A Distant Dream (7 page)

‘That and a bossy boyfriend who dropped me as soon as I got sick,’ added Connie.

‘Mm, well don’t tar all men with the same brush, and go easy on the art teacher,’ advised May. ‘He’s just a patient like us, and none of us are in the best of health.’

‘We’ll bear that in mind, won’t we, girls?’ agreed Connie with a wicked grin.

The art class proved to be a lot of fun. The teacher, Doug Sands, a quietly spoken, slightly built man was well able to deal with all those who didn’t take it seriously.

‘This class is meant to be therapeutic for us all, but we are here to learn something and if you muck about the whole time they’ll stop me coming over to the women’s wards,’ he told them in his refined way. ‘Let’s have some order here, if you please.’

‘Do we call you sir?’ asked Connie with tongue in cheek.

‘I won’t bother to answer that,’ he said. ‘But for those of you who don’t already know, my name is Doug.’

The women quietened down after that. May had always known she had no talent for drawing and she told him so. ‘I can’t even draw a cat,’ she informed him.

‘There’s room for improvement then,’ he said optimistically, ‘and I like a challenge.’

‘I’ll be a challenge all right,’ she replied.

‘We’ll see,’ he said, smiling at her.

He was a good few years older than her, she thought, probably mid twenties. He wasn’t a good-looking man; he was too pale and thin for that, but he did have a certain charisma, a nice smile, clear grey eyes and a lustrous mane of blond hair. In that first lesson he asked them all to draw a bowl of fruit, and there was a lot of hilarity at the results.

‘Yours looks like a cross between a lavatory seat and a pile of sprouts, May,’ said Connie, laughing.

‘I told you I’m hopeless at drawing,’ May came back at her. ‘I was always the worst in the class at school.’

‘That isn’t too bad for a first effort,’ decided Doug, looking at her painting over her shoulder. ‘You’ll get better with practice.’

‘I enjoyed doing it, which is odd as I’m so bad at it,’ said May. ‘I’d like to improve, though, so I’ll come again.’

‘You probably won’t have much choice if the nurses have anything to do with it,’ Connie piped up. ‘You know how keen they are on occupational therapy.’

‘Only because it’s good for us,’ said May.

‘And it gets us out of their way,’ said one of the more cynical patients.

‘I’ll see you all next week then,’ said Doug, ‘and in passing in the canteen.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Connie with a cheeky grin.

May was in good spirits when they got back to the ward, something she’d thought in her early days at Ashburn she would never experience again. She yearned for the time when she could leave here and go home, but the homesickness had eased off a little now and was intermittent.

There was a letter for her on her locker. She could tell from the handwriting that it was from George, and her heart rose. Looking forward to reading it, she took it out to the porch and sat down in the shade in the glorious autumn weather, the low sun washing over the trees, which were a blaze of colour as the leaves turned. Opening the letter, she began to read.

May was too shocked to move. She just sat there staring unseeingly across the gardens, feeling totally betrayed. George and Betty had done that huge, mysterious, unmentionable thing together. May wasn’t ashamed of them, or disgusted; just heartbroken that it was Betty and not her. She had always thought it would be her and George. Betty had often flirted with him and they had all taken it to be just a bit of fun, but now it seemed as though it had been more than that. Pregnant at sixteen, though; she wondered how Betty felt about that.

In an isolated place like Ashburn you became institutionalised and distant from the outside world. Now she realised that life beyond these rolling hills was moving on without her. It had to, of course. People didn’t stop living and progressing just because she was ill, and why should they take her into account when she wasn’t around? One thing was for sure, she had to end any romantic notions about George. He was going to be a married man. Even the thought seemed ludicrous, because he was still just a boy.

A less charitable side of May’s nature made her feel spiteful towards Betty for stealing the boy she had known May loved. They had told each other everything, so Betty had been very well aware of May’s feelings. Still, that was the stuff of childhood and May felt very grown up suddenly. Of course she wanted to stay friends with George and she would reply to his letter. But not now, not yet. She needed time for the pain to subside.

It was Sunday morning and George was standing at his father’s graveside in the autumn sunshine. He often came here when he was confused or miserable, both of which he felt overwhelmingly at the moment.

Whereas his mother was worried by the scandal of his predicament, his dad would have been more likely to understand. He wouldn’t have been pleased about George’s misdemeanour – in fact he would have given him a thorough trouncing – but he would have listened to what he had to say and somehow helped him through it man to man. As it was, George was living in a house full of women – three now that Betty had moved in – and had no one to talk to about his turmoil. His mates, while intrigued about the act that had led to his current situation, thought he should do a bunk rather than tie himself down at such a young age. Being extremely immature, they were of the view that he shouldn’t have sown his wild oats so close to home, but that as he had, he should disappear pronto.

Unfortunately, George didn’t have it in him to do such a cowardly thing, as much as he hated the situation he was in. He was sixteen and not ready for marriage to anyone, least of all Betty, who was even less mature than he was and to whom he had never felt even remotely drawn. All of this because of something he could barely remember and that had only happened because he was drunk. He was still reeling from the shock, having not seen Betty since the coronation party until she’d turned up at his door a couple of weeks ago to tell him that she was pregnant and her parents had disowned her.

He felt as though his life was over, which was probably a huge exaggeration, but things were certainly going to change with a wife and child to support. Fortunately his sister had left school and was working at a local greengrocer’s now, so that was one fewer financial burden, but he still had to help Mum out when he could. Betty had her job at Bright Brothers, but she would have to stop working after the wedding, as they didn’t employ married women.

He didn’t earn bad money at the factory, and there was often the chance of overtime. If he was desperate for cash, there was always bare-knuckle fighting to fall back on. It was a last resort but it paid well and he would do it if he had to, strictly on the quiet, of course, as it was illegal and dangerous. His father would turn in his grave if he knew he was even considering it. Dad had been a stickler for the straight and narrow, sadly as it happened, as it had brought about his early death.

As usual when he thought of his father’s demise, his murderer came into his mind with blinding fury. In his imagination he saw the inscription on Dad’s headstone. Murdered aged forty by Bill Bikerley, a thug and a bully. But no . . . he wouldn’t tarnish his father’s memory with thoughts of that man. It was a waste of energy. Justice had been done, leave it at that, George. You’ve enough on your plate. Let it go. But he knew he wasn’t able to do that. The anger would torture him for the rest of his life.

He turned away from the grave and began to walk home, half dreading getting there. Betty’s endless prattle was very irritating to him now that he was with her so much. His heart twisted as he thought of May. She would have received his letter by now and he knew she would be disappointed in him, both for getting her friend into trouble and also for betraying her.

There had never been anything definite between them, but they had loved each other and he had thought they would be together one day after the growing-up process was complete. He still loved her and always would, but it could never be any other way than as a friend now, and all because of his damned recklessness. He’d been careful not to even hint at his dismay at marrying Betty in his letter to May. It wouldn’t be fair and it was best she didn’t know. The girls were friends so May would be loyal to her, which was more than Betty had been to May.

One thing he was certain his father would have said to him was to do right by the woman he must now be committed to and make her a good husband. He felt completely inadequate to the task but knew he must do his best and try to be a decent husband and father as his own dad had been.

As he walked home past the pub he saw a group of men going in for the midday session. The pub was sometimes known as the married men’s haven. He smiled to himself. He was soon to be a husband and father, yet he wasn’t even old enough to have a pint in a pub.

Walking home from work across Haven Green carpeted in fallen leaves, Betty decided it was time she wrote to May about what had happened. Her conscience was trying to bother her but she wasn’t going to allow it to spoil things. She hoped May didn’t mind about the turn in events. After all, she had no actual claim on George and she couldn’t expect other people to stay away from him when she wasn’t around. If it hadn’t been me it would have been some other girl, Betty told herself, so I’m blowed if I’m going to feel guilty.

She had to admit that she wasn’t keen on the pregnancy side of things; she hadn’t bargained on that. She had thought it would be all right as it had been the first time for them both and neither had really known what they were doing. It wasn’t much fun feeling sick and below par all the time. On the other hand, she had well and truly got her man, which meant she didn’t need a girlfriend to go about with and she wouldn’t have to work in that dreary store any more after the wedding. In fact she wouldn’t have to work anywhere, because George would be keeping her in future. As a married woman she’d have status and people would stop bossing her around.

So pregnancy was a small price to pay for all the benefits. As for the baby, she couldn’t even begin to imagine herself as a mother. But that was ages away yet, so there was no need even to think about it. For now, she was going to enjoy her role as George’s soon-to-be wife.

Admittedly he hadn’t seemed very happy about the prospect, but he was going to do the decent thing, as she’d known he would, so it didn’t matter. They hardly knew each other at a personal level, but that would change now that they were living together, and getting better acquainted would be fun.

There was a strong sense of victory in having bagged the best-looking bloke around, though annoyingly, this was coloured slightly by a persistent niggle of conscience about May. But her friend was like a distant memory now, having been away for so long with no talk of her coming back. Betty was determined to forget all about her and enjoy herself.

‘Well, George, it’s very good of you to come and tell us, but I can’t pretend not to be disappointed in you,’ said Flo shakily when he visited the Pavilion to tell May’s parents what had happened. ‘In fact, I really am very shocked indeed.’

‘I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else and it’ll be all round the neighbourhood soon,’ he said, feeling embarrassed and guilty as hell.

‘Does May know?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve written to her about it.’

‘She’ll be, er . . . surprised at the very least,’ said Flo. ‘I always hoped that you and May might one day . . .’

‘It isn’t going to happen now, is it,’ said Dick quickly, waving a tea towel at a wasp that was hovering near the toffee apples on the counter. ‘You’ve been and gone and done it now, boy. Pleasure usually comes at a price.’

‘Dick,’ said Flo in a tone of admonition. ‘Don’t be so crude.’

‘All I said was—’

‘I know what you said and I want no more of that sort of talk, if you please,’ she instructed.

‘Look, these things sometimes happen,’ Dick pointed out. ‘Nature is a very powerful force.’

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your daughter who is in trouble,’ said Flo.

He gave his wife a close look and George could almost feel his pain. ‘I’d rather our daughter was in that sort of trouble than the sort she is in; seriously ill and shut away from her family and friends,’ said Dick.

George saw his words hit home as Flo’s expression saddened and her eyes filled with tears.

‘When you look at it like that,’ she said thickly, ‘I suppose it does put it into perspective.’

‘Anyway,’ began George quickly, hoping to ease the tension, ‘now that you know what a degenerate I am, am I banned from the Pavilion?’

Dick looked at his wife in that way people have when they are very close. George had seen it in his own parents. Then he said, ‘Don’t be so daft, lad.’ He thought George would pay for his misdemeanour many times over in marrying so young and having a wife and child to support when he was just a lad himself. ‘What you get up to is none of our business.’

George looked at Flo with a raised eyebrow.

‘Of course you’re not banned,’ she confirmed. ‘What sort of snobs do you think we are?’