Secrets to Keep

Secrets to Keep - By Lynda Page



CHAPTER ONE




The man was so angry his jugular vein looked to be in danger of bursting.

Banging his fist hard on the table until it caused a battered tin cup to topple off, he yelled, ‘Now you listen ’ere. That f*ckin’ wife of mine is n’ote but a lazy cow who’d do anything for a day in bed. It’s just a bad cold she’s got. I’ve got one, worse than she has, but do I take to my bed? No, I suffer in silence and get on with it. If anyone needs a bloody rest, it’s me – from her constant whining, not to mention from her blasted kids always bickering. No one ’cept me had any business calling you in, least of all our nosy bleeder of a neighbour.’

He paused long enough to give a hacking cough, spitting out phlegm which fizzled in the dying embers in the grate. Turning back to the man he was verbally attacking, he continued, ‘As yer can see, we don’t exactly live like kings, so where the hell am I expected suddenly to find the money for someone to take care of us while the wife takes her holiday?’

Through eyes the turquoise green of glacial meltwater, the man to whom this furious tirade was being addressed flashed a quick glance over the speaker’s shoulder. Seven ragged-looking children, ranging in age from ten months to eight years, who until their father had appeared on the scene minutes ago had been noisily making their presence known, were now all silently clinging together in one corner, looking fearfully back at him. In the fireplace a large, blackened cauldron-like pot was hanging over the dying flames. There were chunks of things swimming in an unappetising-looking mixture, cooling now as the coals beneath dwindled, not having been replenished since the woman of the house had collapsed earlier that day.

Fighting to quash the nausea that was creeping through him, he ignored the competing odours of stale cooking, soiled nappies, unwashed bodies and general decay, and stole a glance around the rest of the miserable room; at the few pieces of rickety furniture sitting on bare floorboards, large patches of mildew patterning the damp, dingy distempered brick walls, yellowing, holed net curtains wafting in the draught swirling through the rotting window frames. He thought too of the sick woman upstairs, lying desperately ill on a filthy, sheetless, bug-infested flock mattress, a threadbare Army greatcoat all there was to cover her.

Her chances of recovery were slim, though had the more affluent, charitable folks of Leicester not found it within themselves to fund a hospital for the free care of the very poorest in the city, even that slim chance would have been denied her. But if her brute of a husband wasn’t going to sanction her admission to the General Hospital, for his own selfish reasons, then the doctor might as well not waste any more of his precious time and sign her death certificate now.

He brought his attention back to the emaciated, shabbily dressed figure before him, his pallor ingrained with dirt, what teeth he had left crooked and blackened with rot, like loose tombstones.

‘You get the money to pay for help from the same place as you find it for your daily supply of drink and cigarettes, I presume,’ he told the sick woman’s husband impassively.

Face flaming with rage, and clenching one fist, Cedric Simmons bellowed back, ‘You what? How I spend my brass is none of your business, you selfrighteous …’

Before he could say another word he was cut short by an even-toned: ‘Mr Simmons, you may intimidate your family but you don’t me, in anyway whatsoever. It’s very apparent from just looking at your wife and children where the majority of the money that comes into this house goes, and it’s not on their welfare, is it? If I’d been called in when it was first apparent your wife was suffering from much more than a cold, it’s probable you wouldn’t now be looking to pay someone to care for yourself and your children. If Mrs Simmons doesn’t receive immediate hospital treatment, she’ll definitely die in a matter of a day or so. Now, do I go back to my surgery and arrange for an ambulance to call, or leave it to you to arrange a funeral?’

Whatever Cedric’s response had been going to be, it was halted by the arrival of a thick-set, middleaged woman who appeared in the doorway to the stairs. She was dressed in a threadbare black skirt and faded ecru twill blouse which strained over her matronly bosom. She had a faded wrap-around apron over the top, and her greying hair was scraped into a tight bun at the back of her head.

She was looking very anxious as she blurted, ‘That amb’lance is tekin’ its time, in’t it? Win’s breathing’s got worse since you came back down here, Doctor. I’m really worried she won’t make it if we don’t get her to the hospital soon.’

He responded matter-of-factly, ‘And I am doing my best to arrange that, Madam.’

Fanny Cook eyed him strangely for a moment as he didn’t appear to be doing anything that remotely resembled urgently summoning an ambulance. She then looked at Cedric and the truth of the situation registered. Face screwed up in angry disbelief, she challenged him, ‘Am I to understand the amb’lance hasn’t bin called yet ’cos you …’ she wagged one fat fist at Cedric ‘… ain’t happy about the fact yer might have ter bung someone a few shillings to tek care of you and the kids while Win’s getting better?’

She spun round to face the children then and ordered them, ‘Go next door and tell my Rosie to get you each a slice of bread and dripping, and some milk for the bab.’

They didn’t need telling twice. The eldest scooped up the baby and fled. Once they were all out of earshot, Fanny shook her head in disgust at the children’s father. ‘What I have to say to you ain’t for your kiddies’ ears.’

Fixing him with her eyes, she blasted him. ‘I’ve always kept me gob shut ’cos I knew Winnie would suffer at your hands if I spoke me thoughts aloud, but enough is enough. You’ve always put yourself before your family, Cedric Simmons. My old man insists on a pint on his way home of an evening, to wash the dust from his throat after his shift in that filthy factory, but he wouldn’t put that, or his betting money for that matter, above food on his family’s table. Unlike you.

‘You might think yer clever ’cos you only thump Winnie and the kiddies where it doesn’t show, but don’t think for a minute we neighbours ain’t aware you’re handy with your fists. Win and the kids live in terror of you! They’d have starved more times than I can remember if me and the other neighbours hadn’t fed ’em with what we could spare, and helped clothe the kids with our lots’ cast-offs. You’re just a bloody bully, and selfish to the core! Words like that ain’t strong enough to describe you, in my opinion, but what you’re doing now amounts to murder and I won’t stand by this time and say n’ote about that.

‘And don’t you look at me like that! Refusing to send Win for proper treatment at the hospital is as good as sticking a knife in her heart. Win’s sick. Real sick. She ain’t suffering from an ailment that can be eased by a couple of doses of one of the old woman’s potions. And what she’s got might not have turned so nasty in her if her stamina hadn’t been so low … ’cos the housekeeping you give her each week would hardly keep a dog, let alone a growing family.’

Without pausing for breath she went on, ‘Not that you deserve it, but I can’t stand by and watch your kids suffer more than they do already. So me and the other neighbours will mek sure yer all seen right while Win’s away, and we won’t tek no payment for it neither.’ She paused just long enough to eye him contemptuously before adding meaningfully, ‘Now, if you don’t give the doctor the go ahead to call the ambulance, I’ll personally sling Win over me shoulder and get her there meself. But be warned … I’ll let everyone around here know that you was prepared to let her die, sooner than go without yourself.’

Cedric stared back at her murderously for several long moments before he gave a grunt, spun on his heel and left the room. Seconds later the back door was heard to slam shut. Fanny knew that he’d gone to one of two places. Either to spend what money he’d got in his pocket in the local pub or else under the arches over on Great Western Road for an illegal game of cards.

She realised the doctor was still there and shot him a quizzical look, wondering why he hadn’t rushed off to summon the ambulance. Then the reason struck her and she assured him, ‘I’ll personally see to it you get your fee, Doctor. I’ll have it sent round to yer surgery. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d get that am’blance here quick.’

Without a word, he picked up his black bag and left also.

Her face thoughtful, Fanny followed him out with her eyes. So that was the new doctor who had taken over James McHinney’s practice after the old doctor had served the community tirelessly for forty or so years. Several months ago, the seventy-six-year-old Doctor Mac, as the locals had affectionately called him, who had originated from Donegal in Ireland and whose thick Irish brogue at times had been very difficult for them to decipher, unexpectedly died in his sleep from natural causes. Until the end, though, he’d been lively and active, still agile enough to give chase and clip round the ear any cheeky kid and his brain as sharp as it had always been. He’d been a formidable character – woe betide you if you crossed him, whoever you were – but possessed of a kindly streak, would part with his last penny to help out anyone in dire need. He’d been well respected by everyone who knew him. All in all, a hard act to follow.

Until two weeks ago when this new chap arrived on the scene, the locals, including herself, had resigned themselves to the fact that they’d never get a replacement for Doctor Mac, and when in need would now have to go further afield for their medical help, else go without. Though to Fanny’s mind it wasn’t surprising that new doctors hadn’t exactly been clamouring to fill Doctor Mac’s place. A simple living, marginally better than the locals could scratch for themselves, could doubtless be had here, but a fortune was never going to be made ministering to the sick of these parts.

The majority of Doctor Mac’s patients had paid his dues in kind: with goods, such as a bucket of coal or pile of wood, a meat pie, cake or casserole; or by tackling his sewing and mending, ironing, washing, and maintenance jobs around his house and garden. The arrangement had worked well for them all. The sick who wouldn’t normally have been able to afford his professional services had been treated, and the bachelor doctor received a regular supply of homecooked meals and didn’t have to fork out to have jobs done around his house.

Fanny had a feeling that method of payment wasn’t going to be acceptable to the new doctor. He hadn’t seemed ready to budge until she had assured him he’d receive the fee for his attendance. Since it appeared extremely unlikely that Cedric would willingly hand over the money, it was apparent that it was she herself who was going to have to do so. It would have to come out of her pitifully few Christmas savings, but in the circumstances she didn’t begrudge a penny. Neighbours in these parts came to each other’s aid in dire times, and Win would have done the same for her if the circumstances had been reversed and she’d been in a position to help. Fanny had been friends with her long enough to know that.

To her, though, this new chap didn’t look old enough to be a doctor, barely out of nappies, let alone have studied years for his medical qualification. It was difficult to tell what part of the country he hailed from as he’d no accent, but from his cultured tones and the quality of his clothes he came from a moneyed background. He was certainly good looking, fine featured and with thick cornblond hair, and those eyes … she’d never seen such a mesmerising shade of pale turquoise-green before. He’d certainly have women’s hearts around these parts fluttering, those single ones who could afford the price of paying regular trips to his surgery anyway. They’d be dead set on making themselves known to him, she was sure, since one thing they all knew about the new doctor was that he was single.

But he certainly hadn’t displayed any of the qualities old Doctor Mac had possessed. He most definitely wouldn’t have waited to be given the go ahead by the likes of Cedric. Doctor Mac would not have held back from blasting the miserable bully with a piece of his mind then gone ahead without his permission, taking Win to the hospital himself in his old jalopy and staying there long enough to make sure she was being attended to. And he would have given coppers to her kids, ordering them to the chip shop, since it would not have escaped his all-seeing eye that they hadn’t been fed that day, due to their mother’s incapacitation and their father’s sheer selfishness.

The new doctor certainly seemed to know his stuff, though. Only seconds into examining Win, he’d announced she was suffering from severe pneumonia. Fanny herself had seen enough cases of that terrible illness during her time to agree with his diagnosis, though his manner had left a lot to be desired, to her mind. He seemed so detached, strangely matter-of-fact … could have been examining a side of beef rather than a human being. And he’d definitely been looking down his nose at them all, giving the strong impression he deeply begrudged having to mix with this sort of family.

Well, if that was the case, why on earth had he chosen to ply his trade in this area, instead of choosing to minister to people of his own class? Fanny’s brow creased in thought. What had brought him to these parts when it was very apparent it was the last place he wanted to be?

Her curiosity, though, was going to have to remain unsatisfied for now. She had far more pressing matters on her mind. Spinning on her heel, she returned upstairs to offer what comfort she could to her gravely ill friend while they waited for the ambulance to arrive, both of them praying that it wouldn’t be too late.