by Kitty Neale
‘We’re back,’ she said.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Edith said abruptly, annoyed when Lily then walked fully into the room.
‘Mavis is making us a cup of tea,’ she said, taking a seat without invitation, ‘but then we’ll be off home. Now that we’ve got a van we’ll be able to drive over to see Mavis and the kids every week. On top of that, we’re getting a telephone so I’ll be able to ring her every day to see how she’s doing.’
Edith heard the implied threat and her jaw clenched. It was the last thing she wanted, but somehow Ron Jackson’s death had brought Mavis and her mother closer.
The door was pushed wider and Grace came running into the room. ‘Gran,’ she cried, scrambling onto Lily’s lap.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Lily said, wrapping her arms around Grace.
Alec appeared, his expression one of annoyance. ‘Grace, I told you not to disturb your grandmother. Now come back to the kitchen.’
‘I dunno which grandmother you’re talking about, but she’s fine with me,’ Lily said. ‘What about you, Edith, is she disturbing you?’
‘I do have a bit of a headache.’
‘Come on, Grace,’ Alec insisted.
The child looked sulky, but did as she was told and Edith heaved a sigh of relief that there wasn’t a tantrum. Not that Alec would stand for it, of course, but she couldn’t say the same for Mavis.
‘It’s funny,’ Lily mused. ‘I ain’t great with kids, but Grace seems to have taken to me.’
‘She’s wilful and needs discipline.’
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She doesn’t seem wilful to me.’
‘How would you know? You’ve hardly seen the child.’
‘Yeah, but that’s gonna change.’
‘I do not like disruption in my house. If you want to visit, please make sure that you give us advance notice.’
Lily’s face reddened, but then Mavis came in carrying a tray with the tea things on, Pete behind her with a plate of sandwiches.
‘Thanks, Mavis, but I’ll have mine in the kitchen,’ Lily said. ‘I’m finding it hard to breathe the sour air in here.’
‘Yes, do that,’ Edith snapped. ‘It’ll be nice to be left in peace.’
Mavis looked bewildered, but as her mother marched from the room she followed her, asking, ‘Mum, what’s the matter?’
Edith didn’t hear Lily’s reply and, anyway, she didn’t care what the woman had to say. This was her house—and she intended to keep Lily Jackson out of it as much as possible.
Pat Higgins had stood well back from the mourners, but as soon as the coast was clear she went to Ron’s grave. When he went missing she’d been frantic, but though she’d searched the area there’d been no sign of him. She’d tried the hospitals, and had even ventured into the police station, but as a well-known tom a fat lot of good that had done her.
It had taken her three days to remember Ron’s letter, one he’d given her to post some time ago. Ron knew he was ill, had wanted to contact his wife again, but Pat hadn’t posted it. The last thing she wanted was his flaming wife rushing to his side, pushing her out and taking over. She would have taken Ron back to London, nursed him better, and Pat would never have seen him again.
No, Ron was hers, but even as this thought had crossed her mind Pat knew it wasn’t true. She and Ron had been together for years, but he had never stopped talking about his wife and daughter, always on about how he’d get on his feet one day, save up and go back to them.
Pat looked down into the black chasm, barely aware that two men were waiting to fill the hole with soil. When Ron had given her the letter, she’d stuffed it in her handbag, intending to destroy it like the previous ones, but it had made its way to the bottom of her bag, forgotten under all the paraphernalia she always carried.
She had searched for her old handbag and found it in the bottom of her wardrobe, the letter still there. Her eyes had fixed on his wife’s address, unable to believe that Ron would have had the strength to travel to London.
‘I shouldn’t have done it, Ron, but I couldn’t help myself,’ Pat said, still looking down into Ron’s last resting place. ‘I opened your letter, and, oh, Ron. Why didn’t you tell me?’
Though hardened from her years on the game, Pat couldn’t hold back a sob of anguish. If she had posted the letter, there would have been nothing to fear. Ron hadn’t begged his wife to come, and there’d been no return address. He’d just asked that she forgive him, told her that he would never be able to change, but that he had found a woman who loved him as he was. He told his wife that he wouldn’t be coming back, and urged her to find love and happiness with someone else, just as he had.
Another sob escaped Pat’s lips. It had been one sentence that had left her sitting on the side of the empty bed, clutching the letter, reading it over and over again. Ron had found happiness and love with someone else! With her! He had found it with her!
She had to see him, had to find him, but after a few more days of fruitless searching, Pat began to wonder if Ron had somehow made it to London. He was dying, he knew that, yet had a desperate need to see his wife somehow given him the strength to make the journey? He didn’t have a penny, but with trucks leaving the docks regularly, had Ron managed to appeal to a driver with a kind heart and cadge a lift?
When there was no sign of him locally, Pat had made the journey to his wife’s address, only to be told that Lily Jackson didn’t live there any more. The woman who now rented the house was happy to gossip, and how Pat had remained on her feet when told that the man who used to live there had recently died, she would never know.
It hadn’t been hard to find out about the funeral, taking only a few calls to local undertakers, and now, lifting her hand, Pat threw a single red rose onto Ron’s coffin. ‘I was too late, Ron. I wanted to hear the words, wanted you to tell me that you love me, because only then would I have believed it was true.’
Pat blinked away tears then, desolate as she walked away. Yes, she had read his letter over and over again, finally understanding why Ron had written it. He knew he could never change, that he would never be any good to his wife, his love so deep that for her sake, he wanted to set her free.
‘Oh, Ron, yet you were never free of her, were you?’ Pat whispered. The final proof lay in the journey. Only a deep and abiding love could have kept him going long enough to get to London to see his wife, and somehow Pat was glad that he’d made it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘No, Mum, I’m sorry,’ Mavis said, ‘but you won’t be able to come over on Sunday. Edith is still too ill and she won’t allow any visitors.’
Lily fumed. Over four weeks had passed since the funeral, but every Sunday since then when she’d wanted to see her daughter, Edith Pugh had found an excuse to keep her away. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that woman that a good kick up the backside wouldn’t cure,’ she snapped.
‘Mum, honestly, she really has got a bad dose of bronchitis.’
‘It’s only Friday. She might be a bit better by Sunday,’ Lily said, impatient to see her daughter.
‘I doubt it and if anything she seems to be getting worse. When I looked in on her just now she looked dreadful. In fact, I was about to call the surgery when you rang.’
Lily had wanted to tell Mavis face to face, but now, because of Edith Pugh, there was no hiding her swelling stomach. ‘Mavis, I didn’t want to tell you this over the telephone, but I ain’t got much choice…’ Lily paused as she tried to find the right words.
‘Are you still there, Mum?’
‘Yeah, I’m here, but this ain’t easy, Mavis. You see, love, I…I’m pregnant.’
When there was only silence from the other end of the phone, Lily had no idea how her daughter was taking the news. When she had thought Mavis backward, Lily knew that she’d never considered her daughter’s feelings, but now guilt kept her awake at night. She’d thought Mavis was fit for nothing, had sent her out to do other people’s cleaning and used her as nothing but
a workhorse. All that had changed with Ron’s death. When she looked at Mavis now, she saw Ron, her daughter all she had left of the man she loved.
‘Mavis, say something,’ she appealed.
‘I…I don’t know what to say, Mum. This has come as a bit of a shock.’
‘I know, love, I was shocked too.’
‘When…when is it due?’
‘It’ll be a summer baby, born in July.’
‘That soon! But how long have you known?’
‘I didn’t find out until I was four months gone and I’m five now.’
‘How…how does Pete feel about it?’
‘Oh, he’s over the moon.’
There was silence again, but then Mavis spoke, her tone brittle. ‘He must think it’s a stroke of luck that Dad’s gone. There’s nothing to stop him from marrying you now.’
‘Mavis, don’t be like that. Yes, we’re going to get married, but only because I don’t want this baby to be born a…a…’
‘Bastard,’ Mavis interrupted, but then almost immediately she blurted out, ‘Oh sorry, Mum, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I feel a bit all over the place.’
‘It’s all right,’ Lily said quickly. ‘I know it ain’t like you to swear. You’ve had a bit of a shock so it’s understandable.’
‘I can’t take it in really. Can…can we talk later?’
‘Yes, all right, and you can ring me anytime, you know that.’
‘Bye, Mum.’
Lily didn’t get a chance to answer and found that she was listening to the dialling tone. Slowly she replaced the receiver. Mavis knew that she was pregnant now, and surely, once she’d got over the shock, her daughter would come round to the idea?
The handbell was ringing, something that Edith had taken to doing every time she heard the telephone. It made talking to her mother difficult, but on this occasion Mavis had been happy to hang up. On leaden feet she walked along the hall and into her mother-in-law’s room to find her struggling for breath as she tried to sit up higher in the bed.
‘Mavis,’ Edith gasped, ‘you look as white as a sheet. Who was that on the telephone?’
‘It was my mother.’
‘Is there a problem?’
Mavis placed more pillows behind Edith. ‘I suppose I might as well tell you, after all, there’ll be no hiding it. My mother’s having a baby.’
‘What!’ Edith exclaimed, but then, hit by a fit of coughing, she was unable to continue.
‘You sound awful and I really must ring the surgery now.’
‘Mavis, wait,’ she wheezed. ‘Did you say that your mother’s having a baby?’
‘Yes.’
Though Edith’s voice was weak, her tone was derisive. ‘She’s a grandmother twice over, and if you ask me having a baby at her age is disgusting.’
‘My mum is only forty-four,’ Mavis snapped, surprised to find that she was jumping to her mother’s defence.
Once again there was a dreadful fit of coughing, and Mavis was seriously worried. Edith felt so hot and was left exhausted when the coughing fit passed.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said, hurrying to make the call.
Until the doctor arrived, Mavis didn’t feel she could leave her mother-in-law on her own, but she still had to keep an eye on Grace. She found the child absorbed with her toys and, squatting down in front of her, Mavis said, ‘Listen, darling, we’re going to your grandmother’s room and I want you to be a good, quiet girl.’
‘Can I have a biscuit?’
‘Just this once,’ Mavis said, and, after handing Grace a biscuit, she picked up a few toys before taking the child into her mother-in-law’s room.
‘Mavis, do you have to bring Grace in here?’
‘I want to sit with you until the doctor arrives.’
‘There’s no need,’ Edith said, her voice reedy.
‘I think there is, and Grace will be good, won’t you, darling?’
‘Yes,’ the child said as she sat on the floor to eat her biscuit.
Thankfully there was no further argument from her mother-in-law, and, as she had hoped, Grace played quietly. Mavis sat by the fire, her eyes on her daughter. Unlike Grace, she’d been an only child and had longed for a brother or sister. Her mother was pregnant now and she should be pleased, but instead felt sick inside. Why? Why was she feeling like this? Mavis closed her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the truth.
‘Mavis, I’d like some water.’
Snapped out of her thoughts, Mavis poured a measure from the jug into a glass, and supporting her mother-in-law she held it to her lips.
Edith choked, water spilling out of her mouth. ‘Oh, dear, that must have gone down the wrong way,’ Mavis said as she hastily put the glass down and patted Edith’s back.
‘I…I couldn’t swallow it.’
‘Give it another try,’ Mavis urged.
Edith took a sip, but then her arm flailed to push the glass away, water dribbling down her chin. ‘Mavis, I can’t. I just can’t. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I swallow?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mavis reassured, doing her best to stay calm. ‘It’s probably nothing, and the doctor will be here soon.’
Edith sunk back onto her pillows, eyes closing; seriously worried now, Mavis walked over to the window. When she’d rung the surgery the receptionist had said the doctor was just about to go out on his rounds, and her mother-in-law would be placed first on his list. The surgery wasn’t far away, but as yet there was no sign of his car.
‘Biscuit, Mummy?’
‘No, Grace, you’ll spoil your lunch.’
‘I want…’
‘I said no,’ she said firmly.
There was no tantrum, just a sulky expression, and thankfully Mavis saw the doctor’s car pulling up outside. She hurried to let him in, saying without preamble, ‘I’m sorry to call you out, but my mother-in-law isn’t getting any better and now she can’t seem to swallow.’
‘It sounds like dysphagia; a symptom of advanced multiple sclerosis. I’ll take a look at her.’
Though Grace protested, Mavis took her out of the room, doing her best to keep the child occupied while the doctor carried out his examination.
At last, after what seemed ages, he appeared in the kitchen doorway, his expression grave.
‘Is she going to be all right?’ Mavis asked worriedly.
‘I’ve prescribed another dose of antibiotics for the bronchitis, but the dysphagia is my main concern. Mrs Pugh will need a change of diet. You will have to avoid giving her thin liquids, or food of a crumbly texture. There is also the danger of liquid slipping into the lungs, therefore I would advise you to ensure that she drinks and eats slowly.’
‘Will it improve?’
‘In some patients the condition improves: however, in others it worsens.’
‘What happens if liquid goes into her lungs?’ Mavis asked.
‘There would be the danger of pneumonia. I’ll call in again in a few days,’ the doctor said, holding out a prescription.
Mavis took it, almost in a daze as she showed him out, her mind racing. She would have to stay with her mother-in-law every time she had a drink and at every meal, but during the day, with Grace to look after, it wasn’t going to be easy. If she fed Edith before Alec left for work, breakfast would be manageable, and he’d be there at dinner to keep an eye on the children. It would mean a change of routine, an earlier start in the mornings, but it had to be done.
‘I’m hungry, Mummy,’ Grace said as Mavis closed the door behind the doctor.
‘All right, I’ll make us some lunch.’
Mavis looked in on Edith, saw that she seemed to be resting comfortably, and then went back to the kitchen. She had to prepare something that would be easy for her to swallow, perhaps a thick soup.
Once heated, Mavis poured the soup into bowls and then picked up the tray. ‘Come on, Grace. Let’s take this to your grandmother, and you can eat yours in there too.’
Grace didn’t prot
est and, going into Edith’s room, Mavis said, ‘Mother, I’ve made you some soup.’
‘No, I can’t swallow it.’
After settling Grace, the child soon happily dunking bread into the soup, Mavis sat next to her mother-in-law and urged, ‘Come on, you’ve got to eat. At least give it a try.’
With her lips clamped firmly together, Edith shook her head. It reminded Mavis of trying to feed the children when they were little, the coaxing games she had used to make them open their mouths. She could hardly use the same tactics with her mother-in-law, so gently said, ‘Just try one small spoonful.’
‘Oh, very well.’
Mavis saw the look of relief that crossed her mother-in-law’s face when she was able to swallow the soup without difficulty, and slowly, so slowly, the bowl began to empty.
‘Can I have some more, Mummy?’
‘In a minute, Grace.’
‘No, now!’
‘You’ll have to wait,’ Mavis called over her shoulder.
Grace began to cry and Edith implored, ‘Mavis, get that child out of here. She’s giving me a headache.’
‘Mother, I can’t leave Grace outside. In future she will have to come in here with me when I feed you.’
‘Oh, this is intolerable. Just go. I’m still capable of feeding myself.’
‘The doctor said that you can’t be left alone when you eat.’
‘Take the soup away then. I’ve had enough.’
With Grace screaming in the background, Mavis was happy to do just that and, after giving her daughter another bowl of soup, she flopped onto a kitchen chair.
With this additional burden she didn’t know how she was going to cope, and longed to talk to someone, to vent her feelings. For a moment she was tempted to ring her mother, but then she’d have to pretend that she was happy about the baby.
Mavis felt sick inside—hated how she was feeling. Instead of being pleased to have a brother or sister, she was jealous. She was a grown woman, twenty-four now with two children of her own, but as soon as her mother had told her that she was pregnant, Mavis had felt like a child again. A child who longed for her mother’s love, a love she would now shower on the new baby.
