‘Not always. Sometimes you wake up and find the pain’s gone altogether.’
But she bolted down the passage to her room, and cried until dawn, because she realized she’d failed him when he needed her most, and that being Cory he’d never lower his guard again.
Chapter Twenty
The atmosphere in the house was so highly charged that it was almost a relief when Cory got a cable next day from MGM to fly out to the States at once. Tadpole drooped when he saw the suitcases coming out, and went and sat in one of them looking utterly miserable. Harriet knew how he felt. At least Cory was unlikely to be gone more than a fortnight, as he wanted to get back in time to ride Python in the point-to-point.
Once he’d gone, Harriet missed him terribly. She had got so used to having him around, to turn to for help and advice; she felt completely lost. For the millionth time, she kicked herself for rejecting him.
Chattie soon cheered up after Noel had left. Cory had finally relented and bought her a bicycle, and all her energies were employed in learning to ride it. Jonah on the other hand seemed very pulled down; he refused to eat, and complained of headaches.
The day after he left was Mrs Bottomley’s day off.
‘I must put something in the
‘Whatever for?’ said Harriet listlessly.
‘It’s ten years now since Mr Bottomley passed on,’ said Mrs Bottomley solemnly. ‘I always put something in the
‘Of course,’ thought Harriet. ‘Loving remembrances to dear Gran, who certainly wasn’t an also ran, from Dad and Mum and all the family.’
‘Mr Cory usually writes it for me,’ grumbled Mrs Bottomley, ‘but he went off in such a hurry.’
‘Is Mr Bottomley staying in God’s spare room now?’ inquired Chattie, who was very interested in death.
‘I expect so,’ said Harriet hastily.
‘Lucky thing. He’ll have biscuits in a tin by his bed. Do you think one has to clean one’s teeth in heaven?’
‘Perhaps you could put in the same verse you used last year,’ said Harriet.
‘Folk would notice,’ said Mrs Bottomley, ‘I’ll have to think up something myself. Cheerio everyone,’ and, humming Rock of Ages, she set out for the bus stop.
Harriet picked up a pile of ironing and went upstairs. She’d have to get William up in a minute. Suddenly she heard a terrible moaning from Jonah’s room. Dropping the ironing and rushing in, she found him lying on the bed, white faced, clutching his head.
‘I’ve got these terrible, terrible pains,’ he moaned.
Harriet took his temperature. It was 103, he was pouring with sweat.
The doctor came at lunchtime and said there was a lot of ’flu about, and prescribed antibiotics.
‘Sponge him down if he gets too hot. He should be better tomorrow.’
Jonah, in fact, seemed better by the afternoon. His headache had gone and he was hungry. He wolfed all the boiled chicken, mashed potato and ice-cream Harriet brought him.
‘You wouldn’t, no I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ he said as she took the tray away.
‘What?’ said Harriet.
‘Play a game of Monopoly.’
‘Sevenoaks has eaten Old Kent Road and Mayfair.’
‘I’ll make some new cards,’ said Jonah. ‘Can we play for 10p?’
Then, just as they were about to start playing, Jonah was violently sick. By the time Harriet had cleaned up and changed the sheets, he was much worse; his temperature had shot up to 106, he was burning hot and screaming about the pain in his head.
At that moment William chose to wake up from his afternoon rest, and Chattie, as usual wandering round without shoes, stubbed her toe on the corner of Jonah’s bed, and burst into noisy sobs.
‘Oh please be quiet, all of you,’ screamed Harriet, her nerves already in shreds.
She rushed downstairs to ring the doctor. Dr Burnett was on his rounds, said the recording machine; if she left a message they would get in touch with her as soon as possible. She tried Dr Rowbotham and got the same answer. It was such a lovely day, they were probably both out playing golf.
She waited half-an-hour; no-one rang back. William was bellowing to be fed. Chattie charged about trying to be helpful and getting in the way. Sevenoaks, having decided it was time for a walk, lay across the landing moaning piteously. Jonah was thrashing on the bed now groaning in anguish, chattering, deliriously, about coachmen and the horses not being ready in time.
In despair Harriet rang Elizabeth Pemberton. She could hear bridge party noises in the background. She could imagine them all stuffing themselves with chocolate cake, and tearing everyone to shreds.
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth unhelpfully.
‘Cory’s gone to the States. Mrs Bottomley’s out. I think Jonah’s very ill. He’s complaining of pains in his head. I can’t get hold of Dr Rowbotham or Dr Burnett. Can you suggest anyone else?’
‘I’ll have a think,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m awfully tied up at the moment, Harriet.’
‘Bugger you,’ she was saying, thought Harriet.
‘Try Dr Melhuish in Gargrave,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He’s old-fashioned but very reliable. Ring back later if you need any help.’
Dr Melhuish was also on his rounds. She could hear Jonah screaming with pain. Harriet took a deep breath and dialled 999.
‘I’m stuck in the house with a baby and two children, and the boy’s seriously ill. I think he’s got brain damage or something. Please can you help?’
She was trying so hard not to cry, she had great trouble telling them the address.
‘Don’t worry, luv,’ came the reassuring Yorkshire accent, ‘we’ll be over in a minute.’
She was just getting down Jonah’s suitcase, trying to dress William, comfort Chattie and not fall over Sevenoaks, when the telephone rang again.
It was Sammy.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Jonah’s ill. I’ve rung for an ambulance.’
‘Good for you. I’ll come straight over. We’ll take Chattie and William. Yes, of course we can. We’ll manage. You must go with Jonah.’
‘What will Elizabeth say?’
‘She can stuff herself,’ said Sammy. ‘She won’t be looking after them anyway. Keep smiling. I’ll be right over.’
Harriet charged round gathering up pyjamas, toothpaste, an old teddy bear, Jonah’s favourite
Sammy arrived with the ambulance, her round face full of concern.
‘I got away as soon as I could, the unfeeling bitch and her bridge parties. I’ll sort out the bottles, the nappies, and Mrs Bottomley. Don’t you worry about a thing.’
Two ambulance men, who had camp voices and left-of-centre partings, came down the stairs with Jonah on a stretcher.
He was quieter now. Sammy smiled down at his white pain-racked face.
‘Poor old love, you do look poorly. Never mind, the nurses’ll make you better. I’ll bring you a present tomorrow.’
‘Can I sleep in the same bed as Georgie?’ said Chattie.
