Lost Angel Page 32

  ‘Mad! I was mad to think that you were watching over us!’

  ‘Hilda, don’t. It’s only an ornament and this isn’t helping,’ Doug said.

  ‘Help! There is no help! She’s dead! Sarah’s dead!’

  The door flew open, Val crying, ‘Someone knocked on my door to tell me there’s been a dreadful accident. Oh, tell me it isn’t true.’

  Hilda was thankful that it was Doug who answered, his voice a croak. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘No…no, not Sarah! And Ellen, what about Ellen? Is she all right?’

  ‘Ellen wasn’t hurt,’ Doug told her, ‘but she’s in hospital. She had to be sedated.’

  ‘Will…will I be able to go to see her?’

  ‘I don’t think so, not at the moment, but she may be allowed home tomorrow.’

  Hilda doubted it, fearing for her daughter after being told by a nurse that Ellen was almost out of her mind with grief. There were pieces of white porcelain scattered across the floor but, when she looked down, Hilda saw that the head remained intact, the eyes she felt gazing up at her mockingly. She lifted her foot and stamped on the head, satisfied to hear the crunch as it shattered. A sob escaped her lips. Sarah’s head had been crushed too, her injuries so bad that they hadn’t even been allowed to see her tiny, broken body.

  All her anger spent, Hilda sank onto her knees among the broken pieces of porcelain, uncaring when a shard dug deeply into her leg. Sarah, their beautiful Sarah was dead, and Ellen so overwhelmed, so stricken with grief that she’d had to be sedated.

  Percy sat by Ellen’s side, feeling utterly helpless. In a way he dreaded her waking up, knowing she would have to face the loss of Sarah all over again. The police had told him what had happened, that Ellen had stepped out onto the main road in front of a lorry, the driver helpless to stop in time.

  Percy shifted in his chair, his throat parched. It was now after seven in the evening, but there was no way he was going to leave Ellen’s side. Hilda and Doug had gone home earlier, but he guessed they’d be back soon and, as the thought crossed his mind, the door opened.

  ‘Percy, can I come in?’

  He looked round, but it was Gertie hovering in the doorway and he croaked, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had to come back to see if there’s anything we can do. Has she woken up yet?’

  ‘Once, but she was so hysterical that they had to sedate her again.’

  ‘Have you been sitting there since we left?’

  ‘I don’t want to leave her.’

  ‘I thought you might need this,’ a nurse said as she came into the room to hand Percy a cup and saucer.

  ‘Thanks, I do,’ and, though it was red-hot, he gulped the tea down. The nurse left and he turned to Gertie, asking, ‘How’s Maureen?’

  ‘She’s still in a bit of a state so I made her stay at home this time. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for her to come across such a scene, but in a way I’m glad she did. At least Ellen had someone there she knew, and Maureen was able to stay with her until the ambulance arrived.’

  There was a soft groan, and Percy looked at Ellen worriedly. Was she waking up? The door opened again, and this time it was Hilda and Doug who came in, just in time to see Ellen’s eyes open.

  She blinked, unfocused at first, but then, seeing her mother, she suddenly struggled to sit up, crying, ‘Mum…Oh, Mum…’

  Hilda rushed to gather Ellen into her arms, and hearing her heartrending sobs, Percy stood up; tears filled his eyes too. He had loved Sarah as though she was his own child; he couldn’t bear it that she had died, and so horrifically, the thought of her suffering more than he could stand. Sarah’s cute, innocent face rose in his mind; her impish smile, the way she held out her arms for him to pick her up, the way she nuzzled her face into his neck.

  Percy turned, tears blinding him as he found himself walking into Gertie’s outstretched arms.

  Chapter 51

  Ellen had been allowed home after forty-eight hours, but was unable to face seeing anyone other than Percy and her parents. She knew that arrangements were being made for the funeral, but the thought of it was more than she could bear. It was her fault! She had pushed the pram into the road. She had killed her beautiful daughter.

  The vicar had been to see them, had talked about the service, of hymns, but she had screamed at him to go away. What good were prayers? What good were hymns? Sarah was gone – because of her carelessness, her beautiful baby was gone.

  ‘Ellen, try to eat this,’ her mother urged, holding out a sandwich.

  ‘No, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You’ve hardly eaten for days. Please, at least try.’ Ellen turned her head away, too racked with guilt to face the thought of food. All she wanted was to die – she deserved to die and would welcome it. Maybe in death she could be with Sarah again, and only that thought offered her a crumb of comfort. She closed her eyes, hardly aware that her mother had gone to open the door.

  ‘Sorry, Val, Ellen still doesn’t want to see anyone.’

  ‘Please, let me come in.’

  ‘Val’s here, Ellen. She wants to see you.’

  Wearily Ellen opened her eyes, about to protest, but it was too late; Val was in the room, moving quickly to crouch in front of her.

  ‘Ellen, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t you warn me?’

  ‘How could I? Yes, I had a strange feeling, but that was all.’

  Ellen stumbled to her feet. She had worked it out; Val’s strange behaviour when they were both pregnant, then the advice to cherish Sarah. She couldn’t stand the sight of Val, couldn’t bear it that somehow she had known that Sarah was going to die and, pushing her friend aside, she fled upstairs.

  ‘Val, what’s this about a feeling?’ Hilda asked. ‘Don’t you think that Ellen’s been through enough without you coming here to upset her?’

  ‘I thought I’d fobbed her off – that she’d forgotten,’ Val choked, her eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Forgotten what?’

  ‘It’s difficult to explain, but I’d hoped I was wrong, that my feelings were off because of my first pregnancy.’

  ‘You aren’t making any sense,’ Hilda snapped. ‘What did you feel?’

  ‘We were talking about our children growing up together, of going to school together, and at that moment I somehow knew that Sarah wouldn’t make it to school age.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Hilda gasped.

  ‘How could I tell Ellen that? How could I warn her when I had no way of knowing when, or if it would really happen? I hate these feelings, loathe them, and just wish they’d go away.’

  ‘I can understand that, but you should go now. I need to see if Ellen’s all right.’

  Tearfully, Val said, ‘All right, but…but tell her I’m sorry.’

  When Val left, for a moment Hilda stood motionless. It all sounded mad to her – impossible – but after what that strange woman had predicted on the underground platform all those years ago, it wasn’t something she could just dismiss.

  ‘I dread the funeral,’ Maureen sobbed. ‘I’m having nightmares, re-living the scene, seeing Sarah crushed in the pram. It was awful…awful…’

  ‘I know, darling,’ Gertie soothed. It seemed dreadful to think that she’d been arguing with Nancy, giving her the sack, when just up the hill such a terrible tragedy was taking place.

  Maureen was still in a state, unable to stop talking about the accident, but maybe that was for the best. At least she was letting it out, whereas poor Ellen had withdrawn into herself, and, from what Hilda said, the only time she’d shown any sign of animation was when she had screamed at the vicar.

  Gertie had closed the nursery, at least until after the funeral, and maybe for longer. Ellen needed her mother, and there was no way of knowing for how long. Percy and Doug were reeling with grief too, and for the time being she and Harold would be there to keep an eye on the plant stock.

  She didn’t regret sacking Nancy, and was still sh
ocked by the girl’s vindictiveness. Nancy had taken great delight in saying that she’d been spreading rumours about them, but thank goodness Gertie had been quick-thinking with her reply. She had turned the tables, telling Nancy that unless the gossip was stopped, Nancy’s mother, and others, would be told just why she’d been sacked. The girl had looked horrified, and Gertie just hoped it had worked. Yet what did it matter now? In the light of this terrible tragedy, everything else had faded into insignificance.

  ‘Ellen was hysterical, screaming, and I felt so helpless,’ Maureen wailed.

  ‘You were there, and though it was horrendous for you, at least Ellen wasn’t alone,’ Gertie said, repeating assurances that she had given Maureen over and over again.

  ‘Are…are you going to try to see Ellen again today?’

  ‘Yes, but I doubt she’s up to it yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gertie. I know she’s like a daughter to you and you must feel, well, excluded.’

  ‘Nonsense, and, anyway, it doesn’t matter how I feel. All that matters at the moment is Ellen and that she gets the help she needs. If you can’t face the thought of the funeral, imagine how she’s feeling, and no doubt it’s the same for Percy, Hilda and Doug.’

  Maureen hung her head, but then she said, ‘I’ve been so selfish, too wrapped up in myself and know that now. You’re right, what I’m going through is nothing compared to Ellen and her family. Not only that, you’re short-staffed now and I haven’t lifted a finger to help you with the nursery. Tell me what needs doing today and I’ll muck in.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Gertie said, hugging Maureen. ‘I knew you’d snap out of it. You just needed a bit of time, that’s all.’

  ‘We’ve ordered the flowers,’ Doug said as he and Percy walked into the cottage.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve had to leave it all to you,’ Hilda said. ‘I…I just couldn’t face it.’

  ‘Where’s Ellen?’ Percy asked.

  ‘She’s upstairs and I still can’t get her to eat anything.’

  Hilda and Doug came to the cottage every day, and Percy was thankful to see them. He knew he couldn’t cope with Ellen, that he was helpless in the face of her grief. She had turned away from him, an unspoken gulf between them that he felt unable to bridge.

  ‘Percy, you try,’ Hilda urged. ‘She won’t get up, but you could take this sandwich and a cup of tea up to her.’

  ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly, ‘but I doubt it’ll do any good.’

  ‘I just wish we could get her to talk. Something’s eating at her, I’m sure it is, but I can hardly get a word out of her.’

  ‘Hilda, you heard the doctor,’ Doug said. ‘He didn’t seem overly worried, only saying that Ellen’s grief has to take its natural course.’

  Percy went upstairs, thankful that at least all the funeral arrangements were in place now. Both he and Doug had broken down in the funeral parlour, and had done the same when they went to the vicar again. The man had been kind, understanding that Ellen had screamed at him, and had gently taken them through the service, unperturbed that the selection of hymns had been left to him.

  Ellen was lying on the bed, her back towards him when Percy walked in.

  ‘Ellen, your mum asked me to bring this up,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve got to eat something.’

  ‘I…I don’t want it.’

  ‘At least drink this tea.’

  She didn’t answer, only shaking her head.

  ‘Ellen, she’s worried about you. We’re all worried about you. If you don’t eat you’ll make yourself ill.’

  At last there was a response.

  ‘I don’t care. I just want to die, Percy. I deserve to die!’

  Percy swiftly put the tray down and sat on the side of the bed. He reached out to stroke Ellen’s hair, saying, ‘Of course you don’t.’

  She pushed his hand away, sitting up, her voice bordering on a scream. ‘I do! I do! Don’t you see! I…I killed Sarah. I killed my baby.’

  At last it was out in the open, and somehow Percy managed to push his own feelings aside as he made himself say, ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, a dreadful accident.’

  ‘It was my fault. I didn’t look…didn’t check to see that the road was clear. I pushed my baby into the path of a lorry! I killed her!’

  ‘Ellen, what’s wrong?’ Hilda said as she rushed into the room. ‘I could hear you shouting from downstairs.’

  ‘I killed my baby! I killed Sarah!’ Ellen yelled, and then, as though a dam had burst, tears spurted from her eyes, running unchecked down her cheeks.

  ‘Percy, leave her to me,’ Hilda ordered.

  Helpless, Percy didn’t argue, and Ellen’s sobs echoed in his head as he left the room. He hadn’t passed on what the police had told him about the accident, but Hilda had guessed that something was eating at Ellen. It was eating at him too, anger that he was trying to fight, rearing its ugly head again. Ellen should have been more careful – should have made sure the road was safe. If she had, Sarah wouldn’t have died.

  ‘I’ve managed to calm her down,’ Hilda said when she came downstairs half an hour later, her eyes flicking round the room. ‘Where’s Percy?’

  ‘Search me. When you sent him down here he just carried on walking and out of the front door. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

  Hilda told him, watching Doug’s eyes widen. ‘Yes, I was shocked too, and at first I couldn’t believe that Ellen had been so careless, but then I managed to keep her talking and found out why.

  Ellen was on her way to see Gertie. She was worried about her, and us, our jobs at the nursery, and with all that on her mind, no wonder she wasn’t concentrating on the road.’

  ‘Worried about us. Why?’

  When Hilda had finished telling him, Doug asked, ‘Does Gertie know about this gossip?’

  ‘I doubt it, but right now I’m more concerned about Ellen. She’s riddled with guilt and though I tried to get through to her, I’m frightened. Ellen said she just wants to die and I’m scared, Doug. What if she tries to take her own life?’

  ‘I’ll go and talk to her.’

  Hilda flopped onto a chair, sick with worry and mentally exhausted. She closed her eyes, wishing she could let go, cry for the loss of her beloved granddaughter, but somehow, for everyone’s sake, she had to hold herself together.

  It was ten minutes later when Percy returned, his face grim. ‘I suppose Ellen told you what happened. How could she, Hilda? How could she have been so careless?’

  She then told him why, and of her fears for Ellen, saw him turn pale, and moments later Percy was pounding upstairs.

  Percy almost dived into the room, stopping short when he saw Ellen in her father’s arms. God, what a complete and utter fool he’d been. Until now he’d had no idea how worried Ellen had been, how distracted she was when she crossed the road. Percy felt sick now – sick that he had turned away from her, leaving Ellen to Hilda, leaving her when she needed him most. No wonder Hilda was so worried. No wonder she feared that Ellen would take her own life.

  ‘Ellen, it wasn’t your fault. The accident wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘I hope she knows that now, Percy,’ Doug said.

  Ellen looked up at him, her eyes pools of tears, and as Doug moved away from her he whispered to Percy: ‘It’s all right. I don’t think she’ll do anything silly.’

  Percy took his place and with a small sob, Ellen threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh, Percy…Percy.’

  Unaware that Doug had crept out of the room, Percy held his wife.

  ‘Ellen, your dad said you won’t try to do anything to yourself now. He’s right, isn’t he? Tell me he’s right?’

  There was barely a nod, but Percy almost cried out with relief. Ellen was still sobbing and he knew it was going to take time, a long time before their lives would ever be the same again. Somehow they had to get through it, and as yet he didn’t know how. He felt so helpless, but at least she was letting him hold her now, the gulf
between them at last bridged.

  Chapter 52

  The months passed, but Ellen was only a shadow of her former self. Her eighteenth birthday, followed by Christmas, came and went without any celebration and it was now late March, the following year. Ellen managed to function, to keep the house clean, to cook for Percy; but she was still swamped with grief.

  Sometimes, when Ellen thought back to the day of Sarah’s funeral, most of it remained a daze, but there was something that stuck in her mind, that refused to go away. The vicar had talked of Jesus, of his loving arms welcoming Sarah. Ellen had turned away from the church many years ago, denied its preaching, but there was a deep need within her now – a need to know if there really was an afterlife and that somehow Sarah’s soul went on.

  The church was just ahead of her now and, hoping the vicar would see her, Ellen headed for the manse. She knocked and waited before the door was opened by a grey-haired woman.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked kindly.

  ‘Would…would it be possible to see the vicar? I…I need to talk to him.’

  ‘Come in,’ she invited, then pointed to a room on the left. ‘Why don’t you sit in there while I fetch William?’

  ‘William?’

  ‘Yes, my husband, the vicar. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?’

  ‘No…no thanks.’

  Ellen took a seat on the sofa, but only minutes later a soft voice said, ‘Hello. Mrs Johnson, isn’t it? My wife said you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Ye…yes, that’s right.’

  ‘I know it’s early days, only about six months, but how are you coping, my dear?’

  ‘Not…not very well.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Tell me, how can I help?’

  ‘At…at my baby’s funeral, you talked about Jesus, of him waiting to welcome Sarah into his arms. Do…do you really believe in life after death?’