Forgive and Forget (49 page)

Polly smiled weakly and tried to sit up, but the effort was just too much and she fell back against the pillows as a fit of coughing seized her.

It was several more days before Polly felt able to get out of bed and sit in a chair, wrapped in shawls and a blanket.

‘You’ve been one of the lucky ones,’ Bertha told her. ‘No complications. A nasty cough, but it’s not pneumonia.’

She didn’t feel lucky; the illness had been dreadful, but she knew what Bertha meant. She was still alive and she would recover. So many in the city had not.

‘Is Jacob all right? He hasn’t caught it, has he?’

‘Not so far, duck. Selina’s looking after him. She’d have been a great mother.’ Bertha shook her head and sighed. ‘Life’s so unfair, ain’t it?’

Polly closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of thankfulness and then she heard Bertha hesitantly say the words she dreaded to hear. ‘But your Roland’s gone to bed early. He’s not feeling too good.’

‘Oh no, no!’ Polly whispered.

The following morning, when Roland did not come into the bedroom to bring her breakfast as he’d been doing each morning whilst she’d been ill, Polly dragged herself out of bed and went to the spare room where he’d been sleeping. She opened the door and held her breath. He was lying in the bed, his face bathed in sweat and he was threshing from side to side, muttering in delirium. Though still weak herself, Polly dressed and went downstairs on legs that threatened to give way beneath her at any second. She filled the kettle with water that gushed, pure and safe, from the tap now and set it on the hob.

‘Fluids,’ she murmured to herself. ‘He must have plenty of fluids.’

Minutes later she was mounting the stairs again carrying a warm drink and a bowl of lukewarm water with which to bathe his face.

‘No, no,’ he was writhing and shouting when she entered the bedroom and sat down beside the bed. ‘It’ll go off. Get away, get away!’

She bathed his face and his hands, speaking softly and soothingly to him. ‘There, there, Roland, dear. Do try to be calm. You’ll do yourself no good. Now, try to sit up and drink this.’

But they were both so weak – Roland couldn’t raise himself and she couldn’t lift him – that between them they spilt the liquid all over the bedclothes. Polly, with fear and weakness, was close to tears and when a knock sounded at the front door about mid-morning, she didn’t think she’d ever been so glad to see anyone in her life.

‘Oh, Mrs Halliday, he’s got the flu. Roland’s got it now.’

‘Aye, I thought as much last night when I left,’ Bertha said, stepping fearlessly across the threshold and making for the stairs. ‘Doctor’s on his way. I knew that’d be what you’d want.’

‘Oh yes, yes. Thank you.’

Bertha pulled herself up the steep stairs, saying, ‘You sit by the fire and rest, duck. You’re not fit yourself. I’ll see to him.’

‘But . . .’

‘No buts, lass. I’ve seen it all before and he’ll not know a lot about it.’

‘He’s rambling,’ Polly called up after her as Bertha reached the top. ‘He thinks he’s back in the trenches.’

Bertha turned briefly and looked down at her solemnly. ‘Aye, I know. That’s what a lot of them that’s come back and caught the flu have been doing, but, God willing, he’ll pull through.’

But Bertha’s optimism was misplaced, Roland deteriorated steadily.

On the fourth day of his illness and whilst Polly grew stronger, Roland grew weaker.

Dr Fenwick came downstairs. ‘My dear, I have to be honest with you. He’s sinking. His lungs were damaged in the war, so I understand, and he’s got pneumonia. If there’s anyone who’d want to see him, then – you should send for them at once.’

‘Oh no,’ she breathed and sat down suddenly. Her legs, still weak from her own illness, gave way beneath her. She stared at the doctor with wide, frightened eyes. ‘There’s – there’s Jacob, but the infection . . . ?’

‘I think it’s a risk you’ll have to take, my dear.’

‘I – I’ll send word to Mrs Thorpe’s.’

As the doctor picked up his bag, he said, ‘He’s no longer delirious, Polly, so whatever he says to you now, you can believe it. He’s – er – asking to see Leo Halliday.’

‘Leo?’ Polly was startled.

‘Yes. He asked specifically if I would ask Mrs Halliday if Leo would come to see him.’

He left by the front door leaving Polly, open-mouthed, gaping after him.

Bertha, arriving only moments after the doctor’s departure, found her still sitting in the chair by the fire, gazing into space. ‘Poll? What is it?’

‘He – Roland – has asked to see Leo.’

Bertha nodded. ‘I know. Dr Fenwick’s just told me. I passed him on my way in.’ She paused and searched Polly’s face. ‘Do you want me to ask him to come?’

‘I – I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want Leo to catch it, but . . .’

‘Leo’s stronger now and they’ve been going down like flies with it at the station. I don’t think that’ll worry him, but I think he’ll wonder what Roland wants.’

‘So do I,’ Polly said shortly.

Selina brought Jacob home at dinnertime, wide-eyed and frightened. He’d now been away from home for over two weeks and whilst either Selina or Albie had brought him to the door every evening to ask first his father how his mother was and then, recently, to ask her after Roland, he’d never been allowed to come into the house. But Selina had explained to him very gently that his father was seriously ill and that he must be a brave boy and go up to see him.

‘Mam,’ he said, coming to stand beside her knee and leaning his head on her shoulder, ‘is Daddy – is he going to die?’

Polly took a deep breath and realized that she should not lie to her son. He was a solemn four year old who’d already been surrounded by grown-ups talking of death almost daily. As she stroked his hair, Polly breathed a sigh of great sadness and yet it was tinged with relief. There was sadness because Jacob would now never get to know his father and yet there was relief too that the young child would not suffer the deep grief and desolation that so many children had experienced in losing a dearly loved father.

‘He’s very, very poorly, Jacob. I want you to go into the bedroom and stand near the door so he can see you. Can you do that, d’you think?’

The boy nodded and Polly took him by the hand and led him upstairs.

Roland was calmer than he’d been since the illness had struck. Beads of sweat still stood out on his forehead, but he was no longer delirious. His breathing was laboured and painful, but he turned his head to look at his son, a ghost of a smile lingered on his cracked lips.

‘Look after your mam, Jacob. Be a good boy for her.’ The effort to speak brought on a fit of coughing that racked his body. Jacob pulled his hand from his mother’s grasp, turned and ran down the stairs.

‘Jacob . . .’ Polly started after him but a noise from the bed made her turn back.

‘Let – him – go,’ Roland gasped out between coughs. ‘The sickroom – is no place for a boy.’

At last the spasm subsided and Roland lay back against the pillows, exhausted and with his eyes closed.

Polly moved to the bedside and began to sponge his face. ‘I’m so sorry, Polly, for how I behaved when I came home. It was – unforgivable.’

‘Nothing’s unforgivable, Roland dear. Don’t fret. Just rest.’

‘I can’t rest. I mustn’t. There are things I need to say – to do. I must see Leo. Why doesn’t he come?’

He was becoming distressed again and Polly knew she had no choice but to give way to him. ‘But why d’you want to see him, Roland?’ She didn’t add: Him of all people?

‘I want to see him, Polly. Please, indulge me in this one thing. I’m begging you.’

‘All right. I’ll send for him, if you’ll try to rest.’

He was calmer at once, as if he knew she would keep her promise and that Leo would come. She bathed him again and plumped his pillows before going downstairs. Jacob was sitting on Selina’s lap, tears running down his face.

‘I thought I should wait, but I’ll take him home, if you think it best, Polly.’

Polly tried to smile at her son as she said softly to Selina, ‘I think it’d be best. Thank you.’

‘Come along, my poppet. Let’s go and see Uncle Albie on his stall. He might let you help him for a while.’ She smiled at Polly. ‘He likes helping at the market.’

Polly nodded, her throat too full to speak. Was he going to follow in his Uncle Eddie’s footsteps and be a market trader? She just hoped that he wouldn’t fall in with a bad lot like Eddie, but with Albie Thorpe as his mentor that was unlikely.

The house was quiet when they’d gone – unnaturally so. Polly was restless. There was nothing else she could do for Roland except bathe him and give him fluids. Her own strength was returning gradually, but she was overwhelmed with fear and guilt. She’d brought the infection into their home and, in his weakened state, Roland had succumbed to it. And now he was going to die. The doctor had implied as much. And then there was Roland’s insistence that he wanted to see Leo.

Why? What on earth did he want to say to him?

There was a soft knock at the door and Leo was standing there. ‘Is it true? Is Roland asking to see me?’

She nodded and held the door open for him to enter. ‘He’s in the little bedroom at the back. It’s – it’s where he was sleeping whilst I was ill and he’s been too ill to move him back to the front room.’ Her voice broke. She covered her face with her hands and swayed.

Leo grasped her arms to steady her, but she shook him off. ‘No, no, don’t,’ she whispered, almost as if she was afraid Roland might suddenly appear downstairs and see them together. ‘Just – just go up to him. See what he wants. I’ll wait here.’

She sat down and it seemed an age before Leo appeared again. She’d heard the low murmur of their voices from the room above, but she’d not been able to hear what was being said.

When Leo came back into the kitchen, she twisted round to ask, ‘What did he say? What did he want?’

Leo sat down. ‘I’m not going to tell you everything, Poll. Not now. Maybe one day I will, but not now. It wouldn’t be right. Suffice to say two things: one, we’ve made our peace and two, he’s asked me to stay here with you until – ’ he pulled in a deep breath – ‘until the end.’

Polly gave a sob and covered her mouth with her hand, staring at him with tear-filled eyes. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she gulped. ‘If I hadn’t been so stubborn about keeping on me job, I wouldn’t have caught the flu and he wouldn’t have got it neither.’

‘Poll, you have to stop blaming yourself for everything that happens. The infection’s been rife through the city. Unless you both – all three of you, if it comes to that – locked yourselves away in isolation for several months, you couldn’t have escaped it. Now,’ he said more firmly, ‘who is there who’d like to see him? Jacob’s been, hasn’t he?’

Polly nodded.

‘What about his family?’

‘There’s no one.’

‘Your family then? They’re fond of him, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, but they might not want to because of catching it.’

But Polly was wrong: they all came. Trooping up to the bedroom and coming down again solemn-faced or in tears like Violet and Miriam. Even Micky came, bringing a scared Michael. But the seven-year-old went upstairs, clinging to his dad’s hand.

It was as if Roland had waited to see them all; he’d hung on to say whatever he’d wanted to say to Leo and now it was left to Polly to sit by his bedside and hold his hand until peace came to him. She was the only one he wanted in the room, though he was safe in the knowledge that Leo was downstairs ready to help Polly.

He couldn’t talk very much; already he was exhausted and the telltale rattle had begun in his throat. Hearing it, Polly clung to his hand, willing him to fight, willing him to get better. But the brave soldier – the gentle man who should never have gone to war – could not win this battle. At three o’clock in the morning he slipped quietly away.

Polly went downstairs and hearing the door opening, Leo stood up and held his arms out to her in comfort. Without a moment’s hesitation she went to him and allowed him to enfold her into his strong embrace. She laid her head against his shoulder and wept.

More people attended Roland’s funeral than Polly had expected. Her family were all there, of course, but she had not thought that Nelly and Ida and several others from the factory would attend. But they all remembered him as a well-liked and respected foreman – and latterly manager – who’d always treated them fairly and even stood up to the employers on their behalf on occasion. They’d missed Roland when he’d volunteered, for his place had been taken by Harry Barnes, a boss’s man, as Nelly called him, who’d made the workers’ lives a misery.

Selina and Albie came to take care of Jacob, and even the Fowler family came, and several from the street where Roland had lived all his life made up the congregation. There were three men, still in uniform, who’d served at the Front with Roland. Somehow they’d heard of his death and had travelled from London and Liverpool to attend. Polly couldn’t think how they’d got to know, until one of them said that Leo had got in touch with them. Nancy Miller and Celia Broughton were there too. Though neither of them had known Roland, they came to support Polly and Jacob. And right at the back of the church Polly noticed Bertha, Seth and Leo slipping into a pew at the last moment.