by Lulu Taylor
‘Really?’ He dropped his smoky velvet-soft lips on hers again. ‘You don’t need to.’
For a moment she was tempted. What did it matter? But then, she realised, she’d been dreaming of this moment, fantasising about it. She wanted it to be right.
‘No. I will. I’ll be back. I promise.’
‘Okay. I’ll go to mine.’ He kissed her and smiled, she could feel it under her own mouth, then murmured, ‘Don’t be long, will you?’
‘Of course not.’ She left him at the echoing staircase, and walked along the deserted quad, elated and rejoicing. Something wonderful was waiting for her, a glorious adventure was about to begin, one that she had known was coming and had wanted for so long. But now, it was all perfect: the time was right and they both knew it.
She saw no one on her return, though lights were burning in rooms all over the quad where she lived. She sang to herself, almost floating. Too much of the college wine. But I don’t care. I’m glad. At the door to her room, she fished her key from the little evening bag she was carrying, and opened it.
‘Caitlyn.’
She turned to see Sara stepping out of the shadows. ‘Oh . . . hi! What are you doing here?’
‘Have you had a good time?’ A bitter look twisted Sara’s beautiful face. ‘I don’t suppose any of you missed me.’
‘Of course we did.’ Sara’s presence had a drenching effect on her happiness. Why did things that were fun, light-hearted, innocent, become something else when she was around? It shouldn’t be true, when Sara loved parties and playing so much. But it was. She reached for a white lie. ‘We all talked about you. How much we missed you, and wished you were there.’
‘Really?’ Sara looked wistful, then suddenly harsh. ‘Well, fuck them all. I don’t give a shit! I hate Yates. I’d still be here if it weren’t for him telling me I couldn’t cope. It was his stupid fault. Tosser.’ She gazed at Caitlyn, poised at the door of her room. ‘Shall we go in? Have you still got that vodka?’
‘Well . . . I . . .’ Caitlyn dropped her gaze, suddenly nervous.
‘What?’ Sara pounced like a cat on a fluttering moth. ‘What is it? Are you all carrying on the party somewhere else?’
Caitlyn felt wretched. She was sorry for Sara, sympathetic to the fact that she hadn’t been able to carry on the course. The tutors had told Sara frankly that she couldn’t manage the workload, even if she did the work, which she didn’t. She had been asked politely to leave. She had managed to blag staying in her college room until the end of term, and had been wafting about pretending nothing had happened. But even she couldn’t get an invitation to the finals dinner. This evening was for them, the ones who had gone every day, twice a day, for a tortuous week to sit those examinations, and who had survived the process. Whatever else she’d suffered, Sara hadn’t done that. She couldn’t join that club. It was the first time ever that Caitlyn felt she had something that Sara did not. And whereas in the past Sara had always made the most of any situation to make Caitlyn feel inferior, Caitlyn felt it was the last thing she would ever do to Sara. She couldn’t rub it in, or gloat, however casually. But she wanted to get away from Sara as quickly as she could, before the joy of kissing Nicholas and the delightful anticipation of being with him began to diminish.
‘Sorry, you can’t come in,’ she said quickly, almost breathlessly.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m . . .’ She wanted to lie but had paused too long and now couldn’t. ‘Well . . . I’m going to see Nicholas.’
Sara’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Because . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think we’re going to spend the night together. But take the vodka if you want it, I’ll get it for you—’
Sara laughed, a bitter, harsh little sound. ‘Oh. So that’s his game.’
Caitlyn was` wary. ‘His game?’
‘He said he might have a crack at you. I told him you were too intelligent to let him get away with it.’
Caitlyn felt her stomach churn with something nasty. ‘What do you mean – have a crack at me?’
‘Oh, come on, you must have guessed something was up. He’s been playing you. All that coming up after dinner, spending hours talking to you and never making a move.’
‘How did you know about that?’ Caitlyn’s heart was beating faster, her mouth dry. She almost knew the answer already. But she had to hear it.
‘He told me.’ Sara put out a hand to her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I really am. I would have said something before now but I assumed you must be wise to him. And just in case you weren’t, I didn’t want to distract you from your revision. I know how important it was to you.’
‘I see.’ She looked down at the wooden floor, noticing all the thick wads of dust that lay between the boards. How long have they been there? They might be Victorian. ‘So what did he say?’
‘Just that he thought you might be up for some fun. No strings. He told me tonight was the last chance to get into your pants.’
Hurt prickled all over her. ‘Really? He said that?’
Sara shrugged. ‘He’s like that, I’m afraid. And believe me, I know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because he’s been after me of course.’
Of course, Caitlyn thought dully. I should have guessed.
Sara went on: ‘He’s been trying his luck for ages. He’s been round at my room nearly every night. He got drunk in the bar last week and he was all over me – ask Robbie, he saw it all. I had to fight him off. Honestly, I almost had him reported for harassment. You’ve only seen one side of him. There’s another side – and not a nice one.’
‘What were you doing in the bar?’
‘Well, now you’re so diligent and keen on revision, you’re not about any more, are you? So I went down there with Robbie and his pals.’
‘The rugby lot?’
Sara nodded. ‘They’re a laugh.’
Caitlyn blinked at her. The image of the rugby boys leaping to Sara’s defence to ward off a lecherous Nick seemed topsy-turvy somehow. But she felt the dull thud of defeat, knowing that if anyone had to pick between her and Sara, they were going to pick Sara. It was always the same. Nick would be no different to any of the others. He thought she, Caitlyn, was desperate enough to be easy, and Sara was the prize he really wanted.
Of course. He was probably laughing at me behind my back all the time. Wondering how long he’d have to butter me up before I succumbed.
‘There’s a party in Robbie’s room,’ Sara said with a shrug. ‘I came over to see if you wanted to go to it. It’s going to be wild.’
Caitlyn said nothing, a weight of misery descending on her.
‘You’re not still thinking of going to see Nicholas, are you? You must be insane. He’s using you! Come on. Come to Robbie’s. We’ll have fun. Come on.’ Sara took her hand and wheedled. ‘Take off the stupid gown, get the vodka and come and party. For me? I’m only looking out for you, you know.’
There was a long pause. Then Caitlyn said, ‘Okay. I’ll come.’
But the party was grim and she hated it. After two hours of loud music and hot bodies dancing and drinking, she slipped away, leaving Sara writhing about with Robbie. In the cooler air of the quad, she wondered about going to see Nicholas.
But what’s the point? He wants Sara, not me. And it’s too late now anyway.
So she went back to her room to go to bed. She didn’t see Nicholas again after that, and at the end of term, everybody went their separate ways.
Chapter Twenty
Barbara was quiet and polite and made no trouble, just as Veronica had said. Over their sandwiches on the first day of her visit, she’d charmed Mrs Whitfield, who was evidently pleased with the good manners and elegant femininity of their guest. Tommy felt the contrast, as she was still wearing her stout trousers and thick knitted jumper, and her hair was in a state from the hat she’d worn while collecting the suitcase.
She had a sudden vision of the classroom of thei
r Oxford school and recalled that Barbara had been the same then: beautifully turned out, very self-possessed, somehow a little distant as though she wasn’t quite as involved in the messiness of everyday life as the rest of them were.
‘I’m just going upstairs to check on Roger,’ Tommy said, and left them all to their sandwiches.
From behind Roger’s door came the rattle of a snore so she went along the passage and across the landing to Fred’s door. There was silence from the room beyond.
She knocked lightly on the door. ‘Fred?’ After a moment, she tried again. ‘Fred, are you there?’
There was a groan from within. Worried, she called louder. ‘Fred, please let me know if you’re all right.’
Another groan came and she couldn’t stop herself any longer. She opened the door and let herself into the room, which was dark and very cold. She could see that in the four-poster bed that dominated the bedroom a shape lay large and still. Going over, she could make out Fred and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that his face was covered in sweat. He appeared to be asleep.
‘Fred, it’s me, Tommy. Are you sick?’ She put out a hand and touched him. His skin was fiercely hot. ‘Oh my goodness. You’re the only person in this house who’s warm. You shouldn’t have come out last night. You’ve got a fever.’ Tommy wondered if it was anything to do with his wound, and if she should try and examine him. But it seemed far too intimate an act. It would mean pulling back his blankets and lifting his pyjama top. She couldn’t do it. Instead, she stood and regarded him, feeling helpless. Then she went downstairs to find Ada. If she couldn’t look at the wound, she could at least do whatever else was possible to make him comfortable.
When Fred woke up later, Tommy was sitting in the corner of his room, reading in the lamplight. A fire burned in his grate and the room was warmer than before. At his feet was a hot water bottle, one of the last rubber ones, and a jug of water was next to him on his night table, along with a cup of hot water and honey.
As soon as she saw he was awake, Tommy got up and went over to him. ‘You must drink this,’ she said firmly, lifting up the drink. ‘It’s not exactly hot now, but it’s got aspirin in it. Are you in pain?’
Fred blinked and winced. ‘Yes. My wound. It’s inflamed.’
‘I can tell – you’re running a temperature. The aspirin will help a little. I don’t know what else we can do at the moment.’
Fred, still a little groggy, tried to sit up and grimaced again at the effort. ‘We should try and clean it, I think. The blasted doctor must have infected me somehow when he prodded around. The main thing is that I don’t get blood poisoning. That could do me in pretty quickly.’
‘Do you in?’ Tommy echoed, shocked. ‘But I thought you were almost better!’
‘Infection is the killer,’ Fred said. ‘I’ve seen men die in hours from septic shock.’ He sat himself up. ‘Can you take a look?’
‘Of course,’ Tommy said, suddenly wishing she had taken up nursing service during the war, instead of running a farm. If only I knew what to do.
Fred pushed back his blanket and lifted his pyjama top. Underneath was a dressing taped to his side, a large white square that covered most of his torso. Tommy bit back a gasp at the sight of it.
‘Have you been looking after this on your own?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I have plenty of dressings and I’ve been changing it regularly. I didn’t want to worry you all with it. I’d almost run out which is why I went to see that quack in Oxford. I think we must clean and re-dress it.’
‘Yes,’ Tommy said, trying not to show her apprehension. ‘I’ll get some warm water and clean cloths.’
‘I’ve got some antiseptic,’ he said. ‘We must put plenty on, to minimise the infection.’
‘I won’t be long.’
Tommy was back five minutes later with water that had boiled in the kettle and some freshly cleaned cloths.
‘I don’t know how sterile they are,’ she said, ‘but they’re all we have.’
‘They’ll do.’ Fred smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Tommy.’
‘Don’t be silly, as if I wouldn’t help you. Let’s see to this wound.’
She had to hold back another gasp after she had lifted the dressing from Fred’s side. Beneath was a huge patch of angry red and purple skin, raw in places, puckered at the edges and, in the middle, covered with a sticky whitish yellow film.
‘That’s where the infection is,’ Fred said, looking at it. ‘The idiot stuck his finger in my side. He must have transferred something nasty there.’
‘Oh Fred. It looks painful.’
‘It is. I can’t deny.’
‘I’ll do my best not to hurt you.’
Tommy dipped a cloth in the warm water and gently began to clean the wound, stopping when Fred’s wincing and gasps of pain got too much, then starting again when he’d recovered. Gradually, she worked over the great red stain. Then she soaked another cloth in the antiseptic from the bottle Fred pointed out on the chimney piece, and covered the wound with it. ‘We’ll let it soak in,’ she said. ‘Does it sting?’
‘Rather,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘But I know it’s good pain. So I can bear it.’
‘A bit like having a baby,’ Tommy said with a laugh.
‘I imagine that might be a bit worse than this.’
‘At least you know a baby will be over within a few hours. How long have you been suffering like this?’
‘A while. My last doctor said that my diet wasn’t providing enough vitamins to encourage healing. But we are all in the same boat.’
Tommy said crossly, ‘I’ve been an idiot. I’d forgotten you needed nourishment. You’re an invalid, and that’s all there is to it. You’ll have soup, good soup, and plenty of the fruit that we bottled in the summer. Why didn’t I think of it before? And coming out in the freezing cold last night was the last thing you should have done.’
‘Don’t be silly. You needed me.’
‘I suppose I did,’ she said softly. ‘And now you need me.’
For the next two days, Tommy was a nurse. She and Ada boiled up a ham bone and made a nourishing barley soup and plied Fred with it, along with bottled cherries and peaches from the larder, but he had little appetite. His temperature stayed high, so she carried on giving him water and aspirin, keeping the room warm, and trying to find whatever they might have in the medicine cupboard to help drive a fever down and keep infection at bay. She was reluctant to reopen the dressing, thinking she should leave the wound alone to heal without disturbing it.
Fred drifted in and out of sleep, his skin sometimes flushed and hectic, sometimes beaded with sweat. He groaned from time to time, and muttered when he was in the grip of the fever, occasionally talking and laughing so clearly it was as though Tommy was hearing only one side of a mystical conversation.
She disconnected from the life of the house while she was looking after Fred. She knew that Roger had emerged from his room and was drifting about disconsolate, cross at being forbidden from Fred’s sick room, but Tommy had decided that Roger’s presence wouldn’t help.
Gerry took over the care of the children, overseeing their mealtimes and bedtimes, taking them out to play in the snow and teaching them lessons in the afternoons. They had cautiously accepted Molly, who recovered quickly from the ordeal of her journey, and she joined in their games and lessons. Tommy wondered how Barbara was getting on, but she saw little of her. Gerry told her that she spent most of the day with Mrs Whitfield, the two of them staying close to the stove in her sitting room, listening to the wireless reports of the extreme cold and its effects on the country.
Outside, the snow that lay on the ground froze and more squalls brought fresh falls to lie on top of it and freeze again. The second suitcase remained uncollected in the car in the lane, and Tommy rang the next-door farmer to ask if the car could be dug out and towed back by the tractor. He said he would see what he could do, but the blasted weather was hampering everything and
his sheep were freezing to death in the fields.
When she wasn’t ministering to Fred, she was worrying about their situation. There was enough wheat flour left for Ada to bake a loaf of bread or two, but no one liked the stuff, which was grey and mealy and tasted dusty. All they would have for milk in a day or so was a tin of powdered skimmed milk that Tommy had bought on rations a while ago in case of an emergency like this, but it wouldn’t last long. They had plenty of cocoa but their tea supplies were not very good. They had Barbara and Molly’s ration books now, it was true, but they would be useless as Barbara was probably registered in Oxford and anyway, how much in the way of supplies could have got to the village shop in this weather? There were eight adults, including the Thorntons while they were here, and three children to feed.
We’ve got plenty of potatoes and oatmeal, and lots of stored root vegetables, and thank goodness for our pigs and chickens. I’ll get a pig butchered if we have to, and hang the government – they can have their half if they want to come and get it. We have the eggs that Ada has stored as well. But milk and bread and butter and tea and sugar . . .
One of the problems was solved when Ada went out to feed the chickens and came back in to the dining room where they were all having breakfast, weeping, saying, ‘Poor little things! I should have thought.’
‘What is it?’ Tommy asked, anxious.
‘The hens!’
‘Oh, don’t tell me the fox has been in! I suppose he must be starving too, but still – all the chickens?’
‘Not the fox. They’ve frozen to death! All of them, cold and stiff.’ Ada sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘I should have brought them inside in their boxes at night. It never crossed my mind.’
‘Well, let’s look on the bright side. At least we can eat them now, which we couldn’t have if the fox had got them, and they’ll keep if they’re frozen. Let’s put five in the meat safe and prepare one for dinner. They weren’t laying anyway. Now we can have our egg ration back too, and get chickens again in the spring.’ Tommy smiled, staying as cheerful as she could under the worried gaze of the children and Gerry. ‘And for goodness’ sake, let’s check on the pigs!’