The Diary Of Pamela D. (7 page)

At the end of the service, as the
congregation was breaking up, she watched with her heart in her
mouth as the choir-director approached her. Flustered, she said, ‘I
didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry . . . ’

‘Mr. Howard, meet the newest
addition to our staff, Miss Pamela Dee,’ Mrs. Dewhurst said. ‘And
don’t mind her. She’s always apologizing for
something
, whether she needs to or
not!’

‘You have a North American accent,’ he said
to Pamela. ‘Where are you from?’

Pamela told him.

‘And how long do you intend on staying . . .
?’ His eyes strayed to Mrs. Dewhurst as he said this.

‘Why, she is living with us
more or less
permanently
, Mr. Howard.’

‘Indeed? Then perhaps Miss Dee would be so
kind as to lend our little choir the use of her beautiful soprano
voice?’

‘Wha- I can’t sing!’ Pamela blurted, turning
crimson.

To her surprise, Mr. Howard and the people
standing near to her chuckled in response.

‘My dear,’ Mr. Howard told her, ‘if you truly
cannot sing, then I hope to enjoy endless hours of your alleged
inability in the weeks, months and years to come.’

‘She’ll be at choir practice on Wednesday,’
said Mrs. Dewhurst, without waiting for an affirmation or refusal
from Pamela.

‘Splendid! I’ll arrange transportation for
her . . . ’

The conversation became desultory after that,
during which Pamela noticed Theo watching her with an odd
expression- she couldn’t tell whether he was angry with her or
what. He had given her a similar look when he had first seen her
wearing one of her new outfits, an autumn-rust-coloured sweater,
heavy thigh-length forest-green wool skirt, comfortable black hose,
the first she had ever worn in her life, sensible leather shoes, a
fashionable-looking beret and warm quilted jacket. His eyes, then
as now, strayed almost unwillingly to her legs, her bust, her
overall form, as though he was satisfied with what he saw- if
“satisfied” was the right word. She found herself squirming under
his scrutiny, but not as though she didn’t like his attention, but
rather because she found herself wishing . . . what? That he would
come to her and- do what? Once again, her gaze caught by his, she
found something disturbing in his gaze that took her breath away,
made her heart pound uncontrollably. But she didn’t look away,
afraid that if she did so, he would too, would lose interest in
whatever it was he saw in her.

‘
Pamela
! Are you coming?’

‘What? Oh, sorry . . . I’m coming, Mrs.
Pascoe.’

‘Pamela Dee, if I hear you apologise to me
once more, I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap!’

Things took on a comfortable routine over the
next several weeks, broken only by choir practice, church, and the
odd foray into Haworth. As Christmas drew near, however, Pamela
felt her spirits falling. It seemed that everyone was going away
for the holidays. Everyone, that is, except herself. Soon it
appeared as though she would be alone in the house over the
holidays.

The week before Christmas, as she and the
others exchanged idle chitchat while they prepared supper, Ellie
said suddenly, ‘Perhaps you’d like to come with Doris and me to
Scarborough for the holidays? You’ll probably be bored to tears,
sharing Christmas with a pair of dried-up old maids like us, but
it’ud be much better than sitting here all by your lonesome.’

‘Besides,’ put in Doris, ‘we have a number of
nieces your age, some of whom will be dropping by Christmas day,
and some of whom will be staying over for the holidays.’

‘Well,’ Pamela said doubtfully, ‘if I’m not
too much bother-’

‘Nonsense!’ Ellie said firmly. ‘We’ll put you
to work making cookies and treats and Christmas pudding and rum
cake. You’ll be no bother at all, and you’ll soon forget all about
whatever it is that’s making you so quiet these days.’

Ellie was as good as her word. Pamela had
such a good time that when the holidays were finally over and they
boarded the train to go home, she found she was genuinely going to
miss the east coast and all the people she had met there;
especially Tessa, Ellie and Doris’s youngest niece, who was almost
exactly Pamela’s age. The two had promised to write to one another
just as soon as they arrived at their respective homes.

A few days later, as Mrs. Dewhurst and Theo
were leaving with their driver, Mr. Pascoe, Pamela approached them
awkwardly. Unfortunately it was Theo who was the last to leave the
house, so she was forced to confront him with her request.

‘A letter? Well . . . of course, but . . .
why didn’t you simply send it by e-mail?’

Red-faced, Pamela stammered something
unintelligible. She didn’t want to admit to him that she had never
sent or received a real letter to a personal friend before. To her
incomprehension, he checked outside to see if Mr. Pascoe and his
mother were in the car, closed the door, took a quick glance about
to make sure no one was watching, took her by the waist, drew her
to him, and kissed her. Maddeningly, for the longest moment her
body responded of its own accord, until she wrenched herself free
from his grasp and stood before him, gasping for breath.

She struck him before she realized she’d done
it. He stood there for a moment, his features a mixture of frank
astonishment, surprise at what he’d done and outright anger.
Without another word or backward glance he spun on his heel and was
out the door. She watched the car pull out of the drive from behind
the drapes but couldn’t get a look at his face.

‘Except for the slap at the end, that was all
very nice.’

It was Ellie, who was making her way towards
the kitchen. She had remarked in such a way as though what she had
witnessed was no more remarkable than the weather. Behind her stood
Mrs. Pascoe, who managed despite herself to look a little
worried.

‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to be on
your best behaviour for a while. It’s not often that young Mr. Theo
gets his face slapped.’ With alacrity she followed Ellie into the
kitchen.

Pamela wasn’t sure, but she
thought the two women were actually
laughing
. She, however, was in mortal
agony. Why had she done that? He was only trying to be nice to her.
Wasn’t he? She was tempted to go to her room and pack her things.
Theo would no doubt want to send her packing after this! Instead,
feeling awkward, she made her way to the kitchen to lend Ellie and
Mrs. Pascoe a hand. Both women looked a little red-faced and
red-eyed.

‘Oh, my dear,’ said Ellie, her laughter
threatening to bubble over once more, ‘it’s a good thing you didn’t
take the nearest blunt object and nut him.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs. Pascoe.
‘When in doubt, do use some discretion. Did you see the
look
on his
face?’

At once, both women collapsed into helpless
fits of laughter.

‘It isn’t funny!’ Pamela protested weakly,
unable not to smile. ‘You two are going to get me into more trouble
than I’m already in.’

‘We could do with a bit more
of
that
sort of
trouble around here,’ said Ellie. ‘Ah, me, that’s enough of that! I
haven’t laughed so hard in such a long time . . . Pamela,
do
be a dear and roll out
those pie crusts.’

When Theo and Mrs. Dewhurst arrived home
later that afternoon, to Pamela’s lasting surprise nothing was
mentioned about the incident. She surmised that Mrs. Dewhurst knew
nothing about it but Theo acted as if nothing had happened between
them, though come suppertime he regarded her once or twice with
what appeared to be anger or amusement, though about either she
couldn’t be sure.

That evening, however, something happened
that drove all thought of her misadventure with Theo from her mind.
A man from a nearby farm came to the back door and asked for Mrs.
Dewhurst.

Standing in the trampled snow, shifting
nervously from foot to foot, cap in hand, he said, ‘Sorry to bother
you, Mrs. Dewhurst, but it’s my daughter. She’s with child, and
she’s in a bad way.’ It was snowing heavily, making the roads
dangerous, if not impassable. The man had walked almost three miles
through rough country, wearing clothing that looked hopelessly
inadequate. For the first time since Pamela had known her, Mrs.
Dewhurst appeared very upset.

‘
How
bad, Glen? Is it the weather, or
has she fallen-?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said
helplessly. ‘The way she’s going, we’re going to lose both
her
and
the
baby.’

Mrs. Dewhurst sat down, looking shaken. To
Pamela’s astonishment, there was helplessness in those eyes she had
come to think of as dauntless. Mrs. Dewhurst looked to her son, who
had just entered the room, and said, as though astonished and
outraged at her own uselessness, ‘Bloody hell, Theo, I don’t know
what to do! I can’t wade through that snow all the way to the Cross
cottage!’

‘I’ll go.’ It wasn’t until all eyes were upon
her that Pamela realized she had spoken. Finding her voice once
more, she said, ‘I’ll do it. I’ve looked after people that were-
I’ve helped deliver babies a couple of times before.’

There was a long moment’s silence. Finally,
it was broken by Theo.

‘That’s it, then. I’m coming with you.’

It was a brutal three miles, wading through
the snow and dense bush. It may as well have been thirty for all
the headway they were making, stumbling blindly into the stinging
bite of the wind. Theo caught her when she stumbled, which was
often, but her mind was focused on what had to be done.

‘How far gone is she?’ Pamela asked as they
pulled themselves over a fallen tree.

‘How what?’

‘How far into her pregnancy is your daughter,
Mr. Cross?’

‘Oh,’ he replied uncomfortably. ‘Well, I’m
not sure. If you mean, “How long has it been since she got herself
pregnant,” then I can’t tell you, because I wasn’t there. You’ll
have to ask her yourself.’

Wonderful! Pamela ran over
and over in her mind what little she had learned about birthing
babies from the midwives and paramedics she had watched. They had
all been difficult births, and by assisting she had learned far
more than she wanted to know. Yet it seemed that now, when
she
needed
to know,
it wasn’t enough!

Thankfully, when she fell and Theo caught
her, he seemed as preoccupied as she, doing only what was
necessary, his attention on getting them safely to the Cross
cottage without mishap.

Struggling into the howling wind was pure
torture. Pamela’s forehead felt like beaten lead and her head ached
interminably, despite the thick woolen scarf and warm hat she wore.
And her mittens, though warm, were made for more casual use, not
for wading about through snowstorms. They came only to her wrists,
leaving her wrists red and raw and aching. Her thighs, too, ached
from the exertion of having to lift her legs out of the deep snow.
Just when Pamela thought the exposed skin of her face was going to
freeze, they came to the bottom of a hill. At the top, upon the
ridge, stood a cottage lighted from within by the yellow glow of
oil lamps. They soon stumbled their way up the hill to the cottage,
pulled open the door, went in, and shut the wind and snow
outside.

Mr. Cross wasted no time leading Pamela to
the loft where the pregnant girl lay. Pamela soon noticed, however,
the moment she pulled off mitts, scarf, hat and coat, that the air
within the cottage was scarcely warmer than without.

‘For God’s sake, Mr. Cross,
build up the fire . . . it’s
freezing
in here! And fill that large
preserving kettle with water and boil it. No,
that
one, the
big
one by that pile of firewood. The
tap’s frozen? Then use snow! Don’t you have
any
clean linen? Well . . . take what
you’ve got, boil it on the stove and then hang it and dry
it.’

‘Now, Emma,’ Pamela said, trying her best to
sound brave and competent, ‘you’re obviously in labour, aren’t
you?’

The girl, who appeared about Pamela’s age,
was brown-haired, her complexion pale and puffy-looking. She was
weeping and looked terrified. ‘I’m going to die, aren’t I?’

‘What? Don’t be ridiculous! Now, tell me,
Emma, are you in labour? And how far into your pregnancy are you?
And don’t fib to me about it! Your dad’s outside with Theo filling
pots and kettles with snow; neither of them can hear. Emma, this is
very important: how many months along are you?’

‘Uh! It’s nine! It’s nine months! But don’t
tell my father! Please! He’ll kill me!’

‘If he tries anything of the
sort, then I’ll beat
him
within an inch of his life,’ Pamela said, trying
to sound as though she meant it. After checking the girl’s belly,
what she discovered almost made her balk. Pausing to take a deep
breath, carefully schooling her features to conceal her own
anxiety, she said, ‘Okay, Emma, your baby’s not in the right
position to be born. That means I’m going to have to reach inside
you and turn the baby so that it can come out. This is going to
hurt like hell, but I want you to be very brave, and bite down on
this.’ She rolled up a facecloth and stuck it in the girl’s mouth.
‘Now, you can scream all you like, but don’t worry about it too
much. You’re not going to die. It’s only pain. In a few hours the
pain will be nothing more than a memory, and you’ll have a
brand-new life to look after.’