Where the Heart Lies (43 page)

Peggy laughed. Cissy would never change, but at heart she was a kind, loving girl who would no doubt love this baby as much as she adored her young brothers. ‘I think we can manage that,’ she replied happily.

Julie returned from Eileen’s to discover a party was going on in Peggy’s kitchen. It seemed she’d finally decided to tell everyone about the baby, and Jim was waxing lyrical about how clever and proud he was.

She smiled as she accepted the cup of cocoa and the rather stale digestive biscuit. Peggy’s pregnancy had been the worst-kept secret in the house, what with Jim strutting about like a cockerel, and Peggy swathed in loose dresses and that voluminous apron of hers. Ron was the only one who hadn’t cottoned on to the situation, but then he was so taken up with Rosie at the Anchor, that a bomb could drop right through the roof and he wouldn’t notice.

She sipped the hot, sweet cocoa, noting that Cissy looked a bit put out by the whole thing, but then she had an idea that Peggy’s youngest daughter enjoyed being the centre of attention, and that her little nose had been knocked rather out of joint by it all.

‘I’ll just go and check on William,’ she murmured to Peggy. ‘Has he been all right?’

Peggy nodded. ‘He was still a bit warm when I looked in on him earlier, but he hasn’t stirred all evening.’

Julie left the kitchen and hurried upstairs. In the dim light of the nursery lamp, she tiptoed over to the cot and peeked in. William was lying on his back, arms and legs splayed, the light blanket kicked away.

She felt his head and frowned. He was still a bit too warm for her liking, and his breathing sounded slightly laboured. Perhaps he was going down with a summer cold – there were plenty of them about at the moment.

She went and fetched the thermometer from her
nursing bag and tucked it under his arm. Checking his pulse as she waited, her concern rose, for it was far too rapid. Retrieving the thermometer, she felt her own pulse stutter. He definitely had a temperature, and although it wasn’t dangerously high, it would need monitoring through the night.

Leaving the bedroom, she hurried into the bathroom, grabbed his flannel, and filled a metal basin with cool water. He was stirring as she returned to him, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he squirmed and whimpered in his sleep. ‘Shhh. It’s all right, darling,’ she murmured, gently placing the cool flannel on his forehead. ‘Mummy just needs to cool you down.’

Peggy came into the bedroom some time later and approached the cot where Julie was still bathing him with the cool flannel. ‘You’ve been gone a long time,’ she whispered. ‘Is something the matter?’

Julie told her about his temperature. ‘If I can’t get it down, I’ll have to phone the doctor,’ she whispered back. ‘His breathing’s not good either, and I suspect he’s got a cold coming.’

‘Do you want me to sit with him while you get ready for bed?’

‘Thanks, Peg.’ She handed her the flannel and bowl. ‘I won’t be long.’ Julie hurried into the bathroom, washed and changed into her nightclothes and hurried back. William had had colds before and they hadn’t had any lasting effect, but this felt different somehow, and it worried her.

‘You get off to bed, Peggy. I’ll take over here,’ she whispered.

‘If you need me in the night . . .’

Julie nodded. ‘I know. Go to bed, look after yourself and that baby you’re carrying, and stop worrying about everyone else,’ she said rather sternly. ‘I’m sure your doctor told you to take things easy.’

Peggy grinned. ‘He’s an old fusspot, and I’m sure he means well, but you know me, Julie. I can’t bear not to be at the centre of things.’

Julie gave her a swift hug and then turned her towards the door. ‘Go to bed,’ she ordered. When Peggy had reluctantly closed the bedroom door behind her, Julie went back to William.

His breathing was definitely laboured, and his temperature, although stable, was still too high. She put a pillow beneath the mattress so he wasn’t lying flat, peeled off his vest and drew a chair up to the side of the cot. It could be a long night, she thought as she squeezed out the flannel and began to wash him down gently, but she didn’t dare sleep.

It was two in the morning, and Julie must have dozed off. She opened her eyes, startled awake by the sound of William’s rasping breath and phlegmy cough. Taking his temperature, she checked his pulse. Both gave her cause for alarm, and she ran swiftly downstairs and dialled the surgery.

The ringing seemed to go on for hours, and she
was about to abandon the call and ring the hospital when, finally, someone picked up at the other end.

‘Cliffe Surgery. Dr Michael speaking,’ said the sleep-heavy voice.

‘It’s Julie Harris,’ she said urgently. ‘William isn’t at all well. He has a cough, his breathing is irregular, his pulse is rapid, and his temperature is creeping up.’

‘I’ll be about ten minutes.’

Julie replaced the receiver and ran back up the stairs to find Peggy standing by William’s cot. ‘Michael’s on his way,’ she said.

‘I’ll make a pot of tea and wait for him downstairs.’ Peggy buttoned her dressing gown. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’

Julie shook her head, unable to speak for the terror that was threatening to swallow her. William was clearly a very sick baby, and with his heart condition, it could even be fatal. The thought of losing him now was something she didn’t dare contemplate.

She swiftly changed into a cotton dress and cardigan, and was just lacing her shoes when she heard Michael’s car pull up outside. Julie finished tying the laces as he and Peggy exchanged words in the hall, and was standing in the bedroom doorway waiting for him as he reached the landing.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly,’ she whispered, not wanting to wake the rest of the house.

‘No problem,’ he muttered as he strode into the bedroom and made straight for the cot. Despite her
terrible anxiety, she noted he must have dressed quickly, for his shirt was hanging out of his trousers, and he was wearing odd shoes. His face was haggard with weariness, his hair flopping over his eyes as he swiftly examined William and fired a barrage of questions at her.

Julie was on tenterhooks as she waited for him to finish, and when he turned from the cot and looked at her, she knew her worst fears had been realised.

‘He seems to have a chest infection,’ he said, folding his stethoscope into his medical bag. ‘Best I take him straight to the hospital in my car. Would you get him ready while I phone and warn them we’re coming?’

She stared up at him, unable to move or speak for the fear that tore through her.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, his brown eyes kindly as he looked down at her. ‘The infection isn’t serious, but with William’s heart condition, it’s best not to take any chances.’ He edged towards the door. ‘Wrap him up warmly,’ he advised. ‘It’s quite chilly out there.’

Julie heard him run down the stairs. Heard him say something to Peggy and the single ‘ting’ of the telephone as he lifted the receiver and asked the operator to put him through to hospital admissions. She moved as if in a dream – a nightmare – and began to prepare William for the short drive to the hospital.

As she carried him downstairs she was all too aware of how floppy he’d become, and how dry
and hot his skin was. The infection had clearly taken hold and was now rampaging through him.

With only a hint of a smile at Peggy, she almost ran out of the house after Michael. He gunned the engine as soon as she’d shut the door, did a screeching three-point turn and then put his foot down and raced them down a deserted Camden Road.

They came to a skidding halt on the gravel outside the main doors and, before Julie could clamber out, Michael had snatched William from her arms and was running up the steps to where Mr Watson was waiting.

She slammed the car door and ran after them, but the two men were already almost out of sight as they headed down the long corridor to the special baby ward. Her heart was in her mouth, her fear a terrible, clawing thing in her gut as she tried to catch up with them.

They clattered through swing doors and disappeared into the special side ward, and as Julie finally managed to reach them, they were already surrounded by nurses, busy at work on William.

Michael turned. ‘Wait outside, Julie,’ he said sternly. ‘You can see him when we’ve finished here.’

‘He’s not going to . . .’

‘Not if I can help it,’ smiled Mr Watson. ‘Now, please, leave us to get on.’

Julie slowly backed away through the doors and stood watching them through the window until the nurse drew the curtains around the bed. She
sank onto one of the hard chairs in the long corridor and stared at the blank wall in front of her, determined not to shed a tear or lose control. William needed her to be strong, needed her to fulfil the promise she’d made on that awful day when Franny had died. She was all he had, and she couldn’t fail him now.

Time stretched interminably as she sat there in that almost deserted corridor. Nurses went in and out of the ward, each giving her a cheerful smile and encouraging her to drink tea while she waited. But none of them would tell her what was happening inside that little room, saying only that the doctors would tell her as soon as they’d finished.

She’d set aside the third cup of unwanted tea when she heard the tap of familiar footsteps approaching. ‘Oh, Peggy,’ she sighed. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. But you should be in bed resting.’

Peggy patted her hand and sat down. ‘I couldn’t possibly rest knowing how worried you must be.’ She dug into her string bag and pulled out a flask. ‘I made tea, but I see you’ve already had some,’ she said, eyeing the discarded cup and saucer. ‘Never mind. We’ll have it later.’ She took Julie’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. ‘Do you know anything yet?’

Julie shook her head. ‘No one is telling me anything, and I haven’t seen either of the doctors since they went in there.’ She gave an exasperated
sigh. ‘I hate hospitals,’ she hissed. ‘They’re like gentlemen’s clubs, the doctors all ganging up on us, thinking we’re just silly women and don’t know our arse from our elbows.’

Peggy giggled. ‘That’s it, Julie. You let off some steam, girl. It’ll make you feel better if nothing else.’

Julie grinned shamefacedly. ‘You can take a girl out of the East End, but you can never take the East End out of the girl,’ she said softly.

‘Do you miss it?’

‘More than I like to admit sometimes,’ she replied. ‘It’s where I was born, what I know and understand. Being down here is like being on holiday – not real, somehow.’

‘Do you think you’ll go back?’

‘Once I know it’s safe to take William. He’s a Londoner, too, and he should know where he came from.’

The doors swung open and Julie shot to her feet as Michael and Mr Watson came into the corridor. ‘How is he?’

‘He has a mild chest infection which we can clear with medication,’ said Mr Watson. ‘But his heart is definitely struggling with the build-up of fluid in his lungs, so we need to monitor him closely over the next few days.’

‘But he will get over this?’ she asked anxiously.

‘We have every reason to believe so,’ he replied. ‘You may see him for a few minutes, and then I suggest you go home and come back during visiting
time tomorrow afternoon.’ He looked at his watch and smiled. ‘Or rather, this afternoon.’

Michael stepped forward and smiled down at her rather stiffly. ‘Do as he says, Sister Harris, and don’t worry about your rounds. I’ll get Eunice and Fay to take them over while I sort out the two surgeries with Father.’

Julie and Peggy watched as the two doctors strode down the corridor. ‘I’ll wait here until you’re ready to come home,’ said Peggy quietly. ‘Go and see that boy, and give him a kiss from me.’

Julie went into the side ward, smiled wanly at the sister in charge and went to William’s cot. He was in an oxygen tent, just as he’d been when he was born. Propped up by bolster pillows into almost a sitting position, he had a drip feed in his arm, and a huge machine by the side of his cot monitored his heartbeat. She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t kiss him – not while he was encased in the oxygen tent – so she had to satisfy herself by just gazing down at him, willing him to find the strength to fight the infection and get better.

Peggy was waiting for her as she’d promised and, as the first light of a new day began to filter over the horizon, they slowly walked arm-in-arm in companionable, thoughtful silence towards Beach View.

AS PEGGY MOPPED
the hall floor on that hot August morning, her thoughts drifted over the last three traumatic weeks. Julie had been spending every spare moment she had sitting by William’s bedside, for the little chap had rallied at first, and then faltered to the point when they’d all thought they might lose him. His recovery had been slow and painful, but he seemed finally to be on the mend, and poor Julie was so exhausted, she barely knew what day it was.

Peggy had been most relieved to hear that Dr Sayers had at last found another two volunteer medical aides, and a retired local nurse who was willing to step in during this crisis and share the workload. However, Julie’s midwifery skills were still in demand, and both Peggy and Julie dreaded the telephone ringing in the middle of the night, for it meant another few precious hours of sleep were lost.

Peggy was very proud of how everyone at Beach View had rallied round and supported Julie. Even Fran and Suzy, who worked long hours at the hospital, had given up their days off to cover Julie’s rounds when it was thought William might not pull
through. Poor Julie, it had been a roller-coaster ride and Peggy’s heart went out to her – and to dear little William. Life could be cruel, she thought with a sigh. You never knew what lay in store until it bit you on the bum, and Julie had definitely had more than her share of heartache and worry this year.

Peggy continued to mop the tiles on the hall floor without much enthusiasm, for the baby was squirming restlessly and pressing on her bladder, and she felt hot, tired and fat. Finally abandoning the mop and bucket, she traipsed upstairs to the bathroom for the umpteenth time that morning. She’d forgotten the inconveniences of pregnancy – how tired and ungainly it made her feel, what with the need to pee every five minutes, and the difficulties involved with cutting her toenails or bending to pick anything up.