Wish Me Luck (46 page)

This time she made no rash bargain with God, but just prayed simply and directly.

She reached the hospital late at night, and though their resources were already stretched the nurses found her a bed in an unoccupied side ward for the night.

‘If we need it, we’ll have to turf you out,’ they told her cheerfully. ‘Now, come along to the staff room and we’ll get you something to eat.’

‘How is he? Can I see him?’ was all Fleur wanted to know.

‘Best not tonight, love, he’s sleeping now.’

‘Can’t I just see him? I promise not to disturb him.’

‘I should wait until the morning, love.’ The sister was gentle and understanding but there was a note of authority in her tone. ‘You’ll feel better able to cope after a night’s rest.’

‘Is he . . . is he . . . that bad?’

The woman’s face sobered. ‘He’s not good, my dear. I can’t lie to you, but the doctor will talk to you tomorrow.’

‘Does he – my father, I mean – know about my mother?’

Sadly, the sister nodded. ‘Yes.’ More briskly, she went on, ‘Now, a bite to eat, a sleeping pill and into bed with you, my girl.’

Exhausted by the journey, grieving for her mother and worried sick about her father, Fleur did not expect to sleep a wink. But the sister’s pill knocked her out for a full ten hours and she might have slept even longer if a merry little trainee nurse hadn’t bounced into the room, pulled open the curtains and woken her up.

‘I’ve brought you some breakfast, miss,’ she beamed. ‘We don’t do this for everyone, but your dad’s a bit special.’

Fleur heaved herself up in the bed and rubbed her eyes. ‘Oh?’

‘Oh, yes. We’ve all been vying to be the nurse who looks after him.’

‘Has he come round then?’

‘He comes round for a bit and keeps apologizing for being such a trouble. But he isn’t, miss, I promise you. Then he drifts off again. But he’s a duck, ain’t he?’

Despite her anxiety, Fleur smiled. She looked down at the tray, not expecting to be able to eat a thing. To her surprise, she suddenly found she was very hungry.

‘How is he?’

The little nurse’s face clouded. She moved closer to the bed. ‘It ain’t my place to say, miss. You must ask the doctor or Sister, but’ – she leant closer – ‘he’s still very poorly but I heard ’em say he’s going in the right direction, if you know what I mean. But – please – don’t tell ’em I said owt, will yer. I could get the sack.’

‘Of course I won’t. And thank you.’

‘That’s all right. See yer later.’

Fleur finished her breakfast, washed and dressed and stripped the bed. She knew it would have to be changed, and anything she could do to help the busy nurses she would do.

Now, she thought, taking a deep breath, I wonder if they’ll let me see Dad.

He was in a small ward with three other seriously ill patients, each with their own nurse. Though she had tried to prepare herself, Fleur gasped when she saw her father swathed in bandages. She wouldn’t have recognized him.

‘He was badly burned,’ the sister told her. ‘But the medical profession are making huge strides in the treatment of burns. It’s because of the war, you know. So many pilots, poor boys, get burned when they’re shot down.’

Fleur shuddered. It could so easily have been Robbie she was coming to visit. Robbie lying in the bed . . .

She moved closer. ‘Dad? It’s me. How . . . how are you feeling?’ It was a stupid question, but she didn’t know what else to say.

He didn’t answer her and she glanced up at the sister, a question in her eyes.

‘Keep talking to him. We want to try to get him to regain consciousness fully. And you’re the best person to get him to do that, Meg.’

Fleur stared at the sister. ‘Why did you call me “Meg”?’

The sister blinked. ‘Er – I’m sorry. I thought that was your name.’ Obviously embarrassed, she looked first at her patient and then back to the girl.

‘No, it isn’t, but just tell me why you thought it was?’

‘Er – it’s the only name he’s said when he’s drifted in and out of consciousness.’ The sister’s face cleared. ‘Oh, it was your mother’s name, was it?’

Slowly, Fleur shook her head. ‘No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ The sister was obviously upset and worried. ‘I have put my foot in it, haven’t I?’

The sister was only young for the post she held, little older than she was, Fleur thought. In all the forces, promotion came earlier and earlier and the nursing profession was every bit a fighting force as any of the others. They were all working round the clock for the same thing: the end of this war.

‘It’s all right.’ Fleur touched her arm. ‘Honestly. The thing is – I know who Meg is. And if he’s calling for her then—?’

The sister nodded. ‘Yes, if you could find her. It really might help him.’

‘Oh yes,’ Fleur whispered. ‘I can find her.’

‘Sit down, dear. There’s something I have to tell you.’

‘Oh no, it’s not Fleur’s dad, is it? You haven’t heard something, have you, Ma?’

‘No, no. Just – sit down, Robbie. Please.’

Robbie lowered himself into the old man’s chair and waited whilst his mother settled herself on the opposite side of the fireplace. For a long moment, she stared into the fire, the flames dancing on her beautiful face. Robbie stared at her, marvelling at her smooth skin, at how young she still looked. It never ceased to amaze him that there wasn’t a line of men beating a path to their door.

Slowly, she raised her head to meet his gaze. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. Something that – maybe – I should have told you years ago, but . . . but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was so frightened of . . . of losing you.’

‘Losing me!’ Robbie leant forward, a little awkwardly because of the thick plaster on his leg still hampering his movements. Then he moved to sit on the hearthrug at her feet, taking her hands and holding them tightly. Earnestly, he said, ‘Darling Ma, whatever it is, you couldn’t lose me. Not ever. Not . . . not the way you’re meaning.’

They stared at each other for a moment, each knowing just how close they had come to Robbie being lost, but a different kind of ‘lost’.

‘When . . . when you were missing, Jake told Fleur and . . . and it’s not fair of me to expect her to keep such a secret from you – from her husband.’

Robbie was silent, giving his mother time to tell her story. A story that was obviously difficult, maybe painful, for her to tell.

He stroked her hands tenderly. Those clever hands that had earned them a living all these years. Hands that had caressed him and nurtured him. Hands that lovingly nursed the old man now asleep upstairs.

Then slowly, haltingly at first, Meg began to tell Robbie about her past. Her shameful past. How she had once been a wilful, selfish girl, who had cared nothing for the feelings of others in her desire for security.

‘You’ll have to be patient with me, because I want to tell you everything. Right from the very beginning. I’ll miss nothing out and then you can . . . can judge for yourself just what sort of a woman you have for a mother.’

He squeezed her hands encouragingly. ‘I’m not going to judge you, Ma. Whatever it is.’

Meg lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ she murmured.

Another silence before she took a deep breath and began. ‘We were such a happy little family, Dad, Mam, Bobbie and me.’

‘Bobbie? Who’s Bobbie?’

Meg nodded and smiled a little. She was perhaps the one who was going to have to be patient with his interruptions. ‘My little brother. You’re named after him.’

‘Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.’

Meg nodded and her voice was husky as she went on. ‘We lived in a small cottage on Middleditch Farm . . .’

Again Robbie could not keep silent. ‘Middleditch Farm? But – but that’s Fleur’s home . . .’ He stopped, realizing that the farmhouse now lay in ruins.

‘Pops worked as a waggoner for the Smallwoods who owned the farm then. And I worked as a dairy maid for Mrs Smallwood.’ A small smile twitched at her mouth as she added wryly, ‘She was a tartar to work for. I was always in trouble with her. “You’ll come to a bad end,” she used to say to me.’ Again she paused. ‘Maybe she was right.’

‘Oh, Ma, don’t say that. You call this “a bad end”?’

‘No, of course not. I’m content. At least . . .’ She sighed inwardly. Was she about to jeopardize her contented life with her son when he heard the truth about her? Bravely, she pushed on. ‘I was a bit cheeky and . . . and a bit of a flirt with the village lads. I was friendly with Alice Smallwood, their daughter. She was older than me and – if anything – it was her that was the flirt, but her mother thought
I
was the bad influence on
her.
Anyway, we jogged along quite happily, I thought, until one night my dad came home and said we’d both been dismissed without a reference and we were being turned out of our home too. It was a tied cottage, you see. It went with the job.’ Meg bit her lip as if reliving the moment. ‘I thought it was my fault. I thought I’d been cheeky to the missis once too often.’

‘And was it?’ Robbie asked softly.

Meg shook her head. ‘No. It . . . it was Pops. He – well, I’ll come to that in a minute. We had to leave the very next day and the only place we could go was the workhouse.’

‘The workhouse?’ Robbie was shocked. ‘That big building on the outskirts of South Monkford?’

‘You’ve seen it?’

He nodded. ‘Oh, Ma,’ he breathed sadly. ‘You’ve lived in the workhouse?’

She smiled thinly. ‘Dad took us there.’ Talking of the times past, Meg referred to him by the name she had called him then, not ‘Pops’ as he was now known. ‘Mam – she was expecting another baby – Bobbie and me. He left us there. Said he was going to look for work and that he’d come back for us . . .’ Her voice trailed away for a moment, but then she took another deep breath and continued. ‘But the weeks went by and he didn’t come back. We had to work of course – in that place. Mam wasn’t very well but they let her do mending and easy work. And they put me to work with the school marm. And for a while, I thought she was my friend. She was very kind to me. She was in charge of all the children and had to look after them all the time. One night, there was a little girl who was ill.’ Meg glanced at Robbie. ‘Actually, it was Betsy, Fleur’s mum.’

Now Robbie was truly horrified. ‘Fleur’s mum was in the workhouse?’

Meg nodded. ‘And so was Jake. He’d been born in there. So that’s where I met them. Jake and I were friends even though we were segregated. Girls and boys, men and women. Poor Jake got a beating once for being seen with me.’

‘And Fleur’s mum? Were you friends with her?’

Meg ran her tongue round her dry lips. ‘Not . . . not exactly. She was younger than us. Jake and me, I mean. Anyway, this night she was ill, the school marm left me in charge of Betsy when Isaac Pendleton sent for her. He was the master of the workhouse – a lecherous old devil . . .’ She paused and then put her head on one side thoughtfully. ‘No, actually, that’s not quite fair. And I am trying to tell you this very truthfully. He was a ladies’ man, but he could be very kind.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t see it that way then, but now I have to admit that he was. In his own way. Well, at that time he had his eye on Louisa, the school marm—’

Again, Robbie could not help interrupting. ‘That’s not the woman Fleur calls Aunt Louisa, is it? Mrs Dr Collins?’

‘Yes. She was working as the schoolmistress at the workhouse. I believe she had an elderly mother she was supporting. She was engaged to Philip Collins then, and was trying to avoid old Isaac as much as she could. So, this particular night, she left her watch with me and told me that after a certain time, I was to go and knock on his door and say that she was needed – that Betsy was worse. I did just as she said, but when we got back the watch was missing and she accused me of having stolen it. I hadn’t, of course. Whatever else I may be, I’m not a thief. Anyway, it turned out that Betsy had it. She’d wanted to hear it ticking. It reminded her of her daddy, she said. Louisa apologized but I was impulsive and fiery in those days—’

‘Must be the red hair,’ Robbie teased and they both smiled.

‘And I was unforgiving. Oh, Robbie, how unforgiving I was. I suppose, looking back, that was what caused all the trouble. If only I had been more willing to forgive and forget then maybe—’

‘Go on, Ma,’ he prompted gently as Meg seemed to get side-tracked. ‘What happened?’

‘I refused to work with Louisa any more. I couldn’t forgive her for having accused me. And – quite wrongly – I bore Betsy a grudge too. I said I’d rather scrub floors than work with Louisa. And I did,’ she added wryly. She sighed again and went on. ‘Anyway, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Earlier that same day, my mother had gone into labour and the baby was stillborn.’

She saw Robbie wince but he said nothing.

‘So a couple of weeks later I decided I should try to find my dad and tell him what had happened to Mam and the baby. And . . . and I just wanted to see him anyway. I got permission from the master to go in search of him, and Jake came with me.’ Now she smiled. ‘
Without
permission.’