Dragon Land (21 page)

‘Thank you, Maisie. I think I’ll go right now. He’ll have the hospital report and hopefully I’ll have some good news for Mum when I get back.’

I hurried along the street to the doctor’s house and waited in his small surgery in the garden. He came in with a folder and I didn’t like his expression. Cold fingers of fear settled in my stomach, but I didn’t try to avoid his gaze. Whatever the truth was, I knew I had to face it.

He fiddled about with his glasses and finally opened the folder. ‘I’m afraid I have very bad news about Mrs Flint.’ He didn’t look at me but kept turning the few pages in front of him. He then settled a worried gaze on me. ‘The test has come back and your mother has a malignant tumour which I regret to say is too far advanced for surgery. I’m so very sorry.’

I sat in a daze, like I was in some kind of nightmare. I was almost too afraid to ask him anything. ‘What … what happens now?’

‘It’s just rest and care now, and it’s difficult to say how long she will live. She hasn’t any pain at the moment, but when she does I can deal with that. I’ll come round every few days to check on her. Do you want me to tell her or will you?’

‘No, no,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll do it, but not at the moment. I don’t want her to know how ill she is.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Yes, that’s often the best thing to do. However, it depends on the patient. Some people want the truth, but others don’t.’

‘I don’t think my mum could cope with the truth, at least not yet.’

It was raining when I walked home and I was glad, because it covered up my tears. I had to stand for a few moments at the front door of our house to compose myself, and when I entered, Mum was asleep. Maisie looked at me and I shook my head. As she left to go back to her own flat, she patted me on the shoulder.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Lizzie.’

That night I wrote a letter to Margaret and gave her all the ghastly news but said Mum didn’t know anything so not to mention it when she wrote back.

The Easter holidays weren’t far off, and I knew I would have to leave the school to care for Mum. I honestly didn’t know what the future held, but when Mum woke up she seemed so bright and cheerful that I found it so hard not to burst into tears.

‘Did the doctor get the report from the infirmary, Lizzie?’

I said he had.

‘And didn’t I tell you everything was fine?’

‘Yes, Mum, you did, and you were right.’

For a moment, there was a look of triumph on her face.

After she went to bed I sat down and made a list of things that needing seeing to. First of all I would have to finish at the school come the Easter holiday, but until then Maisie said she would come in and sit with Mum. Then I had to go to DM Brown’s and tell them that Mum would no longer be working her three days. I would have to see Laura and Pat to warn them not to let my secret out and just to carry on as usual should they come to the house.

At that point I missed Granny and Margaret so much, but as we had no other relatives I could call on it was all down to me, at least for the moment.

I can’t remember much about that time, as I seemed to be in a daze, but I do remember being sad at having to tell Mr Drummond that I could no longer work in the school. I wasn’t sure how I stood with not having worked for even a year, but I had no choice.

Everyone was so helpful and sympathetic. Polly, Jane and everyone in the school were a huge help as I struggled during the last few weeks to hold onto my teaching job and to face up to the reality that Mum wasn’t going to live for much longer.

But like everything in life, be it anticipated joy or dread, the time arrived when the school was breaking up and it was my last day. The children had only been told that I was leaving to look after my mother, and I was in tears when they gave me a bunch of daffodils. Polly, Jane and Mr Drummond gave me a lovely brooch and they all wished me well. No one said they hoped to see me back at work soon because that would mean Mum was no longer with me, but I was grateful for all their support.

It was snowing as I walked down Cotton Road on my way home, and although I was crying I knew I could always blame the cold wind and not the heartbreak I felt at this tragic turn of events in our lives.

It was May 1932 when Margaret arrived, and I had never been so pleased to see anyone as I was to see her reassuring figure appearing at the front door a few weeks after the Easter holiday. I had warned her that Mum didn’t know how ill she was, and she came in with her usual brisk manner and beaming smile.

Mum sat up in her chair with a delighted smile. ‘Margaret, come and sit beside me.’ As Margaret pulled her chair up close to her, Mum said, ‘You better not sit too close to me because I’ve got this terrible influenza, and I don’t want you to catch it.’

Margaret gave me a long stare before turning her attention to her stepsister. ‘It’s so good to see you, Beth, and I’m home for good. Gerald won’t be coming back till the end of the year, when we hope to have a long retirement by the sea.’

I said, ‘I’ll put the dinner on, Margaret, because you’ll be hungry after your long trip.’

Margaret said she was hungry and I was pleased I had made a pot of broth with cold brisket and potatoes to follow. Mum ate very little, although Margaret tried her best to get her to clear her plate.

‘I’ll eat it later,’ she said. It was the usual excuse, as I told Margaret later. It normally went into the bin, I said.

Margaret said her luggage was still at the station’s left-luggage office and she planned to get a taxi in the morning to take it to her new house in Carnoustie. I saw her looking at the single bed in the living room.

‘I brought it through so that Mum could look out of the window and also because this room is cosier than the bedroom,’ I said as we sat around the fire with our cups of tea.

‘I’ve been thinking, Beth’, she said. ‘Why don’t you both come and live with me in Carnoustie?’

I was taken aback. ‘What about Gerald? He won’t want us cluttering up his house when he comes home.’

‘Well, he’s not coming till the end of the year. In fact, I often wonder if he wants to retire, because he loves his job so much. When he does come home, then you can go back to Victoria Road. If you want to, just look on it as a holiday by the sea.’

Later, when Mum was asleep, Margaret said, ‘Beth can’t go outside because of the stairs, Lizzie, and if we all go to Carnoustie then she’ll get lots of fresh air and she’ll love the sea views.’

So it was settled. Next morning when Margaret suggested the move, Mum said she didn’t mind where she lived as long as Margaret was there. Over the next few days my aunt went to see the house and also made sure everything was in place for us.

‘I’ve turned the dining room into a bedroom for Beth; it has great views over the garden and the sea.’

I was worried about Dr Bennett. ‘He comes in to see Mum three times a week and I don’t think he’ll manage to make the trip to Carnoustie.’

‘Go and speak to him, Lizzie. Ask if he wants to come or if he would prefer another doctor to take over Beth’s medical care.’

So I went that morning and he said a local doctor would be preferable. ‘Your mother’s health will deteriorate, so a local man will be better to have near at hand.’

By the end of that week we were ready for the move. Margaret had seen the local doctor and he said he would take Mum on as his patient. Maisie was upset when we said we were moving, but she understood the need for it. Mum had asked for Dad’s trophies to come with us, so I wrapped them in newspaper and put them in a cardboard box, and then we said goodbye to the flat.

For a brief moment, I was overtaken with a feeling of sadness as I recalled our first day here away back in 1917 and how Granny had made us so welcome.

Margaret put her arm around my shoulder. ‘You’re not giving it up, Lizzie. It will still be here any time you want to come back.’

I also said a tearful goodbye to Maisie, who promised to keep her eye on the house, and we slowly half-carried Mum down to the waiting taxi. Margaret told Maisie to come for a few days’ holiday any time she felt like it and also said to tell her if anything needed done in the house when it was empty.

I gazed out of the window at the busy street and I had a premonition that I wouldn’t be back for a long time, if ever. The sun was shining, but Mum fell asleep by the time we reached the outskirts of Dundee and it was then I realised how time was running out for her.

The taxi driver carried our luggage and boxes into the house, and by that time Mum was gazing at the sea. The garden, which had had a neglected look when I came to see it, was now full of colourful flowers and the lawn was neatly trimmed. The wooden veranda now had a new coat of paint and there were three reclining chairs with fluffy padded cushions.

Inside was also freshly decorated, and sunlight filled the living room and what was to be Mum’s bedroom next door. I couldn’t believe how much work had been done, but to be truthful I wasn’t surprised. Margaret had the knack of tackling anything – maybe not with her own hands, but with her methodical nature and skill at acquiring workmen and furniture suppliers.

We decided on a picnic on the veranda for our midday meal, and Mum looked so comfy lying on her padded chair. Although it was a lovely day, the sea was a bit choppy and gulls wheeled over the beach, which was deserted, mainly because it was too far from the town. We were still sitting on the veranda when the doctor arrived. He was a plump man with a round, cheery face and he wore his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He was dressed in a pair of navy trousers and a light-grey jacket, and he wore a linen hat on his head.

‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he said, removing his hat to reveal a shiny bald head with a fringe of white hair. ‘I’m Dr Smith and I’ve had a letter from Dr Bennett.’

Margaret asked him if he wanted some tea, and he sat down at the small table. ‘Thank you, I would love a cup of tea.’ He smiled at us and deep creases formed at the corners of his eyes. He looked around him. ‘I must say, you’ve done wonders with the house, and I’m so glad, as it’s been empty for some time.’

He chatted on about the joys of living in Carnoustie – ‘It’s great for the sea air and the golf, if you like the game’ – but I noticed he kept looking at Mum, especially when she drifted off halfway through his chatter.

After he left, we made our way into the house. Margaret had arranged two single beds downstairs, and I was pleased because I wanted to be near Mum through the night. Another bonus to the room was a shelved alcove, on which I placed Dad’s trophies, where she could see them from her bed.

As the days lengthened and became warmer, Mum’s face took on a rosy glow and she appeared to be in better health, so much so that I began to harbour hopes that she was getting better. Margaret had found an advertisement in the paper for a wheelchair, and when she went to collect it we all laughed. It had a wicker-like seat with wheels, so with Mum tucked up in it and me pushing we all had some marvellous trips into the town.

Margaret had arranged for the grocery order every week, which was delivered in a small van with a cheery young man bringing the boxes to the door. He always spent some time chatting to us and this cheered Mum up. Then the fish van called once a week as well and the milkman every morning, so we weren’t cut off from people.

And during trips into town with the wheelchair, we were able to look into all the small shop windows and to buy fresh bread and cakes from the baker, as well as going into their small café and having a morning coffee. This meant we got to know quite a few people, and their conversations with us made us feel part of this small community.

Dr Smith would also pop in every week and stay for a cup of tea and a blether with Mum and Margaret while I would go and do some work in the garden, which I found to be therapeutic. I especially loved the roses and I would cut a few and bring them into the house, where their scent filled the air. I always placed a small vase by the side of Mum’s bed, which she loved.

Sometimes Laura and Pat would pay a visit on a Sunday, and Margaret would tell them tales from her teaching days, which often left us all howling with laughter. But later when they left and I walked with them to the station, they would express their sympathy for Mum. As we hugged one another before the train came in, Laura would say, ‘I think your Mum looks a lot better, Lizzie,’ while Pat would agree and add, ‘Maybe she’s getting well again, with all this lovely sea air. Mind and tell her my parents are asking after her.’

Laura said that Wullie and Irene were also thinking of us, and for a brief moment as the train pulled up to the platform I wished everything was back as it was before, with Irene at the piano and Wullie arriving home with sawdust and woodchips in his hair. But of course it wasn’t, and I smiled as I waved them away.

At the end of June, Milly arrived with wee Bertie and I saw the shock on her face when she saw Mum, a look that quickly passed before she smiled brightly.

‘Beth, it’s great to see you, and I’ve brought Bertie to say hello.’

Bertie was just under a year old, but he was on his feet, walking slowly over the floor on his two plump, pink legs with a helping hand from his mother.

We all made a fuss of him, but after a wee while he became bored and began to cry. Milly was telling Mum and Margaret about her life in Glasgow and how happy she was, but she picked her son up and tried to stop his wailing. Margaret had brought through the tea tray so I said I would take him down to the beach.

He didn’t want to leave his mother and was clinging to her skirt, but when I picked him up and said we were going to look at the water, his little face beamed and he twisted his head towards the door.

Milly was concerned. ‘You’ll be careful with the water, Lizzie?’

I said I would just let him play on the beach. A few days earlier I had found a small tin bucket and spade in the shed, so we crossed the road and sat on the sand. Bertie was delighted with the spade and after I showed him how to fill up his small bucket, he began to do the same, with the sand going everywhere.