. I remembered the day I heard about Harold’s accident.
I was standing at the bus stop waiting for Mary. This was unusual because she was always there first. Mary timed how long it took her to get from her house to the bus stop and every morning she tried to break her own record. I thought I’d have to go on the bus by myself and I’d have no Mary Pickles to stand up for me when Dominic Roberts volunteered to rearrange my face. Then she came round the corner, and she was crying, and her face looked all pitiful and tragic, and I started falling over backwards trying to make her feel happy again. I hated it when Mary cried.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ I asked, putting my arm round her shoulders.
‘It’s Harold Pickles,’ she said.
‘What’s happened to him?’ I asked, fearing the worst.
‘Well,’ sniffled Mary, ‘the twins gave Harold a swimming lesson in the boating lake last night and he drowned.’
‘Which one?’ I said, amazed, because both the twins are really good swimmers.
‘Not the twins,’ yelled Mary. ‘Harold Pickles, and now he’s dead!’
‘Oh Mary,’ I said, ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her blazer.
Mary was very quiet all the way to school, so I just sat next to her and held her hand. When the bus stopped everyone was pushing to get off and I accidentally banged into the back of Fiona Ferris, who had three ballet lessons a week and ate sandwiches with the crusts cut off and who Mary called Finicky Ferris.
‘Watch who you’re shoving,’ said Fiona. ‘I’m going to be a famous ballerina one day, and you might damage my legs, and my legs are my fortune.’
‘Good job they are,’ said Mary, ‘because your face wouldn’t open a Post Office account.’ Fiona walked off in a huff.
Mary and I linked arms and I promised her one of my banana sandwiches at lunchtime.
‘I really am sorry about Harold,’ I said. ‘He was ever so talented.’
‘I know he was,’ said Mary. ‘There’ll never be another hamster like him.’
‘What have you done with him?’ I said.
‘I’ve wrapped him in cellophane and put him in a shoe box. I’m going to bury him after school. You can come if you like.’
‘I’d love to,’ I said, thinking what a waste of time all that training had been.
When I got home from school that afternoon, Mum was in the front room reading her latest library book.
‘I’m home, Mum,’ I said.
‘Are you, dear?’ she said barely looking up.
‘What are you reading?’
‘It’s called Arabian Passion.’
‘What’s it about?’ I said, twisting my neck round trying to look at the cover
‘It’s about this handsome sheik who kidnaps a beautiful servant girl and takes her off to his harem in the desert.’
‘What’s a harem?’
‘Well, it’s a sort of big tent.’
‘I’m going round to Mary’s,’ I said.
‘That’s nice, dear,’ said Mum, burying her head back in the book.
I went into the kitchen for a glass of water just as Clark barged through the door.
‘Is tea nearly ready?’ he said.
‘I shouldn’t think so for one minute,’ I said. ‘The handsome sheik is just about to take the cleaner camping.’
‘You’re round the twist,’ he said.
‘Better than being round the bend I suppose.’
‘Please tell me I’m adopted!’
‘You‘re adopted.’
Just then Rita came through the back door. She had had an audition at school for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. ‘I’ve got Hippolyta,’ she announced, draping herself against the door frame.
‘And the first symptom of this deadly disease,’ said Clark, ‘is a swollen head.’
Rita glared at him. ‘You are really not as funny as you think you are, Clark Perks,’ she said.
‘And you are really not as important as you think you are,’ said Clark.
Actually I thought my little brother was hilarious. I left them to it and ran round to Mary’s.
Mr Pickles was in the front garden pulling up weeds as if his life depended on it.
William was kicking a ball around and Wallace was swinging off the gate, he jumped down. ‘We’re being treated like mass murderers,’ he said.
‘Well, it was a pretty daft thing to do,’ I said.
‘We didn’t know he’d sink,’ said William.
‘Harold was a hamster, William,’ I said, ‘not a cross-Channel swimmer.’ And I walked round the back of the house. Mary’s mum was in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl.
‘Hello, Dottie,’ she said. ‘Come for the funeral?’
‘Yes, Mrs Pickles,’ I said.
‘You’ll need some clothes then,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’ I said.
‘Clothes for the funeral,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Would you mind just taking a mug of tea out to Mr Pickles first?’
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘He’s had some bad news, he always does the garden when he’s upset. God forgive me, but there are times when I wish he’d get upset a bit more often, it’s the only time it gets done.’
‘It’s nothing serious, is it?’
‘Tommy Dorsey just died.’
I waited for her to enlarge on it, but she just handed me the mug of tea. I carried the tea outside and went up to Mr Pickles. ‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ I said.
Mr Pickles stood. ‘Thanks, Dottie,’ he said, taking the mug.
‘I’m sorry about your friend.’
‘What friend?’ said Mr Pickles, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘Tommy Dorsey,’ I said.
‘Oh he wasn’t a friend, no, I never met him, wish I had though, he’ll be a great loss. He was only fifty-one, Dottie, and that’s no age at all.’
‘No age at all,’ I said as solemnly as I could.
I walked back into the house feeling confused. Mrs Pickles looked up from her mixing bowl and wiped her hands down her apron.
‘Now about those clothes,’ she said.
She left the room and came back with one of Wayne’s coats. ‘Now we just need something for your head.’ She rummaged in a drawer and took out a brown tea cosy. ‘This should be all right,’ she said, smiling. I put on the coat, then put the tea cosy on my head. It was shaped like a cottage and it had a chimney sticking out of the top.
Just then Wesley came into the kitchen, he scooped up some of the cake mix and said: ‘Love the outfit, Dottie.’ I could feel myself going red, so I went down the garden to find Mary. She was standing in front of a newly dug hole in the ground, wearing her old witch’s fancy-dress outfit.
‘What’s that on your head?’ she said, laughing.
‘A cottage,’ I said.
‘We’re ready, Mum,’ she yelled up the garden.
I could hear Mary’s mum rounding up the boys.
‘I hate to think of Harold lying in the ground,’ she said, looking sad.
I put my arm around her. ‘He was a good friend,’ I said.
Just then the back door opened and all Mary’s brothers started walking slowly down the garden. They came down in twos, balancing a Freeman, Hardy and Willis shoe box above their heads. They laid the box at Mary’s feet and Mary placed it in the hole. Then they gathered around the grave with their heads bowed.
‘I thought we would sing All Things Bright and Beautiful,’ said Mary, sniffing.
‘Good choice, Mary,’ said Warren.
I thought the funeral was very dignified, as befitted a hamster that could nearly jump over five matchboxes.
I went back to the house to take off the clothes, then Mary walked me back to the top of the twitten.
‘Who’s Tommy Dorsey?’ I said
