by Sandy Taylor
‘He’s a band leader, my dad’s really upset that he died, he’s got all his records.’
Now it made sense. I ran down the twitten and we called to each other until I was at the other end.
‘Mary.’
‘Dottie.’
‘Mary.’
‘Dottie.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I became very superstitious. I would not walk under ladders, I threw salt over my shoulder, I touched wood, I said ‘good morning’ to magpies and kept my fingers crossed. I made little one-sided bargains with God. I said: You make Mary better and I’ll never complain about anything for the rest of my life. I would not let a bad thought into my mind. I would not allow myself to imagine, not for a single moment, what the world would be like if Mary died.
And on the surface, at least, things seemed to be going well.
The new tablets seemed to be working but there were side effects. Sometimes Mary was nauseous. Her face puffed up, and her skin became very dry and flaky, but she was cheerful. She had definitely put on a little of the weight she had lost and she was ‘sick and tired’ of being in the hospital.
Mary told me she had heard the doctors talking. They didn’t think she understood, but she was not stupid. She knew that her body wasn’t responding as well as they’d hoped. She knew they were worried.
One day, while we were there together, just the two of us, I was telling her about all the girls on television screaming at the Beatles and she said: ‘It’s not fair! I’m not an old lady, I’m a teenage girl. I want to have fun too.’
‘Hmmm,’ I said. Then I leaned towards her and whispered: ‘Are you actually allowed out of here or do we have to set up an escape committee?’
Mary narrowed her eyes and glanced from side to side in a dramatic fashion.
‘There are spies everywhere,’ she whispered. ‘We may have to tunnel our way out.’
‘We could start digging under your bed.’
‘And fill our pockets with soil and shake it out in the garden when nobody’s looking.’
‘And once the tunnel’s long enough we’ll wriggle through and emerge on the other side of the fence.’
‘We’ll need false documents. And disguises.’
‘And a motorbike.’
‘Oh yes, and a motorbike.’
‘Has Winston fixed the one on your front lawn yet?’
‘I can ask.’
‘But if we’re caught, the punishment will be severe.’
‘Terrible.’
A nurse came in just then with a small glass of water for Mary, and some pills in a little plastic beaker.
‘What are you two plotting?’ she asked, passing the pills to Mary.
‘How we’re going to get me out of here,’ Mary said.
‘It’s not a prison,’ said the nurse with a smile. ‘Let me have a word with the doctor and we’ll see if your friend can’t take you out for some fresh air some day soon.’
I went back to the hospital every day that week, and me and Mary were back to how we used to be. We didn’t need anybody else; we were enough, just the two of us, Mary and me. In a strange, distorted kind of way, that was one of the best weeks of my life. It was almost as if I had never met Ralph or that Mary had ever lusted after Elton. Somehow it didn’t matter anymore, none of it mattered anymore.
My world was a young girl in a hospital room and I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
I’d forgotten how much fun it was being with Mary. And there were plenty of things in the hospital to make jokes about; the arrogant consultants with their long noses and their spectacles and the way everyone else treated them like gods; the other patients with their funny sayings. One woman’s catchphrase was: ‘Oooh! Me hip!’ Another’s was: ‘Have a heart, won’t you?’ We teased Mary’s brothers when they came to visit, reassured her parents and renamed the nurses after famous people; there was Ursula Andress, Audrey Hepburn, Marianne Faithfull, Cilla Black and Hattie Jacques. The handsome young doctor who let his white coat flap around his thighs and winked at Mary every time he went past was Steve McQueen. We pretended we were part of this made-up world, and Louise, who was in and out all the time, was part of it too. Mary, of course, was the star and I was her servant and Louise was the straight man. I was happy for Mary to be the star. She loved it, she loved lying back on her bed and snapping her fingers and giving me stupid orders: ‘Fetch me my bedpan, girl!’ she would say. ‘And hurry! Mr McQueen is due any minute and I want to look my best for him!’ We laughed so much that the nurses used to have to keep telling us to be quiet.
Only sometimes, all of a sudden, a cloud would pass over Mary’s face and her eyes would slide closed. It was like somebody had switched off a light inside her. At those times I learned to make her comfortable, and cover her over to keep her warm, and then I would just sit with her, holding her cool little hand between mine.
One day, Mrs Pickles and I went together. She struggled on the bus with Peggy and the pram, and I never minded going with her. Looking after Peggy made me feel as if I was doing something, however small, to atone for what I had done to Mary. I didn’t mind listening to Mrs Pickle’s endless stream of complaints about the hardness of her life. I could see she was exhausted and I knew she couldn’t say any of this to Mary.
It wasn’t one of Mary’s good days. The curtains were pulled around her bed when we arrived. The nurse at the end station told us the doctor was with her, and we had to wait until he had finished before we went to see her.
It was the tall, thin doctor, the one who rather scared me. He came through the curtains with a flourish, as if he were walking onto the stage of a theatre, and the trainee doctors followed behind. The doctor saw Mrs Pickles and me waiting at the end of the ward, and he strode towards us.
‘Well there’s good news and there’s not so good news!’ he said cheerfully. I felt my stomach lurch. I saw Mrs Pickles reach out her hand and hold onto the handle of the pram for support. ‘The good news,’ said the doctor, ‘is that we’re going to give Mary a room of her own. That’ll be nice, won’t it? You’ll be able to stay with her as long as you like then. We’ll move her as soon as we can find somewhere suitable.’
He beamed at the two of us, rubbed his hands together, and strode off through the double doors and out into the corridor. The younger doctors scuttled after him, the heels of their shoes clicking on the lino.
Mrs Pickles stared at the floor.
The doctor hadn’t told us the not so good news. He didn’t have to.
We sat with Mary until she slept and then Mrs Pickles went off to find a cup of tea.
I stayed with Mary, lying Peggy on my lap so that she was facing up at me, with her head on my knees, and playing with her fat little legs. Her teeth were still giving her trouble and she gnawed at her rattle constantly. I didn’t hear anyone come towards me, until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and it was Rita. She smiled down at me. Nigel was standing a few paces behind her wringing his hat in his hands and looking wan.
Peggy wriggled in my lap.
‘How is Mary?’ Rita asked.
‘She’s sleeping,’ I said. ‘They’re…’
‘What?’
‘They’re going to move her into a private room.’
Rita sighed.
‘Sit down if you like,’ I said.
Rita perched on the chair beside mine. She reached out and tickled Peggy’s chin. Peggy grinned up at her and made some gurgling noises.
‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she!’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Do you want to hold her?’
Rita’s face lit up. ‘Can I? Do you think that would be all right?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’d be glad. She’s getting a weight now, I’ve lost all the feeling in my legs!’
I passed Peggy to my sister. Rita took her a little gingerly, but Peggy was so confident, beaming into Rita’s face, that she relaxed almost at once. She held the baby on her lap, and Peggy bounced up and down on
her legs, pulling at the collar of Rita’s dress.
Rita looked at Peggy with adoration in her eyes, and behind Rita, Nigel watched them both, and I thought: this is what happens. Nobody’s life turns out how they imagined it would. Things go wrong, and all any of us can do is make the best of it.
It’s all we can do.
Mary’s Diary
Dear Diary,
They’ve given me a room of my own, so I guess things must be pretty bad. I know that there is something wrong with my blood, but I won‘t think about that now.
My room overlooks the gardens, there is a big tree outside that taps against my window in the wind. I like the sound it makes. Tap, tap, tap, it goes, as if it’s asking to come in. It lets me know that it’s alive, that’s what I want now. I want life, I want beginnings. Peggy is my beginning, my blood runs through her veins, but it’s good blood, not bonkers blood like mine.
I’m tired.
Tatty bye.
Love Mary Bennett
Aged nineteen.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I was sitting on a bench beside the boating lake. I had taken to going to the places that Mary and I used to go to when we were kids. It made me feel closer to her somehow. It was one of those perfect days, the sun was shining and there was a warm breeze that rippled the water and fluttered the flags on the little motor boats. There was so much to remember about our childhood, so many mad, barmy situations that Mary led me into. I was always happy to follow where Mary led, it wasn’t until I was in the middle of one of Mary’s bonkers escapades that I started having second thoughts.
There was the time when she’d made me pretend to faint in assembly so that she could get out of school to take me home because she wanted to catch a glimpse of The Beatles who were coming to play at the Dome and I’d bumped my head on the door as they were carrying me out and ended up with a black eye. And there was the time she’d convinced me it would be a good idea to let the photographer from the Argus take a picture of us on the beach ‘because we looked so gorgeous’ and he made us sit on the donkeys and I looked like an elephant. And the time she made me enter a talent competition because Elton was entering it and she wanted to get to know him better. I ended up singing The Merry Merry pipes of Pan, dressed in a striped beach towel. Not my proudest moment. But Mary was fun to be with and she made my life more fun, she made my life better.
That was the Mary I knew, that was the Mary I remembered. The girl who passed the eleven-plus but refused to go to the grammar school, even though most people said she had to. The girl who took my hand and made me believe that I could be brave just like her. The little girl who hung upside down and saw the world and all its wonderful possibilities in a way that most little girls don’t.
She had been lost for a while and I could have found her but I didn’t. She would have found me if I had lost my way, I know she would.
My friend Mary Pickles was special and I would remind her of that every day of her life.
I got off the bench and headed for the hospital, because today I had something very special to do.
I was at the hospital exactly on time. Louise was waiting for me at the nurses’ station by the ward doors.
She took both my hands in hers and squeezed them.
‘She’s all ready!’ she said. ‘Wait until you see her!’
We went together through the ward and down a small passageway that led to Mary’s private room. The door was ajar, and we heard laughter from inside.
Mary was not only out of bed, she was dressed in proper clothes, sitting in a wheelchair, with her hair curled and wearing make-up.
‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘Look at you!’
Mary patted her hair. ‘Gorgeous, aren’t I!’
‘And modest with it,’ said Nurse Brigitte Bardot. She was about sixty and had bad breath, but she looked as proud as if she were Mary’s mother.
‘I’ll be all right, nurse,’ Mary said. ‘My driver will look after me now!’
The nurse tucked a blanket around Mary’s knees and squeezed her shoulder.
‘You look after her, mind,’ she said to me. ‘No matter what she says to you, don’t let her get out of that wheelchair. If she overdoes it, she’ll be in all kinds of trouble.’
‘I won’t,’ I said. I smiled at Mary. I felt proud of her. And at the same time there was a prickly, hot feeling at the back of my eyes. It wasn’t the blanket round her legs; it was the toes of her shoes sticking out beneath its hem. They were the same shoes Mary had worn the day she married Ralph, only now they were all scuffed and the leather was worn. I thought of all the life that had happened to all of us since Ralph and Mary’s wedding. I tried not to think about it.
‘Come on, Dottie, hurry up and get me out of here before they change their minds!’ Mary ordered.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To the pier, m’lady,’ I said.
It took me a while to get used to pushing the wheelchair. It was heavy, and although it was all right going in a straight line, as soon as we had to go round corners, or up and down steps, I ran into problems. Mary kept up a commentary on my bad driving, which amused her no end. People turned to stare at us.
We went to the end of the pier, and because it was a beautiful sunny day, it was packed. I got very hot under the armpits manoeuvring the wheelchair through the crowds and round people’s legs. In the end we parked it behind a stack of deckchairs.
‘I want to get out,’ Mary said.
‘You can’t. The nurse said under no circumstances…’
‘She’s not here. You don’t have to tell her!’
‘Mary!’
‘Oh come on, Dottie, help me out. It’s the least you can do!’
I rolled my eyes, but at the same time I was laughing. I helped Mary to her feet, and she leaned into me as we went into the arcade. Music was blaring out of the jukebox and there were lots of young people all dressed up and chewing gum, dancing and shouting and having a good time. I could see from the light in Mary’s eyes that this was exactly where she wanted to be. Part of me was worrying about her doing too much. I knew she shouldn’t be out of the wheelchair, I knew she should be keeping quiet and sitting down, but I’d told Louise what I’d planned and she’d agreed that Mary’s happiness was the most important thing now.
And Mary was happy, I knew she was. There was no way I was going to deny her that.
She played a few of the slot machines while I held her up and then we headed for the ice cream bar, and we were in the queue when somebody tapped Mary on the shoulder and said: ‘Hello, you!’
Mary turned slowly and looked up from under her fringe. ‘Hello, Elton,’ she said.
Elton swallowed. I could see the tension in his skinny neck. He was holding a hat in his hands, some kind of cap; it was the fashion. Elton had nice eyes, I realised. He was an arrogant so-and-so, but he had a kind face. And Mary’s face was lit up like the seafront at Christmas.
‘You look nice,’ Elton said.
‘Thank you,’ said Mary.
Without being prompted, Elton took hold of Mary’s arm. She steadied herself against him.
I stepped away from her a little, to watch. She held onto Elton’s eyes, and of course this was all she’d ever wanted, and Elton Briggs was looking into Mary’s eyes as if she was the only girl in the world.
He pushed the gum he was chewing into the side of his cheek. ‘Listen, Ralph told me… I’m sorry…’ he said. Mary gave the tiniest shake of her head and she smiled at Elton. She smiled her best, most alluring smile, the one she’d practised for hours in front of the mirror. And before, when she’d done it, she’d always looked like a child pretending to be grown up. But now, now she looked like a woman. A beautiful woman. Elton saw it too. He gave the smallest bow, and took her free hand in his.
‘Would you like to dance with me, Mary?’ he asked.
‘I’d love to dance with you,’ she said.
So for the first and la
st time, Mary Bennett, née Pickles, and Elton Briggs danced to Cliff Richard singing The Young Ones. Elton held Mary in his arms, and her head was against his chest; they moved very slowly, and though there were dozens of other couples on the dance floor, it was as though they were the only two people in the world.
I sat on a stool and watched the dance for a moment or two, but watching felt wrong. This was their time; their only time. I wandered over to the railings, and leaned on them, and stared down at the sea as it rose and fell and splashed against the barnacled legs of the pier.
When the song was over, I went back inside and I saw the tiredness come into Mary’s eyes again, like a curtain closing, and Elton saw it too. He didn’t make a fuss, he just picked her up in his arms and followed me out to where we’d left the wheelchair. He kissed the top of Mary’s head and then he put her down, gentle as anything, and I covered her with the blanket. She was trying to put on a brave face, but it was a struggle.
Elton stood there for a moment, looking awkward.
‘Well, I’ll see you around,’ he said to Mary.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘See you around.’
Then he looked at me and smiled. His eyes were glassy and for a moment, I saw the boy that Mary had always wanted him to be.
I mouthed ‘Thank you’ and he gave a slight nod of his head. I had been afraid Elton wasn’t going to turn up, but he had. He’d done exactly what he’d promised he’d do, and I would always be grateful to him for that.
Mary watched him walk away. She watched him until he was a tiny speck in the distance. She watched until even that part of him was gone. I bit my lip, and stepped on the wheelchair brake to release the wheels.
I pushed Mary back down the pier, the wheels bumping on the joins of the planks. Her skin had faded to a frightening colour, paler than white, it was the colour of water, the colour of the skin of the dying people on her ward at the hospital.
‘Mary,’ I whispered and it was a kind of a prayer, ‘Mary, hold on there, it’ll be okay, I’ll get you back to the hospital, you’ll be fine, you’ll see.’
