Free Mad Worlds by Bill Douglas

two.”
    â€œM’dear, we’ll help you and Becky all we can.” Elsie paused and looked at Becky. “We had a bairn once, but she lived just two hours. And we couldn’t have any more.”
    â€œOh.” She wanted to say something comforting to Elsie about this, an overwhelming tragedy, but didn’t know how.
    Elsie, her eyes glistening, continued, “Ailsa would’ve been a grand wee bairn like Becky, then a fine young lass like yourself, but the Lord took her.”
    How sad and unfair. She took Elsie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She still couldn’t find anything to say. A dead baby. The grief must have been unfathomable. Elsie and Mattie would have been great parents. They’d already gone further in helping than any parents – never mind her own – could.
    Elsie stood up. “M’dear, I’ve never talked about that. It was long ago – back in Newcastle, where we both grew up. We came down here just after, kept quiet about it and got on with our work.”
    â€œThanks for telling me.” And she meant it. Of course she’d told Elsie her deepest fears. But this was different – the older woman, a rock in a crisis and a support-giver, choosing to trust her with a tragic secret from long ago.
    The door swung open. “The shop’s closed,” Mattie announced. He turned to Heather. “You’re fair worked up, lass. Will you and the bairn stay with us the night?”
    â€œYou must, m’dear,” said Elsie.
    â€œYes please.” She didn’t want to face the empty house yet.
    That evening, though not hungry, she ate egg and chips. Must keep her strength up, for Becky. She yawned. “Sorry, Elsie, I’m exhausted –”
    â€œYour room’s ready, m’dear,” said Elsie. “I’ll make up a bottle for the bairn.”
    The support she needed. She hugged Elsie. “You’re brilliant friends,” she told the pair before retiring with Becky to the bedroom.
    She downed two aspirins and, after Becky fell asleep, lay on the bed in the darkened room. She dreaded bad news about John. If only she could have stayed with him. That charge nurse said he’d ‘a fair chance’. And they’d let her know if he died? Not good enough. She must find out how he was. Springwell would have a phone. Tomorrow she’d ask about using the shop phone.
    What about her and Becky? Particularly if John had got the sack? Surely he hadn’t. Yet awful injustices happened. John had known this first-hand – he’d told her how officialdom treated his father after the accident, and she knew from Social Studies.
    She didn’t want to ask her parents for help, but she must. Tomorrow?
    The crying was insistent. She switched on the bedside lamp. Nearly 3am. Must have drifted off. She picked Becky up, nuzzled her and changed the nappy.
    Tiptoeing out to the bathroom, she heard snoring from Mattie and Elsie’s room. En route to her bed, she stopped outside their door and listened. Yes, they both snored.
    Back in the room, she wondered if she snored. John never mentioned it, but then he wouldn’t. He was too nice – or had been. When he lay on his back, he snored like a crackling loudspeaker. On honeymoon, she’d told him he sounded like a tiger. He growled, “I am a tiger,” and sprang to crouch over her. This led to heavenly sex. Everything was great then.
    Some weeks ago – she was clear of depression, and John’s brow had started to furrow – he awoke and sat up in bed after snoring. She said, “Tiger, go for it,” and tried to hug him. He grunted “Let go,” and got out of bed. No magic sex. She hadn’t called him ‘tiger’ since. Would she ever hear her tiger snore again?
    She swallowed two more aspirins, then lay meditating on what Elsie told her. Tragic. At least she had Becky. Her child’s welfare was