Women of Courage, page 64
Hope giggled and then had a go at eating one herself. She popped one in her mouth and then froze. John could tell the oyster was sitting on her tongue. She gagged.
‘Swallow it girl.’
Hope went green and then ran from the room. John tilted backwards and laughed his head off. When Hope returned she carried a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese on a tray with her, which set him off chuckling all the more.
John managed to swallow another one before he realized that was all he could stomach. ‘Willing to share?’ he smiled at her.
As Hope sliced bread and cheese for John she kept glancing at him from under her fringe. He was decidedly charming and handsome as far as she was concerned. He was kind and considerate, a little stiff and formal sometimes, but besides that she idolized him. She’d even prayed to a God she didn’t believe in, to ask if He might bend John’s affection towards her. No answer on that one yet, but she was hopeful. She had even made a bargain, saying that if John would fall in love with her then she would become a Christian and give her life to God. She had no idea if that was acceptable or not but she had her fingers crossed.
A strange noise broke into Hope’s early morning dream, waking her up. She lay there for a moment trying to work out what she could hear. After a moment, it dawned on her that it was moaning she could hear. She jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. She listened for a moment and realized the noise was coming from the bathroom.
She knocked on the door. ‘John, are you alright?’
A guttural groan came from the other side of the door.
She hammered on the door. ‘John, John, are you alright? Can I come in?’
Then she heard him being sick. The sound of retches that come when there is nothing left but bile flooded the house. She took a deep breath and broke the boundaries of their agreement, and entered the bathroom. John was draped over the toilet like a rag-doll. She dropped to her knees beside him.
‘Shall I fetch the doctor?’
He shook his head.
‘Would you like a glass of water?’
He nodded.
Hope went charging down the stairs and into the kitchen in a panic. John looked awful, white as a ghost with large black rings under his eyes. He looked really sick to her. She ran up the stairs two at a time, and went back to John’s side.
‘Here you are.’
‘Thanks.’ He took a couple of tiny sips and then shuffled backwards to lean against the bathroom wall. ‘I think you’ve poisoned me.’
‘What?’ Hope screeched. ‘No I haven’t, I’d never do anything to harm you.’
‘Not intentionally,’ there was the tiniest of smiles at the corner of his lips.
‘I’m fetching Bessie.’ Before he could protest, Hope had dashed off again. It took only a few minutes as Bessie always rose before the sun, and was up, washed and dressed ready for the day when Hope hammered on her back door.
‘Go and fetch the doctor, Hope,’ Bessie said, after she had placed her hand on John’s forehead. ‘He’s burning up something awful, be sure and tell the doctor that.’
Not wanting to waste any time, Hope didn’t bother getting dressed. Instead she pulled on her long coat, slipped her shoes on and went running down the street. Luckily, the doctor’s surgery was only three streets away. She charged through the door and ran to the receptionist.
‘I need a doctor, its John; I think I’ve nearly killed him! Please, you’ve got to get the doctor to him quick. He can’t die, I love him. He doesn’t know that yet. But I do, I love him. He can’t die. Please...’
‘Shush,’ said the receptionist, coming around the counter. ‘You’re lucky, Doctor Hughes has just arrived. Wait here, I’ll go and fetch him.’
With black bag in hand, the elderly, wiry, bent doctor, did his best to keep pace with Hope. She had to keep stopping, demanding he hurry and he was quite out of breath by the time they arrived home.
Bessie had managed to get John back into bed, and had placed a bucket next to him in case he was sick again. She had a cold, damp cloth on his head to try and cool him, but John was shivering and wanted the covers over him.
When Hope saw how weak John looked lying back against the pillows she burst into tears.
‘Now, now,’ said Bessie, ‘that won’t do. Come on let’s go downstairs while doc takes a look at John, come along now.’
Hope allowed herself to be led downstairs and into the kitchen, where Bessie went straight for the kettle.
A short time later the doctor made his way down the stairs. Both ladies rushed to greet him in the hallway.
‘Is he going to be alright?’ Hope said her hands clasped together under her chin.
‘He will, but it will take a few days for him to recover. He needs three days of bed rest and plenty of fluids. Nothing to eat today, and maybe something very light like chicken soup tomorrow, although if he can be persuaded to go another day without your delectable cooking, it would probably be best if he didn’t eat for forty-eight hours.’
Hope looked at the doctor in shock; there had been a chuckle in that statement, she was sure of it.
‘We’ll take good care of him doctor, thank you so much for coming,’ said Bessie opening the door for him.
The doctor started to leave but turned around on the step and looked back in at them. ‘Plenty of fluids, do you hear?’
‘Yes doctor,’ they both replied.
As soon as the door closed, Hope went charging up the stairs. Bessie sighed and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
‘Are you alright?’ Hope whispered.
He turned his head to look at her. ‘No, not in any way.’
Hope burst into tears. ‘It was the oysters wasn’t it? Oh, I’m so sorry John, really I am. I’ll never cook them again. I’m so sorry.’
‘Hope, I have enough to contend with right now without your sniffles as well.’
‘Oh, sorry, I’m sorry.’
John sighed. ‘Please stop saying you’re sorry.’
‘Sorry.’
John raised his eyebrow at her.
Like a dog with its tail between its legs, Hope turned to leave. As she did so, her gaze fell upon the photographs that John had in frames on his bedside unit. One was of him with Charlotte on their wedding day, and the other was of Charlotte on her own. The image burned into Hope’s spirits and she fled the room before she broke down in front of John.
John was as weak as a new born kitten for days. He didn’t manage to get into work all week as his recovery was slower than expected. During this time there seemed to be nothing that Hope could do to make it better. He had turned into a miserable grump, and Hope was beside herself, and went to visit Bessie for some tender loving care.
‘You have to leave him be,’ said Bessie as she kneaded the dough to make some bread. ‘Here, wash your hands and take over for me. My arthritis is killing me, I need to sit down.’
‘Sure you trust me to touch it?’ asked Hope. ‘If John knows I helped you make it he won’t eat it.’
‘Now stop being churlish. You nearly killed the poor man, what do you expect? He’s bound to be slightly tetchy with you.’
Hope found kneading the dough to be relaxing, and despite the vigorous actions required to knead it well, she found herself relaxing.
‘Why on earth did you cook oysters anyway?’
Hope told her about the article she had read in the magazine and Bessie burst out laughing. She roared. Her whole body shaking uncontrollably as tears spilled down her cheeks.
‘Oh Lord, oh Lord,’ she chuckled.
‘Well, what would you do to make a man fall in love with you?’ asked Hope.
Bessie wiped her tears away. ‘Good Lord, I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. I do love you, you funny little thing.’
‘Well, no offense, but I wish it was John who loved me.’
‘The youth these days have absolutely no patience.’
Chapter 9
Christmas was fast approaching and persuading John that despite having no children they still needed a tree had been quite a task. He’d struck a bargain with her eventually, in exchange for John joining in (and trying to be cheerful) with the Christmas preparations, Hope was to come to church for four Sundays services in a row (and try to enjoy them). It was fair to say they were both being pushed out of their comfort zones. John hadn’t celebrated Christmas since Charlotte had died, and Hope had never been to church in her life, except for one school trip.
The arrival of a brand new 17-inch Murphy television had been a delightful surprise. John grinned as he watched Hope jumping up and down in the living room.
‘Where shall we put it?’ Hope asked, excitement pouring from her.
‘We should put it in the corner over there,’ John pointed. ‘We’ll have to move the seating a touch, but it should all fit in excellently.’
Hope didn’t waste time and started moving the furniture around. ‘Help me move the carpet, John,’ she said after she’d put the coffee table in the hallway.
‘You know this flooring is a death-trap waiting to happen, you put so much polish on the damn boards.’
‘Sorry!’ Hope snapped. ‘Pardon me your nibs, for trying to keep your home spic and span for you!’
‘Our home, Hope.’
The emphasis on ‘our’ melted Hope’s heart, and once again she forgave him for his snappy ways.
With the carpet pulled in front of the gas fireplace they were able to shift the chairs around. John picked up the television, putting it gently on its side so that he could screw the four wooden legs in. When he finished he turned it upright and stood it in the corner.
‘I can’t believe you spent ninety-two pounds on a television,’ the words came out of Hope with awe. ‘Why didn’t you rent one like everyone else?’
‘Well, it does have a built-in radio as well; I thought that might be handy. And I don’t do hire-purchase Hope, you should know that by now. I believe in saving up and buying something when you can afford it.’
‘Guess you take after your mum in that respect.’
‘I guess I must.’
‘Turn it on, let’s see what’s on.’
John obliged. With only two black and white channels he wasn’t expecting an awful lot of entertainment. He moved around the aerial until the zigzag lines faded and the picture became clear.
‘That’s it, just there, you’ve got it clear now. Look John, it’s Watch with Mother!’ Hope sank onto her knees in front of the television. Fifteen minutes later the puppets were declaring it was time to go home. Hope was still on her knees and John was still standing in the same place when the narrator sang goodbye.
Hope swiveled round to grin at John.
‘Humph! Extremely educational I’m sure, for children!’
Hope giggled.
Saturday, 13th December 1958
Her ‘grump’ was carrying the fir tree under his arm and muttering about the waste of money these Christmas trappings were, but Hope’s heart was soaring.
After sending so many letters to the shipping company she’d finally received one back from Douglas. He would be back in Liverpool in January and had promised to come and meet her new husband. A week ago she had decided to visit Betty and invite her over for Christmas dinner, but there were new people in the flat and they had no idea of Betty’s new address, although they mentioned that Betty and Fred had talked about Swansea, so Hope guessed they had moved to Wales without so much as a cheerio.
Still, Douglas was coming home and that was great. What had been even more wonderful was the delightful Father Christmas cabin that had been built in the square, she’d longed to go in and have her picture taken with the red-dressed impostor but one look at John’s face when she mentioned it was enough for her to walk past. Still, he had purchased a lush six-foot tree and was carrying it home, all be it with moans about pricking pine needles!
Space for the tree had been made ready next to the television, and John placed the trunk in the sand-filled bucket that was waiting to hold it. Hope watched as John cut the strings that held the branches together, and was grinning from ear-to-ear as the branches sprang open.
‘Will you help me decorate it, John?’
‘No.’ He left her to it and went into the kitchen to make them drinks.
Last week Hope had used some of the money she’d been saving from the house-keeping to buy an album. She went over to the unit that housed the HMV record player, and popped Johnny Mathis’ Merry Christmas album on, and then gently placed the needed on the edge.
As soon as Sleigh Bells Ring came out of the speaker she heard John groan, and she giggled. She would convert him towards the Christmas trimmings by the time she was finished with him. ‘Are you listening, in the lane, snow is glistening...’ Hope joined in with the song, which made John groan even louder.
By the time Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire came on Hope had the lights on the tree.
John came in. ‘Cup of tea?’ he offered her a cup, which she took with a smile. Instead of leaving her again, he sat down in his chair and picked up his book. As she put candy canes, red bows and crackers on the tree John kept watching her, but quickly glanced back down at his book whenever she turned around. ‘I love this song,’ he said when Jonny started singing What Child Is This.
‘It’s very pretty,’ said Hope standing back to admire the tree.
‘Yes, you’ve done a first-rate job there.’
‘Oh, I meant the song, but thank you.’
They sat in comfortable silence and listened to the rest of the album. When It Came upon the Midnight Clear came on, Hope got up and put her hand out towards John. ‘Dance with me?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Her face was a picture of disappointment and he succumbed and stood up. ‘Just one,’ he said standing up. He placed his right arm around her waist and took hold of her right hand in his left. They took a few steps and then he stopped. ‘This’ll never do,’ he said letting her go.
She felt crushed as he turned and walked away. But he didn’t leave the room, instead he went to the record player and lifted up the stylus and put the record back in its sleeve. He bent down to go through his record selection until he found the one he wanted. He put side two of Ella Fitzgerald sings the Cole Porter Songs on the table, picked up the stylus and dropped it on track eleven. When he turned around Hope was watching him. As Ella started to sing, John moved back over to Hope and once more took her in his arms.
‘Now this is more like it,’ he said as Ella sang, When you’re near there’s such an air of spring about it... John slowly moved them around the floor; naturally he drew Hope close to his chest. Her heart was beating fast; John had never put his arms around her before. Maybe she was beginning to break down his resistance? Towards the end of the song John had slowed so much they were hardly moving. At the end of it she tilted back her head to look up at him. He looked down at her, his eyes misty and sorrowful. He let her go and went to take Ella off the turntable and put Hope’s Christmas one back on. Without a word he left her and went upstairs.
Hope sat on the chair, her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She knew that he was now sitting on his bed looking at the pictures of his beautiful, but very dead, wife, the woman he really wanted to dance with.
Friday, 19th December 1958, 21:45
Looking at herself in the mirror, Hope didn’t know if she wanted to giggle or be sick. She had never owned anything like this in her life, and she blamed Bessie for the fact that she owned one now! It was freezing up here – there was even ice on the outside of her bedroom window. What she was doing in this skimpy, cotton, tiny-blue flower covered white baby-doll nightie she had no idea! Well, that wasn’t exactly true of course. She was actually standing near the bedroom door so that when she heard John coming up the stairs she could pop out and ambush him in her new sexy attire! ‘If John was a man, and surely he was,’ Bessie had said, ‘he wouldn’t be able to resist her.’
When they’d gone shopping together, this had seemed like such a marvelous idea. Now however, as she stood with goose-bumps covering her legs and arms, she wasn’t too sure. He’d probably think she’d gone nutty and ask her where her warm flannelette had gone. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ she whispered to her reflection. She pinched her cheeks to make them rosy as soon as she heard John close the living room door.
She timed it just right and as soon as his foot hit the landing she rushed out of her room. She stopped half-way to the bathroom. ‘Oh John, you startled me, I didn’t notice you there.’ She smiled, in what she hoped was her most seductive and glamorous pose.
John look horrified. What on earth’s wrong with her face? He wondered.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ he asked, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her hairline. The one glance at her graceful long legs had already got his blood pumping.
‘Why no,’ she answered, putting her hand on her hip and bending slightly to the side, the way she had seen models pose.
My God, she looks like a crocked horse, John thought, what on earth is she doing?
Hope knew instantly it wasn’t working. Too embarrassed to say anything else she rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
‘Women!’ said John under his breath, ‘crackers the lot of them.’
Hope put down the toilet seat lid and sat on the top of it and started to cry. Cost me four blooming pounds this did, what a waste of money. She grabbed a pile of tissue and gave her nose a vigorous blow, then when she was sure John was in his room, raced back to her room, where she stripped and climbed with all haste into her comfy pajamas and jumped under the bedcovers.
Saturday, 20th December 1958
‘I’m sorry you don’t feel up to taking the train to London, I’m sure you will miss spending Christmas with your son and his family awfully.’ Hope said she was sorry, but she was also secretly happy as now Bessie would be joining them for Christmas dinner.
