Coronation Wives

by Lizzie Lane

Carol was contemptuous. ‘That’s silly.’

  Susan slumped onto the low wall that ran between the lawn and the house. ‘I’ve got a bad head and my legs ache.’

  Colin suggested football. ‘Come on, Susan. If yer feet get going that headache might go too. How about it?’

  Susan nodded and got up. Colin noticed her flushed cheeks, but seeing her make the effort to join in, told himself she was perfectly all right.

  The game turned noisy, mostly on account of Carol and Peter pushing and shoving each other away from the ball, both kicking it at the same time, and breaking every rule including the ones from boxing, more than once did an elbow or a fist venture below the belt.

  Fed up of being relegated to goal, Colin did his best to chase and kick the ball, confident that, as an adult, he could keep up with them.

  Gait awkward and legs stiff, he staggered across the lawn, forcing himself to go faster even though he waddled dangerously from side to side. Pretending he was young again helped him forget that the bottom halves of his legs were long gone, that the replacements were tin and not at all flexible.

  ‘You look like Noddy!’ shouted Peter as Colin trundled around like a wooden soldier, feet slipping on the damp grass.

  ‘Come on then, Big Ears,’ shouted Colin as he fought to dribble the ball down the centre of the lawn, ‘tackle me! Come on! Tackle me!’

  Both children chased him while Carol tried to tackle him from the front. Peter caught up and aimed a hard kick at Colin’s shin. Colin yelped, was about to joke that it hurt, when his leg slid out from under him.

  Everything happened too fast to be avoided. He fell backwards, his feet leaving muddy ruts in the grass.

  ‘No!’ he shouted as the horror of what was about to happen became all too clear.

  Susan screamed as his weight fell on top of her.

  Colin’s first thought was for his daughter. ‘Susan!’

  Carol ran for help. By the time Edna and Polly ran into the garden, he had managed to roll onto his side.

  ‘Susan!’

  Her eyes were closed. He reached out and felt the heat of her cheek.

  Edna knelt between them both, a horrified look on her face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I slipped.’

  ‘Blinking ’eck,’ said Polly. ‘You almost buried her.’

  Normally, he would have screamed in pretend terror at the sight of Polly with her head encased in pink plastic curlers and tissue paper. But his back ached, his legs ached and, most of all, his heart ached for Susan.

  Edna got down behind her daughter, took hold of her head and rested it in her lap. Polly ordered Carol to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

  Polly and Carol got Colin onto his feet.

  ‘Daddy tackled me for the ball,’ said Peter, his lower lip quivering with fear lest guilty glares be turned in his direction.

  Colin’s face creased with concern and his breathing was laboured. ‘It’s my fault. I had no business kicking that ball about.’

  Polly squeezed his arm. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  Edna eased the glass of water between her daughter’s lips. ‘Come on, dear. Just a little.’

  Susan spluttered, opened her eyes and drank a little more. She nodded weakly when Edna asked her if she was all right.

  After Polly had gone and the children were put to bed, Colin went back out into the garden.

  ‘Nearly finished!’ Edna shouted to him, presuming the smell of the perming lotion had driven him out to watch the house martins weave and wheel around the houses and towards the disused air raid shelters down towards Conham Vale. The light was fading fast, but a strip of gilt-edged clouds hovered on the horizon.

  Colin picked up a stick that Peter used as a riding whip and began tapping it against his legs. They made a hollow sound, a grim reminder that they were made of metal, not flesh and blood. I sound like a bunch of old corned beef cans, he thought, almost grinned, then recalled Susan’s flame-coloured cheeks. Good God, he was no lightweight. He could have killed her.

  He didn’t often feel sorry for himself, but tonight he wished with all his heart that he still had his legs. Tonight he felt real hatred for those who had caused the blast that had taken them. No more football. No more cricket. No more swimming or gliding around a dance floor to a quickstep or a foxtrot. A waltz was barely manageable.

  He brushed the moisture from his eyes.

  ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’

  With each word he beat his right leg with the stick. On the third stroke it broke into two pieces and he threw them away.

  Later that evening, Edna finished pinning and cutting out a new dress for Susan without any need to reread the instructions. ‘Beautiful,’ she said as she folded up the blue silk material and closed her sewing box. ‘Just like our Susan.’

  Colin didn’t answer. He’d hardly said a word all evening but sat staring at the television set even though it wasn’t switched on. He reminds me of my mother, thought Edna, but swiftly banished the thought. Her mother and Colin were worlds apart.

  Edna fixed her eyes on him as she left her sewing things and went to the back of his chair, slid her hands down over his shoulders and onto his chest. ‘Stop worrying,’ she murmured and kissed his ear. ‘Susan’s fine. She’s a very tough little girl.’

  ‘I could have killed her,’ he said, and his face creased with worry.

  Edna squeezed his shoulders then laid one hand on his cheek and turned his face towards hers. When she saw the look in his eyes, her heart skipped a beat. His pain was her pain. ‘Oh Colin!’ She kissed him then laid her cheek against his. ‘She’s all right, and look, I’ve made her a new dress.’

  She went back to her sewing and unfolded the blue silk. The pattern was still pinned to it so she only showed him the silky side. ‘Isn’t it lovely? It’s for Christmas. She’ll look like a princess.’

  He managed a weak smile. ‘I just feel such a clumsy clod at times.’

  ‘Never mind. Susan’s fine.’

  She refolded the dress. ‘She’s upstairs sound asleep and none the worse for you falling on her like a sack of spuds. She’ll be marching off to school as usual in the morning, just like any other day.’

  The silence deepened. No sound of cars, children or passersby came from the street outside. Curtains were drawn against the night and the house was still as Edna resettled into her chair. It was one of those moments when the smallest sound, the slightest variation in movement is easily heard. That was when they heard something from upstairs.

  Colin stirred from his chair. ‘What was that?’ His eyes met hers. Together they listened to something … strangulated … retching.

  ‘Someone’s being sick!’

  The blue silk was swiftly pushed aside. Edna dashed out into the hallway and up the stairs, paused and listened. Was it Peter or the girls? That sound again, definitely coming from the room shared by their two daughters.

  As she flung the door wide, the nauseating stench of vomit hit her nostrils. Muffin the Mule went flying across the floor as she kicked it away from the side of the bed and the threat of yet more vomit.

  Without caring about the mess, she knelt down. ‘I’m here, darling.’

  Susan’s forehead was hot beneath her hand. The child retched again and again. Her eyes were closed. When she’d finished vomiting she fell back onto the pillow without saying anything, without being aware that her mother was there. Edna immediately knew that something was very wrong.

  She got up and shouted down the stairs. ‘Colin! Call the doctor.’

  Colin’s face appeared down in the hall. ‘What is it?’

  Am I overreacting? Edna asked herself. Her instinct told her otherwise. ‘It’s Susan. Tell him she’s been sick and she won’t wake up.’

  She heard the phone being dialled and thanked God they were well off enough to afford it. Small mercies, she thought and found herself wishing that Colin hadn’t been playing football, that he was just a little more accepting of his limitations. Earlier she had
tried coaxing him out of his guilt. Now she found herself blaming him for Susan’s sickness.

  Minutes seemed like hours. Edna stayed upstairs while Colin remained in the hallway, waiting for the doctor to arrive.

  He was a dapper man, a Dr Sampson who wore a brocade waistcoat and an off-white Panama.

  Edna watched from beside the bed, Colin from the doorway, looking nervous as if he was afraid to step forward and accept the blame that he’d already laid on his own shoulders.

  The doctor examined her and shook his head. ‘We have to get this dear child into hospital at once. We need an ambulance.’

  Edna knew when to fear the worst. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  The doctor unclipped his stethoscope and returned it to his bag. ‘She has poliomyelitis.’

  Edna gasped and sunk to her knees at the side of the bed as if in prayer. And praying was exactly what she was doing. ‘No! Not that! Please God not that!’

  The doctor turned to Colin. ‘Call for an ambulance.’

  Edna felt as though her knees had turned to stone. It was impossible to straighten them, unthinkable to leave her child’s side.

  Cosy in her cot, Pamela slept through it all. Edna glanced at her then at the doctor.

  ‘Just keep an eye on her during the next thirty days or so,’ he said as if reading her thoughts.

  Outside, the clanging bells of the ambulance echoed between the houses of Kingscott Avenue. Curtains twitched at bedroom windows. A few brave souls stood at garden gates dressed only in nightclothes and slippers, the women with their hair in curlers.

  Heavy boots thundered up the stairs. Edna oversaw everything, hovering around them, clucking with worry as they took her darling from her bed. Susan’s face was flushed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing seemed laboured.

  The ambulance men wore white cotton masks over the lower part of their faces. Susan’s face seemed small against the size of the stretcher and the thick blanket that covered her up to her neck.

  Until now she’d been almost comatose. Now she began to throw her head from side to side. ‘Mum … mmmy?’

  ‘I’m coming, darling.’ Edna started to get into the ambulance but a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  ‘You can’t go, Mrs Smith.’ Dr Sampson’s expression was grimly resolute.

  ‘She’s my daughter,’ cried Edna.

  ‘Edna, love.’ Colin placed an arm around her shoulder.

  The doctor took a pocket watch out of his waistcoat, checked the time and put it away again before saying anything. He was close to retirement and had hoped never to have to deal with this situation again. Parents were difficult to deal with when infantile paralysis was mentioned. ‘Can we go inside?’ he said at last.

  The ambulance door slammed shut. So final, thought Edna, so much like a …

  ‘She’s going to be all right.’ Colin held her close. She was sure he had just had the same thought as she had, that their daughter might not be coming home, that the sound of the ambulance door slamming was reminiscent of a lid being slammed on a coffin.

  They watched the ambulance trundle away. Before it reached the end of Kingscott Avenue, the emergency bell began to clang its furious note and sent shivers through their bodies.

  Edna felt Colin’s hand patting her arm and heard him say, ‘She’s a fighter, luv. You see. Let the doctors do their bit, get her over the worse, then we’ll visit her at the hospital.’

  She was too numb to say anything until they were inside the house. Colin offered the doctor a cup of tea. He declined.

  Edna clung to Colin. There was something about the doctor’s expression that made her fear the worse.

  ‘Is she going to die?’ Her voice was no more than a whisper, yet the question hung in the room like a raw, open wound.

  The doctor pursed his lips and looked down at his shoes before answering. ‘I don’t think so. However, your daughter is seriously ill. As I have already said, she is suffering from poliomyelitis.’

  Edna sank into a chair. Colin swayed a little and leaned on the wall for support.

  ‘This doesn’t necessarily mean that she will show any signs of paralysis. Most victims merely recover from the illness without suffering any damage to the nerve cells …’ He paused. Edna stared at him wide-eyed, but said nothing. Colin did the same. What about their child? Would she pull through without having irons up her legs, withered arms or hunched shoulders? They’d seen children like that far too often and had thanked God theirs could run and play.

  A vision of Susan’s face swam before Edna’s eyes. She heard again that long wail, her child calling for her.

  ‘When can I …’ She glanced at Colin, saw his worried face, and corrected herself, ‘We see her?’

  The doctor got his pocket watch out again and edged towards the door. ‘They’ve taken her to Saltmead. They don’t allow visitors. You won’t be able to see her until she’s ready to come home.’

  Edna exchanged a shocked look with Colin. Didn’t anyone care about the fear of a sick child in strange surroundings?

  Colin shook his head in disbelief. ‘Are you telling me we can’t even visit her? That’s barbaric!’

  The old doctor frowned. Negative behaviour. Exactly as he’d feared and what the sanatoriums, quite correctly, guarded against.

  ‘Yes, Mr Smith. Emotional outbursts are not conducive to a patient’s well-being.’

  He reached for his hat, left beneath the budgie’s cage. ‘Good day to you both,’ he said and departed into a rosy dawn.

  Colin found himself hoping that the budgie had done his job – lots of jobs – all over the doctor’s hat.

  After he’d left, Edna marched out into the hall and picked up the telephone.

  Colin followed her. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m phoning Charlotte. She’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Are you nuts? It’s nearly midnight.’

  The dial whirred round noisily under Edna’s slim fingers. ‘She’s my friend. She’ll understand.’

  It stung to think she needed someone other than himself. Colin stood helpless, his shoulders slumped and a feeling of sickness in his soul. More than that, he felt guilty. If only he hadn’t slipped. Falling on Susan might have had something to do with her illness.

  Edna concentrated on the telephone as she waited for Charlotte to answer. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Colin. She felt incredibly alone. All she could think of was Susan. She would do anything, anything at all to help her pull through this.

  David answered, his voice heavy with sleep. She should have realized it would be him that would pick it up. Doctors get called out at all hours, even those with mainly private patients.

  ‘David. It’s Edna. Can I speak to Charlotte? It’s urgent.’ She could have told David about Susan, asked him about visiting, but she’d never felt comfortable talking to him. She trusted Charlotte completely. It was her she had to tell.

  Once Charlotte was on the other end of the phone, Edna burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ she gulped between explanations. ‘But I’m so frightened. This is all so terrible.’

  The sound of the telephone ringing had brought Charlotte close to full wakefulness. David’s footsteps out on the landing and his knock on her bedroom door had completed the process.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ David had offered while Charlotte got into her dressing gown and made her way to his bedroom and the telephone.

  Charlotte sat on the bed in the warm spot left by David. Sensing that Edna had something private to impart, she waited until she was alone to pick up the telephone. ‘Think nothing of it,’ she said in response to Edna’s apologies about waking her up and wondered if Edna knew that she and David had separate bedrooms. Edna’s outpourings about Susan had swiftly obliterated such trivia.

  Edna explained that Susan had been taken to Saltmead Sanatorium.

  ‘I know the place,’ said Charlotte effortlessly, although mention of it sent a jolt through her memory. Oh yes.
She knew the place all right. It hadn’t always been called that. At one time it had been an American Army base, then a prisoner of war camp. She had known it well in those days, had had little to do with it since, until now. She agreed to find out what she could.

  ‘Edna’s daughter has been taken off to the Saltmead Sanatorium,’ she said to David when he came back with the tea.

  ‘Good Lord! Polio,’ he groaned as he passed a bone china cup and saucer to his wife. ‘The twentieth-century plague.’

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘As bad as that?’

  David eased himself back into bed, tucked the covers under his chin and reached for his tea. ‘Oh yes. Millions dead and millions crippled. A worldwide epidemic that first raised its ugly head at the beginning of this century and likely to be with us somewhere in the world at the beginning of the next.’

  ‘I’ll take my tea with me,’ she said getting up and heading for the door. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight indeed,’ David grumbled behind her. ‘Why can’t your friends and acquaintances phone at more reasonable hours?’

  Charlotte eyed the man she’d once loved to distraction. She was still loyal to him, still supportive, and she knew he suffered pain – both mental and physical – that made him moody. Most of the time she was patient with his moods and thoughtless comments. Today she was not.

  ‘Every hour is reasonable if your child is ill!’

  The slamming of the bedroom door reverberated along the landing.

  In her pink and white bedroom overlooking the Avon Gorge, Janet’s eyes flashed open. She stared up at the ceiling, at first assuming that the sound had come from above her.

  Rising up onto her elbows, she peered through the semi-gloom to the bedroom door. The bolt was still pulled across it, but waking up so suddenly had made her want to use the bathroom.

  After pushing back the bedclothes she swung her legs out of bed, feeling with her toes for the furry lining of her kidskin slippers. The feel of her woollen dressing gown helped lessen the shivers that ran down her spine. Footsteps sounded from out on the landing coming closer to her room. Slowly, softly she slid the bolt back and opened the door just a fraction afraid it might be Ivan, but determined to face him.