by Mary Gibson
‘Do what, Miss Gilbie?’ he answered.
‘Get us past that dragon in a matron’s hat?’
‘I simply told her my mother is a trustee on Guy’s governing board. Rank has its uses.’
‘Says the young communist,’ Tom muttered under his breath and Matty elbowed him in the side.
*
The following morning, Tom called in on the way to work. It wasn’t something he’d ever done before. She was still in her dressing gown, finishing off a piece of toast when she answered his knock.
‘Tom! What’s happened?’ Her immediate thought was that the hospital had telephoned him, rather than give her the bad news.
‘No, nothing. I just wanted to make sure you’re OK – you had such a shock last night and I was worried about you.’
As she shut the front door behind them he took her in his arms, and they stood together, swaying slightly in a long embrace. She felt tears prick her eyes and taut muscles relax, realizing that his arms felt like home. Eventually he stood back.
‘Stay for breakfast?’ she asked quickly, and not waiting for an answer she led him to the kitchen where she busied herself making him tea and toast.
‘When I saw Feathers through the window last night, you know I thought he was one of Frank’s men. Stupid, but I really was terrified, Tom. I thought I’d had my taters. Then when I saw the state Will was in, I was sure he’d bleed to death in the parlour...’
‘That’s what I meant by a shock! Don’t come to work today, Matty, stay home. You won’t be able to settle till you’ve been to Guy’s anyway.’
‘But we were supposed to be finishing the record material!’
‘Another day won’t matter. Besides, it’s only D.M.’s damn milk song to lay down. I’ll get his OK on the rest of the material – you just go and see your brother.’
She leaned over the table to kiss buttery lips and wiped a crumb from his chin.
‘Who am I to argue with the studio boss?’
Glad that he had suggested it, she left the house soon after Tom, but before going to Guy’s she had an urgent errand to carry out. Sam had already left for work, but she knew Nellie would be back from her early morning stint cleaning the offices at Pearce Duff’s. Matty never failed to admire her stamina – she was now doing three part-time jobs as well as looking after the family. To her afternoon shift at Pearce Duff’s she’d added an evening shift. For though Will was covering most of the sanatorium bill, Nellie and Sam had insisted on putting something towards Billy’s stay in Leysin.
‘Matty, love, come in!’ Nellie’s look of delight at seeing her was almost immediately replaced by concern, as it was an unusual time for Matty to visit. But she led Matty to the kitchen, where she was clearing away the breakfast clutter.
‘Find a place to sit if you can. I’m running late, getting the boys off to school.’
Nellie swept laundry off a chair and then whisked plates and cups off the table and into the scullery. ‘What’s brought you here so early, have you heard anything?’ she called in a casual voice which Matty knew disguised her constant worry about Billy.
‘I’ve had a letter.’ Matty followed her into the scullery. ‘Come out the way, Nellie, and let me make you a cup of tea. You can have five minutes sit down, surely.’
‘A letter? From the sanatorium?’
Matty nodded. ‘From Billy.’
‘Well?’ Nellie looked at her expectantly.
‘He’s coming home!’
Nellie threw wet hands round Matty and jumped her up and down in a dance of excitement. ‘Home!’ Nellie held her at arm’s length. ‘Are you sure, Matty?’
‘Would I get your hopes up if I wasn’t? Here, read it, while I make your tea.’ And she pushed Nellie out of the scullery.
When Matty took her the tea she found Nellie with the letter on her lap. She smoothed it out and handed it back to Matty with tears in her eyes. ‘His lungs are clear! Oh, Matty, he’s cured... thanks to you, love.’
Matty shook her head. ‘It’s thanks to our Will, really, Nellie.’
‘It was you spotted the TB. But give him his due, it was his money and that boy’s surprised me. I don’t suppose I’ll ever fathom what he did to you, but he’s always welcome here. One thing I don’t understand – why didn’t the sanatorium let me know about him coming home?’
‘Ah well, your letter’s probably in the post. I had mine hand-delivered.’
Matty saw the light of an impossible hope in Nellie’s eyes. ‘Is he home already?’ she asked.
And Matty laughed. ‘No, love. I’m not that much of a fairy godmother, he’s not waiting in the wings! It’s Will we’ve got to thank again. He brought the letter back from Switzerland last night.’
Nellie looked at Matty with a puzzled expression.
‘That’s the other thing I’ve come to tell you, Nellie. It’s about Will.’
*
Matty made sure she was waiting outside the hospital well before visiting hours began.
He was lying with his arms resting on top of a bedspread white as his face. She eased herself quietly into the bedside chair, feeling it was impossible to breathe until she knew that her brother still had breath in his body. He looked like death, but as she gazed intently at the cover, she saw a small rise and fall, and only then let herself take in a deep draught of air.
She sat silently, realizing that she didn’t need him to be awake. She didn’t even need him to be her friend. She just needed him to be alive. As she sat vigil, studying the man’s face, she wondered how it had emerged from that of the child who’d come barrelling into her legs and her life one day. Determined, in a hurry, intent on going where he wanted to go and never deviating, he had instantly bestowed on her an unearned affection, latching on to her like a small tethered hawk. Now she understood the hidden origins of that bond, the close family tie, closer than she could have imagined, and out of all that she couldn’t see how or when that bond had begun to chafe him so much that he’d lashed out in the cruellest way and ripped it apart.
She became aware that his eyes were open and that he was looking at her. He said nothing for a long moment and she thought she saw a resigned sadness in his eyes.
‘Looks like you saved my life...’ he croaked. ‘Don’t know why you’d want to, after what I did to you...’ His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes.
‘But you knew enough to come to me. You knew I’d never turn you away.’
With an effort he opened his eyes again. ‘Yes, I knew that.’
His breathing was shallow and harsh, but she could see some colour returning to his face.
‘Matty, I’ve wanted to say I’m sorry—’
She interrupted him. ‘It doesn’t matter now, Will.’
But he went on. ‘You deserve an explanation, but I’m not sure I understand it myself.’
He was attempting to raise himself in the bed, but she put a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down. ‘Will, stay calm, that old witch of a matron will jaw me if you get upset.’
He gave a weak smile. ‘You’ll sort her out. There’s something a little bit scary about you too, you know. But let me say what I need to.’
He turned his face towards her and she could see the painful effort it was to speak, but part of her selfishly wanted the answer to the questions that had been tormenting her.
‘Remember you told me you felt you’d wasted your chance – to escape Bermondsey, the factories and the docks and the dirt, all of it? You said to me “I had my chance to get out and I wasted it, don’t waste yours”... But, Matty, what if I never wanted the chance to get out? What if all I ever wanted was the chance to get in?’
At first she didn’t understand what he meant, but then she saw with painful clarity how hard it must have been for him, always longing to be fully part of a world where his difference branded him an exile.
She reached out for his hand. ‘Is that where it all came from? You resented me for belonging here when you couldn’t?’
<
br /> He blinked, seeming to consider. ‘I think so. You never had to try. Bermondsey was home for you, Matty. Everywhere people loved you and you belonged... and me, I was always outside. And then I saw things, heard things that made me think you were taking away from me what really was mine – my mother.’ He let go of her hand and she was astonished to see him wipe a stray tear from his cheek. She looked at him in wonder at so much hurt, running like an underground stream, out of view, undermining the person she thought he was, until it had emerged in one destructive burst.
She grasped his hand again. ‘Surely you know that’s not true. Listen to me, Will. I could never have taken Eliza from you. Don’t you understand? She didn’t feel any more love for me than you, she just felt more guilt! That’s what made her change the will. For God’s sake, it was you she kept! You think you never belonged to your Bermondsey family because of your rich father and your posh school, but that’s not it at all. Belonging’s nothing to do with where you’re born, it’s more about what you do. When Nellie took me and Charlie in as kids, that was belonging. When you forgot about hating me and helped Billy, that was belonging... Don’t you see, Will?’
He let his head fall back on the pillow, let out a deep sigh and squeezed her hand. ‘I do see,’ he said, his eyes brimming. ‘Matty, when I get out of here, can I come home?’
***
He was the worst of patients. It should have come as no surprise that Will immobilized would resemble the boiler in a train held at London Bridge Station. Stoked, fired up, ready to go but with the signal still firmly at red, he was spouting steam and she was in the direct firing line of all his pent-up energy. After a couple of weeks of Matty battling to keep him in bed, Nellie offered to stand in as nurse while Matty was at work. They portioned out his care around Nellie’s shifts and by the end of his third week home they resembled jailers, giving each other an update on his attempts to escape. His latest foray had nearly worked, but there he’d had an accomplice.
‘For God’s sake, Will, get back up those stairs! The doctor said you’d need at least a month’s bed rest.’
She’d caught them, like a pair of surprised burglars on the stairs, guilty-faced and frozen. Will was in his slippered feet, with his shoes underneath his arm.
‘And you! You should know better.’ She pointed an accusing finger at Feathers, who was following with Will’s jacket and hat.
‘Matty, you’re a terrible nurse. You’ve got no bedside manner. If I ask for water it takes half an hour to get here. I might as well be shifting for myself,’ Will grumbled jokingly.
‘Ungrateful brat!’ Feathers stood on the stair above and cracked Will’s head with his knuckle. ‘Matty has been the embodiment of patience and the only reason I agreed to assist your escape was to give her a rest! Of course we weren’t going to leave without asking first, but we thought rather than waiting for Christmas, Will could come with me to Fonstone now for the rest of his convalescence?’ He turned his charming smile on Matty.
Fonstone was Feathers’ family home, a place where Will had always been made welcome and had spent his last couple of Christmases. But she wasn’t to be so easily won over.
‘How can I trust that you two are actually going where you say you are? You could be going to Berlin again for all I knew.’ She saw a look pass between them and Feathers burst out, ‘Well, come with us then! Stay Friday to Monday, and you can see him safely tucked up in bed by my old nanny.’
Matty shook her head. ‘No. It’s too early for Will to be travelling all that way.’ She addressed her brother. ‘Do you want the wound to rip open again?’
Will pulled a face and he muttered, ‘I don’t have to go to Fonstone to be nannied. You’re doing a pretty good job of it right here.’
Matty sighed. ‘Well, now you’re out of bed, Will, you might as well stay up for tea, but I’m not letting you out of the house and I think this Christmas had better be a Bermondsey one for you.’
She saw a look of disappointment pass over Feathers’ face and felt sympathy, but the deep and jagged knife wound had almost killed Will and she preferred him to be where she could keep an eye on him.
Matty went to prepare their tea. She might complain about him but she’d been secretly grateful for the chance to nurse Will. Whatever blame she’d heaped upon herself for his lostness had dissipated in these last weeks when she’d helped him back to health. The old jokes and easy banter had slowly returned, but with a depth that had never been there before. Now, with his growing impatience to be out of bed, she had to admit she could do with a rest and would secretly have liked a trip to Fonstone. She smiled to herself, imagining a lazy weekend being looked after in the grand, ancient house, wandering the parkland full of old trees and hedged gardens. But it wasn’t her world and she couldn’t imagine fitting in. She could see the attraction for Will. It was obvious that Feathers was as sure of his place in the world as Will was unsure of his.
As she pushed open the parlour door with a tray of tea things, she heard Will speaking under his breath to Feathers.
‘What possessed you to ask her to Fonstone – the whole point was to go to the rally on the way!’
‘I panicked,’ Feathers hissed.
‘I knew you two were up to something else!’ She set the tray down so firmly the cups rattled. ‘What rally’s this?’
Will groaned and passed his hand across his eyes. ‘It’s the anti-fascist rally at Trafalgar Square. We were only going to listen to the speeches before we got the train up, weren’t we, Feathers?’
‘Don’t look at him!’ Matty was furious with them both. ‘For university chaps you’re both as thick as two short planks. Where’s the best chance of getting a beating from a fascist this weekend? You might as well just get the train back to Berlin and find another couple of Stormtroopers to open up that wound for you! Feathers, make yourself useful, be mother,’ she ordered in exasperation.
‘I wouldn’t have been able to come to Fonstone anyway. But thanks for the kind invitation, Feathers...’ she said tartly. ‘I’ll be at work with Tom. We’ll only have the studio till the end of next week, so we need to go in on Saturday to finish the recording.’
Their original recording project had evolved since Esme had booked the studio. D.M. and Birdy liked the idea so much they’d commissioned more recordings to accompany three other films.
‘So, as I’m going to be busy, I suppose it might be a good idea for Feathers to stay here and keep you company. But you’ve both got to promise me, no sneaking off to rallies while I’m out.’
Both young men grinned, nodding their heads as if they were no older than Billy. Feathers poured the tea like a butler and then offered round the sandwiches. She knew Will was getting better when he polished them off – there was certainly nothing wrong with his appetite. He picked up a newspaper report on the annual exhibition of Bermondsey Health Propaganda Department, which Matty had been reading.
‘Feathers, have a look at the statistics in this report?’ Will tossed the paper to his friend.
‘Infant mortality halved, TB and fever rate almost down to the national average... very impressive.’ Feathers cast an approving glance in her direction.
‘It seems these films of Matty’s are actually doing some good!’ Will said.
‘Don’t sound so surprised. It’s not just the films. Birdy – Mr Bush – has been working like a Trojan setting up displays of dental laboratories and sun-ray treatment at the exhibition. But the films seem to make the most impact. Tom’s had an idea for a new series just for women. The Modern Woman and Work, Modern Woman and Home... that sort of thing. Guess who’ll be playing the modern woman?’
‘Matty, that’s brilliant. I admire what you’re doing with your talent,’ Will said, so earnestly that she had to smile.
But she felt a bit of a fraud, knowing that her motives in joining Bermondsey’s health crusade had more to do with saving herself than saving others. But the truth was, she’d changed during the months she’d worked on the b
orough films. Going into the darkness of Bermondsey’s poorest housing had opened her eyes to the misery and disease lurking down every backstreet, and she’d found herself embracing the health propaganda gospel with as much zeal as Tom and the three musketeers. They all saw themselves as guardians of public health, helping to eradicate and educate disease out of existence, and she found it amusing and sometimes touching that they’d adopted her as a sort of Boadicea to fight alongside them.
‘Dr Connan thinks we’ll be lucky to get the funding, though,’ she said, breaking off her musing. ‘Our budget’s being cut.’
‘Mother might be interested,’ Feathers said.
‘Your mother?’
‘She’s very progressive. I suppose I take after her.’ Feathers popped the last of the fruitcake into his mouth. ‘Really, Matty, your films are every bit as important as the work Will and I do for the NUWM, don’t you think so, Will?’
His friend nodded, his own mouth full of fruitcake. ‘More.’
Matty instinctively offered him another slice, which made him giggle. ‘Not more cake! I meant more important, the films are life-and-death stuff.’
‘Just Ma Feathers’ thing, she’s been looking for a new charitable project. You really must come to Fonstone and meet her, Matty. Come when we go up for Christmas – bring Tom!’
‘No, I meant it. Christmas is too soon for Will to travel. Perhaps we’ll come up in the New Year,’ she said, with no belief that it would ever happen.
Matty never dreamed she’d be included in Will’s earnest world of social reform. Although it had seemed to happen naturally, looking back, she could chart the sea change in herself. Her undoing had begun with that terrified flight from Frank and the shattering emergence of Eliza’s secret. But her re-emergence as a new creature, she owed to Tom. From the day he’d offered her the job it had been him, steadily helping her to gather up all her unravelled self into a new person.
***
When Esme telephoned to invite her for lunch, she’d assumed they’d be talking about the recording studio hire which Esme was handling for them, but which would be paid for by Bermondsey Borough Council. D.M. had authorized a certain amount and no more, which was why she and Tom had been going through the schedule, cramming as much into their studio time as possible. But when she’d arrived at Esme’s office, her agent’s face told her something was wrong.