No Shelter from Darkness (11 page)

Holding the gown at arm's length, looking more dark brown than red, she hurried downstairs and out into the backyard, throwing it onto the soil. The shelter door creaked as she opened it and clambered down to retrieve the oil lamp. Once back under the afternoon sun, she tipped a little of the precious fuel over the bundle of dirty-white and dark-brown fabric. She lit a match and, with such little breeze, kept the flame alive behind her cupped hand as she bent down. She felt her gut twist in anxiety, knowing this would mark the end of an unpleasant episode, and flicked the match onto
the gown. Flames quickly grew and the fabric blackened and singed, shriveling into nothingness and sending small bits of black ash up into the air. Within a minute or two it was all gone, and Beth sighed in relief, disturbing the soil with her shoe to cover up any evidence of fire. Walking back into the house, she noticed a new discomfort in her mouth brought on by her smile of satisfaction. Prodding with her finger, she gently pushed against the skin above her lip, locating a spot of soreness in her gum.

And now that she'd noticed it, it wasn't going away.

*   *   *

It felt like the return to normalcy lasted only for a moment. The very next day Beth felt the tightening around her pelvic region return and a mild ache in her lower back. By the end of the week, with the cramps almost as painful as last time, she knew her period could only be a couple of days away, at most. It was a full week later than her mother's estimation. She could only be thankful it hadn't affected her appetite.

On a warm Friday evening, and with a rumbling tummy, she and Mary joined her mother and brother in the kitchen for dinner. Beth watched her brother do a half-arsed attempt at a cross after their mother said grace. He took a swig of water from his chipped glass and prodded the corner of his pie with his fork. She sympathized slightly. But food was food, and she began sawing away at the crust.

“What's wrong, Oliver?” asked their mother.

“It's veg pie again. Isn't it?”

“Beggars can't be choosers. Now stop whining and be thankful for what you've got.”

“But—”

“Oliver Wade.” Whenever their mother said names in full, both Beth and Oliver knew it was time to shut up. She didn't even need to raise her voice. With a sour face, Oliver began cutting into his dry slice.

Beth looked at Mary. “So,” she said while chewing, “been spending a lot of time with Gibson, haven't you?”

Mary looked up, and Beth could see the hint of a knowing smile. “He's cute isn't he? I mean in a rough kind of way.”

“Urgh! Shut up,” said Oliver, unwittingly spitting bits of pastry.

Their mother gave him an admonishing frown, then turned it into a smile when she looked over at Mary. “Seeing a boy now, are you, Mary?”

“Oh no. I wouldn't say that. We've held hands a couple of times, though. Anyway, I think he might be a bit young for me.”

Beth picked up on the sarcasm that her mother missed.

“Ahem, isn't he your age?”

“Exactly, Mrs. Wade. Too young.” Mary grinned. Beth's mother caught on, while Oliver sat and sighed unhappily at the topic of conversation. Eagerly shoving another bit of pie in her mouth, Beth bit down and yelped. A pea flew back onto her plate as she brought up a hand.

“Shot!” said Oliver.

Lynne tutted.

“Bit your tongue?” asked Mary.

Beth winced and left her mouth open while she tongued the food to the other side. She chewed as little as needed, and swallowed. She brought her hand away tentatively. “That really hurt.”

“What have you done?” asked her mother.

She shook her head slightly. “I dunno. I think it's my teeth.” Beth pushed a finger under her lip and felt the tender gum line.

“Elizabeth, not at the table.”

Her finger was still in her mouth when Beth said, “My tooth's wobbling.”

“What?” asked her mother.

“That one there.” She snarled with one side of her mouth and pointed to her left canine on the upper row. She was well aware all four of them looked a bit out of place, being smaller in comparison to the other teeth. “They're finally coming out,” she confirmed.

“It's about time,” said Lynne. “Only a couple of years late, then.”

With her finger pressed lightly on the tip, Beth moved it back and forth in the tender gum.

“Beth, come on now and finish your food.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

Carefully, Beth finished what was left on her plate, using only one side of her mouth. It was only one of the four remaining baby teeth that had loosened, but she was sure the others would soon follow.

Swallowing the last forkful of food, she sat back in her chair with a small sigh. Due to rationing, meals were never large unless Mr. Morris, the butcher, had been round with one of his generous gifts. Stomachs had grown used to the smaller quantity, and Beth's had stopped its gurgling from earlier. But while her stomach may have been fine, something else was still amiss. She puckered her lips and furrowed her brow, putting her hand back on her stomach. She didn't need long to realize it was that feeling of not being satisfied, of the food not hitting some other spot. It was dull, but it was there. Her heart sank.

The craving was back.

TEN

LYNNE SAT IN HER FAVORITE
of the two larger armchairs in the sitting room, the one which showed its threads the least, and bit down on a length of cotton thread she was sewing with to sever it. With the thick patch sewn into place, Oliver's second pair of school shorts had life left in them yet. She folded them and put them to one side, and from the less orderly pile of clothes she pulled the next patient for needle and thread. It was a Saturday away from the hospital, and with the children at school for the morning it was a chance to catch up with motherly duties. The June air outside was warm. Both the front and back door were ajar, and a nice breeze wafted through the house while the wireless played the latest hits to poke fun at Adolf.

Lynne pushed the needle through the hem of a dress, catching the side of her callused finger but hardly feeling it. With an almost inaudible squeak, the front door swung slightly. Thinking it must've been nothing more than the wind, she froze at seeing movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head snapped around, and her hand dropped the dress and went to her chest. She gasped, then sighed in relief. “Beth! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

“Where's your brother and Mary?”

Beth shrugged as she moped past her mother and collapsed in the other chair. Leaning to one side, she pulled out the worn copy of Harper's Bazaar she'd sat on and looked at it like it was in a foreign language. Lynne knew she'd already read it cover to cover.

“Is something the matter?” Lynne put down her sewing, laying everything on her lap to focus her attention on her daughter.

“I'm just tired.”

“You've been saying that for a few days now. In fact, you've been yawning and stretching for most of the week.”

“Aren't I allowed to yawn or stretch?”

“It's come back, hasn't it?”

“No.” Beth's surprised expression wasn't in the least bit convincing. “I just need a good night's sleep,” she claimed.

“Beth, you
must
be honest with me … and yourself. If the fatigue's come back, pretending it doesn't exist won't help, and I can't help unless you tell me what's going on. Now, are the symptoms the same as last time?”

Beth dipped her head and nodded.

It was only then, when Lynne tried to remember what the blood-test results had yielded, that she realized they'd never come back. Or, if they had, she hadn't been informed of them. “I'm in work tomorrow,” she said with an authoritative voice. “I'll pay a visit to Dr. Hawkins and we'll see what's to be done.”

“I'm not gonna have to come to the hospital, am I?”

“No. Not tomorrow, anyway.” Lynne studied her daughter. It seemed as if in the past couple of minutes alone she'd grown worse, as if accepting the possibility that her condition hadn't gone away after all had taken an unexpected toll. Lynne felt in part responsible. “How's that tooth of yours?” She tried to sound jovial. “It's been a week now. They're certainly stubborn little things, aren't they?”

Beth breathed in deeply and got up to her feet. “I'm gonna go and lie down.” Heading toward the stairs, she didn't so much as glance in Lynne's direction.

Outside the sun still shone, and the wireless still played its cheery tunes, oblivious to the dull ache that had set into Lynne's heart.

*   *   *

Compared to The London Hospital, Bethnal Green Infirmary was a stone's throw away from the house, but when Lynne and the
family relocated to the area when Beth was three, it was the former that needed her services. Luckily for Lynne's purse, it was still within walking distance, and she took the stroll come rain or shine. Today, it was only when she was halfway there and looked at her fob watch that she realized her pace was quicker than usual. She didn't bother making any kind of effort to slow down. The time she was making was valuable.

Walking through the main entrance of the East Wing, she dipped her head again and again in quick and polite greeting to the nurses and doctors passing by. She went straight past the door to the staff room, and on to the office. She closed the door behind her and started to leaf through the brown paper folders containing results of various tests done on numerous patients.

“Wade … Wade,” she murmured, as if saying the name would tease the results out. “Ah! Wade, Elizabeth Josephine.” Leaning back on the desk, she opened the folder and scanned the handwritten notes, deciphering what even the best German cryptographers would have had difficulty in decrypting. Reading doctors' handwriting was a pre-requisite of the job however, and she had a pretty good idea what these results implied. But no recorded facts were a substitute for first-hand discussion.

The door that stated
Kenneth Hawkins M.D.
was closed, but Lynne had checked the roster and knew that he was somewhere in the hospital. She left a note for him before starting her rounds, and kept an eye and an ear out for the doctor. In this massive building, he would remain the needle in the haystack until he was officially needed. And Lynne's need, though sincere, was not official.

It was late afternoon when Lynne finally passed his door and found it ajar. Overlooking his ignorance of the note she'd left, she knocked and walked in.

Dr. Hawkins was a handsome man despite his thick round glasses and stunted height; he couldn't be much taller than Lynne's own five foot five. It may have been all these characteristics that made Lynne feel she could talk more freely with him than most other doctors. “Is it what I think it is?” She held out his report, which he took and quickly studied.

It took a couple of moments, but recognition finally spread across his face. “Yes, I'm afraid so. Anemia.” He looked up from the paperwork. “I did these tests a fortnight ago.”

Lynne knew exactly what he was inferring. “Her symptoms have been erratic.”

“And what symptoms are those? Tiredness? Loss of appetite?”

“All of the above. They seemed to … subside for a while.” As she said it, Lynne realized how odd it would sound if she were to claim Beth's anemia, as it had now been diagnosed, had temporarily vanished. “What do you suggest, doctor? A simple tonic is the usual remedy, is it not?”

Dr. Hawkins shook his head disapprovingly. “I'm afraid much of what's been said about the effectiveness of tonic is largely unfounded.”

“Largely?”

“It does appear to have some benefit in the relief of symptoms in secondary anemia, but its effectiveness in primary anemia has proved to be minimal.”

“So she has
primary
anemia,” stated Lynne.

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

The doctor, becoming slightly more relaxed it seemed, leant against his worktop, took a deep breath, and crossed his arms while still holding on to the paperwork. “Your daughter's blood work did yield some unexpected findings. You see, red blood cells age and die over time and there are ways you can tell the older cells from the new. With anemia, I'd expect to find a higher count of aging cells and or signs of hemolysis.” The doctor paused, seeing Lynne was unfamiliar with the term. “The premature loss or destruction of the cells,” he clarified. “However, in your daughter's case, there was none of this. All the cells seemed perfectly healthy, with ratios suggesting usual rates of aging. It's simply the
overall
numbers that were down. It's as if her body has all of a sudden shut off production. Turned off the tap, as it were. Meanwhile, her white blood cell count is fine … better than fine, in fact. I'll be honest, it doesn't make an awful lot of sense.”

“So what are you saying? Is it anemia or isn't it?”

“I
think
it's primary anemia.”

“Well, how do we confirm it or otherwise? What do we do?”

The doctor sighed shallowly, as if looking for something for the hundredth time. “If I were to look into it further, I'd need a new sample of her blood. Comparing it with these results,” he shook the report, “should shed some light.” Lynne bit her lip knowing how much her daughter disliked needles, but nodded. “In the meantime,” Dr. Hawkins continued, “there's certainly no harm in trying a tonic. At worst it'll do nothing and at best it may revive her a little.”

“I'll take some blood tonight and bring it to you first thing in the morning,” said Lynne. “And then we'll try the tonic.” Dr. Hawkins gave a single nod and brief smile. Lynne knew it all too well; it was the same smile she gave patients when there was nothing more she could do for them. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Of course, Nurse Wade.”

Lynne turned to leave, but stopped at a nagging thought. “Doctor, I know this is awfully silly of me, but I am right in saying that anemia can't come and go, aren't I?”