The Rainbow Years

by Bradshaw, Rita

  She was becoming increasingly agitated inside as she fought the exhaustion blanketing her body and mind enough to say, ‘I want to see him, please. I have to see him. He . . . he saved me. He threw himself over me just before the crash happened.’

  ‘Now, now, don’t distress yourself.’

  ‘Please, I have to see him.’ She had to make things right. Charles wasn’t a bad man, just a weak one, and they had loved each other once, before it had all gone so terribly wrong. She couldn’t let him lie there thinking she hadn’t forgiven him. What if he died before she could tell him?

  The doctor shook his head. ‘This is most irregular and not what I would advise, but perhaps if you are well enough we’ll see about wheeling you into his ward for just a moment or two. We shall be moving you onto a main ward later today, perhaps a slight detour then wouldn’t be out of the question. Now, do rest, Miss Shawe.’

  Amy was asleep before he had walked out of the door.

  It felt very strange to think she had lost ten days of her life through the concussion, and she still felt so groggy she knew she had to submit to being confined to bed, with all the embarrassing procedures that involved. Later that day, though, when the doctor himself wheeled her into Charles’s small side ward which held four occupants, Amy knew she had got off lightly. A severe-looking sister was sitting at a table near the door, and the curtains were drawn round two of the beds. The patients in the other two - one of whom was Charles - had the appearance of corpses.

  Charles had his eyes closed but when Dr Shelton said, ‘I have a visitor to see you, Mr Callendar,’ in an over-hearty voice, the transparent eyelids rose and there was immediate recognition in the dark eyes.

  ‘Hello, Charles.’ As the doctor positioned the wheelchair at the head of the bed, Amy reached out and took one of the thin, limp hands lying on the white coverlet. ‘I’m being moved to a big ward and I asked if I could see you en route,’ she said awkwardly, aware of the doctor behind her. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better.’ It was a hoarse whisper. ‘Now I know you are going to be all right.’

  She had thought he looked ill ten days ago but now he was truly nothing but skin and bone. Something stirred in her, and to combat the sudden pricking of tears, she said brightly, ‘You’re going to be all right too, I’m sure of it.’

  There was a glimmer of a smile. ‘My determined Amy. I dare not be anything else now, dare I?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  He shut his eyes again and she could see the sweat on his brow and knew he must be in a great deal of pain, but she had to say it. She leaned forward, squeezing the motionless fingers in hers as she said, ‘Thank you for what you did at the house. I wouldn’t be here but for you.’

  His eyes opened again. ‘Nonsense,’ he muttered faintly.

  ‘It’s true. One of the nurses told me the reporter who described what happened said just that in his article in the Echo.’

  ‘What does he know?’ Again the colourless lips tried to smile.

  ‘I mean it, Charles. You saved me.’

  At this his head moved agitatedly on the pillow and Amy felt the doctor stir behind her. ‘Never can make up for what I did,’ Charles said, ‘but want you to go on.You’re young and so beautiful, want you to be happy . . .’

  His breathing was coming with great effort now and the doctor’s voice was soothing when he said, ‘Your visitor will be back soon, Mr Callendar, but for now Sister is going to give you a little injection to make you feel better.’ And Amy found herself whisked out of the room with a swiftness that brooked no argument.

  Out in the corridor, the doctor said quietly, ‘It was time for his medication, Miss Shawe. Please don’t distress yourself.’

  Amy brushed the tears from her cheeks. ‘Is he going to get better?’

  Dr Shelton sighed. ‘This can wait until you are feeling a little more like yourself.’

  ‘Please, I want to know.’

  ‘He is paralysed in the lower half of his body and this will not change. Certain internal complications have put a strain on his heart but we’re hoping that time will ease this. Unfortunately Mr Callendar was not a well man before this incident occurred. I gather from his own doctor that his liver has been under stress for many years and that he doesn’t eat properly or look after himself. His doctor told him only a short while ago that he would be lucky to see another birthday unless he altered his way of life.’

  Amy stared at him. ‘I see,’ she whispered.

  ‘So you will appreciate we are battling against the odds. Having said that, I am frequently surprised by how men and women rally if they have the will to live. I have seen patients slip away who really have very little wrong with them, and others, like Mr Callendar, go on for years if the life force is strong. It really does depend on the individual human spirit.’

  She stared into the lined face. ‘And if he feels he has nothing to live for?’

  ‘Ah . . .’ He shook his head and shrugged.

  By the time she was placed in the tightly made bed in the seemingly endless ward full of other tightly made beds, Amy was too exhausted to eat or drink. She was aware of the curtains being pulled round her bed and the sister’s voice saying, ‘No visitors for Miss Shawe this evening, Nurse. I really can’t understand why she wasn’t brought straight to the ward,’ in a tone which proclaimed deep irritation. Then Amy knew no more until the next morning.

  She awoke some time before the rest of the ward stirred, lying in the semi-darkness listening to the snores and snorts from the other patients and the low murmur from several nurses sitting at the table in the middle of the room. Someone had pulled back the curtains from around her bed at some point, but after carefully raising her head from the pillow and glancing round once, she remained as though asleep. She needed to think.

  Dr Shelton came to see her after breakfast and this time he was accompanied by an entourage which included the dour-faced matron. He seemed different in front of his junior doctors, detailing her injuries as though she was a bug under a microscope.

  Amy remained quiet and still until the little group was about to move on, then she said, ‘Doctor? How is my husband?’

  She saw him blink in surprise. Aware of her situation and, no doubt, of Nick’s vigil by her bed, he clearly hadn’t expected her to claim Charles as her husband so openly.

  ‘Mr Callendar is as well as can be expected.’

  ‘Will I be able to see him today?’

  ‘Miss Shawe—’

  ‘Mrs Callendar,’ she interrupted the doctor firmly. ‘My name is Mrs Callendar.’

  She saw him glance at the matron who remained deadpan. He cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Callendar, I don’t think that is wise.You are very weak and Mr Callendar sleeps most of the time; he is under heavy medication.’

  ‘He will want to see me.’

  ‘Be that as it may—’

  ‘He needs to see me. You said yourself he needs to have the will to fight. I can give him that.’ Even this short conversation was tiring her but she was determined not to let it show.

  The doctor glanced at the matron again and now the good lady seemed to take pity on him. She moved closer to Amy’s bed, her voice totally at odds with her forbidding appearance as she said softly, ‘Mr Callendar was distressed for some time after your visit yesterday, I’m afraid. In view of that it would be best to leave things until he is a little stronger.’

  ‘He won’t get stronger if we leave things.’ Amy could see the group round Dr Shelton looking askance; clearly one didn’t usually argue with Matron. ‘I need to tell him he has to get well, that the house doesn’t matter. We . . . we can find another house.’ There, she had said it. The enormity of what she was going to do, what she was going to give up, made her voice tremble. ‘If I don’t tell him, he won’t fight, Matron. I know it.’

  It was the matron who now glanced at the doctor, and in answer to her silent enquiry, he said, ‘I leave things of this nature to you, Matron. Do as you think best.’
And he moved on down the ward with what looked like relief on his face.

  ‘We’ll talk about this in a few minutes, Miss - Mrs Callendar,’ the matron said briskly, ‘once the doctor’s rounds have finished.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t fight the swimming sensation in her head any longer. It came and went but just at the moment it was overpowering. As the matron bustled after the team of doctors, Amy was glad to lie back against the pillows and shut her eyes.

  It was after lunch before Amy was wheeled into Charles’s small ward which she had learned was a room reserved for patients who needed priority care. It was just the same as before, even to the curtains being pulled round the two beds opposite him. The nurse parked the wheelchair next to the bed and murmured, ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes, all right? Sister says not a second longer.’ Her eyes darted towards the person sitting rigidly at her post just inside the door. Amy nodded and the nurse disappeared.

  ‘Charles?’ She could detect no movement in the body lying so white and still under the coverlet and for a moment she felt a sense of panic.Then his eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. She was conscious of two drips on the other side of the bed, one holding blood and the other a clear liquid. She hadn’t noticed these the day before and for a moment it threw her. ‘How are you feeling?’ she heard herself say inanely.

  It seemed to take enormous effort for him to mumble, ‘Like a house fell on me,’ but she took the humour as a good sign.

  She grinned at him, determined not to show how close she was to weeping. Following the line she had taken with the doctor, she said, ‘Looks as though we’ll have to find a new place once we’re out of here but perhaps that’s not a bad thing. New start and all that.’

  He stared at her and for a moment she thought he hadn’t understood. Then he shut his eyes, his voice a whisper when he said, ‘No. I wouldn’t let you do that.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Sacrifice yourself.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ she said huskily. ‘You’re my husband, till death do us part and in sickness and in health. Remember?’

  ‘You want a divorce.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  He was becoming agitated again. Amy hoped old eagle-eyes by the door couldn’t see.

  ‘Amy, listen to me.’ He had to breathe in and out a good few times before he could go on. ‘You are someone very special, I knew that from day one but like the weak fool I am I destroyed everything between us. I failed you. I . . . I failed our child. I have no right to live and still less to expect anything of you. I detest myself.’

  ‘Don’t, Charles.’

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry for me and I would never let you throw away your life for the second time. Just promise me you’ll be happy, that’s enough.’

  ‘I want us to get back together.’ She stared at him, willing him to believe her.

  He was breathing hard but his voice was calm when he said, ‘I don’t, not any more. I want a divorce.’

  Suddenly she found herself glaring at him. ‘For years I hated you,’ she said angrily, ‘and it ate me up inside. Then when I saw you again I realised I pitied you more than anything but still it hurt. Then that day at the house when you tried to protect me, I knew the old Charles, the Charles I fell in love with was still there deep inside. I . . . I don’t love you like I did, I can’t pretend, but we’ve been through so much. We have our son, the knowledge that he existed, that he was real, and no one else can share that. While we’re alive, he is too. Oh, I can’t explain what I feel but I don’t think he’s gone for ever, I think we’ll see him again one day. And we’re his parents, it’s not right for us to forget that or him.’

  ‘I have never forgotten him,’ Charles whispered, his face ravaged. He hadn’t forgotten either of his baby sons.

  ‘Nor have I.’ Amy reached out and clasped his hand. ‘And you didn’t mean for it to happen, it was an accident. I do know that.’ It pained her that the look on his face was that of a child, disbelieving even as it was apparent how much he wanted to believe. He wasn’t sure she meant what she was saying.Would she have felt like this if he hadn’t been so badly injured? She didn’t think so, she admitted honestly. What she did know was that at some point over the last days pity and compassion had swilled her mind clean and now she was doing what she felt compelled to do.

  Charles stared at her. She had taken him utterly aback but he wanted to believe her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. ‘And him?’ He found he didn’t want to bring the man Perce had seen her with, the pilot chap, into the equation but he had to. He had to know. ‘You love him, don’t you?’

  She looked at him and he read the answer in her face even before she whispered, ‘Yes, I love him but it’s over.’ Or it would be very shortly.

  He should ask her if this chap had left her or whether she had left him. If she had finished with him because she was going to come back to him out of pity or whatever it was. He should ask but he was too frightened of the answer because he wanted her back, on any terms, and he couldn’t keep up the effort of being noble. Not with heaven within his grasp. Before she had walked in here all he had wanted was to die; he couldn’t believe his body could hurt this much without his heart giving out. Now, looking at her, he wanted to see another dawn. ‘You’re sure it’s over?’

  She nodded. ‘You sleep now.’

  He moved his head slightly, tried to say something but began to cry instead. Silent tears which took the last remnants of his pride.

  ‘Don’t. Don’t, Charles.’ He felt the touch of her lips on his brow and then heard the sister stand up and walk over to them. ‘It will be all right, I promise.’

  ‘And I promise no more drink.’ He clutched her hand. ‘Whatever happens, no more.’

  ‘All right, all right. Rest now.’

  Her voice was soothing and he felt she didn’t believe him but he would make her believe him, he told himself. She moved away and the sister bent over him with a syringe. He heard her say, ‘One more minute, Mrs Callendar,’ after she had injected him and then Amy’s face was there again.

  ‘She . . . she said Mrs Callendar,’ he whispered.

  ‘Well, that’s my name, isn’t it?’ She smiled at him.

  The drug was already taking effect and he knew he wouldn’t know anything more for a while in a few moments. He drew on all his remaining strength to say, ‘I mean it, Amy. If I get out of here I won’t touch a drop.’

  ‘You’ll get out of here,’ she said quietly. ‘I promise.’

  Nick was smiling when he came onto Amy’s ward that evening. She watched him as he approached her bed. He looked big and confident and handsome, and she would have given the world for everything to be as he thought it was. But instead she was going to pull the rug out from under his feet and hurt him badly, and she didn’t know how she was going to get through the next few minutes.

  In the event it was even worse than she had expected.

  He gathered her into his arms as he reached the bed, careless of the other patients in the ward and the nursing staff. He held her tight, murmuring how much he loved her and how she had scared him to death, how he wouldn’t have wanted to go on if anything had happened to her.

  For a few seconds she rested against him, wondering how she would find the strength to go through with what she had decided to do. But she had no choice really, not deep down inside. She would never know a moment’s peace for the rest of her life if she walked away from Charles right now. Winnie had been a great one for saying that a person couldn’t escape their destiny and that life was all mapped out from when the first breath was taken. They’d argued about it often but perhaps Winnie had been right after all.

  ‘All the time I was in France and making my way back to England I thought of you,’ Nick whispered against her hair. ‘You were the prize I was coming home for. I knew I’d make it. Whatever it was you had to tell me, however bad it was, I knew we wouldn’t be parted somehow. I didn’t even change my clothes whe
n I got to the base and learned what had happened to you. And when I got here and they said you’d been out of it for over a week, I prayed for the first time in years. Crazy, eh? You rail against God and blame Him for all the grief in the world and then as soon as something really matters again, He’s the first call.’

  ‘Nick, please, we have to talk.’

  Her stiffness finally got through to him and he straightened. His green eyes were narrowed and faintly puzzled. He kept hold of her hand as he sat down on the chair at the head of the bed. ‘OK, we’ll talk,’ he said, his tone indulgent. ‘But just remember what I said to you the other day. I don’t care about anything except us being together. If you want children in the future we’ll adopt: if you don’t, that’s fine by me. I just want you as my wife.’