Chapter Eighteen
The pain washed over Anthea in tides. Ebbing and flowing … ebbing and flowing … buffeting her like a piece of useless flotsam on the crest of a wave, before dragging her down to cold, grey, suffocating depths where an all-consuming agony blotted everything from sight, sound and mind. Everything except the stabbing hurt that was tearing her insides apart. And just when she thought she could bear it no longer, she floated upwards again. There was light, concerned faces, disconnected snatches of conversation that made little sense.
‘… something’s wrong …’
‘… of course something’s wrong, you stupid girl. She’s further along than she told me …’
‘… can’t you do something …’
‘… now it’s started it will have to run its course …’
‘… how much longer …’
‘… how much longer … how long … how long …’ the words tumbled through Anthea’s head. A cool hand pressed down on her face.
‘Push! When you feel a pain, push!’
There’s pain all the time. She tried to speak but the words remained imprisoned in her mind.
‘You’ve got to do more to help yourself.’
Anthea summoned the last of her strength and tried to do as they asked. A scream filled the air. Shrill, racking, the bestial cry of animal suffering.
‘… someone must have heard that …’
‘… I have to go …’
‘… you can’t leave her like that …’
‘…I’ve done all I can …’
‘There has to be something more you can do. There has to be …’
‘Get me some more hot water, I’ll take a look.’
This time it didn’t matter that she was naked, her legs splayed wide apart.
‘… get her walking, it will speed things up …’
‘… don’t leave… you leave and I’ll call an ambulance …’
‘… you wouldn’t dare …’
Strong hands locked behind Anthea’s back and lifted her from the bed.
‘Try and walk around, dear. Once you’re on your feet the pain will stop. Come along now.’
Wanting the pain to stop Anthea tried to obey. Arms supported her as she walked every step of the way to Cardiff and back. And when she reeled, no longer able to put one foot in front of the other, they laid her back on the bed.
The voice again, husky with fear.
‘There’s nothing for it but to try another syringe.’
‘That was a good movie.’ Kurt Schaffer folded Jenny’s hand into the crook of his elbow as they stood outside the White Palace.
‘You like weepies?’
‘Yeah, sure, why not? Although that guy was a total dimwit. Not seeing that his girl had taken to the streets. I mean, what kind of an idiot was he?’
‘So you think he shouldn’t have taken her back?’
‘Nope, he should have taken the girl away from his family, and interfering women, and as far from Waterloo Bridge as possible. Then married her.’
‘She was a streetwalker.’
‘Hardly her fault if she couldn’t support herself any other way.’
‘Are you serious, Kurt?’
‘Sure. Hell I’d forgive a looker like her anything, even murder. And pinches,’ he added as Jenny caught his finger between her nails.
‘You can make eyes at any women you want, when you’re not with me.’
‘Goddammit, she was on a cinema screen. Now, landlady, how about a little supper?’
‘You’re prepared to face Tina?’
‘I called in there earlier with an olive branch. We’re the best of friends.’
‘Really?’ she enquired sceptically.
‘Really. Besides, there isn’t anywhere else to eat at this time of night.’
‘She won’t have food, only tea, coffee and cocoa.’
‘And national loaf. I sure could go a bundle on a slice of wood and sawdust topped with fish oil margarine.’
Tina insisted they sit at a table in the far corner of the back room. When she served them, Jenny understood why. As well as coffee, Tina produced sandwiches, real sandwiches made with white bread, butter and Spam.
‘Where on earth did you get these?’ she demanded after Tina ordered the cook to cover for her, poured herself a tea and joined them.
‘Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’
Picking up a sandwich Jenny opened it. ‘It’s not just the meat and butter, it’s this bread! It’s so soft and white.’
‘Why should the Yanks have all the good rations?’
‘Why indeed?’ Kurt winked at Tina.
‘Don’t tell me you’re doing business with the Americans after all you’ve said about them?’
‘Some of them aren’t so bad. Especially the ones who provide me with chocolate bars and cigarettes that I can send to Will.’
‘I see.’ Jenny looked at Kurt.
‘There’s a way to every British woman’s heart if only you know how to find it.’
Tina watched them as she ate a sandwich. She wouldn’t have taken the chocolate if Kurt hadn’t insisted that he was serious about Jenny, very serious, and he’d appreciate any advice she could give him on persuading Jenny to marry him. She began to wonder what exactly it was that Jenny had to make every man who spent any time with her fall head over heels in love.
They were still sitting at the table eating when the door opened and a party of six Negro soldiers walked in.
‘No peace for the wicked.’ Tina left her chair.
‘Stay there, I’ll put them out for you.’
‘What?’ Jenny glared at him as he left his seat.
‘You’ll do no such thing, Kurt.’ Tina stepped in front of him.
‘But they’re black.’
‘So?’
‘Don’t you understand? Blacks don’t go to the same places as white people.’
‘They do in Pontypridd.’ Turning to the counter, Tina shouted down to the cook, ‘I’ll come and give you a hand.’
‘Are there any other troops in here?’ Kurt asked, trying to look past Tina into the front room.
‘No, but it wouldn’t make any difference if there were.’
‘It would, Tina. It would make a great deal of difference to Southerners. If you must throw your café open to both races, take my advice: keep one room for blacks, the other for whites.’
‘You’re being quite ridiculous,’ Tina said heatedly, putting on her best smile as she went to the counter. ‘You gentlemen all right?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ a burly sergeant answered warily, as he reached into his pocket for money to pay for their coffees.
‘That’s all right, Sergeant, first cup is on me. Least I can do for men who’ve come to help us win this war.’
Kurt returned to the table and put his head in his hands.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jenny asked indignantly.
‘You and Tina. You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing,’ he muttered. ‘No idea at all.’
Jenny and Kurt were still arguing about racial segregation when they left the café an hour later. Unaccustomed to such attention or freedom in their own country, the coloured soldiers had repaid Tina’s hospitality by regaling the late-night stragglers in the café with tales of life in the American Southern States from the black point of view. Starting with their great-grandparents’ memories of slavery. Jenny had listened, fascinated, but she couldn’t help noticing that as soon as Kurt stepped out from the back room, they had all jumped smartly to attention, and although she couldn’t swear to it, she thought she saw fear in their eyes.
Kurt had acknowledged their salute and walked out, Jenny had followed, and that’s when the argument had started.
‘Tina’s right. You are being ridiculous. They’re no different from us.’
‘They’re a different colour.’
‘So? What would you do if Britain passed a law forbidding all blond men from going into pubs?’
‘I don’t disagree with your reasoning. All I’m saying is that some white Americans won’t see it that way.’
‘Then they’re fools.’
‘Maybe. But they’re troublesome fools.’
‘And you’ll let them create trouble?’
‘It’s not a question of letting them.’
‘You’re an officer …’
‘Who can’t be everywhere at once. All I’m saying is that if Tina’s not careful she’s going to get that place smashed up.’
‘Then the American army will have to pay for the smashing.’
‘And the locals who get hurt?’ He took Jenny’s arm as they crossed the road into Station Yard, where he had parked his Jeep. Noticing a woman weaving her way unsteadily towards them, he veered sharply to the left to avoid her. ‘The tarts in this town can’t hold their drink,’ he muttered, as she swayed and fell in front of the wall that separated the yard from the pavement.
‘We can’t leave her there.’
‘The police will pick her up. Jenny, you’ve looked for enough trouble for one night.’
The moon broke out from behind a cloud as Jenny bent over the body slumped on the ground. ‘Her legs are covered in blood. She’s hurt, Kurt. Oh my God, look who it is!’
‘Hey, you!’ Kurt called to a porter who had come out of the booking office to see what the commotion was about. ‘Call an ambulance.’
‘And the duty nurse,’ Jenny cried. ‘Quick as you can.’
‘I don’t want that woman near my daughter.’ Mrs Llewellyn-Jones’s high-pitched, hysterical tones reverberated down the corridor of the infirmary wing of the Graig Hospital.
‘If Bethan hadn’t got to Anthea when she did, your daughter would be in the mortuary, not a hospital bed,’ Dr John informed her brusquely.
‘And if it wasn’t for her, Anthea would have married your son years ago.’
‘Can we see her?’ Anthea’s father was as dazed and devastated as his wife, but mercifully calmer.
‘There’s no point. She’s sleeping off the anaesthetic.’
‘I want to see her. Just for a moment,’ he pleaded.
‘I’m her mother. If anyone should see her, I should.’
‘You can both see her,’ Dr John capitulated, ‘but you will have to be very, very quiet. Anthea needs to rest. The slightest disturbance is likely to upset her.’
Mr Llewellyn-Jones took his wife’s hand as Dr John led them down the corridor away from the bench where Bethan had joined Jenny, Kurt Schaffer and Huw Davies. The constable had set his helmet aside, but his pencil and notebook were out, and he was obviously there in his official capacity.
‘Is she going to be all right?’ Jenny asked Bethan anxiously.
‘She’ll live, thanks to you two finding her when you did,’ Bethan answered briefly, unwilling to disclose any more information about a patient.
‘Thank God for that,’ Kurt murmured, watching the Llewellyn-Joneses disappearing around the corner of the corridor. ‘You look exhausted, Nurse John. I could give you a lift home.’
‘That’s kind of you, Lieutenant Schaffer, but I have my car.’
‘In that case, if you don’t need us any more, Constable Davies, I’ll take Mrs Powell home.’
‘Take care, both of you.’ Bethan kissed Jenny’s cheek and shook Kurt’s hand before he led her away.
‘When can we talk to Anthea?’ Huw asked, putting away his notebook.
‘That’s for Dr John to say, but probably not for a couple of days.’
‘How many cases does this make this year?’
‘More than I care to think about. You really have no idea who’s doing this?’
‘None. We’ve been looking for leads since the first woman died nearly five years ago, but between you and me, we’re no further forward now, than when we started. Nobody will talk to us. Not even the women who’ve ended up in here. They’re too terrified of someone or something to tell us anything.’
‘Can you blame them when they know you’re going to arrest them?’
‘I don’t make the laws, Bethan, only enforce them.’
‘I’m sorry, Uncle Huw. It’s just so unfair. No woman would consider an abortion unless she was desperate. And then, after suffering all the pain and agony that goes with it, to face prosecution and jail.’
‘That lieutenant is right, love. You do look exhausted.’
‘I am. I’ll go home as soon as I’ve sorted the paperwork with Dr John. Are you going to prosecute Anthea?’
‘Not my decision, love.’ Picking up his helmet he pushed it down firmly on to his bald head. ‘You’re sure she is going to live?’
‘Unless there’s unforeseen complications. But what I didn’t tell Kurt and Jenny was that Dr John had to perform a hysterectomy.’
‘Then she’ll never have children?’
‘He had no choice. The abortionist ruptured her uterus. If we hadn’t removed it, we would have lost her.’
‘Poor kid. I wouldn’t like to be the one to tell her that when she does come round. Look after yourself, Bethan.’
‘I will.’ Pulling off her cap and operating gown she went into the deserted office. Sinking down on to a chair she closed her eyes and tried to forget Anthea’s pale and pain-racked face.
‘Someone must have attacked her!’ Mrs Llewellyn-Jones’s hysteria escalated into a frenzy of denial as she refused to believe what Dr John was telling her.
‘I’m sorry, Dorothy,’ he countered, ‘but it’s better you know the facts now, before Anthea comes round, so you can adjust to them. Then you can help her come to terms with what’s happened.’
‘But how can you be sure?’ Anthea’s father seemed to have aged twenty years in just a few hours.
‘All the signs were there. They’re unmistakable. I don’t want to go into graphic details, but I can tell you that her uterus was ruptured when someone tried to perform an illegal abortion on her. There’s no doubt about it. I’ve no idea how far advanced her pregnancy was, but from the damage inflicted I’d say three to four months. I had no choice but to perform a complete hysterectomy. She’ll live, but she’s very weak, and she’ll be that way for some time. She’s lost a great deal of blood, but with care and rest she should make a full recovery.’
‘Are you trying to say that my daughter was pregnant?’
‘Dr John’s already told us that, Dorothy.’
Mrs Llewellyn-Jones’s face contorted in rage.
‘She was engaged, Dorothy,’ Dr John reminded her quietly.
‘Engaged is not the same as married.’
‘It’s wartime. None of us know if we even have a future. Think how that must feel to a girl of Anthea’s age.’
‘War is no excuse for stooping to the level of an animal.’
‘She’s suffered a lot of pain, don’t be too harsh on her,’ Dr John pleaded.
‘She broke one of the Lord’s commandments.’
‘Isn’t it enough that the poor girl nearly died? That she’ll never have children? Please, Dorothy, Alfred, we’ve known one another all our lives. This isn’t Anthea’s fault. If you want to blame anyone, blame whoever performed that botched abortion. I met Captain Reide, and I was as taken in by him as you were. And if he fooled us, at our age, think how he made Anthea feel.’
‘I am thinking. She never got over losing Andrew.’
‘Andrew never asked her to marry him, Dorothy.’
‘If you’d stopped him from marrying that worthless slut, Bethan Powell, Anthea would never have looked at Richard Reide and none of this would have happened,’ Mrs Llewellyn-Jones rounded on him. ‘She would have been happily married to your son. I would have grandchildren. Well, I hope Anthea does die. I never want to hear her name again. Tonight I lost not only my daughter but all the future generations of my family. As far as I’m concerned she is dead.’
‘She’s not dead, Dorothy,’ Dr John contradicted her vehemently. ‘She’s ill and she needs you.’
Mrs Llewellyn-Jon
es looked from Dr John to her husband. ‘I want to go home.’
Dr John knew it was useless to remonstrate. He stood back and watched them walk away. Mrs Llewellyn-Jones paused at the office door where Bethan was sitting.
‘You’ll be sorry for this. You may have fooled everyone else into thinking that you’re better than you are, but not me. And I’ll see that you get what you deserve.’
‘Dorothy, please, Anthea’s condition is hardly Bethan’s fault.’ Dr John ran down the corridor after her, but she swept out of the door without a backward glance.
Bethan emerged from the sister’s office to face her father-in-law.
‘I hope you didn’t hear all of that,’ he said.
‘Unfortunately I did.’
‘I’m sorry she turned on you. The only excuse I can offer is that she’s overwhelmed by what’s happened.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Mrs Llewellyn-Jones never has liked me, but what does matter is Anthea. What’s going to happen to her?’
‘She’ll stay here until she’s fit enough to be moved.’
‘And then?’
‘I’ll have a word with Isabel but frankly I can’t see her taking her in, and after what Dorothy said to you, don’t you dare try it either.’
‘Even if I wanted to I’d be hard pressed. The colonel has asked if I can find room for a sixth officer.’
‘Whatever happens to Anthea, it’s not your problem.’
‘Someone has to talk to her when she comes round.’
‘As I brought her into the world I rather think that’s my responsibility. Go home and sleep while you can.’
Bethan nodded. She understood only too well. Perhaps it wasn’t only the Llewellyn-Joneses who blamed her for marrying Andrew and taking him away from his own kind.
*……*……*
By the time she closed her front door behind her, Bethan was so tired she could barely put one foot in front of the other. After checking that the blackout was in place she switched on the light and looked at the clock. Four, and Eddie would no doubt be up at six as usual. She climbed the stairs, threw off her clothes and crawled into bed. But tired as she was, sleep eluded her. She was plagued by images that had haunted her ever since Andrew had first taken her to meet his family.
Broken Rainbows Page 30