by Fern Britton
‘That is a good question, Mr Bolitho, but your mother is not a young woman and the operation is highly invasive. It could take a lot out of her.’
I said immediately, ‘Please try the radiotherapy first then. Mum seems so well at the moment.’
The doctor gave me an encouraging smile. ‘Yes, and that is what holds her in good stead. Radiotherapy is not a walk in the park, though. There will be pain and it will take a lot of energy from her, but it is what we think is best.’
Edward nodded slowly. ‘OK. When can you start?’
Mum was out of hospital in three weeks. The doctors were very pleased with her progress and allowed her home on the promise that she would rest and not work in the shop.
Edward went to collect her with David while Shirley and I waited at home. It was a joyful homecoming and wonderful to see her sitting in her favourite chair again. ‘It’s lovely to be home again,’ she sighed, settling in. ‘I saw snowdrops in the lanes. Spring is on its way.’
We settled into a nice routine. Shirley had given up her job at the bank and had taken over the shop. I helped her occasionally, and eventually I didn’t have those flashes of memory whenever I looked at the shop counter and the cheval mirror. I had consigned that to a part of my brain that I never wanted to visit again. If I did think about it, the feelings of guilt and shame were unbearable. I was so angry with Greg. How can a man just walk away and not even think about the devastation he may have left behind? I remembered his description of flying over Germany on bombing raids. ‘Once you drop your payload you want to get out of there as soon as possible.’ The crudeness of his remark hadn’t struck me then but my God it almost killed me now. What would I tell my unborn child about its father? Should I make up a love affair? Have him killed in a terrible accident? Or tell the truth. Just asking myself those questions unsettled me so much that I had to shut that entire chapter down. I had been a fool. I had had my heart broken, and so what? I was just another foolish woman who had mistaken lust for love. Thank God I had my forgiving family.
Mum was getting stronger all the time. An X-ray check-up showed that the tumours had shrunk enough to take her off the danger list. I am not a churchgoer normally, but I did slip into the empty church that morning and give a prayer of thanks.
Mum was unstoppable. ‘I want to plant some wallflowers and get some sweet peas in,’ she told Edward.
‘When?’ he asked her.
‘Well now, of course. Come on.’
And she insisted on doing two afternoons a week in the shop plus all day Saturday. ‘My customers are my friends,’ she told Shirley. ‘I need to get back to normal.’
At night when my back ached she would rub it with almond oil. ‘I had a friend, years ago now, who did this for me,’ she said. ‘Only another couple of weeks to go. Are you excited?’
‘And scared,’ I said.
‘That’s only normal.’ She carried on rubbing me. ‘Would you like me to stay with you when you have it?’
I had wanted to ask her but wondered if it would be somehow inappropriate. ‘Would you?’
‘Try stopping me.’
The contractions started on a Friday afternoon. I lay down on my bed without telling anyone, to make sure that this was the real thing. I must have fallen asleep because a sudden, strong contraction woke me. When it passed, I got up and went down to find Mum. She and Shirley were in the shop, chatting to a couple of customers and drinking tea.
‘Mum?’ I said. ‘I think the baby’s coming.’
The reaction was extraordinary.
Mum told Shirley, ‘Run and fetch the midwife.’
One of the customers fainted and the other ran about clucking like a hen and being absolutely useless.
Mum shouted, ‘Pull yourself together, you silly woman, and when she wakes up –’ she pointed to the body on the floor – ‘put the closed sign up and shut the door behind you.’
Another contraction stopped me in my tracks as Mum tried to get me to the lounge.
‘That’s the way. Breathe deeply and, when it has passed, we’ll get you upstairs.’
Her voice was calm and gave me courage.
Upstairs, she undressed me and got me into bed, and then I heard the solid, dependable footsteps of the midwife.
Caroline Clara Bolitho was born just after midnight on 2nd of June 1947 with a tuft of dark hair and a cross little face. ‘She looks exactly as you did when you were born,’ Mum said, and I was glad there was no sign of her father. She had all the love she needed right here, three generations of Bolitho women. The daughter of us all.
Chapter Thirty
Hannah, Trevay
Autumn 1947
Caroline was universally adored and it was agreed by all who met her that she was the prettiest baby ever seen.
Taking her out in her pram, I would get stopped constantly by people wanting to look at her. Only one woman, out with her daughter, said as she walked away, ‘She’s lucky that baby wasn’t born with a mark of Satan, being a bastard and all.’ I wanted to turn back and confront her, but I chose not to feed the unkindness. I couldn’t be more proud of my beautiful girl.
It was a glorious autumn and Trevay was bathed in warm sunshine for day after day. The fishing fleet was bringing in good catches and the holiday-makers had flown like the swallows back to where they belonged My life had never been so happy and fulfilled. My mother was well, my baby was good, and I had all the joy I could have hoped for.
Coming back from one of my pram promenades, I turned the corner that led to our back door and I saw Mum hanging out some of Caroline’s clothes. She didn’t hear me coming and I could see she had a cigarette in her mouth.
‘Mum,’ I said, making her jump and guiltily throw down the cigarette before stubbing it out with her shoe.
‘What did the doctor tell you?’ I asked.
‘It’s just the one.’
‘You can’t have just the one. You will have bought a packet.’
‘Hello, Caroline.’ She looked into the pram.
‘Don’t change the subject. You promised us all that you would stop smoking.’
‘And I did.’
‘But you’ve started again?’
‘Just the odd one.’ She coughed.
‘You’re coughing.’
‘It’s just a dry throat.’
But she picked up little Caroline and swung her up in the air, both the washing fluttering on the line and the laughter of my little girl catching on the sharp Cornish breeze.
She coughed again and my previous euphoria flipped to dread.
Dr Cunningham looked over the results of the new X-ray. All of us were there. All of us hoping not to hear the news we knew he would give us.
‘I am sorry to say that the X-ray shows tumours in your throat, lungs and bladder.’
Mum, her hands serenely folded, said, ‘More radiation then.’
Dr Cunningham couldn’t have looked sadder. ‘No, Clara. I am very sorry but there is nothing we can do other than to make you comfortable if and when you suffer any pain.’
Edward broke down. He dropped his head on his chest and sobbed. ‘No. That can’t be right. It can’t be.’
Shirley looked at Dr Cunningham angrily. ‘But he said! Last time. That hospital doctor said there were plenty of options. That she could be operated on. The cancer taken out.’
Dr Cunningham shook his head. ‘I am very sorry.’
Mum asked, ‘How long have I got? Will I see the summer?’
‘I hope so,’ he said.
We left the surgery in shock, David as white as a sheet. I put my arm around him but he shrugged me off angrily. ‘I have to go to work.’
‘No, you don’t,’ I said. ‘They’ll understand.’
‘I want to go.’ He began to run.
Mum said, ‘Let him go.’
Caroline was four months old when Mum began to spend more time in bed each day.
It was oddly comforting for me to have her to myself.
Her and Caroline.
In daylight hours, when everyone was working, I would care for the two of them, fitting the repetitive jobs around them, but at night, well, that was our special time. We had a routine.
After supper I would take Caroline up for her bath. Sometimes Mum came in, depending on how she was feeling, to sit and share the pleasure of seeing Caroline’s smiling face as the water lapped her little body. When she was ready, I would lift Caroline onto Mum’s lap, where she had a warm towel waiting, to pat her dry and get her into her nappy and nightclothes.
Caroline’s tiny cot now sat between our two beds in the bedroom we had always shared.
With the light down low and the curtains drawn against the lengthening nights, I would sit and nurse my daughter while Mum lay in her bed and watched us.
‘You are a good mother. You read Caroline so well.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘You are a better mother than I was.’
‘Rubbish. You had three of us, thousands of miles from your family and friends and living in the jungle.’
She laughed. ‘It wasn’t so bad. I had your amah to help. A sweet woman who took care of all of you and me included. I learnt a lot about kindness and patience from her. She even cooked for us if I asked. Your father loved her curry.’
I was glad she had brought my father into the conversation as there was something I had been thinking about but hadn’t known how to broach.
‘Mum, would you like me to let Daddy know you are not well?’
She sighed, letting her shoulders drop heavily into her pillows. ‘What could he do so far away and, honestly, would he care?’
‘We are still his family. You are his wife.’
‘I would rather let sleeping dogs lie,’ she said.
Caroline had stopped suckling, her tummy full; sated. I lifted her onto my shoulder and rubbed her back to encourage any brewing burp.
‘You could have found happiness with someone else.’
‘I didn’t need to. I had you and the boys. I was happy.’ She was watching Caroline. ‘I am happy.’
‘Did you love Daddy?’
‘He was kind and made me laugh. That was enough.’
‘But that’s sad. To not have found your true love.’
She waved the thought away. ‘It’s all so long ago.’
She began to cough, but as I made to get up and help her she held up her hand. ‘Don’t disturb the baby. I’m fine.’
‘I think she’s ready to go down now anyway.’ I lifted Caroline into her cot and tucked her little blankets around her, then went to lift Mum up her bed a little so that she could cough more freely.
‘There. Better now?’ I took away her sodden handkerchief and replaced it with a clean one. ‘Let’s get you settled again.’
‘You are a good daughter.’ She smiled up at me. ‘I do love you.’
‘And I love you.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Time for bed for both of us. Would you like me to read to you?’
‘Not tonight, darling. I’m a bit weary.’
I kissed her goodnight and by the time I had put my pyjamas on and returned from the bathroom, she was sound asleep.
The next morning, before he went to work, I asked Edward about writing to Penang.
‘To tell Dad that Mum isn’t well,’ I added.
‘Does he deserve to know? He hasn’t exactly been a loving parent or devoted husband.’
‘I think he deserves to know.’
‘Have you talked to Mum about this?’
‘Yes, briefly, last night. She didn’t seem to care.’
‘A letter may take too long to get to him.’ Edward spooned the last of his porridge down. ‘I suppose we could send a short telegram.’
‘I think it’s the right thing to do.’ I was relieved. ‘Thank you.’
‘What shall we put?’
‘Something to the point. Dear Dad, Mum seriously ill. Will you come to UK? Edward, David and Hannah.’
‘OK. I’ll drop into the post office and get it sent today.’
Dad responded a week later with a return telegram.
DEAR*OLD*THINGS*STOP*NO*PLANS*TO* RETURN*TO*UK*STOP*SENDING*BEST*REGARDS* TO*CLARA*STOP
Edward had opened it and, having read it, threw it down on the table. ‘Utter bastard,’ he said and stormed out into the garden.
I read it and was shocked by the cruel callousness of his words. I tore it up and burnt it in the grate before David could see it. I was glad that we had never told Mum that we had contacted Dad.
Mum was having more good days than bad now. Dear Dr Cunningham popped in every day to check on her and was slowly increasing her pain medication.
That night she didn’t join me for Caroline’s bath, but when I got back to our room, Mum was propped up against her extra pillows, awake and waiting for us.
‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Can Nana have a cuddle, please?’
Caroline settled into the crook of Mum’s arm and gazed into her grandmother’s eyes. ‘Now then Caroline,’ Mum began, ‘I am sorry that I won’t see you grow up, but I shall be watching you and looking after you. Your mummy is my little girl, so I want you to be a good girl for her. Do you understand?’ Caroline blew a small bubble in reply. ‘I will take that as a yes.’
‘Mum.’ My voice was choked with unshed tears. ‘I can’t bear hearing you talk like that. You might get better.’
She looked at me rather sternly. ‘We both know that is not true. We all have to die when our time comes.’
I took her free hand. ‘I am so sorry, Mum.’
‘Whatever for? Not for having Caroline?’
‘For letting you down. For getting pregnant. For being a single mother. For so many things.’
Her fingers felt for mine. ‘Ssh. I told you before, you need no man to make a child happy and secure. I learnt that a long time ago and it was hard. But you will always be Caroline’s mother.
‘Some mothers have to walk away, and their hearts never mend. But you will never walk away, I will make certain you never have to.’
Caroline began to fret. ‘She’s hungry.’ Mum smiled, ‘She had better go to her mummy.’
Later, when Caroline was fed and settled, I noticed that Mum wasn’t sleeping as comfortably as she had been. She was fitful and mumbling words I couldn’t make out. I hoped it was just the extra morphine.
The next morning she was her normal self, so when Dr Cunningham came I didn’t bother to mention it to him. In fact he was very pleased with her.
‘Clara, I don’t know how you do it. Your heart is strong, your chest sounds a lot clearer and I can swear the apples in your cheeks are glowing.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, John.’ She laughed.
‘You keep going like this and we’ll have you skating by Christmas. See you tomorrow.’
On one of our pram walks, Caroline and I caught a cold which meant we had to move out of our room for a few days. With Mum’s chest being so vulnerable we couldn’t risk her getting it too.
I had to move out of our room for a week so that Mum didn’t come down with it too. David played a blinder by agreeing to let Caroline and me have his room, but he drew the line at sleeping in my bed next to Mum. He offered instead to sleep on the sofa, which we all appreciated, and to read to Mum in the evenings while Caroline and I remained in quarantine.
What we didn’t know then was that David was about to play a very important part in Mum’s life.
Clara, Trevay
October 1947
I have been thinking so much of the past. I have so much time to think these days. Today I asked David, without telling anyone in the house, to fetch me some writing paper. I had to write to Ernest and tell him about Caroline or else how would he know he had a granddaughter? I hoped he would take the news better from me. After all, how could Hannah tell him there was no father?
David posted it for me, again in secrecy. He is such a lovely young man. Ernest has missed out
on so much. My fault. I had taken the children from Penang and brought them back to Cornwall. He could have followed us, but I am glad he didn’t. He was not Bertie and Bertie was the only man I ever wanted.
Once the letter was posted I felt a lot better, but my thoughts kept whirring and kept me awake.
Michael, my dear boy Michael, was with me all the time now. In my dreams and in my waking. How could I have denied him when he came here to find me? It was wicked of me to set brother against brother, making Edward turf out his own sibling. I was deeply troubled and I knew I needed to make amends. I had been a wicked woman and I had to atone for my sins before it was too late. I needed someone to help me, but it couldn’t be Hannah, she had so much to do, and it couldn’t be Edward because I am a coward. It couldn’t be a priest because I had no faith. So that left dear David. He was the one child who had been with me always. I nearly lost him to malaria all those years ago, but he had grown into a strong and clever man. I knew it was hard for him being the youngest. Edward and Hannah did reign over him rather, but when they’d been busy fighting for king and country, he had been here, with me, keeping me sane while I worried so much about the other two.
Yes, I thought, out of them all he would understand how important this last mission was to us. He would be here in a minute to read to me.
He was knocking at the door now. ‘Come in, darling.’
‘Hey Mum. How are you doing?’
‘I am looking forward to another chapter of our book.’ I reached out and touched his sleeve.
We were reading Agatha Christie’s Sparkling Cyanide. David loved murder mystery stories as much as I did. I had had a whole shelf full of Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers that I had had to leave behind in Penang. Perhaps they were still there.
‘You fell asleep in the middle of a chapter last night,’ David replied.
‘Did I? That’s because your reading is so soothing. And actually, David, before we start, I wonder if I could ask you a small favour?’
‘Of course, Mum.’
‘Good boy.’
I want to write another letter. Another one no one can know about. But my hands get so tired, would you write it for me?’
