Christmas Wishes (9 page)

‘I’m Sister Ashley, actually,’ she said, giving him a little push in the direction of Joy’s bed. ‘I’m afraid you’ll find your daughter a bit of a mess, but children heal quickly. Now don’t forget, come to my office in five minutes.’

Alex would have liked to say that he did not mean to go home until his daughter could accompany him, but realised, perhaps fortunately, that this was foolish. He had no idea of the extent of Joy’s injuries, nor of how long she would need to remain on the ward. Instead, he allowed Gillian to take his hand and tow him to Joy’s bedside.

What he saw there frightened him; her whole head was swathed in bandages so that little of her face was visible, and tucked tightly into the high hospital bed her body seemed so small that it scarcely lifted the covers. Alex bent over her and saw that the bit of cheek and chin he could see was criss-crossed with stitches. He whispered her name but Gillian, still holding his hand, squeezed his fingers to get his attention, and spoke softly. ‘She’s con … oh, I think the word was concussed, Daddy. The man with the ginger moustache said that that was not a bad thing in the circumstances, whatever that means.’ She shuddered convulsively. ‘Did Mrs Lubbock tell you that we heard the bells go down? Joy shot across the room to the window – well, we both did – and opened it so we could wave as the fire engines went by, only the wind was so strong that it snatched the window out of her hand and smashed it into her face. Oh, Daddy, it were the awfullest thing you could imagine. There was blood and glass everywhere … and it were all my fault.’

‘How could it possibly be your fault?’ Alex asked. ‘I expect you mean that if you were racing to see who could get the window open first, it might easily have been you lying in this hospital bed. But please don’t make things even more difficult by blaming yourself.’

Gillian turned dark, haunted eyes up to his. ‘All my life, just about, I’ve complained that I didn’t want to be an identical twin. You can’t deny it, Daddy, you know it’s true. And now … and now … we’ll never be identical again,’ she ended, and Alex saw tears well up and spill down his daughter’s pale cheeks.

He opened his mouth to repeat that she must not take any blame on herself, then changed his mind. The poor kid had had a terrible experience; best not make it worse. ‘Didn’t you hear what the sister said?’ he asked instead. ‘Children heal quickly, that’s what she said. All right, for a couple of weeks, maybe a couple of months, Joy’s pretty looks will be spoilt by the stitches and then by the scars. But they’ll fade soon enough and folk will start driving you mad again by saying “Like as two peas in a pod” whenever they see the pair of you side by side.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘So don’t let me hear you blaming yourself for what’s happened to poor little Joy. Just be proud that your quick thinking got her into hospital within minutes of the accident’s happening, from what I can gather. And now take me to Sister’s office.’

‘All right,’ Gillian said, though Alex could hear the reluctance in her tone. ‘I’ll show you the way there, but I’m not leaving Joy until she’s ever so much better, Daddy. Don’t let them try to make me!’

Joy came to herself after what might have been minutes or hours. She was in total darkness and could see nothing, could hear very little. All she knew was pain; she had an agonising headache, movement was impossible, speech even more so. Sometimes she thought she heard a voice she recognised, a voice she loved, but it never said a word she could understand, and if she tried to concentrate the voice whirled into the darkness, leaving her alone with the pain.

Time passed, though she had no idea whether it was minutes, days or even weeks. She did not know who she was or why she seemed to be lying, trussed up like a chicken, on what felt like a hard board. The board made the pains in her limbs even worse and for one awful moment she remembered something about Christmas and a chicken … was she the chicken? But before she could begin to get seriously anxious, the scene in her mind changed. She saw Father O’Reilly from the Holy Martyr School, who was reputed to beat his pupils on a daily basis, and wondered if he had been wielding his cane upon her. But then the father’s face, which had been pale with spite, went scarlet and began to waver, as though under water, and Joy was once more alone in deep darkness, without even the voice to give her a hold on reality.

‘But Daddy, it’s been three whole weeks, and she’s still here! When are you going to talk to the man with the ginger moustache again? He’s the boss, isn’t he? Last time he came to see Joy, Sister told me to scarper, so I waited until she left and slipped under the bed. He came with a load of students and he talked and talked, but though I tried ever so hard I couldn’t really understand what he was saying. Perhaps if you speak to him …’

Gillian and her father were sitting in Sister Ashley’s office, where they had taken refuge whilst the doctor’s ward round was in progress. Now, Alex smiled at Gillian, trying to sound more positive than he felt. ‘I’ve spoken to the doctor and he was most understanding, but the truth is that until Joy regains consciousness he won’t know the extent of her injuries or what other treatment she may need.’ Glancing at his daughter’s worried expression, Alex decided to change the subject. ‘What worries me, darling, is that you’ve not returned to school, though the spring term started weeks ago. The teachers at Bold Street know that because of what’s happened you won’t be taking up your scholarship at St Hilda’s until after the Easter break, but naturally, when we made the arrangement, Miss Batchelor assumed that she would have you until then. She understands that it may be many weeks before Joy can attend school again but I do think, my love, that you should return to Bold Street for the rest of this term. Otherwise you’ll fall behind and when you start at St Hilda’s you’ll be struggling to catch up with the rest of your class.’

Gillian snorted. ‘The work Joy and I were doing before Christmas was kids’ stuff,’ she said dismissively. ‘But in a way you’re right, Daddy, and I should be working, particularly at French and Latin, because we didn’t do those in the village, and don’t at Bold Street of course, and I’ll need Latin if I’m to matriculate.’

‘I’ll speak to Miss McCullough and see if we can arrange some private tuition,’ Alex said. ‘But you must promise me that you’ll return to Bold Street school for the rest of the term. When Joy comes round, you can be with her after lessons, but already some of the staff have made it plain that you should not spend so much time on the ward. They know you and Joy are twins, of course, but rules are rules, and …’

‘I know, and I’ll do as you say and start school again tomorrow,’ Gillian said. ‘I’ll hate not being here, but I’ll pop in whenever I can. I can bring my homework and do it sitting by her bed, quiet as a mouse.’

Alex laughed. ‘I dare say the staff would allow you to come in straight from school instead of at visiting time,’ he said. A sound in the corridor outside made him get to his feet just as Sister put her head round the door.

‘Ward round’s over,’ she said breezily. ‘You can go back to the ward for ten minutes, but then you’ll want to go home and get yourselves something to eat. We’ll see you at visiting.’

Half an hour later father and daughter were ensconced in their kitchen, where Alex brewed the tea whilst Gillian made a plateful of cheese sandwiches. When their makeshift meal was finished, Alex told Gillian to get out her schoolbooks and try to do some work whilst he went up to St Hilda’s and asked Miss McCullough to recommend a language teacher. ‘And don’t try to go back to the hospital until I’m home and can go with you,’ he instructed her. ‘It’s no good trying to hurry things, you know; that was something else Mr Burton said.’

‘All right, Daddy. I’ll do my school work for a bit and then take a look in the pantry and see whether there’s something we can have for supper,’ Gillian said submissively. ‘And I’ll try not to hurry things.’

‘Well, queen, your sister’s illness is teaching you one thing: patience,’ Alex said. ‘And waiting is something you’ve always found difficult. You’ve always wanted everything yesterday.’

This made Gillian laugh, and the two parted. By the time Alex returned, he had arranged for French and Latin lessons with a retired teacher, and Gillian had written an essay, cleaned the house and peeled a pan of potatoes. Alex gave her a hug. ‘You’re a good little lass,’ he said approvingly. ‘I know Sister said come back at visiting time, but I think we’ll go to the hospital now, instead of later. I’ve arranged for Vera to sleep in Joy’s bed again, so you’ve got some company, because I’m on shift. You like Vera, don’t you? She’s a good kid.’

‘Daddy, she’s fifteen, not a kid at all,’ Gillian said disapprovingly. ‘But you’re right, she’s nice and I like her. Of course she’s no substitute for you – or Joy for that matter – but although I know it’s silly, I still don’t fancy being alone in the house at night.’

She took her coat down from its hook and the pair left the house and hurried towards the hospital. As they reached it, Gillian turned to her father. ‘Isn’t it odd, Daddy? I feel really excited, as though something nice were about to happen. Do you think …?’

They pushed through the swing doors to find Sister Ashley hurrying towards them. She had a big smile on her face. ‘She’s come round!’ she said in a high, excited voice. ‘Matron said to send someone to fetch you, only here you are!’

Joy had felt for some time now that she was once more approaching the normal world, though not by any means in a normal fashion. She felt as though she were at the bottom of a well, surrounded by water, though she could breathe easily. She was rising up through that water towards flashes of light and the sound of voices and she knew that if she tried hard enough, her head would break the surface and she would be able to look around her, see where she was and why.

For a long time, however, the effort involved in getting to the surface was too great; she simply did not have the energy. But then something inside her head seemed to whisper that if she did not try her strength soon she might find that there was no strength there; that she was no longer capable of escaping from this horrible half-world in which she floated.

The idea frightened her so much that she took her courage in both hands and headed upwards … not towards light, exactly, because the flashes were all around her, but towards … oh, towards sounds, smells, people!

Her head broke the surface and she moved it a tiny bit and realised that it rested on a pillow; moved a hand and felt sheets, some sort of warm coverlet … it was night-time, the darkness was absolute, but at least she was not the only person in the world awake. She heard a voice, high and excited, though she could not make out the words. Then there was the sound of running feet, someone breathing very hard as though they were the owner of those feet, and then someone caught her hand and lifted it, held it against something soft. A cheek? Yes, it must be a cheek, and the owner of that cheek was crying; the wetness of tears ran down between her fingers even as a voice spoke close to her ear.

‘Joy? Can you hear me?’ The voice spoke breathily, jerkily, but – oh bliss! – Joy could hear and understand every word. I’m back, she thought exultantly. If someone would just turn the light on I could see where I am … but I
think
it’s a hospital, or at any rate a bed, though it’s not my bed …

‘Oh, Joy, can you hear me?’ the voice said again and this time Joy was able to put a name to it, knew it was Gillian speaking. ‘Oh, Joy, we’ve been so worried, it’s been so long …’

Someone else took her other hand, shaking it gently back and forth, and Joy knew that it was her father, and that he was in some distress. She took a deep breath and turned her head towards him. She had thought she could not speak, but to reassure Daddy, and her twin of course, she would make the effort. ‘I’m back,’ she said, and scarcely recognised her own threadlike voice. ‘It’s dark … is there a light?’

Three weeks after Joy had regained consciousness the surgeon, Mr Burton, took Alex to his office and broke the appalling news that he doubted whether Joy would ever regain her sight. He had operated again, and the following day meant to remove the bandages, so he was warning Alex of the worst possible outcome. He wanted him – and his daughter – to be present at ten o’clock the next day.

‘When the bandages come off she may need reassurance,’ he told Alex. ‘Oh, of course we are all hoping that she will have some sight in the right eye; it was the left which was worst affected. But just in case …’

‘Are you telling me that my girl may be blind?’ Alex whispered. ‘Oh, my God, my God!’

‘I’m telling you no such thing,’ the doctor said sharply. ‘Never give up hope, Mr Lawrence. Just be on the ward by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, if you please, and then we’ll see what we shall see.’

Alex would have kept the surgeon’s words from Gillian, but she had guessed that Mr Burton would not have taken her father off to his room to impart good news, and in the end Alex told her almost word for word what the man had said. Like Alex, she was shocked and horrified, but she was still so grateful that the surgeon and his team had saved Joy’s life that she was able to take an optimistic view. ‘I’m sure Mr Burton was just telling you the worst thing that
might
happen, not what
would
happen,’ she pointed out. ‘It’ll be grand to see her give us a smile, laugh at something we say …’

‘Yes, it will,’ Alex said, trying to sound hearty and convincing and not succeeding very well.

Gillian looked up at him, suddenly serious. ‘I shan’t sleep tonight,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll be on my knees, praying that our Joy’s eyes will be working again when they take the bandages off.’

Alex squeezed her hand. ‘You won’t be the only one,’ he admitted. ‘Even if we get a shout I’ll be thinking of my little girl. Oh, Gillian, I hope to God you’re right and Joy’s eyes will be working when those bandages come off.’

Whilst Joy was in hospital Alex had arranged for Vera Hutchins from across the road to come and sleep at No. 77 whenever he was on nights. That evening, Gillian did not mention the fact that the surgeon would be taking Joy’s bandages and dressings off next day. Instead the two girls made themselves a meal, cleared everything away and then sat over the fire with their knitting and chatted of this and that.