Homecoming (36 page)

‘Because she thought you wouldn't want a baby now, of all times,' Brian suggested brutally.

‘Of course we want a baby. We talked it over, we even … but that was before you turned up with the garage proposal …'

‘Mr Clay.' The matron appeared in the doorway.

Martin rose to his feet. ‘Can I see my wife?'

‘Yes, but only for a few minutes and only if you promise not to upset her.'

‘She is my wife …' Martin fell silent, realising his voice had risen – again.

‘She only regained consciousness a quarter of an hour ago. She needs to be kept very quiet.'

‘The baby?' he asked.

‘It's too early to say yet whether or not the baby can be saved. If you'd like to come with me.'

As Martin followed the matron into the house, Brian looked at Helen. ‘I would offer to buy you a cup of tea but there doesn't appear to be a café around here, not that I can see anyway.'

‘I don't think there is one.' She took Martin's place on the stone bench beside him. ‘You got here quickly.'

‘If Marty'd had his way, we would have been here half an hour earlier with a smoking engine.'

‘He lives for Lily. I'm not sure he'd cope if anything happened to her.'

‘Like Jack isn't coping without you.'

‘Jack doesn't even know I'm not there.'

‘I've never seen him so miserable.'

‘Which is why he hasn't even bothered to contact me.' She looked Brian in the eye. ‘Has he told you what he did?'

‘No, but Martin explained on the way here.'

‘Lily wouldn't even be here with me if Jack had managed to keep his trousers zipped up.'

‘We all make mistakes, Helen, and from what Martin told me it only happened once.'

‘And that makes it all right?' she challenged. ‘How about if I make a mistake just once and get pregnant by another man?'

‘It's different for a woman …' He faltered and considered what he was about to say.

‘It is, Brian,' she agreed bitterly. ‘We're the ones left holding the baby.' She rose from the cold seat and paced to a tiny mullioned window set with thick, opaque glass. ‘Lily's only here because of the bloody awful mess Jack made and I had no right to ask her to come here with me …'

‘Lily's your sister-in-law as well as one of your closest friends; you had every right to ask her to come here with you. And there was no way of knowing that anything like this was going to happen.'

‘Please, you're making things worse.'

‘Then I'll keep my mouth shut.' Leaving the seat, he stood beside her and took her cold hand into his.

‘I'm glad you're here,' she murmured after a while. ‘Do you think Lily will be all right?'

‘She had better be.'

‘But if she isn't?'

‘Don't even think it, Helen.' He led her back to the bench. ‘Please don't even think it,' he repeated fervently.

‘I have given her morphine,' the doctor warned Martin, drawing him aside outside the treatment room. ‘It is a risk but she needs to be kept as quiet as possible if this child is to have a chance of surviving to anything like full term.'

‘We want the baby, doctor, but it is Lily I am concerned about … she will be all right, won't she?' Martin demanded.

‘That's impossible to predict at this stage.'

‘Shouldn't she be in hospital?'

‘It's a long journey from here to the nearest hospital and she's had a slight haemorrhage. Move her and we risk further blood loss. If that turns into a full-blown haemorrhage, there is a real possibility that she could die on the way there. Our best hope is to stabilise her by bed rest here. If she remains quiet and settled, we can move her into hospital in a few days' time.' The doctor was old but something in Martin's face reminded him of what it was like to be young. He patted him on the shoulder. ‘Twenty-four to forty-eight hours and we'll know a lot more, son. They have some medical facilities here. I've taken a blood sample and once we find out her type we'll be able to order some in case we need to do a transfusion here.'

‘There's nothing else you can do?'

‘Not here. Go and see her, but remember she needs to be kept calm and quiet.'

Lily was lying on an examination couch covered by a white sheet and a red blanket that made her pallor all the more noticeable. The woman who had been sitting with her moved away as Martin walked in, and withdrew with the matron. Martin was too concerned with Lily to notice that the matron had left the door ajar. He walked over the couch and clasped Lily's hand. Lily opened her eyes and smiled. Then the smile died on her lips.

‘I'm having a baby, Marty, I'm sorry I should have –'

‘It's all right, darling.' He smoothed her long, dark hair away from her forehead. Someone had unclipped her French pleat and it tumbled around her shoulders. ‘The doctor said you have to rest. I'll stay with you.'

‘No, Marty, you have to work in the garage.'

‘I'm not leaving you, Lily, not like this.'

‘You don't mind about the baby,' she mumbled, her eyelids drooping from the effects of the morphine.

‘We'll teach him everything we know, darling,' he promised. ‘Everything will be all right. You'll see. Everything will be all right.'

Chapter Nineteen

Martin sat back in the visitor's chair in Matron's office and looked her in the eye. ‘I am not leaving this house until Lily is out of danger.' His voice was low but steady, and there was no mistaking his determination.

‘Danger or not, you cannot stay here, young man,' she refuted officiously in the tone of voice she used to address the residents. ‘This is a women's hostel. I cannot allow a man to remain in the house overnight.'

‘And if my wife should be taken worse?'

‘There is a pub a couple of miles down the road,' the doctor suggested, overhearing the impasse. ‘I believe they have a couple of rooms they let out. If Mr Clay books in there and telephones you with the number, you can contact him if there is any change in Mrs Clay's condition during the night, Matron.'

‘As long as he leaves this house in the next five minutes,' she sniffed, clearly annoyed by the doctor's proposal. ‘I am answerable to the committee for the moral welfare of the residents …'

‘You must grant that the circumstances are exceptional, Matron.' The doctor scribbled a note on a pad and handed it to her. ‘If you don't need me during the night, I will be back to check on the patient first thing in the morning. If you'd care to call in around nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Mr Clay, you can see your wife for a few minutes.'

‘Provided she is well enough to receive visitors,' the matron cautioned, ensuring they both understood exactly who was in charge.

Realising from the obdurate expression on the matron's face that he wasn't going to receive a more generous offer, Martin muttered a conciliatory, ‘Thank you.'

‘Telephone as soon as you book a room, Mr Clay,' the matron ordered. ‘Our residents go to bed early. I don't want them disturbed after their nine o'clock curfew.'

As he left the office and closed the door behind him he overheard the doctor say, ‘I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to oversee a pregnancy where the baby is not only wanted, but actually welcome.'

‘Can you come up with a better idea?' Brian questioned. He, Martin and Helen sat in a corner of the pub lounge drinking tea, all that the landlord would serve them on a Sunday, although Martin had booked a room for the night.

‘No,' Martin admitted.

‘Then it's settled. You keep my car and I drive Helen back to Swansea. She shouldn't be driving while she's upset.'

‘I am not too upset to drive,' Helen protested angrily.

‘All right, you are not too upset to drive,' Brian conceded, ignoring her hysteria, ‘but I can't think of any other way that will give Martin the transport he needs while he's stuck out here in the wilds. There's no train and no station for miles and if this road is on a bus route, I didn't see any stops and shelters when we drove here.'

‘You are not driving me home,' Helen insisted dogmatically. ‘I am an adult, not a child to be looked after.'

‘You can drop me off on Walter's Road. I'll walk to Carlton Terrace from there,' Brian compromised.

‘Then I'm driving …'

‘From Walter's Road to Limeslade and, before you say any more, I make a lousy passenger. I shout, I curse, I swear, I unnerve even experienced drivers. Ask Martin if you don't believe me.' He turned to Martin, hoping for confirmation, but his friend remained sunk into his own thoughts – or more likely, misery.

‘You're not insured to drive my car. It belongs to the warehouse.'

‘As manager of a garage, I am insured to drive anything.' Brian gave Helen a tight, conciliatory smile before tapping Martin's shoulder. ‘Cigarette, mate?' He offered Martin the packet.

‘Thanks.' Martin took one.

‘Do you want me to come back up here in the morning with some clothes for you and Lily?'

‘There's no point you bringing anything until I know what's happening. And as it's unlikely they'll let me see Lily for more than a few minutes, I'll have enough time to go back to the house and fetch whatever we need if she has to stay here.'

Brian picked up Helen's car keys from the table. ‘Phone me in the morning, or sooner if there's any change. I'll either be at home or the garage.'

‘The garage …'

‘Don't worry, Jack and I will keep the place standing until you're in a position to come back to work,' Brian assured him.

‘As long as you don't try to do any servicing or repairs.'

‘We know our limitations.' Brian glanced at his watch. ‘It's nearly eight o'clock. You'd better give that matron a ring. As soon as you've given her the number of this place and checked how Lily is, we'll be on our way.'

‘“Resting” has to be good, doesn't it?' Helen asked Brian after they had driven in silence for ten minutes.

‘It has to be better than not resting.'

‘How you can make jokes at a time like this?'

‘I was being serious,' he countered softly, realising that although both their nerves had been frayed by the traumatic events of the afternoon, guilt had driven her perilously close to breaking point. ‘The doctor said Lily needed rest. She is resting and that has to be good.' He slowed the car as they approached a humpbacked bridge. ‘You hungry?'

‘I ought to be, but I'm not.'

‘There might be a fish and chip shop open somewhere.'

‘I doubt it, not on a Sunday in this Godly, chapel ridden area of Wales. Besides I couldn't eat a thing.'

Brian glanced across at her. ‘You do have food in your house?'

‘Yes, and don't you start.'

‘Start what?'

‘Telling me I've lost weight.'

‘You have, haven't you?' he challenged.

‘Some,' she conceded abruptly.

‘Did you have a chance to say goodbye to the lady you went to visit?' Brian was aware that he was broaching a difficult subject, but he was also too tired to think of a less controversial topic of conversation, and talk – even strained and difficult talk – had to be less wearing than the silence that had blighted the outset of their journey.

‘No,' Helen replied shortly.

‘Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I find it difficult to understand why you went to see her.'

‘Curiosity.'

‘I heard that killed the cat.' Brian passed Helen his cigarettes and lighter. ‘Light one for me, please.'

‘I wanted to know what she was like.' Helen lit two cigarettes, kept one and handed him the other.

‘And was she what you expected?'

‘She was much older than I thought she would be, nice enough I suppose, but plain and dowdy. She's probably old enough to be Jack's mother,' she revealed, more shocked by the thought than she had been in Maggie's presence.

‘So, what happens to you and Jack now?'

Helen considered Brian's question. She didn't have to imagine life without Jack when she had only spent five weeks with him in the last two and half years. Three before he left for Cyprus and two after he'd returned. The last two had been wonderful from the moment he had shattered the awkwardness and embarrassment of their reunion by persuading her to climb into bed with him, but now she felt that even the memorable night of his homecoming was tainted. ‘I don't know. I divorce him, I suppose.'

‘Is that what you want, Helen?' he asked gently.

‘It's not a question of what I want,' she retorted. ‘More like a question of what Jack did.'

‘And you can't forgive him.'

‘No,' she rejoined vehemently.

He glanced across at her silhouette, dark against the streetlights of Ammanford. ‘Not even if it means giving up what could be fifty years of happy marriage?'

‘You think I could be happy with Jack after he cheated on me?' There was raw anguish in her voice.

‘Only you can answer that. But before you do, I think you should know that two of the happiest people I've seen in my life were you and Jack on the night of his homecoming party.'

‘Appearances can be deceptive.'

‘Yes, they can, and I've said more than I should have on a subject I know nothing about.'

‘Marriage.'

‘I can't even make a go of courtship.'

‘There wasn't anyone else after Judy?' she fished.

‘Dozens,' he laughed, deliberately lightening the atmosphere. ‘That was the problem. I couldn't make up my mind which one I wanted.'

‘Then you didn't really want any of them.'

‘That's what my mother said.'

‘Wise woman, your mother.'

‘She is.' He blew a smoke circle as they stopped at a road junction. ‘Perhaps you should have a word with her about your problems with Jack some time,' he suggested.

‘I don't think so,' she said politely.

‘So, do you want me to telephone you at home or in the warehouse when Martin rings me tomorrow with news of Lily?' he asked, changing the subject.

Jack had finished cleaning the kitchen cupboards and was mopping the floor when he heard a knock on the connecting door between the basement and the rest of the house. He opened it to see Sam standing halfway up the stairs.

‘Why the knock?'

‘Because this is an official visit.'

‘I see no uniform.'

‘Not police business.' Sam pushed past him and looked around the kitchen. ‘Where's Brian?'

‘Somewhere in Carmarthenshire.'

‘What's the stupid bugger doing there?'

‘He went with Martin – on business,' Jack prevaricated, sensing Sam was in a belligerent mood. ‘Did you drink the pub dry?' he asked, inhaling beer fumes.

‘I had a couple of drinks before dinner in my mother's house. That's not a crime, is it?' Sam bit back nastily.

‘You're the copper, you tell me.' Jack lifted the mop head into the sink, rinsed it under the running tap and squeezed it dry.

‘So when is he coming back?'

‘Who?' Jack emptied the bucket, washed it out and dropped the mop into it.

‘The King of Sheba,' Sam growled. ‘Bloody Brian, of course.'

‘I have absolutely no idea.' Jack opened the door to the scullery and pushed the mop and bucket into a corner.

‘I want to see him.'

‘My mother always used to say, “I want doesn't get”.'

‘Very funny.'

‘As you see, he's not here and I can't conjure him from nowhere.'

‘Can't conjure who from nowhere?' Brian dropped his front door key on to the kitchen table.

‘You! Damned poaching bastard!' Drawing his fist back, Sam punched with all his strength, sending Brian reeling into the passage.

Helen shivered when she walked into her house. If anything, it was even colder indoors than out. She loved sitting in the living room in the evening in front of a real fire, but she hated cleaning the grate and re-laying it and a coal fire was proving impractical when she was out at work all day. Even if she made it up before she left the house in the morning, and this time she hadn't, it took three to four hours of steady burning for the fire to bring the room to a comfortable enough temperature to sit in.

Judy had tried to persuade her to buy a gas fire when she had lived with her, but reluctant to block her fireplaces with permanent fittings, she had compromised and settled for electric. Unlike gas, the electric fires could be lifted in and out of the grates and although they were more expensive to run, she had been able to cling to the notion that the time would come when she would have a coal fire burning in every room.

That mythical, perfect time that she had planned, lived and waited for.
When Jack comes home. When the house is finished. When everything is exactly the way I want it. When
I have time to light a fire in every room and live the way I always intended …

Still in her coat, she switched on the electric fire in the kitchen and carried the fire from the dining room into the living room. Setting it on the ash-strewn hearth she plugged it in. Jack was home, the house was finished, everything was exactly as she dreamed it would be except for Jack's absence and the signs of domestic neglect – and she still hadn't the time, or the inclination to light a fire in every room.

Sinking into the easy chair next to the fireplace, she looked around the room. Dust lay thick and grey, dulling the surfaces of the coffee table and cupboards. She traced a line along the table with her forefinger and looked at the coal-smudged hearthrug. She hadn't done any housework since Jack had left. No cleaning, washing or cooking. She had used the house like a hotel, going from bed to work and back, buying underclothes and stockings in the warehouse rather than start on the pile of washing stacked in the scullery. Whatever had happened between her and Jack, or would or wouldn't happen between them in the future, one thing was certain, she couldn't carry on living like this.

She glanced at the clock. It was after nine. The washing could wait, she could even cheat and take it to the laundrette on her way to work in the morning, but there was no way she could continue to sit in a room that looked this way. She went into the hall, opened the cupboard under the stairs and took out the vacuum cleaner, dustpan and brush, a duster and a tin of wax polish.

Jack pinned Sam's arm high behind his back and slammed him, face forward, into the kitchen wall. He looked over his shoulder at Brian. ‘I've got him. You all right?'

‘I'll tell you in five minutes.' Brian staggered to the sink and ran the cold tap. ‘Is it too much to ask what that was for, Sam?' He wrung out a tea towel and held it against the side of his head.

‘As if you didn't know!' Sam bellowed, fighting to shake Jack off.

‘Stay still or I'll hurt you,' Jack threatened.

Brian lifted the tea towel away from his cheekbone. It was bright red with blood.

‘You're going to have one hell of a shiner,' Jack predicted, ‘and that cut will need stitching.'