Forgive and Forget (6 page)

‘All the difference. You need that certificate, don’t you? Look, Eddie, you might not think it, but you’re bright. If only you’d work a bit harder – be more reliable – you might get a decent job when you leave school.’

‘D’you know summat, our Poll, you’re beginning to sound more like me mam every day. Quite the mother hen, aren’t you?’

‘Someone’s got to look after the bairns,’ she countered. ‘Don’t you think I’d rather be out working than looking after you lot and doing housework?’

‘At the glue factory? Some job that is.’

‘I don’t – ’ she hesitated and then changed it to – ‘didn’t intend to be there all me life. I’d got plans, see. But now . . .’ She sighed, lost for a moment in her own broken dreams. Then, more briskly, she added, ‘But you could do anything you liked, Eddie. You could really make something of yourself, if only you’d try.’

‘Huh! You really think the likes of us can “make something of ourselves”? Fat chance, Poll.’ He loosened his grip and stepped away. ‘But if you promise not to tell Dad about last night, then I will go to school. At least until he’s back home.’

Surreptitiously, Polly rubbed the place where his strong fingers had bruised her arms.

‘All right, but just mind you keep your side of the bargain then.’

Polly did not go to see her father the following afternoon, nor the next.

‘I wouldn’t go yet, me love,’ Bertha advised. ‘He’s in good hands but he’ll be in the worst stages of it now. Best leave it another week or so, at least, eh? I’ll ask our Leo to call and ask after him? All right?’

Polly nodded and despite the awful reason for it, she couldn’t quell the little thrill of pleasure she felt at the thought of an excuse to see Leo again.

‘He’s going on nicely,’ Leo told her when, removing his policeman’s helmet, he stepped into the Longdens’ home two days later. ‘One of the nurses said it should be all right for you to visit him, if you want to, early next week. And me ma says she’ll mind the bairns for you while you go. She says to tell you not to think of taking the little ’uns there.’

Polly shook her head vigorously. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

And so it wasn’t until the first Monday in March that Polly knocked on the door of the house at the end of the street.

‘Mrs Halliday, could you look after Baby and Stevie for me for an hour or so this afternoon? I want to go to the Drill Hall to see how me dad’s going on.’

‘Course I can, lovey. You bring them down here, though, ’cos then I can get on with me own work while I keep an eye on them.’

It was quite a walk from where the Longdens lived to the Drill Hall, which had been turned into a temporary hospital for typhoid victims. Polly put on her warm winter coat and hat and walked up the street. At the end, she turned left into the long High Street, passing St Peter at Gowts Church on her right, then the two railway level crossings. Soon she was passing shops and the market. At the Stonebow she paused a moment and glanced up at the huge archway across the road. It was a Tudor building she’d learnt about at school and stood where once the southern gate had guarded the Roman city of Lincoln. Its frontage was decorated with stone carvings and above it was the Guildhall, where only a few weeks ago her father had attended a Council meeting. And now he was in hospital. With a little sigh she turned right into the newly widened Saltergate and came at last to Broadgate and the Drill Hall. As Polly stepped into the building, a nurse came forward. Wearing a pale pink dress with a long, starched white apron and bib, and a white cap holding her hair in place, the nurse smiled at the nervous young girl.

‘Is it all right to see me dad?’

The nurse was friendly, but Polly could see the dark shadows of weariness under the young woman’s eyes. ‘And who might that be?’

‘Mr Longden. Mr William Longden.’

‘Ah yes. Follow me. We can only allow you a few minutes, Miss Longden. As you will see – ’ she opened a door and gestured Polly inside – ‘we are very cramped for space and if everyone had several visitors, well, you can imagine it would be rather chaotic. Mind you – ’ she pulled a face – ‘our poor patients aren’t actually getting many visitors. I think people are afraid they might catch it by just being near them. You can’t get it like that, by the way.’

Polly nodded. ‘I know. I nursed me mam. If I’d been going to catch it from someone, I’d’ve got it by now.’

The nurse’s face was suddenly full of sympathy. ‘Your father told us, my dear. About your mother. We’re very sorry. And now he has it too; it must be difficult for you. Are the rest of the family still well?’

‘So far.’ Polly held up crossed fingers. ‘The doctor’s been very good to us. He says if any of the bairns get it, I’m to get him at once. And he hasn’t even sent us a bill yet.’

The nurse smiled. ‘A lot of the doctors around the city aren’t sending their bills out yet. If they ever do.’

‘We couldn’t pay it if he did,’ Polly said dryly. ‘With me dad not working now and me off work to look after the little ’uns, there’s no money coming in.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. How are you managing?’

Polly shrugged. ‘As long as I’ve enough money to get food for us. Me mam always had a bit put by, but when that’s gone . . .’ She pulled a face.

As the nurse opened the door into the main hall, Polly gasped in surprise. The large room was filled with beds set in rows down its full length and along the end wall. They were close together and though screens stood about, ready to be put around a bed when needed, there was no privacy whatsoever. The patients could reach out and touch the bed next to them.

‘Not ideal.’ The nurse sighed. ‘But what can we do? By the way, we’re very short of blankets. Could you spare one or two from home?’

‘I could bring the ones off me – me mam and dad’s bed.’ Her voice broke a little.

‘That’d be wonderful. Wash them first, won’t you, and we’ll make sure they stay on your father’s bed and he can take them home with him when he—’

Polly looked at her sharply. ‘Is he ever going to come home? Is he going to get better?’

The nurse’s smile broadened. ‘We hope so, Miss Long-den.’

‘Polly.’

The nurse nodded. ‘Very well. We hope so, Polly. He’s showing signs of improvement already.’

‘Is he?’ Polly’s face brightened. ‘Is he really?’

‘Come. You shall see for yourself.’

The nurse led her down the room. ‘By the way, you’ll need to bring some clothes in for him. We had to burn those he arrived in, I’m afraid.’

Polly’s heart sank. There were only her father’s Sunday best clothes left.

‘Here he is,’ the nurse was saying. ‘Sitting up and drinking beef tea. Now, isn’t that good?’

‘Dad?’ Polly approached the bed tentatively, rather fearing another tirade for having caused Sarah’s death.

But William looked up and smiled. He was much thinner in the face and unshaven, his growth of beard hiding the lower part of his face. But his eyes were bright – a more natural brightness now – and he was smiling at her.

‘Polly, lass, I’ve missed you. Are you all right? And the bairns?’

‘We’re fine, Dad. None of us have got ill.’

‘Good. That’s good. A’ ya coping, lass? What about Eddie? Is he behaving?’

‘You know Eddie, Dad.’ She pulled a wry face, but neatly avoided going into more detail. ‘He’s going to school, but he’s talking about leaving as soon as he can.’

‘Aye well, mebbe he’ll have to, lass. We’ll need the money. Talking of money – are you managing? Did you know about yar mam’s little stash in the tea caddy?’

Polly nodded. ‘There’s still a bit left. We’re all right,’ she said, forcing a cheerfulness she didn’t feel inside. She was feeling so very tired now. The strain of caring for the family, of grieving for her mother and yet trying to keep cheerful for everyone else was becoming harder and harder each day. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt was the hardest to bear. ‘Just you get better, Dad. Nurse has asked me to bring you a blanket or two and some clothes. I’ll bring them in a day or two, but I won’t come in ’cos I’ll have Baby and Stevie with me.’

The nurse was coming towards them. ‘I’m sorry, Polly, but I’ll have to ask you to go now. There are more visitors and—’

‘It’s all right. I must go anyway. ’Bye for now, Dad.’ She made no move to kiss him, but gave a cheery wave and followed the nurse out.

‘He does look a lot better. If only me mam had gone into hospital earlier . . .’

The nurse put a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, but could think of no words to say. She didn’t know the circumstances of the family, nor what had actually happened to the mother other than that she’d given birth recently, had contracted the dreaded disease and died soon after being admitted to hospital. When William Longden had been brought to the Drill Hall, one of her colleagues had entered on his medical record that he’d been rambling about ‘Sarah’, ‘breakfast’ and ‘Polly’s fault’. The nurse could only guess what might have happened, but she was not going to question this poor girl. William was safe here and would be given dietary advice when he left. If there had been a problem with what the mother had eaten, the nurse believed that such burdens should not have been put on the slight shoulders of this young girl.

As the nurse saw Polly out of the door, the ambulance was bringing yet another patient to the building.

‘Where is it, you bloody little thief?’

Once more, Polly was waiting for her brother when he sauntered in at nine o’clock on the Friday night of that same week.

‘Gerroff,’ he shouted, trying to twist free of her grasp, but Polly’s outrage was lending her strength.

‘Where’s the money from the tea caddy?’

Eddie blinked and gaped at her. ‘What money? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

For a brief moment doubt entered her mind. He looked – and sounded – innocent. But the next moment her eyes narrowed and she gripped his arm even harder. ‘Oh, you’re a good liar, Eddie Longden, I’ll give you that. But don’t try to tell me you don’t know that Mam kept her housekeeping money in the tea caddy on the mantelpiece. And don’t tell me you haven’t taken the last bit of money we had left, ’cos I know you have.’

With one final wriggle Eddie freed himself, but instead of turning away he stood and faced her, toe to toe. ‘I didn’t take any money from the tea caddy or from anywhere else in this house. I wouldn’t steal from me own family.’

‘But you’d steal from a shop, wouldn’t you? Or a market stall,’ she added pointedly.

Eddie glowered. ‘That’s different.’

‘No, it isn’t. It’s still stealing.’

‘But I was stealing
for
the family.’

‘That doesn’t make it right. We’re not
that
poor we have to steal from folks that’s probably not much better off than ourselves.’

‘It was only a couple of measly buns,’ Eddie muttered. ‘And it was almost packing-up time. They weren’t going to sell ’em and they’d’ve been stale by next day.’

‘That’s still no excuse, Eddie.’ Despite her anger, her tone softened a little.

‘So – ’ Eddie was meeting her gaze – ‘if I haven’t taken your precious money, who has then?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You sure there was some left? A’ you sure you haven’t spent it?’

Polly shook her head firmly. ‘No, there was two shillings and fourpence left.’

‘Blimey! An’ it’s all gone?’

To the boy who had a penny on a Saturday, and only then if he was lucky, the amount of money their mother had managed to put by sounded like a fortune.

Polly bit her lip and nodded, worried to death now about how she was to feed the family for the next week or two until her father came home. And even then he probably wouldn’t be fit enough to go back to work straight away.

‘You get to bed, Eddie.’

As he turned to go, he said over his shoulder. ‘Wake me up at six in the morning, Poll. I’m starting as a delivery lad for a greengrocer in the High Street. I even get a bike.’

Polly’s mouth dropped open but before she could ask him any more questions, he was creeping up the stairs and she couldn’t call him back for fear of waking the others. A few moments later Polly followed him up and slipped into bed beside Violet, shivering in the icy bedroom. Despite her overwhelming weariness, it was some time before she fell asleep.

The baby woke at half-past five crying hungrily. Polly pulled herself up feeling little rested since the night before. She dressed quickly and pulled on her outdoor coat for extra warmth. Carrying the baby in a shawl, she crept downstairs, lying Miriam in the big battered armchair by the range whilst she roused the fire and made the infant’s bottle. She made a bowl of hot porridge for Eddie and, having fed the baby and changed her, she woke her brother.

As he spooned the thick creamy porridge into his mouth, Polly asked, ‘How did you get the job? With Mr Wilmott, is it?’

Eddie answered between mouthfuls. ‘His usual lad’s got the typhoid.’

‘Does he know about our mam and dad?’

Eddie nodded. ‘Yeah. I reckon everyone knows now.’

‘And he doesn’t mind? That – that you might be – well – mixed up with it?’