Pack Up Your Troubles

by Anne Bennett

  ‘No,’ Richard said firmly. ‘No, I’m sorry, Doctor, but I want no tranquillisers. I have things to do and I want to be in control of myself and not reliant on tablets.’

  ‘It would just be in the short term,’ the doctor said. ‘Give yourself a break.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ Richard insisted. ‘I have no wish to be rude, but . . .’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Dr Fleming said. ‘I’d probably feel exactly the same in your shoes.’

  He picked up his bag as he spoke. ‘If you change your mind, or you’re worried about anything, you know where to find me. No, don’t trouble,’ he said to Amy as she got to her feet to show him out. ‘I know the way.’

  When the doctor had left Amy looked at her son and said, ‘Are you really all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Richard said, although he was feeling bone weary, as reaction to what had happened began to set in.

  ‘I’ll make you something to eat.’

  ‘No, Mother, thank you,’ Richard said, thinking food would choke him.

  ‘A drink then?’ Amy said, turning to the sideboard where she mixed him a whisky and soda just as he liked it. Richard wanted that drink more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he shook his head. To take it would be madness. He needed to go over and see the Hogans and maybe go on to the hospital, and he needed a clear head. Anyway, it would hardly help the situation for him to arrive reeking of spirits.

  ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘Maybe later. I must go and see how the Hogans are coping and see if they have any news of the child.’

  Amy thought that if her son had been maimed or killed as a young boy she’d never have known a thing about it; now she didn’t know how she would manage without him. Her heart contracted with sympathy for what Maeve was going through. ‘You do right, Richard,’ she said. ‘Go and find out.’

  Inside the Mosses’ flat Syd had all Maeve’s children with him and was, with Grace’s help, attempting to feed them all at the kitchen table with the stew Maeve had left simmering. Richard had worried about Grace, and the shock she would have had, and though she was very pale she was coping. She’d followed her mother to the scene and had found out what had happened and told everyone in the flat that Richard had not been at fault.

  ‘Gwen’s gone up to see Maeve’s sister Nuala,’ Syd said later, when he and Richard were alone in the kitchen. ‘Her and Matthew Bradshaw live in a prefab in Perry Common, by all accounts. There was a falling out with them both a while ago,’ he went on, ‘Anyroad, Maeve thought Christmas was the time to build bridges and she wrote to Nuala a few days ago. Gwen thought Nuala’s presence might be a bit of support for Maeve, like. Bloody awful do this, isn’t it? I mean, as if she hasn’t enough to cope with. Young Grace said the boy was in a bad way.’

  Richard nodded miserably.

  ‘Thinks the world of those kiddies, does Maeve,’ Syd said. ‘Even little Angela, and she’s not her child at all – not that you’d ever know it.’

  He saw Richard’s eyes widen and realised he’d known nothing about the upset. ‘No, Angela is his child, you know –

  Matthew’s. Her mother was killed by a doodlebug when she was visiting her sister and her family down London way in 1944. The welfare people were all ready to take the child into care when the grandparents weren’t able to cope any longer, but Maeve stepped in. Then when Matthew Bradshaw eventually got married Angela wouldn’t leave Maeve.’

  Richard was staggered by Maeve’s generosity of spirit, both in taking the child in the first place and then keeping her when her sister went off with the man she’d intended to marry. But before he could express this, there was a knock on the door and Syd opened it to find a man outside, holding a boy by the scruff of the neck. ‘Mr Moss,’ the man said respectfully, ‘can I have word?’

  Syd stood back from the door, and the man, pushing the boy before him, stepped into the kitchen. In the light Richard saw the boy’s eyes were wide with terror and his dirty face was tear-streaked. ‘My name is Pritchard,’ the man said, unnecessarily in Syd’s case, for the grocer already knew him well enough. ‘And this little bugger here,’ and at this he poked the child in the back, ‘he’s me son Gary.’

  He faced Syd and Richard full in the face and went on, ‘Well, I gets this boy a ball for his birthday, good one you know, leather. Cost a pretty penny. But his mother never lets him out after dark; gets up to a heap of mischief then, she says. But tonight the missus had to slip out to see her father ’cos he’s been taken bad, like. And what does my brave boy do then,’ Mr Pritchard demanded, ‘but take the ball for a kickabout? First thing I noticed when I come in was the ball was missing. Course, he said he knew nothing about it, but I got it out of him in the end.’

  He looked across at the two men and said, ‘The lad who was knocked down was playing football down on the rubble tip just off Bristol Street with my lad and a few others. Someone kicked the ball across the road and he went after it. I’m heart sorry that me and mine have brought such trouble to your door.’ He altered his tone then and asked, ‘How is the lad?’

  ‘No news yet,’ Syd said. ‘But don’t be hard on the boy. It was an accident.’

  ‘I know he didn’t mean to cause it, like,’ Mr Pritchard said. ‘But I’m trying to bring me family up decent. Still, he’s lost the ball now. It was carved up by a tram and, God knows, it will be a long time till he gets another.’

  The boy was still crying, but his father seemed to have little sympathy for him. ‘Come on, you,’ he said scornfully. ‘We’ve wasted enough time here already.’

  Richard and Syd watched in silence as the man hauled the boy from the room. They heard the clatter of their boots on the stairs and Richard thought of Maeve sitting alone at the hospital, waiting on news of her son.

  ‘I’m going down to the hospital to see Maeve,’ he told Syd.

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ Syd said. ‘I doubt if the children will be able to sleep tonight until we know more. Come and tell us when you can.’

  Richard nodded, anxious to be gone.

  His car was still where he’d left it in Bristol Street and he had the keys in his pocket. He looked at it with distaste. He had no desire to get into any vehicle again, but he had the feeling that if he didn’t drive the car now, he’d never drive it again, like people advised getting straight back on a horse when you’d fallen off. He took a deep breath, opened the door and slid in behind the wheel.

  He saw her sitting motionless and still in the stark grey hospital corridor and was smitten with pity for her, but remembering how they’d parted, he wondered if he should have brought Grace with him, or the neighbour that Grace had said Maeve was so fond of. Still, it was too late to think of that now, he thought, and he took a seat on the bench beside her. ‘Any news?’ he asked.

  Maeve was filled with a sense of helplessness and the eyes she turned on Richard were sorrow-laden. She could have told him that the doctors said Jamie had a fractured skull and various internal injuries and a broken arm and leg and that he was down in theatre now. But she couldn’t have spoken without breaking down. Then Richard might feel obliged to try to comfort her and that she couldn’t have borne, so she shook her head, but said nothing.

  She didn’t know why he’d come here. He must have known he was the last person on earth she’d want to see. She didn’t want his sympathy or pity. She’d never felt so desolate and alone in all of her life, but Richard’s presence did not make her feel any better and she wished he’d go away.

  Richard felt admiration for her composure, but he knew she could do with some support herself, though he was aware he wasn’t the one she wanted. He thought over what Syd Moss had told him about her sister and he hoped whatever had happened between them could be resolved, because Maeve badly needed someone beside her. He had to admit, though, if the man had been first engaged to her, as Grace had told him, and left her to marry her sister, small wonder that there had been a fallout over it. He wondered too why Maeve had kept Matthew Bradshaw’s child w
ith her when the man left. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t a houseful of her own.

  He wondered too what manner of man Maeve’s first husband had been. Grace had always been reticent about personal things and particularly about her father. Richard wondered if Maeve had loved him and grieved over him still, but then he told himself she couldn’t. After all, she was going to marry again, so she’d obviously overcome any sadness she might have felt at his death. A tragic accident his mother had told him, and yet Grace had never breathed a word except to say it had happened over three years before.

  Richard could understand anyone being attracted to Maeve, because even now, beside her in this cheerless place, his heart was thudding against his ribs and the roof of his mouth was dry, and all because he was sitting near to her.

  What he would have given to be able to turn the clock back to that one wonderful night when he’d loved her. If he’d declared his love then, as he should have done, Jamie might not be lying in this hospital. Or, if he was, at the very least Richard would be able to put his arms round Maeve now and offer her some comfort instead of sitting beside her like a dummy with his hands hanging uselessly by his side.

  He glanced at her and saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were moving. He thought she was praying. Maeve wasn’t praying, though, she was bargaining with God. Once she’d asked God to show her if there was any way she could make amends for what she’d done to Brendan. What if God’s answer was to take her son from her? She’d not be able to stand it. Brendan had been a sadistic, violent brute, while Jamie was an innocent child. Surely that wasn’t a fair exchange?

  Richard had no idea how long they’d been sitting there – it had seemed like hours – when he saw the young doctor approach them.

  ‘Mrs Hogan?’

  Maeve’s eyes flew open and she jumped at his voice. ‘How . . . how is he?’ she asked, her voice tremulous, uncertain and very fearful.

  ‘He’s a very sick boy,’ the doctor said, ‘but thankfully the skull fracture was not as bad as we first thought. He’s come through the operation well and the initial signs for his recovery are good.’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ It was a fervent prayer, and then Richard saw Maeve’s face crumple in relief as the tears gushed from her eyes and gasping sobs shook her body. It was no controlled weeping but a paroxysm of grief, and she reached blindly for a hand – any hand – to feel the touch and comfort of another human being. And while the doctor looked on helplessly, Richard took Maeve’s trembling hands in his own. As the crying continued, he gathered her in his arms and held her tight and she wept on to his shoulder.

  ‘If she would like to see the child later,’ the doctor told Richard, embarrassed by such an open show of grief, ‘just have a word with Matron.’

  Richard nodded.

  Much later they stood side by side at the bed of the unconscious child, whom they could barely see for the bandages, plaster casts and tubes trailing across his body. Richard felt a wave of tenderness for the boy lying there, a feeling he thought he’d never feel again for a child. Jamie looked as vulnerable and defenceless as Nina had when he’d held her in his arms, and to think he was the cause of the young boy lying there injured! God, that was hard for him to come to terms with.

  He was the lad who’d always been hanging round the shop, wanting to do things for him. It wouldn’t have hurt him, Richard told himself, if he’d found the odd thing for the boy to do, or even tossed him the odd kind word, instead of ignoring him.

  He wondered, and not for the first time, about his avoidance of all children since Nina’s death. It showed a coldness in his nature and yet all his life he’d craved warmth – the warmth of a good woman, the warmth of a family. In a way it was the warmth of Maeve’s personality that had drawn him to her in the first place. He looked back down to the boy in the bed and was staggered by the strong feeling of love, tinged with protectiveness, that swept over him, taking him completely by surprise.

  Maeve, looking down on her son, felt the room suddenly begin to tip and she staggered against the bed. Richard put out a hand to steady her, but she shook him off impatiently. She’d been embarrassed, when her crying had eased somewhat, that she’d allowed herself to be held in that intimate way. Even more disquieting was the fact that she found herself enjoying it so much and that’s why the man was so dangerous: she seemed to have no defence against him. Despite her son lying injured in a hospital bed only yards from her, she wished she could have stayed in his arms a little longer. She’d pulled herself away reluctantly and dabbed at her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief, cross that Richard had used the fact that she’d been so upset, and not really in control of herself, to hold her in his arms. Now here he was again, taking an opportunity to touch her – taking advantage of her weakness. She’d not stand it!

  ‘I have the car outside,’ Richard told her.

  ‘The car?’ Maeve repeated. ‘I don’t need your car. I’m staying here.’

  ‘There’s really no point in that, Mrs Hogan,’ the nurse said. ‘Jamie is heavily sedated. He won’t know you’re here.’

  ‘Even so . . .’

  ‘Believe me, he’ll need you later,’ the nurse said. ‘I should try and get a good night’s sleep, if you can, and come back tomorrow.’

  Maeve stood undecided. ‘Let me give you a lift home,’ Richard urged. ‘Your children will be anxious about both you and Jamie. I called to see them before I came here and I promised to go back when there was some news.’

  ‘Well, go. I’m not stopping you.’

  ‘Maeve, let me help you,’ Richard pleaded. ‘There’s no point in staying here any longer.’

  ‘I can get home on my own,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Maeve, please! The car is parked just outside. The night is bitter cold and there will be few buses running at this late hour.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this,’ Maeve snapped back at Richard. ‘Unless it’s to make yourself feel less guilty. I do know that it was you who ran Jamie over. That it’s your fault he’s here at all.’

  A policeman had been to see her and said the man who’d knocked her son down, a Mr Richard Prendagast, had no case to answer. It appeared that Jamie had run straight out in front of the car. But why would he do such a thing? Maeve had chosen not to believe it. She had to find something about the man to despise to prevent any feeling of tenderness welling up inside her.

  Richard made no response to her accusation and, feeling too incredibly weary to argue further, Maeve allowed herself to be led down the corridor and into the car park. The cold caught in her throat and the icy rain spears stabbed at her face and soaked her coat. She felt suddenly light-headed coming out into the cold night air after the muggy heat of the hospital; the ground spun before her eyes and she leant her hands on the bonnet of Richard’s car to steady herself. This time she was glad of his support – though she was damned if she was going to say so. He helped her into the car and she lay back on the seat with a sigh of relief that she tried hard to suppress. Richard got in beside her and he looked so strong, so very masculine, she had the desire to lay her head on his shoulder and let him take care of everything, for she’d never felt so hopeless and helpless in all her life.

  To stop her stupid fantasy, she sat bolt upright in the car and Richard, noticing the movement, asked, ‘You all right? Maybe you need something to eat?’

  Maeve shook her head, though her stomach was grumbling with hunger. She knew she wouldn’t be able to eat.

  They travelled on in silence – an uncomfortable silence. Richard couldn’t think how to break it and Maeve’s mind was too preoccupied with Jamie to welcome small talk. Richard was filled with admiration for the woman beside him. Apart from the tears in the hospital, she seemed to be in full control of her emotions, but even if she hadn’t been, she’d made it obvious she wanted nothing from him and he could hardly blame her.

  As the car drew to a halt at the back of the shop, Maeve clambered out quickly before Richard could help her. S
he didn’t want him to have any opportunity to get out of the car and possibly put her under an obligation to ask him up to the flat. He seemed to know this, for he made no move to leave the car, but called to her instead, ‘If you’re going up tomorrow remember the car is at your disposal any time, Maeve. You just have to ask.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Maeve said, feeling it would be churlish not to thank the man, but added, ‘The hospital have probably got pretty strict rules about visiting and I don’t know what I’ll do about tomorrow yet.’

  These were the words she repeated minutes later to everyone assembled in the Mosses’ flat. Maeve had expected that the younger children would have been in bed, for it was very late, but they were all waiting for her.

  Nuala, despite Maeve’s letter of forgiveness, was nervous meeting Maeve again for the first time since that dreadful night when she’d discovered that she and Matthew loved one another. Maybe, Nuala thought, Maeve would be annoyed to see her ensconced in the Mosses’ flat with a drowsy Mary Ann on her lap. Maeve could see her agitation clearly and noticed that Matthew too, nursing Angela, looked uncomfortable.

  But neither of them had to worry. Their relationship didn’t matter any more to Maeve. It no longer hurt to see them together; in fact it did her heart good to see Angela snuggled against her father once more.

  Everyone wanted to hear how Jamie was, and was relieved to know that the operation had been successful so far. Maeve said she would go up the following day and might know more.

  ‘Is Richard taking you?’ Grace asked.

  ‘He’s offered,’ Maeve said. ‘But I haven’t accepted.’

  ‘Let him take you, Mammy,’ Grace urged. ‘He feels real bad about the accident. It will make him feel better if he can do something to help.’