She lifted him out of his carrycot which was on a small table at the end of the bed where Cissie and Walter slept. His skin felt damp and hot as though he were feverish. Val hoped that this was not the case. She knew that Cissie and Walter would not have left him if they had been at all worried.
‘Come on then, you lovely boy,’ she said, cradling him in her arms. He stopped crying for a moment and looked up at her. ‘Let’s go downstairs, shall we, and see if you’d like a little drink? That’s what Mummy said, didn’t she?’ How easy it was to talk to the little child, although he couldn’t have a clue what she was saying. The gentle tone of her voice and the comfort of her arms seemed to soothe him.
She carried him carefully down the stairs and into the kitchen. His bottle still felt warm and did not need warming up again. She sat down and put it to Paul’s mouth. He took a gulp or two then turned his head away and could not be persuaded to take any more. She held him a little longer, then went upstairs and put him down again. He lay in his cot and she felt he might settle. She tiptoed out of the room.
It was only a few minutes later when she heard him crying again. She decided to leave him a little while. Surely he must be tired and would soon drop off? But his cries did not stop, so again she brought him downstairs. The bottle soothed him for a moment, then again he spit it out and would not be comforted.
‘I know what we’ll do, Paul,’ she said. ‘Aunty Val will bring your cot down, then she doesn’t need to keep going up and down the stairs.’ She laid him gently on the hearthrug. There was no fire in the grate as the weather was warm. ‘Now, you stay there, and I’ll go and fetch your cot.’ She dashed up the stairs and down again with the carry-cot. Paul was still crying, seeming more distressed than ever.
It was a long evening for Val until she heard the key turn in the lock just after eleven o’clock. Paul had slept in fits and starts, but she had spent most of the evening nursing him, which was what she was doing when his parents returned. They were both very concerned, and Cissie felt guilty that she had left him.
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said Val. ‘You weren’t to know he wouldn’t settle down. And he doesn’t know me, does he, not like he knows you? He’ll feel better when you’re holding him.’
‘I hope so,’ said Cissie. ‘Oh dear! I wonder what’s up with him?’ She was holding him now, and he did seem a little calmer.
‘Perhaps he’s teething?’ said Walter.
‘What? At two months old! Don’t be silly, Walter!’
‘Well, I don’t know do I? Do you think we should get the doctor?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Cissie. ‘He’s very hot, but he’s got himself into a right old paddy, haven’t you, Paul?’ Val noticed how lovingly she spoke to the child.
‘We mustn’t panic,’ said Walter. ‘Try to settle him down, and if he’s no better in the morning we’ll get the doctor … I’ll run you home now, Valerie. I’m sorry he’s been such a trouble to you. You won’t want to come again!’
‘Of course I will,’ said Val. ‘Bye for now, Cissie. Let me know how Paul goes on.’
‘Yes … Thanks, Val,’ said Cissie, sounding distracted. ‘I’ll change him – he’s wet through – and make another bottle. Don’t be long, Walter …’
When Walter returned the baby seemed to have settled. He had taken less than half his bottle, whereas he usually gulped the lot. Then he went to sleep and his parents gave a sigh of relief.
But their optimism was short-lived. Paul had a restless night, and so did they. So much so that Walter ran to the phone box at eight o’clock to ask their doctor to call as soon as possible.
Dr Matthews was there within half an hour. ‘Now, let’s have a look at the little lad,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, he’s certainly feverish. And you say he doesn’t want his milk? Has he been sick at all, any vomiting?’
Cissie replied that he had not been sick. ‘What’s the matter with him, doctor?’ she asked.
‘Probably it’s infant flu,’ he replied, ‘but I can’t be sure yet. I’ll give you some medicine that should help to soothe him. Try him with his bottle again, and just keep him as warm and comfortable as you can. I’ll come back later today and see how he is. Don’t worry. If it’s flu, as I think it is, then he should be as right as rain again in a few days. It’s one of those infant ailments that babies succumb to, and we don’t know why. I’ll be back later, sometime this afternoon.’
‘What does he mean?’ said Cissie, looking worriedly at Walter when the doctor had gone. ‘Why does he need to come back later? Why can’t he tell us now what’s the matter with him?’
‘I don’t know, Cissie,’ he replied. ‘I can’t answer all your questions. I’m just as worried as you are. Just be thankful that he’s coming back, and that he’s not rushed him into hospital. Like he said, it’s probably something simple. I’ve heard people say that babies are up and down like a yo-yo sometimes. One minute they’re poorly and the next they’re as right as ninepence.’
‘I suppose so …’ said Cissie. ‘Poor little lad! I’ll try him with his bottle again.’
Baby Paul was still distressed, not screaming now but whimpering and murmuring as he lay in his carrycot. She lifted him out and nursed him whilst Walter prepared a bottle. He had not gone to work today, but he had phoned at the same time as he had called the doctor, to say he would not be there.
As Cissie looked down at her little son she was filled with a sudden compassion for him. She felt guilt as well, and self-reproach. She put the bottle to his mouth and he started to suck, though nothing like as voraciously as he usually did. As a rule he enjoyed his milk and drank it to the last drop. He had already gained several pounds since his birth and looked a sturdy and strong little boy. Again, though, he took a few gulps then turned his head away. He was still very hot and clammy, his face was a feverish red rather than the rosy hue of good health.
Cissie felt tears spring to her eyes as she gazed at him. Was she being punished? she wondered. Had her little child been taken ill because she had neglected him, not physically, but mentally? In her mind she had been resentful of him and had not felt the mother love for him that she knew, deep down, that she ought to have felt. How dreadful it would be if her little boy – their little boy, hers and Walter’s – were to be taken from them when they had had him for such a short time. She knew, as she had known from the moment of his birth, that he was Walter’s child. For the first time she found she was glad about that, glad that together they had made this little baby.
‘Please, God,’ she prayed silently, ‘please make him well again … and I’m sorry that I didn’t love him as I should have done.’
She started to cry audibly then, her sobs reaching Walter’s ears. He came to comfort her.
‘He’ll be alright, I feel sure he will. The doctor would not have left him if he’d been really worried. Come along, Cissie, put him down again. He seems to have gone to sleep. Perhaps he’ll sleep it off, that’s what my mother always says.’
The baby settled for a little while. They waited anxiously, not moving far away from him. Suddenly the child gave a gulping sound, and when Cissie dashed to the cot she saw that he had been sick. His blankets were soiled and when she picked him up he was still vomiting. She remembered that the doctor had asked about that. Was it a sign of something more serious?
Together they changed the blankets and put a clean nightgown on him, then Cissie sat and nursed him, frightened to put him down again.
‘D’you remember, Walter?’ she said. ‘Dr Matthews asked if he’d been sick, and he hadn’t, not then, but he has now. D’you think it means that there’s something more serious the matter with him?’
‘Don’t start worrying when there’s no need, Cissie, love. It’s probably something doctors always ask. We’ll have to wait and see … What about a cup of tea and something to eat? I could make us a sandwich?’
‘No. I couldn’t eat anything, Walter. A cup of tea, perhaps?’
Walter very rarely helped
with making meals, which was fair enough. He was the one going out to work, the bread winner, as her mother would say. Offering to help in the kitchen was a sure sign that he was concerned, moreover, that they were in this together, waiting and hoping that their little boy was not seriously ill. He made a few ham sandwiches as well as the tea. Despite her insistence that she was not hungry Cissie managed to eat a few of them. Paul had dropped off to sleep again, wearied with his crying and vomiting.
The respite, however, was short-lived. When the doctor arrived in the early afternoon he was very unwell again.
Dr Matthews looked grave. ‘I’m afraid it’s more than infant flu,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure before, but now, with the vomiting and his fever I’m pretty sure that your little boy has meningitis, and we must get him into hospital straight away.’
Cissie gave a horrified gasp. ‘Meningitis! But that’s … Is he going to die, doctor?’
Walter was there at her side at once. ‘Don’t panic, love. Just listen to what the doctor’s saying.’
He still looked serious. ‘It would be wrong of me not to warn you,’ he said. ‘I know the word meningitis frightens people, but it’s not always as bad as it sounds. I think – I’m almost sure – that your little boy has what is called viral meningitis. And with constant care he should be well again quite soon. There is another sort, bacterial meningitis, which is more serious. The only way to tell is by taking a drop of spinal fluid from the child. So we must take him to hospital straight away.’
‘Can we go with him?’ asked Cissie tearfully.
‘Yes, of course you can,’ replied the doctor. ‘I’ll run you there in my car; it will be better than waiting for an ambulance … You don’t have a phone, I suppose?’
Walter shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. It’s very good of you, Dr Matthews.’
‘No trouble at all. Just get the little lad ready, and then we’ll be off.’
With the doctor’s help the child was quickly admitted to the children’s ward in the hospital where Cissie had given birth to him two months ago. The doctor, understandably, could not wait. Cissie and Walter stayed for a while, and were reassured by the kind concern and care of the doctor and nurses. They knew they were leaving Paul in capable hands.
‘Come back and see him this evening,’ said the nurse who was in charge. ‘We will have some news for you by then.’
‘Come along, Cissie, let’s get home,’ said Walter. ‘We’ll have to tell our parents. There’s nothing they can do, but they ought to know.’
They went home by bus, then Walter drove the car to the homes of their respective parents. The men were at work as it was still only late afternoon, but both grandmothers showed great concern.
‘Poor little lamb!’ said Cissie’s mother, with more feeling than Cissie had ever known her to express. She put an arm round her daughter. ‘He’ll be alright, you’ll see.’ She cast her eyes heavenwards. ‘I’ll say a little prayer for him.’
Trust my mam to think she’ll get special treatment from the Almighty! thought Cissie. But she knew that her mother meant well.
‘Thanks, Mam,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘We’ll let you know as soon as we know ourselves.’
They went home to a house that felt strangely empty.
‘It feels odd, doesn’t it?’ said Cissie, ‘with Paul not being here.’
‘Yes, very strange,’ agreed Walter. ‘It’s amazing the difference a tiny baby makes to a household. It seems as though he’s always been with us, but it’s only two months. I can’t imagine life without him now.’
‘Oh, Walter, don’t say that!’ cried Cissie. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose him now … He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?’
Walter was quiet for a moment. ‘We’ve just got to hope and pray that he will be. You heard what our doctor said, and the doctor at the hospital. It’s most likely the meningitis that is not too serious – viral, did they say? – not the other sort.’
‘I’ll never let him out of my sight again,’ said Cissie. ‘I feel so guilty, Walter.’
‘Why, Cissie?’ He put his arm round her as they stood in the kitchen, trying to put a scratch meal together before they went back to the hospital in a few hours’ time. ‘Why ever should you feel guilty? You’ve been a wonderful mother to Paul, and I know it hasn’t been easy. You’re the one who’s got up at night, most of the time, to see to him. You’ve done everything you could for that little lad, so don’t start blaming yourself, Cissie, love.’
I’ve done everything except love him as I should have done, she thought to herself, but did not say. She remembered the bitter thoughts she had harboured about the child’s conception. There had been no need for her to trick Walter the way she had done. But she could tell him none of this. It would have to remain her secret forever.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I know I’ve looked after him as well as I could. But I’ve been irritable sometimes, with the feeding, and making bottles, and the dirty nappies, and him crying all the time. Poor little lad! And it’s not his fault, not any of it. He’s got to get better, Walter!’ she cried in desperation.
‘Don’t get despondent, Cissie. And trust Him up there.’ He smiled a little as he pointed up to the ceiling. ‘You heard what your mother said. She’s put in a special word, and Hannah Foster has to be obeyed!’
Cissie gave a weak smile. ‘I’ve put in a word meself. Let’s hope He’s listening … Come on now, Walter, you open that tin of beans, an’ I’ll make some toast. Not that I feel much like eating, but we’ve had nowt to eat all day except a sandwich or two.’
They worked together in a companionable silence. Cissie felt that she had never been closer to Walter. She regretted her former indifference towards him, and the way she had used him. Her lukewarm feelings had undergone a change, they had gradually grown into affection, and now, at last, into what she knew was love. They loved one another and they loved their little child. Surely that would be enough to save their precious son?
The sister who was in charge met them when they entered the children’s ward later that evening. When she smiled at them they knew that the news must be what they had been wanting to hear.
‘Paul’s doing quite well,’ she said. She paused for a moment as both parents murmured, ‘Thank God for that … So he’s going to be alright?’
‘We’ve done the tests, and we’ve found that the meningitis is not the more serious type. He’s still rather poorly and he’ll need constant care for a few days. But the prognosis is good, and we’re hopeful that he’ll be back to normal before long.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Cissie. ‘Isn’t it, Walter?’
‘I’ll say it is,’ he agreed. ‘Thank you ever so much for all you’ve done. Now, can we see him?’
‘Of course you can. He’s asleep at the moment.’ The nurse led them into the ward where there were several cots and small beds. Paul was in the end cot, lying on his back with his eyes closed.
Cissie bent over and took hold of his tiny hand. He opened his eyes at once and stared sleepily up at the two faces leaning over him. Then he blinked, and a smile of recognition spread over his face.
‘He knows us,’ cried Cissie in delight. ‘Look, Walter. He’s smiling at us.’ It was the first time since his birth that the baby had smiled or really shown any sign that he knew them.
‘Yes, babies know who loves them,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ll have to trust him to our care for a few days. We want to make sure that all is well before we let him go home. He’s due for his last bottle now. Would you like to give it to him?’
Cissie was overjoyed to feel the child in her arms again. ‘Aren’t we lucky, Walter?’ she said.
‘We’re the luckiest couple in the world,’ he replied.
TWENTY-THREE
‘The bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond … We used to sing that song at school when we were about eight years old,’ said Val.
‘Yes, so did we,’ agreed Sam. He burst into song.
‘
You tack the high road, an’ I’ll tack the low road,
An’ I’ll be in Scotland afore ye …
We didn’t have a clue what we were singing about but it was one of our favourites. It was in a little red book, Songs of the British Isles.’
‘And to think that we’re actually here!’ said Val contentedly.
She and Sam were strolling along the lakeside path by the shores of Loch Lomond, on the second stage of their holiday north of the border. They had stayed in Edinburgh for the first two days, seeing all the sights of the capital city. The castle, the Royal Mile, Holyrood House, Princes Street with its enticing shops and colourful gardens, and taking in the magnificent view of the city from the hill called Arthur’s Seat. Then they had travelled north to Loch Lomond where they were staying for two days before driving to Inverness for the final days of their holiday.
‘And there’s Ben Lomond,’ said Sam, pointing to the mountain in the distance. He started to sing again, as there was no one else near enough to hear him.
‘’Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen
On the steep steep side of Ben Lomond … ’
‘You’ve a very tuneful voice,’ Val told him. ‘You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel. What are you? A tenor?’
‘I’ve no idea. I used to sing in the school choir until my voice broke, then I never bothered after that. But I like a nice tuneful song … Scotland certainly lives up to its reputation, doesn’t it? The scenery, and the food – those Scottish breakfasts are quite something! And the Scottish welcome they’re so proud of, they really are very friendly … And we’re having a wonderful time, aren’t we?’ They stopped for a moment and he kissed her gently.
‘This time last year we were in Blackpool,’ said Val. ‘Exactly a year since I met you … Since I got to know you, I should say, because I already knew you, sort of, didn’t I?’
One Week in August Page 27