Lost Angel

Chapter Nine

Hilda didn’t have any nightmares while Doug was there, but he did, his sleep often broken as he would suddenly sit bolt upright, crying with horror in the night. She had of course forgiven him for his outburst over Gertie. More so now that she was seeing the evidence of what he had been through and, anyway, maybe he did have reason to be suspicious. Oh, not of her, but of Gertie.

Perhaps it was time to leave Somerset, to go back to London. As soon as Doug left in the morning, she’d put out feelers and write to Mabel to see if it was safe. Of course there’d be the problem of finding somewhere to stay. With so many houses destroyed, accommodation was short, but surely she’d be able to find something, even if it only had one room for now.

Hilda snuggled closer as she lay in Doug’s arms, her three weeks of happiness almost over.

‘The time has gone so fast and I can’t believe you’ll be leaving in the morning.’

‘I know, but come on, let’s make the most of our last night together.’

Hilda gave herself up to his lovemaking, and when it was over they were lying peacefully when she told Doug what was on her mind. ‘I’m so fed up here. I hate being in the middle of nowhere and might go back to London.’

‘I’m not going to argue with you, but you’ve got to think about Ellen and whether it’s safe.’

‘I know that, Doug, and I wouldn’t be daft enough to put our daughter at risk.’

‘I’d feel better if you stay here.’

‘I thought you didn’t like us living with Gertie.’

‘I don’t mind, love. I was mad to think there was anything going on between you.’

‘Yes, you were. I don’t fancy women, Doug. In fact, I don’t fancy other men. There’s only you.’

‘And you’re the only woman for me,’ he said, hugging her.

‘I thought sailors had a girl in every port.’

‘Not me, but I can only speak for myself. I don’t know about the rest of the crew.’

‘You’d better not be unfaithful,’ Hilda warned.

‘I wouldn’t dare. You’d have my guts for garters,’ he said, then yawned widely. ‘Let’s hope I get a night of unbroken sleep for once.’

‘I dunno about that. I might just wake you for another bit of nooky.’

‘You’re insatiable,’ he said, grinning widely. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing else for it. I’ll just have to wear you out now. That should stop your games.’

‘Ooh, yes, please,’ she said cheekily, yet as Doug bent to kiss her, Hilda felt another surge of sadness. With Ellen diving in on them every morning, this would probably be the last time they could make love – the last time she would be totally alone with her husband – and now she struggled against tears.

In the early hours of the morning, Gertie was still awake too. She could hear the noise coming from Hilda’s room. Every night had been the same, while Gertie lay with her stomach churning, longing for it to stop. At least it was the last night, she thought, and Doug would be gone in the morning.

Maybe, just maybe, now that Doug had planted the seed of the idea, Hilda might actually turn to her; after all, a woman without a man must grow frustrated. You’re a fool, an idiot, Gertie told herself as she turned over to thump her pillow. Hilda was normal and would never be attracted to someone of the same sex. But I’m not – I’m not! Gertie cried inwardly. In my mind I’m a man, yet cursed with this body of a woman.

At last, after a restless few hours’ sleep, Gertie woke early, pleased to find that Ellen was no longer beside her in bed. She smiled. Good. The girl had probably gone to her parents’ room and that would put paid to any more lovemaking.

It was over. Doug was going, and she couldn’t wait to see the back of him. Hilda would be upset, devastated, but after that they’d get back to normal – just the three of them, living like a family again.

Ellen could barely eat her breakfast as she sat across from her father. Gertie was the only one who looked cheerful, which made a change because out of sight of her parents, Gertie had been moody and snappy. Ellen had hated sleeping in her bed again, but if it meant her dad could stay, she’d do it for ever.

When her dad stood up, Ellen felt the tears welling and was unable to stifle a sob. She flung back her chair, rushing to him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. ‘Do you have to go, Dad? Can’t you stay?’

‘There’s nothing I’d like more, but if I don’t go back I’d be a deserter.’

‘What’s a deserter?’

‘Someone who runs away, who doesn’t go back on duty when their leave’s over.’

‘You could do that, Dad,’ she said excitedly.

‘If I did, I’d be named a coward and end up in prison. Never mind, pumpkin. This war won’t go on for ever, and when it’s over I’ll be home for good.’

‘Oh, Dad … I still wish you could stay here now.’

He held her close for a moment, stroked her hair, but then gently moved away. ‘Me too, but sorry, pumpkin, I’ve got to pop upstairs to get my kit.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Ellen cried, unwilling to let him out of her sight.

‘No, stay there. I won’t be a minute,’ he croaked, quickly heading for the stairs.

‘Listen, Ellen, I know it’s hard, but somehow we’ve got to be brave for your dad’s sake. He’s upset, too, so let’s see if we can send him off with smiles.’

‘I … I’ll try.’

‘That’s my girl.’

Her dad appeared again, kitbag slung over his shoulder. ‘Right, all set?’

‘Ned’s harnessed, so let’s go,’ said Gertie.

‘It’s good of you to take me to the station.’

‘Oh, it’s my pleasure.’

‘Right then, my lovely girls, time to go.’

‘Girl, huh, I wish I was.’

‘You’ll always be my girl, Hilda, even when you’re old and grey.’

‘I’d better be,’ she warned.

Gertie marched ahead of them out of the door and swung up onto the cart. ‘There isn’t room for all three of you up here. Perhaps you should sit on the back, Doug.’

‘I’m sure we’ll manage with Ellen on my lap,’ he said.

Ellen thought Gertie looked angry, but then her expression rapidly changed. With a shrug of her shoulders, she said, ‘OK, Doug, whatever you say.’

Ellen settled onto her dad’s lap, his arms tight around her. As they set off, she wished the journey could go on for ever, that they’d never reach the station; but if anything, Gertie seemed to be urging the horse to a faster pace than usual.

When they arrived in Crewkerne, Hilda fought to keep her composure, but inside she felt as though her heart was breaking. She wanted the train to be late, anything to stop Doug’s departure, but when they got to the platform it was already drawing in. She cursed Gertie, wishing the bloody woman hadn’t been in such an all-fired hurry to get here. Poor Ned had looked almost on the point of collapse by the time Gertie had drawn the cart to a halt. If the journey had taken longer, Doug would have missed this one and had to wait for the next. It might have taken hours, perhaps giving them time to walk around Crewkerne, to explore the town together; but instead it would be a hurried goodbye.

Steam hissed, engulfing part of the platform, as Doug said, ‘Gertie timed that right.’

Few people had got off the train and Hilda could see that the female guard was about to blow her whistle, her arm up and waiting to signal the train’s departure.

‘Bye, pumpkin,’ Doug croaked, quickly hugging Ellen.

Hilda then found herself crushed against him, and fighting tears she said, ‘I love you, Doug. I’ll always love you.’

The whistle sounded now, Doug’s voice strangled in his throat as he let her go to pick up his kitbag. ‘I love you too – both of you,’ and then he had to dive into the nearest carriage, only able to pull down the window to blow them a kiss before the train pulled away.

Hilda would never know how she managed it, her heart swelling with love for her daughter when she saw that Ellen, too, was somehow smiling as they waved him off.

They remained where they were, both still with fixed smiles on their faces and waving until the train went out of sight. Only then did Ellen turn to fling herself into Hilda’s arms.

‘Ned needs a bit of a rest,’ Gertie said innocently as they at last went outside, ‘but wasn’t it good that I managed to get Doug here in time to catch that train?’

Hilda was too upset to speak, but this was the final straw. She’d had enough. No matter what, she and Ellen were going back to London.

Chapter Ten

Just a few days after Doug left, Ellen went down with an awful cold that turned to a raging fever, and two days later she passed it on to Gertie.

Hilda was run ragged as she nursed them both, along with seeing to the chickens, pigs and the goat. Bertie was contented once he’d been fed and would lie on Gertie’s bed, and the cats were happy and off out as soon as they finished the food in their bowls but Hilda became seriously worried as Ellen and Gertie’s temperatures fluctuated – one minute they were hot, the next cold. Tiredly she went into Gertie’s room.

‘I’m thirsty and my head’s splitting,’ Gertie moaned.

‘Somehow I’m going to have to go into the village. You both need to be seen by a doctor.’

‘Waste of time. He’s at least eighty,’ she said, then bent double with coughing before she croaked, ‘See how we are in a couple of days.’

Hilda rubbed her eyes. They’d been like this for over a week now and she was now feeling a bit rough herself. Maybe Gertie was right, maybe there would be an improvement soon. ‘All right, but if Ellen gets any worse, no matter what, I want her seen by the doctor.’

‘My throat’s raw.’

‘Here, drink this,’ Hilda said as she poured Gertie a glass of water. ‘I’ll be back soon, but I must see to Ellen now.’

Gertie lay back, closing her eyes, and Hilda quietly left the room. She found Ellen tossing and turning, her hair wet with perspiration and the bedding in a tangle around her. Hilda sorted the bed, bathed her with cool water and for a moment Ellen opened her eyes, but then they closed again. Hilda shook her head in despair. She felt so helpless and the feeling of isolation, of living so many miles from any other human beings, overwhelmed her.

For the rest of the day Hilda kept up her vigil, only leaving Ellen to see to Gertie and the animals. At night she sat in a chair by her daughter, unaware in the early hours of the morning that she had fallen asleep, her upper body and head resting on the bed.

‘Mum … Mum …’

Hilda awoke with a start, her back screaming with pain as she sat up. She groaned, still half asleep at first, but as soon as her eyes settled on her daughter, she was instantly awake. Ellen looked a lot better and, as Hilda reached out to place a hand on her daughter’s forehead, for the first time in a week she smiled. ‘Your temperature’s down. How do you feel?’

‘A lot better, and I’m hungry.’

Hilda could have danced with joy but, standing up, she swayed. Her throat was on fire, head thumping, but she fought it off, determined to get her daughter something to eat. ‘I’ll look in on Gertie, and then make you some breakfast. Hopefully, Gertie’s feeling better too.’

‘Mum, you look awful.’

‘I’m fine,’ Hilda lied.

Gertie was still asleep when Hilda peeped in the room, so leaving her for now she went downstairs, clinging to the banister for balance as her head swam. The range would need lighting and, opening the doors, she stuffed in paper and wood, before adding coke, praying she could get it going. Was that a knock on the door? No, surely not? The cottage was so remote and they didn’t get visitors. Another knock and, swaying with dizziness, Hilda finally managed to get to the door.

‘Mrs Brandon,’ she croaked.

‘You haven’t been to the village for a long time and I was worried about you,’ the woman said, but then paled, her hand reaching out. ‘My dear, are you all right?’

Mrs Brandon’s voice barely reached Hilda as she sank into a pit of darkness.

As Hilda’s condition worsened, she lost any sense of time passing, vaguely thinking at one point that she was in some sort of motorised vehicle. She drifted in and out of consciousness, hardly aware of what was going on around her as her temperature raged. When briefly conscious, coughs racked her body, the pain in her chest excruciating before she sank, exhausted, into blackness once again.

Voices reached her again and Hilda forced her eyes open, her first thought for her daughter. ‘Ellen … Ellen,’ she gasped.

‘Your daughter’s fine,’ she heard a gentle voice say, but then Hilda knew nothing once again, unaware until later that day that both her daughter and Gertie were sitting beside her.

‘Is she gonna be all right?’ Ellen asked a nurse worriedly as she stared at her mother’s ashen face.

‘There’s been some improvement,’ said the nurse.

Ellen saw her mother’s eyelids flicker, and then they opened, her eyes dazed and confused.

‘Wh … where am I?’

‘You’re in hospital, my dear; and, look, your daughter has come to see you.’

‘Ellen,’ Hilda said, her head turning.

‘Oh, Mum … Mum.’

Hilda started to cough, the nurse raising her shoulders, and Ellen stared with horror as her mum’s chest heaved and she fought for breath.

‘I think you should both go now,’ the nurse urged.

‘Go?!’ Gertie said, looking annoyed. ‘But we’ve only just got here.’

‘I’m sorry, but maybe Mrs Stone will be more up to visitors tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ Ellen cried. ‘I don’t want to leave her.’

‘Your mother needs to rest, my dear,’ the nurse said. ‘I promise you she’s in good hands.’

Ellen looked frantically at her mum as the nurse lowered her gently back onto the pillows. Her eyes were closed again, body limp. ‘Mum … can you hear me?’

There was no response and, unable to help it, Ellen began to cry. Gertie had told her to be brave, but how could she be brave when her mum looked so ill? ‘She … she’s not going to die, is she?’ she sobbed.

‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse said kindly. ‘I’m sure your mother is going to be fine.’

‘Ellen, you know your mum,’ Gertie said. ‘She’s a fighter and she’ll get better, you’ll see. Now come on, let her rest and we’ll come back tomorrow.’

Gertie hoped she was right as she took Ellen’s hand, gently drawing her away and out of the small ward. They had all been ill, apparently flu, and if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon taking it upon herself to call, Gertie dreaded to think what would have happened. Gertie had shunned the people in the village, called them nosy busybodies, but now she knew that if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon, Hilda could have died. The woman had rallied help, and taking it in turns to use an ancient bicycle, two villagers had come in to nurse them all, but then, as she and Ellen recovered, Hilda had worsened, developing what they now knew to be a serious chest infection.

‘Oh, Gertie,’ sobbed Ellen. ‘My mum looked awful.’

‘I know, darling, but, as the nurse said, she is improving,’ Gertie said, trying to reassure Ellen, yet equally worried by what she had seen. Hilda didn’t look any better to her, but she had been unable to fob Ellen off any longer and had given in, allowing the child to come with her when she went to the hospital instead of leaving her with Mrs Brandon. It had been a bad decision, one she regretted now. Maybe the nurse was right, maybe they would see an improvement tomorrow, especially as she doubted that she’d be able to keep Ellen away now.

On the way back to the cottage, Gertie stopped off at the village and, holding out her arms, Ellen jumped off the cart and into them, the two then going into the general store together.

‘How is she?’ Mrs Brandon asked.

‘The nurse said she’s improving.’

‘Oh, God is good,’ the woman said. ‘Mrs Stone is such a lovely person and we’ve all been praying for her. I’ll pass on the news and I know that everyone will be delighted.’

‘I’ve already thanked Mrs Levison and Miss Pringle, but my added thanks to you for all you’ve done and for looking after Ellen while I went to the hospital. I don’t think it will be necessary any longer, but it was very kind of you.’

‘She’s such a lovely girl, no trouble at all. Ellen, I bet you were pleased to see your mum.’

‘Yes, but … but she looks awful.’

‘As she’s been so ill, it isn’t surprising, but it’s lovely to hear that she’s getting better. You wait and see; your mummy will be on her feet and home again in no time now.’

Ellen looked a little more cheerful, and after she got a hug from Mrs Brandon, they said their goodbyes and left the shop. Gertie helped Ellen onto the cart, and then climbed up beside her, taking the reins.

‘Mrs Brandon said that God is good and that they’ve been praying for my mum. Gertie, do you believe in God?’

‘I think I’ll have to pass on that one, darling.’

‘We used to sing hymns in assembly when I was at school, and one of the teachers used to teach us about things in the Bible. You never do that.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. All I can say is that I can’t teach you things that … well … I’m not sure about,’ Gertie said, hating this subject. Her father had turned her away from any leanings she might have had towards religion. Did he really think that she wanted to be this way? That she chose to be this way? With a sigh of exasperation, she signalled Ned to move off, but then had to pull him up again as someone called out to her.

‘Miss Forbes … Miss Forbes.’

Gertie turned to see Martha Pringle hurrying towards her, a basket clutched in her hands. ‘I’m so glad I caught you,’ the woman said. ‘I know it takes such a long time getting to Crewkerne and back, so I made you this.’

Gertie took the proffered basket, seeing an earthenware dish in the bottom.

‘It’s a chicken casserole,’ Martha Pringle said, ‘something for the two of you to have for your dinner.’

‘Goodness, how kind,’ Gertie said, amazed that these women she had snubbed were still rallying round to help. Yesterday Mrs Levison had given her a lovely rabbit pie, and now this.

‘How’s Mrs Stone?’

Once again Gertie passed on the news, but, anxious about the animals now, she again thanked Martha Pringle before setting off.

‘Give her my kindest regards,’ the woman called and once again Gertie was humbled. She’d been a snob, stuck up, afraid that if the villagers found out about her, they’d make her life a misery. She’d lived like a recluse until Hilda arrived, but, unlike her, Hilda had always been friendly to these women when she saw them in the village, taking an interest in their lives. Gertie sighed. The barriers she had put up had been breached now, and though grateful for all their help, Gertie wasn’t sure that she wanted any more intrusions into her life.

Chapter Eleven

Hilda slowly recovered, but it took a long time. She was left debilitated, but at last allowed home, only to have Gertie fussing over her. At bedtimes, Gertie had wanted to help her undress, but, no matter how weak she felt, Hilda wouldn’t stand for that.

So much time had passed since her illness and it was now early June, the weather lovely as, earlier than usual, Hilda climbed out of bed. Gertie was still treating her like an invalid, the physical contact getting worse, the touching, the stroking, and it was turning Hilda’s stomach. Not only that, Gertie was even more reluctant to go to the village now, and they had only been once since Hilda had left hospital. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner, though at least that one occasion had given her the chance to post two letters.

Socks made an unusual appearance, jumping up on the bed. ‘Leave her alone,’ Hilda said as the cat lay on Ellen’s chest, his front paws paddling her as he purred loudly. ‘I’ll feed you today.’

As if he understood her words, the cat jumped down again to follow Hilda. She fed him, then lit the range, hoping that Gertie would take them to the village once again. It didn’t help that she was so busy and behind with the planting. Ellen did her best, but no matter how many times Hilda said she felt strong enough, Gertie wouldn’t let her help.

Socks licked his paws, and then went out through the cat flap, but only moments later Wilfred pushed through, his round, green eyes looking up at her in appeal.

‘All right, I know you want feeding too.’

‘You’re up early,’ came Gertie’s voice from behind her.

‘So are you.’

‘I’ve got a lot to do.’ Laying an arm around Hilda’s shoulder, she asked solicitously, ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Gertie, how many times have I got to tell you? I’m fine. In fact, if you’ll run me to the village after breakfast, I’ll make it up to you by giving you a hand with the planting when we get back.’

‘I can’t spare the time.’

‘Gertie, we’re low on food and need to stock up.’

‘Can’t you just knock up some vegetable soup again?’

‘I’m sick of the sight of it,’ Hilda said, then trying another tactic, ‘If you won’t take me, fine, I’ll walk.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not being silly. Ellen needs more than soup for nourishment, and I can’t even make any bread. We’ve run out of flour, and yeast, let alone not having a scrap of meat.’