A Distant Dream (9 page)

‘Feeling homesick?’ asked Doug Sands, sitting beside her when she took a break. ‘It’s that time of year.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ she asked, looking at him.

‘You do seem a bit sad,’ he replied. He was looking rather flamboyant in light-coloured trousers with a brightly patterned cravat worn at his neck. ‘At least when you are not putting on a smile.’

‘I am missing family and friends,’ she confessed. ‘I was also thinking that it’s coming up to a year since I was diagnosed. It was last New Year’s Eve that I knew for certain that I was ill. I remember thinking it was the end for me.’

‘And here you are still around and ready to fight another day and many more after that,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, there is that.’

‘I’ve been here for more than eighteen months,’ he told her, and she noticed what very nice eyes he had, a hint of green colouring the grey. Beneath his distinctive blond hair he had an angular sort of face with an aquiline nose and nicely shaped mouth. He really was rather handsome in an unusual sort of way. ‘Unfortunately there isn’t a short-term fix for this illness.’

‘Have they given you any idea when you might be going home?’ she asked.

‘No, they keep quiet about that until they are absolutely certain, apparently,’ he said. ‘But I really believe that I’m on the road to recovery. You can feel it yourself, can’t you? When you’re on the mend.’

‘I suppose that must be how it works,’ she said dismally.

‘You’re not feeling better, then?’

‘Sometimes I feel all right,’ she said. ‘But I’ve had a few off days lately.’

‘We all get those,’ he said. ‘You’ll probably be as right as rain tomorrow.’

‘We’ll miss you when you leave,’ she said, changing the subject. She didn’t want to think about her own health at the moment. ‘Thursdays just won’t be the same without our art class.’

‘I’m sure the staff will soon find another patient with a skill to pass on,’ he said.

‘With a bit of luck it will be something I can do next time,’ she said drily.

‘That’s better,’ he approved. ‘You look so pretty when you smile properly.’

She narrowed her eyes at him quizzically.

Doug shook his head. ‘No, I’m not flirting with you, because I’m not a cradle-snatcher,’ he said, answering her unspoken question. ‘Just stating a fact.’

‘Thank you for the compliment,’ she said graciously.

He asked her about herself and she told him about the area where she lived and the Pavilion, about her job at the department store and her family and friends.

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘You must come from in or around the London area to be in this hospital.’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

He went on to tell her that he was twenty-four, had left home a few years before and lived in a houseboat moored on the Thames at Richmond.

‘That’s different, anyway,’ she said. She realised that she wasn’t really surprised because she’d always had the idea that he was out of the ordinary. ‘Very bohemian.’

‘I don’t know about that, but it suits me,’ he said. ‘I like the simple life.’

‘It doesn’t sound very simple to me,’ she said. ‘It sounds positively intriguing.’

‘It’s simple in that it’s small and cosy and close to nature,’ he explained.

‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Are you married, Doug?’ she asked.

‘No. I’ve had a few near misses but I’m still single,’ he said. ‘It’s probably just as well. It would be awful if I had a wife and children relying on me. I’d be worried to death about not being able to provide for them.’

‘Yes I can see that,’ May agreed.

‘None of the patients in my ward are married,’ he told her.

‘Nor mine. Probably because they are all quite young,’ she said. ‘Romance doesn’t stand much of a chance against this illness, does it?’

‘So I’ve heard.’ He looked at her. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

She thought about how she had lost George to Betty while she was here, but as there hadn’t actually been a romance it didn’t really count. ‘Only in a very loose kind of way.’

‘You’re young,’ he remarked, giving her a studious look. ‘You’ll have lots of other chances.’

She shrugged and changed the subject. ‘Have you painted the river at all? I know that artists usually do like to paint the Thames.’

‘You bet,’ he said. ‘In many of its different moods.’

‘Are you a full-time artist?’ she asked. ‘Or do you just do it in your spare time?’

‘I’m involved in art full time but I don’t sell enough work to earn a living painting,’ he explained.

‘So how do you make up the difference?’

‘Before I got sick I subsidised my income from sales of my pictures by teaching art at a night school, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that when I get out of here.’

‘Oh?’

‘Consumption and the classroom; not a very healthy combination, is it? They say it can be hard to get a job of any sort when you’re tainted by the TB stigma.’

‘I’ve heard a bit about that too,’ she said. ‘But you’ll be cured when you leave here. You won’t be infectious so you can’t be a threat.’

‘We know that, but employers are still wary, so they say,’ he said. ‘A chap from here that I was friendly with and who writes to me still can’t get fixed up with work, and he left here six months ago.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t depress you with reality. Not on Christmas Day.’

‘You haven’t depressed me,’ she said. ‘I’d heard similar stories from the others.’

‘I shall just have to sell more work somehow, won’t I?’ he suggested lightly.

‘That would seem to be the answer,’ she agreed. ‘But art is unknown territory to me.’

‘Anyway, I think I shall worry about that particular challenge when it arises,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Just being better and back home will be enough to start with.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ she said. ‘Lucky you.’

‘Your turn will come,’ he told her.

‘I hope so.’

‘Meanwhile, let’s drink a toast to loved ones at home.’ He looked across the room, where there was a lot of hilarity as patients got together to do the Lambeth Walk. ‘And then if you feel up to it we could join the others before we are all dismissed and sent back to our own wards like school kids.’

‘Yes, this place does have the feel of school about it at times,’ she said. ‘Inevitable, given the large numbers.’

They drank a toast in lemonade, then went to join in the fun. Ostensibly May entered into the spirit of things, but her heart wasn’t in it. She felt as though she had made a new friend in Doug, and that pleased her because he was a nice bloke and excitingly different to anyone she had ever met before. But she didn’t feel well and she knew that something was very wrong.

For the second time in her short life May had to face up to the possibility of an early death. The first occasion had been when she was diagnosed with tuberculosis; the second happened one bleak day in January 1938 when she was told by the doctor at Ashburn that she wasn’t improving as they had hoped, despite their having collapsed her lung for a period of time. A major operation to remove the diseased lung was recommended.

‘Me and your dad have had a long chat with the doctor about it and we really think it will be the best thing for you,’ said her mother, who had come with her husband from London to Ashburn on a special visiting arrangement to meet with the doctor and sign the consent form, because May was still underage. ‘An operation could get you properly better.’

‘Do you really think so, Mum?’

‘Yes, we do,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s your decision though, love. You don’t have to have it done if you don’t want to. No one is going to force you into it.’

‘What’s the alternative?’ asked May.

Flo and Dick exchanged glances.

‘It doesn’t seem as though I have much choice then, does it?’ she said.

‘Apparently he’s a very good surgeon,’ said Flo. She was shocked and dismayed by the idea of surgery but was trying desperately not to pass her anxiety on to her daughter.

‘The top man in his field,’ added Dick. ‘And he obviously thinks it will be worth it in your case or he wouldn’t have suggested it. They don’t do operations lightly.’

‘They don’t often do them for this illness at all,’ May pointed out with a puzzled expression. ‘Rest, fresh air and good nutritious food is the standard treatment.’

‘Apparently surgery is becoming more common these days and the surgeon who will be doing your operation is a bit of a pioneer in this field,’ Flo explained. ‘He really believes that this is the way forward for you and he has a high success rate. Until they find a definite cure for the disease, this is probably the best we can hope for. You could go on to have a normal healthy life if all goes well, though they can’t guarantee anything, of course.’

‘I’m not sure how I’ll breathe with only one lung,’ May mentioned nervously.

‘The doctor explained that to us,’ her mother told her. ‘The other, healthy lung will be strong enough to do the work of two.’

‘That’s a relief, I suppose,’ May said doubtfully. ‘It all seems a bit scary to me, though.’

‘I’m sure it must do, love,’ said the terrified Flo, struggling to put on a brave face.

They were in the doctor’s office at Ashburn; he had left them alone for a while to discuss the proposed surgery. This was an emotional occasion for May, as it was a year since she had last seen her parents. She and her mother had both wept openly at the sight of each other; her father had seemed a little wet eyed but had managed to maintain his male dignity.

‘Still, I’m willing to give anything a try if it will get me better and back home,’ said May.

‘That’s my girl,’ approved Flo.

May looked from one parent to the other in a questioning manner. ‘I know I’m out of touch, but I’m not so far gone as to not know that it’s Saturday. So if you two are here, who’s looking after the Pavilion?’

‘George is standing in for us,’ Flo explained. ‘It’s his Saturday off. He’s got someone to help him.’

‘Betty?’

‘No. The baby is due next month so she’s taking things easy,’ said Flo.

‘Who’s helping George, then?’ asked May.

‘Percy, one of our regular elderly gents,’ replied Dick.

‘Bless him,’ she said. ‘It’s good of them both.’

‘They are a decent crowd, our regulars,’ said Flo. ‘Most of them anyway.’

May was overwhelmed with longing for home, which seemed even more distant now that she was to have surgery. The sounds and smells of the Pavilion, the playground, the house and all the people she associated with those places seemed agonisingly dear to her. She couldn’t even think about Tiddles, strutting about the place demanding food and fuss, without wanting to cry. Goodness knows how long it would take her to recover from the operation.
If
she recovered, she thought gloomily.

Anxiety was making her feel nauseous and her sense of vulnerability was total. She took herself in hand; if it had to be done, the sooner the better, and no fuss about it. Negative thoughts must not be allowed to creep in. The doctor had made it clear that it was her only hope, so she had to be brave and let them do what they had to.

‘Remember me to everybody at home, won’t you,’ she said, choking back the tears.

‘We certainly will,’ said Flo, sniffing into her handkerchief.

Betty always found news of May’s illness hard to take. It was far too serious and frightening for her one-dimensional approach to life, especially as she couldn’t face the fact that May might die. So she tried to change the subject whenever it arose, which it did when George got home from the Pavilion that evening, full of the latest development and very concerned indeed about May.

‘She’s only having a flamin’ operation,’ Betty said airily after he related what the Stubbses had told him. ‘It isn’t as though she’s having her head chopped off. There’s no need to make such a big drama of it, George.’

‘Is that all you can say?’ he admonished fiercely. ‘She’s your best friend, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Surely you must care about May to some extent,’ Sheila said to Betty.

Dot made a timely intervention. ‘Come and give me a hand in the kitchen please, Sheila,’ she said, heading out of the room. ‘Let’s leave those two to sort their differences out on their own.’

‘I don’t like illness,’ Betty explained to George after the others had left the room. ‘I never have.’

‘I don’t suppose May is keen on it either,’ he pointed out. ‘Stuck down there in Surrey miles away from us all and feeling rotten, the poor girl. And now they are going to cut her open.’

‘What am I supposed to do about it?’ Betty demanded. ‘I can’t make her better.’

‘You could at least take an interest,’ he suggested. ‘Instead of trying to make me shut up every time I mention her name.’

‘Well I . . . Oh, you don’t understand,’ she began in a trembling voice and then burst into tears.

‘Betty,’ he said, giving her a rather awkward hug. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but May is our friend. It hurts me when you are so offhand about her. She is very sick.’

‘I know that and I wish she wasn’t because then I wouldn’t have to care,’ she snivelled. ‘All these awful things are happening that I’m no good at. May getting ill, me getting pregnant . . . I can’t cope with any of it. All I wanted was to enjoy myself while I’m still young and all of that has been taken away from me. And yes I know that sounds selfish, but that’s what I am. I don’t want bad stuff in my life. Not yet. I don’t feel grown up enough for everything that’s happening and I wish it would all stop.’

George didn’t feel particularly mature either, but he could see that there was no point in reminding her that May really had drawn the short straw, and that Betty was the lucky one. He himself had already tasted tragedy when his father had died in such terrible circumstances, but growing up had come as a real shock to Betty, who obviously didn’t have much in the way of courage or spirit. But people were what they were and Betty was his wife, so he said, ‘Look, why don’t we go to the pictures tonight. A good film might cheer you up. Mr and Mrs Stubbs insisted on giving me a few bob for looking after the Pavilion for them today, so I’ve got a bit of spare cash.’