Coronation Wives (36 page)

She consoled herself that her visit to Susan would put Edna’s mind at rest. The fact that someone had visited was better than no one at all. In effect she would be Susan’s guardian angel. She was sure Edna would see it that way and would cease to worry.

After receiving Janet’s telephone call, Charlotte checked that David was asleep before leaving for Edna’s.

His faculties were almost back to normal, though a nerve beneath his eye did pulsate on occasion when he was tired or exasperated. Charlotte put his improvement down to being back in his own bed, his own home. Devon was lovely, but home was best.

‘I have to go out,’ she explained to Mrs Grey. ‘Can you stay a while until Mr Bronowsky comes home?’

Mrs Grey was wiping down the kitchen table having just made a steak and kidney pudding for dinner. ‘Is he going to be playing around in my kitchen?’ she asked.

Charlotte knew that Ivan enjoyed cooking and had made some very enticing meals for them since they’d got back from Devon. But, whatever happened, she mustn’t hurt Mrs Grey’s feelings.

‘I expect he’ll be too tired,’ she said.

‘Oh I don’t expect so. He’s very good,’ said Mrs Grey and beamed broadly.

Charlotte smiled as she made for the door. Ivan had won another female heart. Another? She smiled at herself in the rear-view mirror of her Morris Minor. If only she was twenty years younger …

The roads were busy. It was gone five thirty and clerks, typists, bank tellers and secretaries were pouring out of offices, all aiming to get home as quickly as possible.

Tightly packed buses pressed against her as she drove through the city centre. Traffic lights changed from red to amber to green and back again. Progress was slow and, for once in her life, Charlotte was impatient. She couldn’t wait to tell them that Janet had seen Susan.

Bicycles, mopeds, motorbikes and cars weaved in and out of
the traffic barely missing other vehicles and home-bound pedestrians running, willing to chance being knocked down if it meant they caught their bus on time.

The traffic persisted all the way up through Old Market, Lawrence Hill and Church Road only petering out at the St George Fountain where the bulk took the left-hand fork to Kingswood. Charlotte took the Hanham fork.

Kingscott Avenue had a welcoming look about it. Darkness had fallen. Lights in downstairs and upstairs windows blinked on, winked out or were muted by the pulling of living room curtains.

Her ringing of the doorbell resulted in running footsteps, then scuffles from inside. She could see no figure reflected in the upper portion of the door, which was made of coloured glass set into a lead-paned framework. She understood the reason why when Peter opened the door.

‘Are Mummy and Daddy at home?’

Peter nodded shyly.

The sound of arguing came from somewhere inside.

She made for the kitchen. ‘Edna! Colin!’ She swept in with arms outstretched. ‘I’ve got wonderful news!’

Colin was sitting at the table, knife and fork poised over what looked like cottage pie and vegetables. Edna was on all fours, a bucketful of soapy water at her side and a scrubbing brush in her hand. Taking hold of the corner of the table for support, she dragged herself to her feet.

Charlotte pulled at the fingers of her gloves. ‘Janet’s seen Susan. She read her a story last night. Isn’t that wonderful?’

Colin’s face cracked into a grin. ‘Did that old goat she work for give her permission after all?’

‘No,’ said Charlotte, stifling a girlish giggle as she pulled out a chair and sat herself down.

Edna, she noticed, had also sat down, but couldn’t seem to
keep still. The scrubbing brush went back and forth along the edge of the table.

Never before had Charlotte known Colin and Edna to be so hostile to each other as she sensed they were now. It saddened her and she wanted to help. Perhaps explaining how Janet had disguised herself in order to speak to Susan would lighten their mood. She told them everything and watched their faces for any spark of amusement or relief that might show. None did.

‘She won’t die?’ asked Edna.

‘No,’ said Charlotte, restraining a sob. ‘In fact, if you don’t get her home for Christmas, you might have her home for Easter, though she might have to go back in for treatment.’

So far they hadn’t asked whether Susan would be crippled. She prayed God they wouldn’t.

Colin beamed at Edna. ‘Well, that takes a lot off our mind, eh Edna? At least we’ve got some idea how she is.’ He threw Edna a crooked half-grin. It was as if he wasn’t quite sure of her reactions. He turned back to Charlotte. ‘Thank her for us, won’t you? At least she’s seeing someone she knows.’

Charlotte did not say that Janet had not told Susan who she was. Not telling them that Susan was likely to be crippled was bad enough. To inform them that she was still, to all intents and purposes, all alone would be too much.

After Colin had seen Charlotte off, he came marching back in rubbing his hands together and smiling happily. It dissolved when he saw that Edna was again down on her knees scrubbing like mad at the floor. He was sure she’d only scrubbed it that morning, but he wasn’t going to mention it.

‘What a turn up!’ he said to Edna’s back, forcing himself to sound happy as the frills of her polka dot apron flopped like damp wings over her back. ‘It makes this no visiting business a bit easier to bear.’

Edna stopped scrubbing and looked up sharply. ‘Are you saying you won’t go with me?’

Colin’s spirits dropped as he recognized the stubborn look in her eyes and the uncharacteristic sharpness in her voice. ‘You know they won’t let us in, love. What would be the point?’

Never had he seen such hardness in Edna’s eyes. ‘If you won’t go with me, then I’ll find someone who will. And if no one will go with me, then I will go by my bloody self!’

Edna lay awake until the clock struck one. Sleep wouldn’t come. The pillows seemed full of lead shot rather than feathers and her mind was fixed on Susan. She desperately wanted to see Susan, or at least
try
to see her.

She kept to her side of the bed that night, clinging with rigid fingers to the edge of the mattress. Tonight she could not bear to roll close to Colin. He had let her down and she couldn’t quite forgive him, but if she did roll close and felt the heat of his body, him stirring at the feel of her body, she would be bound to respond. It mustn’t happen. There was too much to think about, to plan.

The following morning she set out for her parents’ house in Nutgrove Avenue with Pamela in the pushchair.

Her father was giving her mother a bath when Edna got there. Her intention had been to ask him whether he’d come with her to the sanatorium to see Susan.

The room was full of steam. His poor red face ran with sweat and his rolled-up shirtsleeves clung damply to his upper arms. He told her, ‘She’ll be all right. We’ve got everything ’ere we could ever want. Good job we got this bathroom put in, weren’t it?’

Edna leaned against the bathroom door, which was propped open with the laundry bin. Her mother was in the bath, her shrivelled curls clamped wetly to her head by the steam. She frowned and looked around her as if trying to get her bearings.

She doesn’t know where she is, thought Edna, and suddenly felt sorry for her. She was a pitiful sight, but not tragic enough for Edna to forget Susan and her reason for coming here.

‘Will you come to Saltmead with me?’ she asked her father.

His mouth hung open while he thought about it. ‘Your mother will have to come with us.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ She couldn’t help snapping at him.

He looked hurt. ‘But who else will take care of her while we’re out there?’ he asked.

Edna did not have an answer. With mixed feelings, she watched her mother who, in turn, watched the water trickle through her raised hands.

She suddenly had second thoughts. What was the point of telling her anything? Then a sense of duty overrode her sense of hopelessness. This is my mother, she reminded herself. Susan is her granddaughter. It’s only right that she knows what’s going on.

Resting both hands on the side of the bath, she bent down, looked into her mother’s face and tried to explain. Ethel Burbage sat very still, her face placid and her eyes vacant, though fixed on her daughter’s face. Suddenly she said, ‘What are you doing out?’

Edna explained about visiting the sanatorium.

Her mother ignored the comment. ‘You should be locked in at home. That’s what they used to do in my day. The house was locked up with the family inside it and a notice was pasted on the door.’

Anger replaced pity. Edna got to her feet. ‘If she’s going to start, I’m going.’

‘She’s right,’ said her father quietly. ‘That’s what they used to do just after the Great War when folks had polio, cholera or scarlet fever. Lock the house up and paste a poster outside. The doctor would call – if they could afford one. And food was
delivered. But until it was all over, that’s what they did.’ Edna turned cold. Good God, this was the twentieth century. What her parents had just described was medieval.

Her mother’s mood changed. ‘I want some … thing,’ said Ethel Burbage slowly holding her hands at shoulder level. One of them held a face flannel.

Edna watched with mixed feelings as her father leaned towards the bath tidy that was only inches in front of her mother’s mean looking breasts.

‘You need this, love,’ he said gently and handed her the soap. ‘Do you want me to wash your back for you?’

‘Of course I don’t! What are you doing in here? Dirty old man! That’s what you are! Bluebeard!
Bluebeard
!’

Edna backed out of the door and out of her father’s path. A missile, possibly a pumice stone, narrowly missed his ear. ‘And close the door!’

They stood there on the landing, both breathless and leaning against the wall. Edna eyed her father sidelong, noticing the hole in his pullover, the hint of shadow over his chin. He looked faded and thin inside clothes that had once strained over his broad chest and bulging waistline. The pullover was dark green and the horizontal pattern at chest level was a muddled mix of Fair Isle diamonds and squares. She felt she should offer to do something for him, but the weight of her own problems was far too heavy. ‘Dad. What are you going to do?’

‘Wait for her to finish, then let the bath water out, and make sure she gets herself dressed properly.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

His look was fiercely protective. ‘Till death us do part. In sickness and in health. That’s what I promised and that’s what she’ll get. I could do with some help though.’

‘Well, don’t look at me, Dad. I’ve got Susan to consider, Colin too for that matter.
And
two other children.’

Pamela chose that moment to start crying.

A raucous, low-pitched shout came from the bathroom. ‘Get that brawling brat out of here!’

Edna straightened and headed for the stairs, her mouth set in a grim line. Her father followed. His shirtsleeves had come loose and were flapping around his wrists.

‘I’m sorry, Edna love. This is all too much … too much.’

He sounded as if he was about to cry and Edna almost felt like joining him.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ she said after handing Pamela her teddy bear. She turned and kissed him on the cheek. ‘We’ll have to get someone in to help with the cleaning, the laundry and some light nursing duties. Not a nurse as such – just someone to help.’

He shook his head. ‘My pension don’t run to paying any help.’

Edna fastened the top button on Pamela’s bright red coat, which had a corduroy collar with matching trim on the pockets. Her mittens were beige with Fair Isle bands of red and orange running through them. ‘Don’t worry about that. Colin will deal with it.’

She was telling the truth. The toy factory was doing well. They’d never had so much money in their lives. Colin was already talking about moving to a detached house with a bigger garden. Edna had argued that children should feel settled in their younger years and that they should wait until later on.

Her father rubbed at his bristled chin and eyed her nervously. ‘It won’t be easy to find someone strong enough to cope with yer mother. You know what she’s like. She’ll play up something rotten.’

Never in her life could she remember him looking so dishevelled. Her mother had always been difficult to live with. She’d now become a nightmare.

Edna sighed. ‘I wish there was more I could do.’

Her father shook his tired head. His eyes were red-rimmed. His skin had a greyish, greasy look, as if he hadn’t washed, let alone shaved. ‘Now, now. Don’t you go feeling guilty about it. You’ve got enough on yer plate.’

Edna looped her arm through his, tugged it close and said, ‘I’ll see what we can do.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t come to see young Susan with you,’ her father said as they stood at the front door. ‘Won’t Colin?’

‘No!’ she snapped. Colin’s attitude had surprised her. She could not accept that her child was best left in the hands of the medical profession. Colin could.

‘You have to trust them,’ he’d said to her. ‘I had to.’

She’d seen regret flash momentarily in his eyes. ‘You were grown up. She’s just a child.’

The remark was almost cruel and she regretted it, her mood swinging back again later when she reasoned it wasn’t really her fault. Polio had touched all their lives.

Her father shook his head sorrowfully as he said, ‘Them nurses and doctors … if they’re that determined …’

‘So am I.’

He patted her shoulder, then squeezed it in an effort to reassure her. ‘I hate the thought of you going alone …’

‘I won’t be alone.’

A cold wind plucked leaves from the gutter and sent them scurrying down over Nutgrove Avenue. Edna pulled on her gloves. Determination, she decided, would not be enough. Someone with courage, nerve and vitality was needed who would stand up to stiff upper lips and starched uniforms. One name above all others sprang to mind.

Polly’s job at the Broadway was over. Griffiths kept to his office when she called in to collect wages owing and her cards.
Muriel, the peroxide blonde with big earrings and bright pink lipstick, did the honours. Polly could tell from her attitude that she was glad to see her go. Muriel would supplement her wage by earning a few bob extra with Griffiths down in the grim cellar where colonies of spiders spun webs in dark corners and a chaise longue with worn springs served as a love nest.