Part One
The Beginning
Newcastle, November 1929
Selma stared out at the darkening sky. Wind hurled rain and withered leaves against the window panes. Dr Charles Harris was checking through the papers on the desk in front of him. She heard him clear his throat and she turned to face him.
‘As far as I can see from the results of these tests there is no reason why you and Hugh cannot have a baby,’ he said. ‘You will just have to be patient.’
‘Patient! My life is slipping away. I’ll soon be middle aged!’
The consultant smiled. ‘You married very young, Selma. At twenty-six you are nowhere near middle aged.’
She shrugged impatiently. ‘I know. I exaggerate. It’s my nature. But Hugh is much older than I am.’
‘Hugh is the same age as me. Thirty-seven. Perhaps if you learned to relax you would conceive. Maybe a holiday? Some winter sun? Would you like that?’
Selma sighed and stared down at the gloves she had been twisting round with nervous fingers. ‘Perhaps.’
She rose abruptly and her gloves and handbag fell to the floor. Charles hurried round the desk to pick them up, saying, ‘I’ll have a word with Hugh.’
Selma got the impression that he was glad to be rid of her. Inside the car she stared ahead despondently. ‘Take me home, John,’ she said.
The chauffeur turned his head towards her. ‘We have to collect Mr Partington from Dean Street, madam.’
‘Of course. I forgot.’
Soon they had left the leafy avenues behind them and were driving through the town. Selma gazed at lighted shop windows and blurred forms of people hurrying with heads down through the slanting rain. Near Grey’s Monument a policeman raised his arms to direct the traffic, his white gloves standing out against the gloom.
The car slowed down as they passed a stationary tramcar. Selma glanced up at the people inside. Those who hadn’t found seats were hanging on to the overhead straps, huddled closely together. A boy, his nose pushed sideways as he pressed against the window, stared rudely into the interior of the luxurious car. When he saw that she had noticed him, he stuck out his tongue. Selma turned her head to look back at him. She grinned, stuck out her own tongue and crossed her eyes. She just had time to register his startled expression when there was an almighty thump and the car came to a screeching halt.
Selma was thrown forwards and she banged her head on the seat in front of her. When her head cleared she became aware of John saying over and over again. ‘Oh God no . . . Oh God no . . .’
‘What happened?’
‘She ran straight out between the tram and that car,’ the chauffeur said without turning to look at her. His hands gripped the steering wheel. ‘I didn’t stand a chance. As God is my witness, I didn’t stand a chance.’
The traffic had come to a halt and, as a curious crowd gathered, Selma got out of the car.
‘Don’t, Mrs Partington! Don’t look!’
John opened his door and almost fell out on to the road. But Selma was already kneeling to look down at the woman who lay there. There was no obvious injury and Selma reached for her hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We’ll send for help. I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave you here alone.’
‘Please get back in the car, Mrs Partington,’ John said. And then, as if talking to a child, he added, ‘You’ll spoil your lovely coat kneeling there on the greasy cobbles.’
‘That’s right, madam.’ A policeman had appeared and was standing next to John. ‘It’s best if you go and sit down.’
John turned to the policeman. ‘I didn’t stand a chance,’ he said again. ‘She just ran out straight in front of me.’
‘I know, lad. I saw it all and so did many of these folk gathered here.’ He turned to the crowd. ‘If you’ve got anything to tell me would you return to the pavement and wait. Otherwise, you’ve stared your fill and it’s time you moved on.’ He turned to John. ‘Will you help your mistress? This isn’t seemly.’
‘No,’ Selma said. ‘I promised her I’d stay with her until help comes.’
The policeman knelt down and, taking off his white gloves, he gently took the woman’s hand from Selma. Taking her wrist between finger and thumb he felt for a pulse. The seconds ticked away until eventually he looked up and shook his head.
‘No!’ Selma cried. ‘She can’t be!’
‘I’m sorry, madam. She’s past help.’
Selma got to her feet and stared down at the woman. One shoe had come off and there was a darn in her stocking just above one knee. She stooped swiftly and pulled the woman’s coat down. At least I can protect her dignity, she thought.
As she turned to go her foot caught on something and she stumbled. She looked down and to her surprise she saw an orange, a splash of colour on the rain-dark road. A shopping bag lay nearby, the contents spilled and scattered. More oranges, apples, a loaf of bread, a jar of jam, the glass smashed and the red contents oozing out. Selma stared at the jam in horror. She was hurrying home to give her family their tea, she thought. They’ll be waiting for her. Wondering what treats she’s bringing.
She climbed into the car and sat there hunched and miserable, her own wretchedness momentarily forgotten. She closed her eyes but she was unable to rid herself of the image of the woman with the slightly surprised expression on her pleasant face. A woman whose homely life had been suddenly and wantonly interrupted.
