A Ruthless Need, page 10
Bertha rose to her feet and, sighing heavily, she muttered, ‘Well, that having been said, let’s have some tea. And by the way, I’ve had a letter from Geoff. He’s safe and sound, but as usual, he can’t say much about where he is or what he’s doing, only that…well, he would like to be home. And I must tell you he asked after you and said he didn’t expect he’d know you when he saw you.’
Lizzie turned about, the tears in her eyes now, and, going hastily towards Bertha, she put her arms about her as she said, ‘Oh, Mam, Mam. I’d do anything rather than upset you, but I…I must tell you now I’ve…I’ve been in love with Andrew for years. That’s why I haven’t taken up with anyone else. And I’ve had plenty of chances.’
‘There, there! girl. There, there! Yes, as for chances, I know all about them, and I wondered why, many a time. Still—’ She pressed Lizzie away from her and smiled at her now, saying, ‘I was young once too. I’ll have to remember that. And look! Give me my stick, where you’ve knocked it onto the floor.’
As they made their way towards the kitchen, Lizzie said, ‘Where’s Meg?’ And Bertha answered, ‘She went into Shields to see if her home’s still standing. She should be getting off the bus about now. I thought John would be in to go and pick her up because she’ll likely come back laden with more of her bits and pieces.’
Lizzie glanced at her wristwatch. ‘It’s due in five minutes; that’s if it’s on time,’ she said. ‘I’ll slip along and meet her.’ And with that she hurried across the hall, picked up her hat and coat from the cloakroom and left the house glad to escape from the feeling of thinly veiled censure still emanating from Bertha.
The twilight was drooping like a mist over the far hills; the sky was low, threatening rain again. They’d had two dry days, but previously it had rained almost incessantly for a week and the river was swollen and had overrun the banks along many stretches.
The bus stop was on a part of the road that skirted the river. At one spot the bank dropped steeply to the swirling waters, and she was surprised to see a pile of debris lodged in a large bush halfway up the bank. She had never known the river to have risen so high.
As the bus approached, it slowed down and the driver waved to her. She could see it held only three passengers, none of them Meg, and she continued to watch it until it disappeared beyond the bend in the road.
This was the first time Meg had missed the bus. Had something happened to her? Oh, she hoped not. She had become fond of Meg; there was something comforting about her.
Slowly now she began to retrace her steps towards home, only to turn and look back towards the hill in the distance, the while thinking: having missed that bus, surely Meg would take the one to Fuller’s crossroads, even though it would mean a longer walk home. Yes, that’s what she would have done.
Should she go and get her bike? No; she would walk. But again she paused, undecided; an indecision she was to remember in time to come for, had she been riding or pushing her bike, her gaze, in all probability, would have been directed straight ahead. And it was now as, with the strong wind behind her, she set off for the crossroads.
In a very short time, added to the noise of the wind was that of the river flowing strongly nearby and to her right. Normally an unfamiliar noise, but the recent heavy and prolonged rain had transformed the river into a wider, much deeper and fast-flowing torrent, with the wind blowing downstream, determined to urge it on.
She was on the hill now, a gradual incline rising to the small bridge which, at one time, had been the only line of communication between two villages and was still much used by farm and light traffic.
Any excitement that might have stirred in Lizzie on hearing the unusual sound of the nearby fast-flowing river was suddenly turned into fear. She had sighted the bridge and the mass of debris built up on this side, and the obvious cause of the build-up: a tree, uprooted further upstream, had been constrained by the stonework and was stretching well across the opening of the arch.
The restriction of the flow of water had caused the faster flow through the free part of the arch opening and the obvious, but previously unfelt, power of the river in spate created a fear, which was increased when she saw a man moving down the bank towards the water; and her fear turned to horror when she realised the identity of the man now wading into the water.
My God! What was he up to? No! No! And the denial drove her, too, into the water, screaming, ‘Captain! Captain!’
The water was up to her shivering waist when she saw his arm go out and grab a branch of the tree and shake it vigorously. And his attempt to free the tree must have been partly successful, for it suddenly swung him round, leaving him facing towards her.
And now it was he who was screaming: ‘Oh my God! Lizzie! Lizzie!’
He was aiming to make his way towards her when the shuddering of the debris caused him to look upwards.
Suddenly he was swung round and struggling to clutch the branch again for support, and she almost threw herself towards him.
It was as their outstretched hands touched that there came a thundering, tearing sound, as if the bridge itself were being uprooted, for under her clutching hand the timber heaved, wrenching her away and flinging her on to her back.
When the water swirled over her head she realised that she might drown. Then she had surfaced and was being bombarded from all sides with wood and wool. She knew it was wool when her fingers clawed at it. And then again she was drawn under; but now she knew she was holding on to something, not just with her hand, but with her arms too, and it wasn’t the shape but another kind of weight. First, it was on top of her; then under her.
As if she were seeing it happen, she felt herself rolling on to hard ground and she imagined she let out a long, long sigh of relief and became content to just be where she was. And this she did for some time before she endeavoured to open her eyes.
She had to force her lids up a number of times before she could take in that she was lying in shallow water and that she wasn’t alone, for she was embracing that weight and the weight was embracing her.
She turned her head to the side, coughed and spewed up the river water; but he didn’t move nor, for a time, did she. Then, as if coming out of sleep, she brought her arms from around him and patted his face, gasping, ‘Are…are you all right?’
The patched side of his face and across his jaw was covered with scum from the river. It seemed to have more easily clung to the skin and he looked like a wild man.
His good eye opened and the pain in it silenced the question she was about to put to him, for it was a silly question, ‘Why? Why?’
He drew in a shuddering breath, spat out some water, wiped his mouth with the fingers of one hand, then gasped, ‘Oh! Lizzie, Lizzie, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’
‘It…it was the last straw.’
She didn’t ask what the last straw was; then he said, ‘You…you could have died. I…I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘Don’t be silly. Look! Let’s get up out of this.’ She went to rise but fell on to her knees, her whole body shivering. And when he went to move he gave a groan, and she turned to him quickly, saying, ‘What is it?’
‘My leg. My foot. I…I must have twisted it.’
‘Can you stand?’
When he tried, he winced. Then, using his elbow, he pulled himself further up the sloping river bank. Once there he fell on to his side and his body went into a paroxysm as if with the ague. Quickly she knelt beside him and put her arms about him, saying, ‘There, there; you’ll be all right. You’ll be all right. But listen: I…I’ll have to go and get help. You understand?’ He now stammered, ‘Li…Li…Lizzie. Oh, Li…Lizzie, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.’
She looked about her helplessly. She had imagined they must have been driven some distance down the river by the debris. But there was the bridge not fifty feet away. Fortunately they must have been thrown to the side.
Then she couldn’t believe her ears when a raucous voice came from the road yelling, ‘Is that you, Lizzie? In the name of God! what you doin’?’
She twisted round and looked upwards, her face bright with relief as she cried, ‘Oh, Meg! Meg! Am I glad to see you!’
She noticed that Meg wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t make out who was with her. She called, ‘Can you come down here a minute?’ Then taking her arms from around Richard, she pulled herself to her feet and shouted, ‘No! Meg. It’ll be too steep for you. Go back to the house and get Dad. Tell him Mr Boneford’s hurt his leg.’
‘I can make the bank; and Mr Honeysett’s here.’
In a few minutes Meg and Ted Honeysett were gazing at the pair of them. And Meg cried, ‘You’re wet! You’re both wet! What’s happened?’
‘He…he fell in the river. He…he’s in a bad way: I don’t think we can manage him on our own.’
‘We could if we could get him up the bank.’ Ted Honeysett leaned over Richard now, saying, ‘I’ve got me flat cart up there, sir. I was trundling some wood, but I can tip that off. Can you stand, Mr Boneford?’
Richard made the effort and, with Ted’s help, Lizzie got him on his feet, and with Meg supporting him at the back, slowly they negotiated the bank, all of them gasping by the time they reached the road.
There, they laid him on the verge, while Ted tipped out the wood from the flat cart.
Richard was still shivering as if with the ague when, at last, they had him lying crosswise on the flat handcart. To Ted’s enquiry, ‘Is he for the house?’ Lizzie answered, ‘No; our place.’ And at this, Ted nodded, and began to push the cart, saying, ‘Aye, I suppose that’ll be better.’ Then, looking at Lizzie with concern, he said, ‘I think you’re in almost as bad a state as him, lass. What happened?’
‘He…he fell in the river.’
‘Oh, aye, aye. Well, I’ve heard of such things. Anyway, lass, an’ you, missis, you might have to put your weight on to this side of the cart to act as a brake when we’re goin’ down the hill…’
‘In the name of God!’ was what both Bertha and John said almost together when they were confronted by the spectacle at the kitchen door.
What Lizzie said was, ‘I’ll explain later, Mam…Dad. Can he be put in Geoffrey’s room? He’s in a bad way.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ And John helped to get Richard into the kitchen. Then he and Ted Honeysett together almost carried him up the stairs.
But it was Meg and Bertha who undressed him and put him to bed, John having been given orders to run a bath for Lizzie and see that she got into it, and quickly.
Downstairs, John asked Ted Honeysett, ‘What happened?’
‘It’s no use askin’ me, Mr Fulton; that’s what I’d like to know an’ all. I’d met up with Mrs Price; she was trudging along the road. She had got off the bus at Fuller’s crossroads, a daft bus to take, I think, to get here, but then she had missed t’other one. I’d been gathering some wood…not from your place!’ And he dug a finger towards John. ‘Robank had a tree down in the wind. He told me I could have the odds and ends if I swept up round about. You have to pay for everythin’ these days; you don’t get owt for nowt. Anyway, there we were at the top of the hill and she was chattering away, Mrs Price, tellin’ me about Shields and the mess they’ve made of some places there. She was making me laugh. She’s a star, that one. Anyway, I happened to look down the bank and I see these two figures. I thought they were courting, but it was a funny place to do courting, lying on the water’s edge, their arms around each other! Then Mrs Price let out a squeal, and well, there they were, Mr Boneford and your Lizzie, like drowned rats, clinging together. That’s…that’s all I know, except she said he had fallen in the river. What I did notice, mind, was the muck that had mounted up by the bridge.’ He nodded again at John. ‘Funny business, I say, him falling in the river; but why should she fall in the river an’ all? And all with their clothes on. Now what d’you make of it, Mr Fulton? Eh?’
His voice very quiet now, John said, ‘I don’t know what I make of it, Ted; but I’ll ask you this: don’t spread it around until we find out what’s behind it. You understand?’
‘Oh, I understand, I understand. I can keep me mouth shut when I like; I’ve had plenty of practice.’ He grinned now, then as he made for the door he said, ‘It’s understandable, isn’t it, wanting to do away with yourself when you look like that? She’s a brave lass, is your Lizzie. A good lass. Aye, a good lass. Goodnight to you.’
‘Goodnight, Ted; and thank you. Call in when you’re passing sometime; I might have something for you.’
Ted Honeysett turned from the darkness of the door and, his face beaming, he said, ‘That’s right civil of you, Mr Fulton. I’ll do that. I’ll do that.’
Meg came into the kitchen now, saying, ‘I’ll have to get a hot-water bottle or two, but I can’t see it’s gonna do much good. I think you’d better get the doctor; that fellow’s bad. And what about tellin’ them up there?’
‘Yes,’ John sighed. ‘Yes, they’ll have to be told up there, all right. Is he still shivering?’
‘Aye, as much as ever; and he’s a bit light-headed an’ all. Lizzie’s not too bright, either. Have you got any whisky left?’
‘Yes; there’s a drop in the bottle.’
‘Well, I’d give her a strong dose in some boiling water and take it up to her. But I’d phone the doctor first.’
As he went to the phone in the hall, he was thinking how odd it was that Meg seemed to take charge in a crisis. It was good to have her about…
The doctor said he would be unable to come for another hour or so; he still had one or two patients to see to in the surgery; but that he’d be along as soon as he could.
A few minutes later John told Lizzie this as he handed her the steaming mug; and as she sipped at it and shivered, he said, ‘He’ll have to look in on you an’ all.’
‘Oh, I’m all right. Is this whisky? You know I don’t like whisky.’
She put the mug on the side table, then pulled the bedclothes around her shoulders and watched John lower himself on to the side of the bed before he said, ‘What happened?’
She looked down the length of the eiderdown before she replied, ‘I…I think he was trying to commit suicide. He…he’s a good swimmer—he told me so once—but there would have been no chance of swimming if he had been hit by the full force of the debris, and he in full uniform as he was. I…I feel he was sort of making sure.’
‘He could have made sure of you an’ all, then.’
‘Oh, I…I was some way back.’
‘Then how did you manage to get hold of him?’
‘I…I didn’t; I think he got hold of me. I don’t know really; it all happened so quickly. I only know I was petrified for a time. I thought it was my end.’
‘And it could have been, damn fool that he is!’
‘Oh, Dad, just think…’
‘Aye. Aye.’ And he nodded. ‘I’m sorry for him, heart-sorry, but I’m thinkin’ of you. You could have been down the river an’ all.’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t. I know he made an attempt to come back when he saw me, but it was too late.’
‘What d’you mean, too late?’
‘Well, he had loosened the branch, or whatever it was, that was blocking the debris across the arch. Have you phoned the house?’
‘No. I won’t do anything until the doctor comes.’
‘They needn’t know, Dad, need they? I mean, she needn’t know. It’ll make him feel awful.’
‘Look, lass, that’s for him to sort out. Anyway, how are we going to explain to Doctor McNeil that he’s in this house and you’re not in very good trim, either? And Meg says he’s jabbering, so you don’t know what he might come out with. Anyway, don’t you worry your head about that. You’ve done more than you should. My God! I’d say, yes. But as it is, I don’t suppose he’ll be grateful to you.’
‘He’s a nice man, Dad. He’s…he’s still the same underneath, you know.’
‘Aye, aye, I know that. But you can’t get people to think like that when they look at him; you’ve got to know him first. In my opinion, I think they should stay in hospital until they are right.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ She jerked herself up on the pillow. ‘That could be years. I think he’s had six operations already. What he was like to begin with, God only knows; and he’s still human. They’re all still human; they want to get back into ordinary life.’
‘All right, all right. Don’t excite yourself. What’s the matter with you? To my mind you’ve had more than enough the night without doing any more championing. Now be still. Bertha’ll be in in a minute.’
It was odd that at this moment she noted he didn’t refer to Bertha as ‘your mam’, although she herself called them Mam and Dad. And Bertha always referred to him as John. Over the years this had irked her and had caused her to wonder why, on her sixteenth birthday, Bertha had said, ‘You always call me Ma’am, like for “mistress”, but it could be Mam for mother, too, and I’m sure my John wouldn’t mind being called Dad. Would you like that?’ She had answered that she would like it very much. It had taken her a little time to get used to the idea and she’d never felt actually sure that Mr Fulton, as she had previously addressed him, agreed with his new title.
When the door had closed on him she let her body sink into the bed. She was feeling tired, exhausted. Her head was aching, and she was still feeling cold. She reached out and, pulling a face, finished the rest of the whisky, and in a short while she became drowsy; but as sleep was about to overtake her she felt herself once again under the water, and then she was gasping and rolling over and over, still held in a fierce grip. Now his face was above hers, and he was crying, ‘Lizzie! Lizzie!’ and she cried back, ‘It’s all right, Richard. It’s all right.’ From then a calmness came upon her. Somebody was stroking the hair back from her brow and a voice was saying, ‘There, there, me dear, go to sleep. You’re all right. Go to sleep.’ And she knew it was Meg, and she said to her, ‘I’ve never called him Richard before.’
