‘Shut it now, Elsie. I’m trying to think.’
‘Mum, Nan isn’t going to . . . to die, is she?’ I whispered.
‘What?’
‘She promised me she wouldn’t, but can you die of TB?’ I persisted, starting to cry.
‘Stop that,’ said Mum, but then she put out her arms and gave me a hug. I breathed in her Coty L’Aimant talcum smell and sobbed harder.
‘Nanny’s a fighter, you know that. Of course she’ll get better. Look, we’ll go and visit her at the weekend, and you’ll see for yourself,’ said Mum, pulling me properly onto her lap.
‘I’ll be able to see her on Saturday? You promise, Mum?’ I said, sniffing.
‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, wipe that nose. I don’t want snot all over my best blouse. Yes, I promise,’ she said.
* * *
So on Saturday I marched along beside Mum, and inside my head I chanted, See Nan, see Nan, see Nan, as I put my left foot down and then my right, determinedly marching.
‘Stop limping, Elsie!’ said Mum.
I stared down at my skinny legs. I pulled a face at my grey socks and brown Clarks lace-ups. ‘It’s these shoes,’ I said. ‘They’re too small now. They’re hurting my toes.’ I wanted new shoes – shiny black patent ones, or bright scarlet with a strap.
Mum bent over and prodded my feet through the ugly brown leather. ‘Nonsense, you’ve got heaps of room.’
‘Couldn’t I have them anyway? I hate these. They’re boy’s shoes!’
Nan had found them for a shilling at a jumble sale, barely worn and my size, worst luck.
‘What do you think I am, made of money?’ said Mum, standing up and giving me a tug to hurry me along.
‘They all tease me at school because I’ve got boy’s shoes,’ I said mournfully.
‘Stop that whining,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve told you, you’ve got to learn to stand up for yourself. Now come on, or we’ll miss the bus. And stop limping, it’s driving me mad. You’re walking along all lopsided.’
‘My leg aches.’
‘Oh, you’re full of aches. Headaches, belly aches, all-over aches. Just pull yourself together. And you’re to give Nanny a big smile when you see her. I don’t want her worrying, it’ll only make her worse,’ said Mum.
I scurried along beside her, making such an effort to walk properly that I couldn’t do it naturally at all, and developed kipper feet.
‘Mum, look, I’m like Charlie Chaplin,’ I said, waddling, and doffing an imaginary bowler hat.
Nan always laughed at my imitations and said I was a proper caution. Mum just looked irritated.
‘Stop messing about this instant or I’ll send you back home and visit Nanny by myself,’ she said, in that snippy tone that meant she wasn’t joking.
I walked left-right, left-right, like a little soldier, though my leg ached worse than ever. We got the bus to the hospital – two buses – and although I usually thought a bus ride was a treat and liked chatting to the conductor, this time I kept quiet and nibbled my lip anxiously the whole way.
‘For heaven’s sake, Elsie, leave that lip alone! You’re making it bleed. No one will ever want to kiss you if you’ve got chapped lips,’ said Mum.
I decided I didn’t care and went on nibbling. I didn’t want anyone to kiss me, only Nan, and I knew she wouldn’t mind a chap or two.
I was surprised by the sanatorium. It wasn’t like a hospital at all – more like a bleak holiday camp, but without any rides. It took us ages to find Nan, but eventually we were directed to a kind of Nissen hut at the end of the complex.
I was suddenly frightened, and hung back, clinging to Mum, even though I was so desperate to see Nan.
‘Don’t be such a baby,’ Mum said, but her own palm was clammy too. She wrinkled her nose. ‘I hate the smell of hospitals.’
There were twelve ladies lying down flat in bed, six on one side and six the other. I thought they’d all be quite old like Nanny, but most were Mum’s age or even younger. They all looked very white, as pale as their pillows, and huddled shivering beneath their thin blankets. It was hard to tell whether they were awake or asleep – or even dead.
‘Nan?’ I quavered.
‘Blooming heck, it’s like an iceberg in here,’ said Mum, peering around at all the wide-open windows. ‘There’s Nanny, right at the end. You smile at her and say hello nicely like a good girl.’
I don’t think I’d have recognized Nan if Mum hadn’t pointed her out. She was lying on her back like all the others, and her mouth was sagging open. She didn’t have her false teeth in. I averted my eyes quickly, knowing Nan would hate me seeing her empty mouth.
‘Come on, chin up,’ Mum hissed behind me. ‘There now, Mother, I’ve brought our Elsie to see you. What are they trying to do, freeze you to death?’
‘It’s meant to be good for us – fresh air,’ said Nan, her voice oddly muffled. ‘But all it’s doing for me is giving me chilblains. Where’s my best girl, then?’
I was hiding behind Mum, suddenly stupidly shy of Nan. She looked so different. Something had happened to her hair. She usually had it in a roll at the front, and then pulled back in a neat bun at the back. But the bun had gone missing now. Someone had chopped Nan’s hair off at ear level. It stuck out wildly in every direction, every follicle clearly in shock. It made her look crazy.
‘Hello, Nan,’ I whispered to the mad old lady in the bed pretending to be my dear warm nanny.
‘What’s that face for, darling?’ she asked. ‘Don’t look so frightened, poppet. I’m still your nanny, even if they’ve cut off my crowning glory.’
‘And made a right mess of it too,’ said Mum. ‘What did you let them do that for? It’s like a prison haircut!’
‘They don’t have the time to wash long hair so they cut it for convenience.’
‘Well, they could have given you a decent perm while they were at it. And what in God’s name’s happened to your teeth? They haven’t taken them away for convenience too?’
‘No, no, they just thought they needed to be sterilized. I’ve asked the nice nurse and she’s going to try and find them again for me,’ said Nan. She was peering round Mum, holding out her arms to me. ‘Hey there, Elsie!’
‘Now you can’t go cuddling her, Mum,’ said my mum.
‘I know, I know, I’m not going to breathe all over her. I just want to hold her hand,’ said Nan.
‘Oh Nan, here!’ I said, darting forward and latching onto her dear knobbly fingers. ‘You’re cold!’
‘Yes – daft, isn’t it. I need a pair of big furry gloves to keep me warm.’
‘Perhaps I could make you some?’ I suggested. I could knit – Nan herself had taught me – but I had so far only managed meagre little plain-stitch scarves for my two dolls and Albert Trunk. I hoped my great love for Nan would spur me on and give me new skills and perseverance.
I hung onto Nan’s poor cold hand, pulling on it like a bell ringer. ‘Don’t you worry, Nan, we’ll make you warm and cosy. Oh dear, I wish you could come home!’
‘So do I, pet, but I’m not better just yet. I will get better, like I promised. All these ladies are getting better, see?’ said Nan.
I wasn’t at all sure she was right. Mum wasn’t convinced either.
‘They look at death’s door to me,’ she hissed. ‘I’m sure you’ll get worse, breathing in all their germs too. It’ll make your TB run rampant.’
I gave a little gasp.
‘Don’t be so silly, Sheila,’ said Nan sharply. ‘Now, what’s in that bag of yours? Have you brought something for the poor invalid? I hope it’s not grapes – you know I can’t cope with the pips.’
‘We’ve got you chocolate, Nan – a bar of Fry’s Chocolate Cream, your favourite. I chose it for you! And a bag of sherbet lemons too, and a bottle of Tizer in case you get thirsty.’
‘Oh my, it’s like Christmas and birthday all in one go!’ Nan blew us both kisses, leaned out of her bed, and tucked her goodies in her locker, right at the bac
k behind her spare nightie. ‘Don’t want anyone helping themselves,’ she said, hauling herself upright again and then coughing.
‘I thought no one was allowed out of bed,’ said Mum.
‘It’s them nurses. They’re like gannets!’ Nan gasped between coughs.
‘There now. Lie still, can’t you,’ said Mum, because Nan was leaning over again, reaching for a little enamel pot on the top of her locker. She coughed again, then bent her head and spat copiously into the pot.
‘Mum! Do you have to?’ said my mum, shuddering.
‘Yes, I do have to,’ Nan gasped.
‘It’s disgusting, spitting like that. You’re like an old man on a bus. It turns my stomach.’
‘I don’t do it for fun,’ said Nan, wiping her mouth. ‘We have to. And we’re all given these little pots, see?’
‘Still, you shouldn’t do it in front of Elsie,’ said Mum.
‘I don’t mind a bit, Nan,’ I said quickly.
‘It’s not . . . bloody, is it?’ said Mum.
‘No, no – there was just a wee bit one day, and then the awful haemorrhage the next – oh my God, it gave me such a fright.’ Nan put the lid back on her pot and set it carefully on her locker top.
‘I think it’s very sensible to have your own little spitting pot,’ I said supportively.
‘Nobody asked your opinion, madam,’ said Mum. She looked around the bleak room. ‘This place gives me the creeps. What do you do all day, Mum?’
‘Lie here. Take my medicine. Have a little doze. Maybe dream about Elsie,’ said Nan, patting my hand.
‘Oh Nan,’ I said. ‘Yes, dream about me! I know, we’ll both dream, and then it’ll be like we’re really seeing each other. Let’s dream tonight that we’re going down the park and feeding the ducks together.’
‘That’s a lovely idea, dearie! And then, when we’ve fed the ducks, we’ll come home and we’ll squash up together in my old armchair and I’ll read you a story, and then you can maybe read me one – you’re a grand little reader.’
‘And tomorrow night we’ll dream we’re going to the seaside together, and we’ll go paddling and you’ll buy me a big ice cream and I’ll buy you a stick of peppermint rock,’ I said. ‘And we’ll go to the country some dreams, or we’ll go up to London – oh yes, we’ll go to London to see the Queen.’
This was the wrong thing to say.
‘Oh, the Coronation!’ said Nan, and she gave a little moan.
‘Don’t worry, Nan, it’s months yet,’ I whispered, hoping Mum couldn’t hear. ‘I think you’ll be absolutely better by then, and we’ll still be able to go, you and me. We’ll camp out all night and then we’ll watch the big golden coach go by, and we’ll cheer and wave, and the Queen will see us and wave back. “There’s Nan and Elsie!” she’ll say. “Oh, I’m so glad they can make it on my special day.”’
Nan had her lips pressed together. She was trying not to cry, but a few tears leaked down her cheeks.
‘There, you’ve upset her now,’ said Mum, giving me a poke in the back.
‘I’m sorry, Nan. Look, would you like a piece of your chocolate? Can you manage without your teeth? I could maybe have a little tiny bit too?’ I tore off the chocolate wrapper, took a quick nibble, and then held the rest out to Nan. She couldn’t bite, but she sucked at it a bit, like an ice lolly.
‘That’s it – you like it, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Oh, I made you a special Get Well card!’ I peered into Mum’s shopping bag. It had got rather crumpled. ‘Oh dear, and I spent ages on it . . .’ I tried to smooth it out.
They had better crayons at school than mine at home, so on Friday I’d asked Miss Roberts if I could use the class crayons for a special private project. Oh, Miss Roberts was magic! She didn’t ask any questions, she just smiled at me and said I was to stay in after lunch and she’d see what she could do.
She didn’t just give me the tray of class crayons – she lent me her own special box of Derwent crayons, all the colours of the rainbow, with wonderful sharp points.
‘I know you’ll be very careful, Elsie, and not break any of them,’ she said. ‘Do you need paper too?’
She didn’t give me sugar paper. She gave me a sheet of smooth white cartridge from her own sketchbook.
‘You are the kindest teacher in the whole world, miss,’ I said.
I folded the paper very carefully and drew Nan a card. I coloured her a thatched cottage in the countryside with red and yellow roses round the door. Nan had stayed in a thatched cottage on her honeymoon with Grandpa and she always said she’d give anything to live in one now. Grandpa had gone off to heaven even before I was born, but Nan had me now. I drew the two of us together in the garden, with orange marigolds and yellow daffodils and purple pansies all around our feet in the carefully shaded green grass. I didn’t draw Mum, but I supposed she could always come on a visit.
We had our pets in the garden: my three chocolate box kittens, some fluffy bunny rabbits so Nan could comb them and make me an angora jumper, and baby Brumas the polar bear, because we had been to see him at the zoo and had fallen in love with him. I’d made him a special blue pond to swim in if he felt hot.
Inside the card I printed:
To dear Nan,
Please get better very soon.
I love you very much.
From Elsie
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I was just doing the kisses when the bell went for afternoon school and Miss Roberts came into the classroom. She didn’t try to peer at my picture, but I held it up to show her.
‘It’s a card for my nanny,’ I said. I didn’t tell her what the card was for. It could be a birthday card for all she knew.
‘Oh Elsie, it’s simply lovely,’ said Miss Roberts, smiling.
I hid it in my satchel quick, not wanting Marilyn and Susan to clap their beady eyes on it. I hadn’t shown it to Mum either. She always said I’d done the hair the wrong colour or put the feet on sideways or crossed the eyes whenever I drew a person, and I could see for myself that my cottage was a bit skew-whiff – it looked as if it would collapse any minute and crush the kittens, the rabbits, and baby Brumas.
Nan didn’t have any complaints. ‘Oh Elsie, it’s wonderful! Bless you, darling, there’s you and me and our special cottage,’ she said at once.
‘You’re good at guessing,’ said Mum. ‘So what are all those weeny wriggly things in the grass – mice?’
‘Oh Mum,’ I said, hurt.
‘No, no, you always get mice in those old cottages,’ she said, pretending to be serious.
‘Of course it’s not mice!’ said Nan sternly. ‘It’s Elsie’s kittens, all three of them, and – ooh, we’ve got rabbits too – look at their lovely ears! And how sweet of you, darling, you’ve given us a little puppy too.’
I decided it didn’t really matter if Nan mistook baby Brumas for a little dog. It would certainly solve quite a few problems as he got older. Perhaps we’d be better off with a puppy – and we could all swim in the little blue pond.
‘I’ll put my lovely card on my locker,’ said Nan. ‘And I’ll look at it every day and wish I was there with you, Elsie.’
‘You will be one day, Nan. When I’m grown up I’m going to buy us that cottage and we’ll have the flowery garden and all the pets.’
‘What about me?’ asked Mum. ‘I’m the one who pays all the bills! Don’t I get to come to that cottage of yours?’
‘Yes, of course, Mum,’ I said out loud, but inside my head I shouted, No, you don’t! Mum couldn’t hear, but she gave me a funny look all the same.
‘Oh well, maybe I’ll meet my Mr Wonderful at last, and I’ll have a blooming great palace up the road, with all mod cons, white carpets and lovely sofas and one of them big sunken baths you see in Hollywood films, and I’ll come and visit you two once a week, how about that?’ said Mum.
‘What’s happened to what’s-his-face – was it Sam?’ asked Nan.
‘Tim! No, he’s history.
He had very funny little habits that weren’t my cup of tea,’ said Mum.
I’d only met Uncle Tim twice, and I didn’t like him either time. His hair was all sticky with Brilliantine, and his hands were sticky too when he picked me up for a kiss, as if I were a little baby. I was glad he was history.
‘No one else on the horizon?’ said Nan.
‘Fat chance,’ said Mum. ‘And how am I going to meet anyone likely now? I’m up the creek without a paddle, aren’t I? I’m going to lose my engagement up north if I’m stuck down here any longer.’
I looked at Nan and she looked at me.
‘Well, Nan will get better soon, and then she can come home and you won’t be stuck then,’ I said quickly.
‘I’ll do my best to be home with you as soon as possible, my little lamb,’ said Nan, not looking me in the eye. She started coughing again and had to reach for her little enamel pot. I made to pick it up for her.
‘Don’t touch it, don’t touch it – watch the germs!’ Mum screamed.
My hand halted in mid-air while I imagined little maggoty germ creatures swarming out of the pot, wriggling up my cardigan sleeve and nestling in my armpit. I shrank back. Nan’s eyes looked so sad and ashamed as she clutched the pot herself and did her very best to heave herself round in the bed. She turned her back on us as she spat into the pot.
‘I’m sorry, Nan. I’m so sorry,’ I said.
‘No, dear, no. Your mum’s right. Better you don’t get near it. I don’t know how infectious I am yet. I’d kill myself if I gave it to you, Elsie,’ Nan gasped. She put the pot down and lay back weakly on her pillows.
‘Charming,’ said Mum. ‘What about me? We’d all be in Queer Street if I caught it. Lucky I stay clean and healthy.’
‘You’ve got to get yourself checked out, though, Sheila – and our Elsie too. The doctor was most insistent. You’ve both got to be tested. Anyone living at the same house, that’s what he said. You must go and tell Miss Godden and that Irish couple on the first floor.’
‘Do you think I’m daft?’ said Mum. ‘They’ll go blabbing to the landlord and we’ll all be out on our ears. They won’t have got it – they never come down to the basement, do they? And I’m hardly ever at the house, so I’m all right, thank God.’