Free Mad Worlds by Bill Douglas Page B

He’s very ill in hospital and might be there for ages. He’s got pneumonia and nearly died.”
    Another sigh. Then Father whispering, “What does she want us to do?” “I’m sorry,” said Mother. If only she meant it. “What do you want from us?”
    â€œCan Becky and I come to see you and stay a few days?”
    â€œI’m sure… Here, speak with your father a minute.”
    â€œHeather.” Father’s voice, but quieter than she remembered – almost strained. He’d always sounded like he was addressing a meeting. “I’m sorry to hear John’s ill.” Hypocrite. “We’d be glad to have you and Becky over here.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œWhich hospital’s John in? We’ll send a card.”
    â€œActually,” she hesitated. She hated reinforcing their negative view of John. But she had to tell them. “He’s in the infirmary at Springwell.”
    â€œWhew.” A whispered aside (Father to Mother): “He’s gone off his rocker.” Then, “Right, we’ll get details when we see you. When do you want to come?”
    â€œI’d like to come on Tuesday, if that’s okay?”
    â€œYes. We’d be happy to come and collect you on Tuesday evening.”
    Collect – like a parcel? However, she hadn’t fancied a journey that would mean catching one bus then changing to another. “Yes. Thanks.”
    â€œGood. See you both on Tuesday.”
    â€œOh, hang on a minute, Father.” With a hand firmly over the mouthpiece, she shouted to Elsie. She did not want her parents going into her house in its present state.
    After a quick consultation with Elsie, she added, “We’ll be here across the road, at number 81. It’s the flat above the shop.”
    â€œRight-ho. ’Bye.”
    Not entirely a comfortable experience, but not bad, and a good result. Her parents sounded disposed to help her and Becky.
    Tuesday 24 th April 1956 – in Aversham, then Bolsall.

    As Springwell hadn’t rung, Heather felt okay about going to her parents
.
Three or four days should be long enough – to get help, also check on how they were doing.
    Just after six p.m., they arrived in their Riley, a grand red car, ageing but shining like new. They tooted, and Heather went out with Becky asleep in the crib, followed by Mattie with her bag and Elsie the pushchair. Her parents got out of the car to embrace her and shook hands with the older couple, but declined a cup of tea.
    As Father revved up, she wound down the car window, shouted “’Bye,” and waved to the pair. Elsie’s eyes glistened.
    She brushed her wet face with her hand and closed the window.
    Mother twisted round from the front and whispered, “Mustn’t waken Becky.”
    The journey passed in silence. Mother’s brow was more lined. Father’s black hair was snowy-white. Just getting older? Or were they under pressure? There was of course a big age gap – they were both forty-two when she was born. Funny, she’d never thought of her parents as vulnerable. Both always presented a strong front. Father’s words to her some time in her childhood – “Stiff upper lip, young Heather; some things are sent to try us” – epitomised their approach to any kind of setback.
    Not that much seemed to get in the way of their affluent lifestyle. Even in the war, Father continued as a bank manager and Mother as a medical secretary at the hospital – leaving her in the care of Granny (who lived in the ‘granny flat’).
    Yes, cared for by her wonderful granny until that fateful day. Her tenth birthday party over, friends gone, she’d kissed Granny goodnight. Next morning, Father stood in her bedroom doorway. “Granny’s ill, Heather.”
    She’d never known Granny to be ill. Tiptoeing through to Granny’s, she slipped past Mother and crawled onto the