The Dissent of Annie Lang

by Ros Franey

  ‘We might bump into Daddy if we wait!’

  ‘No. Beatrice knows to keep him back a while.’

  These are agonising seconds of indecision. After the initial exodus, the corridor has gone quiet again. Millie stands behind me, peering over my shoulder. Then, thankfully, another surge – this time a larger one. Fred leads the way into the corridor so as to peer backwards towards the hall doors. After a few moments, he says, ‘Now!’ and we shuffle out into the crush, eyes to the floor, or fixed on each other, anything to avoid the gaze of people crowding around us. Millie clutches my hand: I realise this is her first experience in more than six years of a press of strangers around her. Our progress is horribly slow; the concertgoers are laughing and chatting, in no apparent hurry to get home. It’s like one of those nightmares where you are running from danger but slowly, slowly, through treacle. I briefly worry about what Sister Jones will think when she realises I’ve left without saying goodbye, but on Monday I will return the music and take my leave properly, as long as no one connects me personally with the disappearance of Miss Blessing.

  We’re almost back at the flight of stairs where Fred ought to leave us and return to his ward when I hear a shout from behind. ‘Miss Lang! Annie Lang!’ For a moment, I wonder if I can ignore it but someone is coming through the crowd towards me. People are turning to look and then looking back at me. ‘Take her to the main hall!’ I instruct Fred. ‘Stay with her. I’ll meet you by the front door – inside or outside. Do whatever you have to, but don’t leave her!’ Then I turn and raise my arm. ‘I’m here,’ I call. ‘What is it?’

  It’s the young nurse, Gladys, who is supposed to collect Millie. ‘Thank goodness I’ve found you!’ she says as she pushes through the last of the crowd. ‘I was to take Blessing to the ward, but she’s gone! Sister Jones said you and your brother were looking after her.’

  ‘Does Sister know she’s gone?’

  Gladys shakes her head. ‘I was too scared to tell her! I only stopped a moment to say hello to my mother and my Auntie Dorothy. I knew I shouldn’t, but Auntie wanted to talk … I couldn’t believe it when the vestry was empty, so I thought I’d try and find you first.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘Another nurse took her, I think.’

  ‘Another nurse? Who?’

  ‘Um, I think it was that nurse, you know, the one who looks after the chapel? Is it Nurse Bleakley?’

  ‘Nurse Bleakley took her?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure,’ I say. ‘I was packing up my music but I saw them, and then when I turned round again they’d gone.’ I cross my fingers and cling to my music case, wondering how this will sound in the cold light of day.

  ‘Oh Miss Lang, I hope you’re right!’ Little Gladys – she must be my age – is looking relieved. I feel very bad about this, but in the end it will be my head on the block, not hers. (About Nurse Bleakley, I have no qualms at all.) ‘What should I do now, d’you think?’ asks Gladys.

  I make a quick calculation. To make her way back to the chapel and report to Sister Jones will take barely five minutes. I need longer than that to collect Miss Blessing from the front hall and get to the nearest bus stop.

  ‘Well,’ I suggest. ‘You might want to go and check the ward before you report to Sister Jones?’ That should buy us a little more time, given the crowds, the corridors and the security gates, and I can’t see it would get Gladys into any more trouble than she’s in already. She’s lost precious time coming to find me.

  ‘Oh, I’ll do that. Perhaps it will be all right.’

  ‘Well,’ I reassure her, ‘If she did go with Nurse Bleakley, that nurse is very efficient.’

  Gladys raises her eyes to heaven. ‘She certainly is,’ she agrees with a laugh. ‘I’m sure I’ll find her, Miss Lang. Thanks for your help. Goodnight.’ And she starts to move back through the crowds, which I see, to my satisfaction, are as thick as ever. I feel wretched on Gladys’s behalf, and deeply guilty on my own: under normal circumstances I would never, of course, leave a patient until her escort arrived. But then I remind myself that I haven’t left her, have I? As Maisie says, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs. And recollecting that my father must be somewhere close behind now, I wade through the departing audience as fast as possible towards the front hall. We have very little time.

  I find them again by the front door as the crowds shuffle past; Millie has wisely turned her back on everyone and is deep in conversation with Fred.

  ‘She wants to stay,’ he announces, as I reach them. ‘She thinks she’ll get you into trouble.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I tell him. ‘We’ll all be in trouble if they find us. Let’s go. Fred, thank you for everything. I’ll see you very soon.’

  He picks up the urgency in my voice and holds out his hand to Millie. ‘Goodbye, Miss Blessing. Annie’s right. I wish you all the luck in the world.’

  Before she can protest, he shepherds us both through the door. I take her firmly by the arm and we begin to walk up the drive. There are plenty of people milling around us and for the journey to the hospital gates I feel far less conspicuous than I normally would. As well as knots of people, a few cars edge past at a snail’s pace; in their headlights, I’m reassured to see that the walkers are just silhouettes. We move on steadily, Millie still gripping my arm.

  But as we approach the gatehouse, the crowd slows down and becomes a queue: something is happening at the front. It’s now a good ten minutes since we left the chapel; time for Gladys to have raised the alarm. I can see the cars are being directed around the pedestrians, but each one is made to stop at the gate. As we get closer, it becomes clear that everybody leaving the hospital grounds is being checked.

  Millie has realised it too. ‘They’re going to find us,’ she whispers. ‘They must be looking for me.’

  I try and force myself to think: this is not something we envisaged, Beatrice and I, but we did agree an emergency identity for Millie if anything should go wrong. ‘Listen,’ I tell her. ‘Your name is Ida. Ida Rowbotham. Can you remember that?’

  She looks up at me fearfully. ‘Ida? Who’s she?’

  ‘She’s another volunteer – like me. She’s away at the moment. She won’t be here, but they’ll have her name as someone with a right to be in the hospital. We’ll get you through.’ I pat her arm. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘Ida Rowbotham?’

  ‘Yes. She’s about your age, your size,’ I reassure her. ‘You work on Ward Three. You’ve been at the concert. They won’t know her on the gate.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘The doormen have no idea who any of us is, but they’ll have a list.’

  ‘Won’t they want some proof?’

  ‘Well,’ I smile, ‘I haven’t any proof of who I am. You’ll be fine. They’ve never asked me for proof before.’

  ‘Hadn’t I better just tell them the truth, Annie, and have done with it?’

  I look at her seriously. ‘If you do, we’ll both be in trouble!’

  She is silent for a moment. ‘Ida Rowbotham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right.’

  We move slowly towards the front of the queue.

  But just before we get there, a car stops beside us: a Wolseley. The window rolls down.

  ‘Annie?’

  It’s my father. ‘Hop in!’ he says.

  I want to scream and cry and tell him to leave us alone. ‘I’ll be fine, Daddy.’ I try and sound calm.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he argues. ‘Get in, girl. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I said I’d see a friend home.’

  ‘Well, you can’t do that with this going on. Get in. Both of you.’

  I feel Millie stagger beside me. Is she going to faint? I look at her urgently and tighten my arm through hers. Then Beatrice leans past Daddy and speaks through the window, enunciating each word: ‘Annie, just as we were leaving we heard a violent patient has escaped from the hospital. The police have been called. They’r
e going to be combing the streets: it’s not safe for you to be hanging around at bus stops. This patient’s out there somewhere. You might get attacked.’ She’s pulling meaningful faces at me that Daddy can’t see. She must have a plan.

  ‘All right,’ I say reluctantly. ‘We were just nearly at the front of the queue, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ll be quicker with us,’ Daddy says. ‘Anyway, wouldn’t you rather have a lift?’

  As we turn towards the rear door I mutter to Millie, ‘Remember: Ida. And you’ve lost your voice.’ I push her, half-fainting into the rear passenger seat and run round the other side before Daddy can start asking her questions. ‘Oh Daddy,’ I say as I jump in. ‘This is Ida Rowbotham. She’s another volunteer. She went to the concert but she’s not well, so I said I’d see her home.’

  Daddy asks her, ‘And where is home, Ida?’

  ‘Hyson Green,’ I supply quickly. The plan is to go to Maisie’s house in Hyson Green where Millie will stay the night. It was all going to be so simple.

  Daddy is adjusting the mirror so he can get a good look at her. Millie shrinks into the far corner and turns her head away.

  ‘She’s feeling really ill, Daddy. Don’t start talking to her,’ I say sharply.

  ‘Poor little Ida,’ he responds with mock sympathy. ‘What’s the matter with her then?’

  ‘Laryngitis,’ I tell him. ‘She can’t speak, so don’t try and make her.’

  ‘Ida the mystery passenger!’ he muses. He’s still searching for her face in the mirror. He thinks he’s being funny. I want to hit him over the head.

  ‘Watch out,’ says Beatrice. ‘We’re next.’

  I’m relieved to see there’s no policeman at the gate; it’s just one of the hospital doormen and he is checking a list. We tell him our names, and I give Ida’s. ‘You won’t have our names on your list,’ drawls my father. ‘I’m Harry Lang. My daughter was playing at the concert. My elder daughter and I went to see her.’

  ‘Ida and I are volunteers,’ I chip in, leaning forward. ‘Our names will be there.’

  ‘That’s no problem, Mr Lang,’ says the doorman, ignoring me. ‘I’m sorry to have delayed your journey, sir. Goodnight.’ He touches his cap.

  I lean back in my seat, seething with a mixture of relief that we’re through and anger at the ease with which my father has controlled the situation. He’s the one they should be arresting. Only the good get caught. I reach across and give Millie’s hand a reassuring squeeze; she doesn’t respond but I can feel the terror radiating off her. As we move away, a couple of police cars with blue flashing lights draw up at the hospital gate. Beatrice did the right thing to make us go with Daddy: we wouldn’t have made it alone.

  ‘So Hyson Green it is,’ announces my father, putting his foot down on the accelerator. ‘Which street?’

  ‘Just make for the sports ground, Daddy,’ I tell him. ‘We’ll direct you from there.’

  I know Maisie’s house quite well from having visited Nana there and realise that my next problem is how to persuade him to drop us off without it being obvious where we’re going. Luckily, Beatrice jumps into the silence as I try and work out what to do, gossiping about the concert, the performers and asking questions about the music. This passes the journey which, with Daddy at the wheel, is a great deal swifter than the bus would have been.

  ‘Ida, my dear,’ he says as we draw into Hyson Green, ‘you’re going to have to break your intriguing silence and tell me where you live.’

  She throws me a desperate glance and whispers, ‘I can’t speak, Mr Lang. Annie knows.’

  He’s delighted, of course. ‘Ah!’ he cries. ‘She has a voice, and a very attractive, husky voice if I may say so!’

  ‘That’s because she’s got a throat infection!’ I snap at him. I can’t bear to think what effect this behaviour is having on poor Millie. ‘Take the next right.’

  ‘“Please, Daddy”!’ he prompts. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to your manners tonight, Annie. I think this concert’s gone to your head.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’ I need to try and behave.

  ‘Actually’ – his eyes search for mine in the mirror now – ‘you were jolly good, darling.’

  ‘Thank you, Daddy.’

  ‘You were,’ echoes Beatrice. ‘Wasn’t she, Ida?’

  ‘Yes,’ rasps Millie.

  We have almost reached Maisie’s. I guide him one block past the turning and say, ‘That’s fine. You can drop us here.’

  ‘Well where is it?’ he asks.

  ‘Just along there.’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll take you.’

  ‘No, that’s fine.’ I insist.

  ‘If she’s so ill …?’ He turns and looks at me. There’s a challenge in his eyes.

  ‘Didn’t Annie say you have rather strict parents?’ suggests Beatrice helpfully to ‘Ida’.

  Millie looks at her. She doesn’t know what to say, but I do. ‘They wouldn’t want anyone driving her home,’ I tell him. ‘They’d ask awkward questions.’

  ‘What’s awkward about it?’ He looks from Beatrice to me, but I’m halfway out of the back seat. I flap my hand at him. ‘Oh, you know. Don’t agree with cars and things … Jansenists!’ I knew La Porte Étroite would come in handy for something. Then I’m running around to open Millie’s door.

  She turns, but she can’t look up at him. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers awkwardly.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine.’ He is gazing at her with a puzzled expression. ‘I just wish you’d let me take you home!’

  But I almost yank her out of the car and pick up the bag, which she has been hugging on her knee. ‘Don’t walk too fast,’ I mutter as we start off in the wrong direction to throw him off the scent. I take her arm again, and sling the bag over my shoulder. As soon as we’re round the corner, we break into a run; fifty yards on, we double back around a second corner and reach Maisie’s from the opposite direction, breathless but elated.

  She opens the door and looks from one to the other, as we stand there spluttering and laughing. Or at least, I’m laughing. Millie is just shell-shocked. ‘Annie!’ Maisie cries. ‘Well, look at you both! What’s gone on?’

  ‘Oh Maisie, this is Millie Blessing. We’ve had such adventures. Daddy drove us here!’

  ‘Mr Lang? Here?’ She darts around me, looking anxiously up the road.

  ‘Two streets away! Don’t worry, Maisie. He doesn’t suspect a thing. Millie will explain. I must run. I’ll see you tomorrow, Millie. It’s all going to be fine now. I promise.’ I wave goodbye and walk off briskly back towards the car.

  At the junction of Gregory Boulevard and Mansfield Road, a fleet of police cars and a Black Maria whizz past us, bells ringing. I suddenly feel very tired.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sunday, September 11

  I sleep badly, my head full of police cars and anxious slow escapes, and when I wake up I have to disentangle nightmare from reality; it’s a while before I truly understand that our plan has worked: under the nose of the authorities, we have spirited Miss Blessing out of the hospital. Not all the city’s police could surely track her to Maisie’s and today will be the simple part. We just have to get her on to that London train. It ought to be a triumph, so why do I feel so uneasy?

  Normal life must continue, of course, and I have to go with Mother and Beatrice to morning service at the Mission. Beatrice and I barely exchange a word: I can tell she’s as apprehensive as I am. The service drags even more than usual; Grandfather Pastor Eames delivers a long sermon on the Last Judgement, which does nothing for my failing spirit.

  Over Sunday lunch we converse, to my mind, like automatons, as if we’ve each been wound up and left to speak clockwork sentences, while our real selves, tangles of mental torment and fractured nerves, have been left in the wardrobe. For the first time I understand how it must feel for Fred outside the goldfish bowl. As soon as Beatrice and I finish doing the dishes, we race upstairs for a quick conflab in Beatrice’s bedroom. I throw
myself down on to her bed. ‘Why do I feel so bad?’ I ask.

  She shrugs. ‘Because we’ve done wrong, perhaps?’

  ‘We haven’t done wrong!’

  ‘We have, sort of. In the eyes of—’

  ‘Who, Beatrice?’ I turn on my elbow to glare at her. I can’t bear it if she’s going to say the Lord!

  She shakes her head. ‘I suppose we’ve been brought up not to flout authority.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I agree. I think about this. ‘But when authority’s as wrong as all the grown-ups around us’ – I wave my arm in the air – ‘flout away!’ Once upon a time this would have had us in giggles, but not today. I bury my face in Bea’s eiderdown. I want to shut out the possibility I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  ‘We just need to hold our nerve and finish what we’ve started,’ says Beatrice. ‘You’ve done brilliantly. My part is only just beginning.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel brilliant,’ I tell her. ‘It feels a mess. I thought I’d be on top of the world, Bea, getting her out of that place, but it’s really shaken me up. Heaven knows how poor Millie must feel! I can’t face going back in there tomorrow and having to lie to Sister Jones and the rest of them – they’re good people. They trusted me and I’ve let them down.’

  ‘It was the right thing, Annie! You’ll see it through, and you’ll be fine in a day or two.’

  ‘Once I know she’s safe with Edwina!’ I admit. ‘When is it she arrives?’

  ‘This Friday in Liverpool.’ Beatrice knows about sending telegrams, so she’s in charge of the travel arrangements. ‘Edwina’s done well to get such an early sailing. It’s not long for Millie to have to wait.’

  ‘I hope she’ll be all right in London on her own. I wish I could come with you, but they’d smell a rat.’

  ‘I’ll be with her every evening. It’s only a few days.’

  We lapse into silence. Then I have another thought: ‘Supposing it all unsettles Millie so much that Edwina thinks she’s too ill to go to Canada? Then what do we do?’

  ‘Sufficient unto the day …’ Beatrice reminds me.