Settling the Account (73 page)

‘I wish they’d let me stay with Lizzie.’

‘Ah. Lizzie.’ Richard’s voice lost all trace
of its dreamy tone. ‘It’s a pity Lizzie was unable to come today,’
he said carefully. ‘I’m afraid Maudie’s rather hurt over it.’

‘I know she is,’ Frank said distractedly.
‘Lizzie was a bit tired today…’

He trailed off, sick of the lie. Lizzie was
more than merely tired.

‘I’m worried about Lizzie. She’s not
well.’

Richard looked startled. He studied Frank’s
face closely. ‘Frank, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve been too full of my
own thoughts even to notice how anxious you are. Whatever’s
wrong?’

Frank sighed. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did.
It just doesn’t seem to be going right for her this time.’

‘She’s not still getting morning sickness,
is she?’

Frank shook his head. ‘No, she stopped that
in the end, thank God. She had it much worse than she’s ever had it
before—you’d have thought she was going to heave her whole guts out
some mornings.’

‘What seems to be the problem, then?’

‘I can’t get her to tell me, that’s the
trouble,’ Frank burst out. ‘I know things aren’t right with her,
but she won’t admit it. Whenever I ask her, she says everything’s
just fine, and she keeps saying how well she’s always done before.’
He grimaced. ‘It makes it worse when she says that.’

‘How do you mean, Frank?’

‘Well, whenever she says it, I think that’s
right, she’s had seven babies, and everything’s gone well for her.
It makes me feel like we’re… I don’t know, like we’re tempting fate
having another one. Like maybe this’ll be the time things don’t go
well.’

‘There’s no reason to think like that,’
Richard said. ‘The fact that Lizzie’s always taken childbearing so
well must be seen as a good sign.’

‘I know it sounds dopey. It’s just what I
keep thinking all the time. Things hurt her, I can tell they do,
but she won’t admit it. She goes all quiet sometimes, and that’s
not like Lizzie. I’ve seen her holding her head when she thinks I’m
not watching, I know she’s getting a lot of headaches. Really bad
ones, I think. It makes her pretty sour with the kids, but I know
she can’t help it.’

‘Headaches?’ Richard frowned. ‘I don’t quite
like the sound of that. You haven’t noticed any unusual swelling
around her face or her hands, have you?’

‘She always gets a bit of that when she’s
expecting. I thought it seemed a lot worse than usual this time,
though. Her wedding ring’s looking tight as anything on her finger,
but I’d never dare tell her to take it off. There’s another thing,
too.’

‘You’d better tell me the worst, then.’

‘I don’t know this for sure, but I think
she’s had some bleeding. I saw her with a bit of rag in her hand
one morning, and she was looking at it with her face white as a
sheet. I thought I saw red on it, but she shoved it away somewhere
before I could get a decent look.’

Richard nodded slowly. ‘I think you’re right
to be concerned.’ Frank could see how carefully he was choosing
each word. ‘Now, you mustn’t be unduly alarmed, I’m sure there’s
every reason to hope all will go well with Lizzie. But it would do
no harm for her to take extra care of herself. And I’d like to have
a look at her.’

‘There’s no chance of that,’ Frank said,
shaking his head. ‘She’d go up the wall if I even suggested it.
That’s the trouble, I can’t talk to her about it. She just says
there’s nothing wrong with her, and if I start going on about it
she gets in a state. If she even knew I’d told you she’d make a
heck of a fuss. Hey, you mustn’t tell Maudie, eh? I’d never hear
the end of it from Lizzie.’

‘No, there doesn’t seem much sense in
distressing Maudie over it, especially just at the moment. And
anything I’m told about medical matters is always treated in the
strictest confidence. You’re quite sure Lizzie wouldn’t let me
examine her?’

‘She’d slap you if you suggested it.’

‘And I gather from what you’re saying that
there’s not much chance of your persuading Lizzie to take better
care of herself.’

‘Not when she won’t admit there’s anything
wrong with her,’ Frank said miserably. ‘She’s that set on having
everyone think she’s well. She shouldn’t be having this baby at
all. I shouldn’t have let her talk me round.’

‘Lizzie’s a little hard to say no to, isn’t
she,’ Richard said, smiling slightly. ‘Well, it seems to me that
since she won’t do it for herself it’s up to you to take care of
Lizzie.’

‘I’d do anything to make her right again.
What does she need?’

‘From what you say, she’s having problems
with the circulation of her blood. It’s not uncommon during
pregnancy, especially when women have had a large number of
children previously. The only thing you can really do for her is
make sure she rests.’

‘That’s easier said than done.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is. Ideally, I’d like to
see her more or less take to her bed until the child’s born, but I
suppose that’s out of the question. Get her to rest as much as you
possibly can, though.’

‘I’ll try. I don’t know how much good it’ll
do.’

‘Now, you mustn’t be too distressed over it
all. Lizzie’s a healthy woman, she’s every chance of getting over
this pregnancy as well as she has all the others, just as long as
she takes things a little easier than usual.’

He hesitated a moment before going on. ‘I
should warn you, though, Frank, that it’s possible she might lose
the child. I don’t like the sound of the bleeding you described.
It’s certainly not a foregone conclusion, it’s perfectly possible
that you’ll have another healthy child in four months’ time. But
you must be prepared for the alternative.’

Frank sighed. ‘Do you know, I don’t really
care? It sounds a rotten thing to say about one of my own kids, I
know, but I can’t think past Lizzie. As long as she’s all right, I
can’t get worried about whether the baby pulls through or not.
Except Lizzie won’t be all right unless the baby is.’

‘She’d be upset, of course.’

‘She’d be more than upset. I suppose losing
a baby must mean a lot more to a woman than it does a man, after
carrying it all that time. But if anything happens to this baby, I
think… I just about think Lizzie might go funny in the head.’

‘It’s surely not that bad,’ Richard
protested.

‘I don’t know. It means an awful lot to her,
having this baby. It’s like… well, I suppose that’s the big thing
in Lizzie’s life, having the children. She’s that proud of having
seven of them, and rearing them all. And ever since she got this
idea in her head of wanting another one, it’s as though nothing
else matters. She wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t crook with it,
of course. She’s worried about the baby, but she won’t talk about
it. And she shouldn’t be having another bloody baby at all! All
because she…’

‘All because she wanted to show Maudie that
she wasn’t too old to have another child,’ Richard finished for him
when Frank trailed off awkwardly. ‘Yes, I do realise Maudie’s role
in all this. It seems an odd reason to go through childbearing,
but, as you say, women view these things differently. It must have
been dreadfully galling for Lizzie to have her daughter crowing
over her the way Maudie did. And Lizzie’s hardly the type to admit
defeat over something so important to her.’

‘I just wish it was all over and Lizzie was
all right again.’

‘We’ll do our best for her. Try to make her
rest, and keep me informed on how she is. If things begin to look
more serious, then I might have to speak to her myself.’

‘I don’t think that’d do any good,
Richard.’

‘Well, perhaps not. Try not to worry too
much—though I know that won’t be easy. Lizzie was clearly in the
peak of health before she began having these problems, and that’s
the best possible reason to believe she’ll come through it all
beautifully.’

‘I don’t…’ Frank began, but he stopped
himself. There was nothing Richard could do except offer advice,
and Frank was guiltily aware that he was casting a shadow on
Richard’s happiness by dwelling on his own troubles. He had always
been a worrier where Lizzie’s health was concerned, he knew;
perhaps he was being foolish about it.

Perhaps. ‘You’re probably right,’ Frank said
with a false heartiness. ‘Let’s go and look at my granddaughter
again, shall we?’

*

Amy stirred away at a bowl of pudding
mixture, her main attention directed at the book propped up on the
table in front of her.

‘ “
I stood in Venice,
on the Bridge of Sighs;

A palace and a prison on each hand:

I saw from out the waves her structures
rise

As from the stroke of the enchanter’s
wand”
 
’

she murmured aloud, savouring the feel of
the words in her mouth. Since Sarah had presented her with the
unexpected gift, Amy had read the book through from beginning to
end more than once, and knew several passages off by heart.
That’s lovely. I wonder what Venice looks like
, she
mused.

She was so absorbed in her visions of a
magical city, palaces on every side, that it took her a moment or
two to become aware of Charlie’s voice when he called out from the
bedroom.

His distress was unmistakable, though she
could make out no coherent words. Amy hurriedly put down the bowl
and ran to his room. Charlie seemed to be straining to lift himself
up from the pillows, his eyes wide open and staring.

She knelt beside the bed and put her hand on
his arm. ‘What’s wrong, Charlie? Does something hurt you?’

His mouth opened and closed, but for the
moment he seemed unable to form words. Instead he stared avidly at
her, as if drinking in the sight.

‘I… I thought…’ he said, his voice hoarse.
He closed his eyes and fell back limply against the pillows. ‘I
don’t know,’ he said faintly.

‘Did it go black in your head again? Did you
get a bit muddled?’

‘Black.’ He was silent for a time, his
forehead creased in thought. ‘Aye,’ he said eventually. ‘Went
black.’

‘Never mind, you’re all right now, aren’t
you?’ Amy soothed. ‘How’s your head?’

‘Hurts a bit.’

Amy rose to leave the room. ‘I’ll wring out
a cloth in water for your forehead, that’ll help.’

‘No!’ His eyes opened suddenly, and he
stared at her with something close to panic in them. ‘Stay
here.’

She knelt by the bed again. ‘I’ll stay as
long as you like—I just thought you’d like me to take the hurt
away. You mustn’t get upset, you’ll make your head worse. What’s
wrong?’

‘It went black.’ His hand shook where it lay
on his chest, and Amy took it in her own. ‘I couldn’t hear
you.’

‘I was just in the kitchen. I came as soon
as you called out.’

‘I couldn’t hear you,’ he repeated. ‘I
thought you’d gone.’

‘Where would I have gone, Charlie? I don’t
go out and leave you alone, you know that. I’m always here.’

‘I thought you’d run home to your pa’s.
Thought you’d run off.’

Amy knelt beside him, squeezing his hand and
wondering how many years his mind had wandered back. ‘I wouldn’t do
that,’ she said after a few moments. ‘I wouldn’t go away.’

She watched as the panic slowly slipped out
of his face, to be replaced by a puzzled frown.

‘Your… your pa’s dead.’

‘That’s right. It’ll be six years this
September.’

He lapsed into silence for some time. ‘No,’
he said at last. ‘You won’t run off. Not now your boy’s home.’

‘I wouldn’t have done it before, either.
This is my home, too, you know. I won’t leave you, Charlie.’

*

When David came into the house an hour
later, he found Amy’s bowl of pudding mixture still lying abandoned
on the table. He followed the sound of her voice through the house
and into Charlie’s room.

He stopped just outside the door, brought up
short by the astonishing sight of his mother sitting beside his
father’s bed, holding his hand in one of hers as he lay back with
his eyes closed, and reading quietly from the book that lay in her
lap.

‘ “
Since my young
days of passion—joy, or pain,

Perchance my heart and harp have lost a
string,

And both may jar: it may be, that in
vain

I would essay as I have sung to
sing.”
 
’

‘Ma? What are you doing?’ David asked when
he got his voice back.

Amy looked up, startled, and put a finger to
her lips. She bent low over Charlie’s face, checking that he was
indeed asleep, then gently laid his hand on his chest. She tiptoed
from the room, closing the door behind her.

‘You were… you were reading poetry to the
old man,’ David said, hardly able to credit what he had seen.

‘He was upset, and I wanted to settle him
down. I knew I might have to sit with him for quite a while, and
it’s hard sometimes to think of things to say to him, especially
when he gets muddled.’

‘But…
poetry?
To
him?
’

Amy smiled at the look on David’s face. ‘I
think he quite liked it. I don’t know if he was taking much notice
of the words, but just the sound of them’s nice. I’d just got him
off to sleep when you came in.’

She walked out to the kitchen, and David
followed her, still in a kind of daze. He sat down at the table
when Amy took up her neglected bowl, and he studied her as she
worked.

He enjoyed watching her. All through the
three years he had been away from home, his mother’s face had never
faded in his mind. It was his earliest memory, the vision of that
face bent over him, eyes full of love, as he lay drifting off into
sleep. She had often looked sad over the years, and sometimes
frightened, but he had never seen cruelty or hardness there.