The Fall and Rise of Lucy Charlton (25 page)

There was no point in trying to tell her what had happened, Lucy knew. She said all the right things. She walked Mrs Formby back to her house and told her she would get Joe up and they would go and look for Tilda. She said that Mrs Formby must not worry because they would find her and everything would be all right.

Lucy ran all the way to the hospital. She didn’t cry, for it wouldn’t help her to run any faster, but her heart felt as if it had jumped into her throat and lodged like a football.

She asked for Joe and Tilda when she got there and was given directions. She went up and along the corridor and recognized the figure in the distance. Joe was unmistakable in the morning light. His head was down and his whole look was one of defeat.

‘Joe?’ Instantly he altered his face, but it was still pale and thin. ‘Tilda?’ she said. ‘Is she going to be all right?’

‘They don’t know yet.’ His voice was hoarse as though he hadn’t spoken in a long while. He didn’t meet her eyes and so she knew there was more to it – that he was upset and worried.

‘What happened?’

‘She fell into the river.’

Lucy waited. He stood there with his head down and then he brought it up, though even then he averted his face.

‘She fell.’

Lucy knew what that meant. She sat down beside him and they waited. She had never before been in a hospital corridor while somebody she cared about was being taken care of, beyond sight and sound. It was so quiet, as though nothing were happening.

It made her want to beat upon doors and demand to know what was going on, but she didn’t, she couldn’t, and she was calmed by Joe’s patience. Time was different here, not like in other places. She was relieved that he was here, that she didn’t have to handle this by herself.

Lucy and Joe saw the day through and into early evening, listening to the few noises which came through the hospital walls. Lucy was not even tired – she didn’t think she had ever felt so wide awake. She half expected every moment that Mrs Formby would come shrieking down the corridor, demanding to know what was going on, but nothing happened until a man whom she assumed to be a doctor appeared.

She and Joe both got up as the doctor said, ‘Are you here with Tilda Formby?’

Lucy nodded.

He spoke softly to them though there was no one to overhear anything.

‘Her baby did not survive. I’m so sorry.’

Lucy didn’t know what to say and Joe was silent.

‘Do you think she might be all right?’

‘We think so, yes.’ He smiled just a little. ‘She’s asleep. I should go home if I were you.’

‘I want to be here when she wakes,’ Lucy said.

‘Of course you do,’ he said. He went off back into the hospital gloom where secrets unknown to the rest of the community were commonplace, Lucy thought.

She turned to Joe, about to say to him that she was happy to stay there alone, when she realized that actually she wasn’t – but that he was not going to leave in any case. He sat down promptly and she did the same.

‘We can’t tell her mother about the baby,’ she said, ‘but what are we going to say and how do we make sure that the staff here don’t mention it in front of her?’

‘If we don’t go to her then Mrs Formby will soon come here looking,’ Joe said. ‘You go. You know her very well. Just say that Tilda was so upset about her dad and that she had gone a long way and got lost and fell down and hurt herself. Say that it’s nothing important other than a few nasty bruises, and that she will be coming home later. Don’t let her come here – it’s the last thing Tilda needs.’

Lucy worried all the way back to Rachel Lane about how she would convince Tilda’s mother not to go to the hospital.
If Mrs Formby found out what had really happened everything would be gone. She steeled herself, hesitating before she went into the house.

Mrs Formby and Clay were sitting over the fire. The two smaller children had been put to bed and Lucy thought that if she ever got to be a solicitor she would never have to put a more difficult case to a more discerning audience. Mrs Formby cried to discover that her child was alive, then she wanted to go to her. Lucy had to persuade her that Tilda was well but exhausted and asleep, and it would do no good for her to be disturbed now. That Mrs Formby was much better staying here with the rest of her children.

Lucy offered to go back to the hospital, to wait until Tilda was awake and they said she could have visitors, then she would come back and bring Tilda’s mother to her. She had no intention of doing anything of the kind, she just hoped the girl would be well enough to go home before her mother insisted on being there.

*

When Lucy got back Joe looked up and smiled just a little.

‘They’ve said you can go in.’

Tilda lay, very neat in a hospital bed, in a tiny white room on her own. It was nothing like Lucy had expected, but she thought the people here might have guessed what could have happened and had given her this room on purpose. Tilda’s eyes were glassy with tears.

‘I lost it,’ she said and wept.

Lucy took the girl into her arms. She was so warm and young and alive that Lucy wished things differently.

‘I didn’t mean to do what I did. I didn’t mean to do it to
the baby, just to me. I couldn’t stand to see the look on me mam’s face and have to lie and say I had done it. She would have hated me, Miss Charlton, and I couldn’t stand it. I love me mam so much – she means everything in the world to me.’

‘The baby was too small. The doctor said that it was just one of these things that happens to thousands of women. It wasn’t the water – how could it have been?’

Lucy thought to herself that she had turned into a fluent liar – she didn’t know whether or not the water had affected anything, but she wasn’t going to have Tilda think it had. The baby could have died anyway. She was bound to make a good lawyer with such lying, but also she was not telling Tilda anything which she did not believe. How could that be wrong? There was a possibility of course that she would have drowned and taken the baby with her, but Lucy did not let herself think about this. What was the point?

‘I slipped and fell. I changed me mind – I was going to go home and tell me mam – only it was too late and I couldn’t stay up and I couldn’t breathe. Now I’ve got another chance. Now I have to.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Lucy said, without thinking.

She was astonished at herself, but not dismayed. She didn’t care beyond what Tilda would do now. There was no way that she was going to let this girl pay over and over for what had not been her fault in the first place – it was all too difficult, she acknowledged now.

She didn’t care that men like Edgar would take a different view because they thought the law expected it and they must bow down to it. Women didn’t have time to let the law catch
up with them – they had to outwit it right now, and possibly a very long way into the future – and that was what made her decision.

The two women drew away from one another and Lucy looked hard at Tilda.

‘One of the things about being an adult is that you don’t hurt other people unnecessarily. Your mam doesn’t ever need to know what has happened to you. All I told her was that you had been hurt and not badly and that you would be fine – and that’s what you will do. You go home and get on with your life. You’re young. You will go on and do other things, big, exciting things. You will have your job as manager and in time you might go on and run the whole co-operative in the area – just think of that. There’s no reason for any of you to take on any more burdens. You’re going to have the good life that you are entitled to – as a person and a woman.’

Lucy was amazed at this long speech, but it had the right effect, for Tilda’s face cleared and then she glanced at the door.

‘Is Mr Hardy outside?’ she asked.

‘He’s waiting in the corridor.’

‘Can I see him?’

Lucy went and beckoned Joe in. He came and sat down on the bed, and Tilda kissed his cheek and thanked him, though Joe disclaimed that he had done anything at all. He looked generally embarrassed, but said that he was so glad to see her better now.

*

That week Lucy went to see Miss Thompson at the shoe shop. She’d been told that Tilda had merely had a fall and hurt
herself. She told Lucy she was looking forward to Tilda being back in the shop because she had taught the girl all she could and she was ready to give up the place.

‘I’ve been here a good long time, Miss Charlton,’ she said, ‘and Tilda is perfectly capable of running the shop – she has exceptional ability, way beyond her years. Mr Bradley – who manages the grocery and is in charge overall – thinks well of her, you know.’

‘That was why I came,’ Lucy said. ‘I was wondering if you could introduce me to Mr Bradley and whether there might be room to take on Clay, Tilda’s brother, as a Saturday boy. He’s very reliable and good at school; his mother has kept him there in spite of everything and they could certainly make use of the money.’

Miss Thompson said that she didn’t know what the circumstances were, but that she would introduce Lucy to Mr Bradley. Since it was Wednesday and the store closed at twelve, she took Lucy around to the main shop. Though Mr Bradley said that he already had a Saturday boy, he thought that the hardware department needed help.

That Saturday morning Lucy took Clay to the shop and he began filling shelves with hammers and chisels and kitchen-ware. He propped up wheelbarrows and other things for the garden and swept up in the back premises, tidying around and washing the floor when the shop closed. He confided to Lucy that Mr Bradley had mentioned he was getting a bicycle and that he would need somebody to deliver the groceries in the area. He’d said that as soon as the bicycle was delivered, in a few weeks, Clay would be promoted. Mrs Formby was very happy about this, for two of her children were in work.

That Sunday Joe wished he could go into work, but even Mr Palmer didn’t work on Sundays. Joe went for a walk around the river. He had to get out to think about the car and to brush off the idea that he felt so threatened by whatever it was that haunted him in the night. He had to sneak out otherwise the little long-haired black-and-white cat would always follow him and he was too afraid for the cat’s safety. It was almost teatime. Frederick soft-pawed out after him and together they picked up some pace. It was a lovely afternoon and all kinds of people were picnicking on the river. It did Joe good to see them enjoying themselves.

Since he had been to London Joe kept thinking of the letter in which his father was still pretending his wife was buried there – Joe had not been able to read another or to think of forgiving his father for what he had done. Had his father wiped his mother completely from his memory? Was he deceiving himself about her death? How could you wipe things away as if they have never been? Joe wondered.

But his father had given him the best that he could in so many ways, and so while Joe found it easy to despise him it
was impossible to hate him. There were many good memories amidst all of it, memories he’d held onto when things were at their worst in the trenches. Even now they brought him comfort, despite not knowing where his mother was or where Angela could be. The war had taught him to remember the good times, no matter what.

He thought about what tea had been like when he was a small child in the nursery. His nanny would toast crum-pets over the fire with a long-handled fork and if he was careful she let him do the same. Melting butter and strawberry jam. He was within this thought, happy, when he suddenly came upon two people kissing in the shadows. He walked swiftly past so as not to intrude, but one of them turned. He recognized Emily Bainbridge. He merely waved in acknowledgement and went on with his walk.

When he reached home both the Misses Slaters were out and Lucy had gone to visit Mrs Formby. Sunday was the Misses Slaters’ special day; they went to church twice and to visit people they knew. He was about to make something to eat when there was a loud banging on the door. He opened it, surprised by the figure who stood there.

‘Miss Bainbridge.’

For a small person she looked like a storm cloud.

‘May I come in?’

‘Yes, of course, if you wish.’ He held open the door.

She strode into the room and turned around so fast that Joe nearly had to take a step backwards.

‘About earlier—’

‘Whatever you’re worried about is nothing to do with me. Other people’s lives are their own business.’

She looked warily at him and then relief came over her face like a wave on a summer sea.

‘You won’t tell anyone?’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Oh, thank God,’ she said in a very unladylike fashion and sat down heavily in a chair. ‘I thought you were all right when I met you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, for a start you didn’t take all my clothes off with your eyes. You didn’t spend any time at all looking at my bosom. In fact I began to wonder if I’d suddenly lost my looks. I usually make an instant impression. I thought that maybe you preferred men, as some do. I do like your house,’ she said, getting back up again and going around the room as though she might buy it.

Then she sat down once more, sinking back into the chair. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’

Joe provided the cigarette, lit it for her and sat down.

‘My brother expects me to marry, you know. I have no money of my own and no education to speak of, no talents. It doesn’t leave a lot.’

Joe sat back and looked at her. She seemed an entirely different person to the one he had met at the dinner party, when she had been playing the dutiful sister.

‘My brother thought I was taken by you, which I’m sure he’s very worried about.’

‘So I gathered, at least something like that. A much-needed smokescreen in fact.’

She blew cigarette smoke into the air.

‘Precisely,’ she said. ‘Not that I would have done it if I had thought you couldn’t handle it.’

‘If you don’t like your life, why don’t you change it?’

She laughed and then looked sad.

‘What am I supposed to do? Go home and announce to my brother that I’ve fallen in love with our cook? She comes from a good Methodist family. Can you imagine how that would look at chapel meetings?’