‘I’ve never heard any of the mothers complaining about Sister Dickenson,’ said Shelagh evenly, aware of the irony of her defence of a woman she resented. ‘She’s a thoroughly competent midwife and ward sister, and I suggest you speak to her personally before reporting her to Matron.’
‘If that’s all the response I get, I might as well take my daughter home now – she’ll get more rest there!’ retorted Fiona North.
‘You can please yourself, of course, Mrs North – only I must advise you that to take Denise home would be most unwise. She could end up with eclampsia, and start having fits, which would be fatal to the babies. It’s up to you.’
She turned her attention back to the desk, and refused to listen further.
‘I’ll write to the Matron and the Hospital Management Committee!’ shouted Mrs North, but Shelagh did not raise her head.
The great day dawned, accompanied by brilliant sunshine. During the morning and afternoon a team of organisers arrived to put up the marquee and erect the tables on which the feast would be laid out by a firm of caterers.
‘Just like a wedding reception,’ commented Laurie Moffatt, standing at a window in the maternity department, overlooking the area. ‘And look at that raised open-air platform in front of the trees – with fairy lights strung across it, for when the daylight starts to fade, it’ll be just like a stage setting!’ She turned to see Dr Hammond behind her, also looking out of the window.
‘I say, Shelagh, would you like to go over to the bun fight with me this evening?’ she asked. ‘My Roger’ll be photographing everybody and everything in sight, and your Paul will have to be up there on the stage with Little Bo Peep when she starts thanking everybody – so shall we go together and be first in the queue for the grub?’
Shelagh was about to say no, but recollected that her absence might look like ill will, as if she were jealous of the actress and Dr Sykes’ involvement with her.
‘OK, Laurie, let’s go over at about seven, shall we? I shan’t want to stay long.’
‘Long enough for the buffet,’ giggled Laurie. ‘And we mustn’t miss the speeches!’
As it turned out, there was only one speech of significance, Diane’s own. Shelagh and Laurie followed the crowd from the lower hospital corridor into a warm summer evening. A record of Acker Bilk’s clarinet filled the air with ‘Stranger on the Shore’, enhanced by the sound system, and Mr Fielding and his surgical team were about to take their seats on the platform.
‘Look, there she is,’ said Laurie as Diane Devlin came into view, leaning on her beribboned walking stick and Dr Sykes’ arm. She wore a long white gown with a gold belt, and on her left foot a dainty, flat-heeled ballerina shoe, also in gold; her injured leg was encased in plaster below the knee, though her full-length skirt hid most of it. Her red hair tumbled over her gleaming shoulders, and an enormous cheer arose when she was carried up onto the stage by Dr Sykes, and set down on the armchair ready for her, well padded with cushions. When the applause died down, she rose with the aid of her Bo-Peep crook, and exchanged a kiss with Mr Fielding. Taking the microphone, she began to address her guests.
‘Listen, everyone, I love you all for coming to my farewell party – and I want you all to know that Everham Park Hospital will always hold a special place in my heart, and I shall remember Mr Fielding’s amazing surgical team as long as I live. But it has been Dr Paul Sykes who has changed my life. Words cannot express—’ Her voice broke, and her listeners waited while she regained her composure, and continued, ‘Words cannot express my gratitude to him, this fantastic surgeon who has earned my lifelong obligation for saving my right leg, and therefore my career – and therefore my life! Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for Dr Paul Sykes, my doctor! My wonderful doctor!’ She threw her arms around Paul’s neck and they kissed while cameras clicked and the spectators cheered and whistled. It was then that Shelagh heard Dr McDowall’s voice, standing with Tanya Dickenson only a few feet ahead of her and Laurie.
‘Stirring stuff, eh? Our TV actress has sunk her claws into Sykes, and is letting us know that she doesn’t intend to let him get away!’
‘I wonder what Dr Hammond will say when she hears about this,’ said Tanya. ‘If I were in her place, I wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘What I can’t understand is why a woman as beautiful and intelligent as Dr Hammond should throw herself away on a creep like him – what a waste!’ McDowall answered. Tanya raised her eyebrows and Shelagh stiffened at hearing these words; she wanted nothing more than to get away from this crowd before McDowall saw her. Laurie too had heard, and was clearly embarrassed.
‘Honestly, what an exhibition, Shelagh! Pass the sick bag, will you? Let’s get out of here, I’ve had enough of this, haven’t you?’
They slipped unnoticed through the applauding crowd, now surging towards the marquee, and once back in the hospital corridor, Laurie muttered, ‘Sorry, Shelagh, I’d no idea that she was going to lay on such a spectacle.’
‘Not your fault, Laurie, and don’t miss the grub,’ replied Shelagh lightly. ‘You go back to the marquee, and I’ll pop up to the Delivery Unit to see what’s cooking.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Laurie. ‘Would you like me to bring you over some smoked salmon or whatever’s on offer?’
‘No, thanks, I’m OK. You just go back and get your supper,’ replied Shelagh who only wanted to reflect on what she had seen and heard. She began to climb the stairs to the department, rather than use a lift that might be occupied, and tried to organise her thoughts. She could not doubt the evidence of her eyes and ears, the way that Paul and Diane had kissed so passionately and publicly while the guests roared. Had Diane planned it to lure Paul into a trap? Surely he had not expected the announcement of the actress’s feelings for him, her overwhelming gratitude? No, he must have been taken by surprise, and would come to her to explain and apologise, for after all, he was hers, he had declared his love for her and persuaded her to give herself to him, to agree to be lovers …
And then she heard again in her head, like a record replayed, the contemptuous tones of Leigh McDowall: a woman as beautiful and intelligent as Shelagh Hammond … throw herself away … what a waste!
She stood still on the staircase, feeling suddenly uncertain of what she should think, what she should do; let me get back to my work, she told herself, hoping that there would be patients in labour, mothers in need of her skill. She took a couple of deep breaths, and reached the top of the stairs. A telephone was ringing somewhere, and Dr Rowan appeared.
‘Ah, there you are, Shelagh,’ he said, and there was a sympathetic tone in his voice that made her suddenly afraid: what was he going to say? Surely he couldn’t have heard about her humiliation already?
‘Your aunt has phoned,’ he said gently. ‘You’re to go home at once, my dear.’
Her mother. In a moment every other emotion was swept away: she must go home.
‘Will you be all right to drive, Shelagh?’ asked the registrar. ‘Would you like me to ring for a taxi?’
‘No thanks, David, I’ll be OK.’
‘Give me your bleeper. I’ll be on call for you tonight.’
She handed it to him, and then retraced her steps to the lower corridor and out to the car park.
Bridget had died peacefully, without a struggle. ‘I went in to close the curtains and take her a milk drink,’ said Maura, wiping her eyes. ‘And I went over to the bed, and saw that she had gone. Your dear mother was at peace when she drew her last breath.’
She had sent for both Father Orlando and old Dr McGuinness, who greeted Shelagh when she arrived and knelt beside the bed. She looked upon the calm face, the wax-pale fingers holding the silver crucifix that she had worn around her neck for so many years. Father Orlando said a prayer for the repose of her soul, and they all joined in the ‘Our Father’. Dr McGuinness signed the necessary certificate, giving the cause of death as uterine cancer.
‘Shall I ring for the undertakers, Maura?’ asked the old G
P.
Maura glanced at her niece, and replied, ‘No, thank you, doctor, we’ll keep her here till mornin’. Shelagh and meself will do the last duties for her.’
So Bridget’s daughter and sister carried out the last offices, reverently washing her body, combing her hair and putting on a clean white nightdress. Neither of them spoke, apart from Maura sighing, ‘Sure, she’s finished wid the troubles o’ this world, Shelagh.’
She then made tea, and they kept silent vigil beside the still form until midnight, when Shelagh said they should go to bed. Sleep soon came to her, no longer hurt or humiliated by the events of the evening, but only thankful for her mother’s life and peaceful death.
‘There’s Dr Sykes on the phone for ye,’ said Maura as her niece sat talking with the undertaker, deciding on the wording of the notice in the Everham News.
‘Will you tell him that I’m busy, Auntie, and say I’ll ring back when I’m ready?’
‘I’ll tell him that for sure,’ said Maura, hurrying back to the phone with a certain satisfaction. It rang again ten minutes later.
‘It’s Dr Leigh, Shelagh. He says he’ll be here in ten minutes.’
‘Oh, did he? Will you tell him I’m busy right now?’ answered Shelagh, who had finished talking with the undertaker.
‘He hung up the phone, so he’ll be here soon. He says he needs to talk wid ye.’
Shelagh frowned. ‘I suppose it’s to do with that afternoon when I came home and found him here with her, when he ordered me out of the room. He’s got a nerve, inviting himself round at a time like this. I shall tell him that my solicitor will deal with my mother’s affairs.’
Maura pursed her lips. ‘It was your dear mother who sent for him that afternoon, Shelagh. She asked me to phone the hospital and ask him to come and see her, and then she wanted me to get out the strongbox from under her bed. He’ll be wantin’ it again, and I’ll have it ready for him. Ye’ll have to see him, because she trusted him, Shelagh, and asked him to take care of her affairs.’
‘Well, for her sake, then – but it annoys me, Auntie. Mother didn’t have that much to leave, only the house and whatever she had in the Post Office. All right, I’ll see him when he comes, but not willingly.’
Maura hurried off to put the kettle on and get out the biscuit tin. Shelagh stripped the bed on which her mother’s body had lain. When the doorbell rang, she heard his voice speaking quietly to her aunt, accompanied by a kiss. Maura showed him into the front parlour, where she stood waiting for him.
‘Hello, Shelagh. This is a very sad time for you,’ he said, holding out his hand which she briefly shook. ‘You’ll be busy making the usual arrangements, but first I need to discuss some matters with you, pertaining to your mother’s wishes.’
‘I shall consult Mr Jamieson my solicitor about any legal matters,’ she replied coldly. ‘I suggest you contact him if you have anything to say about her wishes.’
He looked at her pityingly. ‘I can understand how you feel, Shelagh, but your mother entrusted me with a matter about which I must inform you before you see your solicitor – before you register her death. Might I suggest that we sit down with a cup of Maura’s tea, and that you let me tell you what your mother told me?’
‘She should have told me,’ she said. ‘I am her daughter, after all.’
‘But she told me, my dear, and you must listen,’ he replied, in a voice that was kindly but firm. ‘Shall I go on?’
‘If you must.’
‘Good, so let’s sit down. You’ll know that your mother’s private papers were kept in a strongbox under her bed. I’ve asked your Aunt Maura to bring it in here.’
Maura was already at the door, carrying the box.
‘There we are – thank you, Maura.’ He smiled at her and she left the room, closing the door behind her. He placed it on the table.
‘I have no idea where she kept the key,’ said Shelagh, and for answer he put a hand into an inside pocket of his jacket; he held out his palm, and on it rested the heavy iron key.
‘She gave it to me for safekeeping,’ he said.
‘Why on earth couldn’t she have given it to me?’ she asked in bewildered resentment.
‘I’ll try to explain, Shelagh. Would you like to unlock it?’
‘No, you unlock it – you’ve seen it all before, anyway, when you came round here that afternoon, behind my back.’ Her face was flushed, and angry tears stood in her eyes. ‘Just because you visited her when she was in hospital, and amused her with your nonsense – made her laugh and take a liking to you, and then took advantage of that!’ Her voice rose higher.
‘Ssh, my dear, you’ll upset Maura if she hears you. When you’re ready, perhaps you’ll take a look at these certificates, but you must stay calm.’ He had opened the box, and took out three certificates which he laid on the table. ‘There’s her birth certificate, you see, and yours. Yours gives the date and place of birth, your mother’s name and occupation as schoolteacher, and your father’s as James Hammond, able seaman.’
‘Yes, he was away at sea when I was born. So what are you saying?’
‘There’s no marriage certificate, Shelagh. Bridget was never married,’ he said quietly.
‘What? What are you talking about? Of course my mother was married to my father, how dare you say otherwise!’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Stay calm, my dear, let me try to explain, as she explained to me that afternoon. This is just the sort of reaction that she so much dreaded – and why she never told you, poor woman.’
She stared at him wildly. ‘But it’s not true, it can’t be! Her name was Bridget Hammond, and his was James Hammond. What nonsense are you trying to tell me?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Shelagh, just listen, will you? Yes, your father was James Hammond, but they were never married. Bridget was a courageous woman, and when he never returned to her, she left Ireland and came to Liverpool where she changed her name to Hammond by deed poll. There’s the certificate of deed poll to prove the legality of the name change, and you were born in Liverpool. She never went back to Ireland, and none of your relatives knew that she never married, not even Maura – and you’re not to tell her, Shelagh. I promised Bridget on my word of honour that her family will never know, but there was no way that I could keep it from you.’
‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my God – my poor mother.’
‘Yes, Shelagh, your mother sacrificed her whole life to you. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of on her behalf. She was a very brave woman, and only feared one thing – that you’d condemn her if you ever found out. Remember that she grew up in an Irish backwater where unmarried mothers just weren’t accepted, it was such a disgrace. Think of it, Shelagh – she was a quiet, respectable girl, the eldest daughter of a strict Catholic family. And then she fell in love.’
Shelagh covered her face with her hands. ‘Was he really a sailor, then?’ she asked shakily.
‘Yes, he was, and after he rejoined his ship, she found that she was pregnant and tried to contact him, but without success. She told her family that she was going to meet him in Liverpool, and in due course she wrote to tell them that she was married, and later that she’d got a daughter, but was widowed – she said her husband had been drowned at sea. Oh, Shelagh, what that girl must have gone through during the months before you were born! A most remarkable lady, a mother to be proud of. I know I would be.’
She could not reply, but leant on the table, her head between her hands, utterly confused – sorrow, regret and anger hopelessly mixed. Leigh McDowall had considered offering to drive her to the registrar’s office in the Town Hall, to support her there, but in her present state it was impossible. He tentatively laid a hand on her right shoulder, but her only response was a shuddering sob.
‘Shelagh,’ he said, afraid to put an arm around her in case it would be unwelcome. He stood silently beside her as the minutes ticked by, and they heard the telephone ringing; Maura went to answer it, exchanged a few w
ords with the caller, and came to knock on the parlour door.
‘Come in, Maura,’ said Leigh. Maura stared in concern at her niece’s bowed head, and he added, ‘Don’t worry, my dear, she’ll be all right in a while. Who’s on the phone?’
‘It’s himself, doctor, the other one – Dr Sykes. He says he wants to speak to her, and he’s comin’ round this afternoon, he says.’
Shelagh raised her head. ‘Oh, no, Auntie, I can’t see him, I can’t, not yet,’ she begged, her voice rising.
‘All right, Shelagh, you don’t have to – don’t worry, Maura, I’ll come and speak to him.’ So saying, Leigh strode out of the room, towards the receiver lying on the hall table.
‘Sykes?
‘Er, yes, Paul Sykes, wanting to speak to Dr Hammond if possible. It’s quite urgent.’
‘McDowall here, and I’m ordering you to keep away from Dr Hammond. She’s suffered enough, with her mother dying while you were putting on that ridiculous exhibition yesterday evening.’
‘But look here, McDowall, I want to tell her that—’
‘I’m warning you, Sykes, if you come round here pestering Dr Hammond before she’s ready to see you, you’ll regret it – is that clear? Stay away.’ He replaced the receiver, and returned to the parlour, where Maura was comforting her niece.
‘I’m going now, Shelagh – Maura – but I’ll be back if you need me, and maybe tomorrow if you feel up to it, Shelagh, I’ll drive you to the registrar’s office, OK?’
‘He’s a good man,’ said Maura as he closed the front door behind him. ‘And ye mustn’t grieve too much for your dear mother, Shelagh. She’s at peace now.’
‘Oh, but what she must have gone through, Auntie – and I never knew,’ wept Shelagh.
Maura drew her closer. ‘Is it what Dr Leigh told ye, dear?’
‘Yes, but – I can’t tell you, Auntie, you don’t know it all – oh, my poor mother!’
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