Where the Heart Lies (8 page)

Mr Philips steered her out of the ward and gently pressed her into one of the chairs that were lined along the corridor wall. He sat down and took her hands. ‘Julie,’ he began softly, ‘your sister’s labour had already gone too far for me to do a caesarean section.’

‘But she knew to tell Mrs Bessell the minute anything started. Why did she leave it so long?’

He shook his head, the silvery grey hair glinting in the bright lights. ‘She didn’t leave it long by all accounts. Mrs Bessell told the ambulance crew the pains started only minutes before she ran down the road to call them. They got to the house very quickly and, as you know, the journey isn’t long. But her labour was extremely rapid, and she was already in the second stage and fully dilated by the time we got her into theatre.’

She regarded the elderly man she’d come to know so well during her time in Shoreditch, her tears unshed, the fear gripping her heart. ‘Is she going to be all right?’ she whispered.

His grip tightened on her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Julie. Your sister has suffered an amniotic fluid embolism, and although we’re giving her oxygen and a fresh supply of blood, her heart has been further weakened by the shock.’

Julie felt the icy dread creep into her spine. ‘But that’s so rare,’ she breathed, ‘and so deadly. Does she have any chance of coming through this?’

‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ he said solemnly. ‘There was an occlusion of the pulmonary vessels, and although she survived the pulmonary collapse, her already damaged heart simply cannot cope.’

Julie stared at him as his words and their meaning slowly penetrated. She couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it when she’d promised her sister that everything would go smoothly. ‘But she’s still alive. Surely there’s some hope she’ll pull through?’

His expression left no doubt, his next few words confirming it. ‘We’ve made her as comfortable as we can, but there’s nothing else we can do for her. The end is close, Julie. I’m sorry.’

Julie burst into tears. ‘I’ve let her down,’ she sobbed. ‘I promised her it would be all right only this morning. I should have got her admitted earlier, should never have gone out tonight when I could have been with her.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Julie,’ he said softly.

‘But I do,’ she rasped, ‘of course I do. She’s my sister and I should have been with her.’ She scrabbled for a handkerchief and blew her nose, desperately trying to find some sort of calm and coherence of thought. ‘Did I miss something? Is it my fault – was it a mistake I made that led to this?’

‘No, my dear,’ he said firmly. ‘The sequence of so many tragic events is highly unusual and it could not have been spotted in advance. No one is to blame, Julie – least of all you.’

Julie’s tears rolled hot down her face and she blotted them away. ‘The baby?’ she whispered. ‘What about the baby?’

‘He’s a little premature but healthy enough, and although he should really be on the special baby ward, I’ve put him with his mother so she can see him and get to know him before she . . .’ His words trailed away and he sank his chin to his chest and gave a deep sigh. ‘Something like this touches us all, Julie. You have my deepest sympathy.’

Julie blew her nose again and determinedly scrubbed away her tears and the last of her mascara. The time for crying was later. She had to be strong and calm and able to think straight, and act professionally. ‘Has anyone thought to ring Stepney? Me parents should be here.’

‘We’ve tried the number you gave us, but the lines are down. Probably because of the raid, but we’ll keep trying, Julie, never fear.’

But Julie
was
fearful. Her sister was dying and her parents should be here. Yet there was absolutely nothing she could do about any of it. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Mr Philips,’ she said shakily. ‘May I see her now?’

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Stay for as long as you like. I’ll be in my office next door should you need me.’

Julie felt as if she was living in a nightmare as she softly walked down the ward to Franny’s bed. Nothing seemed real – but the horror behind that
sense of unreality was too awful. She didn’t know how long she could keep up this façade of calm.

Franny was almost as pale as the pillowcases behind her little head. Her breathing was shallow and irregular beneath the oxygen mask, but all her attention was on the tiny baby nestled in a blue blanket in her arms.

‘Hello, Franny,’ Julie murmured as she sat down on the chair by the bed and put a gentle hand on her sister’s skinny arm. ‘I hear you’ve got a son.’

‘Isn’t ’e beautiful?’ panted Franny, never taking her eyes from the bundle in her arms. ‘I’ve called ’im William Albert – after – ’is – father and – our – dad.’

‘Don’t tire yourself with talking,’ managed Julie as she fought her emotions. She gently drew back the blue blanket so she could see Franny’s baby. Her heart swelled with love and sorrow as she looked down at him. He was very small, with the tiny wrinkled face and blotchy complexion of all newborns – but much more special than any of the babies Julie had helped deliver because he was Franny’s. ‘He’s lovely,’ she murmured.

Franny smiled a sad, sweet smile beneath the oxygen mask. ‘Remember – your – promise,’ she panted. ‘Look – after – ’im – Bill – ’ome.’

‘Of course I will.’ Julie fought to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘But you’ll get better, Franny, really you will and . . .’

Franny shifted the oxygen mask and looked at Julie with clear blue eyes and an expression that
brooked no argument. ‘I’m dying, Julie. Love ’im for me,’ she gasped in a rush. Those few words seemed to take the last of her strength, and she began to cough, the spittle tinged pink with blood.

Julie hastily stepped back as the specialist nurse bustled over and pressed the emergency button on the wall above the bed.

‘Hold the baby,’ she ordered softly. ‘I need some space.’

Julie took the bundle and held it close, but all her attention was on Franny as Mr Philips rushed to the bedside. Franny was struggling to breathe, doubled over with terrible pain in her chest as blood now trickled from her nose and mouth.

Julie wasn’t one for praying or church-going, but as she watched Mr Philips and the nurse fight to keep Franny alive she sent up an entreaty to God to spare her sister.

But God couldn’t have been listening, for Franny collapsed on the pillows and lay still, and with one last, laboured breath, was gone.

Mr Philips shook his head, and Julie sank back into the bedside chair, the baby in her arms almost forgotten as she reached for her sister’s hand. ‘Oh, Franny, love. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

Tiny William seemed to sense that something was wrong, for he squirmed and bunched his little fists before bursting into a high-pitched, keening cry.

The nurse finished taking down the drips and turning off the oxygen. ‘I’ll take William to the
special baby ward while you spend some time with your sister,’ she said softly. ‘You won’t be disturbed.’ She moved away, pulling the screens round the bed before leaving the ward with the baby.

Julie lost track of time as she sat there and hardly noticed the air-raid sirens howling outside, or the roar of the returning bombers overhead. She talked about their childhood, the pranks they played, the summer delights of hop-picking in Kent, and the dreams they’d shared in those golden days. She spoke of her love and her sorrow, and repeated her promise to look after Franny’s baby.

She remained with her sister all through the crumps and bangs and the rattle of gunfire, scarcely aware of anything until the all-clear went for the second time that night. In the hush of the aftermath of battle she rose from the chair, stepped through the screens and approached the sister on duty.

‘I’d like to lay her out,’ she said. ‘It’s all I can do for her now, and I want her to look at peace when our parents come. Has anyone managed to get hold of them yet?’

The ward sister shook her head. ‘One of my nurses has been trying to get through all night, but the lines are still down. I’m sorry.’ She gave Julie a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll find fresh linen and everything you’ll need in the room next door.’

Julie’s tears slowly rolled down her face as she lovingly washed her sister’s pale, lifeless body.
Gently drying her with a soft towel, she then reached for the hairbrush and carefully teased out the tangles and arranged the shining curls so they framed her sweet face and drifted over her shoulders.

Franny looked more fairy-like than ever in the endless sleep that had so cruelly snatched her from those who loved her, but as Julie kissed her forehead and slowly drew the sheet over her, she knew she would always remember her this way – in peaceful, sleeping repose where the cruelties and struggles of life could never trouble her again.

She pulled the screens round the bed for the last time, thanked the sister and left the ward. She didn’t want to see them wheel her down to the morgue – didn’t want to think of her down there alone in the cold basement where she would remain until her parents came to see her in the Chapel of Rest.

The special ward for premature and sick babies was at the end of the corridor. Although it was now four in the morning, Julie pushed through the door. The room was hushed and dimly lit, with a line of small cots down the middle and two nurses and a VAD on duty.

The senior nurse must have been warned that Julie might come, for she left her desk and greeted her with a warm, understanding smile. ‘William has been fed and doesn’t seem to have suffered too much from the trauma of such a rapid delivery,’ she said quietly. ‘But he will have to stay with us for a few weeks as he’s still very small.’

Julie followed the nurse to the cot and looked down at the tiny scrap lying there, unaware of the drama that had surrounded not only his conception, but his arrival. ‘May I hold him?’ she asked, her voice gruff with tears.

At the other woman’s nod, Julie lifted William from the cot and rested her cheek on his tiny head, breathing in the sweetness of him. He was an intrinsic part of Franny, her final and most precious gift for the man she loved, and Julie was almost overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility for this tiny scrap.

William stretched and squirmed and pulled a face, his rosebud lips working as if he was dreaming of milk.

‘We’ll look after you,’ she whispered. ‘Me and Mum and Dad will keep you safe. I promise.’ She kissed the peach-like cheek and held him close, knowing that no matter how hard it became, or however long it took, she and her family would protect and love him for Franny until Bill came home.

JULIE CYCLED STRAIGHT
to Mrs Bessell’s after leaving the hospital. The sweet woman was clearly devastated by Julie’s news, and they tearfully consoled one another before Julie plucked up the courage to go up to Franny’s room.

Mrs Bessell must have made the bed and tidied up during her long, sleepless night, but Julie felt a sense of abandonment in the room as she slowly gathered up the family photographs, the few pieces of clothing and the blanket their mother had knitted so lovingly. She wept as she found the drawer filled with baby clothes, and the packet of letters from Bill which had been tied together with blue ribbon. Franny had had such hopes and dreams – and now this was all that was left of a life half lived.

With everything packed away in one of Mrs Bessell’s spare suitcases, Julie closed the door softly behind her and went downstairs to say goodbye. Mrs Bessell stood on the doorstep, her plump, sweet face lined with sadness as Julie promised to bring back the case and let her know about the funeral arrangements.

Julie still felt as if she was sleepwalking as she fixed the case to the bicycle and rode away, but as the morning sun broke through the haze of smoke, she felt the chill of reality settle round her heart. Franny was gone.

It was after nine by the time she reached the hostel to report in. All the nurses and volunteers would be out on their rounds by now, which was probably for the best as Julie didn’t have the strength or heart to talk to anyone. But as she stepped into the hallway, she could hear Horace and Mabel, the cook, having a furious row over his inability to do anything without making a mess of her kitchen.

Born and bred in the East End, they both possessed a wide, colourful vocabulary that included every swear word and insult known to man, which they used freely, and at the top of their voices. To those not familiar with the broad Cockney accent, their rapid-fire slanging match would have been unintelligible, but to Julie, already feeling heart-sore and infinitely weary after her terrible night, every angry, foul word cut like a knife as they tore into each other. It was the final straw, and she burst into tears, fleeing up the stairs, only to find her way blocked by Matron on the first landing.

‘Go into my office,’ the older woman said kindly. ‘I’ll deal with those two.’

She closed the door behind her and Julie put down the case and let her emotions finally pour out in a
torrent of anguished tears. Her heart ached with the loss, and she was pierced by a sense of failure that she had not seen, not known that something was wrong with Franny when she’d last visited her. The regrets flooded in. She should never have gone out last night – should have checked on Franny and insisted she was admitted to hospital sooner.

Julie became aware of Matron’s return, sensed her closing the door on the heavy silence that now pervaded the house, and heard the muted rattle of a cup and saucer as it was placed on the desk in front of her. She was embarrassed to be so distraught, and tried her hardest to stem the tears and gain some control over her emotions. But it seemed the trauma of the night’s events had struck too hard and too deep, and she simply couldn’t stop crying.

‘Mr Philips came to see me,’ said Matron quietly. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about your sister, but you must not blame yourself. These things happen, unfortunately, and there is absolutely nothing you or anyone could have done to forestall it.’

Julie dredged up the last of her strength in a determined effort to pull herself together. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Mr Philips explained,’ she rasped through her tight throat. ‘He was very kind.’ Her hands were shaking as she lifted the cup and gulped down the hot, milky tea in the hope the sugar might restore her senses.