‘Constable Davies mentioned that you’d picked up a drunk in Leyshon Street.’ Andrew chose his words carefully, knowing that Huw had told him more about Tony Ronconi and his bizarre confession than he should have.
‘Drunk with cuts and bruises. If he’d been the run-of-the- mill Saturday night troublemaker we wouldn’t have bothered you, Dr John. To be honest there wasn’t even much point going through the usual “walk the white line, touch your nose with the tip of your finger” tests. The man was almost comatose. But he looked as though he’d been in a fight and you know about the rumpus in Graig Street. We heard you’d operated on the woman,’ he answered in response to Andrew’s quizzical look. ‘So, we decided to hold him until he sobered up to see if he could help with our inquiries.’
‘What do you call cuts and bruises?’ Andrew enquired.
‘His nose was bleeding and he had a few scratches and bruises on his head and hands but nothing that the duty first aider couldn’t cope with.’
‘So why am I here?’
‘When we looked in on him over an hour ago he seemed a bit more than just drunk.’
‘That’s hardly surprising, it’s freezing down here,’ Andrew remonstrated as they reached the bottom step.
‘Stone basement, doctor.’
‘And you keep people here?’
‘It’s only a holding cell, Dr John. We’re not here to mollycoddle them.’
‘Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?’ Andrew ducked his head to accommodate a dip in the ceiling that dropped it a couple of inches short of six feet. He hung back as the officer unlocked the first cell they came to.
‘When we noticed he was ill we gave him an extra blanket.’
‘I trust he was duly grateful,’ Andrew commented sarcastically as he entered the stone cell. He sniffed the air. ‘It’s not only cold, it’s damp.’
‘We’re below ground level here, doctor,’ the sergeant observed as Andrew went to the narrow, drop-down, steel shelf that held a spartan board bed. Tony Ronconi was lying alarmingly close to the edge, tossing restlessly beneath two grey woollen blankets.
‘I’m Doctor John. Do you know where you are?’ Tony’s eyes were open but Andrew noted the classic symptoms of delirium and doubted he was capable of focusing. ‘You’re in the police station. Do you remember how you got here?’ His second question elicited an incoherent mumbled response.
Andrew turned to the sergeant. ‘Have you sent for an ambulance?’
‘Thought it best to wait until you got here, doctor.’
‘Do it now, Sergeant.’
The sergeant ran off. Andrew heard him shouting up the stairs as he removed his stethoscope from his bag, folded back the blankets, and began his examination.
‘Is it bad, doctor?’ The sergeant returned and hovered anxiously at the cell door, as Andrew closed his bag and replaced the blankets.
‘Both lungs are infected. It looks like pneumonia and, frankly, I don’t know if he’ll survive. Have you contacted his family?’
‘We were going to wait until morning, Dr John. It could be embarrassing for them. He only had a pair of army-issue trousers on and the flies were undone. Nothing in the pockets, no underclothes, boots or shoes. We thought it could be a domestic. Soldier home on leave, out for a good Saturday night, gets drunk, goes to see his brother’s wife. Brother comes home unexpectedly – well – you’ve been operating on Mrs Ronconi …’
‘And you were so busy concocting this little fairytale you didn’t think to call an ambulance to get this man into hospital before he died?’
‘We called you, Dr John.’
‘And I can’t be everywhere. Don’t you people ever use your own initiative?’
‘He could be connected to a potentially serious case, doctor.’
‘So you decided to freeze him to death.’
‘We wanted to question him. Besides, nine times out of ten, the Saturday night drunks wake in the morning, get their summonses and stagger off home.’
‘This one isn’t capable of staggering anywhere. Get two men to carry him upstairs. The sooner that ambulance gets here and he’s admitted into the Graig, the happier I’ll be. I’ll go on ahead and warn them he’s on his way.’
Andrew just had time to check that there was no change in Diana’s condition and Ronnie was still sleeping before the ambulance bell announced Tony’s arrival. Running up to the men’s isolation ward, he met the porters wheeling Tony into a cubicle.
‘Bronchitis?’ the ward sister asked.
‘Pneumonia, nurtured and helped along by exposure,’ Andrew pronounced authoritatively, checking Tony’s pulse.
‘Staff,’ the sister called. ‘Prepare a cold sponge bath to bring down this patient’s temperature.’
‘Is there any penicillin in the pharmacy?’
‘I’m not sure, Dr John. Even if there is, we’ll have to wait until it opens at eight to get a script filled.’
‘I’ll write him up for it anyway and I’ll call in again in a couple of hours to check on his progress.’ Andrew walked to the sink to wash his hands.
‘He’s a Ronconi, isn’t he?’
‘You know him?’
‘No, but I trained with Laura Lewis, Ronconi that was. They all have that look about them. Dark eyes, dark hair and similar features. It’s peculiar, isn’t it, how when you get to know one member of a family well, afterwards all the brothers and sisters look slightly odd, as if they’re not quite right. But I couldn’t tell you which one this is.’
‘Tony.’ Andrew took the towel she handed him.
‘The ambulance men said they picked him up at the police station. Do you want me to arrange for the relatives to be contacted?’
‘No, I’ll do it later.’
‘Don’t forget to warn them that there’s no visiting for anyone this sick.’
‘If he comes round the police will want to talk to him.’
‘Not until he’s well enough.’ She scribbled something on Tony’s chart before peering at Andrew over her glasses. ‘This is my ward, Dr John, and whatever he’s done, he’s my patient now and no one will see him until I say so.’
‘Diana?’ Ronnie asked thickly. His tongue was too big for his mouth and his lips felt as though they were made of India rubber.
‘We operated, but it’s too early to tell if there’s any permanent damage.’ Andrew checked Ronnie’s pulse.
‘Her head …’
‘We repaired the fracture as best we could.’
‘But her brain could be affected.’ Ronnie lay back on the pillows. He clearly didn’t expect Andrew to answer him because he looked across to Huw, who was sitting on the only chair in the cubicle. ‘Billy and Catrina?’
‘They’re safe in my house with William and Tina. Can you remember what happened?’
‘Tony and I had a fight. Diana tried to stop us, Tony lashed out and hit her through the window.’
‘We found Tony in Leyshon Street. All he had on was a pair of trousers.’
‘He’s in here now with pneumonia.’ Andrew decided that as Ronnie was calm enough to ask lucid questions, he might as well know the worst.
‘He was fully dressed when he ran out of our house. He had his greatcoat on.’
‘Would you like to tell me what you and Tony were fighting about?’ Huw pressed.
‘No.’
‘Tina said he called into the restaurant this afternoon to tell her he was marrying a German girl and wanted his share of the business.’
Ronnie remained silent.
‘I’m trying to help you out here, boy,’ Huw said firmly. ‘Diana’s my niece and I intend to find out how her head was cracked open.’
‘She may be your niece but she’s my wife and I just told you.’
‘You and Tony were fighting, she tried to stop you and Tony flung her through the window?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Intentionally?’
‘Not even Tony’s that vicious or stupid.’
‘Then it was an accident?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Listen, Ronnie, if you’re covering up because you want to tackle Tony and pay him back yourself afterwards, I’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks. There’s two kids crying themselves to sleep in one of my spare bedrooms right this minute. God knows what’s going to happen to their mother. They need their father and a fat lot of use he’s going to be to them if he’s in jail.’
‘As soon as I’m out of this place, I’ll take care of them, Huw.’ Ronnie looked up at Andrew. ‘Can I see Diana?’
‘She’s unconscious. Her only chance of recovery is absolute quiet and bed rest.’
‘Nurses go into her room, don’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be as quiet as them.’
‘You weren’t earlier and you feel like hell now because we had to sedate you twice tonight.’
‘I remember.’
‘What do you remember?’
‘Bethan coming at me with a needle. That’s a brutal wife you’ve got there.’
‘I’ll tell her what you said.’
‘She’d let me see Diana.’
‘She would not.’
‘She would, because she’d recognise that I’ve calmed down.’
‘If we get caught the sister will string me higher than St Catherine’s steeple.’
‘All I want to do is hold her hand and see her breathing for myself.’
‘Help me get him into a wheelchair, Huw.’
Diana lay still and white under a sheet only marginally paler than her skin. A bandage covered her head and her eyes were closed.
‘She looks …’
‘She’s sleeping off the effects of the anaesthetic,’ Andrew reassured, keeping his concern that Diana might be already slipping into a coma to himself. He held back in the doorway until he was sure Ronnie wouldn’t break down or say another word, then wheeled his chair next to her bed.
‘You can take a five-minute break, nurse,’ he ordered the trainee sitting at Diana’s bedside. ‘I’ll stay with the patient.’
Ronnie sought Diana’s hand. Holding it lightly in his own, he stared intently into her face.
Afterwards Huw put those five minutes down as the longest he’d ever lived through. No one spoke; no one even seemed to breathe in the room as time ticked inexorably on. The only signs of life were Ronnie’s eyes, probing, burning, willing Diana to recover. The moment the nurse returned, Andrew wheeled Ronnie out.
‘Can I stay with you, Huw?’ Ronnie asked.
‘You haven’t been discharged,’ Andrew pointed out mildly.
‘I’m discharging myself. Just you try and stop me.’
‘Then I suppose Myrtle and I’d better find you a bed, boy.’
‘Upstairs, clean your teeth and straight back down to put on your coat and shoes. No squirting water,’ Bethan warned Eddie, as Polly and Nell, their adopted daughters, chased him and Rachel up to the bathroom. As they left, Bethan took her hat down from the stand.
‘Want a lift into town?’ Andrew asked from the stairs as she held her pearl-headed hatpins in her mouth, freeing her hands to arrange her hat.
‘I’ll walk in after I’ve taken the children to Sunday School.’ Jabbing a pin into the side of her hat, she stood back to study the effect.
‘We can drop them off on the way.’
‘You should stay in bed. You didn’t get in until after six …’
‘I’ve slept enough for now. I’ll have an early night. Besides I should check on Diana. You going to Alma’s?’
‘You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?’
‘I think she might be in need of a friend.’
‘Coat, shoes,’ Bethan prompted Rachel as their maid, Nessie, hauled Eddie off the stairs and struggled to hold him still long enough to lace up his boots. ‘Be good, Eddie. Look, Polly and Nell are all ready for church.’
‘Joan Evans says I’m a show-off,’ Rachel chanted breathlessly as Bethan stooped to fasten the buttons on her coat.
‘And why are you a show-off, little miss?’ Andrew asked absently, fumbling in his overcoat pocket for his car keys.
‘Because Mam has a maid to do our dirty work.’
‘Nessie isn’t our maid, she’s our friend,’ Bethan said quickly, colouring as she glanced at the young girl who’d been working for them for six months. Then she remembered that Nessie’s mother lived next door to Joan Evans’ family in Danygraig Street. She only hoped the resentment came from the Evanses’ side of the terrace, not Nessie’s family. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Nessie?’
‘Yes, Mrs John.’
‘Joan says Mam’s forgotten she comes from Graig Avenue. I told her that was silly. We go to Graig Avenue almost every day to see Granddad, Auntie Phyllis and Brian so if Mam had forgotten where Graig Avenue is, we wouldn’t go there, would we?’
‘You tell Joan Evans she’s a silly little busybody.’
‘Andrew!’ Bethan shook her head at him.
‘You cross with me, Daddy?’ Rachel’s bottom lip quivered.
‘No, darling, of course Daddy isn’t cross.’ Bethan crouched down to help her with her shoe buckles.
‘I’m not cross with you, sweetheart, but I am cross with Joan Evans. Now come on, or you’ll be late for Sunday School, I’ll be late for my patients and Mummy will be late to look at a house with Auntie Alma.’ Hauling Eddie from Nessie’s lap, Andrew hoisted him high in the air, swinging him up on his shoulders before opening the door.
They heard the telephone ring as Andrew drove the car out of the garage.
‘If that’s the hospital I can’t get there any quicker, and if it’s anyone else they can wait or phone my father,’ he muttered, breaking his own resolution to try to answer calls personally if he could.
It was then Bethan realised that Joan Evans’ tittle-tattle had annoyed him as much as her and it was entirely her fault that the children were subjected to it. It had been her idea to send their children to Maesycoed Infants, which she had attended with her brothers and sister, rather than a private school which Andrew would have undoubtedly preferred and no doubt insisted on – if he hadn’t been in a POW camp and in no position to insist on anything.
Would they never move on from the same old problem that had dogged them all their married life? Her working class roots versus his middle-class respectability. One thing was certain, if she’d remained with her own kind and not ‘forgotten where she’d come from’ to quote Joan Evans’ mother, there would be no question of her being bored. Because her days, evenings and most of her nights would be filled with the endless, cooking, cleaning and sewing needed just to keep a family clothed, presentable and fed.
‘It’s a lovely family home, Alma.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Alma unlocked the back door that led into the kitchen of her cooked meats shop. Lifting the kettle from the hob, she filled it and put it on the gas stove.
‘You going to take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘For Masha?’
‘What else can I do, Beth?’ Alma put two mugs on the long, wooden preparation table and sat opposite her. ‘Charlie went to the police station first thing this morning to make a statement. He did say when he came back that the sergeant thought they wouldn’t prosecute because of the time lapse and special circumstances. Apparently this doesn’t come into the same category as your run-of-the-mill, average bigamy case because Charlie had no way of knowing or finding out if Masha was alive or dead. But that didn’t stop Charlie packing a bag and calling a taxi. He was going to ask if he could stay with you, but thought better of the idea. He said it might make things difficult between you and me because we’re such good friends so he was hoping your father would put him up for a while.’
‘He and Dad were close before the war. They used to talk for hours on end. And if he’s in Graig Avenue you won’t have to worry. Phyllis will take good care of him,’ Bethan reassured, knowing that her father’s common-law wife was as fon
d of Charlie as the rest of the family were.
‘As I said, he didn’t even want to view the house in Tyfica Road with us. Just said if I think it’s right to buy the place, he’ll go along with it.’
‘And Masha?’
‘He’s written to her and the Red Cross is forwarding his letter.’
‘What about the shops?’
‘Charlie hasn’t really been strong enough to work in them since he’s been back. Oh, he walks around here from time to time but the only actual work he’s done is with the books, and he can do them just as well in your father’s house as here.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What can I do other than stand back and let Charlie go?’ Alma delved into her pocket, took out a packet of cigarettes and offered them to Bethan.
‘But you’re his wife.’
‘And so is Masha.’ The kettle whistled and she left the table to wet the tea. ‘I’m not the wronged woman here, Beth. He told me about her before he married me.’
‘That’s the whole point, he did marry you. God, just listen to me. I can’t believe we’re talking about Charlie.’
‘If anyone is to blame for this, it’s me. If I remember rightly, Charlie’s proposal ran along the lines of, “I could marry you. No one here knows about Masha except you, but it wouldn’t be legal and if it was discovered it would be one more crime to lay on my head. ”’
‘Crime? I know Charlie’s hardly ever mentioned his past but there’s no way I’ll believe he’s a criminal.’
‘Apparently he is, in Russia. He went looking for Masha, asked too many questions, ended up in prison and escaped. So, he’s not only a criminal but an escaped criminal.’ Alma poured out the tea, sat back in her chair and drew heavily on her cigarette. ‘Beth, promise me you’ll be a friend to Charlie whatever happens?’
‘I don’t have to tell you how much I value Charlie’s friendship and yours.’
‘That’s just it, Beth. I know the people in this town. Let’s face it, Charlie will always be Russian Charlie – the foreigner. Once word gets out he’s a bigamist, I’ll get all the sympathy and he’ll get the brickbats. He’ll need every friend he can get. I know there’s your father and Andrew but I’d like to think that he had a woman he could turn to.’
Pontypridd 07 - Spoils of War Page 9