by Polly Heron
‘May we see him?’ Molly asked. ‘Just for a minute.’ Her hand tightened on Danny’s shoulder as the boy made a movement of protest. ‘Danny lost his mother a few weeks ago, so this is even more important.’
‘How old are you, boy?’
‘Nearly eleven, miss.’
The nurse glanced at her colleague. ‘Undersized. Well, since you’ve come all this way, I’ll permit it just this once.’
Molly forbore to say that this once was all they required. ‘Thank you.’
‘Nurse Peters will show you where to go.’
They followed Nurse Peters along the corridor towards the back of the building. Presumably the verandah was saved for paying patients, or possibly for those for whom there was still hope. They turned a couple of corners; the corners were rounded, not angled. The joins between floor and wall, and wall and ceiling, were curved as well – nowhere for dust and germs to hide.
As they rounded another corner, Nurse Peters came to a halt.
‘Mr Cropper is along here. You need to be quiet.’
Further along was a door, but instead of opening it, Nurse Peters took them to a window alongside it.
‘You can see him from here.’
Molly looked through at a plain white room, again without an angle to be seen. On the far side, French doors were open to the fresh air. There was no furniture except for a bed containing a still figure, arms neatly lying by his sides on top of the bedclothes. Good God, had he already passed away?
‘I can’t see, miss,’ said Danny. ‘Can I go in?’
‘That’s not allowed,’ said Nurse Peters. ‘You might catch it.’
‘If you open the door, could he stand in the doorway?’ Molly begged. ‘I promise not to let him set foot inside.’
‘I’ll fetch a stool for him to stand on. You’re on your honour not to budge from this spot.’
‘We won’t,’ Molly promised.
A minute later, Nurse Peters returned with a wooden stool, which she placed beneath the window.
‘There. I’ll let you have a few minutes.’
As she walked away, Danny jumped onto the stool. It wobbled and Molly instinctively put out her hands to steady him, but he was already leaning towards the window that separated him from his dad, his fingers resting on the sill as if he were about to play the piano, his nose glued to the glass.
‘He doesn’t know we’re here.’ Danny tapped on the pane, then tapped louder. ‘Dad! Dad!’
‘Keep your voice down or we’ll be asked to leave.’
‘There’s no one else here.’
No one else here. The words cut into Molly’s heart. Poor Mr Cropper was known to be dying and there was no one else here. If she hadn’t brought Danny, there truly would be no one here at all. A sense of resolve speared through her. Bringing Danny had been the right thing. She had known it all along, but now the knowledge filled her bones.
‘He went to live in the lean-to when he knew what was wrong with him,’ said Danny, his eyes never leaving the figure under the bedclothes.
‘He what?’
‘You can’t stay with other folk when you’ve got what he’s got. You have to keep yourself separate, so he went to live in the lean-to.’
In the lean-to. Molly shut her eyes against the picture in her head. How ignorant she was about the lives of the poor. For all that she was employed by the Board of Health, she still had so much to learn. And she would learn it. She was going to be a useful and effective member of staff, someone the poor were glad to see, because they knew she could be trusted.
The hairs stood up one at a time along her arms. Had Mr Cropper’s chest stopped moving? Had he…? Was he…? The tiniest rise and fall sent relief cascading through her. A sideways glance at Danny showed he hadn’t shared her fear. The boy’s forehead was fastened to the window, his breath steaming the pane. He took a moment to lean away and rub the glass clean before leaning against it once more.
‘D’you think he knows we’re here?’
Molly wanted to say yes, not because she believed it but because she wanted Danny to believe it; but Danny wasn’t the sort you could lie to and get away with it. If he detected an untruth, his reaction would be scorn and disgust.
‘I don’t know. I hope so.’
Clenching his fist, Danny rapped his knuckles sharply on the glass. ‘Dad!’
Molly snatched at his hand, trying to still it, but he wrenched it free and carried on banging. What if he broke the glass?
‘Look, miss – look!’
Danny went utterly still as, inside the room, Mr Cropper slowly, agonisingly slowly, turned his head. Molly held her breath, her heart beating strongly as if it could beat for Mr Cropper too. His head was turned towards the window – well, not quite, but if he moved his eyes, he would see his son.
‘He’s looking. He’s looking!’ cried Danny, raising himself on tiptoe and plastering himself against the pane.
Could Mr Cropper see? Could his eyes focus? Could he… could he give some indication that he knew Danny was here with him as his life drew to its close? Anything, a nod, the smallest movement of his hand. Molly willed him to make a sign. There was nothing, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see.
‘Wave to him,’ she urged Danny. ‘Give him a big smile. We haven’t come all this way to show your dad a long face. A smile will cheer him up.’
She stared again at Mr Cropper, willing him to make a sign, just a small acknowledgement that Danny would remember with love and gratitude for the rest of his life, but still there was no signal. She focused on the sick man’s chest. Nothing. No movement. Wait – yes, a breath. Shallow, barely there, but a breath nonetheless.
‘Hey, Dad, I’m here,’ Danny called, mouth close to the glass. He swung round to face Molly. ‘D’you think he’ll get better now? He’s got a reason to, hasn’t he, now that he’s seen me?’
‘Oh, Danny…’
She didn’t know what to say and even if she had known, she couldn’t have said it without bawling. Tears were clamouring for release and it was all she could do to keep them locked in. Fortunately, Danny didn’t require an answer. He had looked her way for no more than a couple of seconds before turning his attention back to the beloved dad he had waited so long to see.
‘Look!’ It came out not as an exclamation but on a prolonged breath as Danny plastered himself against the window. ‘Dad’s hand – he’s moving.’
Molly stared. The child was mistaken – no, wait. Mr Cropper’s arms lay flat on top of the bedding and the fingers of the hand nearer to the window had lifted ever so slightly, the palm still on the bed. The fingers didn’t wave or even wiggle, just lifted a fraction, then dropped back. But it was enough. It was a message from father to son.
‘He knows you’ve come to see him,’ Molly whispered. ‘That proves it.’
Blowing out a long, slow breath to compose herself, she resumed her task of watching Mr Cropper’s chest. Nothing, nothing…a shallow breath. Nothing, nothing…a shallow breath. Nothing, nothing…nothing…a shallow breath. Nothing, nothing…nothing. Nothing. The tiniest movement of the chest. Nothing. Nothing…Nothing.
She counted to a hundred.
Nothing.
‘Danny, stay here, will you? I won’t be gone long. Promise me you won’t move.’
She went in search of Nurse Peters, finding another white-uniformed nurse on the way.
‘Excuse me. It’s Mr Cropper. I think…I think he might have died. Could you please come?’
‘Of course. I have to fetch the doctor to pronounce life extinct. Wait here for me.’
Molly did no such thing. She went straight back to Danny, touching his arm. When that didn’t rouse his attention, she gently shook it.
‘It’s almost time to go. Wave to Dad and tell him goodbye.’ The backs of her eyes were red-hot as her locked-in tears surged. She fought them down. This wasn’t her situation; it wasn’t her grief. She had to be strong for Danny.
‘I’m not ready yet.’ The fac
e he turned to her was twisted with fury.
‘I know, but you have to come now. Look, here’s the doctor to check up on your dad. That has to be private. It’s the rules. Say goodbye and come with me.’
Danny looked through the window again. ‘Bye, Dad.’ He waved vigorously. ‘I’ll be back after the doctor’s been.’
Molly grasped his arm and at last he climbed down, the nurse and doctor arriving outside the room at the same moment. The doctor walked straight in, but Molly stopped the nurse.
‘This is Mr Cropper’s son. If we wait in the room by the front door, could you please come and tell us…’
It looked as if the nurse might say no, but she nodded and followed the doctor. She closed the door behind her, which was just as well because Danny pulled in that direction, but Molly held onto his arm.
‘I know how much you want to stay, but don’t let me down now. They let you in even though they don’t allow children to visit. Don’t spoil it or – or it’ll prove to them they were right in the first place and the next time a child is brought here to visit their mum or dad, they won’t be allowed.’
That got through to him and he permitted her to lead him away. Back in the room where they had started, Molly left the door open. Danny slumped onto a chair, hunched over. His shaking shoulders suggested that tears were falling, but everything about him demanded to be left alone. Molly stayed on her feet, taking a few paces every now and then, unable to be still. When would the nurse come? Had she forgotten them?
Footsteps. Molly went quickly to the open doorway, but Danny was quicker.
‘Can I go back?’
The nurse brushed past him. Addressing Molly, she said, ‘You were right. Mr Cropper has passed away peacefully.’
Like a whirlwind, Danny threw himself in front of her. ‘Passed away? You mean Dad’s dead? He can’t be. I was just there, with him… He can’t be.’
Molly caught hold of his shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Danny. He’s gone.’
‘Gone? You mean he’s died? He’s dead?’
She nodded. ‘You were there with him right till the end. Your face was the last thing he saw. He knew you were with him.’
‘But I wasn’t.’ With an almighty push, he freed himself from her hands. ‘I wasn’t there. The doctor came and you took me away. You made me leave him and I wasn’t there. He needed me and I wasn’t there. You made me leave him – you – you made me – and I wasn’t there.’
There they were at last, trailing through the summer twilight. Aaron ran up the road to meet them. They looked exhausted, the pair of them. Well, it was hardly surprising after such a long day, though the amount of time must have been nothing compared to the emotional impact on Danny of losing his father. Had they got to the sanatorium in time? Ever since he had opened Molly’s note shortly before midday, Aaron had been able to think of little else.
Slowing as he reached them, Aaron felt pulled in a dozen different directions. It had been one hell of an afternoon. He had tried to conceal Danny’s absence and might have succeeded if Jacob Layton hadn’t looked round for Danny in the dining room at dinner-time. At that point, Aaron knew he had to confide in Nanny Mitchell. What the end result would be when Mrs Rostron was informed, he didn’t like to think.
Right now, that didn’t matter. All the mattered was that Molly had brought Danny back safely. The poor lad looked done in, shrunken, his clothes hanging off him. Molly held herself upright but the strain in her face was clear to see and the hazel-green of her eyes had turned to sludge.
‘You’re back. That’s good.’ Aaron put on a cheerful voice for Danny’s benefit. ‘Let’s get you indoors and you can tell me what’s happened.’
He looked at Molly over the boy’s head. She gave him a slight nod. Yes, Danny’s dad was dead? Yes, they had got there in time? He wished Danny was younger so he could pick him up and carry him. As it was, all he could do was sling a friendly arm around the boy’s shoulders.
‘I’m under orders to take you straight to the nannies’ sitting room.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Danny and the look on Molly’s face said the same.
‘You aren’t in trouble, son, but you’ve had a long, hard day and Nanny Mitchell wants to see that you’re all right.’
He glanced at Molly. The fiancé would have the job of seeing that she was all right, blast him. There was nothing Aaron wanted more than to sit quietly with Molly beside him on a sofa, so he could put his arm round her and listen while she poured out what had happened, let her lean against him, hold her if she wept. He wouldn’t take advantage. He wanted only to be the one she turned to, the one she needed, the one she relied on now and always.
Blast the fiancé.
Carmel was waiting for them outside the nannies’ sitting room.
‘Nanny Mitchell says to go straight inside. She’s doing her nursery visit at the moment. I’m to arrange for a tray for Danny. Sweet tea with egg on toast.’
‘Thanks, Nurse Carmel.’ Aaron opened the door for the others and followed them in. ‘Sit down, Danny.’
Danny looked round uncertainly. The nannies’ sitting room was small and cosy, a place for the nannies to retreat to for a private word or a cup of tea. No child ever came in here and Danny’s rigid posture and the way he repeatedly fisted and loosened his hands was the picture of unease.
Aaron pressed the boy into a chair. ‘Sit. You too,’ he added to Molly.
Clutching his cap between his fingers, Danny suddenly sprang upright in the chair, his back pencil-straight. ‘Mum’s photograph. What about Mum’s photograph?’
‘What photograph?’ asked Molly.
‘There was a photograph of his mum that Danny is sure was sent to the sanatorium for his dad.’
‘After she died, the man and the lady that brought me here said they’d put her photograph in with my things, but they hadn’t. They’d put Auntie Betty’s picture in instead. So that means they must have sent Mum’s picture to the sanatorium for Dad.’
Aaron met Molly’s frown and shook his head. Don’t let her disabuse the lad of his fantasy. No, of course she wouldn’t.
‘What will happen to Mr Cropper’s effects?’ he asked.
There was a pause before Molly answered. ‘Because of the nature of his illness, the clothes he arrived in will now be burned.’
‘But not the photograph,’ said Danny. ‘The picture were inside a frame with glass in front, so it wouldn’t have got any germs on it. No one will have coughed on it or spat on it. That was what it said on that poster. No thoughtless spitting. Can you get the picture back for me? I don’t mind having Auntie Betty’s picture, because she were my mum’s older sister that fetched her up after my grandma died, but I want Mum’s picture too. I don’t mean no disrespect to Auntie Betty, but Mum’s is more important.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Molly. ‘Are you sure it was sent to the sanatorium?’
‘Course it was. Stands to reason.’
Aaron and Molly exchanged a hopeless glance.
Molly came to her feet. ‘Tell you what. You stay here and I’ll place a telephone call to the sanatorium. How about that?’
‘Thanks, miss.’
Aaron opened the door for her, stepping outside and holding the door shut behind him as he whispered, ‘Goodness knows what happened to that picture. The people who brought Danny here told him they had given him his mum’s photograph, but when he unpacked, it was Auntie Betty’s instead.’
‘We’ll have to play along,’ she whispered back. ‘I’ll make it as easy on him as I can.’
She disappeared and Aaron returned to Danny. The determined glint in the lad’s eyes said he had pinned his hopes on having his mum’s picture restored to him.
A few minutes later, Molly slipped into the room. Without looking at Aaron, she went straight to Danny. She sat beside him and, before he could object, took his hand in hers, capturing his gaze with hers in a way that held him still and quiet.
‘I’ve spoken to Nurse Peters at the sana
torium. You remember her? She told me what a great comfort it was to your father to have your mum’s photograph close by. She said that when he was stronger, he used to look at it for hours on end while he remembered all about his life and the family he loved so much.’
‘Me and Mum.’
‘You and your mum. The thing is, Danny – and you can blame me for this, if you like – they didn’t know at the sanatorium that you’d want the photograph afterwards, so they put it in your dad’s coffin with him. When someone dies at the sanatorium, they’re put in a coffin straight away. It has to be like that, because of all those sick people. I didn’t know about the photograph, you see, or I’d have asked for it; and now it’s too late, because it’s in with your dad. So…’ She swallowed, blinked.
Aaron stepped forward, kneeling in front of the pair of them. ‘So they’re together. I know how much you wanted the picture, Danny, but it’s in the next best place. Is that all right?’
Eyes brimming, Danny nodded. His body lurched and Molly caught him in her arms as, with an almighty sob, he gave in to his grief.
Chapter Twenty-Four
HELL’S BELLS AND burnt toast. Cropper’s old man couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to pop his clogs. What if Daniel was too upset to do the job? Would Shirl make Jacob do it all on his own? Or – and this seemed highly likely – would Shirl not give a monkey’s about Daniel’s bereavement and insist he did it anyway? Jacob wouldn’t put anything past Shirl, up to and including shoving an unreliable kid in front of a tram. An animal scream started to build up in his depths. He tensed every muscle he possessed to hold it in. The thought of that boy who had been splatted by the tram haunted him day and night. Had Shirl pushed him? Had he?
The one good thing about old man Cropper’s death was that the funeral was happening miles away in Southport, so it was nothing to do with Daniel. Even so, Jacob felt itchy inside. It wasn’t right to be buried so far from your folks, with no one to come and see you on a Sunday afternoon. Having spent his entire life yawning over how blinking boring it was to visit graves, especially on Christmas morning, he was surprised by how unsettling he found it to think of Daniel Cropper not being able to go and see his dad’s headstone. If he had one. Maybe Mr Cropper would be given a pauper’s burial; or maybe the sanatorium had its own cemetery, like the workhouses used to.