Jimmy was in the bedroom and he called out for Belle.
‘I think he just died,’ Belle said, going over to him where he was sitting on the bed.
Jimmy’s eyes filled with tears and Belle put her arms around him and rocked him to her breast. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
As she held him while he sobbed against her, she wondered what else could be taken from them: Jimmy crippled and now Garth gone. She didn’t care if they couldn’t run the pub, she didn’t care if the Germans won the war, or if no one in the village ever spoke to her again. But the prospect of Mog having to go on without Garth was just the saddest, cruellest thing of all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘You don’t look too good, son,’ Mog said to Jimmy after they’d finally closed the pub doors on the last of the guests at Garth’s wake. It was half past eight in the evening, and although Mog was touched that so many people had come to the funeral, she’d been afraid they would never leave.
‘Always so thoughtful of others,’ he said, reaching out for her hand from his seat in the wheelchair. ‘You’ve lost your husband, taken care of everyone here this afternoon, and now you’re worrying about me.’
‘I guess I was born for worry.’ She smiled weakly, and leaned down to kiss his head as he hugged her awkwardly from his chair. ‘I really don’t know how we’re going to manage without Garth.’
‘We’ll find a way,’ Belle said, looking round at them as she stacked the plates and glasses on to a tray. But as she looked at Jimmy, she saw Mog was right in saying he didn’t look too good. She moved closer to him, turning the wheelchair so she could see his face more clearly. ‘You’re sweating, you’ve gone very pale. Are you feeling all right?’
‘It’s nothing, just the funeral making me realize how much I’ve always depended on Garth, and how much he meant to me,’ he said. ‘You two don’t look your best either. You’ve been run off your feet all day, and I’m only sweating because it’s hot in here.’
Belle and Mog exchanged glances. It wasn’t hot in the bar, in fact it was decidedly chilly as they’d opened the windows to let out the cigarette smoke.
‘I think you need to go to bed, Jimmy,’ Belle said gently. ‘You’ve had a very long and distressing day. I’ll make you a hot toddy.’
‘I’ll go to bed as long as Mog does too,’ he said. ‘She’s barely slept at all since Garth got sick.’
‘I can’t go to bed, there’s too much to do,’ Mog replied indignantly.
‘I can do that,’ Belle said firmly. ‘Jimmy’s right, you haven’t slept properly. So go on up, both of you. I’ll make you both hot toddies and bring them up in a minute.’
She wheeled Jimmy out of the bar to the staircase, then helped him to get out so he could shuffle up the stairs on his bottom. Mog took his crutches and carried them up behind him. As Belle watched them she noticed how slowly Jimmy was moving. He normally went up the stairs almost as fast as she could walk.
A pang of fear shot through her. They had taken all the precautions the doctor advised: Jimmy hadn’t been anywhere near Garth, she and Mog had boiled all Garth’s bed linen, any cups, glasses or anything else he might have touched had been washed in boiling water. But people had been talking about the epidemic all afternoon, and some knew families where only one person had got it, while in others they had all gone down with it. No one seemed to know how it spread, and no one knew how to cure it. In some parts of London dozens of people had died from it, in others they were very ill but recovered.
But the epidemic wasn’t just here in England and Europe, it was all over the world according to the newspapers. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was that young children and old people weren’t dying from it. It mostly only killed those between eighteen and fifty-five.
Belle took the hot toddies up a little later. Mog was already in bed, looking very small and vulnerable with her hair unpinned.
‘I thought I’d have Garth beside me until I was a very old lady,’ she said, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I really can’t imagine how I’m going to get on without him.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Belle admitted. ‘He was so strong, so full of life, never a day’s illness till this. But you’ll always have me, Mog. You aren’t going to be on your own.’
‘You are a comfort,’ Mog said and tried to smile. ‘But you go and see to Jimmy. He’s really cut up about losing his uncle, as if he didn’t have enough troubles already.’
Belle found Jimmy sitting on the side of the bed, his starched wing collar half undone and sticking up by his ear. The only thing he’d taken off was his jacket. She put the hot toddy down on the bedside table, turned on the light and drew the curtains.
‘I don’t feel right,’ he said and held out his hand to her.
Belle took it and rubbed it between her two hands. His eyes looked heavy and he had beads of perspiration on his forehead. ‘You are just tired,’ she said, trying to make herself believe that. ‘Let me help you get undressed and into bed.’
He never normally let her help him. Right from when he first got back from the convalescent home he had always gone to great lengths to dress and undress in private because he didn’t want her to look at what was left of his arm and leg. He had relented in letting her put surgical spirit on his leg stump, but she had never once seen him naked. When he first came home he got Garth to help him in and out of the bath until he could manage it on his own.
But now he let her unbutton his shirt, take his braces down and unfasten his trousers. He lifted himself up enough for her to pull his trousers off, then his long underpants.
If he’d ever allowed her to help him like this from the beginning, she would have remarked on how neat the stumps of his leg and arm were. They certainly weren’t gruesome, not something she’d have been afraid to touch, and nor were the scars on his belly and buttocks. But this wasn’t the time to say anything; she sensed he was barely aware that he was naked from the waist down, and that in it self was evidence that he was ill.
She got his pyjamas on and made him drink the hot toddy, then tucked him into bed. ‘Go to sleep now,’ she said, stroking his forehead as if he were a small child. ‘I’ll be downstairs clearing up, but if you need me just call out.’
Leaving the door open and the landing light on, she went downstairs.
Everywhere was too quiet. Normally at this time of the evening the bar would be busy and noisy. The rumbling sound of voices, bellows of laughter, stools scraping on the wooden floor and the clink of glasses would waft into all the rooms, upstairs and down. Until Garth became ill his presence was a large one; his booming voice, heavy step and just the size of him seemed to fill the whole place. Mog had always said she knew the moment she came in through the street door whether he was in or out.
Belle went into the bar to close the windows and stood looking around for a moment. When Garth was behind the bar, he dominated it. The mirrors behind the bar doubled the effect, the width of his shoulders, his thick red hair. Jimmy had often described how he’d seen his uncle lean over the bar and grab a troublemaker round the throat with just one hand. There weren’t many men brave enough to take him on; they almost always backed away in fear.
Yet that fierce reputation was just a facade. Garth was gentle and tender with those he cared for, and Belle had heard some of the men at the wake today saying how he’d been known to shove a ten-shilling note in the pocket of someone who’d lost their job, or who had a sick child or some other problem. He would often give away pies or sandwiches to someone he suspected was hungry.
Belle remembered when she was a child, people in Seven Dials considered him to be a brute, but he took Jimmy in when his mother died, and he hadn’t hesitated to offer Mog and Belle’s mother a home when theirs burned down.
It was Mog’s love that mellowed him and brought out all his good points, and his love for her had made her become more assertive instead of the little mouse she used to be. She had always wanted a home of her own, she love
d to cook, clean and take care of people, and she had a flair for homemaking which showed everywhere in soft colours, warmth and comfort.
Her influence was even present here in the bar, although Garth had been fierce in keeping it as his domain. The polished brass, scrubbed floor, gleaming counter and shining glasses were her doing. There was always a roaring fire in winter, and the settle beside it was bright with cushions she’d made. Although there was nothing beneath the glass dome at the back of the bar now, any other day it would be filled with home-made pies.
It was too soon even to think of when they could re-open the bar, but Belle’s instinct told her that although she and Mog could probably manage to run it adequately between them, without Garth’s huge presence behind the bar keeping the customers under control, it would soon flounder.
She finished clearing up, swept the floor and put all the clean glasses back behind the bar, then closed and locked the windows and went back into the kitchen. A letter of condolence had come from Lisette, Noah’s wife, that morning, and as Belle hadn’t had time to read it properly then, she took it down from the dresser and read it again.
Lisette said that Noah was over in France so was unable to come to the funeral, but she was expecting him back very soon. She said she knew he would want to come over to see them all to offer his help, as he would understand that running a public house without Garth was going to be difficult for them.
It was a kind, very sincere letter. Noah had become very close friends with Jimmy at the time they were searching for her, and Belle had much affection for Lisette for the kindness she’d shown her at the time of her terrible ordeal in Paris.
They had come up in the world since then. Noah was a highly respected journalist and Lisette the perfect wife and mother to Jean-Philippe, the boy she’d had already when she married Noah, and now to Rose who was three. Lisette ran their beautiful home in St John’s Wood as if she had been born to wealth and privilege. Yet money and position hadn’t changed either of them; as soon as they heard Jimmy was wounded they’d written, and Belle knew that they would come here as soon as Noah was back in England, and that he would want to help in any way he could.
Belle hadn’t written to Noah about Etienne’s death. Used to death and destruction as he must be while reporting on the war, he would, she knew, be very sad to hear he’d lost his friend. But it was more to spare Jimmy’s feelings; she knew that if Noah wrote back or called and wanted to talk about Etienne, it would just start Jimmy off again. Every now and then he questioned her about her time in Paris, and although she had done nothing to be ashamed of with Etienne at that time, while defending herself she might give away her true feelings for the man.
In the main Jimmy had become a great deal easier to live with since Dr Towle talked to him. He had continued to practise walking, and a few times he’d walked to shops nearby. He often laughed the way he used to.
But he still had days when he was very sullen and nasty to Belle. She had only to make an effort with her appearance before going out for him to question where she was going. He still wouldn’t attempt any lovemaking, and when she tried to talk to him about it he just clammed up.
Garth’s death had been a terrible shock to Jimmy. He’d broken down completely and been inconsolable. He said that he so much wished he’d told Garth how much he valued him, that he’d been better than a father. He also regretted not going into the bar with him all these past months as it would have meant so much to him.
All Belle could say was the truth: that Garth had been so proud of Jimmy and loved him like his own son. She knew Garth’s death would create greater problems for Jimmy too. He couldn’t take his place, and that was going to make him feel even more useless.
Hearing a loud thump from upstairs, Belle jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs. She found Jimmy on the floor beside the bed.
‘What happened?’ she asked, but as she bent over to help him up and found him soaked in sweat, she knew immediately that he must have wanted to go to the lavatory and hadn’t remembered he only had one leg.
He was too confused even to help himself get up, so she ran to the bathroom to fetch an old chamber pot left in there. Then, hoisting him up on to the side of the bed, she directed him to urinate in it.
She made him drink some water when he’d finished, then tucked him back into bed. ‘Don’t try to get up again, just call me,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right here.’
Belle spent the night in the easy chair with a blanket round her, but every hour or so whenever she heard Jimmy make a sound, she got up, sponged him down because he was burning up and tried to make him drink a little. Although she was frightened and felt very alone, she was glad Mog hadn’t woken.
It was a relief to see the first signs of dawn in the sky and hear a bird chirruping somewhere close by. But as the early morning light began to come into the room she was horrified to see Jimmy’s face looked grey and sunken.
‘Will you drink some more water for me?’ she whispered when she saw his eyelids flickering as if he was trying to open them.
‘Let me go,’ he croaked out.
‘No, Jimmy, you must try and fight this,’ she said, putting her arm beneath his shoulders and lifting him so he could drink.
He opened his eyes then, and as the light caught them they looked like molten gold, the way they had when she first met him at the age of fifteen in Seven Dials. ‘I can’t. I’m tired of fighting. You’ll have a better life without me.’
‘I won’t, Jimmy, I need you,’ she pleaded. ‘We can have a good life, we belong together.’
‘We’ve already had all the good there can be,’ he said, and his voice was clearer now, his eyes fixed on hers as if daring her to interrupt. ‘The man you loved died out there in Ypres, long before the shell crippled me. Even if I’d come back in one piece, I wouldn’t have been the Jimmy you knew: the filth, the brutality, the stink of dead bodies, the mud and the roar of guns killed him off. I don’t believe in anything any more, not King and Country, not God, I’ve got nothing left inside me.’
‘You might think that now, because you are sick, and your uncle has just died,’ Belle sobbed, horrified by the ring of truth in his words, yet desperate to make him believe otherwise. ‘All that horror you went through is over now. Look at what I went through in Paris! I thought the same as you, that I could never forget it and be happy again. But I did, because you didn’t give up on searching for me, and when I got back you made me feel whole again. I can do that for you too.’
‘No, you can’t. All living with me will do is pull you down,’ he said, his voice growing weaker again. ‘Let me go, Belle, remember me how I used to be.’
She put both her arms around him, held him tightly against her shoulder and wept. She could feel tremendous heat coming from him and that made her break away to lay him down again. His eyes had closed and his breathing was laboured. She unbuttoned his pyjama jacket and began sponging him down with cold water.
‘I’m not going to let you go,’ she said fiercely. ‘I love you, so does Mog, we need you. We can make you forget the war, we’ll move to the seaside, we’ll get the best artificial limb maker in the country to help you. You are still the Jimmy I married, I know you are.’
‘What can I do to help?’ Mog’s voice at the door interrupted Belle.
Belle turned her head. ‘Don’t come in, but will you go and get Dr Towle?’
Mog said she would, and Belle heard her going down the stairs and the sound of the side door opening and closing behind her.
A few minutes later Jimmy retched, and before Belle could get a bowl or even help him sit up, he vomited. It came spouting out of his mouth, bilious yellowish-green and foul smelling, all over the pillows and himself. Belle removed the pillows and was just about to take off his pyjama jacket, when she noticed another smell and she realized he’d defecated too.
She knew this had happened to Garth several times, but until now Belle had not considered how Mog, such a small woman, had managed to s
trip him, wash him and remake the bed with clean linen by herself. Belle had dealt with such things before in the Royal Herbert, but not alone.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled back the covers and stripped off his pyjamas, using them to clean up the worst of it. She quickly got some fresh linen from the cupboard on the landing, and some hot water from the bathroom, and washed him on the folded-over sheet. He was moaning softly, becoming delirious, and once she’d got him clean she put a new sheet on one side of the bed, then rolled him over on to it and managed to pull the rest from under him and tuck it in all round.
She had finally got the covers over him again, not attempting to put clean pyjamas on him, when Mog got back.
‘The doctor said he’d be here as quickly as possible,’ she said from the doorway. ‘He’s got to see another patient first. I’ll take the dirty stuff down and make you a cup of tea.’
It was nearly nine that morning before the doctor arrived, and during that time Belle had had to change the bed twice more. It had begun to rain, and with the windows shut she knew the room must smell like a farmyard.
Dr Towle was dishevelled, unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed. Clearly he too had been up most of the night. But he managed to smile at Belle and offer his commiserations before examining Jimmy.
‘Mrs Franklin said he was taken ill after his uncle’s funeral yesterday evening,’ he said, then went on to ask how quickly the high fever and sickness had come on.
‘Could he go to hospital?’ Belle asked.
‘I’m afraid there isn’t a bed free anywhere,’ the doctor said. ‘And even if there was, subjecting him to the journey now would only make his condition worse. Sadly, Mrs Reilly, you are already doing everything that can be done to help him.’
‘Is he going to die?’ she whispered. Jimmy appeared to be unconscious but she couldn’t be sure of that.
The Promise Page 38
