Nest of Sorrows (15 page)

‘It’s not enough, Kate! Now that I’ve found you again, I absolutely refuse to let you go. Can’t we meet sometimes? Just a few times a year? Once a month, eh? Four weeks from today by the duck pond at two o’clock. Think about it. Please?’

He drove her to the centre of town where she could catch a bus home. She promised to think about a second meeting, but her emotions were so churned that she would have said just about anything to get away from him, to escape to a place where she might think.

For over an hour she wandered aimlessly around the shops, not buying, not even noticing the items on display. That she was so upset amazed her greatly. After all, she’d only done what Geoff had been doing almost from the start of their marriage. But Mike had touched her – not just physically. He was one of the few good things she remembered from her childhood. Good, clean and wholesome Mike Wray.

Could she go home now and act as if nothing had happened? And how would she explain such a long absence? With a total lack of real interest, she marched into Timpson’s and bought the first pair of shoes that fitted. They were ugly shoes, teacher’s shoes and she would never wear them. Their hideous heaviness reminded her of what she had done, of the enormity of the step she had taken on this very day. Shoes. Steps. Walking into things, running away from things. The shoes were somehow symbolic and she would keep them in her wardrobe as a reminder of her folly.

Geoff was in jovial mood when she reached home. A fine buffet supper had been prepared by Dora and a good bridge pair would be arriving in a couple of hours. ‘Had a good day?’ he asked.

‘Excellent,’ she replied curtly, hoping her cheeks did not look as hot as they felt.

‘Buy anything?’

‘Just a pair of sturdy shoes for school.’

‘Ah.’

‘I’ll . . . er . . . I’ll just pop upstairs for a bath.’

‘Yes. You seem a bit flushed. Not coming down with anything, are you?’

‘No.’ Nothing that would spoil his rubber, nothing important.

She ran upstairs to wash away her sin. But the glow remained with her all night and she played brilliantly. Perhaps adultery was a good idea after all? It might even save her marriage. She shuddered. Did she want it saving? Ah yes. Back to the burning question once more . . .

‘What are you up to, lady?’ Rachel Murray leaned across the table and stared hard at her daughter. ‘There’s devilment in you, I can smell it from here.’

‘Don’t talk so daft, Mam.’ But Kate knew she was blushing. Three times she had seen Mike now; three times they had made love in odd places. First there had been his mother’s stairs, then the back seat of his Morris, last of all behind a derelict barn. It couldn’t go on, it really would have to stop.

‘I can always tell when you’re up to something, madam! Is it a man?’

‘What?’

‘You heard. I asked you if you were seeing a man.’

‘Oh, Mother! Why on earth would I be seeing a man? And when? I’ve no time for anything these days . . .’

‘Why? You ask me why you would be seeing a man? Why does any woman see a man, eh? As for the when, determination always finds its way. I don’t like your husband, Katherine, but you know how I feel about the sanctity of marriage – even a registry office job deserves some respect. Then there’s little Melanie to consider . . .’

‘Shut up, will you? I come here to see you in my lunch hour when I should be doing the requisition forms and what do I get? Bloody insults and innuendos.’

Rachel swallowed the last of her sandwich, then drained her pint mug. ‘All I know is this. You’ve no appetite, you glow like the sun and there’s that secretive look about you, the look you used to wear when you’d dipped your grubby little fingers in the condensed milk. You’d best pull yourself together, or yon feller will be on your tail.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Neither do I. If I knew what I was on about, I’d tackle you proper. Just frame yourself. Whatever you’re up to shows, and I won’t be the only one to notice.’

Rachel went through to the kitchen to wash the pots while Kate stared into the fire. This was a right pickle as her mother would have said if she had known the full truth. Mike was on the verge of telling his wife, was pressing Kate to tell Geoff. He had this vision of what he called ‘life after death’ and he wanted to ride off into a sunset whose colour he would no doubt choose. All along, Kate had had Mike’s measure, right from the time when they had been young. Mike was not one for dalliance; he now expected Kate to make an honest man of him. Yes, he wanted the relationship to be verified, made permanent, glorified by a marriage certificate.

And what did Kate want? Not that. No, she didn’t want Mike. He was a good lover, had been an excellent friend and companion during the past few weeks, but she didn’t want another marriage. Was there something wrong with her? How could she sit here and coldly analyse her feelings, his motives, the possible outcome of their joint folly? Was she a cold-hearted bitch?

Rachel bustled in with a package of scones. ‘Give Dotty Dora one of these,’ she said in an acid tone. ‘Happen she’ll lighten her own once she’s tasted a proper scone. And don’t be taking any more nonsense from that daughter of yours. She created something shocking when you left her here last Saturday. Wanted sweeties, she said. Always gets sweeties from Granny Dora, she said. If she’d been my own, I’d have tanned her backside for her.’

‘It’s Mike,’ said Kate suddenly. ‘From school. The one who looked after me at Peter and Paul’s. He’s . . . turned up again.’

‘I see.’ Rachel sank into a fireside chair. ‘Thanks for telling me, love. Thanks for trusting me enough. You’re not the first – I had me own moments, I can tell you that now. But you have to weigh up what’s right, lass. I mean, what does he want?’

Kate studied her hands for a second or two. ‘He wants me,’ she said simply.

‘For permanent, like?’

Kate nodded.

‘And what do you want?’

‘Oh, Mother! I don’t know. I can give you a long list of what I don’t want, but I can’t think of one item on the positive side. I’m unhappy at home, you already know that. Geoff treats me like a cross between an ornament and a skivvy, Dora drives me mad, my child infuriates me. He – I mean Mike – wants us to go away together. I can’t do it. Not because of any sense of loyalty to my husband – and I know that must sound awful – but because I don’t seem to want anybody. And now Mike’s pushing me to tell Geoff and to make the break. Huh. A clean break, he calls it. What would be clean about it, Mam?’

‘Nowt. You’d leave a pile of dirt behind, especially with Melanie so young. Dora would go mad if you took the child away.’

‘I know.’

Rachel jumped up and grabbed her daughter’s hands. ‘Finish with him, Katherine. Bad enough giving up all you’ve got for something you really want. But to spoil your life for a man you’re not sure of . . .’

‘I need . . . something. Something of my own.’

‘Then use your brain! Get something out of that God-given talent we all know you have! Paint pictures, write stories, go back to college. But don’t throw any more of yourself away, love.’

Kate blinked back the threatening tears and hugged her mother tightly. ‘You’re not a bad old bat, are you? I’ll sort it out, Mam. But I’m going to miss him. He was like a ray of sunshine in a very dark world.’

‘But he’s not for you?’

‘No. There’s something missing. Like Geoff, he’s a weak man. It’s a different sort of weakness, but I couldn’t put up with him for long.’

‘I’ll pray for you, Katherine. Find the strength. Please.’

‘I will. Next time I see him.’

Steve Collins hovered in the doorway. The class of boisterous eleven-year-olds had just been dismissed, and Kate was packing her bag for home. He knocked on the open door. ‘Mrs Saunders?’

‘Yes?’ She turned and stared at him. ‘What is it? Please come in.’

He staggered into the room and sat on a front row desk. ‘Excuse me,’ he mumbled. ‘But I haven’t slept since . . . oh, I don’t know when. I’ve come all the way from Townley’s Hospital.’ His voice was quiet and tired. ‘Rosie’s asking for you.’

‘Oh.’ She sank on to her chair. ‘Is it . . . ? I mean, is she . . . ?’

He nodded dumbly.

‘Oh, my dear God!’ Her head dropped to her hands as she thought of the pretty bright child whose life was ebbing away at this very moment. ‘Me?’ she asked eventually. ‘She wants me?’

‘You’ve been good to her. And you never told anyone. I know you never told anyone, and I’m terribly grateful. Please come. Please say you’ll come.’

She pulled herself together and gathered up her bag. ‘Hang on. I have to tell Maureen Carter to go on without me, she can give a message to my family. Just two minutes. Stay there. I’ll be back directly.’

They sped through the town in his battered wreck of a car, he white-faced and weeping, she clinging to the edge of her seat as the car flew along at a speed that did not match its obvious age. Outside the hospital, the vehicle shuddered to a halt and the man immediately reached for her hand. ‘It’s not easy, Mrs Saunders. Seeing a child die, I mean. I wouldn’t have left her, but she was crying for you. She . . . hasn’t had a mother for years.’

Kate shook her head, knowing that she was no proper mother to anyone. ‘I understand,’ she said softly. ‘Please don’t cry. Don’t let Rosie see you crying.’

He scrubbed at red-rimmed eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘Better?’

‘You’ll do. Come on, we must go in.’

Rosie Collins lay in a single ward, her face as white as the linen pillowcase on which incongruously healthy hair lay fanned out like the display of some exotic bird.

Kate crept to the bed. ‘Rosie?’

‘You came.’ The child opened her sunken eyes. ‘She came,’ she said to her brother. ‘Give it to her. Give my work to Mrs Saunders.’

He bent to the locker and pulled out several sheets of paper. ‘It’s her homework.’ His voice was cracking. ‘She’s done special pictures of flowers for you, Mrs Saunders.’

The little girl’s face brightened momentarily as she watched her teacher poring over the work.

‘Ten out of ten, Rosie. I’d give you eleven out of ten, but that would be silly, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes. I don’t feel very well. I couldn’t come to school.’

Steve Collins sniffed. ‘That’s OK, Rosie. School has come to you.’

Kate placed the child’s work in her bag. ‘I see you got all our cards.’ She pointed to the display hung on a string over the bed. ‘And thank you for doing your homework.’

The child suddenly stiffened, her whole body seeming to go rigid as a spasm racked her depleted form. Kate averted her gaze. The girl was bleeding to death before their very eyes. There was no sign of blood, because the haemorrhages were probably internal, but the situation was clear from the colour of her skin. Couldn’t they do anything? Couldn’t they do something to ease the agony?

Steve read her thoughts. ‘She’s had her quota,’ he whispered.

They sat by the bed, each holding a hand while the little girl dozed, then woke, then dozed again.

A nurse brought tea and biscuits, then a doctor came in to feel Rosie’s pulse. The man looked meaningfully at Steve. ‘I’d stay if I were you.’

Kate grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. ‘Is there nothing . . . ?’

‘No, nothing more. I’d give my right arm to find something more.’

Endless night turned reluctantly to morning. There was more tea, this time with toast, and another visit from the sad doctor. Rosie had now been unconscious for many hours.

Steve stood by the window with his cup and saucer. ‘She’s all I have,’ he said brokenly.

Kate watched the grey face on the pillow. He wouldn’t have her for much longer, would he? She swallowed her tears. Everything seemed so unimportant now – school, Mike Wray, Geoff, Dora – all of them paled into insignificance next to the sight of this poor dying child.

She reached out and stroked Rosie’s hair, and the child’s eyes opened. For an instant, there was a terrible fear there, an awful and unbearable knowledge, then this was replaced by serenity as Steve and Kate clutched at skeletal hands.

‘Steve,’ breathed the child with difficulty.

‘I’m here.’

‘And Mrs Saunders.’

‘Yes.’

She looked from one to the other, sighed happily, then gave up her tiny spirit.

Kate watched as if from a distance while Steve Collins stroked his dead sister’s hand. It was terrible. This was definitely the worst moment of Kate’s life thus far. Terrible because she could do nothing to mend it. She was useless, useless and utterly stupid.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said simply.

‘I didn’t know I was crying.’

‘Well, you are. Rosie’s OK now. Nobody can hurt my little Rosie ever again. Alive, she made me weep. But now she’s at peace, I just feel relieved. No doubt the tears will arrive later.’

Kate dabbed at her eyes with a totally inadequate scrap of handkerchief. ‘She’s so . . . so pretty.’

‘Yes. She looks like a little wax doll. I don’t know what I’ll do without her. But I have to go on, haven’t I?’

‘Yes.’

They had to go on, both of them. Each stared at the other across the still figure in the hospital bed.

‘She’s taught me something,’ said Kate. ‘She’s taught me that I’m lovable. This little sister of yours loved me. That means something. It will help me to sort out my life.’

‘Go home,’ he said wearily. ‘Phone the school, then take the day off. I have to get on with my own sorting out. Thanks for coming. You’re a good woman.’

She glanced at him again. ‘Want any help?’

He shrugged. ‘There is no help, not for me.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind. Perhaps I’ll tell you all about it one day – when you’re old enough to hear it.’

Kate phoned for a taxi cab, then waited in the hospital foyer for it to arrive. Little Rosie would stay in her mind for many a year to come. And so would the girl’s troubled brother.

Mike was furious.

She distanced herself from him deliberately and carefully, leaving several inches of space between himself and her on ‘their’ bench in the park.

‘I’ve told her,’ he said sulkily. ‘She knows there’s someone else now. Kate, you are not a giver. Do you realize that I am prepared to put my job on the line for you? I’d never survive in a Catholic school as a divorced man. It’s OK for you, isn’t it? No-one would mind if Mrs Deputy-Head left her husband. It will get back to the Brothers in the end. And what am I left with? Just “cheerio, Mike, it’s been good to know you”!’