The Factory Girl (19 page)

‘But—'

‘And I don't need you with me neither.'

Anger blazed up inside Geraldine. Her hands tightening into fists at her sides, she glared down at her mother, whose naturally proud stature still didn't increase her height above her daughter's eyes.

Recrimination tumbled uncontrolled from Geraldine's lips. She was a child again, being wrongly accused and not knowing how to combat it. ‘Why don't you want me with you, Mum? He's my dad and I don't want to see anythink 'appen to 'im. I love 'im, and I'm as worried about 'im as you are. I'm scared for 'im knowing what's 'appened. I don't care if you don't want me with you, I can walk behind you. But you can't stop me going to see me own dad. And I hate the way you and Dad treat me and Tony, Mum.'

Her mother's voice was steady. How could it be so steady? ‘If you and 'im was ter come down off yer 'igh 'orse once in a while, I might be better inclined to the pair of yer. But ever since yer met 'im, Gel, yer've made us feel as if we ain't good enough for yer no more.'

‘That's not true, Mum. I love you. I love you both.'

She blurted it out in desperation but Mum gave a mighty huff and turned away to walk on almost as fast as before. Now Geraldine remained half a dozen steps behind her but not once did she turn round, leaving Geraldine to stare at that straight, proud back for the rest of the way.

Even when they got to the forbidding entrance of the hospital with its blackened brick and its windows staring out like sightless eye sockets, she strode on as though her daughter wasn't there.

All this from being offered a lift in a car – Tony's car. So unreasonable, so pointless and so stupid! It was hard to control the sickness that lay in her heavily beating heart, even harder to subdue the anger accompanying it.

By the time they'd walked endless, cold corridors, and climbed endless flights of stairs, every part of the place an unrelieved cream and green, and that dulled and pockmarked by time and open fireplaces, an ancient hospital to say the least, she and Mum were worn off their feet.

What Geraldine had expected to find as they finally reached the ward and a nurse directed them to the bed at the far end of the long, busy hall, she wasn't sure, but her mind saw a man, grey-faced from the loss of blood, body limp, the drip making hardly any difference, the expressionless face of the doctor sadly shaking his head in silent commiseration at the doomed man's loved ones. Instead there was a nurse, all bright and cheerful, saying, ‘Mrs Glover? Ah, yes, your husband's fine. All successfully stitched up but he is swearing a lot.' It was a jovial admonition, a hinted request to try to curb the man's bad behaviour in a crowded ward with nurses around.

‘I bet they've heard worse than your dad,' Mum said, smiling grimly, seeming to have got over her resentment, possibly borne out of anxiety, Geraldine imagined, now forgiving her and only eager to see her father.

Making their way down the ward, passing bed after bed of men, some lying limp and ill, some sitting up and grinning at the visitors, they finally came to Dad's bed, two from the end. He was sitting up, his arm swathed in a pure white bandage and in faded cotton, blue-striped, hospital pyjamas, though his cheeks and greying dark hair still had traces of dust and grime from the hold he'd been working in at the time of the accident.

He made a face as Mum approached to bend over him to ask how he felt and how serious was his injury and did he need anything.

‘I need ter get back ter work, that's what I need. The quicker yer bleedin' get me out of 'ere the better. All this bloody muckin' about with me.'

Geraldine was sure she detected an ‘f' rather than an ‘m' in that word ‘mucking' and looked hurriedly at the nurse who was with them, but the young woman's expression remained impassive.

‘Mr Glover can go home later today, if you would like to come back to collect him, Mrs Glover.'

Hilda straightened up in alarm. ‘I can't go all the way back 'ome and then come all the way back 'ere. I 'ad ter walk all the way—'

She stopped sharply with a furtive glance at her daughter. Geraldine looked down at the floor, fighting back a retort. This wasn't the place to start another argument.

‘In that case,' said the bright nurse. ‘I'll see if he can be discharged while you are here. Where exactly do you live, Mrs Glover?' On being told, she smiled knowledgeably. ‘Then you could get home by tram. The sixty-five and sixty-seven pass by here and you can change at Commercial Street to take you to Bow Road.'

‘I walked 'ere,' returned Hilda sharply. ‘I can walk 'ome.'

‘I think not, Mrs Glover, not with your husband. He has a very nasty cut on that arm and will be in no condition to walk all that way.'

‘He looks orright ter me.' She glanced at her husband who apparently had enough go in him to lean over and with his left hand help himself to a drink from the water glass on the wooden locker beside his bed.

‘He would soon feel the strain walking so far,' said the nurse. ‘We can get him to the hospital gates for you. The tram stop is just outside. That is of course if he is allowed to leave. So if you and your daughter would like to stay with your husband, I'll go and make enquiries about that. I shan't be two ticks.'

Left alone, there seemed little to say. Geraldine sat quiet while her mother asked exactly what had happened, her father answering tersely that she ought to know by now how quick things did happen, that it had and there was nothing else to be said. In the docks accidents were a daily occurrence, men could be injured, men could lose their lives and there was nothing one could do – a whip round among the injured man's mates if he had to be off from work for any length of time, or if someone was killed a whip round for the widow; in neither case could those putting in the collection afford more than a shilling at the most; these days of short time it was usually even less.

Few had the means to pay out weekly for sick benefits or any hospital savings cover, and many a man injured just had to rely on what he might get in the way of social help. It was all part of working in the docks and just had to be accepted as such. There had always been heated talk about compensation, even talk of a strike for better conditions, but nothing ever came of it, nor would now with all this unemployment and the chance of being laid off at the slightest whim, with someone always there to leap on any vacancy there was.

The nurse returned accompanied by a doctor, a grave expression on his face though all doctors seemed to bear grave expressions. Geraldine, sitting beside Dad as the doctor took her mother to one side, tried hard to hear what was being said, but with Dad going on nineteen to the dozen about working conditions in the docks and if unemployment wasn't as bad as it was they'd strike for better conditions, she couldn't hear a thing.

She expected Mum to come back with a face drawn with anxiety by what she'd been told. Instead she was smiling.

‘The doctor said you've been tiddling the bed while you've been 'ere. He wants ter keep you in another day so's he can take another look at you.'

Her husband's eyes widened, glinting with belligerence. ‘Like bloody 'ell 'e does! No one's keeping me 'ere any longer than I need ter be. I've got ter be back at work. I ain't losin' any more pay. We can't live on air.'

‘There's no question,' the nurse butted in, ‘of your returning to work today or—'

‘What d'you know about it, yer silly bitch, with yer reg'lar income an' nice clean 'ands? Anyway, I ain't 'aving no one poking around me like I was a bleedin' guinea pig. Tell 'im ter go and frig 'imself.' At least he hadn't come right out with it, thought Geraldine, still wondering at Mum's smile.

Mum sat down again, the doctor standing a little apart from them. ‘It's yer waterworks, Jack. The doctor thinks yer trouble is yer prostrated glan.'

‘Prostate gland,' corrected the doctor, coming forward. ‘I'll explain it.'

‘I don't need no bleedin' explanations,' Jack Glover roared. ‘I 'ave ter get back ter work. I'm losin' money lyin' 'ere.'

‘I'm afraid you won't be able to work for at least a week, Mr Glover, not until the wound has had time to heal, if only partially. Working will break the stitches and you'll be brought back here. It must heal before—'

‘Don't tell me what I can and can't do,' Jack belted at him. ‘You ain't the one what's goin' ter lose yer livelihood if yer don't work.'

‘I'm sorry, Mr Glover, work is out of the question.'

‘Jack, listen to the doctor,' urged Hilda. ‘Take advantage of what he's saying. Let 'im look at you. He might be able ter make you better regarding yer trouble down there, Jack.'

‘What we will do,' went on the doctor in smooth tones and completely unruffled, ‘is examine you to find out what is causing the problem.'

‘I know what the perishin' problem is – I can't 'old me pee too well.'

‘Then we'll find out the cause and we may be able to remedy that,' the quiet voice went on. ‘It's nothing to be scared about—'

Jack glared up at him. ‘Oo says I'm scared?'

The doctor ignored the challenge. ‘It may be that your prostate gland has become enlarged. We can sort that out for you quite easily.'

‘You mean operate! I ain't 'aving meself cut open.' But some of the belligerence had dissipated. ‘What if it turns out ter be somethink else?'

‘I doubt it is anything else. As I said, probably the gland is enlarged and has been left unchecked for quite a number of years. It's a common enough condition in men.'

‘But what if it ain't just that?'

Geraldine stared at him, ready to forgive his spurning of Tony's offers of help to tide him and Mum over while in hospital. The truth was, he was terrified of something awful being discovered, would rather not know than find out the worst. It was rather like someone walking a cliff edge, eyes tight shut so they wouldn't have to see the danger, no matter that they could fall.

‘Dad, you've got to let him have a look at you,' she spoke up. Her reward was a baleful glare, but one that was tinged with an animal fear.

‘You mind yer own bloody business! I ain't 'aving you stickin' yer toffee nose into my concerns. This ain't nothink ter do with you. Go 'ome.'

‘Dad!'

‘Go on, sod off!'

‘Mr Glover, please!' intervened the doctor, his command sharp and stern. ‘I insist you listen to what I have to say. We need to have a look at you. And while you are here I think we should.'

But he too had seen the fear in the man's eyes. Turning to his wife, he said quietly, ‘I think I need to have another word with you, Mrs Glover – if you would come with me.'

This was accompanied by a curt nod to her and she was compelled to proceed a little ahead of him. Unable to bring herself to remain with her father, Geraldine followed at a short distance, pausing when the two people stopped some way down the ward.

What were they saying? She could see the tall doctor bending toward her mother, her mother's head nodding up and down, her eyes trained on his face, her own expression stiff. Finally he gave a nod of dismissal, touched her arm briefly and gently and returned for another word with her father, passing Geraldine with a small acknowledging smile and a tilt of the head.

Mum was moving off towards the exit. Geraldine sprung into action and followed, catching up with her as she went out through the doors and into the corridor.

‘What did he say?'

Mum's face was still stiff. Her voice was small. ‘He said it could be something more serious, but they 'ad to examine 'im before they could be certain what exactly is causing your dad's incontinence.'

She seemed to be talking more to herself, quoting the doctors words, words that would never have come from her own mouth. ‘Until they do that they can't be sure if it's only this swollen gland thing. If it is somethink more, and he won't say until they've examined 'im, it could be very serious indeed. But we're not ter say anythink to yer dad. It might upset 'im. We've ter behave as if everythink's orright. We've got ter look cheerful and not let on what we've bin told.'

She pressed her lips together with forced determination, lifted her shoulders and took a deep breath. ‘But then it might not be anythink like that at all.'

Geraldine couldn't feel that confident. What had been intimated was that there could be a threat to Dad's life. What if they did find some sort of growth, a tumour or cancer? Could they cut out something that had been left to go on for years undiscovered, unchecked? Though after all this time wouldn't he have had some pain? He'd never complained of any. Even so, he was a fool not to have accepted Tony's help all that time ago just to save his stupid pride – she ignored her earlier surmising of it being fear and not pride that had made Dad spurn the offer. Now it was too late, Dad would have to lose time at work, maybe lose his job, maybe worse. Geraldine shuddered at the thought that refused to become words.

‘We'd best go back an' see yer dad,' Mum said suddenly.

Turning, she went back up the ward. All Geraldine could do was to follow but remained a little apart, sitting on a chair near the foot of the bed while Mum sat urging him to take the doctor's advice. She couldn't hear all Mum said, speaking so low, but she saw the tension on his angular, work-lined face, the chin begin to jut as Mum slowly convinced him that it was for his own good, nothing else he could do, that things were out of their hands now and he'd be a fool to turn his back on what could no longer be avoided.

Each in their turn they dropped a kiss on his cheek. He didn't smile and they came away. Nor did he respond as they turned to wave goodbye. At the far end of the ward he looked a lonely figure. Geraldine could have cried.