A Family Affair (60 page)

Charlotte was out by the door, leaning heavily on her stick, when Helen eventually pulled up outside Number 11, Greenslade Terrace.

‘Oh, Gran, don't even ask!' Helen couldn't face going through it all again. She was too worried – though she was trying to console herself that thanks to her chance meeting with Bryn and her telephone call to the home, Jenny's absence had been discovered hours before it might otherwise have been, and the search for her begun. ‘I'm really sorry, though, leaving you on your own all this time.'

‘Oh, I'm not on my own,' Charlotte said. ‘I've got company.'

‘Company.'

‘Me.' Paul appeared in the doorway. ‘We've been getting along just fine without her, haven't we, Gran?'

‘Gran!' Helen managed a smile. She thought she had never been more pleased to see anyone in her life.

An hour and a half after Helen dropped him off, Bryn was knocking on the door of the home. His leg was paining him quite badly and hunching over the handlebars of his motorcycle he had discovered that he had strained a shoulder muscle too. But he gritted his teeth against the discomfort. Something so trivial wasn't going to stop him finding Jenny.

The door was opened by Sister Theresa. She stood barring his way, her face apprehensive beneath her veil. Men always made Sister Theresa nervous, their rough ways and loud voices set her nerves jangling and this young man, in his leather jacket and crash helmet, looked more threatening than most.

‘Can I help you?' she asked timidly.

‘Has Jenny been found?'

‘Jenny?'

‘Jenny Simmons. Has she come back?'

‘No – we don't know where she is.'

‘Have the police been told she's missing?'

‘Yes, yes, of course. We're very worried about her. She's due to have her baby at any time.'

‘What is going on here?' Sister Anne appeared in the doorway. Sister Theresa explained, still fluttering.

‘You'd better come in,' Sister Anne said. ‘It's all right, Sister, he's not going to attack you.'

‘I take it you are the young man to blame for Jennifer's condition,' she said severely when she and Bryn were alone in her study.

His eyes met hers square on. ‘I am. Yes.'

‘I can tell you very little, except that Jennifer walked out of our care soon after midday today. As I'm sure you must be aware, the girls are not prisoners here, and we cannot be responsible for their well-being if they choose to absent themselves in this way.'

‘Where could she have gone?' Bryn asked. He had no intention wasting time with apportioning responsibility or blame.

‘I really have no idea. As I told the police …'

‘Where do you think she might have gone?' Seeing Sister Anne about to deny all knowledge once again, he added: ‘I want to find her, and I should think you'd want that too.'

‘I should be pleased to know she is safe, of course,' Sister Anne conceded. ‘Though whether we would be prepared to take her in again is another matter entirely. This kind of thing is very bad for our reputation and the sooner the police cease to be involved, the better.'

‘So where could she have gone?' Bryn persisted.

Sister Anne thought for a moment. ‘We're very isolated here. She
could
have walked, I suppose, but in her condition it's not likely she would get very far. I think the most likely thing is that she would have caught a bus in the village. They run into town every half an hour. Unless of course she hitched a lift in a car.'

Bryn's anxiety was a knot in his stomach. The thought of Jenny vulnerable and alone in a car with a stranger was not a pleasant one. As for the bus … if she had gone into the city she could be anywhere by now. But at least it was a starting point. The only one he had. And the voice of intuition, though he was almost afraid to listen to it, was telling him he might be on the right track. He tried one last question.

‘She hasn't made any friends around here that you know of?'

‘None of the girls she has met live in the vicinity. And if they did, they would be in no position to help her.'

Bryn moved towards the door. ‘I'll just have to look and keep looking then,' he said.

For the first time, a small crack appeared in Sister Anne's concrete-hard façade. ‘You will let us know if you find her?'

Bryn didn't reply. He was already on his way.

‘I'm afraid you've gone too far this time, m'dear,' Joe said, shaking his head. His tone was worried and sad, but it also had that edge that Carrie dreaded.

‘I did it for the best.'

‘That's your trouble. You always do. But to keep her letters like that – you shouldn't have done that, you know. You've really upset the apple cart this time.'

‘Never mind the letters!' Carrie snapped defensively. ‘Where's our Jenny, that's what I want to know. I'm worried to death about her, Joe.'

‘So are we all, m'dear. But she'll turn up. She's a good girl, our Jenny. The thing is, when she does, you're going to have to own up about all this.'

Carrie pressed a hand over her mouth. Beneath it, her chin wobbled dangerously.

‘Whatever is she going to think of me, Joe?'

‘Well, she's not going to be best pleased with you, that goes without saying. But I reckon the best way to make it up to her is to give her the chance to make up her own mind what she wants to do about the boy – and the baby. We should never have sent her away at a time like this. She should be here at a time like this, in her own home.'

‘But everyone would have been pointing the finger …'

‘You shouldn't worry your head so much about what people think. If she's run away from that place, she must be unhappy there. When she turns up, and she will, let her come home. And if she wants to keep the nipper, whether that boy's on the scene or not, then we should let her. Only leave it to
her
, Carrie. Stop trying to make her mind up for her.'

Carrie bit her trembling lip. What Joe was suggesting would blow all her carefully laid plans out of the water. But perhaps he was right. For all that he seldom expressed his opinions, he often was.

‘Let's just find her first,' Carrie said jerkily. ‘Let's just find her and make sure she's all right, and then we'll worry about all the rest of it.'

‘It wouldn't do any harm to be thinking about it while we're waiting,' Joe said firmly.

Jenny was studying the timetables, covered with sheets of clear plastic, that punctuated the edge of the square outside the bus station. She was trying to work out the best way of getting home. She was hungry, her head ached and her back was niggling unbearably. Because her eyes were blurring it wasn't easy to make out the small print on the timetables, much less decipher which buses ran, or didn't run, on Saturday evenings. She was worried as to whether she had enough money for the fare, even more worried about the reception she would get when she arrived home. Should she telephone – ask if David or Steve could come and get her? But that would give them the chance to take her back to the home.

A bus rolled up to one of the stops, disgorging a gang of girls, obviously Saturday night revellers. They were giggling and chatting and the reminder that such a short time ago she had been just like them deepened Jenny's despair. She looked away quickly, out across the square, and suddenly her heart was pounding, racing.

The young man walking down the opposite side of the square was exactly like Bryn! Fair hair, black leather jacket. She must be going mad, seeing things like a mirage in the desert. But she couldn't tear her eyes away. It couldn't be him. It wasn't possible. But …

It was! It was Bryn!

Terrified of losing sight of him, Jenny plunged off the pavement. The bus that had just finished unloading the Saturday night revellers was backing up. Jenny was totally unaware of it and the driver never saw her step into his path.

‘Bryn!' she shouted. And at the very moment he turned and saw her, she went under the bus.

‘She'll be all right, Helen,' Paul said. ‘What can possibly happen to her?'

‘I don't know. She's a sensible girl, but …' Helen broke off, unwilling to admit she had this really bad feeling.

‘Look – why don't we go out? Reuben's on call, your gran's on the mend, and you could do with taking your mind off all this. There's nothing you can do.'

‘I know.' But she knew that as long as Jenny was missing she wouldn't be able to forget. ‘Well, if we do go out, can we at least call round first to see if there's any news?'

He pulled a face. ‘If you want, I suppose.'

‘I do want.'

‘You, Helen,' he said, ‘are one of the most caring GPs I've ever me.'

She pulled a face back. ‘I hope it makes up for my other shortcomings. I'm losing far too many patients one way and another.'

‘This one will turn up, I promise you.'

‘I hope you're right.'

But the bad feeling persisted.

‘Jenny! Jenny – can you hear me!'

His voice seemed to be coming from a long way off, a million miles away, above the singing in her head, above the thick whirring background noises. She tried to move and could not. She was wedged firmly and her leg was doubled awkwardly beneath her. And there was pain – so much pain. Everywhere, it seemed, and yet concentrated in her back and in her loins, as if the ache that had been there all day had suddenly exploded.

My baby!
she tried to cry out. But no sound came. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak. She couldn't even cry.

‘We'll get you out, Jenny, don't worry. Hold on!'

His voice was even fainter than before, the roaring in her ears was louder, like the tide roaring into a cave on the shoreline, washing over her in waves, obliterating everything.

To Bryn, it seemed to take for ever. In fact, the emergency services were on the scene within minutes, but then everything was moving in slow motion.

Jenny was trapped underneath a couple of hundredweight of solid metal. She was unconscious, mercifully perhaps, but that was not all. She had gone into labour. The full force of the situation hit Bryn with the same force as if he too had been hit by the bus. He'd found her – thank God! – but that was small compensation now. He'd found her and he might be about to lose her again. Irretrievably. And the baby that he'd only just found out about. Not that the baby mattered to him at this moment. Only Jenny mattered. And Jenny was in God-alone-knew what condition.

Helpless, able to do nothing whatever to help free her, Bryn turned away, staring up into the deep blue of the sky above the rooftops, and let out a silent howl of agony.

Heather replaced the receiver and turned to Steve and Glad, who stood in the hallway behind her. She was paper white and trembling. From the one-sided conversation they had been able to hear, Steve and Glad had gathered that Jenny had been found, but also that something was dreadfully wrong.

‘What is it? What's happened?' Glad asked. Her hand was clutching her heart.

Steve said nothing, simply went to Heather and put his arm around her. He knew how much Jenny meant to Heather and why. She had told him her secret long ago, before they were married.

‘She's been in an accident,' Heather said, trying to keep her voice steady and utterly failing. ‘She's in hospital now, and they're doing an emergency Caesarean.'

‘Oh my Lord!' Glad said.

‘I have to go to her,' Heather said. ‘Can you take me, Steve? Bryn's there, but I have to be with her too.'

‘Of course,' Steve said. ‘Vanessa …'

‘I'll look after Vanessa,' Glad said. ‘Don't you worry about her. But you must let your mum know, Heather.'

‘Yes … yes, of course … oh, I can't think straight!' One thought did fight its way to the surface. ‘I don't want her coming, though. Not after what she's done.'

‘You mustn't talk like that,' Glad said. ‘She did wrong, of course, but she loves Jenny just like you do. She's always been a good mother to her. You mustn't let something like this make you forget all the good things.'

Heather closed her eyes briefly. At the moment she could think of nothing beyond the indisputable fact that Jenny would not now be lying in hospital undergoing emergency surgery if it hadn't been for Carrie and her desire to dominate every aspect of their lives.

‘Glad's right, Heather,' Steve said gently. ‘We all make mistakes.'

‘The trouble with Mum is that she won't admit it,' Heather said harshly.

‘All the same …'

‘I know, I know. All right, we'll go up and tell her before we leave. I just hope she won't want to come with us.'

But even as she said it she knew it was a vain hope. Trying to keep Carrie away would be like King Canute trying to hold back the tide.

In fact she was in for a surprise.

‘Do you want to come with us, Mum?' she asked, holding out the olive branch in spite of herself. But Carrie shook her head.

‘You know I can't abide hospitals.'

‘But don't you want to see Jenny – and the baby?'

‘If it's all right, you mean.'

Heather swallowed hard. Carrie had voiced her unspoken fear that the baby might not survive.

‘Is that what you want, Mum?' she said before she could stop herself. ‘It would solve everything, wouldn't it, if the baby died. We could all pretend nothing had ever happened.'

But Carrie denied it vehemently. ‘How can you say such a thing? It's my grandchild, isn't it?' Heather's eyes met hers and she amended: ‘All right – my
great-grandchild.
It amounts to the same thing.'

If she hadn't been so worried, Heather might have found that funny. As it was, she was in no mood for laughing.

‘No, I won't come,' Carrie said again. ‘That boy will be there, won't he?'