Time to Say Goodbye (8 page)

This made Auntie look grave, but she still maintained that they should wait until day dawned before getting a message to the doctor. ‘In the meantime I think the three of us had better get dressed so that there’s someone with Immy all the time. I just hope the doctor can give her something to ease the pain and reduce the fever. Aspirin tablets will help because aspirin lowers the temperature.’ She smiled across at Debby. ‘Do you think you could put the kettle on, dear, whilst Jill and I take it in turns to dress? We’ll be a good deal more able to cope with the situation when we have a hot cup of tea inside us.’

Jill agreed that this was so, and had just succeeded in lowering Imogen on to her pillows when she spoke. ‘I’d like a hot cup of tea,’ she said feebly. ‘One with lots of milk so’s I can drink it straight down . . . oh, I would like that!’

Jill and Auntie exchanged relieved smiles. ‘If she wants a cup of tea she can’t be all that bad,’ Jill said bracingly. ‘I’ve heard folk often get feverish in the small hours; maybe it’s just that.’

But the doctor, when Jacky fetched him the next day, put an end to such hopes. ‘If I could get her to hospital then she could have the treatment she needs, but since that’s impossible you and your aunt will simply have to follow my instructions,’ he told Jill. ‘The child’s suffering from exposure, of course, and when I sounded her chest I could hear bubbling. But keep her in bed, keep her warm, make her take the medicine I will give you three times a day and get her to take a great many hot drinks. She won’t be hungry whilst she’s so feverish – her temperature is almost 105 degrees – but broth will help her to keep up her strength. I’m sure Mrs Pilgrim will sell you a chicken, or even a couple of pounds of bones if that’s all that’s available . . .’

‘Bones?’ Jill said. ‘What use would bones be?’

‘Boil them to make stock, you silly girl,’ the doctor said. ‘If you add a carrot, an onion and half a swede to make it more palatable it will give her strength, and she needs strength to fight the infection. At the moment the main danger is that she may contract pneumonia, but she’s young and strong, so we’ll hope for the best.’

Auntie and Jill took the doctor’s advice, obtaining a chicken from the sympathetic Mrs Pilgrim, as well as a couple of pig’s trotters which, she told them, when boiled for long enough would make pork jelly. ‘My mother thought it a cure-all for just about every disease you can mention,’ she assured Jill who, accompanied by Rita, had slogged her way up the lane to the farm. ‘Let me know if there’s anything more I can do for the poor little dear.’

Jill thanked her from the heart and promised not to hesitate if she needed anything more, but in fact now that they were organised she thought she and Auntie were managing pretty well. They had abandoned their own rooms to Debby and Rita and now slept in the attic, one on either side of Imogen’s bed, so that there was always someone handy. She was very weak and could not reach the chamber pot without help, and once she began to sweat, which the doctor assured them was a good sign, they changed her sheets whenever they became too damp for comfort.

For the first couple of weeks Imogen was not herself, frequently talking as though she were still struggling out of the ditch, but gradually she began to improve and the last time the doctor visited her he was sufficiently pleased with her progress to say that she might come downstairs for an hour if she felt so inclined.

Imogen thanked him, but her voice was lacklustre, and despite her efforts to be cheerful she was still apt either to fall asleep or to begin to weep bitterly, though when asked the reason for her tears she just muttered that she had bad dreams and that shame over her behaviour still haunted her.

‘You’ve had pneumonia,’ Rita told her, as she sat on the end of her friend’s bed, reading her a letter from her mother. Auntie and Jill had decided not to tell Mrs Clarke how very ill her daughter had been, so she thought Imogen had had a nasty cold and nothing more.

‘If my mam ever found out that I’d gone off by myself and got into trouble she’d be terribly cross,’ Imogen had admitted to Jill and Auntie as she gradually began to improve. ‘She’s very strict, my mam. I don’t think she’d take me back to the city because of the danger, but she would be very angry.’ She had looked from Jill to Auntie. ‘So if you wouldn’t mind . . .’

Jill and Auntie had agreed to her request and Auntie thought they had done the right thing. Mrs Clarke, though no doubt an excellent official doing important war work, corresponded with her daughter rarely, and when she did write the letters were always short and mainly concerned with her work.

Rita finished reading the letter and handed it over to her friend. ‘There you are! You know she’s well and busy; and now are you going to get out of that bed, you lazy little beast?’ She grinned at Imogen. ‘You’ve timed your recovery nicely; the snow’s all gone and the fellers from the airfield come over whenever they’re free. The couple who hauled you out of the ditch always ask after you; they’ll be right glad to see you up and about. I know Auntie and Jill keep them informed, but the blokes would like to see you for themselves.’

Imogen heaved a sigh. ‘Since I’m only allowed to get up for an hour, I’ll come down for the midday meal, save one of you having to carry up a tray,’ she said wearily. ‘Oh, Rita, I’m still weak as a kitten! But I’ll come down if Auntie thinks I ought.’

‘Right,’ Rita said decisively, standing up and heading for the door. ‘And you’d better write to your mother, because if Auntie or Jill write again Mrs Clarke may get suspicious.’ She reached the doorway, then turned back. ‘Is there anything you want?’ she asked rather impatiently. ‘I hope not, lazybones, because I’m on duty to give an eye to you today, and I’m sick and tired of toiling up all these stairs.’

Imogen gave a very small spurt of laughter. ‘I’m not the lazy one; I’ve been ill,’ she pointed out. ‘And now you and Debby are back in school it’s Auntie and Jill who have to keep toiling up and down with trays. Don’t go for a moment, Rita; just tell me what the weather’s like. I’d really like a breath of fresh air, but not if it’s still cold.’

Rita sighed. Imogen reflected that the other girl had always been short of patience, so it was no surprise when she answered rather brusquely. ‘One minute you say you’re weak as a kitten, and the next that you want to go outside for a bit,’ she said. ‘If you ask me, it’s far too cold, but it’s for Auntie to decide.’ And with that she shot out of the doorway and Imogen could hear her feet clattering down the stairs.

Imogen huddled under the covers again. She knew really that it would take all her strength just to get down the stairs, and heaven knew how she would manage to get up them again. She was still languid, having to be coaxed to eat more than a few mouthfuls, crying if she was left alone for long yet finding conversation tiring. The doctor no longer visited, a sure sign that she was better, yet she had twice put off the chance of going downstairs. Today, however, she knew she really must make the effort. Auntie would not let her have a pen and a bottle of ink in the attic, and fair was fair; Auntie and Jill had a lot to do and she knew in her heart that she should write personally to her mother. Also, Auntie kept telling her that her appetite would return once she did something other than lie in her bed, and she supposed that the older woman was right.

What I ought to do is practise when I’m here with no one watching, she decided. Yes, that’s a really good idea, because I know very well that if I’m all weak and wobbly when I do go downstairs Rita will have a go at me, and that will upset Jill and Auntie.

Having decided, she swung her legs out of bed and stood up, reflecting that since she had been using the chamber pot whenever she needed it for some time now, she really should be able to walk across to the door, take down her dressing gown and put it on, push her feet into her slippers, descend the two long flights of stairs and go into the kitchen.

She was wrapping her dressing gown round her and tying the cord when it occurred to her that perhaps Auntie would expect her to dress; certainly there was a small pile of her clothes on top of the chest of drawers. If I can dress myself and get down the stairs then Auntie will be really pleased, she told herself. I ought to do something to please her for a change; I’ve been awfully selfish when I think about it.

Rather reluctantly, for it was cold in the attic, she took her dressing gown off again and pulled on her woolly vest and knickers, her thick blue jumper, a grey pleated skirt and grey knee socks. She had dressed sitting on the bed, but now she stood up and for a moment the room swung giddily around her. She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again to find the room stationary once more, and not giving herself time to think she headed for the door. Clutching the banister, she tiptoed down the stairs and went quietly into the kitchen.

Jill was rolling out pastry and Auntie was stirring something in a pan over the heat. They both looked up and exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of her, downstairs after so long. Jill rushed to make her sit down in a chair close to the fire and Auntie pulled her saucepan off the flame and came over to give the newcomer a hug. ‘Well done, you good girl!’ she said approvingly. ‘Rita said you were going to come down for lunch and I meant to ask Jill to go up and give you a hand. We thought you’d come down in your dressing gown, didn’t we, Jill, but this is a great deal better.’

Jill was beaming. She broke off a piece of pastry to hand to the invalid, which made Imogen laugh. It was so typical of Jill to want to express her pleasure by giving food, even though all she had was the raw topping for the pie she was making.

‘And how do you feel, my love, after your excursion?’ Auntie said anxiously as Imogen nibbled the uncooked pastry. ‘Do you realise this is the first time you’ve come downstairs for a whole month? Bronchial pneumonia is no joke; in fact it’s very serious. I don’t think you’ll be going back to school this term.’

‘Oh, Auntie, I must,’ Imogen said, dismayed. ‘I’ve missed no end of lessons; if I miss any more they’ll keep me down a year and I’d hate that.’ She looked appealingly at Jill. ‘Surely, if I get up and dress all next week, I’ll be able to go back to school after that?’

Jill laughed. ‘I think Auntie was teasing you,’ she said. ‘After all, Rita and Debby have only been back in school themselves for a week because of the snow. Now it’s cleared I see no reason why you shouldn’t return to your classes. Give yourself next week to grow accustomed and then start off slowly. As it is, Miss Roxley’s running three days for evacuees and two days for village children one week, and the following week two days for the evacuees and three days for the village. There simply isn’t room in the school to have everyone there at the same time, especially now that the Pilgrims have some new evacuees.’

Imogen pricked up her ears. ‘Young ones? Like those little boys they had before?’ she asked curiously.

Auntie shook her head. ‘No. I met Mrs Pilgrim in the post office a couple of days ago and she told me she’d got two twelve-year-old boys from a private school that’s been evacuated to Hemblington Hall, only there wasn’t enough room for everyone so some of them have had to go elsewhere; I reckon you’ll be having some new pals.’

‘Then all the more reason for me to go back to school as soon as I can,’ Imogen said. Jill bent and opened the oven door and a glorious smell tickled Imogen’s nostrils. ‘Gosh, that smells good,’ she said appreciatively. ‘I do declare I’m hungry!’

Auntie and Jill exchanged satisfied glances. ‘Those are the words I’ve waited to hear,’ Auntie said. She turned to Jill. ‘I’d suggest we give the young lady one of those little buns you’ve just made, except that I don’t want to spoil her lunch.’

Jill laughed, but went over to the windowsill and picked up the cooling tray. ‘I don’t think it will hurt her to have a bun for her elevenses,’ she said. ‘And since we’ve plenty of milk I’ll heat some up in a pan to go with it.’

Chapter Three

HAVING GOT HERSELF
downstairs without any ill effects, Imogen decided to remain with her friends in the cosy kitchen so that she might catch up with what had been happening whilst she had been bed-bound. However, as soon as the meal was over Jill ordered her back to the attic. ‘You may not be tired now, but if you overdo it today you’ll spend the next two days in bed feeling worn to the bone,’ she said, and turned to Debby. ‘Why don’t you give Imogen a hand with getting back to bed whilst Rita dries the crocks?’ She smiled at Imogen. ‘And don’t think you’re cured, because convalescence isn’t just a word, it’s what everyone needs after a long illness. So far as you’re concerned it means taking things easy and getting yourself right. Learning to walk before you can run, in fact.’

Once in the attic and beginning to undress, Imogen realised the truth of Jill’s warning. She was very tired and anxious to climb back into her bed, and glad that Jill had chosen Debby to assist her rather than Rita, who could be so sharp. It wasn’t that Rita thought she was malingering, it was just that the other girl was quite incapable of putting herself in another’s shoes. Imogen had once heard someone described as having ‘tunnel vision’. She had not understood at the time, but Jill had explained it. ‘When someone has tunnel vision it means they can only see straight ahead and can’t spare a glance for what is happening left or right,’ she had said, looking thoughtful. ‘Rita’s a bit like that, but she’ll change as she gets older. People do.’

Now Imogen, cuddling down in her bed and watching as Debby carefully folded every garment and placed it in its exact position on the chest of drawers, was grateful for the younger girl’s uncomplaining help. Rita would have helped too, of course, but such assistance would have been accompanied by remarks about being forced to give a hand, and she would never have dreamed of picking up cast-off clothing and replacing it on the chest of drawers.

Having finished tidying the clothes away, Debby turned to smile at her. ‘Is there anything else I can do, Immy?’ she asked softly. ‘Would you like a drink? Only Jill seems to think that you need to sleep, so if you’d rather I’ll come back at teatime and see whether you want to come downstairs for supper or whether I should bring it up here.’