When the Bough Breaks (18 page)

‘Which way did they take the stretcher? Did you notice?'

‘Ah, that I did? Just a youngster so the men were saying. Down that corridor you'll find someone. Is she your kiddie?'

‘Yes,' Kathie answered. ‘She'll be so frightened. We must find her.'

‘Don't waste time talking,' Den called as he hurried down the corridor.

The elderly patient, speaking more to himself than to Kathie who was already following Den, said, ‘Oh my dear, and here's me moaning about a broken arm.'

Kathie told herself she had misheard him or misunderstood the implication behind the words. But a minute later the sister was ushering them into her room, her face solemn.

‘Sit down, both of you. Were neither of you with the child when the accident occurred?'

‘No,' Kathie answered. ‘She has always come home from school alone. There are no roads to cross.'

‘Children are impetuous,' was Sister's opinion.

‘We want to see her. Please, let us see her. She'll be so frightened.' Kathie begged, suspecting that this sister valued efficiency above compassion.

‘It's too late for fear; her life was over by the time she reached the hospital. In fact, even when it happened, I doubt if she felt fear or even shock. It must have been too sudden for her to have known what was happening; the injury to her head must immediately have knocked her unconscious. There were many other injuries, a post-mortem will identify the exact cause of death.'

‘No, no, she can't be . . .' But Kathie couldn't even say the word.

She was held in the grip of a sensation such as she had never experienced. It was as if something of herself had been stripped from her. For a second she glanced at Dennis, aware of a nervous tic at the corner of his mouth, something she had never seen before. How his hands shook as he gripped the edge of the sister's desk as if for support. She saw these things and yet she was removed from them. Jess . . . Jess can't be gone. She knew she ought to reach out and cover Den's hand with hers, but she couldn't. Jess . . . the tiny baby gazing at her and sucking hard on her breast . . . the strong little girl always so anxious not to be looked on as a baby . . . Jess so proud of her ‘sponsibilities' as they took care of each other. Westways without her, without that happy, determined voice . . . with no Jess there was nothing.

Kathie felt she was looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope.

Throughout it all, neither Kathie nor Dennis had given a thought to Beth who was waiting too far from the village street to see what was going on. The little girl was aware that things were happening – and then all sound faded into silence. She had pressed her body so far into the hedge that something prickly had got stuck in the material of her coat, a coat that used to belong to Jess until she grew out of it. Beth loved it; not so much for the coat itself as for feeling that it meant she was part of the family. Carefully unhooking the thorn, she cautiously moved towards the street. Everything was quiet, the van had gone, all the people had gone, and the place was deserted. She must go home, it wasn't actually getting dark so much as there was a difference in the light. It was the hour when she and Jess would know they must hurry if Fudge was to have time for a game on the common. And that's when she noticed him
in the gutter on the other side of the road. They'd said he was dead, a goner; but he looked just like he did at home when he stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. Careful to look both ways before she stepped off the path, she went across to him.

‘Fudge! Come on, boy, wake up.' But he wasn't asleep; his eyes were wide open and his mouth too. Very gently she picked him up and cradling him to her set out for home. Sarah and Sally were still working, she could hear them talking as they hoed. So she made sure she shut the gate quietly and walked right round the cottage to get to the back door. It was locked. But, of course, Auntie Kathie and – and him – she couldn't quite bring herself to think of him as Uncle Den – had gone to the hospital. They might be ages, for they wouldn't want to come home until they could bring Jess.

There was a bucket outside the back door, so laying Fudge carefully on the ground she carried it to the front garden where she turned it upside down to make a seat, then she went back for the puppy. By that time it really was getting dark and she could hear the girls putting their tools away. In a minute they'd wheel their bicycles down the path and Beth's instinct was to hide so that they wouldn't ask questions about what had happened – and they wouldn't put into words what she knew to be the truth: Fudge wasn't going to wake up anymore. So she again moved her bucket, this time into the far corner of the porch and once more took up position with Fudge on her lap.

By the time she heard footsteps in the lane and then the click of the gate it was quite dark. But there had been no van. Who could be coming? Despite being shy, she had never been a cowardly child, but now she could feel her heart beating. Even leaning hard against the wall of the porch there was no escape.

‘He's come home then,' Bruce said as by the light of his pocket torch he saw them. ‘What are you doing out here with him?'

Through the horror of the last hours Beth hadn't cried, but now in her relief at the sound of his familiar voice, the tears came. Hearing her, seeing the stillness of the puppy the truth dawned on him, or at least the partial truth.

‘'e's a goner, that's what they said. Don't know how he got out; we shut the gate, honest we did. Was over the road when we were coming home from school.' The relief of being held close to Bruce was almost too much to bear. ‘Jess gave him a call and quick as anything he ran to get to her, just like she did to him. Didn't see it coming, the van, didn't know cos the bus was in the way.'

‘And Jess?' he asked gently.

‘Been took off to 'ospital. Aunt Kathie and – and
him.
Mr Hopkins, him from the veg shop, he was phoning to tell them so they could follow the ambulance. 'Spect that's what they did. But I got sent off, so I hid up the cutting till everyone had gone. Then I found Fudge and brought 'im home.'

‘They've been gone a long time?'

She nodded. ‘Since just after school.'

Bruce felt in his pocket for a notepad. ‘Can you shine the torch for me so that I can write them a note, and then you can come back to the hall with me. We'll find Oliver and you can have supper with him and the boys.'

‘What about Fudge? Please, I can't leave Fudge all by himself. Me and Jess are in charge of him.' Then with a huge and uncontrollable sob, she added, ‘Now he's dead and Jess is hurt, I know she is. She just lay there. I heard people saying she must have got bones all broken. So it's
me
what has to look to Fudge.'

‘Yes, of course, I understand that, Beth' he answered her, speaking with the sort of respect in his voice he might use to the parents of his pupils. ‘We'll walk the road way to the hall, it's too dark in the wood. But if I carry Fudge for you, can you take charge of the torch. Make sure you shine it on the ground not upwards. Now, just aim it at my notebook and I'll scribble a message to put through the letterbox for when they get home so that they won't worry that you aren't here waiting. If they don't get home until really late you can stay at the hall for the night.'

‘But you only got boys at that school?'

‘We have a spare room, I promise you.' The note written, he put it through the letterbox then took the small, stiff form of the puppy from her, resting it on his left forearm so that his right hand was free to take her small hand in his. His thoughts were in Deremouth with Kathie. Accident or illness, the anxiety is the same, but the suddenness of an accident seems to strip one of the ability to accept how a life can change in less than a minute. Sixteen years had gone by since Elspeth had been thrown, hitting her head on a milestone of all things. It had been a milestone in her life and in his too; it only took an event like this evening's to bring back the anguish of those days. But he was being maudlin; perhaps once Jess regained consciousness she would have nothing worse than a broken leg or arm. She was a brave little girl; she would soon bounce back.

‘When we get to the hall, we'll send for Oliver Marley. He'll take you in to supper with the juniors. I expect you're hungry, aren't you?'

‘I 'spect I am. Ollie didn't know Fudge very well cos of the Christmas school holiday, but when he saw him they really took to each other. What should I do about Fudge, Mr Meredith? I can't keep him like he is. If he was a person he'd have a grave, wouldn't he? But supposing
he –
not Fudge – I mean Jessie's dad, suppose he says we've got to just put him in the bin like we do if there's a dead bird or mouse or something? We can't do that to Fudge.'

‘Of course we can't. Fudge shall have a grave, I promise you. But first of all, when we get to the hall I'll lay him in the old stable.'

‘It's got a clock, the stable I mean, hasn't it? When me and Jess go to the common Auntie Kathie always makes us listen for the clock to strike so we know it's time to come home. 'Spect Fudge has heard it too. That'll make him feel sort of safe, won't it.'

Bruce tightened his hold on the small hand, moved by the child's thinking.

From Deremouth to the turning into the lane to the common, neither Kathie nor Den spoke a word; they were cocooned in their own memories, frightened that to talk would strip them of moments that were their own, their own and Jessie's. They'd been gone nearly four hours but time had ceased to have a meaning; four hours, four years, a lifetime, it was as if the past was stripped away and the future had no ray of hope. But as the van bumped over the ruts the outline of the cottage could be seen through the darkness and Dennis pulled up by the garden gate. That's when for the first time in all those hours Kathie remembered Beth.

‘Beth! She must be so frightened.' Hardly waiting for the van to stop, she threw open the door and stumbled out. This time she was the one to leave the gate open, the knowledge that it no longer mattered adding to her misery. She didn't stop to analyse why it was that that was misery she could accept. Later she would remember and realize how dwelling on a lesser pain can help to make a greater one bearable. ‘Beth! Beth. We're back. Where are you, Beth?'

While she went to the garden, Dennis found his key and went indoors. He didn't switch on the light and in the darkness he seemed to hear Jess running down the stairs at the sound of his voice. ‘Jess,' his throat contracted so that even a whisper was barely audible, ‘Jess, kiddo.' He felt dizzy, and gripped the newel post. ‘Oh God, why Jess?' He heard someone sobbing and realized it was him. He wanted just to get away, to be by himself. Outside darkness was his friend; out here he could feel she was close.

‘Beth's not here,' Kathie said as she came into the dark house. ‘Beth isn't here. Den, where are you?' Then as she closed the front door and switched on the light she saw the piece of paper. Relief flooded through her, or as near to relief as she was capable of feeling. It was a quarter to eight, she must phone Bruce. He would ask her how badly Jess had been hurt, she would tell him. She would have to hear herself say it. For a moment she stood with her hand on the instrument trying to force herself to speak to him. It was kind of him to have looked after Beth; he was a good friend; he had suffered a blow as bad as this, in some ways worse, so he would understand. Then, just as Dennis had believed he heard the rush of Jessie's tread on the stairs, so Kathie seemed to hear her voice, a voice so bright, so full of hope and determination. She closed her eyes to escape the emptiness of the room.

‘Tell you what, Mum. Me and Fudge saw each other at the same time and we ran to meet fast as anything. I expect he thought he was meeting us from school, don't you, Mum?'

Kathie wanted to answer or to hear the voice again, but she knew if she spoke her words would be met with silence.

Picking up the phone she asked for Sedgewood 172, the number that would take her directly to Bruce's rooms.

‘Kathie?' Something in the way he spoke seemed to tell her that he was expecting the news to be bad.

‘Yes, we've just got back. I'm ashamed; I didn't give Beth a thought. I am so grateful to you for rescuing her.' It surprised her that she could talk so rationally, as if her voice had nothing to do with the aching emptiness she felt.

‘Tell me, Kathie.'

‘We were too late. It was all over.' Silence. ‘Bruce? Did you hear?'

‘Yes. I don't know what to say to you; there are no words . . .'

‘I know. Don't say anything. But I know you understand.'

‘Jess was a child, full of life, full of hope and love. Kathie my dear, you must be feeling you can't bear it. But from somewhere your strength will come. And even if tonight you aren't ready to believe it, you and your husband will grow even closer because of sharing your misery.' This was the Bruce who had talked to her just before Christmas, allowing her to see the sadness he always kept hidden. She wished he were here with her instead of just a voice on the telephone. But perhaps this was easier because if he were here and she could see the sorrow and sympathy in his eyes she was frightened she wouldn't be able to act out this charade of acceptance.

‘You have been so kind to take Beth home and feed her. I'll walk up and get her.'

‘She had her supper with the boys; Oliver took good care of her. But a late night won't hurt her for once, will you give me half an hour or so with her and then I'll walk her down, Don't ask me in – not tonight.'

‘No. Not tonight. But aren't Ollie and the others in bed?'

‘Yes, they are. Will you allow me to tell her about Jess? I believe I know how best to help her.'

Bruce chose a spot beyond the lake, at the far side of the lawn that sloped to the wood. If Jess had been coming home, he would have left Dennis to bury the puppy at Westways but, as Beth had said ‘me and Jess are in charge of him' and Bruce feared from reading between the lines that Fudge wouldn't have been dealt with with the reverence he deserved.