Wise Child

by Audrey Reimann

Frank threw himself into the car and headed for Lindow, and as he went his anger turned against Elsie and grew like a fiery bush in his chest. His precious daughter had been neglected to become the prey of Magnus Hammond. He put his foot down hard. The car leaped and he raced down the Manchester Road to the Bollington turn-off. He must believe Ray. Ray would not jeopardise his chance of marriage to Sylvia Hammond. He was speaking the truth. Frank could not even contemplate the thought that Ray was responsible. But why would Isobel? Young girls had hysterics, didn't they? Did she see Ray's attention, putting her to bed, as interference? Believing oneself pregnant was a frequent delusion in young girls who had merely been kissed. Isobel imagined she had been seduced and was having a baby. It was a common enough self-deception.

  He had to slow down on the winding road through Bollington, and his anger simmered inside him as he asked himself what the hell had been going on while Elsie wallowed in self-pity.

  Well, she had wallowed for long enough - taken leave of her mind. She had no interest in her child, her business, her home. It was time she pulled herself together.

  He glanced right as he passed the churchyard and saw Elsie, sitting on the marble fender of her father's grave, looking wistful, removing dead flowers from the urn. He pulled up on the grass verge, got out of the car and vaulted over the stone wall. Elsie looked up briefly without acknowledging his presence, then went back to her task.

  Frank heard himself say, harsh and demanding, 'What are you doing here? Why aren't you where you should be? In Macclesfield, looking after your family? What the hell are you doing? What kind of mother is it who lets this happen?'

  She stood, the dead flowers in her hands. 'I suppose the Hammonds told you.' She put down the dead tulips beside a bunch of fresh primroses, brushed her hands one against the other and reached into her pocket for a letter which she banded to him. He read:

  Dear Nanna and Mam, Magnus and I will be married by the time you receive this letter. We ran away to Scotland last week.

  Please forgive me for doing it this way but I am expecting a baby in December and we would not be allowed to marry if we asked permission. I love you very much and I would never willingly deceive you. I hope Magnus's parents don't make trouble and upset you.

  We will come home as soon as Magnus has seen the specialist. We will live at Bollinbrook Road for the time being until we find a place of our own. But I can't carry on with the shop, Mam.

  Love from Isobel.

  Fury rose in Frank again. Elsie did not even appear to be concerned. He wanted to shake her. 'Aren't you ashamed of yourself? How could you let this happen?'

  'It's not my doing. She's only done what I did.' Then calmly, she said, 'I'm not ashamed of Isobel. At least Magnus loves her. He has married her. You never loved me. You made me into an adulteress.'

  Was this all she cared about? His anger made him shout. 'My precious lass has eloped with a crippled boy with a transmissable disease. And you are moping about here, feeling sorry for yourself, wallowing in misery because your old father died?'

  'And my husband left me.'

  'Left you? He's gone?'

  'He said we had to move out of the house because he wants to sell it. That's why Isobel wouldn't leave. She was hanging on to the house.'

  'It's your house.'

  'I paid four hundred. Howard had to borrow the rest on mortgage.'

  'So if you paid him a hundred, the house would be yours?'

  'Isobel went to see him a week ago. He says he wants four hundred. And he wants a divorce.'

  Frank got hold of her arm and gripped it hard. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I'd have seen to Leigh.'

  Suddenly she drew back and shook his hand away as if he were a leper. Then she put her shoulders back and faced him, as bold as she used to be when she was a young lass herself. She tilted her head back in the challenging way she used to do, and her voice was sharp and quick. 'I've had enough of you. And enough of everyone else. And I'm telling you now ...' The old fiery light was in her eye as she continued, 'I came down here to say goodbye to Dad. Not to listen to you, Frank.'

  He looked at her in astonishment.

  'Everything's different now. I've changed. I don't want Howard. And I don't want you. I have to get my courage up and go home. The only people who matter are my mother, Isobel and my grandchild.'

  Then she put the primroses in the urn on her father's grave and stood back. Very softly she said, 'Dad, I'm not coming back. As one light goes out another little light comes in, burning bright. Your great-grandchild, Dad. I'll be a better grandmother than I was a mother. Goodbye.'

  Frank's anger against her drained away as his heart turned over. He had never loved her as much as he did now. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed. She picked up the old tulips and went towards the heap of dead flowers. Then she turned and said, 'I think you should tell Isobel now. Tell her that you are her father. It would mean a lot to her to know. I can't do it.'

  But he could not do it. Not now. Not with his precious lass believing she had been raped and was expecting Ray's child. It could drive her to suicide. He said, 'No. We can't tell her. She must never know.'

  *…*…*

  The premises Willey-Leigh called his Manchester factory were nothing more than a storeroom above a shop. It was not even a large storeroom and it was cramped with trestle tables, at which sat a couple of women, attaching cloth buttons to cards. Willey-Leigh was in a small adjoinmg office.

  Frank threw open the door and Willey-Leigh got to his feet, blustering, 'What on earth?' Then, seeing the anger in Frank's face, he said more quietly, 'Why are you here?'

  'I'm going to give you a thrashing, Leigh.' Frank slammed the door closed behind him advanced.

  'Will you leave my premises.'

  'My premises.'

  ‘Are you off your head? I said, leave my premises.'

  'And l am telling you, Leigh, that I own these premises. My company financed you. Cheshire Trading. I am calling in the loan.'

  'You can't do this.'

  'I can. I'm going to ruin you. But for Elsie I'd have you declared bankrupt. Elsie can't face the fact that you want a divorce. So, Leigh, you are not going to get a divorce. You are going to sign away any interest you have in Elsie's house. I will purchase the outstanding loan and have the transfer deeds drawn up.'

  'You can't do this ...'

  'Oh, but I can. And when the property is returned to Elsie I am going to squeeze you dry.' He laughed. 'No, I haven't finished with you.'

  'Get out. Get out or I'll call the police.’

  Frank went a step closer. 'Call the police? I don't think you'll be in any state to call the police when I'm done with you. We'll find a solicitor's office. Right now.' He gripped Leigh's arm tight. 'Then when you've signed over the transfer deeds I will have great delight in smashing that face of yours off the wall.'

  'You are mad! What have I done to deserve this?'

  Frank pushed Leigh hard against the desk, hearing the crack as his backbone struck the oak. Frank said, through gritted teeth, 'You know what you've done!' His anger was about to erupt. He must save it though, until he had forced Leigh into signing the transfer deeds. 'You tell your wife that you want a divorce. What other dirty deeds have you done?' He pressed harder on Leigh's arms, forcing him back.

  Leigh was squealing. 'It's your son you want to threaten, Cbailcellor, not me!'

  Frank wrenched Leigh's arm and pushing his face close to Leigh's said, 'What's that? What's my son got to do with it?

  Leigh seemed suddenly to find strength. He jerked forward towards Frank, butting Frank's face with his forehead, freeing his grip, making Frank: reel backwards until he came up against a cupboard, caught his elbow on the edge and crashed down heavily on the dusty floor.

  Frank put his hand to his nose. There was no blood. He was not hurt, but by the time he had sprung to his feet Leigh was away, past the women in the workroom, running like a frightened deer down the staircase.

  The street door was open
, and from the top of the staircase Frank saw Leigh run through into the crowd. Frank reached the street at the same moment as a shout went up, 'Watch out!' The crowd parted, stopped at the sight of a man running crazily across the tram terminus and acres of square that was Piccadilly.

  'He's gone berserk!'

  'What the Dickens?'

  'Look out!' came the shouts.

  But it was too late. Leigh's zig-zagging progress was halted. He had been struck by an oncoming tram whose driver was wildly clanging the warning bell. Frank pushed through to him. Leigh had tried to scramble to his feet but had collapsed and was being carried to the transport manager's office, blood streaming down his face, crying and sniffing loudly, and pitifully.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  On the day of Magnus's appointment they went in the morning, by taxi, to the Royal Infirmary. Isabel was off-guard when, in Mr Meiklejohn's consulting room, she found herself,with an electric sense of attraction that alarmed her, .face to face with Ian Mackenzie. He stood before her, tall and handsome in the dark suit and white coat that the pre-registration doctors wore.

  'How did you guess I was coming today?’ Magnus asked as the two cousins shook hands.

  'I didn't guess. I looked up your next appointment.' Hope and delight had leaped into Ian's blue eyes as he held out his hand to Isobel. 'How nice to see you, Isobel.'

  She put her hand in his, heard the deep, educated Scottish voice, felt the shock of contact and said, for it had to be said at once, ‘Magnus and I were married yesterday. We are staying at the North British.'

  The light went out of Ian's face as Mr Meiklejohn hustled her towards the door, saying, 'All the same, I must ask you to leave your husband with us. We have lengthy tests to do. Perhaps you could return at four o'clock.'

  Isobel walked slowly back to the hotel, her confidence shaken by her involuntary response to Ian's presence. She had no appetite for lunch but sat at the window waiting.

  The telephone rang in the sitting room at two o'clock. 'Isobel? Ian here.' There was urgency in his voice. 'Can you come to the Infirmary? Magnus is having a blood transfusion.'

  Fear, a sharp stabbing pain of fear, gripped her. 'No! Why ...?'

  'There has been considerable blood loss since he was seen a year ago. We don't know where it's coming from - the tests aren't complete.'

  Her hands were trembling, her mouth was dry. 'Do you think that the journey - getting married - the strain has been too much?'

  'Nothing like that,' he said. 'There's no reason why haemophilia should prevent Magnus from marrying.' There was a pause, then he said, 'I've never seen him so happy. You have nothing to reproach yourself with.'

  'Ian ... ?' She wanted to say something, to explain something - but what could she say? Her voice wavered. 'Thank you.'

  He hesitated for a moment before he said, 'I may have done the wrong thing. Perhaps I should warn you.'

  'What have you done?'

  'Last night I rang my uncle and aunt to check that Magus had not forgotten his appointment. He has always come to us, in Charlotte Square.'

  'Magnus hasn't told them.' Isobel bumped down onto an armchair, weak with fright and panic. 'Would it be better if you rang ...?'

  'No. It wouldn't.' He was brisk and professional. 'And I couldn't. They are on their way to Edinburgh. They'll go straight to Charlotte Square and Rowena will tell them that Magnus is in the Infirmary. I think that will be shock enough to greet them with.'

  'I'm sorry.' She had been rebuked. 'I don't know why I said that.'

  His voice softened a little. 'And Isobel?'

  'Yes.'

  'When my uncle and aunt return to Macclesfield. please have your things sent round to Charlotte Square. You are Magnus's wife. We can't have you living in a hotel for three or four weeks.'

  'Three or four weeks?'

  'If all goes well.'

  Magnus was attached at his bandaged forearm to a contraption of rubber tubes and metal and glass pipes on a high tripod stand, where an upended bottle of blood was being dripped into his veins. There was nobody in attendance and Isobel went to the bed and touched his cheek tenderly. 'All right, are you?'

  'I'm used to it,' he said. 'Don't be frightened.'

  'What's gone wrong? Has it been too much ... our marrying?’

  He put his free hand out to take hers and his eyes shone. 'Marrying you is the best thing that's ever happened to me.' He made a kissing mouth. 'Our nights of love! I can't wait to get out of here.'

  Isobel let go of his hand. 'Lie as quietly as you can, darling. You'll weary from talk.' She put her finger over his lips to hush him. 'Rest.'

  'You love me in that way now, don't you?'

  'Always. Forever,' She would love Magnus forever, and she'd be a faithful and devoted wife. But she had seen Ian behind the glass panel in the door and her heart was pounding. She kissed Magnus's face. 'I have to go and talk: to the doctors.'

  Ian led her to the consulting room, but it was Mr Meiklejohn who said, 'How much have you been told about your husband's disease?'

  'Nothing,' she said. 'Tell me everything. I'm a good nurse.'

  'You should have been told,' he said gravely, 'Magnus has bled into the joints since he was a child. Now he is bleeding internally.'

  A shiver ran through Isobel. 'What does it mean?’

  Mr Meiklejohn said, 'We can detect blood in the bowel, stomach, kidneys and bladder, but when blood is lost into the lungs or peritoneum there is no effective treatment. There is no cure.' He looked at her over the top of his glasses. 'In Magnus's case internal bleeding will recur.'

  Isobel was numb inside but she spoke in a determined voice. 'I can nurse him. I have a diabetic mother.'

  He said, 'I'll ask Dr Mackenzie to show you how to make observations and do the tests. This time it's blood you'll be looking for, not sugar.'

  'If I find blood?'

  'Transfusions are the only answer. The patient stays in bed until it stops.'

  Isobel tried desperately to think of questions she might wish she had asked, but all she could think of was to say, 'What if he cuts himself shaving?'

  He spoke sharply. 'You must learn to shave him yourself.'

  She persisted. 'But what if he does injure himself? Bleed?'

  Mr Meiklejohn said, 'You call a doctor. At once.'

  She would watch Magnus every minute, she promised herself. If anything should happen when they were on their own ... She said, 'Do you want to see Magnus here in Edinburgh every time?'

  'There are specialists in Manchester. Every bit as good as here.' He put his hand out at this point, to shake hers. The interview was over. He said, 'Dr Mackenzie will take you to the laboratory. He'll show you how to collect specimens for testing.'

  There was nobody else in the little laboratory where Ian taught her what to look for in urine samples. 'A smoky appearance indicates a slight loss of blood,' he said. 'If there are traces of pink or red you'll know what it is.'

  'What else?'

  'Magnus must use a commode. I'll tell you how to collect a sample with a wooden spatula. Seal it in a waxed box and send it promptly to the Infirmary for analysis. Do this daily.'

  He watched her closely and Isobel wondered if he were looking for signs that she would find it all revolting. He said,· 'If he vomits you must look at it. If there are signs of altered blood - it looks like coffee grounds -then you have an emergency on your hands.'

  'Very well. Anything else?'

  'I'll show you how to take a temperature and pulse accurately: he said. He took off his wristwatch and found a thermometer. Then he took her hand and placed her fingers on his pulse. 'Can you feel it?'

  'Yes.' Her face was burning. He popped a thermometer under his tongue. And Isobel had to look away from his face and concentrate on the wristwatch because she couldn't stop her hand from shaking. When she had counted his pulse she let his arm drop and glanced quickly around the room.

  When she looked back at him, his blue eyes were alive with laughter. T
he long lines at the sides of his mouth were deep and the black hair had fallen forwards so that he looked exactly as he had the first time they met. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth, read it and said, 'Ninety-eight point four. Perfect.' Then Isobel's eyes flew wide open as he said, 'Do it again. And this time don't take your eyes off me.'

  Her face flamed but he was smiling. He said, 'Observation, Isobel! Observe! You were supposed to count my breathing. Twelve to fourteen breaths a minute is within the normal range. Remember?'

  She put the thermometer under his tongue, took his watch from him again and held his wrist to feel for his pulse. She watched his face to count his breaths, their eyes met and held, and in an instant the old attraction came flaring into life again. When she had done counting she was shaking.

  They walked down the corridors of the Royal Infirmary, back to Magnus's room, discussing the safe subject of Magnus's care. Isobel was calmer and Ian had never lost his control, but hers was to flee a few seconds later when she saw, through the glass panel of the door, Mr and Mrs Hammond standing one either side of Magnus's bed.

  She stopped with her hand on the door knob, white-faced and faint with dread. If ever she needed a father, a man beside her,it was now. Ian must have seen her reaction for he grabbed her hand and said quietly and firmly, 'Come on! Get it over with. I'm here.' She squeezed his hand tight before she let go and opened the door, to face her in-laws.

  Mrs Hammond's face wore a look that told Isobel at once that Magnus had not spoken. 'What on earth ...? What are you doing here?'

  Isobel stood near to the door, stock still. 'I'm here with my husband.' She did not flinch. 'Magnus and I were married yesterday.'

  Mr Hammond went pale but did not speak.

  'Don't talk rubbish!' Mrs Hammond said sharply then, to Ian,'What did you know?'

  Ian, close beside Isobel, said, 'I knew nothing until this morning.' Then he went to Magnus's bed and made some adjustments to the transfusion equipment.

  At this point Mr Hammond came towards Isobel where she was standing like an outcast away from the family group. .There was no anger, just sadness, as he said to Mrs Hammond, 'Well, Catriona? Our son has the gumption to elope with the prettiest ...' but here he stopped.