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Thank God she would now be in a position to pay for his treatment!
It was a little after four when the peace and tranquillity of the big house came to a grinding halt. Utopia was shattered with the slamming of a door and the thunder of footsteps up the stairs behind her.
‘Hi, Christine,’ a voice yelled, and then the footsteps slowed, stopped and started down again in the other direction. Judith turned her head and found herself face to face with a boy of about Edward’s age. And there, she thought wryly, the similarities ended.
He was a little taller, slim but muscular, and sported a superficial arrogance which she was sure was just a front. God forbid she should dare to mention such a thing, however! His mid-brown hair was just like his father’s but a little darker, his features were a younger version as well but the eyes were startlingly and exactly the same vivid blue.
‘Where’s Christine?’ he asked abruptly.
Judith blinked. ‘In hospital. She’s had her baby.’
‘Blimey. That was quick. She was here this morning. Are you from the agency?’
‘No. I’m the mother of a patient, but your father—I take it Mr Barber is your father?’ she checked, just to be on the safe side. The boy gave a quick nod, and she continued, ‘Your father offered me the job as I was here and available. Incidentally, if you go into the snug you’ll meet my son, Edward. He’s taking up rather a lot of your settee, I’m afraid, but he’s messed his back up. That’s why we were here.’
‘Oh. Right.’ The boy shoved a hand through his hair in a perfect reflection of his father’s own gesture and turned on his heel. ‘I’m going upstairs—Toots is in the kitchen. Keep an eye on her, could you?’
Toots? Who—or what—was Toots? And how was she supposed to keep an eye on her and watch the desk at the same time? Oh, well. She left the desk and went through to the kitchen. A little girl was in there, balanced on the edge of the worktop, rummaging in a cupboard. Judith didn’t want to speak for fear of making her jump and lose her balance so she stood by the door and waited as the child prodded about amongst the tins and packets.
Finally she came out triumphantly with a packet of chocolate digestives clutched in her hand and jumped down onto the floor, the long fair hair which was escaping from a rather tired ponytail bouncing and swaying as she landed. Then she turned and caught sight of Judith, and instinctively and instantly hid the biscuits behind her back.
Then with a total absence of guile she looked straight at Judith with those astonishing blue eyes and said, ‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Judith. I’m the new receptionist.’
‘Oh. Where’s Christine?’
‘She’s had her baby.’
The child’s head tilted slightly, and she suddenly looked a little fearful. ‘Is she all right?’
Judith smiled and propped herself against the end of the sofa. ‘Yes, she’s fine. She’s gone to hospital to rest for a day or so. She had a boy.’
The little nose curled. ‘Yuck. Poor Christine.’ She chewed her lip. ‘She is alive, isn’t she?’
What an odd question. ‘Yes, darling, of course she’s alive.’
‘My mummy’s dead,’ she confided.
‘I’m sorry,’ Judith said gently, one of her questions answered. ‘That must be hard. Do you miss her?’
‘No. She died when I was born.’ Which, Judith realised, explained the strange question. ‘I’m seven,’ Toots added inconsequentially. ‘Have you got any children?’
‘Yes, Edward. He’s in the snug at the moment.’
‘A boy?’
The child’s disappointment was so obvious Judith almost laughed. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘He’s a nice boy, though. You might surprise yourself and like him.’ She looked at the hand still hidden behind the child’s back.
‘Are you Toots?’
The little nose curled again with delicate disdain. ‘My real name’s Alice.’
‘Well, Alice, why don’t I put the kettle on and make us all a cup of tea? Or you could have milk or orange squash or whatever you usually have, and we can all have some of those biscuits you’ve got there.’
The child pulled the biscuits out and looked at them as if she’d never seen them before in her life. ‘These biscuits?’ she said innocently.
Judith hid the smile. ‘Mmm. Would that be a good idea?’
Alice looked at her with guileless blue eyes and smiled. ‘OK. Has Daddy got many more patients tonight?’
‘About three,’ Judith told her, ‘but I’m sure you won’t have to wait that long to have a biscuit—’
‘Hi, Toots, what’re you up to, tinker?’
Alice threw herself across the room into her father’s arms and hugged him. ‘Hi, Daddy. I helped Judith find some biscuits for us all,’ she lied, and gave him the benefit of her megawatt smile.
He melted like ice cream in the sun. ‘Well, what a nice idea. Are we going to have tea? Can you manage to put the kettle on, Toots?’
‘Course I can.’
Hugh looked at Judith. ‘I’ve dealt with Mrs Fraser. Mr Parkin isn’t here yet, but he’s so often late I’m not surprised. How’s it going?’
‘Fine.’ She smiled. ‘Excellent, I think. I hope I haven’t made any howlers.’
He grinned, shedding years in the process and doing her blood pressure irreparable harm. ‘I doubt it. Look, I tell you what, why don’t you and Woody stay for supper and let me go through the ropes with you so you’re all ready for Monday?’
‘Oh.’ She smiled weakly, still busily in the grip of her heightened blood pressure. Supper? Was that such a good idea? Good grief, girl, get a grip, she told herself. It’s hardly a date! ‘That would be very sensible, but I’d hate you to go to any trouble—’
‘That’s OK. We’ll get a pizza delivered—we often do. Housekeeping isn’t my best thing. Then we can really concentrate.’
There was a crashing sound from the hall and the kitchen door was hurled back on its hinges. ‘Anything to eat in this place? I’m starving.’
Hugh raised an eyebrow a fraction. ‘Hello, Martin. Good day at school?’
‘Passable. Can I have a sandwich—hey, Toots, where did you get the biscuits from?’
‘I helped Judith—’ She caught Judith’s eye and amended, ‘They were in the top cupboard.’
Judith gave an almost invisible wink of approval, and Alice grinned just a tiny bit. Good, Judith thought. She knows I don’t approve, and she also knows I won’t rat on her.
Martin was looking at the sofa as he ripped open the biscuit packet. ‘Where are the cushions?’ he asked curiously.
‘In the garden, drying off. I washed them,’ Judith explained.
‘Why?’ Alice asked, as if washing anything was a totally foreign idea.
‘Because that’s where Christine had her baby,’ Hugh explained, ‘and they got a little bit wet. You remember what I told you about babies in tummies being in a sort of paddling pool? Well, when the baby’s born the paddling pool empties—’
‘Oh, yuck, Dad, all over our sofa?’ Martin said theatrically.
‘It was the tiniest bit, and I did wash it well,’ Judith hastened to reassure him.
‘Even so,’ he groaned.
Judith stifled a grin. Let Hugh deal with this one. She was on the point of escaping to the reception desk when there was a bump against the kitchen door and Woody entered in in his wheelchair.
He stopped abruptly as he saw the children, and Judith saw the familiar shutters come down over his features. He looked almost desperately at Judith. ‘Are we going home soon?’ he asked in his slow, rather fractured speech.
‘No, not yet. Mr Barber’s got a couple more patients to see, and then we’re going to stay to supper so he and I can talk about the job.’
Oh.’ He looked a little uncomfortable with that.
‘Is that a problem, darling?’
He shrugged. ‘No, I suppose not. Is there a loo?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Hugh jumped to attention and turned to Martin. ‘Marty, this is Edward Wright, Judith’s son. He’s in the same year as you at school. Woody, my son, Martin, and my daughter, Alice, better known as Toots. Marty, would you take Edward and show him where the cloakroom is, please?’
Judith looked at Martin to gauge his reaction, and her heart sank. He had that ‘Oh, no, I’m going to have to talk to a cripple’ look that so many people got with their first contact with Woody. Mutinous, slightly appalled, uneasy.
‘I’ll show him,’ she said, starting forward.
‘That’s all right, Martin can manage. We’ve got patients to deal with. Marty, make a pot of tea for us all when you’ve done that, could you?’ He took her arm and steered her up the hall, and as they turned the corner he said softly, ‘Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine.’
She chewed her lip. ‘He hates meeting new people.’
‘So does Martin. They’ll be fine together. Ah, Mr Parkin, come on in. How’ve you been?’
‘Funniest damn thing—got caught in the dog’s lead and fell over and, d’you know, I do believe my back’s been better ever since?’
Hugh laughed. ‘You don’t say? Come on in, let’s have a look at this miracle cure.’
They were out ten minutes later, Mr Parkin looking as pleased as punch and Hugh looking slightly relieved.
‘No charge, Judith. As the man says, he’s cured. Give me a ring if you don’t stay better, now.’
‘Will do—thanks, Doc. I don’t suppose you want to buy a dog—instant remedy?’
Hugh laughed. ‘No, thanks—and I shouldn’t go trying it again. You might not be so lucky next time.’
She watched him go and turned to Hugh with a smile. ‘Cured by the dog, eh? That won’t do your reputation any good!’
He chuckled. ‘There ought to be a law against unlicensed practitioners.’
‘Absolutely—especially the canine variety.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got a minute or two—let’s grab a cuppa and some of those biscuits, if the kids haven’t finished them all.’
They went back to the kitchen and found the three children in there, sitting round the table. The television was on in the corner but the atmosphere seemed tense. Superficially they looked like a bunch of kids watching the telly, but there was an uneasy and almost rebellious silence underlying the canned laughter on the programme.
She looked at her son and read the misery in his eyes, and turned to Hugh. ‘Look, do you mind if I get Woody home to bed instead of hanging on after your last patient? He’s had a long day and we’ve still got to do his physio before he can go to bed. Perhaps we could spend Monday lunchtime going through the job instead?’
He looked a little taken aback—and disappointed—but he disguised it quickly. ‘No, of course not. Go now. I can manage. I wasn’t really thinking. Sorry, Woody, is your back giving you stick?’
He dredged up a smile. ‘I’ll live. Thanks for my treatment.’
Hugh smiled wryly. ‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry I stole your mother from you at such short notice. Look, Judith, I tell you what—why don’t you hang on half an hour until Mrs Radley’s been and I’ll run you both home?’
She chewed her lip again. ‘Are you sure that’s not a nuisance?’
Of course it isn’t. It’s the least I can do—and, anyway, I really ought to pop down to the hospital and see Christine. I’ll just go on from your place, then I’ll get the kids a take-away on the way home.’
‘OK.’ What a relief, she thought, not to have to push the wheelchair round the corner and up the hill. It wasn’t much of a hill but she wasn’t much of a Mr Universe either, and she realised she was tired after her unexpected afternoon sloshing about in the deep end of her new job.
She swallowed her tea, took a bite of Woody’s biscuit, squeezed him reassuringly on the shoulder and went back to the reception desk just as a young woman with a baby in her arms arrived.
Oh. Christine’s not here.’
‘No, she’s had her baby. I’m Judith, the new receptionist. Are you Mrs Radley?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Oh, how exciting. What did she have?’
‘A boy—here, at lunchtime. It was all very quick and rather dramatic.’
‘Really! What fun! Are they both OK?’
Judith shrugged and smiled, but the smile was a little forced. ‘So far as we could tell,’ she said, thinking of Edward and how normal and healthy he had seemed.
Mrs Radley looked down at the sleepy bundle in her arms. ‘I brought Lucy in to show to her—I don’t suppose you could hang on to her while I go in and see Hugh?’
Hugh appeared behind her and hijacked the baby. ‘Hello, little one. My, what a lovely baby. Are you going to throw up on me?’ he asked with tender teasing. Lucy blinked sleepily and her eyes drooped shut again.
‘Dear me, I must be boring. Here you go, Judith—have a baby. Right, Jenny, how’ve you been? Any better?’
They disappeared, leaving her gazing transfixed at the soft, downy cheeks of the tiny girl, her lashes faint crescents against the pale, blue-white skin. Her hair was fair, tiny soft wisps of it sticking up in little points, and it brought a lump to her throat. Two babies in one day. So many memories.
She bent her head and sniffed, and gave a ragged little sigh. She even smelled the same as Woody had. It had been such a happy time, for all the struggle it had been. Those few short halcyon months before she had realised anything was wrong held the most precious memories of her life.
She sniffed again, inhaling the soft scent of baby powder and ultra-fine skin, and sighed wistfully.
If only things had been different…
CHAPTER THREE
‘NIGHT-night, sweetheart.’ Hugh bent and kissed the soft little cheek, and smoothed the silky strands of hair back from his daughter’s brow. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Night, Daddy,’ she mumbled.
His hand was on the light switch when her voice stopped him. ‘Daddy?’ she whispered.
He paused. ‘Yes, darling?’
‘Did you see Christine, really?
‘Yes—I told you all about it.’
‘And was she really all right?’
His arm dropped back to his side and he went over to the bed again and perched on the edge. ‘Toots, she’s fine. She’s just had a baby—that’s why she’s in hospital.’
‘But my mummy died.’
So that was it. Hugh swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed her little hand. ‘I know, sweetheart, but your mummy was sick—her heart had a problem and she got suddenly much worse. Nobody could have prevented it.’
‘Daddy?’
His heart sank. ‘Yes, sweetheart?’
‘If she hadn’t had me, would she still be alive?’
It was a question he had asked himself over and over again, and he gave her the only answer he could—the one he gave himself. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it. I just know that part of her is alive in you, and if we hadn’t had you then I would have lost that part, too, as well as all the rest of her. As it is, I’ve got a bit of her in Marty and a bit in you so I’ll never really lose her completely. She’ll always be with me, in a very special way, and she’ll always be with you because she’s part of you.’
The little hand in his squeezed comfortingly. ‘Do you still miss her, Daddy?’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Yes, Toots, I still miss her sometimes. I loved her very much.’
There was a thoughtful silence for a moment, then Alice said, ‘Daddy, do you think you’ll ever find another mummy for me? I think I’d like to have a mummy.’
Inexplicably he thought of Judith, and banished the thought as idle fantasy. He hardly knew the woman!
‘Maybe, one day,’ he replied.
‘Then you wouldn’t have to be so lonely any more.’
He bent and hugged her. ‘I’m not lonely, Toots. I’ve got you and Martin to keep me company.’
Her little arms snaked around his neck and hugged him tight, and a wet and very welcome kiss landed somewhere between his eye and his ear. ‘Love you, Daddy,’ she whispered.
His throat almost closed up with emotion. ‘Love you, too, Toots,’ he whispered back, his voice strangled.
He kissed her again, tucked her up for the second time and turned down the light, leaving her door open a fraction so she didn’t feel cut off.
Then he went back downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee while he got his mind back into order. Was he lonely? He’d assured Toots he wasn’t, but of course he was—lonely for the company of a woman, a partner, a companion to share life’s ups and downs. Still, as he’d told Toots, he had his children and so he was never really alone.
He could hear the television in the snug, which meant Martin was in there. He’d hardly seen him all week. Perhaps they’d have a game of chess. Humming softly, he ambled down the hall into the cosy room overlooking the garden, stretched out in the big comfy armchair and looked across at his son. ‘OK?’ he said with a smile.
‘Mmm,’ he replied, staring fixedly at the screen. He was sprawled on the sofa and hadn’t even looked up as his father entered the room. Hugh flicked a glance at the apparently riveting television and saw some ghastly game show in progress.
Sighing inwardly, he girded his loins for confrontation and asked, ‘Done your homework?’
Martin made an irritated clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Dad, it’s Friday.’
‘Yes, and I’m sick of having every Sunday evening ruined by your homework because you’ve left it to the last minute.’
‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’
‘Before or after you play squash with Colin or go to rugby club or any of the other distractions you’ll find?’
‘Before—for God’s sake, Dad, what is this?’
‘Watch your language, Martin—and what it is is me caring about you and your education.’
The boy gave a disgruntled sigh and turned his attention back to the set. His mouth was set in a mutinous line, but Hugh was too tired to deal with him tonight. He picked up the television remote control and changed channels.
‘Hey! I was watching that!’
‘ “Was” being the operative word. Even if you’re not doing your homework you are not watching mindless buffoons being cheered on by an audience of performing seals! You’ll be brain-damaged by all these ghastly game shows.’
Martin sighed abruptly. ‘Hardly—and talking of which, does Judith working for you mean we’re going to have that spaz here all the time?’
Hugh froze, then very slowly pressed the off button on the remote. ‘Spaz?’ he said with deadly quiet.
Martin laughed awkwardly. Oh, come on, Dad, you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do—unfortunately. I never imagined I would hear you say it, though.’
Martin squirmed, but he didn’t back down. ‘Dad, he’s a spastic.’
‘He has a condition known as cerebral palsy, which has affected the motor control part of his brain—’
‘He’s brain damaged.’
‘Yes, he is—but please don’t make the mistake of imagining he’s stupid.’
‘He speaks so slowly—it drives me mad,’ Martin imitated so accurately that Hugh winced.
‘It could have been you, son—or me, or your little sister. Especially your little sister, with the problems attending her birth. Just remember, until whatever happened went wrong Edward was all set to be a normal, healthy baby and grow up into a normal, healthy adult. He still is healthy, but because his muscles don’t work quite as his brain would like to tell them to his body is in a weakened state. That in itself brings problems. Just imagine how you’d feel trapped inside an unco-operative body like Edward is.’
‘Gross.’ Martin shuddered eloquently. ‘Does he go to that special school—you know, the one that has the minibuses full of raspberry ripples?’
Hugh bit his tongue and refused to comment on the reference to cripples. ‘No,’ he said grimly, hanging onto his temper with difficulty, ‘he goes to the school you’d be at if you weren’t so disgustingly privileged and spoilt. Perhaps I should send you there after all. You might learn some manners and some human kindness.’
He stopped abruptly, jamming his hands through his hair and propping his elbows on his knees. His disappointment reflected in his voice, he added, ‘It grieves me to say it, Martin, but there are times when I’m glad your mother isn’t here any more so she doesn’t have to see how badly I’ve failed in the way I’ve brought you up.’ He looked up and speared his son with that searching cobalt stare. ‘Where did I go wrong, Marty? Too hard? Too soft? Because as sure as hell I’ve done something wrong.’
Martin had the grace to blush and look uncomfortable. ‘Ah, come on, Dad, don’t get heavy with me. He’s really hard work, you know?’
‘He isn’t. He’s a good kid, struggling against enormous odds to cope in a world that just isn’t geared up for anything but perfection. Normal, healthy girls get anorexia because the advertising industry tells them over and over again that the body beautiful is supposed to be scraggily thin and undernourished. Men have hair transplants and women dye their hair and have plastic surgery at huge expense because we can’t cope with the natural consequences of ageing. Kids are committing suicide because they feel hopelessly inadequate because the world makes such huge demands on them. And you think it’s too much trouble to talk to a very clever boy just because you have to wait a moment for his answers.’
‘Dad, he’s a dweeb—’
‘And you’re a disappointment to me, Martin.’
The boy shot out of the settee and glowered mutinously down at Hugh. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said sarcastically, and flounced out of the room, banging the door shut so hard the frame shook.
‘Martin!’
There was a pregnant pause, then the door opened again a crack.
‘Slam that door once more and you’re grounded for a month. Now go and do your homework, please.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Martin growled sarcastically. The door shut with a little less force, and Hugh closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the chair.
Where had he gone wrong? Had Martin always been like this? He didn’t know. He’d been too busy working to notice. Had it been too much to expect that just knowing his father worked with disabled children would give Martin the same compassion and understanding?
Clearly.
Oh, damn. Hugh got up and rummaged in his CD collection, found something soothing and put it on. The lights were low, the music was soft and he found his thoughts turning yet again to Judith.
How difficult was it, bringing up a disabled child in this unforgiving world—never mind alone? He couldn’t even manage a healthy, normal teenager. How Judith coped with Edward was a mystery. She must have to deal with all his frustration and disappointment, and probably her own guilt at her part in his disablement if it was due to a birth injury. Even if she hadn’t been to blame, she would still blame herself. Parents always did, at least until they worked through that.
He wondered when she had found out there was something wrong. Had she known straight away? Unlikely, he thought, with that fairly low level of disability. Often CP was undiagnosed for months or even years. Had she had the support of her parents? A partner? Who was Edward’s father? Did they see him?
So many questions—and none of the answers really any of his business. Only those relevant to his treatment of the child could possibly be considered justified, and yet he found the others clamoured at him.
Those questions and others—like how she would feel in his arms, and if her lips were really as soft as they looked, and if her body was as lush as it appeared or if the fullness of her breasts was just an illusion created by clever underwear.
He didn’t think so. She didn’t have the money for clever underwear. So, real, then. Full and soft and womanly.
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