by Mary Wood
Waiting for a time when no one was about had been the worst. With her being a new arrival, they seemed in constant attendance on her. But there had been a moment when there was only one nurse on duty – during what they called the rest period when all good patients were meant to sleep – and she had been called into the sister’s office.
Moving had been painful, but she’d managed it and had taken her toilet bag to the washroom used by visitors. As there were no visitors at this hour, she hadn’t been disturbed. Here she’d had a shock at the state of herself, as her bloodshot eyes, sunk into a puffy, almost unrecognizable face, had stared back at her from the mirror. Her hair resembled that of a rag doll: as if it had been knitted and stuck on her head. Washing and towel-drying it had taken all her energy, and she’d had to sit on the toilet for a moment, gasping for breath. Fear of discovery had urged her on. They may have been looking for her by then! But the effort had been worth it: she looked at least half-human with her hair restored to its usual glossy, bouncy self. Make-up helped with the rest.
Her health had caused her some problems, with pain being the least of them. Her breathlessness was the main culprit, rendering her almost useless at times as she’d struggled to get oxygen into her lungs. She’d soon realized she needed medication.
Stealing the medication hadn’t proved as difficult as she’d thought. Dressed in the doctor’s coat and now sporting a stethoscope – this she’d pickpocketed from a passing doctor who’d had it hanging out of his flowing white coat as he’d hurried along the corridor past her – it had been easy to walk on to a ward and pick up a prescription pad from the charge-nurse’s desk. Writing the script, she’d had to rack her brains as to the spelling of the medication they had been giving her in London, and was now glad she’d taken enough interest to ask what it was.
Somehow she’d kept her breathing steady enough for her to walk out of the building. The only security guard she passed was on the maternity ward, as across the country in the last couple of months there had been a couple of instances of women walking into these types of wards and stealing a baby. The guard showed a little interest in her, but didn’t question her once he saw she paid no attention to his ward.
Stepping off the train to the half-light of evening with lights beginning to flicker into life all around gave her a feeling of elation. London! She loved it. But where to go first? She knew where Greg’s jeweller’s shop was: King’s, it was called, and their slogan was ‘Jewellery Fit for Royalty’. And she knew it was a popular store with the middle classes, selling mid-priced jewellery that could increase in value but didn’t start off at extortionate prices. She’d often passed the shop. It took up the whole of the corner of Greendale Street in the west of the city.
Tiredness ached in every part of her, and her legs didn’t seem to have anything in them. Opening her bag, she took out the two bottles containing the pills she’d got from the chemist. She’d taken some, but when was that? She couldn’t think. She’d find somewhere to sit and decide if she could take some more. Shoving them in her pocket, she made her way through the station to the underground. Crowds jostled her; her breathing became laboured.
‘Ere, love, are yer alright?’
For a moment the voice froze her as Rita came to mind. Looking round she saw a bag lady, her toothless face creased with concern.
‘Yes, I just . . . need to . . . sit a moment.’
‘Over there, love, there’s a bench. Sit down and I’ll get Rufus to get yer a drink. You’ll like Rufus.’
Whoever Rufus was she was certain she wouldn’t put him in the category of people she liked! But she could do nothing to escape him or the bag lady, as her body wouldn’t take her any further.
A tear ran down her face at the realization a few minutes later that she’d been fleeced. As she’d opened her handbag to get money to give to Rufus, he’d snatched it. All her money and her savings book had gone, and the bag lady and her companion, who’d turned out to be just as toothless as his partner in crime, unshaven and with his coat tied around him with string, were hurrying away. Stupid idiot, what was I thinking of?
She could still see them ambling along at the top of the tunnel. Shouting, if you could call the croaks she made shouting, after them, made no difference. Dozens of folk were milling about, but none of them even looked at her, let alone tried to stop the thieves. If only she wasn’t so ill she could catch them in an instant.
Swallowing some more penicillin and respiratory drugs without thinking about whether she should and without the aid of a drink nearly choked her. She gagged on the bulk she tried to get it down, but a few moments later she began to feel better. With her mind clearing, she remembered she’d put the change from the five-pound note she’d purchased her ticket with into the pocket of her jacket, and feeling for it now she found her underground ticket, a ten-bob note, and two one-pound notes. Thank God.
That would be more than enough to get her a drink and a taxi to King’s Cross Hospital from the station, and then the underground to Greg’s shop. She also had her return ticket to Leeds, as she’d bought one to go straight back there rather than just to Crewe. This prompted the thought: That’s if I ever go back. After what I’m planning, I doubt they’ll ever want to see me again!
This thought upset her. Could she live without the folk she’d come to think of as family? Her resolve began to waver, but the voice urged her on: ‘It has to be done, no matter what the consequences!’
The corridor seemed to go on for ever. Richard had found out which ward her mother was on when she’d first said she was coming to London to visit her. How often she’d wished that was all she’d done rather than meet up with Rita!
Following the signs to the ward, it seemed they were directing her to the end of the world as she turned endless corridors. Her body began to shake, and sweat stood out on her forehead and trickled down her face. Her vision blurred. She had to sit down. Stretching out her hand, she felt the smooth surface of the gloss-painted brick wall, and pressing against it steadied her. Damn feeling like this, it is a bloody hindrance!
‘Do you need some help, miss?’
‘I – I . . . No, I’ll be alright. I’ve had a long journey and haven’t eaten.’
The young woman persisted: ‘There’s a WRVS counter just around the corner. They have seats and you can get a hot drink and biscuits. I’ll help you round there, shall I?’
Not wanting any attention, this irritated her, but she let the woman take her arm. How she got to the seat she’d never know, but the relief at sitting down and sipping the tea overwhelmed her and tears ran unbidden down her cheeks.
‘Well, you are in a state. And you don’t look well. Can I get someone to look at you? I could ask one of the nurses that pass by?’
‘No, I’ll be alright. I – I had an accident and I’m just recovering. I’ll sit here a while, thanks.’
The woman apologized, but said she had to leave as she had an appointment. Patsy had never felt more glad of anything in her life. Well-meaning, interfering busybodies were the last thing she needed right now. She just needed to get to her mother! What she would do when she did, or how she would react at the sight of her mother, she didn’t know, but there was no going back now.
Setting off again, this time with the knowledge from one of the volunteers that the ward she needed was just around the next corner, she found to her relief a door that proclaimed, ‘Ward 34’.
Pushing it open gave her a confusing sight of two long rows of beds, all occupied and all with very elderly women in them. Her mother wasn’t that old, surely! But then, the picture in the paper did show her looking almost as old and frail as these women.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I – I’m looking for Mrs Crompton.’
‘Discharged this morning. Are you Miss Crompton? There was a phone call from— Hey!’
Crashing back through the swing door, she stumbled as fast as she could. The nurse had looked to be on her own so couldn’t follow, but she
might telephone someone.
Dodging round the corner, she stood a moment. Her mind went through the possibilities. It had been hours now since she’d escaped from the hospital. The family would have been told. Places she may go would have been discussed. In the mood she’d been in before Ian had left her she’d talked of hating everyone and everything . . . They would be afraid for her, but they might also be afraid of what she intended to do. Yes, it must be that. Why else would that nurse know who I am? Damn! She’d have to get out of here . . . Disappointment swelled her tears once more. So near, so near!
Anger turned her tears to ones of frustration. Her life was her own! Why should other people determine what she should do or who she should see? They can all fuck off! But even so, now she didn’t even know where her mother was, and if she asked she might alert them to call her family. They may even have her detained here until her family came, and then they would take her back, and that would stop her carrying out her plan. But what plan? What was it I was going to do? Her hands went to her head. Everything seemed confused. The clear voice she’d heard giving her precise instructions wasn’t there any more . . . It’s left me. I’m on me own!
People and the walls of the corridor merged into a blur as she ran. The walls kept hitting her, bruising her sides. The glass doors at the end seemed to get further away. She had to get out!
Something hard dug into her side. ‘Hey, watch where you’re going! This is a hospital, you know!’
The man looked as though he was under water. The trolley he pushed took on gigantic proportions, and the sick person lying on it stared at her with black hollow eyes. Stumbling away from them, she at last felt the cool air on her face. Her eyes cleared, and to her left she saw an ambulance with its doors open. The person she’d knocked into must have been brought in from it. This logic calmed her a little. If she was capable of making deductions, she couldn’t be completely insane.
Sitting on a low wall, she tried to analyse why she was here. What had prompted her to take the actions she’d taken and to even think of coming to her mother in this state, let alone to plan such a revenge on Greg? Putting her hands in her pocket, she felt the cold tin of the lighter fuel she’d bought. My God! I really did intend to burn Greg’s shop! But then, why shouldn’t I? He stole my Harri from me . . .
Twenty-four
A Fragile Mind and A Family Disrupted
Theresa and Lizzie – 1963
Theresa looked around her room. Nothing about it was familiar to her, and yet it was like she’d lived here before. The furniture, square and plain and of a light colour, and made of a material she suspected wasn’t real wood, was put together solely for its functionality: a bed, a dresser and a wardrobe. All very similar to the furniture in the institution she’d spent months in a few years ago. A fear clutched her. But no, she mustn’t think like that. This was different. This was a convalescent home. Carleton House – a sort of halfway stopping-off place before she would be allowed to go all the way to her own front doorstep. That was, if she continued to make the progress she had been making.
Looking into the wardrobe, she saw that there were one or two items in there from her home. The social worker must have been and chosen them. Most were suits she’d had cleaned and hadn’t worn for a long time. These still had the zipped covers from the dry cleaner’s on them. And there was a coat and two dresses she’d forgotten she had. They looked fresh and clean. Someone must have seen to that for her.
Walking to the window gave her a view of the garden: neatly trimmed lawns and precisely cut flower beds made a pleasant enough outlook for her.
There had been a lot for her to take in. Most of it didn’t make any sense. Her doctor – well, psychiatrist, Dr Stinstone, a doctor of the mind, and it seemed from what they had told her that she was in sore need of one – had informed her of the state they had found her house in. How did it get like that? And she’d helped her to rid herself of some of the nightmare. The revisiting of the past. Oh, the wonders of medication and therapy!
She would never forget. But that was okay; nobody wanted her to. It was the jumbling of it all up that terrified her, and that needed fixing. Revisiting wasn’t the right word. It was the constant reliving of it all. The thinking she was still there, that Pierre was still alive when . . . Oh God, they’d shot him! In front of her. They’d shot him. Stop it, Theresa, stop it . . . Don’t go back. Not to all the fear and the heartbreak. Hold on. Hold on!
Sitting down on the chair next to the window, she concentrated on steadying herself: taking deep breaths; telling herself everything would be alright. She just needed to get well.
Her thoughts went to her memoirs. The lads that had attacked her had never been identified, and her handbag with all her memories and memoirs in it had never been found. Again, she had to stop herself dwelling on this. They were probably rotting away in some hedge or taken away by the dustbin men and burned on some huge pyre that turned all the waste that humans discarded into ashes. Dust to dust . . . A shiver went through her. And yet, she hoped that had been their fate, which was better than the alternative of someone finding them and making a mockery of them. That possibility made her feel sick. What possessed me to write it all down so graphically and, worse than that, to carry it around with me?
Who knew where her mind had been these last years, but she hoped to God she was coming out of it. She’d managed it once – well, she’d fooled everyone that she had, just to get her release, but that had been silly. She needed healing, and healing properly, but would that ever take place?
The doctor had said for that to happen she’d have to be open about her life – about every aspect of it. Well, she had certainly been that in her memoir. Now that it was gone, could she be that open with anyone else? My mother, even? That lovely, fragile lady who would be hurt so badly by the truth? Oh, God. If only . . . But then, didn’t Dr Stinstone say she had been speaking with her mother? That her mother knew about Jacques and had forgiven her? But how? How could she know unless Dr Stinstone had told her? She’d promised to keep her patient confidentiality. Had Rita told her mother? Oh, dear, she hoped Rita hadn’t made mischief. Somehow, she needed to get away from Rita. She wished she’d never to see her again, in fact. Her head began to ache. She had so much to face, so much to put right. Could she? But then, if she wanted to get better and that’s what it would take, she’d do it. She’d have to . . . Her limbs began to tremble again at this. Her mind began to let go . . . No. Please, no.
Lizzie – 1963
Lizzie had a feeling that nothing would ever be right again. All of the family was distraught at the news that Patsy had left the hospital. Ian was beside himself and had set off to go to Harri’s. It would take him hours, but he didn’t care, as he felt certain that was where Patsy would go. ‘Perhaps,’ he’d said, ‘she’s gone there to persuade Harri to come home and to do this whole wedding thing sensibly.’
Her own thoughts were not as kind towards Patsy. She’d seen something in her – something she knew well. A kind of madness . . . no, she couldn’t call it that. Patsy wasn’t mad, but there was something that was like Ken. One minute they were fine, the next ranting about this or that, and they both dealt with things in a violent way. Look how Patsy had lunged at Ken, whereas shouting in her commanding voice could have been enough. And the vicious swipe she’d given her dad, when maybe if she’d taken the cunning way she could have persuaded him she was on his side and taken her chance later, once she had his confidence. And at times her way of thinking had been irrational; her thoughts over her mother showed this. No. If Patsy has gone to Harri’s, it isn’t to persuade her one way or the other, but more likely to force the issue to go the way she wants it. She may even cause harm. A shiver passed through her at this thought and she felt glad she had escaped into her room.
No one needed her for anything. Sarah was lying down for a while, as the whole thing had taken its toll on her and Lizzie wasn’t surprised! They’d only arrived here this morning, leaving everything
reasonably sorted, then Ian had come home without Harri and with shocking, unexpected news, and by midday they’d heard Patsy had left the hospital! Sarah had calmed down now, but was exhausted.
Richard had rung to forewarn the hospital where Theresa was that Patsy could turn up there, but had found out Theresa had been moved. This had given them all a relief. None of them said why.
Richard and Sarah had also spoken to Harri and Greg. They had assured them that they would be fine and would be able to deal with Patsy if she turned up. Richard had tried to persuade them to come home in the circumstances, but Harri had wanted to go ahead with her plans. At least she was forewarned, thank God. And with Ian on the way, surely everything would be alright there:
With Richard now out at his surgery and David still at work, Lizzie had told Sarah she would be fine sitting in her room reading. Still feeling no stronger than she had earlier, she was glad of the chance to think through something Richard and Sarah had spoken to her about before the telephone had rung with the news over Patsy, and after they had explained to her about Harri.
It seemed Richard and his partner were trying to turn part of the rambling old building that housed the surgery into a cottage hospital, where they could deal with minor emergencies and look after any patients needing round-the-clock care, but not essentially in the hospital in Leeds, which was an hour away. Richard had put the idea forward and his partner agreed; he then discussed it with Sarah before approaching her. The idea was that she could be the practice receptionist, and she could start as soon as she felt fit! There was a lot of organizing of the medical records that had to be moved to where the new surgery would be, and the move had generated far more paperwork than the present part-time receptionist could cope with. The idea had excited Lizzie and lifted her, giving her life a purpose and lessening the burden she thought she might have been to Sarah and Richard. But then, with the news about Patsy, all that had dimmed into the new worry they all had to cope with.