‘Dear God.’ He said softly and stood up again.
‘Mr Wainwright.’
‘Please, doctor, can you pass me my stick?’
He hurried to help.
‘Mr Wainwright, I do hope . . .’
But Paul couldn’t wait, not even to observe the social niceties. He left the room and made his way out of the hospital to the bus stop, his brain full of clamouring voices, his heart hammering in his chest and a great weight across his back as though his coat was laden with stones.
Theresa
She’d made a tent out of the big clothes horse and an old sheet. Martin and Michael were using it for their den. They were the Indians. Dominic had been playing too but he’d gone round to Jim’s. Theresa was bored. She went inside and got her little transistor radio. Mungo Jerry were singing ‘In The Summertime’, which was just right because it was really hot. ‘Spirit In the Sky’ was her favourite, though. Mungo Jerry had been the poster in Jackie this week and she had put it up with the others on her bedroom wall.
She went out to the front and sat on the wall, the tranny beside her. The hopscotch she’d drawn had faded, so she got some chalk and did it again. The flagstones by her gate had the lines in all the right places for hopscotch. She searched by the drive for a stone, a flat one that wouldn’t roll.
Belinda from down the road came out and Susie and they played for a bit but it was hot so they changed to Jacks. Belinda always beat her at Jacks. Her fingers must have been longer, because she could scoop up ‘tennies’ even when they were scattered far apart and still catch the ball.
Dominic came back but he wouldn’t play Jacks. He said he’d play picture cards. Everyone got theirs. Theresa had forty-five. Nearly all from Typhoo. Some she’d won at school.
They propped a card up against the garage door and took turns trying to knock it down with theirs. Dominic won twice and gathered all the cards from the floor.
‘Ask your Mum if we can have the paddling pool,’ Belinda said.
‘Yeah!’ Susie hated cards.
Theresa went in. Mummy looked tired just at the thought of it but Theresa promised to do all the blowing-up and the filling it and she said all right but get changed. Theresa had her loon pants on, bright-red, and a calico smock. Belinda had hot pants but she said she was allowed to get them wet.
The twins went bonkers once it was all ready, until Mum came out and shouted at them. They gave each other showers later, using the watering can, and Theresa sang ‘Raindrops Are Falling On My Head’, and then they played Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, coming out of the tent like it was the building and all the Mexicans firing at them.
‘Let’s play Dying,’ said Theresa.
‘I’m not,’ said Dominic.
‘You can be first on.’
‘It’s best at the bank,’ Susie said.
‘Get dressed, be there in five minutes,’ said Theresa.
The bank was at the top of the avenue, a big slope of green, quite steep. Dominic stood at the bottom and the others lined up at the top.
‘Martin!’ Dominic called out.
‘Deadly snake,’ Martin chose.
Dominic pretended to throw a deadly snake at his brother who squawked and fell down and rolled to the bottom of the hill.
‘Michael.’
‘Deadly snake.’
‘Pick something else,’ Theresa yelled. They were so dumb sometimes.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Have a gun.’
‘A gun.’
Dominic levelled his arm, forefinger pointing, and shot Michael. Michael clutched at his stomach and rolled down the hill.
‘Belinda.’
‘Machine gun.’
Dominic rat-tat-tatted and Belinda jerked loads and tumbled her way down.
‘Susie.’
‘Electric shock.’
Dominic pointed and she twitched and jumped and rolled down the hill.
‘Theresa.’
‘Drinking acid.’
She mimed the drink, then gasped and staggered, began to claw at her chest and stomach, pulled herself down the slope and died at the bottom.
‘Martin 4 points, Michael 7, Belinda 6, Susie 6, Theresa 6. Michael wins.’
‘You can’t pick him, he was rubbish!’ Theresa rounded on him.
‘I can.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘I’m not playing,’ Dominic said.
‘Don’t then, see if I care.’
He stalked off.
‘You’re on,’ she said to Martin.
‘Yippee!’ he said.
‘You’ve got to pick the best. The best acting.’
‘Yeah,’ he nodded.
They climbed the hill.
‘Michael!’ Martin pointed to his twin and grinned.
‘Dunno.’
Theresa sighed and looked across at Susie and Belinda. ‘Shall we go down the Tarzan swing instead?’
Caroline
Paul never found the right time to ask her about it. When she first came home he knew that the most important thing was making her feel safe and happy, helping her to feel confident about looking after Davey while he held the business together.
The months passed. Caroline gave up smoking and put on weight. She was happier, though he always had the sense that he didn’t really know her, not all of her, because of the secret she had kept from him and her natural reserve. He loved her quiet intensity. He watched her now as she examined the new mother plants with the nurseryman. She didn’t say much but everything counted: a gentle joke and a fleeting smile that made her eyes shine nut-brown, a shrewd word about delivery dates. When Davey toddled up she simply put her hand down and he took hers and accompanied her while she worked. If he fussed she’d pass him stones or leaves to examine, a trowel to play among the furrows with, or she’d point out a butterfly or show him how to make a Snapdragon snap.
Deep, she was. She kept things to herself. He knew she needed her time away, she’d go off on one of her walks and come back more settled. He was fearful that if he dared to mention about the baby she’d had, he’d precipitate another depression; see her withdraw again back into the land of the demons. So he said nothing.
He surveyed the nursery grounds. They’d rented extra land for an arboretum and taken on another worker. It was touch and go, but you couldn’t run a business without taking risks. He’d plans for an indoor-plants section. It was becoming fashionable for offices and banks to brighten their foyers with a splash of greenery. Bit like Victorian times, when an aspidistra or some parlour ferns were common in the shopping arcades and hotels and clubs. And if things went the American way, with purpose built shopping malls, then with his ideas and her green fingers . . .
‘Paul!’ She waved to him from the stock beds. ‘Tell Joe we need more pallets.’
He gave her the thumbs-up and moved slowly off back to the yard. The weather was fair. Their first winter had been bitter, ’63, when the country froze to a halt. The ground had been unworkable for weeks. There’d been heavy blizzards. Here in Somerset they’d escaped the smogs that choked the cities. Hundreds of people were ill, some died unable to breathe the poisonous air.
There had been days that winter when he’d felt like giving up. Chucking in the towel before they got enmeshed any deeper. But Caroline was tenacious. And convinced it was the right move. She never doubted and she never ceased working. She was strong, she’d big bones and a broad back and lifting and carrying and shifting were no problem for her. If the ground was too hard to dig she’d make cold frames or saw stakes, mend fences or prune the hedges. She’d never once complained. Shovelling snow for days on end. Coming in only when it got dark, her cheeks and nose red with cold, fingers numb. When he praised her she looked amused. Shrugged and told him that hard work was good for the soul.
He wondered sometimes who had fathered her child? If she had been willing? And would there ever come a point when she would confide in him?
Kay
The shaking started when she was on the bus home. She’d been fine in town: she’d not become confused or lost her purse or suddenly heard voices in her head mocking her.
But on the bus, out of nowhere, it all started. She began to sweat, she could feel her thighs and her arms burning, her armpits damp and her mouth dry. She looked out of the window, tried to distract herself with the view as they crossed the river into Northenden and the parade of shops, but she couldn’t focus properly and that made her more panicky. She’d tried so hard. Four days now. Doctor Planer had told her it would be easier every day and also said if she felt really unwell she should start taking the pills again. No point in rushing these things.
She was scared to stop and scared to carry on. The tablets slowed her down. She put on even more weight, she felt dim and slow-witted. The children seemed to be an endless series of chores with little pleasure. She barely had the energy to play with them these days.
She was going to be sick. She stood abruptly, stumbled to the front of the bus. ‘Let me off, please, I missed my stop.’
The driver slowed to stop at the roadside and opened the automatic doors. She walked back a little and leant over the gutter, dry-retching. Her mouth filled with saliva, she spat it out, deeply embarrassed at being a public spectacle.
She walked home in the rain, her only thought the salvation contained in the small brown bottle in the medicine cabinet.
It had been a silly time to try, she told herself. Too much going on. Theresa and Dominic were both settled in school but she still had the twins at home and Adam had had his best year yet, which meant more business dinners where Kay was expected to entertain and look lovely and relaxed. She simply couldn’t manage it all without the pills. Not yet.
When she got in she reached for the bottle before anything else, shook the bright pink-and-yellow capsules into her hand and swallowed them. She’d try again when the time was right. Doctor Planer was right, some people needed something to calm their nerves and it was silly to get worried about taking them. After all, the doctor wouldn’t prescribe them if they weren’t safe.
Theresa
‘I’ve always known,’ Theresa replied to her friend Letty. ‘As long as I can remember. Like a bed-time story.’
The four girls were huddled in the school toilet, it wasn’t too poky. Theresa had claimed the radiator, Ruth sat on the toilet and Letty and Rita sat on the floor, backs against the wall, legs in woollen tights and thick crêpe-soled shoes stretched out before them. Each girl had a freshly lit Embassy Regal cigarette from the packet of ten they had clubbed together to buy.
‘Do you know anything about your real mother?’ Rita asked.
‘Not much. She wasn’t married, she couldn’t keep me. I think she was quite young.’
‘Would you like to meet her?’
‘No. It wouldn’t mean anything. It’s never bothered me.’
‘I’d be dying to know,’ said Ruth.
‘What if it was someone famous?’ Rita asked.
Theresa smiled and shook her head.
‘What about your real father?’ Letty took a drag on her cigarette and held it in while she spoke. ‘He might be looking for you now to inherit his stately home.’
Theresa laughed and shook her head again. ‘They’re not allowed. They have to promise when they give you up.’
‘Well, how come you hear about these people finding their real parents then?’ Letty said.
‘I’d be allowed to but not them. Some people don’t even know they’re adopted. Imagine the shock if someone turned up on your doorstep and said you were theirs.’
‘What about your brothers? Are they all from different families?’ Rita asked.
‘There’s twins, thicko!’ Letty shoved her.
‘Apart from them.’
‘They’re the only ones that are related.’
‘Why were they adopted?’
‘Same thing. Their mothers weren’t married. Well, Dominic’s was but they weren’t allowed to keep him. They’d had other children that had been neglected. The rescue society took him at the hospital.’