Coronation Wives (40 page)

Janet exchanged a quick look with Ivan who had approached the house with her.

Following the slamming of a door, a troubled looking Colin appeared in the passageway, then disappeared as Pamela and Peter began crying.

Edna was like a sentry filling the doorway and blocking their way. ‘Keep your distance. I don’t want the other two getting sick.’

She looked tired and agitated. Perhaps a little good news might help. ‘I’ve seen Susan, Edna.’

Edna nodded, her eyes seeming like saucers in her pinched, pale face. ‘I know. Will you give her my love?’

Janet hesitated in replying. How could she possibly explain
to a distraught woman how careful she had to be? She nodded anyway. ‘Yes. Of course I will.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Edna started to close the door.

‘Wait!’ Janet grabbed the door and dropped her voice. ‘Have you received the letters my mother sent?’

Edna glanced nervously over her shoulder then nodded.

‘But you haven’t …’ She’d been about to ask whether she’d told Colin, but he chose that moment to appear at the window. He waved and looked as if he were about to open it.

Seeing him there made Edna agitated. ‘You’d better go.’

‘All right.’

There was no need to ask whether Colin knew anything about the letters. It was obvious he did not.

As Edna turned right at the top of Wedmore Vale, she blessed the day back in 1945 when she’d met Polly and Charlotte on Temple Meads Station. They’d been there when she needed them, just as now.

She arrived at Polly’s house in Camborne Crescent at around nine thirty. Although both Janet and her mother had stressed that visiting was not allowed at Saltmead, Edna refused to believe it.

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t refuse a worried mother,’ she said when Janet had told her of how she read stories to Susan almost every night.

‘They won’t let you in,’ Janet had stressed again. ‘Please understand that.’

Edna had pretended that she accepted what Janet said as fact, but her determination to see her child was too great to be denied. Polly had agreed to go with her to the sanatorium. No one else, not even Colin, had been told she was going.

Impatient to get going, she blew the horn so Polly would know she was there. ‘Hurry up,’ she whispered, taking care not to meet the gaze of a group of gossiping women with meaty arms across wide stomachs. Probably wondering who I am, she thought, perhaps surprised to see a woman rather than a man calling for Polly in a car. Polly had always had a bit of a
reputation and was almost boastful about it.

Not bothering to turn the engine off, she tapped the steering wheel as she waited, taking a glance at her watch, then at the street, anything to make time pass more quickly.

Camborne Crescent was not a place she would choose to live in and today it seemed drearier than ever. A grey sky hung over the red-brick houses, and sweet wrappers whirled across the pavement in a cold wind, finally seeking shelter beneath the straggly privets. The remains of Coronation bunting hung ragged and dripping with recent rain from between the streetlights. No one had bothered to take them down. They’d probably be there next year, she thought ruefully, or even longer.

Polly came dashing out of the house, made up to the nines and flouncing down the path in a full-skirted dress with penny-sized black spots scattered on a white background matched with a black bolero jacket. As if she were off to a party, thought Edna, and smiled. Even after all these years, Polly was still a bundle of energy.

Her black patent sling-backs clattered like gunfire down the garden path. ‘Do you like it?’ she asked with a beaming smile as she twirled on the spot.

‘Lovely,’ said Edna. The truth was she really thought the full skirt and the neat little bolero would look wonderful on someone taller and smaller-busted than Polly. Something else she couldn’t say, but she didn’t want to waste time. Getting to the sanatorium was all she could think of.

Beaming as though Christian Dior himself had sung her praises, Polly started for the car door then stopped. ‘What are they doing here?’

Pamela and Peter looked at her soulfully from the back seat.

‘They’re coming with us.’

‘They can’t!’

‘They have to.’

‘Why couldn’t Colin have them?’

Edna coloured up, but stayed forthright. ‘I haven’t told him I’m going there. To tell you the truth, I thought that your Aunty Meg might have them.’

‘Crafty cow!’

Without hesitation, Polly opened the back door of the car. ‘Come on, kids. Out you come. Yer Aunty Meg will ’ave you fer the day. She’s making cakes. You could give her a hand.’

They left the children licking cake mixture from a large china bowl and a wooden spoon. Meg promised them a piece of the finished cake that was presently in the oven, its aroma of mixed fruit, cinnamon and butter making their mouths water.

Edna’s stomach rumbled. She’d been too nervous for breakfast.

‘You look nice, dear,’ said Meg to Edna and offered them both a cup of tea before they set off.

Edna thanked her for the compliment, but declined the tea. ‘We have to go.’

‘You do look nice,’ said Polly, lighting a cigarette as they pulled away from the kerb.

Edna wore her best green suit, which had a straight skirt and a box jacket. She’d styled her hair differently, tying it back and teasing some bits forward into a fringe. Occupying herself with trivialities helped to hide the pain of Susan’s illness following on so soon after the miscarriage.

‘Don’t think much of yer perfume though,’ Polly added after Edna had thanked her.

‘I’m not wearing perfume.’

‘Thank God fer that,’ Polly laughed. ‘Smells like bleedin’ bleach.’

‘I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning,’ Edna explained as they took a left onto St John’s Lane. ‘I have to keep everything very
clean and germ free for when Susan comes home. If I’d kept things cleaner in the first place, Susan would never have got polio.’

‘You silly cow,’ Polly chided. ‘She could ’ave caught it from anywhere. I thought the swimming baths were the best bet for picking up summat like that, or the pictures, anywhere there’s a load of kids.’

‘Anywhere,’ said Edna. ‘No one knows for sure.’

‘Well, there’s a girl in our street—’

Edna interrupted. ‘When are you going to Australia?’

Polly recognized the fact that Edna did not want the conversation to continue, but wished she’d chosen a different subject.

‘Never.’

‘You’ve changed your mind?’

‘No, Billy’s buggered it up. They might ’ave took convicts years ago, but they sure as ’ell don’t want ’em now!’

‘He’s in prison?’ Edna looked shocked. ‘What did he do?’

‘Supposed to have nicked a van – but he didn’t.’

Polly sounded convinced. Edna was shocked. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘The best I can.’

Polly’s mouth shut tight as a clam. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she stared out of the window for the rest of the journey. Every so often Edna glanced at her, wondering what she was planning, but she wouldn’t ask. Her own thoughts were occupied with Susan. All the same, she couldn’t help thinking that Polly was up to something and the imprisoned Billy Hills just might have a problem.

Polly
was
thinking about Billy and not being able to emigrate. But she was also thinking about Edna and all that scrubbing and the stink of bleach and boiled laundry. Edna was one of the most spick and span people she knew. What a silly
thing to think that Susan catching the polio was her fault. Another thought came to her. Should she have allowed the children to stay with Meg? Would Carol be all right?

Arriving at Saltmead Sanatorium broke the silence that had persisted throughout most of the journey.

‘I know this place,’ said Polly, screwing her eyes up tight at the sight of the high fence, the concrete drive and the single storey prefabricated buildings. ‘It used to be a prisoner of war camp. Charlotte used to come here to ’elp German prisoners go ’ome – something like that anyway.’

Edna barely acknowledged her, but eyed the wire fence and the low huts, the concrete paths and the uncut grass beaten flat by the pouring rain. Susan was somewhere in this dreary place, so close yet so far.

‘I came here once,’ said Polly, then immediately got out of the car.

The rain was lashing down, creating puddles in the cracked concrete and gurgling down drainpipes. They huddled under one umbrella and made their way through the puddles. By the time they’d found the entrance, raindrops drizzled from Edna’s fringe and Polly’s flared skirt hung heavy with water and clung to her seamed stockings.

The waiting room was square with cream walls and a brown floor. There were no chairs to sit on and no pictures or posters on the wall except for a notice pinned next to a hatch which said, ‘Please Knock’.

Edna raised her gloved hand and tapped politely.

‘That’s not enough to get some attention. I’ve got a tougher fist,’ said Polly and gave the closed hatch a few hefty blows.

The nurse who answered had a round face, pink cheeks and merry eyes. Like a chocolate coated Brazil nut, her exterior hid a hard centre. Edna explained why they were there.

The nurse pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry. Visiting is not allowed.’

‘Can you at least tell me how she is?’ asked Edna.

The nurse was adamant. ‘It is not my responsibility to report on a patient’s progress. Only a doctor can do that.’

Polly pushed forward. ‘So can we see a doctor?’

The nurse raised her eyebrows questioningly. ‘Are you a relative?’

‘No, I’m not, but—’

‘Then you cannot possibly see a doctor.’

Edna pressed forward. ‘I’m the mother of Susan Smith. Can I see a doctor?’

The nurse looked at her as if she had no importance whatsoever. ‘I very much doubt it. Professor Pritchard won’t see you and will not allow any other doctor to see you until the patient is recovered and able to leave our care.’

Edna immediately interpreted this to mean that Susan had not recovered and might, in fact, never recover. She panicked. ‘Will my child live? Is she going to live?’

Polly recognized that Edna was losing control and grabbed her arms.

‘Really, this kind of behaviour will do no good,’ bleated the nurse.

‘Edna! Edna! Calm down!’

But it was no use. Edna burst into hysterics and there was nothing Polly could do about it except get very mad.

She spun like a dervish towards the open shutter. ‘Look, you bloody old cow!’

‘There is no need for that!’

The shutter came down with a loud bang.

Polly put her arms around Edna and eased her onto her feet. Her usual bubbly brightness had disappeared. This was a very serious situation and she felt genuine sorrow for her friend.

‘Come on, Edna love. Let’s go home. We ain’t doing no good here.’

She tried to head her towards the door. After just two steps, she stopped dead.

‘I know! Let’s ask for Janet.’ Before Polly could stop her, she was hammering on the closed shutter. ‘Janet! Let me see Janet!’

The shutter went up and the stern face of the ward sister returned. ‘You have been told to leave,’ she said sternly.

Edna gripped the cream painted shelf on which the shutter usually sat. ‘Janet Hennessey-White. She knows my daughter. She’s seen her!’

The pale lips of the woman in the stiff veil and starched uniform seemed to turn to blue then back to mauve.

Polly cringed and instinctively apologized, something she didn’t make a habit of doing. ‘She’s upset,’ she explained. ‘It’s not true what she’s saying – not really!’

Edna would not be calmed. ‘Janet Hennessey-White works for the Professor. She’s seen Susan,’ she shouted, ‘she’s seen my daughter! She told me so, and if she can see her, so can I. I’m her mother!’

‘Come on,’ Polly hissed as she guided Edna towards the door.

‘But Susan … and Janet … !’

Polly pushed Edna out of the door and glanced back just once and then only briefly. It was enough time to see that the woman behind the hatch had acquired a face like thunder.

‘Bloody hell! That’s torn it,’ Polly muttered on as she sat Edna back behind the wheel of the car.

‘I only wanted to see Susan,’ Edna whined childishly. ‘Is that very wrong?’

‘No,’ said Polly and a wealth of sympathy immediately swept over her, and not just for Edna and Susan. Janet was about to land in some hellish hot water.

Susan opened her eyes. The world had always been good to her, but it didn’t seem that way any more. The hospital was a horrid place, but the lady who came to tell her stories had made it a bit better.

She hadn’t been for two nights now and she missed her. She missed her mother too and her father. She even missed her little brother and sister.

Her lips were dry. She licked them, then wondered if her mother had left her some water on the bedside cabinet. Then she reminded herself it would be a nurse who might have left her water, not her mother. She tried to lift her arm to reach it, but it wouldn’t move so she began to cry.

A voice sounded somewhere in the darkness beyond the glass partition. ‘Susan! You’re awake. Now come along. No need to cry. If you’re a very good girl you’ll soon be better.’

She looked up to see if the eyes that looked back at her were those of the lady who told her stories. ‘Are you going to read me a story?’ she asked.

Two chill blue eyes peered over a crisp white mask. ‘No. I told you. You’re here to get better. And if you’re a good girl, you will get better.’

The words frightened her. Did they mean that if she were a bad girl she wouldn’t?

Another face appeared wearing the same white mask as the first, but this person had a lot of wrinkles around her eyes.

‘Take no notice,’ said the older woman. ‘Children that cry incessantly for their mothers tend to be unstable. Leave her alone and turn off the light.’

The world was plunged into darkness.

Susan felt her lips quivering, but willed herself not to whimper.

My brave little girl.
That’s how her father usually referred to
her. But why had he left her here in this terrible place? And where was her mother?