Pack Up Your Troubles (20 page)

The snow was receding all the time now and the bus services were back to normal. She didn’t have to wait long. The house was part way up Durrington Hill, a Victorian cottage with grey flint work on the walls. The garden, although bare at this time of year, was neat and tidy and as she walked up the tiny path, she could hear someone playing the piano. Eva knocked on the door. When it opened a small rotund woman who looked like a much older version of Eva stood on the step.

‘Mrs Maxwell?’ Connie began cautiously.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m a …’ she almost said friend but drew back in case Mrs Maxwell took exception, ‘a work colleague of Eva’s.’

Mrs Maxwell’s face broke into a wide and welcoming smile. ‘Come in, come in, dear,’ she said hurrying ahead of Connie. ‘Please excuse the mess.’ She led Connie into the front room, taking off her wrap-over apron as she went. ‘Can I offer you some tea?’

An older woman came out into the hallway and followed them to the door.

‘This is one of the nurses Eva works with,’ Mrs Maxwell said and turning back to Connie she said, ‘Sit down, dear. Would you like some tea, or I can make coffee if you prefer it. I know you young girls prefer coffee, don’t you? We never had it much in my …’

Her words died on her lips as the older woman put her hand on her arm. ‘Something’s happened, Vi. That’s right, isn’t it, something’s happened to our Eva?’

Mrs Maxwell’s hand flew to her mouth.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Connie said quickly. She pulled her scarf away from her neck and lowered herself onto the chair. ‘But you’re right. Eva’s not well. She’s in the nurses’ sickbay.’

The older woman came right into the room and sat opposite Connie. She was about the same age as Ga but she looked a lot fitter. Her white hair had been cut in a bob and she had deep finger waves. Her lined face was full of concern but she made no sound.

‘This is my mother, Eva’s grandmother,’ said Mrs Maxwell.

‘Cecilia,’ said the older woman, ‘but everyone calls me Cissy.’

‘How do you do?’ Connie flustered. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but I think she may have the flu.’ She went on to describe how she’d found Eva and what had happened.

Mrs Maxwell sat down. ‘Is she going to be all right?’

‘I’m sure of it,’ said Connie, ‘especially as Home Sister didn’t see the need to inform you. She would have told you if it had been something serious.’

Their relief was almost palpable but Mrs Maxwell frowned crossly. ‘She should have told me anyway. I’m her mother.’

Connie couldn’t argue with that.

‘Would you like me to take your coat?’ said Cissy.

‘I’ll get the tea,’ said Mrs Maxwell suddenly as if remembering her manners. As she left the room, the older woman rearranged her cushions to give herself more support.

‘You’re Gwen Dixon’s girl, aren’t you?’ Cissy spoke casually and when she saw the alarm in Connie’s eyes, she put her hand up. ‘It’s all right. I know how your great aunt feels about this family.’ She paused and added thoughtfully, ‘It must have taken quite a bit of courage for you to come here. I appreciate what you have done.’

Connie felt her face flush as she looked down at her hands.

Mrs Maxwell brought in a tea tray and the best china cups. ‘What time are the visiting hours, dear?’

‘Six thirty until seven fifteen,’ said Connie automatically glancing at the clock. It said ten past six. She would never make it tonight. ‘But Eva’s not on the wards. She’s in the nurses’ sickbay. You could take a chance if you wanted to. They’ll probably let you in if you ask.’

‘I shall go to see her tomorrow,’ said Mrs Maxwell.

‘Did you come on the bus?’ the old lady asked.

Connie nodded.

‘Have you had your tea?’

Connie took her cup. ‘Not yet. I’ll get some fish and chips on the way home.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Mrs Maxwell. ‘You can have your tea with us. I was just about to dish up when you knocked on the door.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Connie realising for the first time just how hungry she was and remembering that she hadn’t had a thing since the mid-morning break.

‘No trouble at all, dear,’ said Mrs Maxwell getting up and going back out of the room. There was an awkward silence. Connie looked around the room and was startled to see a picture on the dresser. It was an identical picture to the one Ga had in her bedroom. A handsome young man in army uniform stood sedately next to an aspidistra plant in a formal pose. Without stopping to think, Connie blurted out, ‘Who’s that?’

‘Arthur,’ said Cissy. ‘My late husband.’

Connie was stunned into silence. The old lady scrutinised Connie’s face. ‘How is Olive, by the way?’

‘Fine,’ said Connie brightly but she could see that the brevity of her answer wasn’t enough so she added, ‘She has trouble with an arthritic knee but apart from that …’

‘She and I used to be best friends, you know.’

Connie blinked in surprise. No, she didn’t know that. Ga had never once told her they’d been friends.

‘Agatha, Olive and Cissy,’ the old woman mused. ‘We were inseparable.’

Connie frowned. If they were all such good friends, what on earth could have happened to pull them apart? It must have had something to do with Arthur. And if he was Cissy’s husband, why would Ga keep his picture by her bedside and put a red rose next to it twice a year? She was about to ask when Mrs Maxwell returned to tell her dinner was dished up. They both stood up and as Connie stepped back to let the old woman go first, she noticed that Cissy had put her bony finger on her lips. She obviously didn’t want Eva’s mother to know what they had been talking about, so Connie knew the questions would have to wait.

Fifteen

Eva made slow progress. Her mother came to see her the next day, much to the annoyance of Sister Abbott who was hoping to get her back on the wards as soon as possible.

‘You had no right to interfere,’ Sister Abbott told Connie. ‘It’s my responsibility to speak to parents. You’re getting above yourself, nurse.’

‘I only did what Nurse O’Hara asked me to do, Sister,’ Connie protested mildly.

‘And don’t answer back,’ snapped Sister Abbott.

Someone with a car had brought Mrs Maxwell to the hospital so she took her daughter home. As Connie watched her friend go, she had no regrets. Sister Abbott might give her a black mark and Ga would have an apoplectic fit if she knew Connie had gone to Eva’s house, but Eva would be in the best place.

Alone in her room that night, Connie found herself going over a few of life’s puzzles. What could have happened between Aunt Aggie, Ga and Cissy Maxwell to break their friendship? And why did Ga have the same photograph of Cissy’s husband in her room? Could it be that they were both in love with the same man? Ga had never married. Surely two women in love with one man was hardly enough to split two families?

Her thoughts turned inevitably to the Frenchie. He was engaged to someone else but Connie couldn’t stop thinking about him. Over time she’d realised that she was hopelessly in love with him but of course she would never act on it. He belonged to Mavis. She was very beautiful but if he married that awful woman … well, it didn’t bear thinking about. How simple life would have been if she’d stayed with Emmett. Funny, but she could hardly remember what he looked like now, except that she’d once told Rene that he was very handsome and reminded her of Gary Cooper.

The evening before she went to see her brother, Connie took the bus up to Durrington. Eva was already looking rested and relaxed after being pampered by her mother. The three women greeted her warmly.

‘I wish I could come with you tomorrow,’ said Eva. She was lying on the sofa with her feet up. ‘I feel badly letting you down like this.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Connie. ‘You can’t help being ill and besides, I think you should know, your brother has agreed to come with me.’

‘Roger?’ cried Eva. ‘Connie Dixon, you are a dark horse.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing like that,’ Connie protested. ‘He telephoned to check when I was going and said that although he couldn’t come and fetch me, he’d meet me off the train.’

‘Who is meeting you off the train?’ Mrs Maxwell interrupted them with a tray of tea.

‘Roger,’ teased Eva.

Vi Maxwell beamed. ‘That’s nice, dear.’

The same scenario was repeated with Eva’s grandmother, Cissy. ‘It would certainly be a turn up for the books if you and Roger get together,’ she smiled.

‘He’s only meeting me from the train,’ cried Connie. Heavens above, they were hearing wedding bells already!

‘Does Olive know?’ and when Connie shook her head, Cissy added, ‘I didn’t think so.’

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Eva’s fiancé, Dr Steven Mitchell stood on the doorstep. He was tall with a lean body and long artistic fingers. He wore glasses and his hair was slightly receding. After introductions, Connie, Vi and Cissy went into the kitchen and left Eva and Steven alone. ‘Don’t bother with the bus back,’ she called to Connie. ‘Steven says he’ll drive you.’ Connie was secretly pleased. A car ride was always preferable because it was door to door. She was tired after the long day and didn’t fancy the walk from the bus stop especially when she had to be up early the next day. While they waited, Vi offered her some sponge cake and they sat at the kitchen table.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Connie ventured, her cheeks bulging.

‘What happened between Olive and me?’ Cissy pre-empted.

Connie nodded and pushed a stray crumb back into her mouth with her finger.

‘It was because of Arthur,’ Cissy sighed. ‘He was the love of my life, but he was with Olive to begin with.’

Connie raised an eyebrow. ‘So that’s why she has his picture on her dressing table,’ she blurted out. A hurt look flicked across Cissy’s face and Connie immediately regretted what she’d said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that. Please forgive me.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ said Cissy. ‘When Arthur came back from the Boer War, he only had one leg. It never bothered me, after all, he was the same person. She tried to make a go of it but Olive couldn’t bear him to touch her. We were all friends together. We grew up together and when he turned to me for comfort, I fell in love with him.’

‘I see,’ said Connie.

Cissy shrugged deeply. ‘I don’t regret what I did and I did my best to make him happy. We had a good life together.’

‘He always loved you, Mum,’ said Vi.

Connie was still struggling to understand. ‘Is that why Olive, I mean Ga, is still upset with you, because you married Arthur?’

Cissy nodded. ‘But there was something between our families long before then. She and I went against the grain by being friends.’

‘A bit like Eva and me, then,’ said Connie.

‘Exactly like you and Eva,’ smiled Cissy.

‘So what was it that tore the families apart in the first place?’ said Connie, intrigued.

Cissy shrugged. ‘I never knew what it was but it went all the way back to the last century. Something to do with Little Mac.’

Eva frowned. ‘Little Mac? Who was that?’

Cissy pouted her bottom lip and shook her head. ‘Some long-dead relative or other.’

*

‘I’ve got nowhere to go, Mum.’

Stan was standing on the doorstep in the pouring rain with only the clothes he stood up in.

Her heart was already racing but how could she refuse? He was her son. She knew the rumours, she’d heard the gossip and she’d read the newspapers but she couldn’t turn him away, could she?

‘I did everything properly, just like you wanted. I looked after her, Mum. She was happy, I swear it.’

‘If she was happy,’ she snapped, ‘how come she did what she did?’

‘We can’t talk on the doorstep, Mum,’ he said looking around. ‘Let me in and we’ll talk about it.’

She hesitated. A woman walking her dog peered in at the gate.

He glanced behind him and then leaned towards his mother and whispered, ‘You don’t want all the neighbours hearing our business do you?’

She stepped back and let him through. He made his way to the only warm room in the house and flopped into a chair. ‘Make us a cup of tea, Mum?’

Reluctantly she filled the kettle and put it onto the New World gas stove.

‘If you could let me have my old room,’ he was saying, ‘just for a while. I’ll keep out of your way.’

She kept her back to him. ‘I can’t go through all that again,’ she said cautiously.

‘You won’t have to, Mum,’ he said rising to his feet and putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘I’ve changed. Doesn’t the fact that I got married prove that I have changed?’

She said nothing.

‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Mum.’ He had both arms around her now. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’

She found herself relaxing. He wasn’t a bad boy. That first time he didn’t realise what he was doing. That stupid girl was just as much to blame. Mud sticks, that’s all. And he’d kept out of trouble since, hadn’t he?

The kettle whistled and he let go of her so that she could make the tea.

‘I’ve got to start all over again, Mum. These past few weeks have been awful.’

Her heart constricted. She turned towards him. He was sitting back at the table with his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. She sat opposite him and took his hands in hers. ‘Oh! What happened to your hands?’

‘Burnt.’ He looked up at her, his face streaked with tears. ‘Someone set fire to my house, Mum. I’ve only just come out of hospital. I’ve been in there for nearly two weeks. What did I do to deserve all this?’

She was so moved she almost cried with him. Her boy. Her poor boy.

‘Help me, Mum,’ he said brokenly. ‘Please.’

‘Promise me,’ she began, ‘promise me that what your wife did had nothing to do with you.’

‘Absolutely not, Mum. How can you even think …’ he broke off and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. He blew his nose noisily. ‘What can I say to make you believe me?’