Lily held her hand tight. ‘Don’t, Sylvia!’
Magnus had stopped a taxi and called them over. To the driver he said, ‘Pleasureland, please. Wait outside for us.’
They made an odd trio going under the archway into Pleasureland, where all the attractions were set out in a walled-in area behind the sand hills. Magnus, in the centre, had a girl on each arm, but it was they who supported him, though he did look debonair in his flannels, blazer and straw boater. His pale face was animated as he played up to them, saying, ‘My sweet! My sweet!’ and ‘Oh, dah … ling! You are di … vine!’ as he passed other young men and their lady friends.
Lily wanted to cry for him to stop it because she could see that he was in pain. There were deep creases between his eyebrows, and above the smiling mouth his eyes were filled with terrible fear. But he was older and she couldn’t speak to him as once she had.
‘I’ll sit in the sun while you two go in,’ he’d say as they neared one of the attractions. And every time, at his insistence, they went to a nearby bench together so that they could keep the charade going until Magnus let go of their arms and sat down, leaning back lazily, to wait for them to return from their frolics. After an hour Magnus said, ‘Who wants a swim?’
By half past three they were sitting in the conservatory cafe of the Sea Bathing Lake, eating strawberries and drinking dandelion and burdock that wore a head of foaming and frothing ice cream. The oval lake, nearly half an acre in area, was a natural sun trap for the hundreds of young people who baked their faces, oiled bronzed limbs, displayed and watched. Surrounding the pool, in rocky beds, geraniums and palm trees grew. The pool had high diving boards, a water chute and a moored raft facing the cafe. In front of the cafe, on rose-bordered terraces around ornamental waterfalls, were set canvas folding chairs. Magnus nodded his head in their direction. ‘I’ve reserved three. When you’ve had your swim you can sit with me.’
Lily had a great welling-up of sympathy for him. ‘I don’t feel much like swimming,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a quick dip and sit out with you, Magnus. I keep getting attacks of the cramps.’
They helped Magnus to the canvas chair. Lily was getting better at making these critical manoeuvres seem like casual behaviour. When Magnus was seated and had put his boater on one seat and his blazer on the other, he leaned back, eyes closed, to enjoy the heat of the sun, and said, ‘If your nanna hadn’t told us you were coming here we’d never have had such fun.’
‘Is that true?’ Lily asked as she and Sylvia headed for the ladies’ changing rooms. ‘Did you come here because of me?’
‘Yes.’ Sylvia laughed as they picked their way through the sun-worshippers who were stretched out on towels all along the way. ‘When Magnus heard you were in Southport the very week Ian and his sailing friends would be here, he pestered Mama to death to bring us.’
‘I’m worried about Magnus. He can hardly walk,’ Lily said.
She dared not say more because Sylvia’s expression told her that Magnus must not be discussed out of earshot. They were at the queue outside the ladies’ pavilion. The pool was crowded and she was longing to get into the water. ‘Don’t worry about Magnus,’ Sylvia said. ‘They’re coming for us.’
‘Who?’
‘Father and all.’ Then, in a quiet voice, ‘Magnus is only happy when you’re near. You know that, don’t you, Lily?’
It sounded like a warning, so Lily gave a laugh, to make light of it. She didn’t want to be anyone’s only source of happiness. They were at the head of the line and it was her turn to be given a cubicle. ‘See you in the water!’
As soon as they were changed they ran to the pool and headed for the water chute, plunging one after the other into the chilly green sea water. Lily lost sight of Sylvia and swam towards the raft, where a dozen or so bathers were dangling their legs and diving with great splashings and horseplay. She struck out, but it was farther than she thought and there was the inky, nine-feet-deep area to swim through to reach it. She was almost there when the cramping pain came, low down in her belly with such piercing strength she almost passed out. Frightened, she rolled on to her back, dropped her head down and felt the air trapped beneath her rubber cap buoying her up. Then came another cramp, making her bring her knees up. She was deaf with the cap pulled down over her ears and strapped tight under her chin; perhaps that was why she never heard the warning shouts of ‘Look out!’ as somebody leaped off the raft on top of her.
Sylvia told her later that she’d reached the raft ahead of Lily and seen it all. Lily went under, screaming in pain, swallowing and breathing in water. It was lucky Sylvia had seen her and shouted to her rescuer, who was sitting on the raft beside her, ‘Quickly! Lily’s gone under. She hasn’t come up!’
They say that when you are near death you see everything slowly, as in a slow cinema reel; bright lights pull you forward out of the darkness, and you hear and think but cannot speak. The only thing Lily could recall afterwards was turning on to her back, the cramping pain, then nothing at all until she came to, face down on the wet rope matting of the cafe floor.
Someone was holding her ankles down, another her wrists. Hairy male legs were astride her hips. Strong hands were pressing rhythmically and painfully down on her ribs. She was being crushed into the coarse coir matting, coughing, choking, spewing great gushes of salt water from her mouth and nose between every desperate breath she fought to take. The hands stopped pressing. Someone said, ‘Pull her up. Into a sitting position! Push her head down. Hold her there!’
Through the wet curtain of hair that hung forward, she saw Magnus, squatting, cradling his arm about her, crying, ‘Lily! Thank God!’
Sylvia said, ‘Sh, Magnus! Lily’s going to be all right. Isn’t she?’
And then Lily recognised the deep, warm Scottish voice of her rescuer – he who had been kneeling astride her, pumping air into her lungs with firm, capable hands. ‘She’ll have to be examined in case there’s any fluid on her lungs. Probably all she’ll have is a sore throat. And a sore head.’
Ian Mackenzie was on his feet, calling for towels, her clothes, a blanket. She was coughing and spluttering under the curtain of hair as Ian said to a waiter who was hovering near, ‘A hot sweet drink, please.’ He said to Magnus, ‘Tell your father to bring the car round to the back.’ Magnus got up and hobbled away as Ian said to Sylvia, ‘We’ll find her parents. Make sure she gets home and into bed. And sees a doctor. Do you know who she is?’
Sylvia gave a lovely, relieved laugh. ‘It’s Lily! You remember Lily. At our Christmas party. She accompanied you when you played.’
Then Ian crouched in front of her and gently lifted the soaking hair away from her face. ‘My wee accompanist? The piano-player?’
Lily tried to say ‘thank you’, but no words came. She was crying and coughing and being seated on a long cane bench seat where someone had placed her big striped towel. Ian was wrapping it firmly about her waist and legs and gently tucking another towel round her shoulders. A cup of sweet tea was being offered, and as the hot liquid ran burning over her tongue Lily knew she’d be all right. Her nose and throat were raw but life was tingling through her with every breath. She shivered and opened her eyes, but she was conscious as never before of every sinew and nerve in her body.
Ian, dressed in his swimming costume, sat beside her, holding her with strong brown arms. It was odd that the first thing she noticed was the black curly hair on his muscular thighs and arms and how it went thicker like a mat into the scooped-out neck of the low-cut man’s bathing costume. The hair ran right down to the wrist of his hand that was holding the cup to her lips. His black hair fell forward over sun-crinkled eyes and he gave a great, delighted grin as she took the cup from him and drank. When she had drunk it all and passed the cup back, he put his face close to hers and said softly, so none of the others could hear, ‘I’ll put another towel around you before I carry you out to the car. Don‘t be embarrassed.’
Lily glanced down and saw the red bloodsta
in of her first period seeping through the stripy towel and to her undying shame she looked into the handsome face of the boy she loved and passed out cold.
‘Sit up. Here’s the doctor!’
There was tight elastic round her waist and a wodge of padding between her legs. Mam’s drink-drenched breath was on her face and her thin arms were trying to raise Lily up the bed. Then the deep Scottish voice of Ian’s father. ‘Mrs Stanway. Allow me …’
Lily was helped into a sitting position and opened her eyes to find Dr Mackenzie taking her pulse while Mam, at the head of the bed, fussed with the pillow, saying, ‘You shouldn’t have put yourself to any trouble … Our Lil’s been sleeping on and off since they brought her back …’ in a drunken voice. Lily averted her head. The smell made her sick. Mam used to suck strong mints to disguise her breath; today it smelled of pear drops.
‘No trouble at all, Mrs Stanway,’ the doctor replied. ‘Well, young miss? How do you feel?’
She would always be able to date precisely the moment she grew up. It was the day she almost drowned, when she returned to consciousness in the late afternoon to find she was aware of every inch of her body. ‘All right. I’ll be all right.’ She was shivering with cold when the covers were off, and her head was pounding. ‘If I could get rid of the headaches.’
‘I’ll give you a sleeping draught. As soon as I’ve listened to your chest,’ the doctor said. ‘Open your eyes wide. Good. Let me feel your neck glands. Good. Open your mouth. Good!’ He said to Mam, ‘Remove her nightgown, please.’
Mam fumbled while the doctor placed his bag on the bed. Did they carry their bags with them on their holidays? Lily pushed Mam’s hand away and dragged the nightdress off, for once not caring if anyone saw her slight shoulders and ribs and the bouncy round breasts with rigid dark tips that appeared to belong to a much larger frame than hers.
Dr Mackenzie warmed the stethoscope in his hand and placed it firmly under her left breast, listening intently. Then he went slowly and thoroughly all over her front before turning her and making her call out loudly as the instrument touched her.
‘Ah! Poor girl!’ said the doctor.
‘What’s up?’ Mam leaned, tipsy, over her.
‘My son has been rough, Mrs Stanway. See the bruising?’
Lily moved her head sharply. ‘He only saved my life,’ she said fiercely, as the cold instrument on painful bruises made her draw a sharp breath.
She heard the doctor chuckle. ‘I’ll have to give him some advice,’ he said to Mam. ‘He’s in his second year of medical school. Over-zealous.’ Then, to Lily. ‘All done.’ He held out the nightdress. ‘All clear. Have a good sleep and you can be up and about tomorrow. In fact it is much better if you are.’
He put away the stethoscope and brought a small corked phial from the bag before asking for a drinking glass. Mam went slowly to the washstand and brought a glass, which he took from her trembling hand.
‘I’d like a word with you, Mrs Stanway,’ he said softly. ‘When your daughter is settled.’ He poured a strong-smelling dose and held it out.
‘What is it?’ Lily said. ‘I like to know.’
‘Acholorodynum preparation.’ He gave a hearty laugh. ‘That means nothing to you, does it?’
She closed her mouth tight shut, making him say. ‘An elixir, my dear girl of chloroform, morphine, Indian hemp, capsicum, treacle, liquorice and glycerine, alcohol, peppermint …’
‘I’ll take it.’ She didn’t really believe that the medicine contained all those powerful ingredients. Quickly she swallowed the dose and leaned her head back as if she were ready to drop off to sleep. But she wanted to hear what he’d say to Mam. She closed her eyes, aware that they were waiting for her breathing to slow down.
Lily heard them go quietly to the window end of the room, heard Mam whisper, ‘She’ll be all right, won’t she, Doctor?’ and his assurance, ‘She‘ll be fully recovered by tomorrow’.
Mam’s speech was slurred. ‘How much do I owe you … ?’
‘Nothing. Your daughter is in perfect health. It has been a pleasure to attend …’
His voice changed. ‘But your health concerns me, Mrs Stanway.’
‘Me?’ Mam was sharp, defensive. ‘There’s nothing the matter with me.’
‘Are you normally this colour?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been sunbathing. Getting a tan.’ She sounded surprised.
‘Do you tire easily?’
‘Lately, yes. I used to be on the go all the time. Why?’
‘Have you an increased thirst?’ Listening from her bed, Lily prayed to God that Mam didn’t give the doctor the edge of her tongue.
Mam did not answer, and Lily heard him say, ‘You may not be aware of it, but your breath has a strong odour of acetone. This is an indication of diabetes. Seek treatment, Mrs Stanway.’
Mam said, ‘Sugar diabetes? It killed my mother’s mother.’
‘Treatment is different now,’ he replied. ‘We have discovered insulin. Patients are able to inject themselves. Diabetics can live as long as anyone else. But delay can be fatal. I suggest you consult an old Scottish colleague of mine at the Infirmary.’
‘I’ll see him tomorrow,’ Mam said.
‘In the meantime,’ said Dr Mackenzie, ‘I advise you to be very careful not to drink alcohol. A diabetic person on the verge of coma can become bewildered, confused and unable to stand upright. It looks remarkably like inebriation but is a symptom of something far more dangerous.’
In spite of her will to stay awake, Lily was loosening, drifting off to sleep, grateful that the doctor had warned Mam off the alcohol that had sustained her all these years; glad that Mam was going to seek medical advice; glad to know at last that Mam’s symptoms were not those of a drunkard.
Chapter Fourteen
Howard would be downstairs and Elsie didn’t want to keep him hanging about. She wouldn’t have anyone say, in the hotel, that she’d neglected her daughter. But Lily was fast asleep. Elsie leaned over the bed. ‘Lil? Lil – are you all right?’
‘Mm … ? Goo … night, Mam …’
‘I’m going out. The maids will keep an eye on you.’
‘Mmm. Go – way …’
Elsie checked her appearance before she opened the door. Her dress of black and white dog’s-tooth check was mid-calf and had a bright-red belt and white collar. It was as smart as anything she’d seen on Lord Street. But knowing she looked good was no help. Her mother said that troubles came three at a time but to have them follow on so quickly was incredible. For yesterday’s shocking discovery to be followed by Lily’s near-drowning was as much as she could take. Now she was to believe that she had sugar diabetes, but that at least was nothing, these days.
Elsie put a pin in her black hat, picked up her red bag and gloves, slipped her feet into patent shoes then went out, closing the door quietly behind her. After food and a sherry she’d be all right. She had suspected for a while that something was up with her, and had been worried in case it was the worst.
Howard was waiting. ‘You are very chic, my dear. How is Lily?’
‘The doctor says she’s all right,’ said Elsie, gratified that Howard was fond of Lily. He led her out.
‘She was with the Hammonds, wasn’t she?’
They crossed the road to the Lanchester. Elsie did not reply until she was seated. She said, ‘Just as well the Hammonds were there. Lily fainted in the water. John Hammond brought her back.’
Howard made a sound of irritation. ‘Tsch!’ He did not like John Hammond. Elsie had told him, years ago, about the ‘natural photographs’, as John called them and the prude in Howard had been outraged. He swung the car into Bold Street.
Elsie said, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Cottons. A country club. About ten miles from Southport.’ He leaned towards her, patted her knee and smiled, the smile that he thought winning and which Lily hated.
It was not the smile, it was the nervous little intimate gestures which put Elsie off. It
was the lightness, the hesitancy of them. But then, compared with Frank … No! She would not compare. She’d done with Frank. She let her hand rest under Howard’s.
‘Would you mind if we went somewhere nearer?’ she said. ‘It has been a shock. Our Lil.’
‘We’ll go to the Prince of Wales. I have a question to ask.’
She knew what he was going to ask. He’d been leading up to it all week, driving her past his splendid house, to show off. He hadn’t been able to take her inside because it had been rented out on a three-year lease after his wife died. She had been dead for two years.
The Prince of Wales was the best hotel in town, and there Howard ordered a table and gave her sherry in the cocktail bar. Then, over dinner, with the waiter out of earshot, he put his hand on top of hers. She pulled her hand away smartly.
‘Have I been hasty, Elsie?’ he said.
‘It’s not that. It’s the shock.’
‘Lily?’
‘Not only that,’ she said. Then, after a second’s pause, she lowered her voice and looked away. ‘I went to the registrar’s office yesterday.’
He started to tackle his food. ‘To ask about … ?’
Elsie toyed with her quenelles of chicken. Her appetite had gone. She took another sip of wine. ‘I was looking something up.’ She pushed a tiny piece of chicken on to her fork. Then she put it down again. She must talk about it. But she must try to be dispassionate. She tried to say it in a conversational tone but it didn’t come out the way she meant it to.
‘I discovered that Nellie Plant gave birth to a boy. Five years ago.’
It was agony, putting it into words. Almost as painful as reading the registers. Her words came fast and high-pitched in protest. ‘Frank Chancellor was the father. He signed his name! He had the brass neck to sign his name!’
A Daughter's Shame Page 24
