by Tania Crosse
‘Queenie, what’s the matter?’
‘Oh, I doesn’t know, cheel.’ Queenie took in a deep breath as if to calm herself. ‘I … I came over all funny, like. It sort of … went dark for a minute. Could you … could you fetch us some water?’
‘Of course.’ It was done in a trice and Queenie took the glass from her in a hand that still shook. ‘Queenie, will you be all right for a few minutes? Charlie’s strapped in his high chair so he’ll be safe enough. I’m going to the phone box to call Dr Franfield.’
‘Oh, no, you’m not!’ The old lady’s voice was adamant. ‘Queenie’s fine now. It were just a funny turn. I doesn’t want no doctor prodding us about.’
‘But, Queenie—’
‘No. Look, I’s proper clever now. If you calls the doctor, I won’t let ’en in.’
‘Oh, I really think—’
‘No! I be as right as rain now. I doesn’t want no one interfering in my life. I be quite capable o’ living in this yere condemned ’ouse, an’ I’ll not ’ave no one thinking otherwise!’
Her face was screwed up with such frightening ferocity that Anna caught her breath. She’d never seen Queenie look like that and it really scared her. She would have liked to defy her and fetch Dr Franfield anyway. But that might make matters worse, and she didn’t want that.
‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But if it happens again, I’m definitely calling the doctor. And we’re not opening the tea room today. You’re going to sit with your feet up and have a nice quiet day. Or as quiet as Charlie will let us,’ she added as the child began to bang his spoon on the high chair tray.
For a few seconds, Queenie looked at her daggers, but then Anna could almost see reason overtake her.
‘If you insists,’ she conceded. ‘One day won’t matter, I suppose. But I’m opening up tomorrow.’
Anna was hardly swamped with relief. She was sure Queenie should see Dr Franfield, and then there was the matter of the cottage. It really was a bombshell, and Anna felt the sudden anxiety over their future knock her sideways. Presumably she could go with Queenie – if she could be persuaded to move – for where else could she and Charlie go? Dear Lord, she had thought their idyllic life would reach on for ever. But now, heaven alone knew what was in store for them!
Charlie was running towards her on his sturdy little legs, his beaming face vibrant and alive and his eyes dancing with glee. Behind him, the green sea of the moor rose up to a sharp, dramatic tor on the skyline, and all was bathed in a shimmering, golden light that drifted down benignly from the azure dome of the sky.
Charlie ran into her arms and she swung him into the air, twirling him round so that his legs kicked joyously and unrestrained. Suddenly a thunderous crash exploded behind them, shattering the peace of the summer afternoon and bringing their game to a juddering halt. They both turned, their laughter dying. Holly Cottage, the haven of their lives, was in ruins, the tin roof gone, the massive stones rent asunder. The walls crumbling and covered in encroaching ivy.
Anna jolted awake, hardly daring to breathe. All she could hear was the familiar, lingering silence of the dead of night, too early yet for the sonorous chorus of the awakening birds. Her heartbeat slowed again. She was snugly in bed in the cottage, Charlie fast asleep in his cot. They were safe. At least, for the time being.
The shock of the letter they had received that morning slunk back into her thoughts. What were they to do? She would have to plead for time. Time to persuade Queenie that there was no alternative but to leave the beloved place that had been her lifelong home apart from the time she had spent away during the Great War. It would break her, but it seemed to Anna there was nothing else to be done, and they wouldn’t be far away. But to see the cottage fall into ruin as Anna had seen it in her dream, or perhaps even be demolished, might be more than the old lady could stand.
What was that? Yes, she had definitely heard a noise, like someone moving about the cottage. No, more like lumbering around. And then a dull clatter as something hard and solid fell onto the flagstone floor. Then a long, agonised moan.
Anna shot out of bed and, a second later, she was in the kitchen. There was just enough light from a pale half-moon outside to make out the shape of a figure dressed in a long white nightgown slumped over one of the kitchen chairs which lay on its side on the floor.
‘Queenie!’ Anna heard a voice she didn’t recognise as her own scream into the night.
‘Chee … eel,’ Queenie rasped as Anna dropped on her knees beside her. The breath scraped in her throat, her arm clutched across her chest. ‘You … an’ Charlie … everything … to me.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Anna whispered quickly before a lump closed her throat. And then somehow, perhaps her mind grabbing at some concrete, practical action, she managed to say to Queenie, ‘Let’s get you more comfortable.’
She grasped her under the arms, every muscle straining as she dragged Queenie off the chair and across to one of the armchairs. But she simply wasn’t strong enough to lift her into it, so instead she propped her against it, stuffing loose cushions behind her.
‘Stay there. I’m going for the doctor.’
‘Not … going … nowheres,’ Queenie’s voice, suddenly so old, gasped, and Anna caught her slow, muted cry of pain.
She sprang to the door. Oh, good Lord, did she have the right money for the phone box? But, oh, yes! Olive and Clifford had just had a telephone installed! That would be so much quicker than running along the road to the public call box.
She stumbled, barefoot, to the lodge, trying to hold onto reality as her mind reeled in panic. She rang, banged with all her might, on the door, her efforts echoing through the night. Oh, come on!
Suddenly the wood yielded and she pulled back. A bleary-eyed Clifford opened the door, and in the glimmer of moonlight, Anna saw his scowl deepen when he saw who it was.
‘What the hell do you want at this hour?’
But Anna ignored his attitude. ‘Queenie. I think she’s having a heart attack. Can you ring the doctor?’
Clifford’s expression at once changed. ‘Of course. What’s his number?’
Anna told him, and as he picked up the receiver in the hall behind him, she dashed back to the cottage, her heart knocking against her ribs. She fell on her knees, almost faint with fear as she realised Queenie’s eyes were closed.
‘Queenie?’ she squealed.
‘Yes, cheel. Queenie’s yere.’ But she didn’t open her eyes.
‘Is it any better?’
‘A little,’ Queenie groaned, and Anna knew she was lying.
‘I’ll light the lamps. The doctor’s on his way.’
She tore herself from Queenie’s side, and yet it was a relief to have something to do. Her fingers trembled with the matches, and it took her twice the normal time to have the lamps alight, flooding the room with their familiar smell and casting a flickering, jaundiced glimmer on the walls. She shivered, suddenly aware that she was still only clad in her nightdress. She must have given Clifford quite a fright, she mused almost hysterically as she hurried into Queenie’s room. She dragged the eiderdown from the bed and took it into the kitchen and tucked it around Queenie’s tense form, as she must be cold as well as in such pain, even though the summer night was mild.
‘Thank you, cheel.’
Her voice was barely a whisper, shaky, weaker than before. Anna’s stomach was clamped in a vice, her teeth chattering, so cold herself. It must be the shock. She crept into her own bedroom, careful not to wake Charlie, and retrieved her dressing gown. Queenie? Yes, still there, answered her question with a muted grunt. Stoke up the range, get the room warm.
It was as she shovelled on more coal that she heard Queenie’s gasp, a sort of low rattling as she drew air into her lungs. Anna dropped the shovel and flew to her side. Queenie clung to her, staring up at her, mouth and eyes wide open.
‘Cheel,’ she managed in an unearthly cackle, and then she fell limp in Anna’s arms.
Oh, dear God.
Please, God, no. Anna wanted to shake life back into her. But Queenie had perhaps just lost consciousness. Yes, that was it. So she rocked her gently instead. Back and forth. Silently. Tears meandering down her cheeks and dropping like cobwebs onto Queenie’s grey hair.
‘Oh, good Lord.’
Anna lifted her head, and through her tear-blurred vision saw Olive’s familiar shape in the doorway. She had evidently thrown on some clothes, as she was fully dressed, though her hair was all awry.
‘Clifford told me as soon as he’d spoken to the doctor. He’s on his way.’ The other woman caught her breath as she came into the room. ‘Oh, God. Queenie. She’s not …?’
Anna stared up at her. Numbed. Her senses deadened to everything but fear and grief. And yet she was alive to every sound in the cottage, every flicker of the oil lamps.
Olive hadn’t been able to say the ultimate word, and Anna shook her head fiercely. ‘No. No, she’s not. She’ll be all right till the doctor comes,’ she assured her, smoothing Queenie’s grizzled head.
Olive sank down beside them and gently felt Queenie’s wrist for a pulse. She said nothing, but after a moment or two, replaced Queenie’s gnarled hand in her lap and patted it.
‘He won’t be long, Dr Franfield,’ she murmured quietly.
Anna nodded and went on rocking Queenie’s lifeless form, willing her to live, trying to pump her own life force into the woman she loved so dearly. And so they waited. In the crystal silence of the night.
They heard the rumble of an engine, the sound of running feet. The beam of a torch, the figure of a tall man in the doorway.
‘Dr Franfield,’ Anna gulped in relief.
He crossed the room and Anna relinquished Queenie from her arms, carefully laying her head back on a cushion. She watched, every nerve taut, as the doctor listened to Queenie’s chest, his brow knitted in concentration. His practised fingers felt beneath the folds of her jaw, then he took a small torch from his bag, and lifting each of Queenie’s closed lids, shone it into her eyes. Flicking it back and forth a couple of times. Then laid the flat of his hand on her forehead. And all the time, Anna held her breath, praying. Please, God …
Dr Franfield sat back on his heels, his cheeks drawn in. And the bud of hope withered and died in Anna’s breast.
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Millington. Anna,’ he said gravely but with the deepest kindness. ‘There’s … nothing. She’s already beginning to turn cold. I should say she passed away about twenty minutes ago. Shortly after your neighbour called me.’
His words, heavy with sympathy though they were, were shards of glass in Anna’s heart. ‘Are you sure?’ she demanded at once, her voice touching on hysteria. ‘There must be something—’
The doctor slowly shook his head. ‘It’s too late. I’m afraid she really has gone.’
A terrible ache swelled up in Anna’s throat, strangling her with sorrow. As tears filled her eyes and began to drip down from her chin, she gathered Queenie in her arms again and held her. So close. As if she could never let her go.
Dr Franfield put a comforting hand on her shoulder and then got to his feet. ‘Could you make us all some tea, please, Mrs … er …?’
‘Olive.’ The woman heaved with an oppressive sigh as she, too, stood up. ‘A good friend was Queenie. For many a long year. A sort of institution, you might say. Born in this cottage she was. And always said she’d die in it, too. It’s what she would have wanted.’
Their voices floated over Anna’s head, as did the sounds of Olive making tea. Queenie. Oh, Queenie, you can’t have gone. We had so much to look forward to. Charlie growing up, going to school. Queenie, don’t leave me. Please.
Her words were in her head, reverberating in her skull. Or perhaps she moaned them as she continued to rock Queenie in her arms. No. No. This hadn’t happened. Why, oh, why?
She angrily shrugged off the good doctor’s hands when he tried to lift her. He waited a moment, then dropped down on his haunches beside her.
‘You have to let her go, now, Anna,’ he whispered gently. ‘She was a lovely lady, but now she’s gone. And you must think of Charlie. You’ll have him to care for in the morning, and it’s already growing light.’
His words were soothing, a soft balm. She raised her head that was buried in Queenie’s shoulder, and with the greatest care, laid her back on the floor. She sniffed, her heart dragging in pain, and ran the back of her hand across her dripping nose. Yes. Charlie. Of course. He’d be awake soon. To Queenie, Charlie had been her own lost baby Charlotte come back to her. So Anna must pull herself together for both their sakes.
Goodbye, Queenie. My dearest, dearest …
Dr Franfield helped her to her feet and Olive led her away. Over her shoulder, she saw the doctor lift the quilt over Queenie’s still, lifeless face.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘’Eenie?’
Charlie looked up expectantly, head cocked to one side, as he sat in his high chair. Anna gazed across at him, choking on the grief that raked her throat. She felt empty, her heart scoured of feeling. Nothing but the all-encompassing misery that held her imprisoned in a hostile grey shroud from which she felt she would never break free.
First her dear, innocent mother, then her poor father whose life should have been oh, so different, and now … Anna felt as if her heart would quite literally break. She was aware of it beating too fast, nervously, as if it would soon give out. She felt strange, shaky, wanting to lie down and yet she knew she wouldn’t sleep. And although she tried to resist the agony of it, her eyes kept being drawn to the spot on the floor in front of the armchair where only hours earlier Queenie had died in her arms.
Dr Franfield had been wonderful. ‘She was a great lady from what I knew of her,’ he said kindly, for he was a great believer in talking openly about the deceased. In not letting the pain of bereavement fester inside. ‘Quite a character.’
Anna nodded, since speech seemed beyond her. But then, to her surprise, she found herself saying, ‘But she was only sixty-four.’
William Franfield raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? She looked so much older.’
‘Yes, I know. I think it was the hard life she’d always led. Up here. Out in all weathers.’
It was William’s turn to nod. ‘And had she always been in good health?’ he asked gently.
‘She had seemed sort of tired to me recently,’ Olive put in.
Anna looked up a little sheepishly. ‘And she’d had a few funny turns. As if she’d lost herself. Just for a few seconds. I put it down to thinking about things in the past. Memories. But yesterday morning, she had a terrible shock. She got a letter. We’ve got to move out. The cottage has been condemned.’
‘Good Lord!’
‘You can imagine how Queenie felt about that. She was livid. And then she went all peculiar. Nearly fainted, and she said everything went dark. It was over in a matter of moments. I wanted to call you, but she wouldn’t have it.’ She met William’s steady eyes, her already thrumming heartbeat accelerating painfully. ‘If I’d made her see you yesterday, she wouldn’t have died, would she?’
William frowned at her. ‘Now, don’t you go blaming yourself. From what you say, she might have had one or two very tiny strokes. I’d probably have found something not quite right and given her something for it. But this was a massive heart attack and nothing would have prevented it. So, no more of that sort of talk.’ He leant across and squeezed her shaking hand. ‘Now, is there anyone else you’d like me to call for you?’
Ethel. Of course, Ethel. And her mum. But the luxury of a telephone was beyond them or any of their neighbours in Ford, so it was out of the question. It would have to be a telegram later on in the morning when the rest of the world had woken up.
‘No, not really,’ she mumbled.
‘I’ll stay with her,’ Olive said protectively.
‘Well, if it’s all right with you,’ the doctor began, rising to his feet, ‘I’ll use your telephone again. To call the undertakers,’
he added under his breath. ‘I could give you a mild sedative, Anna, but you’ve got Charlie to look after. I’ll call again later, after my rounds. And you might want to say your last goodbyes,’ he suggested delicately.
And so daybreak had ticked on into morning. The July dawn sent shafts of sunlight spilling into the cottage. Anna drew back the curtains, folded back the quilt and let the rays fall on Queenie’s peaceful face. Like an angel. The undertakers came, two mature men, solemn and respectful in dark suits. She kissed Queenie’s cold, marble forehead one last, final time.
Olive had stayed a little longer, but then had popped back home to wash and dress properly and make Clifford his breakfast since nothing must break his routine. The world outside was turning again, birds singing. The occasional vehicle passing on the road. All so normal. And yet never again would it be the same.
Charlie had woken and Anna hugged him tightly as she lifted him from his cot. She must be jolly and bright for him. He was eighteen months old. He would forget.
‘Queenie’s … asleep,’ she answered him. And at that moment, Olive returned, eyes red-rimmed so Anna knew she had been crying. Odd that. Anna’s own tears wouldn’t come.
Things to do. Charlie’s bath. The goats, the hens. Olive went into Princetown for her. Sent telegrams to Ethel and to Carrie. Called into Daisy, Gladys and Betty, the Crow sisters, in their new home. Various others who knew Queenie so well.
William Franfield returned as promised, accompanied by his wife, who Anna already knew, of course, as she was his receptionist. But now she introduced herself as Deborah.
‘I’ll help you arrange the funeral,’ she smiled sympathetically. ‘I assume there’s little money, but we can fill in some forms. I’ll do everything I can to help, and you can ring me any time. You might have to bear with me on occasion, mind. Our son gets married in two weeks’ time, and our daughter will be arriving from America with her husband and baby the day after tomorrow. We’ve not met our grandson so we’re very excited.’
