A Distant Dream

by Pamela Evans

  ‘She’s only having a flamin’ operation,’ Betty said airily after he related what the Stubbses had told him. ‘It isn’t as though she’s having her head chopped off. There’s no need to make such a big drama of it, George.’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’ he admonished fiercely. ‘She’s your best friend, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘Surely you must care about May to some extent,’ Sheila said to Betty.

  Dot made a timely intervention. ‘Come and give me a hand in the kitchen please, Sheila,’ she said, heading out of the room. ‘Let’s leave those two to sort their differences out on their own.’

  ‘I don’t like illness,’ Betty explained to George after the others had left the room. ‘I never have.’

  ‘I don’t suppose May is keen on it either,’ he pointed out. ‘Stuck down there in Surrey miles away from us all and feeling rotten, the poor girl. And now they are going to cut her open.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do about it?’ Betty demanded. ‘I can’t make her better.’

  ‘You could at least take an interest,’ he suggested. ‘Instead of trying to make me shut up every time I mention her name.’

  ‘Well I . . . Oh, you don’t understand,’ she began in a trembling voice and then burst into tears.

  ‘Betty,’ he said, giving her a rather awkward hug. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but May is our friend. It hurts me when you are so offhand about her. She is very sick.’

  ‘I know that and I wish she wasn’t because then I wouldn’t have to care,’ she snivelled. ‘All these awful things are happening that I’m no good at. May getting ill, me getting pregnant . . . I can’t cope with any of it. All I wanted was to enjoy myself while I’m still young and all of that has been taken away from me. And yes I know that sounds selfish, but that’s what I am. I don’t want bad stuff in my life. Not yet. I don’t feel grown up enough for everything that’s happening and I wish it would all stop.’

  George didn’t feel particularly mature either, but he could see that there was no point in reminding her that May really had drawn the short straw, and that Betty was the lucky one. He himself had already tasted tragedy when his father had died in such terrible circumstances, but growing up had come as a real shock to Betty, who obviously didn’t have much in the way of courage or spirit. But people were what they were and Betty was his wife, so he said, ‘Look, why don’t we go to the pictures tonight. A good film might cheer you up. Mr and Mrs Stubbs insisted on giving me a few bob for looking after the Pavilion for them today, so I’ve got a bit of spare cash.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get into the seat,’ she said miserably, looking down at her enormous bump.

  ‘Mm,’ he said, observing her impressive protuberance, but knowing how much she enjoyed the cinema he added, ‘Well let’s give it a try and if you’re uncomfortable we’ll come home.’

  ‘All right then,’ she said, smiling now. ‘I’d really like that, George. Thanks.’

  He smiled, but it wasn’t heartfelt. He was still feeling desperate about May, who was about to endure a huge ordeal. Also, he had no idea how Betty was going to face up to motherhood next month. She didn’t seem able to come to grips with life as an adult at all.

  For a while after the operation May’s life consisted of pain interspersed with sleep with very little comfort in between. But then came moments of peace which gradually grew longer and more frequent. Her shoulder was slightly crooked now as a result of the surgery and she had a large scar, but the doctors seemed pleased with her condition and she was feeling reasonably optimistic about her chances of survival.

  ‘Thank Gawd you’re back,’ said Connie when she finally arrived back on her own ward. ‘It’s been really quiet and miserable in here without you.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said.

  Connie looked more serious. ‘Which is how it was meant,’ she confirmed. ‘I’ve missed you. I really have.’

  ‘Where’s Vi?’ May asked, looking around.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘She died last week.’

  ‘Oh.’ It was like a body blow to May as the fine line between life and death hit home with more power than usual, probably because of her own current delicate state. ‘She seemed to be all right when I left.’

  ‘Mm. That was what we thought, but she took bad suddenly and they carted her off to another ward and the next thing we knew she was a goner.’

  ‘That’s so sad,’ said May. ‘She was such a good sort too.’

  ‘Mm, she was,’ Connie agreed. ‘There have been all sorts of changes. Doug Sands has gone as well.’

  ‘Dead? Oh no!’ May’s hand flew to her throat.

  ‘No, he was discharged.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said May.

  ‘It’s the end of the art classes, though,’ Connie informed her. ‘There’s whist instead, which isn’t nearly so much fun.’

  ‘Let’s hope I do better at that than I did at art,’ said May. ‘I couldn’t really do much worse.’

  ‘One thing is for sure, the teacher isn’t as much fun as Doug was,’ Connie mentioned.

  ‘Doug is a nice bloke,’ said May. ‘I hope he keeps well and makes a full recovery.’

  ‘We’re back to bread and bread for whist,’ Connie informed her. ‘As it’s run by a woman.’

  ‘Oh, it’s so good to be back,’ said May warmly. ‘I’ve missed you like mad, especially your sense of humour.’

  ‘If you haven’t got one of those in here you won’t last long at all,’ said Connie. ‘You’d probably end up being transferred to the loony bin.’

  ‘That’s a fact,’ agreed May.

  In this environment you were constantly reminded of the fragility of life and how powerless you were over your own destiny. But there was a lot of humour and hopefulness too, as well as warmth and humanity. A positive attitude was essential, and May had that in abundance now that the operation was over. If optimism was the key to recovery, she reckoned she stood a good chance.

  ‘Let me get you up to date on all the rest of the gossip,’ said Connie.

  ‘Yes please,’ said May, and they settled down on the porch in the bitter weather, ready for a good chat.

  George had a new love in his life. He weighed in at eight pounds six ounces, had a belting pair of lungs, and they named him Joe after George’s father. He arrived at the end of February, and for George it was love at first sight.

  Betty was much less smitten. ‘It’s all right for you, you’re out at work all day while he’s screaming his head off. And it’s me who has to get up to him in the night,’ she could be heard to say in the early weeks of Joe’s life.

  ‘With the best will in the world, I don’t have a pair of tits to feed him with,’ George pointed out, grinning. ‘And I have to go out to work to feed us all.’

  ‘I know,’ Betty was forced to agree, ‘but babies are hard work. You men don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘You’d never get a more devoted dad than George,’ his sister would chip in. ‘You don’t see many men taking their kid out like he does. Walks down the street with the pram as proud as Punch at the weekends.’

  Light-hearted mockery from his mates about him having turned into a girl and doing woman’s work didn’t worry George one iota. This child was his pride and joy, the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he enjoyed every moment he spent with him. He showed him off to all and sundry. On a Saturday afternoon he would walk him down to the Pavilion in his pram for the paper. He’d stay for a cup of tea and a chat with the regulars, talking about his baby to anyone who would listen. If Joe started to get a bit noisy, George simply took him out of his pram and cuddled and rocked him until he stopped. On the odd occasion that the baby needed something George couldn’t give him, he was forced to take him home, but it didn’t often happen because he took him out between feeding times.

  As spring and then summer came and Joe thrived and became more in
teresting, George was even more besotted. He would play with him and make him chuckle and had endless patience when the child was fretful.

  Even Betty had to admit that he was much more involved as a parent than other husbands she knew of. She had become acquainted with some young mums who had told her that their husbands didn’t take any part at all in the upbringing of their child. The other women thought she was very lucky, and she agreed with them.

  ‘You’re a better dad than I am a mum,’ she said to him one day when Joe was coming up to six months old and they were out walking with him, sitting up in the pram in the park one Sunday afternoon.

  ‘Don’t do yourself down, Bet.’ George had been amazed at how well she had taken to motherhood. She complained all the time but she did that about everything; it was in her nature. ‘You only have to look at the boy to know that you’re doing a really good job. Anyone can see that he’s well looked after and the picture of health.’

  ‘You’ve got more patience with him than I have, though.’

  ‘That’s probably because you have him all day so it’s only natural that your patience wears a bit thin now and again.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  But Betty knew in her heart that she didn’t get the same enjoyment from being a parent as George did. She loved her child, of course, and had coped with motherhood better than she had expected, but she felt very trapped in her situation. It seemed as though her youth had ended before she’d had a chance to taste adult enjoyment and glamour. In rare moments of honesty she could admit to herself that she had got her comeuppance. She’d gone after George because she hadn’t wanted to be alone and she’d thought marriage would be glamorous. Now she felt as though she was in a prison.

  Little Joe was dear to her and she was very glad she had him but she still had a persistent yearning to be free and out having fun with no responsibilities. Her mother had always told her that she was one of those people for whom the grass was always greener, and she was beginning to think it must be true. After all, she’d had no one to have fun with after May went away and she would be on her own again if she wasn’t married to George. But no matter how much she reasoned with herself, this other sort of life still beckoned.

  They had reached the pond and George took the baby out of the pram to give him a close look at the ducks. There was a great deal of joyful squealing.

  ‘I don’t know who is enjoying the ducks most, you or Joe,’ Betty said. ‘You’re a big kid, George Bailey.’

  ‘Joe’s given me a second childhood,’ he said.

  He and Betty smiled at each other in a rare moment of unity. Betty never would be the love of his life but she had given him his beautiful son, and for that he would be forever grateful.

  May’s much-longed-for homecoming in the late summer of that year was a huge anticlimax. After the first few glorious days of being back in her own home with her parents and beloved Tiddles, she missed the camaraderie she’d had at Ashburn. This was probably because she still had to rest for a lot of the time and was only allowed to walk a few yards each day. It had, after all, been a major operation.

  Another factor that she found difficult to deal with was the guilt of having to be looked after by her parents. Mum had quite enough to do with the Pavilion as well as the home to run. The last thing she needed was an invalid on her hands as well.

  ‘How can you possibly think that I mind looking after my own daughter?’ Flo said emotionally when May mentioned her concerns to her. ‘It’s an honour and your dad and I are so pleased to have you back. We’d have had you at home all along if the doctors hadn’t thought it best that you go away.’

  ‘They did well by me at Ashburn and I’ll always be grateful, but I thought when I came home I’d be back to normal, not stuck in bed for a lot of the day, cluttering up the front room.’

  ‘We thought you might be lonely upstairs, that’s why we brought your bed down.’

  ‘It’s lovely to be back home anyway, Mum,’ she said. ‘As soon as I get the all-clear, I’ll start pulling my weight again.’

  ‘Don’t put your progress back by worrying about that,’ said Flo. ‘The doctor will soon tell you when you can go back to normal.’ She paused, frowning. ‘The only thing is, I shall have to be at the Pavilion for part of the day. I can’t leave your dad all day on his own. I won’t do my usual hours, though, and I’ll be back and forth. Lucky it’s only round the corner. I’ll leave everything to hand for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ May assured her. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  The days were long and tedious. One or two neighbours dropped by, but most people wouldn’t come within a mile of someone who’d had what she’d had, even though she was no longer infectious. She rested in bed and spent some time in the back garden, well wrapped up, as fresh air was still considered to be important to her recovery.

  Her mother kept her supplied with magazines from the shop and books from the public library, and she enjoyed the crossword in the paper every day. She and Flo had plenty of cosy chats in the course of the day when her father wasn’t there, but she missed Connie and yearned for company of her own age.

  Then one evening she had a very special visitor.

  ‘George,’ she said, welling up at the sight of him and noticing how much he had changed. His face had broadened and firmed into manhood and he was so much taller now. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘I thought I’d leave it a couple of weeks before visiting to give you time to settle in.’

  ‘I would have understood if you hadn’t come at all,’ she said. ‘Some people prefer to stay away.’

  ‘Not me,’ he said, sitting by the bed and taking her hand. She looked absolutely beautiful, he thought. He’d wondered if she might be pale and consumptive in appearance, but she had a good colour, probably because of all the fresh air she’d been getting, her blond hair was shiny and her blue eyes were more vivid than ever. She seemed very fragile, though, and he was overwhelmed by a longing to love and look after her. ‘Betty will come along another time. She’s busy with the baby at the moment.’

  May knew exactly why Betty hadn’t come, but she just said, ‘How is the baby? I’m dying to see him . . . er, later on when I’m out and about again, of course.’

  ‘Oh May, he’s gorgeous, I can’t wait for you to meet him,’ he said proudly.

  ‘I can imagine,’ she said. ‘You a dad. It seems strange, and as for Betty being a mum . . .’

  ‘She’s doing all right, as it happens.’

  ‘Of course, I only meant that I still think of her as a kid.’

  ‘I know. I wasn’t leaping to her defence or anything,’ he explained quickly. ‘I think even she’s surprised herself that she’s coping. You know Betty; she always was a bit scatty.’

  ‘I’m glad she’s doing all right, anyway,’ she said.

  ‘May,’ he began, sounding awkward. ‘About Betty and me. It wasn’t anything . . . I mean, there was nothing between us before. It was just one night but she got pregnant so I had to do the decent thing.’

  She took his hand in both of hers. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, George,’ she said.

  ‘But I . . .’ How could he tell her that he loved her more than ever now that he had seen her again when he had nothing to offer her apart from friendship? He was a married man with a responsibility to his wife and child. He had lost May the night he’d allowed himself to be seduced by Betty and there was no going back. ‘No, you’re right, of course. Sorry. It’s just me talking too much as usual.’

  ‘We’ll always be friends, no matter what happens,’ she said, though her heart was breaking.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘So tell me what’s been happening around here.’ She smiled, teasing him to ease the sudden tension. ‘Apart from the birth of the wonder child Bailey.’

  He laughed. ‘Nothing else comes close to that in terms of importance,’ he said jokingly.

  ‘Of course not,’ she replied, entering into the spirit
.

  ‘I suppose you’ve been hearing all the talk about war while you were away.’

  ‘We did get to see the newspapers,’ she said. ‘So I know there are rumours about it.’

  ‘Not many people are taking it seriously. Most think the papers are making too much of it, but it seems serious to me what’s happening in Europe. This Hitler bloke is a determined bugger,’ he said. ‘Closer to home, I noticed the other day that they are digging trenches in the park. I asked one of the blokes about them and he said they’re for people to take refuge in during air raids. It made it seem very real. That and all the posters asking for volunteers to join the ARP. It means air-raid patrol apparently.’

  ‘I suppose the government have to make sure we are prepared just in case,’ she suggested. ‘It doesn’t mean that anything is going to happen.’

  ‘Mm, you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you must be more concerned with getting better than the possibility of war.’

  ‘Good health is everything to me now,’ she told him. ‘I took it for granted before. Being ill soon cures you of that.’

  ‘Have they given you any idea when you’ll be out and about again?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet. I have to go for a major examination and X-ray in January and I’m hoping they will give me the all-clear then. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.’

  ‘I’ll be rooting for you.’

  Her mother brought in a tray of tea and biscuits and after a few minutes of social chat she made a diplomatic exit, realising that her daughter needed to be alone with her friend. When George left he promised to come again soon, and May knew that he would and was enormously cheered by the prospect.

  ‘So how is she?’ asked Betty when George got home.

  ‘Pretty good considering,’ he replied. ‘She looks surprisingly well, actually.’