Forgive and Forget Read online

  Three

  Eddie came in at ten o’clock, two hours after he’d been told to be home.

  Polly was waiting for him. She grabbed him by the shoulder as he sneaked in.

  ‘What d’you think you’re doing staying out till all hours when our mam’s ill?’

  ‘Geroff. You’re hurting.’

  ‘I’ll hurt you, you little tyke. I’ll tell me dad an’ he’ll give you a leathering.’

  Eddie smirked. ‘Him? He won’t raise a finger to any of us. You know that, Pol.’

  ‘More’s the pity where you’re concerned. Look, Eddie, if you don’t care about Dad or me, then think about Mam. If she gets to know you’re staying out, she’ll worry.’ Polly was pulling no punches as she added deliberately, ‘An’ it’ll make her worse.’

  Eddie thrust his face close to hers. ‘It’s only while she’s ill that I can get away with it. Don’t you see?’

  Their mother was the driving force in the household. Sarah was the one who administered the punishments and kept her children in line. And now that she was ill Eddie, and even Violet, were quick to misbehave. But they’d both reckoned without their fiery elder sister.

  Through gritted teeth, Polly said, ‘I see all right, but you’re not going to get away with it, Eddie Longden, so you start coming in at the proper time, or else—’

  ‘Or else what?’ he sneered. ‘What d’you think you can do? You’re only thirteen.’

  ‘Fourteen in a couple of months. And as for what I can do – ’ she narrowed her eyes – ‘just try me.’

  For a brief moment doubt flickered in the boy’s eyes, then he pulled himself free of her grasp and swaggered towards the inner door. ‘Go on, then, do your worst.’

  Grimly, Polly watched him go, but she smiled to herself as she heard him tiptoeing up the stairs, his bravado giving way to thoughts of his mother’s wrath when she recovered.

  Polly banked down the fire and followed her brother. Creeping into their half of the bedroom, she was relieved to see both Violet and the baby sleeping. Quietly, she undressed and slipped into bed beside Violet. An hour or two’s sleep was the most she could hope for before the baby woke to be fed . . .

  But to her surprise and relief, Miriam slept until five o’clock, waking with what seemed to the bleary-eyed Polly to be an apologetic whimper. ‘There, there, little love,’ she whispered as she plucked the baby out of her cradle and carried her downstairs. Violet burrowed beneath the bedclothes and went back to sleep.

  Shivering in the early morning air, Polly roused the fire and prepared the baby’s bottle. Just as she’d finished feeding and changing her, William appeared. Polly looked up at once.

  ‘How’s Mam?’

  William yawned and stretched. ‘I reckon she’s a bit better, Polly. She’s asking for some breakfast. Tek ’er some toast up, eh?’

  ‘Doctor said only fluids, Dad.’

  ‘She’s hungry. That’s a good sign, in’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Polly agreed reluctantly, the doctor’s instructions still ringing in her ears. ‘Anyway, I’ll go up an’ see her and ask her what she fancies.’

  The young girl bit her lip, debating whether to tell her father about Eddie’s lateness the previous night. She didn’t like telling tales and maybe her brother would mend his ways when he heard that their mother was improving. It wouldn’t be many days now before Sarah regained her strength and he’d feel the back of her hand if he was late home.

  Polly decided against saying anything and bustled about the scullery and kitchen preparing her father’s breakfast; bacon, eggs and fried bread. The children had porridge, but William’s job in the railway goods department was a cold one in winter. So, however short money was, Sarah always minded the man of the house was well fed. And Polly knew she must do the same.

  With the baby quiet and her father tucking into his meal, Polly went upstairs.

  ‘’Morning, Mam. How’re you feeling?’

  Sarah lay weakly against the pillows. Her face was blotchy, her eyes dark hollows, her lips dry and cracked.

  ‘Better this morning, love.’ She sniffed the air. ‘My, yar dad’s breakfast smells good. I could just eat a plateful.’

  ‘Doctor said no solids, Mam. You heard him. I don’t think you should—’

  ‘I’m hungry, love. Ravenous. You make me bacon and eggs. There’s a good girl. And don’t forget the fried bread. I love a bit of fried bread.’

  Polly bit her lip, but didn’t like to argue. It must be a good sign that her mother wanted to eat, she argued with herself. After days of being sick and having nothing but water, no wonder she was hungry. But the doctor had said . . .

  Resolutely, she pushed his words out of her mind and hurried downstairs. Mam was on the mend. She’d soon be up and about and she, Polly, could go back to work.

  Not that her work at the glue factory was so wonderful, but to the young girl it was a start. After a year or so, she fully intended to look for something better.

  Oh yes, Polly promised herself, once her mother was better, she’d never miss a day’s work. She’d build up a good reputation for being a reliable worker. And perhaps when she was older – she hardly dared to hope – she could even become a teacher just as she’d always wanted.

  And then, maybe, Leo Halliday would notice her too.

  ‘That was lovely, Polly.’

  Her mother almost smacked her lips as she finished the breakfast Polly had cooked for her. Sarah lay back against the pillows and sighed. ‘I think I’ll have a little nap now, love. Can you see to the baby?’

  As if I haven’t been doing for the past week or more, Polly wanted to shout, but instead she picked up the tray and said meekly, ‘Yes, Mam. She’s a good little thing.’

  But already Sarah’s eyes were closed.

  The baby had been fed, washed and dressed and was back in her cradle sleeping. Eddie and Violet, after much protesting, had gone to school. Stevie played quietly with his wooden bricks, building towers and then knocking them down, smiling happily to himself as he did so. Polly washed up the breakfast pots, mended the fire, swept the floors and sorted out the washing. Several times she crept upstairs to check on her mother, but Sarah was sleeping peacefully.

  As she peeled potatoes for her father’s meal when he got home in the evening and prepared dinner for herself and Stevie, Polly was humming softly to herself.

  Everything was going to be all right. Her mam was getting better and no one else in the family had got the disease. Soon she’d be able to go back to work. Though she knew Mr Spicer’s warnings were not idle ones, she didn’t think he’d sack her. Not now, not whilst the city was so badly hit by this dreadful disease.

  Roland Spicer was a kindly man who still lived with his widowed mother. Polly couldn’t understand why he’d never married. Admittedly, with mousy hair and pale, hazel eyes he wasn’t handsome, not like Leo Halliday, but he was – now what was the word her mother had used to describe him? Personable. That was it – personable. Maybe Mr Spicer was shy when it came to women. Polly smiled to herself. But he wasn’t shy with the women and the girls who worked at the glue factory. He laughed and joked with them, yet he still managed to maintain his foreman’s position if firmness was needed or there were orders to be given.

  And he was always very nice to her. Some of the other women teased her. ‘I reckon our Roland’s sweet on little Miss Polly.’

  Polly would find herself blushing even as she argued fiercely, ‘He’s old enough to be me dad.’

  ‘Ee, lass, better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave,’ was always the answer. ‘Besides, he’s only in his mid-twenties. That’s not old.’

  It is to me, Polly would think, but would hold her tongue. A lot of the women who worked at the glue factory were well beyond their twenties and wouldn’t take kindly to being thought of as ‘old’.

  A sudden noise from the bedroom above interrupted Polly’s thoughts and she heard her mother calling frantically. ‘Polly!
Oh, Polly, come quick.’

  The girl ran upstairs and into her parents’ bedroom. Her mother was sitting up in bed, leaning forward and holding her stomach. ‘Oh, Polly, the pain. It’s terrible – like nothing I’ve had before. Fetch Mrs Halliday. Fetch the doctor—’ Her demands ended in a cry of agony.

  ‘Oh no, no,’ Polly muttered as she ran downstairs again and out of the house without even stopping to put her coat on. ‘I shouldn’t’ve let her have that breakfast. Doctor said only fluids.’

  Mrs Halliday came at once, heaving her heavy frame up the stairs and into the front bedroom. ‘Now, Sarah, what’s to do?’

  For a moment, she watched the woman writhing in agony, then turned to the anxious girl standing behind her.

  ‘Run back to our house, love. Leo’s at home. He’ll fetch the doc. Hurry now, yar mam’s bad.’

  I can see that, Polly thought as she retraced her steps, still at a run. And it’s all my fault. I should have been stronger – stood up to them both – made them understand what the doctor had said. And now . . .

  Dr Fenwick was angry. He didn’t shout, but she could tell by the look on his face. ‘What have you been eating, Mrs Longden?’

  Her mother still thrashed about the bed in pain, sweat glistening on her forehead. ‘Polly cooked me a lovely breakfast. I expect it’s ’cos I haven’t eaten much for a week.’ Again her words ended in a groan as the doctor glanced at Polly. The girl withered beneath his glare.

  ‘You should have stayed on fluids, Mrs Longden, until I told you otherwise. Now I think we’d better get you to hospital.’

  ‘No, oh no, I can’t go. Who’ll look after the family? The children?’

  ‘As long as the youngsters stay well, your girl here can manage. And I’m sure your neighbours will lend a hand.’

  ‘I don’t want—’ Sarah began, but again whatever she’d been going to say was cut short by pain-ridden cries.

  Dr Fenwick turned to Polly. ‘Get her some night-clothes and washing things together,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll send an ambulance at once.’

  Four

  Polly was waiting nervously for her father to come home from work. As he sat down heavily in his chair and she placed the steaming plate of food before him, his first question was, ‘How’s yar mam?’

  Polly took a deep breath. ‘She – she’s in hospital, Dad. The ambulance came to fetch her.’

  It had caused quite a stir when the horse-drawn ambulance had clattered into the street. Now everyone knew just how ill poor Sarah Longden was.

  His knife and fork poised above the plate, William looked up at Polly, his dark eyes boring into her. ‘Hospital? When did this happen?’

  Polly bit her lip. ‘This afternoon. She got so bad, I fetched Mrs Halliday and she said to get the doctor. He – he was cross.’

  ‘Cross? Why?’

  ‘Because – because Mam’d eaten that breakfast. He’d said to keep her on fluids and—’

  William’s face darkened. ‘I didn’t know that. You should have said, Poll.’

  ‘I did – I told you . . .’

  His knife and fork clattered onto the plate. ‘Don’t you answer me back, girl. I said, I didn’t know.’

  Polly stared at her father, her mouth dropping open. She’d told him. She had, she had. But now he was denying it and placing all the blame on her.

  He pointed his finger at her. ‘If yar mam dies, it’ll be your fault. You should have told us what the doctor said.’

  He sat down again, picked up his knife and fork and began to eat, but his hands were shaking and he avoided looking at his daughter again. Polly turned away, tears stinging her eyes. How could her father lie?

  And if her mother died, he didn’t need to blame her for she would blame herself. And that was far worse.

  ‘I’m going out,’ William said shortly.

  ‘Are you going to the hospital? She’s in the new one on Long Leys Road.’

  ‘I aren’t going anywhere near there,’ William snapped as he pulled on his cap. ‘There’s a full Council meeting at the Guildhall tonight and me, Seth Halliday and Bert Fowler are going. We want to know what our precious councillors are doing about all this.’

  Wordlessly, Polly stared after him as he slammed the door behind him.

  As the councillors, led by the Mayor, entered the Council Chamber and sat down around the huge table, the murmuring from the packed public-seating area rose. One or two men shook their fists and several shouted.

  ‘When are you goin’ to start telling us the truth?’

  ‘All we’ve got is rumour an’ scaremongering. We want facts.’

  ‘We want to know how bad it is and what you’re going to do about it.’

  ‘It’s all right for you sat up in your high and mighty seats and livin’ in yar posh houses with yar running water and yar hot baths at the turn of a tap.’ William was on his feet, shouting and thumping the air with his fist. ‘What about us poor folk? We have to share a standpipe and a privy in the backyard. What about us?’

  ‘I can assure you, sir,’ one of the councillors began, standing up, ‘that this disease is no respecter of persons. It is hitting all and sundry.’

  ‘Aye, mebbe so, but I reckon it’s the sundry that’s worst hit.’

  A snigger, swiftly stifled, ran through the onlookers.

  ‘Sit down, William, and listen.’ Seth Halliday, Bertha’s husband and Leo’s father, pulled on his arm. William grunted but subsided into his seat. Whilst William was quick-tempered, Seth was a reasonable man. ‘Let’s hear what they’ve got to say, eh?’

  The meeting began with the Mayor making a statement about how the situation stood at the moment. He was frequently interrupted by shouts and jeers from the public, but at the end of the speech, in which he declared that the members of the Council were deeply sorry for the epidemic, there was silence, except for a little applause for his words.

  But as the three neighbours walked home side by side, William was still incensed and Bert Fowler demanded, ‘How can they put the blame on us having a hot summer last year followed by a cold winter. What’s that got to do with the water supply? They more or less admit that’s where the infection’s coming from.’ He paused and added, ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘It would seem it’s what they suspect,’ Seth agreed.

  ‘So what are they going to do about it?’ William put in. ‘Are either of you any the wiser after listening to ’em, ’cos I aren’t?’

  ‘They’re doing their best,’ Seth said mildly. ‘They’re trying to get a new supply.’

  William gave a wry, humourless laugh. ‘Aye and a right pig’s ear of it they seem to be making. What was that he said, they’ve lost a boring tool at Boultham more’n a year ago?’

  ‘Er, yes, I believe so.’

  ‘And drilling there’s been stopped ever since,’ Bert added.

  ‘So, in the meantime, we all go on getting typhoid. You know my Sarah’s in hospital, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Bertha said. I’m sorry to hear that, Will.’ Seth paused and then added, ‘But they’re certainly doing their best to provide extra hospital accommodation.’

  ‘Aye, makeshift wards in halls around the city. How can they be proper hospitals?’

  ‘Well, it was said that they think the number of cases is decreasing.’

  ‘I don’t believe them an’ I bet your Bertha won’t. And I don’t think they’re doing everything that could be done either. Fancy saying that the number of deaths that have occurred is “highly satisfactory”. It might only be twenty-odd, but it’s not highly satisfactory if it’s one of your family, now is it?’

  And here Seth was obliged to agree. ‘No, William,’ he said soberly, ‘it isn’t.’

  ‘And how dare they hand out instructions about hygiene? If my Sarah’d been there, she’d’ve given ’em what for, I can tell you.’

  ‘Not everyone’s as clean in their ways as Sarah, William,’ Seth put in quietly. ‘They just want to be sure everyone follows whatever
precautions they can.’

  ‘Poll boils all the water and milk and she’s washing and scrubbing from morning till night.’

  Poor little lass, Seth thought, but he said nothing.

  The three of them walked on in silence until they came to the end of the road where they lived.

  ‘I’m going for a pint,’ William said. ‘You coming?’

  ‘No, if you don’t mind,’ Seth said. ‘I’ll get along home. It’s late now.’

  ‘Suit yarsen,’ William flung over his shoulder as he headed towards the George and Dragon.

  But Bert was always ready for an excuse to go to the pub. ‘I’ll come wi’ ya, Will. Wait on.’

  By the time William staggered home his children were all in bed and, mostly, asleep. Only Polly lay awake, rigid with guilt and fear. She heard the door slam and her father crashing into the furniture as he wove his way through the front room. The girl closed her eyes and groaned inwardly.

  Obviously, the Council meeting was not the only place he’d been that night. She heard him climbing the stairs, cursing, and making no effort to be quiet. In the darkness Polly winced, expecting any moment to hear the wails from the wooden drawer beside her bed. But the baby slept soundly and only Violet stirred, wriggled, and then snuggled closer to Polly for warmth.

  At last Polly heard the creak of the bedsprings from her parents’ bedroom and, after only a few moments, her father’s snoring. But even though he was home and the house fell quiet, Polly could not sleep.

  She lay awake far into the night, thinking of her mother and what might be happening in the hospital. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d put Baby in the battered old perambulator and walk there. It wasn’t far and even Stevie would be able to walk that distance.

  Tomorrow, she’d find out.

  William ate the breakfast she prepared for him without speaking to her. In fact, he hardly acknowledged her presence. She longed to ask him what had happened at the meeting, but this morning for the first time in her young life she felt afraid of her father.