Thicker Than Water

by Bethan Darwin

  “What are you trying to say, Mum?”

  “You need to start sowing the seed with Grace that it’s time for her to go home soon.”

  “It’s more complicated than you think.”

  “Oh, I think I have an idea how complicated it is. Last time I saw Grace she was grey and sad, looking like death warmed up, and here she is now pretty as a picture. You asked Jenny if Grace’s book was dark, which said a lot, and I have worked out that Jenny recommended Grace keep a journal in the first place because Grace was struggling in some way. I imagine Jocelyn is unaware what has been going on and is equally unaware how much you and your lovely family are helping Grace. I’m getting old, Rachel, not stupid.” She puts her hand over her daughter’s. “Here you go, your tea is ready.”

  Rachel takes the offered tea. The mint leaves smell fresh and tangy. “I’m going to go up to bed, Mum. It’s been a busy day.”

  “Off you go then, I’m going to go back out in the garden and sit with Felix for a while. I do so love being outside under the stars of a summer’s night.”

  Before climbing up to the attic room, Rachel telephones Gareth. It goes immediately to voicemail. She leaves a message.

  Sorry I was in a snit. I miss you and love you, we all do. I’m not the best version of me when you’re not around. Can’t wait to have you home again.

  Chapter 27

  The Maddox family are spared the hardship of the Dirty Thirties. Idris and Jean read in the newspapers about how the Depression has caused unemployment in Canada to reach 30 per cent and one in five Canadians is forced to claim relief. Wages drop by as much as 60 per cent and after 1931 no commercial or industrial building is built in Toronto. Matters are even worse in the Prairies where a prolonged drought and plagues of grasshoppers cause some people to have to abandon their homes and farms and leave the region for good.

  Idris looks at the pictures in the newspapers of the poor, the hungry and the homeless, and feels pity for all the people that he worked with on the viaduct in Toronto. He thinks about the day Aeronwen broke off their engagement and he left Toronto, pausing for a while at the site of the construction of the Royal York hotel and contemplating staying and seeking work there. He wonders what happened to all those men after the hotel was finished and whether they are now amongst the grey-faced, desperate looking men whose pictures appear in the newspaper, lining up at the soup kitchens or being taken in at relief camps.

  Idris and Jean know they are lucky and count their blessings. They have good jobs, food on the table and it is a daily source of delight to them both how happy they are to be married to each other and living together in their house. Idris feels a calm contentment when he is with Jean and an ability to just sit quietly and still when she is next to him that he has never experienced before. He likes waking up with her and going to sleep with her, he walks home from work looking forward to seeing her and to working side by side in their garden before sitting down in their kitchen with the Delft blue wallpaper to eat their evening meal, with vegetables they have grown themselves.

  Often of an evening and on Sundays they walk together in Lakeview Park, walking along the shore and almost always stopping by to visit the buffalo, until in 1931 the buffalo are removed and relocated to Riverdale Zoo, in Toronto, on account of being just too smelly.

  “It’s not quite the same without them,” Jean says, sadly.

  While they walk, Jean tells Parkwood stories.

  “The grocer is in Mrs Meikle’s bad books,” she recounts. “He delivered rancid butter again. The third time in as many months. Mrs Meikle has discontinued his services, which has caused much upset in the kitchen because his delivery boy was handsome and half the girls were sweet on him.”

  Idris enjoys listening to Jean talk. She has a knack for conjuring up a scene and changing her voice ever so slightly to convey different characters. With the advantage of her own Scottish accent she does a particularly good impression of Mrs Meikle. Idris talks little of his own job. He feels a large debt of gratitude to the McLaughlins but being a boss not a worker does not sit well with him. It is one of the few things he does not discuss with Jean, because she is so very loyal to the McLaughlins and any suggestion from Idris that he does not feel the same way upsets her.

  From a slow burn to start, the passion he feels for Jean now burns very bright and the only shadow on their happiness is the fact that despite such passion, Jean does not fall pregnant.

  In the dead of one night, tears gathering thickly in her throat, she whispers to him: “Is this our punishment Idris, for ending that other baby’s life? Is this God’s way of telling us we were wrong?”

  “Of course not, my love,” he says stroking her hair. “God is merciful.”

  But as month after month rolls by and there is still no baby, Idris does wonder if perhaps the procedure damaged Jean in some way and left her incapable of conceiving.

  And then finally, when they have been married almost four years and are starting to give up hope, Jean shyly announces to Idris that she is pregnant. In May 1935 their daughter Elizabeth Gwendolyn is born. She is blonde haired and blue eyed like her mother and is the most perfect thing that either of them has ever set eyes on.

  His mother is delighted to be a grandmother again. Within a week of his letter home announcing the arrival of a daughter, a parcel arrives, wrapped in brown paper, containing a beautifully knitted cardigan and bonnet, white, with embroidered pink roses.

  Dear Idris and Jean

  We are so very happy to learn of the safe arrival of Elizabeth Gwendolyn. We only wish there was not an ocean between us and that we could be there in person to congratulate you and to meet our granddaughter.

  I do hope the cardigan suits her. Maggie did the rosebuds as my eyesight lets me down at close work these days. I am already working on another one for her but wanted to get this one posted the moment it was finished.

  Please send a photograph as soon as you are able. I am very touched at the choice of name. It makes me feel part of your lives, even though you are so very far away.

  With much affection

  Mam

  Jean is delighted with the cardigan.

  “Just look at the dear little rosebuds, Maggie is so very clever at embroidery.” Idris says nothing but when Elizabeth is wearing this cardigan, he often traces his finger over the flowers.

  Later that same year, Idris is entrusted with supervising a highly important project at the General Motors Plant. Colonel Sam summons Idris to explain in person what is required.

  “We are to build a car for HRH Edward the Prince of Wales himself. He called at the showrooms of our London agent, Lendrum and Hartman in Albemarle Street, and advised Captain Hartman that he wanted to buy a Buick as he did not believe anyone in Britain could build the car the way he wanted it built. We built two cars for him and his brother to use during their Royal Tour here in 1927. Those were beautiful cars all right, with a turquoise strip along the side and tan lizard leather interiors.”

  “I saw him get in one and drive away, Sam, at the opening ceremony for Union Station in 1927. Blink and I would have missed him. A fine car indeed.”

  “Well this car is to be even finer. Listen to what he wants – a car that will give two passengers ‘luxury and privacy,’ and he wants drinks cabinets, vanity mirrors, reading lights, smoking and jewellery cabinets and a radio. We shall make the necessary alterations to a Series 90 limousine. You shall be the one responsible for overseeing the process Idris. What do you think to that?”

  “I shall be honoured, Colonel Sam,” is what Idris says. In private he says to Jean, “I don’t know why everyone is so very excited about this. I didn’t think much to this Prince of Wales back in 1927 when he opened Union Station in Toronto and barely showed his face to the waiting crowds.”

  “Don’t be such a misery.” Jean teases him. She is playing peekaboo with Elizabeth, a game she loves and that makes her laugh for as long as either of her parents will play it with her. “You may not t
hink it much of an honour but the McLaughlins certainly do.”

  Idris presides over the process of building the prince’s car. It is in gleaming black with beige leather seats, the leather soft and glossy as butter. The luxury fittings ordered by the prince are installed under Idris’ watchful eye – silver gilt cigarette boxes, a silver jewellery box, six silver top decanters and two posy holders.

  “I swear he intends to live in this car rather than at Buckingham Palace,” Idris comments to Jean.

  The car is commissioned by a prince but when it is shipped and delivered in February 1936 it is to a king. George V dies on 20 January 1936 and Edward, Prince of Wales, aged 42 and a bachelor, becomes King Edward VII.

  It is in the McLaughlin-Buick, less than a year later on 10 December 1936, that King Edward VII is driven to Downing Street to advise Prime Minster Baldwin that he is to abdicate the throne to be with Mrs Wallace Simpson, a three times married American.

  On 11 December 1936, the former king addresses the nation, telling the people, “You must believe me when I tell you that I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as king as I would wish to do without the help and support of the woman I love.” His shy, younger brother, the Duke of York must overcome his stammer and step up to the responsibility of being King George VI. Edward, who now has the title of the Duke of Windsor, slopes off to France with Mrs Simpson. The McLaughlin-Buick on which Idris and the men in Oshawa lavished so much care is loaded onto a warship to make the journey to France too.

  Idris and Jean listen to the speech on the evening news on the radio.

  “Not that much of a surprise,” Idris comments. “I always said he didn’t have the makings of a good king, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, dear,” Jean says, not paying a great deal of attention to either Idris or the speech because Elizabeth is fussing, refusing to take her bedtime bottle. “She has a bit of a temperature, I may take her to the doctor’s tomorrow if she is not better in the morning.”

  Elizabeth fusses and cries all night. When in the early hours of the morning her temperature rises even further and she stops fussing and becomes limp in Jean’s arms, Idris goes to fetch the doctor.

  The doctor examines Elizabeth but it does not take him very long. “I’m afraid it’s influenza,” he says. “We’ve seen a number of cases in the past few weeks.” The tone of his voice is flat and low.

  “But there is medicine to cure that?” Jean asks, hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs Maddox, I only wish there was.”

  “So what can we do?” Idris tries to keep his voice calm and positive.

  “Try to get some fluids down her. Vicks Vapo-Rub can provide some relief, rubbed into her chest. She is a strong, healthy child. She stands a good chance.”

  Idris and Jean do as instructed. They take it in turns to stay awake to watch over their daughter. They ease water into her mouth with a teaspoon. They pray. On the third day, Elizabeth’s temperature falls a little and she starts to fuss again. They see this as a good sign and for the first time in three days, smile weakly at one another. She is so small and has been in their life for such a very short time but she has been their whole life from the moment she was born.

  Her temperature drops further again. Idris holds his daughter in his arms while Jean tries to get a little more water into her mouth. Their baby shudders, just once, and then dies in her father’s arms.

  They bury her wearing the little white cardigan with the pink rosebuds.

  *

  Rachel wakes up at 6am. Eloise’s bed is comfortable enough and Grace is the quietest sleeper she has ever shared a room with but she can’t get back to sleep. She misses Gareth and his being so far away means the last conversation she had with him when she more or less hung up on him weighs heavily on her. She decides she may as well get up. Just as well, because she hears Jake babbling away in his cot the minute she reaches the landing.

  She’s not used to being up this early. It is usually Gareth who does this first shift with Jake. She scoops him up out of his cot and takes him downstairs to give him his milk. He looks at the cup she hands him disparagingly but then guzzles it down quickly. He scoots his bottom off the battered red sofa the minute he’s finished and walks out into the hallway in a purposeful way. She follows, to find him already sitting in his pushchair with Oscar waiting nearby.

  “Oh, you two are expecting to go out! Of course.”

  She pauses to think. All her clothes except the ones for work she laid out on the landing last night are in her bedroom where Felix and her mother are currently fast asleep. But it’s fine and sunny outside, a lovely, early August morning. Nobody much will be around to see her. She pulls a navy blue sweatshirt down off the coat rail and finds an old pair of discarded trainers amongst the pile on the floor that she thinks belong to Eloise but will fit her. She, Jake and Oscar go out the door to greet the day.

  “Don’t expect me to run though,” she says to them.

  As she walks along the cliff top path, Rachel wonders why she doesn’t do this every day. The morning air smells fresh and clean and the sea is flat and calm. She breathes in deeply, and it is as if she is drawing peace into her body along with the seaside air. The few people they pass, also dog walkers and runners, greet the three of them warmly. Nobody seems to notice she is wearing flowery purple pyjama bottoms. She is disappointed when she looks at her watch and realises she should be getting back to get ready to go to work. As she turns the pushchair around Oscar flops to the floor and Jake looks up at her expectantly.

  “What’s that look for, eh? What usually happens of a morning at this point? Do you normally get a treat each? Well I’m afraid I’ve nothing for you, sorry, you’ll have to wait till we get home.

  When they open the front door there are signs of life in the house. Nora is up and watching cartoons.

  “Morning Nonnie,” Rachel calls.

  “Morning Mummy,” Nora shouts. “I’m hungry! Will you make me some breakfast?”

  “Coming right up,” Rachel replies.

  She manoeuvres the pushchair into the hallway, which is as usual crowded with discarded shoes and coats. The pram gets marooned thanks to Gareth’s sports bag, left in the hallway and no doubt full of sweaty socks and t-shirts stinking the place out. Lazy bastard, she thinks, bending down to release Jake from the harness who then toddles off to join Nora in front of the telly.

  She unzips the bag and empties the contents out. The sports kit is unused but there is a crumpled white work shirt in there.

  “Aha, soaking his shirt, my arse. This is where he must have stuffed that coffee stained shirt when he came home from London.”

  She shakes the shirt out. It is not stained with coffee at all. It is a Perfect shirt, not one she has seen before. Neither of the shirts that Gareth received from Cassandra Taylor’s PA were white.

  For some reason, she doesn’t know why, she lifts the shirt to her face. When she breathes in she can’t smell Imperial Leather. What she can smell, very faintly, is perfume, one she vaguely recognises but can’t quite place. An image of Gareth slides unbidden into her mind. He is checking his phone constantly, tilting it towards his body, as if to shield from anyone else what he is reading.

  She checks her watch. It is 2.30am in Toronto, the middle of the night. Gareth will be fast asleep. But she goes into the kitchen, retrieves her phone from her handbag on the kitchen counter and calls him anyway. She selects Facetime to make the call.

  It takes him a while to answer and when he does, he is disorientated as she had expected him to be, his eyes squinting at the phone. It is dark in the room and he does not register at first that she is using Facetime or that he has already answered the call. She watches him falling back onto the bed, trying to turn the phone off. She sees his face, puffy and slack with sleep, as he jabs at his phone with his finger. Then he drops the phone and the connection is lost. But not before Rachel has seen that there is a woman lying next to hi
m in the bed.

  When she tries to call him again his phone is switched off. She does not leave a message. She racks her brain trying to remember the name of the hotel he said he was staying at. This sort of detail has never mattered to her before. If she ever needs him she just rings him on his mobile. She realises he hasn’t even said what hotel he is staying at. She tries his mobile again – this time it rings but goes to voicemail – and again she leaves no message. Pressure builds inside her – anger and frustration – she would like to scream at Gareth. To scream and scream at him till her throat hurts.

  She already knows the answer to the question that she wants to scream at him. She has seen it with her own eyes.

  Chapter 28

  The loss of a child can make its parents give up on life, curl into a ball and lie there, waiting for death to finally wash over them and take them away too. And for a while that is how it is for Idris and Jean after Elizabeth dies. The grief sits like a boulder on their chests, pinning them down. They cannot get out from under its weight and they do not really want to. In those first few weeks, Jean in particular wishes the boulder would press down on her even harder, break through her rib cage and stop her heart so it no longer hurts.

  Idris frees himself from his own boulder enough to be by her side and keep her strong and eventually, very slowly, the grief starts to loosen its grip on them a little.

  They each handle the process of healing differently. When in the April after Elizabeth’s death more than 4000 workers at the General Motors Oshawa plant go on strike, demanding better wages and working conditions and recognition for their union, the United Automobile Workers, Idris can no longer keep his principles under wraps.

  “I need to resign from General Motors,” he announces over their evening meal. “I can’t be doing with it any more, being on the side of the bosses while the men are fighting for their rights. Rights they absolutely deserve.”