Her Frozen Heart

by Lulu Taylor

‘Come on,’ Nicholas said, getting up and holding out his hand, ‘let’s go back.’

  ‘Yes.’ Caitlyn stood up without taking his hand. ‘I think I’d like to go home.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Tommy went up with Barbara to give Fred the first penicillin tablet, he was in a worse state than before.

  ‘Oh Fred,’ she cried, rushing over to where he lay, soaked in sweat, murmuring. Barbara joined her and looked at him critically.

  ‘Not a moment too soon, I would say. I’ll get the stuff right now. It’s in my bag. Luckily you chose the right suitcase, or it would be frozen solid in the lane.’

  She was back in moments, holding a small glass bottle full of pills. Tommy had propped Fred up so that he was half sitting, though she could hardly bear to see the pain on his face as she moved him.

  Barbara shook out a pill into her palm. ‘Have you got some water?’

  ‘There, on the table.’

  ‘We’ll have to make him swallow it.’

  ‘We can grind it up if we have to.’

  ‘Hold his head back.’

  Tommy tipped Fred’s head back and spoke to him gently, ‘Now, Fred, dear, you have to swallow a pill for me. Will you do that? It will make you better, I promise. It will kill all that terrible infection in your blood. But you have to swallow it first.’ Barbara passed her the pill and she placed it in Fred’s mouth, pushing it in between his teeth. She was worried he might spit it out but he didn’t, although neither did he swallow it. She picked up the glass of water from his night table and pressed it to his lips, tipping it over his tongue.

  At first it dribbled from his mouth and then he swallowed a little, leaving the pill still on his tongue.

  ‘That’s right, Fred, swallow it for me, there’s a dear. The thing in your mouth – let it go down your throat.’ She tried to sound coaxing and comforting at the same time, keeping up her murmur into his ears as she tipped more water into his mouth. Suddenly he seemed to realise that his thirst was being assuaged and he gulped the water, taking with it the little pill.

  ‘He’s swallowed it,’ she exclaimed happily.

  ‘Good.’ Barbara examined the bottle of pills. ‘There are plenty left. But you’re just in time. I’ve seen infections like this – left much longer, there is no way of saving them, penicillin or not.’

  ‘Thank you, Barbara.’ Tommy smiled over at her and Barbara’s pale face with its thin, pink mouth smiled back. She’s been kind. Perhaps I’ve misjudged her.

  ‘I’ll go and tell Roger, he’s worried sick. I only just managed to persuade him not to come here.’ Barbara pulled her cardigan around her. ‘He seems to think you’re keeping Mr Burton Brown all to yourself for some reason. Naturally I told him he’s being very silly.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Tell him Fred will be up for visitors soon, if all goes well.’

  ‘I don’t think I can remember a time when the world wasn’t white,’ Gerry said thoughtfully, sitting on the window seat in the sitting room of her mother’s house.

  They had all taken to spending as much time as they could there, soaking up the warmth before returning to the icy main house where the fires were no longer lit and the radiators were on low to stop the pipes freezing. Only Fred still had a fire in his room, while he recovered. Tommy had taken the children to sleep in her bed, pooling their blankets and eiderdowns on top, and closing the heavy tapestry curtains that hung from the four posts. She felt stupid that she’d only ever considered them decorative; now she realised they had an important purpose, creating a tiny warm room within the larger cold one. The children had stopped shivering in their sleep, which was a good thing.

  Those Tudors and Stuarts knew a thing or two, she had thought, climbing in between their two warm, slumbering bodies. Sharing beds and lots of curtains is definitely the only way to survive the winter.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Gerry said now, turning back to look at Tommy and her mother, ‘we shall never see anyone else as long as we live.’

  ‘I do hope not,’ Tommy said. She was pulling on her shooting socks in preparation for the trip to the village. Her mother watched her, still stitching away with her silks.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering,’ Mrs Whitfield said in a gloomy voice. ‘There won’t be anything there to buy.’

  ‘You, Mother, are to stop listening to the wireless, do you hear? You believe everything they say.’ Tommy stood up and tightened her belt. ‘Time for me to get into harness. I’m rather looking forward to this, if you can believe it.’

  ‘Ration books?’ asked Gerry.

  ‘Check!’

  ‘Cash?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  ‘Compass and torch?’

  ‘I don’t really think I need them but yes, I’ve got them. Just in case. But I’m not taking anything else, it’s really too much to haul.’

  Mrs Whitfield said, ‘I’m not exaggerating, Thomasina. The army is being called out. The Thames is frozen. And there’s no end in sight.’ She shook her head. ‘To think we survived the war to be defeated by this awful weather.’

  ‘We won’t let it defeat us,’ Tommy said. ‘We won that, and we’ll survive this too.’

  Mrs Whitfield sighed. ‘We shall probably freeze if we don’t starve first.’

  ‘She’s such a harbinger of doom,’ Tommy said as she and Gerry walked to the back door. The children were there, excitedly examining the sledge she was going to take with her, attached to her belt with two ropes. Molly was standing nearby, her face pinched and pink with cold, watching the two others jumping round the sledge pretending to be dogs. She didn’t seem quite able to join in. ‘Please don’t let her talk like that to the children.’

  ‘I don’t think they hear her,’ Gerry said. ‘Lucky, merry little things. But I wonder if she’s not right this time.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Don’t you think there’s something a little apocalyptic about all this? I mean, if you take out the hellfire in the Book of Revelation and replace it with snow and ice – well, it feels a little like the end of the world.’

  ‘Your imagination!’ scolded Tommy. ‘We can’t afford to give in to all that. We have to stay strong. It’s a horrible cold spell. It will pass. Just like the war.’

  ‘But think how many died in the war,’ Gerry said. Her chin sunk into her scarf and she said sadly, ‘If there’s anything we learned, it’s that no one has a right to survive.’

  ‘All the more reason to stay cheerful while we’re here,’ said Tommy. Then she advanced on the children. ‘Right! Who’s ready to watch me set off?’

  Just then there was the slam of the back door. It was Barbara, running swiftly down the steps, wearing a pair of trousers under a long coat, and a bobble hat. ‘I thought I’d come along and give you a hand,’ she said, pulling on a pair of gloves. ‘Roger says there are spare skis.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Tommy said, surprised. ‘I suppose there are.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll use those.’

  ‘I’ll show you where they are,’ volunteered Gerry.

  They disappeared, to return a moment later, Barbara carrying a pair of skis over one shoulder. She put them on as the children ran around excitedly, working out how they might harness two people to the sledge instead of one.

  ‘Easier with both of us,’ Barbara said as she snapped on her skis and let Antonia tie the rope connecting the sledge onto her belt.

  A few minutes later, they set off, pushing themselves up along the snow drifts that were now hard under their skis after nights of freezing temperatures. The sledge bounced around behind them until Tommy announced that this was no good, and took over pulling it on her own, which was much easier. The snow had kept on falling and had compacted, so now it was possible to ski over the tops of hedges at many feet above the level of the ground, with the roofs of the village in the distance looking almost at the same height, although they were little more than misty shadows through the grey fog around them.

  ‘I feel as if it’s days since we last saw t
he sun,’ Tommy said.

  Barbara pressed on beside her, panting with the effort. ‘This is not exactly skiing, is it? More like walking and sliding.’

  ‘Yes. Come on, we’re not so far now.’

  As they approached the village, there had obviously been efforts to clear the snow along the main street and up to the houses. People were out and about, well wrapped up, walking carefully on the icy paths, and children were playing in drifts. A variety of snowmen dotted about showed their previous efforts, still solid and bearing their pebble buttons and stick arms.

  Tommy skied down a drift to ground level, Barbara close behind her, and they took off their skis so they could walk along the main street to the village shop, where there was already a queue of women holding baskets.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Eliott,’ called one as Tommy joined the line.

  ‘Morning, Ruby. How are you?’ Tommy wiped her forehead which was damp from the effort of their ski.

  ‘Very well, thank you, ma’am. Did you come on those planks all the way from the house?’

  ‘It’s the only way. We’re snowed in.’

  Ruby turned to the woman next to her. ‘Didn’t I say?’ She made a knowing face. ‘I said you’d work out a way to get over here, you’ve always had a way with working things out. Whether they’ve managed to get through from town is another matter. The ploughs have been out clearing the way and we’ve heard the army have been dealing with the railways, scraping off ice so the trains can get through.’

  ‘Prisoners of war,’ put in Ruby’s friend. ‘Doing a bit to earn their keep, I’m glad to say.’

  ‘So there’s no milk or bread?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘Not yet. But they’re due at ten.’ Ruby stamped her feet. ‘It’s cold work, waiting, though!’

  At that moment, Mr Trent, the owner of the village store, came out and started handing out slips of paper with numbers on them. ‘Come on, into the shop all of you. This will ensure you don’t lose your place in the queue. But you can’t wait out here, you’ll all freeze.’

  They went in gratefully, and Tommy and Barbara found a corner to rest against.

  ‘Queues, queues, all through the war, and still we have to wait,’ Tommy said. ‘I believe it’s even worse than it used to be.’

  Barbara said quietly, ‘You don’t always have to wait, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Barbara looked around to make sure no one was listening, then murmured, ‘Veronica didn’t wait. And she got as much milk and butter and cheese as she wanted.’

  Tommy frowned. ‘The black market, you mean. I don’t think there’s much of that round here.’

  ‘There will be, you just haven’t seen it. If you’ve got the money, you can get whatever you want. I’m sure there are ways to find out.’

  ‘No thank you,’ Tommy said coolly. ‘We do very well without that. And I couldn’t look Ruby and Edith and Elsie and all the others in the face.’

  Barbara laughed. ‘You can be sure they’re at it. Everyone is. You needn’t be so holier-than-thou. We mostly stick to the rules, but the occasional sin doesn’t make us criminals.’

  Tommy flushed. ‘No. Of course not. I wasn’t being a prig—’

  There was a sudden murmur of excitement and a rush to the windows as the noise of a grinding engine grew louder. ‘They’re here!’ shouted one woman and they all rushed outside to see the supply truck making its lumbering way down the main road. When it finally drew to a halt outside the shop, the driver leapt down from the cab and took off his cap to wipe his forehead. ‘We set off at five o’clock this morning and it’s taken us all this time to get here.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen drifts like it. And the bus has been left abandoned in the road; we had to drive around it, that wasn’t easy.’

  His mate had already begun to uncover the load and everyone cheered to see crates of milk bottles packed with hay against the frost, and boxes of supplies, while Mr Trent began bustling about, organising things.

  When it was finally Tommy’s turn to claim her ration, there was no moving Mr Trent over the issue of Barbara and Molly’s ration books. ‘If they’re not registered, I don’t have anything for them,’ Mr Trent said firmly. ‘It’d be taking it out of the mouths of others, you know that, Mrs Eliott.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Tommy said sheepishly. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘The only thing you’re allowed is their tea ration. That’s all I can do for you.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll register them now and you should be able to claim the next lot, if the post is running,’ Mr Trent said, and went to fetch his registration book.

  Nevertheless, the amount they returned with still seemed like plenty compared with the bare cupboards at home. They had bread, milk, margarine, butter, cheese, sugar and tea, as well as rice, biscuits and tinned tomatoes and beans, and some jam as a treat for the children. Tommy used her saved points for tins of meat and fish, cereal, oats and biscuits, and bought as much off ration as she could. The sledge was satisfyingly full of boxes as they prepared for the journey home.

  ‘You see, it’s not so bad,’ Tommy said, as they strapped on their skis.

  Barbara prepared to help pull the sledge. ‘Of course, you have so much already.’

  ‘We’re very lucky,’ Tommy said again. Is she telling me off? Is she saying that it’s easy to be good when your need is not so great?

  On the way back, they went more slowly because of the loaded sledge and the awkwardness of pulling it between them while they half skied, half walked along the mountainous drifts of snow, packed hard and frozen almost solid. That meant they could talk and Tommy asked Barbara about her life after they had all left The Grange School.

  ‘I went to be a secretary,’ Barbara said. ‘I ended up working in Whitehall for the civil service. Just typing, you know, but it was fun. I loved it. I lived in a boarding house in Battersea run by a barmy old lady, one of those places for single girls. Stockings and underthings drying on the banisters. Rather shameless but a laugh. We’d go out dancing in the evenings, they’d take me places I never would have known about otherwise. It was a happy time. I saw you a few times then, remember? Then I met my husband, Duncan, and we were engaged. He was in the colonial service, and not long after we were married, he got the chance to go to India. Well, not many wanted to go, with things there so tricky, but Duncan thought it would be a good opportunity. So off we went.’

  ‘What was India like? I’ve always wondered.’

  ‘Hot,’ Barbara replied flatly. ‘Sticky. Infuriating. Awful creatures – the flies and mosquitos and snakes and things. Pigheaded people. But it was also wonderful. We lived very well, there’s no denying it, in a big bungalow with lots of servants. As long as one could keep cool, it was rather lovely, with an endless stream of boys to fetch and carry, and women to tend to one. But Duncan didn’t much like the work and it was obvious the way things were going. We had to struggle with the blasted independence fighters, who want us all gone. Some even set fire to one of our neighbours’ places. Thank goodness they all got out. The British will be thrown out before too long, you’ll see, but it made life . . . annoying. Still, the social life was good fun.’

  ‘What an experience it must have been.’

  ‘Yes. Splendid parties. Elephant rides in the hills. Polo. I didn’t lift a finger the whole time we were there.’ Barbara sighed. ‘Then the war came, and it was all over. Duncan volunteered, and Molly and I came home.’

  ‘How terrifying,’ Tommy said. ‘Weren’t you afraid of the U-boats?’

  Barbara shrugged. ‘You take your chance. Not every ship went down. I had a feeling we would be all right. But when we got here – my God, this place! So grey and dull and deprived after India.’

  ‘Deprived!’ Tommy laughed. ‘Surely not.’

  ‘But yes. The rations, the lack of anything lovely. I’ve never been so miserable as when we landed here to the rain and gloom and nothing nice
to eat and drink. I longed to be back in our old life so much I could hardly stand it.’ Barbara paused as she struggled up a drift and they stopped on the top to look at the view of foggy white and grey, the house looming larger beyond them. She turned to look at Tommy. ‘And I still hate it. But I have no choice now. Duncan is dead, and I have to make a life for Molly and me. All I can do is make the best of it.’

  The two of them were greeted like returning adventurers from the lands of plenty, their boxes and packets oohed and aahed over as if they were exotic treasures from beyond the sea.

  ‘We’ll eat like kings,’ Gerry exclaimed, going through the shopping. ‘Oh, biscuits, how wonderful.’

  ‘Jelly,’ sighed the children.

  Ada was more interested in the sugar and butter, but Tommy said there was something for everyone and they were just to be grateful that the trip had proved a success. After all, perhaps there would be no more snow and things could start to get back to normal. But that afternoon, another storm blew up and brought more whirling whiteness.

  ‘What’s going on downstairs?’ Fred asked when Tommy went to see him with hot soup, bread with a scraping of dripping over it and a chopped tomato from that morning’s shop. She also had another pill for him.

  ‘You are much better if you’re even vaguely interested in what’s going on elsewhere. Only yesterday you barely knew where you were.’ Tommy smiled at him as she put the tray on his lap. ‘I’m happy you’re so much better.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’ He smiled back at her. He looked ruffled from his days in bed and the tossing and turning during his fever, and his jawline was dark with stubble. ‘You’ve looked after me so well.’

  Tommy shrugged. ‘I did what I had to.’

  ‘I’m embarrassed you’ve had to nurse me like this.’

  ‘Don’t be. Besides, it’s thanks to Barbara you’re well again. She had some medicine that’s done the trick. Talking of which, take this pill, will you?’

  ‘How are Barbara and Molly getting on?’ Fred asked.

  ‘Very well. But I feel sorry for Barbara. She’s so alone in the world, with her daughter to look after.’