Lost Angel Page 7

  ‘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 11

  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.’

  ‘All right, we’ll go to the village, but we can’t stay long.’

  Hilda busied herself with feeding Wilfred. Yes, she had talked Gertie into going, but her feelings of isolation, of being trapped here, were growing ever stronger. Please, please, let there be a reply to her letters, because if she didn’t escape soon, Hilda feared she’d go out of her mind.

  Ellen was happy as they rode to the village, the sunshine warm on her back, but wished she could say the same about her mum. She was well again now, but so quiet and moody. Gertie was always giving her mum hugs in an attempt to cheer her up, but if anything that just seemed to make it worse.

  ‘Now remember, we can’t stay long,’ Gertie warned as Ned trotted along. ‘I’m not only planting, I’m weaning the piglets.’

  ‘All right, there’s no need to nag. I just want some shopping, a newspaper, and to see if there’s any mail.’

  Ellen wished Gertie hadn’t mentioned the pigs. Like last year, and the year before, she knew there’d been a large litter. All but one would be sold again, a part of living on the smallholding Ellen still didn’t like.

  Gertie took one hand from the reins, leaning across Ellen to lay it on her mum’s leg. ‘Cheer up, Hilda.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, impatiently pushing her hand away.

  Gertie then patted Ellen’s leg, too. ‘Your mum might be a bit short-tempered, but it’s nice to see her looking so well now.’

  Ellen glanced at her mother, but she was staring straight ahead, her lips tight; sensing her mood, Ellen remained quiet for the rest of the journey.

  When they arrived at the general store, Gertie made no attempt to climb down, only saying, ‘Don’t be long, Hilda.’

  ‘I’ll be as long as it takes,’ she retorted angrily.

  Ellen clambered down and inside the shop, Mrs Brandon returned their greetings. ‘Hello, and it’s nice to see you both. There are two letters for you, Mrs Stone.’

  Ellen saw her mum’s face light up as she took them. ‘This one’s from my husband, but as I only wrote to him ten days ago, they must have crossed in the post.’

  ‘What else can I get you?’ Mrs Brandon asked. Hilda passed her a list, chatting to Mrs Brandon as she gathered the goods together, while Ellen ogled the few sweets on offer, thrilled when her mum said they had enough coupons to buy some. The sherbet lemons looked sticky and clung to the jar as they were shaken onto the scales, but Ellen’s mouth watered with anticipation.

  ‘There you are, Ellen,’ said Mrs Brandon as she passed her the paper bag.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay longer to chat,’ her mum said, ‘but Gertie is anxious to get back to the smallholding.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a busy time of year.’

  Calling goodbye, they left the shop.

  ‘It’s about time,’ said Gertie as they returned to the cart.

  ‘I’m going to the butcher’s, so you’ll just have to wait.’

  Ellen didn’t like his shop. Sometimes he had whole dead rabbits hanging from hooks and the sight sickened her. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she called as her mum hurried off, and then, climbing up beside Gertie, held out the bag of sherbet lemons. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘No, you eat them. I haven’t got a sweet tooth.’

  Ellen pried one sticky sweet from another and popped it into her mouth as her eyes roamed the small village. To her it was beautiful, the thatched cottages, the stone walls behind which lay pretty gardens. She loved it here, the countryside, and living on the smallholding. She sighed with happiness, hoping they’d never leave.

  When Hilda returned again to the cart, Gertie asked, ‘Did you get everything we need?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hilda said shortly, and as the horse ambled along she pulled out Doug’s letter, anxious to read it. She smiled at first, loving his cheeky innuendoes, but when she got to the second page her expression changed. Doug must be out of his tiny mind, writing about how much he’d enjoyed working on the smallholding and going on to suggest that after the war they move out of London. No way, Hilda thought as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She’d had enough of living in the back of beyond with hardly any amenities other than a few village shops. In London you could jump on a bus, a train, or the tube and go anywhere without a problem. Here there wasn’t any transport and all they had to rely on was a flaming, cantankerous horse.

  ‘What did Dad say?’ Ellen asked again.

  ‘He misses us, he’s fine, and he sends you his love.’

  ‘When’s he coming home again?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hilda said sadly.

  Once outside the village the road became uneven and they bounced as the cart hit an occasional hump, but despite this Hilda managed to scan the newspaper. Her mood lightened. There hadn’t been any raids over London, and she dared to hope. She wanted to be away from Gertie, to have her own home again, somewhere to settle and for Doug to return to when this rotten war was over. Keeping her thoughts to herself, Hilda folded the newspaper. She didn’t want to talk about her plans in front of Ellen, and, anyway, with the way Gertie was behavi
ng lately, she might kick up a fuss. Hilda wondered yet again if she was imagining things; yet recalling the many times Gertie found any excuse to touch her nowadays, she doubted it. There’d been so many hugs, so many occasions when she’d caught Gertie looking at her with a strange, almost lustful expression.

  Hilda shivered. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but, just in case, she wanted to be away from Gertie; the thought of her wanting a love affair nauseating.

  Gertie knew that Hilda was fed up with life in the country and there’d been times when she’d talked about going back to London, yet, despite this, she wasn’t worried. Hilda was a loving and protective mother who would never put her daughter at risk, their stay with her assured until the war was over. ‘I saw you had two letters,’ she said. ‘Who was the other one from?’

  ‘Mabel. I’ll read it when we’re back at the cottage.’

  ‘Was there anything interesting in the newspaper?’

  ‘There’s no mention of bombing raids on London and, as Hitler has turned his attention to other targets, there’s speculation there might not be any more.’

  ‘You said it, speculation, and no guarantee.’

  ‘Look,’ Ellen said, pointing to a farmer’s field. ‘It’s full of Land Army girls.’

  ‘Lucky farmer,’ Gertie said. ‘I wouldn’t mind a few of them helping out on my smallholding.’

  ‘I’ve offered to get stuck in, but you won’t let me,’ Hilda said curtly.

  ‘Once you’re fully recovered, I’ll welcome it.’

  ‘I am fully recovered, and I’ll tell you something else, I’m fed up with you telling me what I can and cannot do.’

  ‘All right, calm down. It’s just that you were so ill and I’m worried about you over-exerting yourself.’

  ‘I’m a grown woman, not a child, and if I say I’m up to giving you a hand, then I am.’