Passing through the gateway was a different sensation, as if the lions guarded a world from which he had been banned. Now Polly was taking him through, eagerly, and he felt a sense of gratitude, as if he had broken a seal, a way into fields of gold.
Ethie sat miserably in the hospital waiting-room on a brown leather chair. She felt grubby and unfeminine in her farm gear, her hair matted and dirty, her skin so prickly that she longed to run to the river and plunge her head into cool water. She wanted to strip naked, hurl her farm clothes into a dustbin, and wash and wash until the sweat and the pimples and the guilt had gone. The river would sweep her far out to sea, under the waves like a water baby, and transform her into a beautiful being whose captivating charm would guarantee eternal forgiveness.
Her parents would never forgive her for what she had done to Kate, and to Polly. She hadn’t done it by mistake. She’d done it with a hatred, so strong it had driven her mercilessly like a demon on her shoulders. Ethie felt suicidal, and she didn’t know how to deal with it.
She’d wanted to sit with Kate, be there when she opened her eyes, and say sorry, and Kate would forgive her like she always did. But the nurses had refused, stiffly, and Kate had been wheeled away on a squeaking trolley into the mysterious disinfected interior. Hours passed while the hospital clanked and rustled around her and every time the door opened Ethie jumped nervously, but nurses and other patients came and went, taking no notice of her.
At last her mother arrived with Joan, and Joan looked at Ethie kindly.
‘Any news?’ she asked.
‘No. They won’t tell me anything,’ said Ethie.
‘And are you feeling better, my dear?’
Ethie looked at Joan gratefully. No one usually called her ‘my dear’. But she’d cried all her tears. She looked apprehensively at her mother, reading the darkness in her eyes as anger.
‘I couldn’t help it,’ she said. ‘We just got there and Polly was startled by the train. She . . .’
Sally gave Ethie a hug, patting her back reassuringly. ‘Don’t you distress yourself, Ethie. We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’ve had a bath and a rest. We just have to keep calm now and everything will be all right.’
Her kind words soothed her troubled daughter like hot cocoa.
‘Kate’s going to be all fine, you’ll see,’ said Joan.
The door opened again and a doctor in a white coat came in with a nurse fluttering beside him.
‘Are you Mrs Loxley?’ he asked.
‘I am.’ Sally’s eyes flickered with anxiety.
‘Your daughter is basically all right,’ he said. ‘She’s conscious now. She’s got a cut at the back of her head which we’ve stitched and bandaged. We’ve checked her thoroughly and everything is fine. She needs rest, that’s all, to get over the concussion.’
Sally collapsed into a chair. ‘Oh – thank God. Thank God,’ she wept, and seemed incapable of saying anything else until she’d composed herself.
‘You can see her in just a few minutes,’ said the doctor. ‘The nurse will fetch you.’
Sally nodded, her eyes misty. ‘Our beautiful Kate,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose her. She’s such a – a light – a shining light.’
‘Freddie was right, wasn’t he?’ said Joan. ‘And he’s such an extraordinary young man.’
And Ethie glowered, thinking again of how she might float away in the river and become a beautiful sea nymph.
Kate lay quietly in the starched white bed, her eyes roaming around the unfamiliar hospital ward, her head tightly bandaged and her dark plaits, still with the red ribbons, over her shoulders. She was glad to be lying so comfortably, against a stack of pillows, and glad to be opposite a window which looked out on a clump of elm trees and the rooftops of Monterose. Hundreds of sparrows fussed on the roof tiles, and she could hear them chirruping, reminding her of the farmyard at home. Her school uniform was neatly folded on the chair next to her bed, and someone had put a jug of water and a glass on the table for her. She was fascinated by the nurses who glided to and fro like sailing boats. To find that someone so strict and efficient was also kind and cheerful was inspiring to Kate. Once she felt well enough to talk she asked so many questions that eventually the ward sister told her to be quiet and rest.
‘She’s a chatterbox,’ she heard her saying.
‘Where have I heard that before?’ Sally came into the ward and straight to Kate’s bed. Tears poured down her cheeks.
‘Don’t cry, Mummy. I’m all right.’
‘I know. Silly, aren’t I? These are good tears, Kate. Oh, I’m so, so thankful you’re all right.’
‘What about Daddy?’ asked Kate.
‘He’s not very well, dear. He’s got to stay in bed for two weeks. Doctor’s given him some medicine – let’s hope it works. Hope and pray.’
‘And Ethie? Was Ethie hurt like me?’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Sally carefully. ‘But she’s deeply upset, and sorry too.’
Kate was quiet. It wasn’t the first time she’d puzzled and soul-searched over Ethie’s behaviour. She decided not to say anything further, sensing that her mother had enough to deal with.
‘I want to be a nurse, Mummy,’ she said seriously, and then another question surfaced. ‘What about Polly? Poor Polly, she was exhausted. She was sweating and she lost a shoe, and Ethie made her – made her gallop on the road when she didn’t want to . . .’
Seeing her daughter close to tears Sally just hugged her quietly, rocking her a little.
‘You stay calm, dear. Polly is fine. A nice young man brought her home, walked all the way with her. Freddie, he said his name was.’
‘Oh.’ Kate’s eyes widened. ‘I know him.’
‘No, you don’t. He’s a big boy, not anyone from school that you know.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ said Kate. ‘He was with me when I was lying in the road.’
‘But how would you know that, Kate? You were out cold for two hours.’
‘I saw him, Mummy. I did. He was with me, and he held my hand between his hands, and he had the bluest of blue eyes,’ insisted Kate, ‘and he . . .’
‘He what?’
‘Don’t think I’m being silly, Mummy, but – he was like a guardian angel in ordinary clothes, a brown coat and a cap, and he made me better.’
Chapter Ten
THE LONELINESS OF BEING DIFFERENT
Freddie lay awake that night, his face turned towards the sky. The harvest moon whitewashed the flaking paint on the open window, and lit up the treasures he kept there, his collection of bird’s feathers, a chunk of alabaster, his tins and matchboxes, and Granny Barcussy’s nature book. The night air smelled of cider and soot. As always, Freddie was listening to the owls in the distant countryside, his mind filtering out the sounds of the town. The owls made him feel at home again, where he felt he belonged.
But he did pay attention if a motorcar drove past the bakery, sometimes even getting out of bed to watch the beam of headlights cutting through the darkness.
Engines fascinated him and he studied them at every opportunity. Today he’d had his first ever ride in one. Joan had driven him back from Hilbegut in her majestic Model T Ford, with its polished burgundy bonnet and silvery headlamps. She’d let him crank it for her, to start it, and he’d felt a buzz all up his spine when the engine responded, first with a splutter, then settling into a business-like rhythm.
‘When you’re old enough, you can have a go,’ Joan promised, and Freddie was in awe of her as she confidently handled the huge metal beast, her bony arms steering it wildly through the lanes. He’d never been so fast in his life. Seeing hedges and trees whizzing past was strange and different, feeling the wind on his cheeks, and his legs vibrating as the car hurtled along the stony road.