Free The Twisted Way by Jean Hill Page B
Authors: Jean Hill
heaved a sigh, deep and languid, and watched her breath, misty and white, float away from her. As her strength ebbed and she almost lost the struggle to keep her eyes open she instinctively placed her hands across her swollen stomach in an effort to protect her baby.
‘My baby ... darling ...’ she whispered. ‘I can’t feel you kicking ...’
Their neighbours were working in Everton and an uncomfortable silence cloaked the cold damp mist that later started to form as the wind dropped. It was her only companion. Pam felt the insistent cold and dampness sink deeper into her bones and the blood from the haemorrhage trickle from her body. What could she do about it? She must be able to do something, though exactly what now eluded her. From the corners of her eyes she saw some of her rich red blood filtering along the edges of the stones where she lay, outlining them with resolute force.
She mouthed. ‘John, oh my love, where are you?’ The bright blue door was the last thing she saw before she slipped into unconsciousness.
John found her cold and lifeless in the pool of frozen blood when he returned from his teaching post that evening. Their baby had died within her. He never knew whether they would have had the pleasure of a son or daughter, but that no longer mattered. He did not want to know. With Pam gone and the baby gone he retreated once more into his lonely self, unloved and unwanted, a state with which he was familiar. He found the idea of having any more children in the future abhorrent and vowed he never would. Pam had been his hope for a happy life and now that had been snatched away from him. He knew he was being illogical but a huge barrier rose up; a barrier that would be very difficult to remove.
He called out to her in his sleep night after night, ‘Pam, my Pam, come back to me. I need you,’ and cried like a child, the kind of free-flowing tears he had never been able to shed when he was young. She had released his inhibitions and liberated his emotions but she had gone and the fear that he was destined never to have any children became entrenched in his mind, indeed he no longer wanted them.
His health suffered and life become bleak once again for the introverted lonely John whose one taste of genuine affection had evaporated. He found concentration difficult and his work unsatisfying. The outbreak of war in 1939 became his salvation. He joined the army in 1940 and spent the war in army intelligence. He did not see much active service though he did spend six months in Egypt in connection with his duties at headquarters.
After the war the lost and bewildered man returned to teaching. He did some supply work in junior schools and found to his surprise that he enjoyed working with younger pupils; their eagerness and candid behaviour lifted him out of his introverted shell, so that he eventually applied for the post of headmaster at Enderly Junior School, a post he obtained with unexpected ease. Experienced teachers of John’s calibre were hard to find and the Government were offering short courses to returning servicemen in the hope of filling the shortage of trained teachers. He sold his cottage, there were too many unhappy memories there, and purchased a small terraced house near the school. ‘It’s good enough for a widower like me,’ he told himself. The fact that he was a wealthy young man and could have bought something more prestigious did not even occur to him.
‘What a nice chap,’ his neighbours proclaimed. ‘Not at all stuffy and stuck up, probably hasn’t got much money, like us.’ He found himself, to his embarrassment, plied with home-made cakes and pies from his neighbours who were themselves still suffering from the effects of food rationing.
‘He’s a returning solider, he’s done his bit,’ and ‘Poor fellow, he needs fattening up,’ were remarks that he heard passed around in broad Russetshire accents. They were pleased to have their new headmaster and accepted
‘My baby ... darling ...’ she whispered. ‘I can’t feel you kicking ...’
Their neighbours were working in Everton and an uncomfortable silence cloaked the cold damp mist that later started to form as the wind dropped. It was her only companion. Pam felt the insistent cold and dampness sink deeper into her bones and the blood from the haemorrhage trickle from her body. What could she do about it? She must be able to do something, though exactly what now eluded her. From the corners of her eyes she saw some of her rich red blood filtering along the edges of the stones where she lay, outlining them with resolute force.
She mouthed. ‘John, oh my love, where are you?’ The bright blue door was the last thing she saw before she slipped into unconsciousness.
John found her cold and lifeless in the pool of frozen blood when he returned from his teaching post that evening. Their baby had died within her. He never knew whether they would have had the pleasure of a son or daughter, but that no longer mattered. He did not want to know. With Pam gone and the baby gone he retreated once more into his lonely self, unloved and unwanted, a state with which he was familiar. He found the idea of having any more children in the future abhorrent and vowed he never would. Pam had been his hope for a happy life and now that had been snatched away from him. He knew he was being illogical but a huge barrier rose up; a barrier that would be very difficult to remove.
He called out to her in his sleep night after night, ‘Pam, my Pam, come back to me. I need you,’ and cried like a child, the kind of free-flowing tears he had never been able to shed when he was young. She had released his inhibitions and liberated his emotions but she had gone and the fear that he was destined never to have any children became entrenched in his mind, indeed he no longer wanted them.
His health suffered and life become bleak once again for the introverted lonely John whose one taste of genuine affection had evaporated. He found concentration difficult and his work unsatisfying. The outbreak of war in 1939 became his salvation. He joined the army in 1940 and spent the war in army intelligence. He did not see much active service though he did spend six months in Egypt in connection with his duties at headquarters.
After the war the lost and bewildered man returned to teaching. He did some supply work in junior schools and found to his surprise that he enjoyed working with younger pupils; their eagerness and candid behaviour lifted him out of his introverted shell, so that he eventually applied for the post of headmaster at Enderly Junior School, a post he obtained with unexpected ease. Experienced teachers of John’s calibre were hard to find and the Government were offering short courses to returning servicemen in the hope of filling the shortage of trained teachers. He sold his cottage, there were too many unhappy memories there, and purchased a small terraced house near the school. ‘It’s good enough for a widower like me,’ he told himself. The fact that he was a wealthy young man and could have bought something more prestigious did not even occur to him.
‘What a nice chap,’ his neighbours proclaimed. ‘Not at all stuffy and stuck up, probably hasn’t got much money, like us.’ He found himself, to his embarrassment, plied with home-made cakes and pies from his neighbours who were themselves still suffering from the effects of food rationing.
‘He’s a returning solider, he’s done his bit,’ and ‘Poor fellow, he needs fattening up,’ were remarks that he heard passed around in broad Russetshire accents. They were pleased to have their new headmaster and accepted