Time Out of Mind

by Ruth Hay

  “You English are worse than Canadians!” he exclaimed. “Why would you want to disclaim a brave action like saving a child’s life?”

  “Hush! I don’t want to draw attention to this. I just did what anyone would have done. I was the closest, that’s all.”

  Jay shook his head in disgust. “Well, I know what you did and I think it was heroic and I must say I have also been impressed with your stamina today, Miss Fenton.”

  Caroline bristled at this condescension. “I was just beginning to get to like you, Mr. Patterson, but now you have issued a challenge. Bring it on, I say. Do your worst!”

  Caroline had no time to regret her impulsive boast. Her mobile phone began to ring and she scurried to find it in the depths of her coat pockets where she had tossed it after the call to her mother.

  “Hello?

  “Is that you Caroline?”

  “Yes, Gran. What’s up?”

  “Well, first of all, how are you enjoying your holiday, dear?”

  Caroline looked over at Jay scoffing a large honey-raisin bun and laughed. “It’s very interesting,

  Gran! Not at all what I expected, but quite a bit of fun, in a strange way.”

  “I’m glad, dear! You deserve it. Now I won’t take too long. I just wanted to remind you to open that package I gave you before you left home. You’ll find the instructions inside so it will explain what I want you to do. Call me if you have any questions. And don’t forget to keep in touch with your mother. She does worry about you, you know.”

  Before Caroline could agree or ask any questions, her Gran Lynn had abruptly ended the call.

  Caroline was not surprised by this. Her grandmother’s generation seemed to believe lengthy phone calls were only for the excessively rich.

  “Everything all right?” asked Jay, after swallowing a sip of coffee to clear his mouth.

  “I think so. It’s not like my grandmother to be so mysterious. I’ll know more when I get back to the hostel.”

  “I’ll drive you back, but not before you eat every bit of this lunch and get one tiny glimpse of what we will do tomorrow.”

  Caroline had no trouble agreeing to the first part of Jay’s demand. Her appetite was huge after all that walking and scrambling in the fresh air and most of the lunch had already been devoured.

  “Hold on! Who said I was going anywhere with you tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Now, you are the one who issued the challenge and gave me two days to prove to you the Lake District is something special. Remember? Of course,” Jay continued sneakily, “If you prefer to concede now, you will be free to do what you want tomorrow.”

  Caroline knew when she had been outwitted, and gave in at once. The truth was, she was enjoying Jay’s perspective on the area and recognized he had a much better idea of what to do here than she ever would.

  “All right, then! I’ll give you one more day but no more climbing today. My shoes are just about worn through.”

  “Absolutely! Just a gentle stroll through town to the park, and you will see what I have in mind.” Jay hesitated before continuing.” You will need better footwear tomorrow, Caroline. Will you need to buy shoes?”

  “No. I have a new pair of leather boots specifically for the hills, or so I was told. They should fit the bill, I expect.”

  “Radical!”

  * * *

  The walk through Ambleside did not take long as they were close to one of the main streets.

  Jay pointed out places to eat and Caroline watched the stream of traffic both on the road and on the pavements. Ambleside certainly seemed to be a hub for tourists. Every second shop displayed outdoor, all-weather clothing and sturdy climbing boots. When she could take a moment to look above the parade of dog-walkers and roadside café clientele, the looming, high mountains gleamed in the late-day sunshine. It was hard to believe that some of the people who were strolling along wearing backpacks and heavy boots had been up on those mountains earlier in the day.

  They passed a fish restaurant called The Walnut and Caroline recognized the name from the bags the Japanese girls had brought to the hostel. Beside the restaurant, there was a lane leading off at an angle from the high street and passing a church, a theatre and a primary school. Beyond these a large flat field stretched out for some distance with clumps of rock jutting out here and there and trees growing from the clefts in these rocks which made Caroline think they must have been situated there for a considerable amount of time.

  Jay stopped after only a few moments and pointed out Tod Crag which seemed far away to Caroline at that point.

  “We’ll climb up there tomorrow,” Jay asserted confidently. “The view is well worth it and it’s not a difficult climb at all.”

  Caroline remained doubtful but decided not to express her concerns since she had asked for this challenge.

  “I suppose I might as well break in the new boots,” she stated, more casually than she felt. “But, for now, I should be getting back. Can we stop at one of the shops so I can buy supplies?

  I need something to drink and some bread and stuff.”

  “Sure thing, but you won’t need lunch for the climb. There’s a famous bakery around the corner that caters especially to tourists and climbers. If you like apple pie, they do a fabulous one every day. I’ll pick up food from there in the morning and come for you at 10:00am. How does that sound?”

  Caroline had to admit this guy was a planner. Something she admired, as her own experience had shown how important it was to think ahead whenever possible.

  “Sounds great, Jay! Now let’s get back to the car before my feet fall off.”

  The hike back up the steep lane to The Lakelands brought Caroline to the end of the day’s circular tour. She had to admit to herself it had turned out to be just as spectacular an introduction to the Lake District as Jay had promised, but she would be glad to rest her legs before tomorrow. Life in Sussex did not require such active outdoor adventures and she suspected she would need to be on top form to compete with this Canadian athlete.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My pleasant life in Rothesay ended abruptly when Barbara Mitchell went into labour.

  We had taken the twins and Beth out for an afternoon walk in the Skipper Woods. Unexpectedly, the skies darkened and before we could get back home, the clouds opened and torrential rain poured down on us.

  I popped Beth into the big pram beside her little brothers and made a game of pretending to be a warship in the Clyde as I pushed the pram through puddles and hurried as fast as my bulk would allow. When I looked back to see what was delaying Barbara, I knew by the colour of her face and the way she was bent over, supporting her belly with two hands, that we were in trouble.

  I reversed the pram, to the delighted screams of the children, until I reached Barbara, then made her lean over the handle of the pram for support while I ran ahead and scanned the area for anyone who could help us.

  The streets were deserted. There were no phone boxes in sight. I remembered a popular little café on a side street and prayed someone would be there on this weekday afternoon.

  I burst through the door and collapsed onto the nearest chair gasping for breath.

  “A baby’s coming. Please help. Get her to the hospital!” I croaked as soon as I could speak.

  “My God, lass, you’re like a drooned rat! We’ll help ye.”

  “No, no! It’s not me! She’s in the street with the pram and the children!”

  The man and his wife gazed at me as if I were speaking Chinese. It was plain to see that I was the pregnant one. They thought I had gone crazy.

  “Look outside!” I begged, dragging myself up and grabbing the man’s arm.

  The woman grasped the situation first and told her husband to call an ambulance or a taxi, whichever could come first.

  She pulled up the collar of her jacket and ran outside. I followed more slowly and saw Barbara lying on the rain-soaked pavement while the pram rocked with the movement of the children who we
re still absorbed in playing at manning a warship.

  While the woman raised Barbara up to a sitting position, I pushed the pram forward, moving the children away from the distressing sight of their mother in collapse. I headed back to the café where the owner opened the door for us and whispered to me that a taxi was on its way.

  The carriage pram would not fit through the door so I unbuckled the children and sat them around a table in the café for a treat. The owner brought us milkshakes and a hot tea for me.

  We played a record on the juke box so that the sound of the taxi would not disturb the children.

  By the time they asked where their mother was, I had transferred them back to the cottage and started slices of toasted cheese for their tea.

  Beth seemed to sense that something was wrong. She distracted the boys with drawings and puzzles, giving me enough time to contact the number Barbara had written on a pad by the phone. I left an urgent message for Lieutenant Mitchell and crossed my fingers that he was not posted on a mission to foreign shores.

  I made it through the night, although the boys grew uncooperative once they realized their mother was not coming. I invented a story to explain her absence but knew it would only work for a short time.

  The next morning I discovered how much Barbara Mitchell had done to make the running of the house smooth and easy for all of us. Coping on my own was a nightmare and the boys caught my anxiety, acting like little demons until even Beth asked if she could go up to her room to play to get away from their constant girning.

  I called the hospital and learned that Barbara had given birth to a little girl during the night but, as the birth was by caesarean section, both mother and child would be staying in hospital for the next few days. The matron informed me that Lieutenant Mitchell had spoken to his wife by phone, but was unable to get permission for compassionate leave for several days.

  I knew it was all up to me.

  After only two days the washing was overflowing the laundry baskets. The rain had not stopped for long, and nothing could be hung outside to dry. To keep the children from fretting I had to think of activities under cover from the weather, where they would have fun and tire themselves out before nightfall. The choice was limited. I took them to the castle ruins and made up stories about knights and princesses but making sure none of them tripped on loose stones or climbed on broken walls, exhausted me completely.

  In desperation, I called one of the mothers in the ‘war wives’ group. She knew nothing about Barbara’s situation and immediately promised to arrange a hospital visit and to send one of the group around to the cottage to help me.

  I broke down and cried when I heard this. I was at the end of my tether and the thought of coping on my own with my own child began to assume a frightening reality instead of the sweet dream I had been cherishing. Perhaps I would be forced to give up Gus’ child; the only part of him I would ever have. Reluctant and painful as this thought was, I was at last faced with the future. How would I ever find a place to live, and a job that would allow me to feed and clothe two of us? I could not remain in Rothesay beyond the birth of the child. Barbara had no space left for me and I had burned my bridges in Glasgow.

  These problems disturbed my sleep and haunted my days. I had moved downstairs to be nearer to the children during the night. They became even more anxious and unsettled as the days passed without their mother. I decided the only way to calm them down was to take them to the small local hospital to see their mother and their new baby sister.

  Petrol was scarce and a taxi would be expensive. I rummaged in Barbara’s wardrobe until I unearthed a few pounds in one of her handbags and then I booked a taxi for the following afternoon.

  Beth helped me get the twins ready. All four of us felt lighter in spirit as soon as we approached the hospital building.

  Barbara was propped up in bed looking paler and thinner than the last time I had seen her.

  I wanted to throw myself onto her and be comforted, but neither I, nor any of the children, was allowed to disturb those smooth sheets.

  Like the consummate mother she was, Barbara spent the visit dispensing reassurance and advice to each of us and turned the children’s focus to their wee sister who was in a crib by the bed, swaddled up in a blanket like a tiny, red-faced doll.

  The visit was cut short by the matron whose orders to the nurse were “to remove those noisy, dirty little children from my nice, clean ward.”

  I could have smacked that matron on the face when I saw the boys’ tears, but wise Barbara distracted them by announcing that their daddy would be home from the war the very next day, to take care of all of them.

  Relief and panic fought for dominance when I thought of all the work that must be done to bring Barbara’s cottage back to the tidy condition she deserved to find it in, on her return.

  I phoned one of the mothers as soon as the children were in bed and begged her to take the little boys for the morning so that I could do the housework without interruption. I knew Beth would be happy to help with a duster in hand.

  For most of the night, I washed clothes and cleaned the kitchen to get a head’s start. Everywhere I turned there was another pile of wet shoes or bread that had fallen margarine-side-down and been stepped into the carpet. There was a frieze of dirty, fingerprint smudges leading from the door right up the stairs and someone had tossed Barbara’s delicate cushions into the fireplace where the cold ashes from the last fire still lay.

  As dawn began to light up the sky, I felt such pain in my back from all the bending and lifting but at least the worst of the mess was under control.

  I was resting for a moment with a welcome cup of tea, when I heard Paul cry out. The day had begun whether I was ready or not.

  * * *

  Barbara and Fraser Mitchell arrived home with tiny Sandra at four in the afternoon.

  I had just put out the afternoon snack of milk and toast with one, precious, thinly- sliced banana, when the front door of the cottage flew open and a tall male figure blotted out the light. The children jumped down from the kitchen chairs and rushed to greet their parents.

  It was a touching moment and I did not intrude. I sat back in my chair and sighed. I was hoping I could rest now as my back was worse with every passing hour. I feared I had twisted a muscle or overstrained something but Barbara would need help for weeks more and I had to step forward for her. I would be fine once I had a few hours of sleep, I told myself.

  Sleep was delayed until the household finally settled down for the night. Barbara had to stay downstairs in the lounge with the baby in a Moses basket supplied by the hospital. Her husband slept in their bedroom right next to the boys’ room. Beth’s box room was filled with the lieutenant’s baggage, so Beth was allowed to sleep in the attic with me as a special treat.

  Whether it was the changed atmosphere in the house, or Beth’s hot little body tossing and turning beside me, I could not get to sleep. The harder I tried, the more elusive became the rest I needed so badly. In desperation, I got up and tiptoed around the bed to the trapdoor leading to the attic steps. I needed a drink from the bathroom on the floor below but dreaded waking the household.

  In the darkness of the heavy blackout curtains I felt my way downward step by slow step. I had almost reached the floor when my bare foot caught in the material of my nightgown and I fell backwards to the floor.

  At first I thought I had merely knocked the breath out of me. I lay quietly, praying no one had heard my fall. Suddenly, the ache in my back became a roaring fire of pain and I knew something was terribly wrong. My insides were clenched in a spasm of agony and a red mist filled my vision.

  Not the baby? It’s too early for the baby. This could not be happening twice. No, please no!

  “Isobel is that you? I heard something fall. Are you all right?” Barbara’s urgent whisper reached me dimly from the foot of the stairs. “I can’t come up my dear. Can you hear me?”

  I groaned inside with the effort of opening my mo
uth but managed to whisper back, “I’m fine.

  I came down for a drink of water. Go back to sleep, Barbara. Don’t wake the baby!”

  Silence returned to the household. Any chance of sleep for me was now gone. I lay on the floor gritting my teeth to avoid calling out, while pain roamed freely through my body.

  It was the longest night of my life.

  Fraser Mitchell found me. I was semi-conscious and delirious by then.

  As a soldier, he was used to emergency situations. He quickly lifted me in his arms and placed me on a chair downstairs while he went off to borrow a neighbour’s car. Of course Barbara knew what was happening. She gave me her dressing gown to wear and she calmed me down until her husband returned.

  The last thing I remembered was his voice insisting that she stay downstairs until he came back home. The neighbour’s wife was on her way. And I was on my way back to Glasgow.

  * * *

  I awoke in the glaring white light of a ward in Victoria Hospital. Fortunately, I remembered nothing of the journey from the hospital in Rothesay to Glasgow. They had given me a jab of something powerful to knock me out, and by the time I came to, they had a diagnosis.

  I was not about to give birth. I had a stress-related condition brought on by lack of sleep and overwork. This resulted in high blood pressure which was endangering the baby. I might need to stay in hospital for the remainder of my pregnancy

  This information was given to me by a stern, white-coated doctor who was replaced by a registrar before I had absorbed half the medical jargon. The registrar needed to admit me to the hospital and required to know my next of kin, baby’s father’s name, personal details and address.

  I could have laughed out loud if my back hadn’t been aching so much. Who would admit to being my next of kin? Who wanted to be this baby’s father? Who, in all the world, cared about me?