Whisper on the Wind (63 page)

‘Mrs Allen!’ She spun round to answer to her name and saw a nurse, skirts flying, running across the grass. ‘Mrs Allen – a minute?’ A hand gripped her arm and she knew she was looking at the Sister in charge of Ward 3A. ‘I asked you to call and see me first. I wanted to tell you …’

Barney was standing up. Blue didn’t suit him, Kath thought wildly, and he’d shaved off his Clark Gable moustache. She took a step nearer and all the time the sister’s hand gripped her arm tightly. Barney turned, then bent to pick up the stick at the side of his chair. It was then that she wanted to cry out, but her reaction was anticipated and the hand on her arm tightened like a warning.

‘Kath?’ He was pointing with his stick; his white stick. ‘Is it Kath?’

Oh, God, God,
God.
Not blind? Oh, please not blind?

‘Speak to him,’ Sister said softly.

‘It’s Kath …’

‘We’re here. Over here.’ Sister’s voice was a brisk command and Barney walked slowly toward them, his stick moving from side to side. ‘That’s right …’ Her voice guided him, her hand left Kath’s arm.

Like a woman sleep-walking Kath moved to meet him, stepping to his side to avoid the probing stick. He was staring ahead, eyes unblinking and she took his left arm.

‘Barney – it’s all right.’ She wanted to be sick.

‘There now,’ Sister said comfortably. ‘You’ll both have a lot to talk about.’ She nodded toward a wooden bench on the wide, paved path in front of the house. ‘Take it easy. Off you go.’

Eyes that met Kath’s asked if she were all right and Kath nodded, pulling her husband’s arm into the crook of her own.

‘I’ve got you. You’re all right.’ Out of compassion she touched his cheek gently with her lips and she felt the stiffening of his body.

Pity. That had been wrong. He didn’t want pity. It was the last thing the Barney she once knew would have wanted.

‘My, but it’s a fine mess you’ve got yourself into.’ She said it lightly, testing his mood, but teasing was not what he wanted, either, though not two minutes ago she had heard his laughter.

‘Yes. A bloody fine mess. Have you got that uniform on?’

‘No, Barney.’ She closed her eyes as the lie slipped from her lips. ‘And here’s the seat.’ She put her hands on his shoulders, easing him nearer the bench. He reached out with his stick, tapped it, then sat down carefully.

‘Imagine – you coming to a hospital so near?’

‘Imagine.’ His voice was dry with sarcasm. ‘That’s all I can do. You tell me what it’s like. Beautiful, didn’t you say it was, in these parts?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it was a – a coincidence. Barney, please,
please
forgive me? I didn’t know, you see. It was a shock – you didn’t tell me. In your letter from Hafiif the nurse didn’t say …’

‘She wrote what I told her to.’

‘I know. I know! Don’t let’s quarrel. We haven’t seen each other for ages and –’

‘Two years, Kath. We’re strangers, aren’t we?’

‘And so might a lot of other couples be. Just give me time, Barney. Can you bear to talk about it? Tell me what happened. Were you on a long convoy?’

‘No.’ He dipped into his pocket for cigarettes.

‘Shall I light it for you?’ She said it too eagerly and again she felt his withdrawal.

‘I can manage. They show you how and anyway, you only burn yourself once.’ He lit the cigarette slowly, carefully, then took a small, round box from his other pocket and slipping open the lid, placed the spent match inside it. ‘And they teach you how to smoke without setting the place on fire. I don’t shave, yet …’

He’d said
don’t
shave, Kath noticed at once, not
can’t.

‘I think I like you better without your ’tache,’ she offered.

‘Well I don’t. Some damned stupid orderly took half of it off; an accident, he said …’

There was a long, awkward silence. From beneath the big tree came the sound of laughter again, and beside them on the path a small brown bird searched, chirping, for crumbs.

‘A sparrow,’ Kath said.

Barney tapped his stick sharply against the seat and the bird flew away.

‘I’m having another operation,’ he offered, eventually. ‘I don’t know a lot about it. Sister’ll tell you.’

‘Good.’ She was afraid, almost, to speak.

‘That’s why I came back to Blighty. No one out there could do it.’

‘You’ve already had one operation? At Hafiif, was it? Barney – please tell me what happened?’

‘We were on convoy duty – carrying supplies. Going from Port Said to somewhere out Tobruk way. We’d made a stop – a bivouac, sort of – and the bloke walking in front of me stepped on a land-mine. Blew him to pieces, poor sod. I just got the blast from it. Not a mark on me. Might have been better, if there had been. My eyes copped the lot.’

‘And then?’ She reached for his hand and held it tightly, defying him to pull it away.

‘Oh, they stuck me in the back of one of the lorries and dropped me off at the nearest hospital – at Hafiif – and the rest you know.’

‘I thought they would send you back, Barney, but not quite yet. I thought it would have taken longer to get here.’

‘It would have, by sea. But there were five of us in that hospital, all in need of urgent surgery so they flew us home, with a nursing sister to look after us. The Air Force transport planes often go back empty, so they put us on one of those …’

‘Are you in pain?’ She was still holding his hand.

‘No. Just bloody blind.’

‘Don’t? Please don’t? There’s the operation – they wouldn’t operate if there wasn’t a chance.’

Her heart had started thudding again and she clung more tightly to his hand to stop the trembling of her own. This was a nightmare. Not just seeing him so helpless though that was awful enough. The terrible thing had been to come upon it with such suddenness, so unprepared for the enormity of it.

She still felt sick; still felt as if some great fist had crashed into her abdomen and left her retching with pain and shock. She wondered how it had been for him; how they had told him; how he’d taken it. Had Barney wanted to be sick, too?

A young, pretty woman walked along the path toward them. She wore the uniform of a Red Cross nurse and she smiled gently.

‘Sister says if you’d like to stay for lunch, Mrs Allen, you’re very welcome. Nothing posh; just pot-luck and army rations. But if you can’t, will you call in and see her before you leave?’

‘Thank you. I’d like to stay. Just as long as I can catch the half-past two bus back from the village. I’ll miss my connection at York if I don’t and there are only three trains a day to where I live.’

‘And you mustn’t miss your train, Kath. Whatever would the cows and sheep and pigs do without you, if you did?’

‘Barney – don’t!’ Her cheeks flushed red and she closed her eyes, shaking her head despairingly.

‘Now that wasn’t very nice, was it, soldier?’ the nurse admonished.

‘It’s all right,’ Kath whispered. ‘He didn’t mean to hurt – I know he didn’t.’

But her defence of him was futile, because he had meant to hurt her, she knew it; knew, too, that he would never accept the loss of his sight – of his manhood, it would seem to him. Until he learned to live with so enormous a tragedy, he would be dependent on those around him, especially on the wife whose responsibility he would become.

She smiled at the nurse and thanked her again, then watched as she walked away.

‘Barney?’ She must break through his anger; through the barrier of resentment he’d built around himself. They would both have to learn to accept this; find some way of carrying on. ‘I’ll be writing to Aunt Min when I get home tonight. What do you want me to tell her?’

But he merely answered her with a shrugging of his shoulders as he stared fixedly ahead. She knew she had made another mistake.
When I get home
, she had said.

Oh, God, help me to be more careful? she prayed silently.

‘Gave you a bad time, did he?’ Sister Ward 3A demanded, handing the teacup to Kath.

‘Awful. If only I’d seen you first. But someone told me about the short cut. My own fault …’

‘He’s very bitter, you know.’

‘Yes, but he was big and strong and afraid of nothing once. I don’t think he’ll ever accept it. But he’s to have an operation – another one, he said.’

‘Very soon. They did emergency surgery in the Cairo hospital, but he’ll be going to Edinburgh tomorrow – with two more men. There’s a very fine surgeon there and a first-class unit – very well equipped.’

‘Edinburgh? It’s a long way away.’

‘I know. And it’s sad that you probably won’t be able to visit. But it’s his only chance. The army nurse who flew over with him will be going up there with them. She’s having a few days’ leave, at the moment, but she’ll be back tonight. When you say goodbye to your husband, try to cheer him up a bit? Reassure him, Mrs Allen. Let him know that whatever happens, you’ll always be there? So much is going to depend upon you, if – if –’

She left her words hanging on the air. She didn’t have to say it; say ‘If the operation isn’t a success. If he’s blind for the rest of his life …’

‘I’ll try. I know how awful it must be for him. When will they know, Sister – if –’

‘If it’s been successful? Not for several days. Perhaps, when the dressings are removed, if he can distinguish between light and dark they’ll begin to hope. But either way, good or bad, he’ll be coming back here to convalesce and you’ll be able to visit again.

‘You must never give up hope. Just tell yourself that your husband will be getting one of the finest surgeons in the country. He’ll be in good hands.’ She opened her drawer and took out a small cigarette box. ‘I don’t use these – they make me cough – but I think you could do with one,’ she smiled. ‘And maybe another cup of tea? Don’t give up hope, my dear. Never stop hoping.’

‘It was awful.’ Kath sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched into tight fists, glad to be home, to be away from the nightmare. ‘He was bitter – so very bitter. It wasn’t the Barney I knew. He was so helpless. He’s leaving Shilton tomorrow; going to Edinburgh for an operation. The Sister said there’s hope, but they always say that. Barney just sat there, staring. He asked me if I had my uniform on and I said I hadn’t. Just think – lying to a blind man. We didn’t talk, not really. Oh, I’m just going on and on. I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m sorry …’

‘Marco knows, Kath. He asked where you were, and Mat told him. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? There are some eggs in the pantry – I could boil one.’

‘No, thanks. Just another cup of tea and a cigarette. Oh, God, Roz – what am I to do? All this is my fault. I wanted to leave him and that lot up there thought, “Oh, yes? We’ll see about that!” How do you leave a blind man, will you tell me? How
can
you? And had you thought? If he doesn’t get his sight back he’ll be invalided out of the army and back to Birmingham …’

‘And you’ll have to ask for your release from the Land Army, on compassionate grounds,’ Roz finished dully, her voice a whisper.

‘Yes. It’s my own fault and I deserve it, but I’m so miserable I don’t know what to do.’

‘Then join the club, old love.’ Roz reached out for her friend’s hands and held them tightly. ‘Misery Farm we’ll have to call this place. Do you believe in God, Kath?’

‘Yes – oh, I don’t know. Why?’

‘Well, I think all we can do now is pray. For you and for Barney, for me and Sprog. And for Marco, too, I suppose. Do you know what Polly once said? She said that when you reach rock bottom there’s only one place left to go – and that’s upwards.’

‘I don’t want to go back to Aunt Min,’ Kath whispered, closing her eyes tightly against the tears.

‘I don’t want you to. What say we go out and get raging drunk?’

‘Good idea. Wouldn’t do Sprog a lot of good, though. And I suppose that since we’ve both of us hit rock bottom –’

‘You’re right. We’ll both have to stick together – well, for as long as we can. But oh, Kath, I wish I could weep. I’d give anything to be able to weep. But I can’t …’

The rain the swallows foretold began to fall from low, grey clouds.

‘Looks as if it’s set for the day,’ Grace remarked, filling Kath’s mug with tea. ‘Can’t say we don’t need it, though, for the potatoes and sugar-beet. Why don’t you bring Roz in of a morning, now? That lass is as thin as a rake. What she needs is some toast and dripping inside her. You should bring her with you mornings, before you start the milk-round.’

‘I’ll tell her, though she isn’t one for breakfast.’ And tea and toast thick with beef dripping were the last things Roz would want, though if the baby-book was to be believed her sickness should soon be at an end.

‘Tell me about your Barney? Such a terrible thing to have happened.’

‘Yes. I worried about it all night. He’s leaving early this morning for Edinburgh. It all depends on the operation, Grace. I can’t – I
won’t
– think beyond that.’ Not about Barney, raging against his blindness; not anything. ‘I rang Shilton as soon as I got up. The night-sister said he was still sleeping and that he was fine. She promised to tell him I’d phoned, to wish him luck.’