The year of the virgins (23 page)

Yes, it was amazing she was still breathing, and some part of him wished fervently that she wasn't, because, after this, what would her life be? They certainly wouldn't send her back to the County but to some other place of high security, especially if either his Dad or Maggie died. And then there was Annette. How to tell her? because she was still weak. The birth had taken it out of her more than somewhat. His talk of her sitting up and being perky had been diplomatic bluff.

There was more bustle at the hospital, and as his mother was being wheeled away he was surprised to see in the hallway a nurse whom he recognised as being from the County Asylum, accompanied by a man. And she, seeing him, approached him immediately, saying, 'Tragic, Mr Coulson, isn't it?'

He nodded. 'Yes, nurse, tragic,' he said.

And as if somewhat apologetically, the man said, 'We searched the garden last night. Although it was dark we went over it thoroughly after we knew she had been to the house.'

'Oh, you wouldn't have thought of looking among those crates and boxes,' excused Joe; 'but how did she get out?'

He turned to the nurse and she replied, 'Apparently with the help of two of her room-mates. They're wily ... they're

all wily. They had done the old trick of packing pillows in her bed, and they did it thoroughly because, as you know, she's a size.'

'But she'd have to get through the gates?'

'Oh, she didn't go that way. She must have had this in mind for some time and had looked around the garden and the strip of woodland. She climbed over the wall. There's a tree grows near the wall and one of the lower branches touches the top of it. How she managed to get up there with her weight, I don't know, I just don't know, but they think that's the only way she could have escaped. She was very agile on her feet, you know, very light. Still, to climb that tree! But in that state they'll do anything, and can achieve anything once they set their mind to it. Do you think she'll live?'

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, T hope not,' but he answered, T can't tell.' Then, saying, 'Excuse me,' he turned away and went to the desk and said, 'May I see Mr Coulson and Miss Doherty?'

'If you'll just take a seat, I'll enquire,' said the receptionist and lifted the phone. Presently she beckoned to him, saying, 'If you go to number four ward, Sister Bell will see you.'

'Thank you.'

Sister Bell took him into her office and, after offering him a seat, she said, 'What a tragedy. I've just heard that your mother, too, has been brought in.'

He made no answer to this but said, 'How's my father, and Miss Doherty?'

'Well,' she sighed, 'it appears there's little change from last night. Yet they're both alive and we can only hope for the best. But I would say your father is in a much worse state than Miss Doherty.'

'May I see them?'

'Yes; if you stay just a moment and don't start a conversation.' She shrugged her shoulders now, adding, 'Not that it would be of any use.'

When he stood by his father's side he looked down on a face that was swollen and so black and blue as to be unrecognisable. There was a tube up his nostril, one in his arm, as well as what appeared to be wires attached to his arm. He looked much like Don had looked after the accident. He wanted to put his hand out to him and say, 'Oh, Dad. Poor Dad,' for the words were like whimpering inside of him. Stephen had said she had been carrying a lump of wood. Well, it must have been a hefty stave, but then she was a hefty woman, and in her madness she could have wreaked havoc with a hair-brush.

When, next, he stood by Maggie's bed, her eyes were open and peering out from the bandages around her head and face. He said aloud, 'Oh, Maggie.' And she went to raise her hand from the bed cover, but the effort seemed too much.

Looking down on her he felt his throat was full: Maggie of all people, why did she have to suffer like this? But why not? She had, in a way, made his mother suffer, for she couldn't have been unaware of her cook's feelings for her husband. Yet she must have, or else she would have sent her packing years ago. If she hadn't been mad to begin with, that bedroom scene would surely have tipped the scales.

He brought back to mind the sight of Stephen standing there in the corridor that morning, almost before he had got into the house, and gripping the lapels of his coat as he stammered, 'Dad was on the floor, Joe, with no clothes on. And Maggie, she was an' all, with no clothes on. That was bad, wasn't it? Maggie shouldn't have been there, not

without her clothes. I haven't told Don, as he's still asleep. Anyway, that new day-nurse wouldn't let me in.'

Joe had shaken him gently, saying, 'Now, be quiet, Stephen. Be a good lad. And from what Peggie tells me you've been a very brave fellow getting the doctor and the ambulance.' He didn't mention the police.

'My head aches, Joe, an' all over. I'm paining, Joe.'

'Well, go upstairs and get into the bath and I'll be with you in a minute or two.'

'But I've had a bath, Joe.'

'Well, go and have another.' He had only just stopped himself from yelling at him, but keeping his voice level, he went on, 'Lie in it: it'll help to take the pain away. Then I'll come up shortly. Go on now.'

'You won't go away, Joe, will you?'

'Go away? What are you talking about? Don't be silly. Go on now.' . . .

He had to cross the hospital yard to get to the Maternity Ward. At one point he stood on the frozen grass verge and pondered what he should say to Annette. It wasn't likely that she'd heard the news already, so he decided he would say nothing until later in the day, and not even then unless either of them died. He didn't include Maggie in his thinking, nor yet Don. He remained standing as he thought: four of the household in this hospital; five, if one counted the baby; and back in the house Don lay as near death as made no odds. There seemed to be only himself and Stephen left whole. What had happened to the family?

When love, all kinds of love, came as the answer, he jerked himself from the verge and hurried towards the Maternity Ward, and strangely, Stephen's words came to the front of his mind: 'You won't go away, Joe, will you?'

Annette was propped up in bed. She showed her surprise immediately by saying, 'You're supposed to be at the wedding.'

'Oh, Dad changed his mind and thought he should be there. So we swapped around again.'

'But you would have liked to go, Joe.'

'Not all that much. Anyway, they'll be coming up this week. How are you feeling?'

He drew up a chair to the side of the bed and took hold of her hand, and after a moment she answered, 'Up and down. I've had an uneasy night, they tell me. Temperature popped sky high around midnight. I felt awful. I couldn't explain it, so they made me take a sleeping tablet. You know how I hate sleeping tablets. And then I had sort of nightmares. Oh, I'm glad to see you, Joe.'

But he did not pursue this line; instead, he asked, 'How's her ladyship?'

'Well, I saw her half an hour ago and she said she'd like to stay here with me, but they wouldn't let her. And I told her to put on some weight and then she could defy them, and walk in all on her own.' She smiled wanly, and he said, 'You'll be surprised how soon that'll come about.'

Her eyes tight on his now, her face unsmiling, she asked, 'How is Don?'

He paused a moment before answering: 'Well, he was still asleep when I came out.'

'He's worse? Tell me, tell me the truth, Joe, he's worse?'

'Now, now; don't be silly, he's not worse.'

'You know what, Joe? With that weird feeling I had last night I was sure he had died. I must get home soon. They said it might be ten days or a fortnight but I can't possibly stay that long. And . . . and he must see the child. Joe, you understand?'

'Yes, my dear' - he was stroking her hand now - 'I understand how you feel, and I'll have a talk with the doctor and find out just how soon they'll let you go. But you must remember this was no ordinary birth, as I think you know. It wasn't plain sailing.' He smiled at her, but her face was straight as she answered, 'Nothing I seem to do is plain sailing, being clever and getting pregnant for a start.' She turned from him now and looked down towards the foot of the bed. 'Getting married and having such a wedding day. And I blame myself for that because if ... if I hadn't been pregnant there would have been no hurry. And what did it do to Don? Killed him slowly.'

'Be quiet. And don't talk like that. What you did, what both of you did, was out of love for each other.' There was that word again. What a lot it had to answer for. He went on, 'Stephen sends his love. I'm going to have to bring him in one day to see you. It's a job to get away from him when he knows I'm coming in and he keeps yammering on about the baby.' How easy it was to create a story; and once started he went on, 'The girls send their love, and . . . and Maggie. They keep asking when they'll be allowed to visit. They've all been knitting like mad.' That was true; he had seen them at it in the kitchen.

The nurse entered the room now with a tray and, looking at him, she said briskly and in an exaggerated Northern accent, 'This is chucking out time. Will you go peacefully or shall I have to use force?'

He smiled at her, saying, 'Well, I don't know; I might make a stand for it.' Then bending over Annette, he kissed her on the cheek, saying, 'I'll be in this afternoon.'

As he backed a few steps from the bed she said, 'When will Dad be back? I want to hear all about the wedding.'

'Oh . . . oh.' He scratched his brow now, saying, 'Well,

I think he might stay on until they come up. I ... I really don't know. But anyway, you'll have to put up with me for a day or so.'

'Give my love to Don, won't you?' Her voice was small and he said, 'Oh, yes, yes, I'll give him your love, dear.'

Once again out in the grounds, he stood breathing deeply of the icy air. He knew he must now go back into the hospital and find out what was happening to his mother, when all he really wanted to do was get into the car and drive, drive away from it all . . . from everyone. Yes, even from Annette, because every time he looked at her he was torn between love for Don and desire for her.

Back in the reception area of the hospital he was making his way towards the desk when a sister hailed him; then standing in front of him she looked at him and said quietly, 'I'm afraid, Mr Coulson, we weren't able to save your mother. She . . . she didn't regain consciousness. She died from the effects of exposure.'

Was he sorry? Was he glad? He didn't know. But after a moment he asked, 'What is the procedure now?' And she answered, 'Well, she'll go to the mortuary and you'll have to make your own arrangements. They generally lie in the undertaker's chapel, you know.'

'Yes, yes. There's nothing more required of me now?'

'No; unless you would like to see her.'

'No.' The word was emphatic. Then he added, 'Thank you. I'll . . . I'll be back.' And on that he turned abruptly from her.

The sister went to stop him with a movement of her hand as if she had something more to say. Then, turning towards the desk, she leant on it for a moment as she said to the receptionist, 'He's upset naturally, but if you ask me it's just as well she went. She could have been certified as

insane and then she would have spent her life inside. And if she wasn't. . . well! by what I understand she did to those other two last night, she would have gone along the line for that. Oh well, it's all in a day's work.' And on a small laugh she said, 'One day I'll write a book and I'll call it, "She Died At Her Post", because I don't know how I'm going to get through this session. My head's lifting off.'

It was Sunday evening. Flo and Harvey had arrived earlier in the day, and it was Flo who was now standing in the hall talking to Father Ramshaw.

Helping him off with his coat, she said, 'I'm sorry, Father, to get you out at this time of night, and such a night, but I don't think this is a case for the doctor. As I said to you on the phone, he swears she's in the room with him.'

'Well, she might be at that, Flo, because she was a very forceful woman. She's shown that in more ways than one. Dear God! she has that. But who would have thought she would have gone to the lengths she did. But there, human nature is as unpredictable as the weather, for who would have thought we would have snow at this late time of the year. But then again we should have remembered we've had it before as we should also remember that human nature is a very strange mixture of the good, the bad, and the "I can't help it".'

'Will you come in to the dining-room and have a drink first, Father?'

'No, no; later perhaps. What's the latest from the hospital?'

'Daniel has regained consciousness. They think he'll pull through.'

'Thanks be to God for that at least. And Stephen?'

'He's asleep, Father. I gave him a tablet. He's been through it, poor boy.'

'He acted very sensibly by all accounts.'

'Yes, yes, he did. You know, Father, I must confess, if I'm sorry for anyone in this world I'm sorry for Stephen. Just that little something . . . just that tiny little something up here' - she tapped her forehead - 'and he'd be a splendid fellow.'