A Mother’s Gift. Pam Weaver
lifetime until the brown door opened and the ward sister came out. ‘Are you the child’s father?’
Jack rose to his feet, and wiped the end of his nose on his jacket sleeve. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s no point in beating around the bush and there’s no easy way to say this but I’m afraid your son definitely has polio.’
Jack flung his arms around himself, squeezed his eyes tightly and turned away.
‘What happens now?’ Dottie asked. It cut her to the quick to see how hurt Jack was, but Peaches would want to know every last detail.
‘It’s best if you leave him now,’ the sister said matter-of-factly. ‘Mum can visit him in a week or so.’
‘A week or so?’ cried Dottie.
‘We keep visits to a minimum,’ the sister continued. ‘Normally we would allow his mother to see him for twenty minutes or thereabouts, but as you say, she’s pregnant.’
‘I could take her place,’ Dottie said, ‘at least until his mum is in no danger.’
‘At this highly infectious stage,’ the sister went on, ‘it’s best for the patients to remain calm. Family visits are very unsettling for young children. They cry for hours afterwards.’
‘Can we at least see him now?’ Dottie asked. ‘I want to put his mother’s mind at rest.’
‘Is he going to die?’ Jack choked.
‘It’s always possible,’ the sister said, ‘but personally I think he’ll be more stable in a day or two.’
‘Please God,’ Jack murmured.
‘I tell you what,’ said the sister, her tone softening, ‘pop in now, just for a minute to see him settled and you,’ indicating Dottie, ‘can visit him on Monday.’
Dottie couldn’t hide her gratitude. ‘Thank you, oh thank you.’
‘But when you do come, it can only be for twenty minutes,’ the nurse cautioned. ‘No more.’
‘I understand,’ said Dottie gratefully.
They followed her back onto the ward and tiptoed to Gary’s cot. His eyes were closed and although his face wore a frown, he certainly looked more peaceful than when they’d brought him in. He was still very flushed and a young nurse was sponging his face with water.
The sister picked up the temperature chart at the foot of the bed. ‘His temperature is one hundred and four degrees fahrenheit,’ she said.
Dottie touched Gary’s fingers. ‘Night, night, darling,’ she whispered. ‘See you in the morning.’
Jack leaned over the cot and kissed his son’s forehead. ‘Night, son,’ he wept.
Gary started to cry again.
‘Come along now,’ said the sister briskly. ‘It’s best not to upset the little lad again.’
Nine
It was quarter to ten when Dottie finally got home. As Jack dropped her off at the gate, she saw Ann Pearce’s curtain twitch. Nosy old cow, she thought irritably. She’d probably think she could get even more money out of her now. That last time … it was blackmail, wasn’t it?
As Dottie walked indoors, Reg scowled. For one sickening second, Dottie thought Ann might have been round and told him about Dr Fitzgerald.
‘How long does it bloody take to go to the doctor’s house and ask him for a visit?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours for my tea.’
‘They took little Gary to hospital,’ she said.
Reg’s expression changed. ‘Hospital?’
Dottie slipped off her bolero and reached for her wrap-over apron. ‘I’m afraid Gary has been admitted.’
Reg lowered himself into a chair. ‘Admitted …’
‘It’s a bit late for cooking,’ Dottie said matter-of-factly. She was angry that he’d sat there all that time, helplessly waiting for her to come home. Couldn’t he have got his own tea for once? ‘Shall I do you a couple of fried eggs?’
He nodded and she set about gathering the frying pan, the eggs from the bucket of cold water on the scullery floor and the dripping from the meat safe.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Heartened that Reg was so concerned, she forgave him immediately.
‘He has polio,’ she said, cracking an egg over the melted dripping in the pan. ‘But they seemed to think he’ll be a bit better in a day or two.’ She filled the kettle with water and put it on the gas.
‘Peaches staying with him, is she?’
‘No,’ said Dottie. ‘They wouldn’t allow it. It’s too dangerous, what with her being pregnant and all. That’s why I went.’
His eyes flashed. ‘You?’
She cut a slice of bread and put it into the hot fat. ‘And I promised Peaches I would visit him until she’s allowed to go.’
‘You’re not to go.’
‘Although how I’m going to fit it all in I don’t know,’ she said turning the bread over.
‘I said,’ his tone was harsh, ‘you’re not to go.’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘But I promised.’
‘I don’t bloody care! You’re not going.’
She put the eggs and fried bread onto his plate and put it in front of him. Then she filled the teapot and sat at the table with him. She wanted to throw the supper at him. She’d have given anything to scream at him, ‘I’ll make my own decisions and I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’ But she knew she had to tackle this calmly. He was getting wound up and if she upset him too much, he’d be horrible for days.
‘Look, Reg,’ she said quietly. ‘I know you’re worried about me, but really, I don’t think I’ll come to any harm and Peaches is upset that Gary won’t have anyone he knows.’
He glared at her and stabbed the air with his fork. ‘I don’t care about bloody Peaches. I’m telling you now, you’re not going and there’s an end to it.’ A splatter of egg yolk ran down his chin.
‘But she’s my friend.’
He carried on eating. She poured his tea and one for herself. She had to make him understand just how important this was. She didn’t have many friends around here and Peaches was one of the best. She’d been there for her when Auntie Bessie died. She and Mary had virtually done the whole of her wake: Dottie had been in such a state, and Reg wasn’t much help, so she’d been glad to leave it to them. Their friendship went way, way back. Peaches, Mary and Sylvie had kept her going for many a long and lonely month while she’d waited for news of Reg during the war. Other women had been allowed to write to their husbands but Reg had been on a top-secret mission so she had to wait it out with no word from him at all. Peaches, Mary and Sylvie had been there for her which was why it was so important not to let Peaches down in this, her hour of need.
‘Reg,’ she tried again, ‘don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly safe.’
He slammed his knife and fork onto the plate, making her jump. Then he leaned back and, reaching into his pocket, drew out a piece of paper.
‘No, it’s not bloody safe,’ he cried. ‘And there’s the reason why you can’t go.’
He threw the paper onto the table in front of her. Dottie’s heartbeat quickened. The letter from Australia! She’d forgotten all about it. She’d had what Aunt Bessie would have called a presentiment that it wasn’t just any old letter the moment she first set eyes on it. Now it