by Pam Weaver
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Dottie gasped.
‘I’m going with him,’ said Peaches.
‘I’m afraid that will be impossible, Mrs Smith,’ said Dr Fitzgerald, shaking his head. ‘Not in your condition.’
‘But I’m his mother!’ Peaches wailed.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ said Dottie looking wildly from one to the other.
Dr Fitzgerald closed his bag with a loud snap. ‘I’m not one hundred percent sure,’ he said, ‘but it looks to me like poliomyelitis.’
Eight
Billy didn’t have the energy to run all the way back to Aunt Peaches. He was much too tired.
It had been a grand day. Memories of the Punch and Judy show, paddling in the water and that huge ice cream Uncle Jack had given him kept going over and over in his mind. It had been his best day ever. Even better than the day Phil Hartwell let him hold the dead frog his cat had killed.
It was late. It was already way past his bedtime when Mum came back downstairs after she’d put the twins and Susan to bed and said, ‘Run over to your Aunt Peaches and find out how Gary is.’
He’d said, ‘Aw, Mum,’ but he’d known it was no use arguing. Tom looked at him over the top of his evening paper. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to: the look was enough. Billy walked as fast as he could all the way there without stopping.
Uncle Jack’s lorry was parked outside the house and the cab door was wide open. The doctor’s car was there too. And right in front of the house, there was an ambulance as well. Billy hung back. If the adults saw him, they’d be bound to send him back home again.
‘This is no place for nippers,’ Uncle Jack would say.
The ambulance door was wide open too. Billy could see the bed and all sorts of boxes and things. He tried imagining what it was like to be an ambulance driver. It was bound to be exciting. He might see squashed people … that would be better than a squashed frog the cat killed any day. He sat down on the kerb and gripped an imaginary steering wheel.
‘Neee-arrr,’ he said as he careered around the corner at top speed to save his patient.
He heard the front door open. Dr Fitzgerald came out with his doctor’s bag and the ambulance man, dressed in his dark uniform and cap, followed him. The ambulance man was carrying someone in his arms. The someone was all wrapped up in a blanket and although Billy couldn’t actually see who it was, judging by the way he was screaming, and the fact that Aunt Peaches was right behind him crying her eyes out, he knew it had to be Gary.
Auntie Dot came out and gave Aunt Peaches a kiss on the cheek. ‘Try not to worry,’ she said. He liked Auntie Dottie a lot. She was nice.
He thought back to the time when they’d paddled in the sea together. He’d been wearing his knitted cossie. Auntie Dottie didn’t have one but she had picked up her skirts and walked into the water until it was right up to her knees. No other grown up had done that. And she hadn’t minded getting wet either. She’d kicked the water all over him and when he’d done the same to her, she didn’t get cross and yell at him. She’d splashed him back and she’d laughed. He liked to hear Auntie Dottie laugh. She didn’t do it very much but when she did, her whole face lit up. He could tell by the anxious look on her face now that she wasn’t very happy.
‘You will stay with him, won’t you?’ Aunt Peaches wailed. ‘He’ll be so frightened.’
‘I’ll stay as long as they let me,’ Auntie Dottie promised. ‘The ambulance man says they have very strict visiting hours, but I’ll be there until they kick me out.’
‘I should be there,’ cried Aunt Peaches. ‘I’m his mother.’
Auntie Dottie hugged her again. ‘You have the little one to think of. Now leave Gary to me. Until he’s back on his feet, I’ll be his mum.’
Aunt Peaches blew her nose in her hanky. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dottie.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ smiled Dottie. ‘What are friends for?’
Uncle Jack appeared behind her. ‘I’ll follow the ambulance in the lorry and bring Dottie home.’
‘Come along now, Madam,’ said the ambulance driver. ‘The sooner we get him to hospital the better.’
‘Someone ought to tell Mary,’ Dottie said as she climbed into the back of the ambulance.
Billy stood up and ran to the open door. ‘I’ll tell me mum, Auntie Dot.’ But the other ambulance man pushed him away. ‘Off you go now, sonny. This is no place for you.’
‘Tell your mum Gary is in hospital,’ Auntie Dot called to him. ‘Tell her he’s got poliomyelitis.’ The ambulance man shut the door, banged it twice and walked round to the front and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Billy watched as the ambulance raced down the road, its bell ringing like mad. He was confused. What was that she said? Polo-my-light-us? What was that?
Aunt Peaches was going back into the house.
‘What shall I say is wrong with Gary, Aunt Peaches?’
‘Gary is very ill,’ sniffed Peaches. She put her handkerchief to her mouth and closed the door. A second later, it opened again. ‘And don’t you come round again. It’s too dangerous. And tell your mum, none of your family is to come either.’
Billy stared at the closed door. Why couldn’t he go to Aunt Peaches? What had he done wrong? He turned and walked down the road scuffing his shoes and trying to work it out.
‘Hey-up, Billy. You coming on the swings?’
It was Paul Dore on his bike. He pulled up beside Billy.
‘I got to go home,’ said Billy miserably. His mum would go spare when he told her he’d upset Aunt Peaches. He’d get a walloping for sure.
‘Aw, come on,’ Paul cajoled. ‘I’ll give you a lift on me bike.’
It didn’t take much to persuade Billy to put off the moment he faced his mum. When they got to the playground, they didn’t have a swing, that was for babies, but the scrubland along the edges of the park was great for a game of Cowboys and Indians.
There was a whole crowd of them there including Mark and David Weaver. Everyone wanted to hear about his day on the beach.
‘Lucky devil,’ said David as he told them about the Punch and Judy man and his big ice cream. ‘Bags I’m John Wayne.’
‘It’s my turn,’ said Mark.
‘You did it last time,’ Billy protested.
In the end, Billy’s day out was forgotten as they had a scrap about who was going to be John Wayne and David Weaver won. Then they whooped around the bushes shooting Indians until it began to get cold and the light was failing. Paul Dore gave Billy a lift back on his handlebars as far as the road next to his and Billy, knowing that he was bound to be in trouble, walked slowly home.
‘Where the devil have you been?’ his mother demanded as she opened the door. She clipped his ear as he walked past. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’
‘Gary’s gone to hospital,’ said Billy quickly. ‘He’s got …’ He froze. He couldn’t remember what it was called. ‘And Aunt Peaches said none of us should come to her house ever again and she was so upset about it, she sent Auntie Dottie off in the ambulance with him.’
His mother put her hand to her throat. ‘Don’t tell me he’s got polio,’ she said quietly.
The isolation hospital was rather grim. It smelled of carbolic soap and disinfectant and it was dimly lit because most of the patients were asleep. Dottie followed the nurse who wheeled Gary onto the ward on an adult-sized stretcher. He looked so small and vulnerable. Wordlessly, they took him to a cot and the nurse drew the curtains around him, leaving Dottie on the outside.
‘Are you the child’s mother?’
Dottie shook her head at the doctor who had walked up behind her. ‘His mother is eight months pregnant,’ she explained. ‘Her doctor was worried about infection so he told her not to come. I’m a close friend.’ The hospital doctor said nothing. ‘Gary’s father is here,’ Dottie went on. ‘He’s parking the lorry.’
The doctor parted the curtain and went inside. Gary was whimpering.
‘If you would like to wait outside,’ said Sister, pulling little white cuffs over the rolled-up sleeves of her dark blue uniform. ‘I’ll come and speak to you later.’
Behind the curtain, Gary, obviously in pain, began to cry.
Dottie hesitated. ‘I promised his mother I’d hold his hand,’ she said anxiously.
‘We have to examine him,’ Sister said, ‘and the doctor will have to give him a lumbar puncture. It’s not very pleasant, I’m afraid, but it has to be done. We need to know what we’re up against. Now if you would like to wait outside …’
It was as much as Dottie could do to fight back the tears as she waited in the corridor for Jack to arrive. She stared hard at the green and cream tiled walls and the brown linoleum floors until she thought she knew every crack. Beyond the peeling brown door Gary’s cries grew more heart-rending. Jack hurried towards her, turning his cap around and around in his hand anxiously.
‘How is he?’
Dottie shook her head. ‘The doctor’s with him now.’
Jack sat beside her and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Oh God, oh God …’
She put her hand on his forearm. ‘Try to keep calm, Jack,’ she said gently. ‘They’re doing their best.’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ he said brokenly. ‘Oh Dottie, that boy is my life. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.’
Mercifully, at that moment they heard Gary stop crying.
‘Don’t go thinking like that, Jack. He’s a tough little lad. He’ll pull through.’
Jack leaned further forward and wept silently. Dottie placed her hand in the centre of his back and did her best to fight her own tears. After having such a lovely day, she couldn’t believe this was happening. If Reg were here, even he would be upset.
They waited for what seemed like a lifetime until the brown door opened and the ward sister came out. ‘Are you the child’s father?’
Jack rose to his feet, and wiped the end of his nose on his jacket sleeve. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s no point in beating around the bush and there’s no easy way to say this but I’m afraid your son definitely has polio.’
Jack flung his arms around himself, squeezed his eyes tightly and turned away.
‘What happens now?’ Dottie asked. It cut her to the quick to see how hurt Jack was, but Peaches would want to know every last detail.
‘It’s best if you leave him now,’ the sister said matter-of-factly. ‘Mum can visit him in a week or so.’
‘A week or so?’ cried Dottie.
‘We keep visits to a minimum,’ the sister continued. ‘Normally we would allow his mother to see him for twenty minutes or thereabouts, but as you say, she’s pregnant.’
‘I could take her place,’ Dottie said, ‘at least until his mum is in no danger.’
‘At this highly infectious stage,’ the sister went on, ‘it’s best for the patients to remain calm. Family visits are very unsettling for young children. They cry for hours afterwards.’
‘Can we at least see him now?’ Dottie asked. ‘I want to put his mother’s mind at rest.’
‘Is he going to die?’ Jack choked.
‘It’s always possible,’ the sister said, ‘but personally I think he’ll be more stable in a day or two.’
‘Please God,’ Jack murmured.
‘I tell you what,’ said the sister, her tone softening, ‘pop in now, just for a minute to see him settled and you,’ indicating Dottie, ‘can visit him on Monday.’
Dottie couldn’t hide her gratitude. ‘Thank you, oh thank you.’
‘But when you do come, it can only be for twenty minutes,’ the nurse cautioned. ‘No more.’
‘I understand,’ said Dottie gratefully.
They followed her back onto the ward and tiptoed to Gary’s cot. His eyes were closed and although his face wore a frown, he certainly looked more peaceful than when they’d brought him in. He was still very flushed and a young nurse was sponging his face with water.
The sister picked up the temperature chart at the foot of the bed. ‘His temperature is one hundred and four degrees fahrenheit,’ she said.
Dottie touched Gary’s fingers. ‘Night, night, darling,’ she whispered. ‘See you in the morning.’
Jack leaned over the cot and kissed his son’s forehead. ‘Night, son,’ he wept.
Gary started to cry again.
‘Come along now,’ said the sister briskly. ‘It’s best not to upset the little lad again.’
Nine
It was quarter to ten when Dottie finally got home. As Jack dropped her off at the gate, she saw Ann Pearce’s curtain twitch. Nosy old cow, she thought irritably. She’d probably think she could get even more money out of her now. That last time … it was blackmail, wasn’t it?
As Dottie walked indoors, Reg scowled. For one sickening second, Dottie thought Ann might have been round and told him about Dr Fitzgerald.
‘How long does it bloody take to go to the doctor’s house and ask him for a visit?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours for my tea.’
‘They took little Gary to hospital,’ she said.
Reg’s expression changed. ‘Hospital?’
Dottie slipped off her bolero and reached for her wrap-over apron. ‘I’m afraid Gary has been admitted.’
Reg lowered himself into a chair. ‘Admitted …’
‘It’s a bit late for cooking,’ Dottie said matter-of-factly. She was angry that he’d sat there all that time, helplessly waiting for her to come home. Couldn’t he have got his own tea for once? ‘Shall I do you a couple of fried eggs?’
He nodded and she set about gathering the frying pan, the eggs from the bucket of cold water on the scullery floor and the dripping from the meat safe.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Heartened that Reg was so concerned, she forgave him immediately.
‘He has polio,’ she said, cracking an egg over the melted dripping in the pan. ‘But they seemed to think he’ll be a bit better in a day or two.’ She filled the kettle with water and put it on the gas.
‘Peaches staying with him, is she?’
‘No,’ said Dottie. ‘They wouldn’t allow it. It’s too dangerous, what with her being pregnant and all. That’s why I went.’
His eyes flashed. ‘You?’
She cut a slice of bread and put it into the hot fat. ‘And I promised Peaches I would visit him until she’s allowed to go.’
‘You’re not to go.’
‘Although how I’m going to fit it all in I don’t know,’ she said turning the bread over.
‘I said,’ his tone was harsh, ‘you’re not to go.’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘But I promised.’
‘I don’t bloody care! You’re not going.’
She put the eggs and fried bread onto his plate and put it in front of him. Then she filled the teapot and sat at the table with him. She wanted to throw the supper at him. She’d have given anything to scream at him, ‘I’ll make my own decisions and I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’ But she knew she had to tackle this calmly. He was getting wound up and if she upset him too much, he’d be horrible for days.
‘Look, Reg,’ she said quietly. ‘I know you’re worried about me, but really, I don’t think I’ll come to any harm and Peaches is upset that Gary won’t have anyone he knows.’
He glared at her and stabbed the air with his fork. ‘I don’t care about bloody Peaches. I’m telling you now, you’re not going and there’s an end to it.’ A splatter of egg yolk ran down his chin.
‘But she’s my friend.’
He carried on eating. She poured his tea and one for herself. She had to make him understand just how important this was. She didn’t have many friends around here and Peaches was one of the best. She’d been there for her when Auntie Bessie died. She and Mary had virtually done the whole of her wake: Dottie had been in such a state, and Reg wasn’t much help, so she’d been glad to leave it to them. Their friends
hip went way, way back. Peaches, Mary and Sylvie had kept her going for many a long and lonely month while she’d waited for news of Reg during the war. Other women had been allowed to write to their husbands but Reg had been on a top-secret mission so she had to wait it out with no word from him at all. Peaches, Mary and Sylvie had been there for her which was why it was so important not to let Peaches down in this, her hour of need.
‘Reg,’ she tried again, ‘don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly safe.’
He slammed his knife and fork onto the plate, making her jump. Then he leaned back and, reaching into his pocket, drew out a piece of paper.
‘No, it’s not bloody safe,’ he cried. ‘And there’s the reason why you can’t go.’
He threw the paper onto the table in front of her. Dottie’s heartbeat quickened. The letter from Australia! She’d forgotten all about it. She’d had what Aunt Bessie would have called a presentiment that it wasn’t just any old letter the moment she first set eyes on it. Now it rested on the table between them, small and rectangular, and yet it seemed as big as a house.
She stared at the sloping handwriting, the stamp and the strange postmark, and her blood ran cold. This must be serious, but what on earth did it say? She shivered and looked up at her husband.
‘Well, go on,’ he said with a note of triumph in his voice. ‘Read it. I know you’re dying to.’
Her hand was trembling as she picked it up. So flimsy and yet heavy with destiny. It was going to change her life, she knew it … she just knew it.
She took it out and read it slowly. I never told you but in ’43 I had a child. Her name is Patricia. She’s eight now. Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed hard. 1943? He had been with some other woman almost as soon as they had been married? He’d been sent abroad just four weeks after their wedding and straight after that, the very next year, he’d been unfaithful?
Please come to fetch her, she read on, I hope that deep down, you can find it in your heart to forgive me … She laid the letter on the table and looked up at him. He was smiling.
