A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (41 page)

‘It’s different from what I expected,’ she whispered to Elsie.

‘It’s not a criminal court, that’s why.’

The room fell strangely silent as the coroner came in, most eyes on him as he took a seat behind the desk. Sally hardly noticed his entrance; she was too busy trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden chair, thinking that this was the worst bout of indigestion she’d ever had.

The proceedings began. They were there, they were told, to ascertain the cause of death of the deceased, Mr Harold Taylor. Sally tried to listen to the evidence, hoping it would distract her mind from the pain, but most of it washed over her.

The post-mortem results made her grimace. God, she had no idea that they even examined the contents of the stomach.

The policemen were called next, each giving their evidence clearly and concisely, but by now Sally was hardly listening. The perspiration was running off her, the indigestion gripping her tummy. It was only when her aunt gasped, that she pricked up her ears, listening to what the coroner was saying. ‘Yes, you say you saw Mr Taylor fall from the roof. But were you close enough to be sure that it was accidental?’

‘Yes, sir. I was only about three feet away at the time, and I clearly saw him lose his balance. He didn’t jump, I’m certain.’

Sally’s brow creased. Why was the coroner asking if it was an accident? Surely he didn’t think that Harry had deliberately – no, it didn’t bear thinking about. She winced as another pain shot through her abdomen, relieved when at last the policeman left the chair, and she was called to give her evidence.

She answered the questions; told them that Harry had threatened her, all the time just wishing it were over. The coroner was patient when she stumbled over some of her answers, and at one point asked her if she was all right.

At last he seemed satisfied and she returned to her seat, just managing to sit down as she was gripped by another sharp stab of pain. Hardly aware of anything else, she was relieved when the coroner finally announced his verdict.

‘I have heard the evidence that suggests the balance of Mr Taylor’s mind may have been affected in the time leading up to his death. However, I have listened to the account given by the police, and am satisfied that the deceased did not deliberately take his own life. I am therefore recording a verdict of Death by Misadventure.’

Sally heard the scraping of chairs, the rustle of paper, and then Elsie’s voice in her ear. ‘Come on, love, we can go now.’

She stood up, leaning forward slightly, trying to ease the pain.

‘Are you all right?’ Elsie asked anxiously.

‘Yes, it’s just a nasty bout of indigestion,’ Sally told her.

‘Oh dear, I remember suffering with that towards the end of my pregnancies too. Never mind, we’ll soon be home and I’ll give you a glass of liver salts.’

Sally smiled wanly, just glad to be sitting in the car again and away from the ordeal.

As soon as they arrived back in Wimbledon, Sally sank onto the sofa. Elsie brought her a glass of salts and she gulped it down, hoping it would relieve the pain.

‘Why don’t you go and lie down, love?’ Elsie urged. ‘You look worn out.’

‘Yes, I think I will,’ Sally told her, heaving herself up and groaning with the effort.

Sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking off her shoes, she held her back. God, it was aching. It must have been that uncomfortable chair in the Coroner’s Court that had caused it. Wet with perspiration, she pulled off her maternity dress and eased herself down on top of the blankets, closing her eyes. She tried to sleep, but it was impossible. Every time she felt herself drifting off, the pain in her back jerked her awake.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she sat up. The toilet, she needed the toilet. Clutching her stomach she waddled across the room and was about to open the door, when her waters broke. Without a shadow of doubt, she knew then that the baby was coming.

Opening the door and stepping onto the landing, she called, ‘Elsie! Elsie!’ as another wave of pain had her bending forward.

There was a flurry as Elsie ran up the stairs, smiling widely. ‘Well, it’s about time my grandchild decided to be born,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s get you back to bed and I’ll call the midwife.’

‘I’m sorry, Elsie. My waters broke all over your carpet,’ she told her, groaning as another contraction ripped through her stomach.

‘Sod the carpet,’ Elsie laughed. ‘Now then, have you timed the contractions?’

‘No, but I think they’re about every five minutes,’ she gasped as Elsie helped her back into bed.

‘I’m glad you decided to have the baby at home, I’ll be able to see it born. Now, are you all right while I pop down to the telephone?’

Sally nodded. ‘Don’t be long though, Elsie.’

‘I won’t, but I had better get the rubber sheet to put under you too.’

When Elsie returned, Sally had to get off the bed again while she pushed the protective sheet under the linen one. She sat in a chair, clutching her tummy. God, she had had no idea it would be as bad as this. It was excruciating.

‘Elsie, I’m scared,’ she whimpered as she heaved herself back onto the bed.

‘You’ll be all right, darling. In no time you’ll be holding your baby in your arms and it will all be worth it.’

Elsie stroked her forehead as another contraction shot through her, and Sally gripped the edge of the mattress, her knuckles white. ‘Oh, it hurts, it hurts,’ she cried.

‘I know, love. I know,’ Elsie soothed.

Sally tossed her head in agony as the pain came in waves, growing worse and worse, until she barely had time to gasp before another ripped through her. It went on and on, never-ending, and she lost all track of time.

She screamed now, as another contraction gripped her, and after a while it felt like she’d been screaming for hours. The midwife must have arrived, but she had no memory of it, only becoming aware of her voice as she issued instructions.

‘Mum, I want my mum,’ she croaked.

‘She’ll be here soon. I’ve sent for her,’ Elsie promised.

Oh God, it was agony, unrelenting. When would it stop? Please someone make it stop! She could hear voices, as though from a distance, muffled and indistinct. ‘Ambulance’, she thought she heard the word ‘ambulance’, and struggled to speak.

Her mother’s voice – was that her mother’s voice? ‘Mum, Mum,’ she whimpered.

‘Shush, love, you’ll be all right. I’m here now. Hold on, darling, please hold on.’

When had her mother arrived? How long had she been there? Pain again, all she was aware of was pain, filling her whole body and tearing her apart. Other sounds momentarily penetrated – a door banging, shouts, and was that laughter?

Then another voice. No, it couldn’t be. She knew then that she was hallucinating.

‘Sally, Sally, I’m here, darling,’ the voice whispered, close to her ear.

She turned her head. She could see him. ‘Arthur?’ she husked.

‘Yes, Sally, it’s Arthur. My boy’s come home,’ Elsie sobbed, tears streaming down her face.

Sally tried to smile, tried to reach out to touch him, unable to believe that he was real, but she felt strange, and there was a loud ringing in her ears.

There was another voice, someone shouting, ‘Oh God – no, she’s haemorrhaging!’

Was that her mother screaming, her voice sounding hysterical as she cried, ‘Please do something – you must do something! Stop the bleeding! For God’s sake, stop the bleeding!’

‘Sally, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me,’ she heard Arthur pleading.

Then a final pain, a slithering, rushing sensation, and a chorus: ‘It’s a girl, a lovely little girl.’

‘Sally!’ her mother screamed.

She was suddenly cushioned, floating, the pain gone. A golden light was forming and she drifted towards it, arms outstretched. Her friend had come. ‘Angel, my angel,’ she whispered.

Then there was nothing, just darkness …

‘Oh thank God, thank God,’ she could hear someone sobbing, the voice penetrating her mind. Opening her eyes she saw her mother, tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘You’re gonna be all right now, Sally. You’re gonna be all right, darling.’

For a moment she was bewildered. What had happened? She had vague memories of floating through a tunnel, a wonderful feeling of peace, a light in the distance, something she had experienced before, a long time ago. She struggled to remember, but then a hand gripped hers and she turned her head.

Arthur was sitting beside her, his face full of joy. ‘Look, Sally. Look, here’s our daughter.’

‘You’re here, you’re really here,’ she whispered, her heart flooding with happiness and her eyes lowering to see the beautiful baby nestled in his arms, a wisp of red hair visible.

‘Yes, darling, I’m here, and I promise I’ll never, ever leave you again. Oh Sally, I love you so much.’

‘Jenny?’ she managed to whisper.

‘It’s over, Sally, and she wasn’t pregnant after all.’

She managed to smile, feeling weak and exhausted, yet so happy as Arthur looked down at their baby, his face full of tenderness and love.

‘The ambulance is here, you’ve got to go to the hospital,’ her mother said.

But Sally barely heard her; she was too busy gazing at her daughter as she was placed in her arms. ‘You’ve given her a beautiful name, darling,’ Arthur said softly.

She raised her eyes, puzzled. ‘Name, what name?’

‘Why Angela, of course. You called out her name as soon as she was born, and stretched out your arms to hold her.’

Sally smiled softly as her daughter nuzzled into her breast. ‘Angela,’ she whispered. ‘My angel.’

Kitty Neale was born and raised in Battersea, South London. This solid background gives credence to her third novel, which is set in and around that area during the fifties. Her working life was varied: from shop assistant, secretary to the British Tourist Authority and then manager of a busy doctor’s practice. In 1987 she moved to Surrey with her husband and two children. It was here that she took up writing.