A Woman's War

by S Block

  Frances walked Erica and Sarah to the front door, agreeing to keep an eye on Pat.

  Frances reviewed the efforts she had gone to previously to help Pat. She had persuaded an old friend to invite Bob into the Press Corps to cover the BEF withdrawal from France. Her stated aim was to get Bob out of the way; her secret hope had been for him to be killed by a German bullet. Admittedly, German shrapnel in his leg had caused him to slow down, but her preference had been to rid Pat of Bob not to merely enable her to outrun him if and when the need arose.

  Can men like Bob change? I mean, really change, not simply put on a show of it?

  Frances didn’t know. And as a woman happily married to a man with a long-standing double life that she knew nothing about until his death, she felt obliged to withhold judgement.

  Chapter 34

  ERICA ARRIVED BACK from the WI committee meeting to find Dr Rosen and Laura preparing to leave for the Farrow farm. Since Stan telephoned Frances on his wife’s behalf to apologise for her absence at the committee meeting, Steph’s condition had deteriorated so fast that Stan telephoned the surgery to ask Dr Rosen to make a house call as soon as possible. Myra had asked Laura to accompany her on the basis that she knew the Farrows well.

  ‘Is she all right?’ asked Erica, watching her daughter and Myra putting on their coats.

  ‘When I asked the husband to describe what was wrong all he could say was “she’s not good”. Laura told me she collapsed a few months back, trying to bring in the harvest single-handed.’

  Erica nodded. ‘Will suspected she had strained her heart through overwork, and prescribed plenty of rest.’

  ‘Well . . . it’s possible the rest put her back on her feet momentarily, while missing some underlying condition.’

  Erica was immediately annoyed by Myra’s comment. ‘Are you suggesting Will missed something more serious?’

  From Erica’s tone, Myra knew to tread very carefully indeed.

  ‘I’m not suggesting that – of course not. I mean, he wasn’t in the best of health, so it’s possible that he might have – not that anyone could blame him.’

  ‘I’m so glad you think so!’ said Erica, her face flushing with rising anger. ‘But just to be clear, if Will thought for a moment that his health might in any way compromise his diagnostic ability he would have stopped working.’

  Laura thought this was an opportune time to step in. ‘I’m sure Myra isn’t criticising him in any way.’

  ‘Not for a moment,’ Myra said. ‘There are many conditions that only become apparent by making themselves known after several recurrences. Until a pattern becomes established they can easily be regarded as one-offs.’

  Erica looked at Myra for a moment. ‘We shouldn’t forget what she’s recently been through with the German pilot episode,’ she said.

  Myra’s eyes widened. ‘That was her?’ she said, intensely surprised.

  ‘How could you not know that?’ asked Erica in disbelief. ‘Everyone within thirty miles knows that.’

  ‘Everyone in the county,’ said Laura.

  ‘My work rarely leaves me time for anything else, let alone gossip,’ replied Myra.

  ‘It isn’t gossip, Myra,’ Erica called after them as they departed for the Farrow farm. ‘It’s the biggest news in Great Paxford for years!’

  *

  As she and Laura cycled towards the Farrow farm, Myra surmised it may be possible that the shock of being caught up in a life and death situation with the German pilot could have had a similar psychological effect on Steph as soldiers suffering from shell-shock in the Great War.

  ‘I’m not equating the two, of course,’ said Myra. ‘But participating in a life and death struggle is far removed from what Mrs Farrow could normally expect to experience.’

  Laura weighed up the notion. ‘Steph’s a very strong woman,’ she said. ‘Very strong.’

  ‘Physical or mental strength seems to be irrelevant,’ Myra said, pedalling hard up a small hill. ‘Anyway, it’s a good opportunity for you to see how we approach diagnosis. The first thing we have to do is clear the mind of all preconceptions we might have about what may or may not be likely. We then take note of the presenting ailment and previous medical history. And all the while, we listen to the patient and their nearest and dearest. We listen to what is not said. We listen to our intuition when it pipes up. And finally . . . we simply listen.’

  They cycled on through the grey afternoon, along roads lined with hedgerows that winter had drained most of the colour from.

  As she pedalled, Laura rehearsed Myra’s list for diagnosis over and over in her head, but she felt so drained from long hours of revision that by the time they arrived at the Farrow farm the only word Laura could remember was ‘listen’.

  *

  The front door of the farmhouse was opened by an ashen-faced Stanley, who quickly ushered Dr Rosen and Laura upstairs to his parents’ bedroom, where Steph lay asleep in bed. Stan sat on a chair beside her, watching over his wife and holding her hand. When Myra and Laura appeared in the doorway he got to his feet and ushered them in.

  ‘Thanks for coming so quick,’ he said in a low voice, trying not to wake Steph.

  ‘Not at all,’ Dr Rosen said, matching Stan’s reduced volume. ‘How has she been since you telephoned? Any change?’

  ‘Much the same. Asleep. Breathing shallow, like.’

  Dr Rosen nodded and placed her bag on Stan’s chair, opened it up, and took out her stethoscope.

  ‘Does she know I’m coming?’

  Stan shook her head.

  ‘Would you mind gently waking her for me – less of a shock?’

  Stan nodded and rested a hand on Steph’s shoulder and rubbed it gently. After a moment, Steph’s eyes fluttered open, and blinked slowly, registering where she was and who was looking at her.

  ‘Doctor’s here to see you, love,’ Stan said softly.

  ‘Doctor . . .?’

  ‘Your husband is quite concerned about you, Mrs Farrow,’ said Myra, taking control of the situation. ‘He wanted me to come and see you and see how you are.’

  Laura stood just inside the doorway next to Stanley, observing how Dr Rosen dealt with the patient and her family. She then glanced at Stanley beside her. His expression was decidedly anxious.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,’ Laura whispered.

  Stanley glanced at her and returned his full attention to his mother in bed. Laura decided to say nothing more. Together, they watched as Dr Rosen began her examination, listening to Steph’s heart and lungs with her stethoscope while taking her pulse.

  ‘How have you been since the business with the German, Mrs Farrow?’

  Laura noted how effortlessly Myra had already imbibed, processed, and was now utilising the information she’d passed on during the ride over.

  ‘Tired most of the time,’ said Steph. ‘Don’t sleep well at all.’

  ‘Always used to sleep like a log, doctor,’ said Stan. ‘Since I got back it’s been like sleeping next to someone trying to fight their way out of a coffin. Before I got home she wasn’t even going to bed most nights, isn’t that right, son?’

  Stanley nodded. ‘Just sat in the chair by the fire, or kitchen table.’

  Steph peered at her son through the room’s low-lit gloom.

  ‘According to your notes, Mrs Farrow, you apparently suffered a collapse last summer.’

  Steph nodded. ‘Some bastard farmer poached our labour, leaving us completely short-handed for the harvest. If it hadn’t been for the WI we’d ’ve lost the farm.’

  ‘And how has that affected you? In terms of your health?’

  ‘Hasn’t.’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’

  ‘No reason to lie. Not to my doctor.’

  Myra felt a warm glow in her chest at the sound of the words ‘not to my doctor’. For the first time she felt regarded as part of the community.

  ‘To be clear, Mrs Farrow,’ Myra continued, ‘the inciden
t with the German pilot has not left you unscathed. I don’t mean physically. I mean . . . inside your head.’

  Myra knew she had to tread carefully when trying to ascertain the extent of a psychological issue. The understanding of how the mind processed trauma was a relatively new discipline that many practising doctors failed either to understand or appreciate. The very idea that unseen debilitating forces could be at work inside one’s head was downright terrifying to most ordinary people, as they were customarily associated with words like ‘mad’ and ‘lunatic’.

  Though she hated to admit it, as she hated to admit any form of weakness, Steph knew she was in trouble.

  ‘I’d say it’s left its mark,’ Steph said, still trying to play her situation down.

  Laura felt Stanley lean a little closer to her.

  ‘I did this,’ he whispered to her.

  Laura looked round at the lad. ‘I don’t see how you can blame yourself, Stanley. I read your account of what happened in the Echo. As you said, he came out of nowhere.’

  Stanley shook his head. ‘Not that. That knocked her for six. But this. The collapse. That was me. Telling her I’ve signed up.’

  Laura looked at Stanley, confused. ‘Signed up?’

  Stanley nodded. ‘She went down soon as I told her.’

  Laura hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do with this information. She suddenly recalled Myra telling her about listening to the patient’s nearest and dearest.

  ‘Dr Rosen?’ Laura said quietly. ‘May I have a word?’

  Myra looked across at Laura and could see her indicating that she meant ‘in private’, outside the room. Myra took out her stethoscope and made her excuses to Steph and Stan, and followed Laura out of the bedroom and onto the landing.

  ‘What is it?’ Myra asked Laura.

  ‘Stanley just told me that Steph – Mrs Farrow – collapsed immediately after he told her he’d signed up for the army yesterday.’

  Myra looked at Laura for several moments.

  ‘What do you think’s the matter with her?’

  ‘She’s clearly exhausted. Suffering from the trauma of what happened with the pilot. All could have made a contribution. But chiefly, I’m concerned about her heart. Well, there’s a rare condition called right-ventricular strain, which results in a deformity of the muscle of the right ventricle. I can’t be certain, but she needs to be examined at the hospital.’

  ‘Stanley thinks he’s responsible,’ Laura said.

  ‘There’s an irregularity in the heartbeat. If it is what I suspect, it’s unlikely to have been caused by a single event. Young Stanley’s announcement may have been a contributory factor – who can say. But it’s very unlikely to have been entirely responsible. In fact,’ said Myra ominously, ‘it may have brought it to light just in time.’

  ‘Just in time?’ Laura repeated.

  Myra nodded. ‘Left untreated, the condition could eventually kill her.’

  Chapter 35

  TERESA AND ANNIE ate supper in silence. Nick’s supper was on a plate in the oven. After a few moments Annie looked up at Teresa, who was merely picking at her food.

  ‘Why don’t you turn on the wireless and see if there’s some music we could listen to?’

  Teresa looked across the table and shook her head.

  ‘I’m not in the mood to listen to music. Besides,’ she said, ‘I want to be able to hear the telephone if it rings.’

  ‘Of course, you’d be able to hear it.’

  ‘I want to be sure.’

  Teresa continued to pick as Annie finished her supper, placed her cutlery on the plate, reached into her pocket to bring out a packet of cigarettes, and lit one. She took a long drag and watched Teresa.

  ‘This is your own fault,’ she said.

  ‘What is?’ asked Teresa, trying hard to conceal her irritation with Annie’s desire to chat.

  ‘Insisting Nick telephone before he goes up. You’re on tenterhooks all night in case he does. And then you’ll be a nervous wreck until he telephones to say he’s returned safely. Either way you’re a quivering mess. It would be far better to stay in the dark and deal with things when or if they happen.’

  ‘I’m not a “quivering mess”,’ said Teresa, setting down her knife and fork.

  ‘I can see you quivering from here. Metaphorically speaking.’

  ‘The arrangement with Nick isn’t designed to eradicate all my nerves – that would be impossible. What it allows me to do is control them. Until Nick telephones, my anxiety stays at a certain level. If he telephones it will rise to another level. But if the arrangement wasn’t in place at all, my anxiety would be at its uppermost all night, because that’s how human nature works.’

  ‘My human nature doesn’t,’ said Annie, her mouth betraying the hint of a smile. ‘My human nature takes each moment as it comes.’

  Teresa laid her knife and fork neatly on her plate and looked coolly at Annie.

  ‘Well, do pass on my congratulations to your human nature. It’s clearly far more sophisticated than mine.’

  ‘It knows,’ said Annie, enjoying the feat of distracting Teresa out of her anxiety for a few moments.

  ‘I wouldn’t look so smug, Annie. All it means is you have ice in your veins. It’s not the most endearing quality.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But a damned good one for a pilot. You’ll be relieved to know Nick has it too. Not here, with you, of course. But the moment he sets foot on the airfield you can hear the tiny creak of ice crystals forming. All else forgotten but the job in hand.’

  ‘You make him sound like an assassin.’

  ‘Aren’t they all? Me too, if they’d let me.’

  After supper, Teresa hooked her arm through Annie’s and helped her to the front room, and slowly eased her onto the sofa. Teresa picked up the newspaper and tried to focus on the mass of print in her hands, as Annie continued to smoke. Each time she tried to concentrate on an article, her eyes lifted over the page and settled on the black Bakelite telephone on the side cabinet.

  Do I want it to ring or stay silent? If it rings I could at least prepare myself.

  ‘If we put on some music it will distract you,’ Annie offered. ‘The newspaper won’t do the trick. Trust me – I’ve tried on many, many occasions. Trying to read while anxious is like trying to sit still on an anthill. Music is the only thing that provides a complete distraction. It floods the senses. That and alcohol.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for music,’ Teresa said, curtly.

  ‘Goodie – a drink then! Come on, Mrs Lucas. You like a drink. All Catholics like a drink. Especially the lapsed ones.’

  ‘I’ll fix you one if it’ll shut you up!’ Teresa said, grinning.

  ‘Terrific. But I’ll only have one if you have one with me. You should. It’ll calm your nerves.’ Annie paused for a moment and stopped play-acting. ‘Seriously. It will help.’

  Teresa let out a long-suffering sigh, stood up, crossed to the small drinks cabinet at the back of the room, and poured them each a drink.

  ‘Sherry – how tasteful. You couldn’t slip some whisky in that?’

  ‘I could but I’m not going to.’

  Teresa handed Annie the sherry glass, sat back in her seat and took a sip, looking directly ahead, waiting for the telephone to either ring or remain silent.

  ‘He’s an exceptional pilot, Teresa,’ said Annie, calmly. ‘Exceptional.’

  ‘So everyone tells me. He told me himself. But what if he gets caught out trying to help one of his new boys? What then?’

  Annie didn’t have an answer. She agreed that going to the aid of a relative novice pilot might be Nick’s Achilles heel. He wouldn’t be able to resist, and in so doing, would put himself at far greater risk than if he were flying solo.

  ‘He feels the death of every pilot in the squadron on a deeply personal level,’ said Teresa. ‘They’re like sons to him.’

  Annie looked at Teresa, nodded in agreement, held out her hand and beckoned her over.

/>   ‘Come here,’ she said quietly. ‘Sit with me.’

  Teresa looked at Annie and felt a pang of electricity shoot through her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘What any friend would do. Offering comfort to her friend at a difficult time.’

  Teresa looked at Annie’s hand, as if it might contain an invisible grenade.

  ‘It’s only my hand,’ said Annie, as if reading Teresa’s mind.

  Annie’s hand took hold of Teresa’s, and held it lightly as she gently pulled Teresa to sit beside her on the sofa. Through her thin cotton dress Teresa felt the warmth of Annie’s leg against hers.

  ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ said Annie, gently.

  The two women sat this way for five minutes, each thinking about Nick. Annie’s hand felt warm in Teresa’s, and though Teresa felt she should probably take her hand away, she felt comforted by it and continued to hold it.

  ‘I’ve recently had nightmares about Nick being shot down,’ Teresa eventually confessed. ‘Trapped in his cockpit, surrounded by flames, screaming out my name.’

  ‘It’s perfectly natural, I suppose,’ said Annie. ‘But I remember you telling me about looking at the Spitfire that crashed into the doctor’s house. Seeing the dead pilot inside. You don’t think that’s informing your dreams at the moment?’

  ‘It’s possible. I did think about that terrible scene a great deal afterwards.’

  ‘So, it could have become embedded in your brain over time,’ Annie suggested. ‘Imprinted, and now resurrected to generate the most terrible nightmares.’

  Teresa conceded this might be true, but also that the visions she was experiencing at night were not so beyond the bounds of what might happen to Nick.

  ‘No. No, I can’t say they aren’t,’ Teresa admitted.

  Annie slowly extended her free arm and curled it around Teresa’s shoulder for greater reassurance, and gently stroked her arm. Teresa instinctively rested her head on Annie’s shoulder, her eyes glittering with tears.

  The two women sat like this for endless minutes, sharing their worry for Nick. Teresa now felt the warmth of Annie’s whole body against her own, as well as the rise and fall of her chest. Neither felt the need to say anything more, and the longer the silence continued the more it seemed to seal them within this moment.