Forgive and Forget (3 page)

Polly would find herself blushing even as she argued fiercely, ‘He’s old enough to be me dad.’

‘Ee, lass, better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave,’ was always the answer. ‘Besides, he’s only in his mid-twenties. That’s not old.’

It is to me, Polly would think, but would hold her tongue. A lot of the women who worked at the glue factory were well beyond their twenties and wouldn’t take kindly to being thought of as ‘old’.

A sudden noise from the bedroom above interrupted Polly’s thoughts and she heard her mother calling frantically. ‘Polly! Oh, Polly, come quick.’

The girl ran upstairs and into her parents’ bedroom. Her mother was sitting up in bed, leaning forward and holding her stomach. ‘Oh, Polly, the pain. It’s terrible – like nothing I’ve had before. Fetch Mrs Halliday. Fetch the doctor—’ Her demands ended in a cry of agony.

‘Oh no, no,’ Polly muttered as she ran downstairs again and out of the house without even stopping to put her coat on. ‘I shouldn’t’ve let her have that breakfast. Doctor said only fluids.’

Mrs Halliday came at once, heaving her heavy frame up the stairs and into the front bedroom. ‘Now, Sarah, what’s to do?’

For a moment, she watched the woman writhing in agony, then turned to the anxious girl standing behind her.

‘Run back to our house, love. Leo’s at home. He’ll fetch the doc. Hurry now, yar mam’s bad.’

I can see that, Polly thought as she retraced her steps, still at a run. And it’s all my fault. I should have been stronger – stood up to them both – made them understand what the doctor had said. And now . . .

Dr Fenwick was angry. He didn’t shout, but she could tell by the look on his face. ‘What have you been eating, Mrs Longden?’

Her mother still thrashed about the bed in pain, sweat glistening on her forehead. ‘Polly cooked me a lovely breakfast. I expect it’s ’cos I haven’t eaten much for a week.’ Again her words ended in a groan as the doctor glanced at Polly. The girl withered beneath his glare.

‘You should have stayed on fluids, Mrs Longden, until I told you otherwise. Now I think we’d better get you to hospital.’

‘No, oh no, I can’t go. Who’ll look after the family? The children?’

‘As long as the youngsters stay well, your girl here can manage. And I’m sure your neighbours will lend a hand.’

‘I don’t want—’ Sarah began, but again whatever she’d been going to say was cut short by pain-ridden cries.

Dr Fenwick turned to Polly. ‘Get her some night-clothes and washing things together,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll send an ambulance at once.’

Polly was waiting nervously for her father to come home from work. As he sat down heavily in his chair and she placed the steaming plate of food before him, his first question was, ‘How’s yar mam?’

Polly took a deep breath. ‘She – she’s in hospital, Dad. The ambulance came to fetch her.’

It had caused quite a stir when the horse-drawn ambulance had clattered into the street. Now everyone knew just how ill poor Sarah Longden was.

His knife and fork poised above the plate, William looked up at Polly, his dark eyes boring into her. ‘Hospital? When did this happen?’

Polly bit her lip. ‘This afternoon. She got so bad, I fetched Mrs Halliday and she said to get the doctor. He – he was cross.’

‘Cross? Why?’

‘Because – because Mam’d eaten that breakfast. He’d said to keep her on fluids and—’

William’s face darkened. ‘I didn’t know that. You should have said, Poll.’

‘I did – I told you . . .’

His knife and fork clattered onto the plate. ‘Don’t you answer me back, girl. I said, I didn’t know.’

Polly stared at her father, her mouth dropping open. She’d told him. She had, she had. But now he was denying it and placing all the blame on her.

He pointed his finger at her. ‘If yar mam dies, it’ll be your fault. You should have told us what the doctor said.’

He sat down again, picked up his knife and fork and began to eat, but his hands were shaking and he avoided looking at his daughter again. Polly turned away, tears stinging her eyes. How could her father lie?

And if her mother died, he didn’t need to blame her for she would blame herself. And that was far worse.

‘I’m going out,’ William said shortly.

‘Are you going to the hospital? She’s in the new one on Long Leys Road.’

‘I aren’t going anywhere near there,’ William snapped as he pulled on his cap. ‘There’s a full Council meeting at the Guildhall tonight and me, Seth Halliday and Bert Fowler are going. We want to know what our precious councillors are doing about all this.’

Wordlessly, Polly stared after him as he slammed the door behind him.

As the councillors, led by the Mayor, entered the Council Chamber and sat down around the huge table, the murmuring from the packed public-seating area rose. One or two men shook their fists and several shouted.

‘When are you goin’ to start telling us the truth?’

‘All we’ve got is rumour an’ scaremongering. We want facts.’

‘We want to know how bad it is and what you’re going to do about it.’

‘It’s all right for you sat up in your high and mighty seats and livin’ in yar posh houses with yar running water and yar hot baths at the turn of a tap.’ William was on his feet, shouting and thumping the air with his fist. ‘What about us poor folk? We have to share a standpipe and a privy in the backyard. What about us?’

‘I can assure you, sir,’ one of the councillors began, standing up, ‘that this disease is no respecter of persons. It is hitting all and sundry.’

‘Aye, mebbe so, but I reckon it’s the sundry that’s worst hit.’

A snigger, swiftly stifled, ran through the onlookers.

‘Sit down, William, and listen.’ Seth Halliday, Bertha’s husband and Leo’s father, pulled on his arm. William grunted but subsided into his seat. Whilst William was quick-tempered, Seth was a reasonable man. ‘Let’s hear what they’ve got to say, eh?’

The meeting began with the Mayor making a statement about how the situation stood at the moment. He was frequently interrupted by shouts and jeers from the public, but at the end of the speech, in which he declared that the members of the Council were deeply sorry for the epidemic, there was silence, except for a little applause for his words.

But as the three neighbours walked home side by side, William was still incensed and Bert Fowler demanded, ‘How can they put the blame on us having a hot summer last year followed by a cold winter. What’s that got to do with the water supply? They more or less admit that’s where the infection’s coming from.’ He paused and added, ‘Don’t they?’

‘It would seem it’s what they suspect,’ Seth agreed.

‘So what are they going to do about it?’ William put in. ‘Are either of you any the wiser after listening to ’em, ’cos I aren’t?’

‘They’re doing their best,’ Seth said mildly. ‘They’re trying to get a new supply.’

William gave a wry, humourless laugh. ‘Aye and a right pig’s ear of it they seem to be making. What was that he said, they’ve lost a boring tool at Boultham more’n a year ago?’

‘Er, yes, I believe so.’

‘And drilling there’s been stopped ever since,’ Bert added.

‘So, in the meantime, we all go on getting typhoid. You know my Sarah’s in hospital, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Bertha said. I’m sorry to hear that, Will.’ Seth paused and then added, ‘But they’re certainly doing their best to provide extra hospital accommodation.’

‘Aye, makeshift wards in halls around the city. How can they be proper hospitals?’

‘Well, it was said that they think the number of cases is decreasing.’

‘I don’t believe them an’ I bet your Bertha won’t. And I don’t think they’re doing everything that could be done either. Fancy saying that the number of deaths that have occurred is “highly satisfactory”. It might only be twenty-odd, but it’s not highly satisfactory if it’s one of your family, now is it?’

And here Seth was obliged to agree. ‘No, William,’ he said soberly, ‘it isn’t.’

‘And how dare they hand out instructions about hygiene? If my Sarah’d been there, she’d’ve given ’em what for, I can tell you.’

‘Not everyone’s as clean in their ways as Sarah, William,’ Seth put in quietly. ‘They just want to be sure everyone follows whatever precautions they can.’

‘Poll boils all the water and milk and she’s washing and scrubbing from morning till night.’

Poor little lass, Seth thought, but he said nothing.

The three of them walked on in silence until they came to the end of the road where they lived.

‘I’m going for a pint,’ William said. ‘You coming?’

‘No, if you don’t mind,’ Seth said. ‘I’ll get along home. It’s late now.’

‘Suit yarsen,’ William flung over his shoulder as he headed towards the George and Dragon.

But Bert was always ready for an excuse to go to the pub. ‘I’ll come wi’ ya, Will. Wait on.’

By the time William staggered home his children were all in bed and, mostly, asleep. Only Polly lay awake, rigid with guilt and fear. She heard the door slam and her father crashing into the furniture as he wove his way through the front room. The girl closed her eyes and groaned inwardly.

Obviously, the Council meeting was not the only place he’d been that night. She heard him climbing the stairs, cursing, and making no effort to be quiet. In the darkness Polly winced, expecting any moment to hear the wails from the wooden drawer beside her bed. But the baby slept soundly and only Violet stirred, wriggled, and then snuggled closer to Polly for warmth.

At last Polly heard the creak of the bedsprings from her parents’ bedroom and, after only a few moments, her father’s snoring. But even though he was home and the house fell quiet, Polly could not sleep.

She lay awake far into the night, thinking of her mother and what might be happening in the hospital. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d put Baby in the battered old perambulator and walk there. It wasn’t far and even Stevie would be able to walk that distance.

Tomorrow, she’d find out.

William ate the breakfast she prepared for him without speaking to her. In fact, he hardly acknowledged her presence. She longed to ask him what had happened at the meeting, but this morning for the first time in her young life she felt afraid of her father.

When he’d left the house, she got the other children up and ready for school. For once, they were subdued and worryingly obedient.

Polly washed and fed the baby and placed a blanket in the bottom of the old pram. Then she wrapped Miriam in a warm shawl and put her in it.

‘Get yar coat, our Stevie. We’re going out.’

Stevie removed his thumb from his mouth long enough to ask, ‘Where to?’

‘See how Mam is, that’s where. Now, come on. Look sharp.’

A sudden knock sounded on the door. Polly opened it to find a solemn-faced Dr Fenwick standing there.

‘Is your father at home?’

‘N-no, sir. He – he’s at work.’

‘I see.’ The doctor pondered for a moment. Then he gave a heavy sigh. ‘May I come in for a moment, my dear?’

Wordlessly, Polly pulled the door wider and ushered him inside. Standing with his back to the fire in the range, the doctor regarded her gravely.

‘None of your family visited the hospital last night, I understand.’

Polly shook her head.

‘I thought I should come myself,’ he went on gently. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, my dear, that your mother passed away early this morning.’

The young girl’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in a horrified gasp. She clutched her throat as she uttered hoarsely, ‘No, oh no!’

She felt herself swaying and felt the doctor’s strong hands steadying her and then lowering her into a chair.

Now the tears flowed and she cried out in anguish. ‘It’s my fault. It’s my fault.’

‘My dear child, why ever should you think that?’

She raised tear-filled eyes. ‘You know. You were angry with me.’

‘I? Angry with you? When?’

Had he forgotten already? Or was he, like her father, denying it?

‘When you came to see my mother,’ she stammered. ‘When you sent her to the hospital. I’d made her a breakfast.’

‘Ah yes,’ Dr Fenwick said heavily, frowning now. ‘I remember now. Forgive me, child. I’ve seen so many patients over the last few days.’ He sighed and sat down slowly in the chair beside her. Taking her hand in his, he leant towards her. ‘Tell me, my dear, what actually happened.’

‘You’d said she was only to have fluids, but she was asking and asking for breakfast – like I’d cooked for me dad.’ The words tumbled out with a sense of relief. Perhaps, after all, this kindly man would understand. ‘She smelt it from upstairs, see, and – and Dad said I was to make it for her. I telled him what you’d said . . .’ She hiccuped and scrubbed her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. ‘But he said she must be feeling better if she was asking for something to eat. That it must be a good sign.’

The doctor sighed again and shook his head slowly, but he was still listening intently to what Polly was saying. ‘And then I reminded Mam what you’d said. She’d heard you herself – you was standing by the bed when you said it – but – she wouldn’t listen neither and – and then . . .’ Her voice petered out in a fresh wave of grief and guilt.