Sister Iris Oates was unusually thoughtful. The North twins, Daisy and Danny, were progressing well and putting on weight, Jeremy had told her. He’d had no say in choosing names for them, which he only knew from their cot cards.
‘It’s a strange sensation, Iris, looking down on two new human beings, knowing that they’re of your blood and wondering what in God’s name lies ahead for them. No father that we know of, an absentee grandfather and a drunken uncle, a scatterbrained aunt and a nice little half-brother. They’ll be brought up by their mother and grandmother, not much of a prospect.’
‘You had no say whatsoever in their conception, Jeremy, so don’t look on them as your responsibility.’ Iris spoke forcibly, unable to suppress her irritation at his constant concern for these babies. ‘Let’s face it, Jeremy, you were thrown out of that house, she physically attacked you, and if you went back there, you’d be thrown out again. You came to me that night because you had nowhere else to go – those were your own words, and I was so happy to be here for you – oh, Jeremy my love, this is your home!’
‘I know, Iris, I know, I know,’ he soothed, holding her in his arms and kissing her cheek. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’
Nor I without you, she thought silently. For Iris had a secret, a suspicion she would keep to herself for the time being, in case she was mistaken; but if it materialised, everything would be changed. Everything. She had missed her May period, and was waiting to see what June would bring or not bring. She would have to wait until she was absolutely certain before telling Jeremy of his latest responsibility, and to miss two periods would be confirmation enough. Now, if her suspicion was correct, he would be bound to her – and their child. O Lord, let it be!
When the doorbell rang, Shelagh’s heart leapt, and she was suddenly breathless. Could it possibly be—?
It was. Leigh McDowall stood there on the doorstep, smiling at her. ‘Shelagh.’
‘Oh – Leigh! Are you coming in?’ She held the door open, but he made no move.
‘I – I’ll be returning to work tomorrow,’ she said, unable to think of what to say.
‘I know, that’s why I need to see you first.’ She sensed there was something different about him; could it be hesitation, or even shyness? Surely not, a man as laid-back as McDowall. He went on, ‘There’s something I have to ask you, Shelagh.’
Her heart was thudding as she held on to the door handle. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she repeated.
‘Not until you give me an answer.’
‘An answer to what?’
‘Will you marry me, Shelagh?’
She drew a quick intake of breath. Was he serious or joking? She could not organise her thoughts, and the words that came out were, ‘It’s what my mother and aunt wanted.’
‘Well, there you are, then – we can’t go against their wishes, can we?’
‘If you’re serious, Leigh, then yes – oh, yes!’ She held the door wide open, and he stepped across the threshold.
‘Shelagh, my angel, my love.’ She was enfolded in his arms, and all doubts, all misgivings were swept aside on an overwhelming tide of happiness. Her only surprise was that it had taken her so long to know her own heart.
‘But Leigh, what about Tanya Dickenson?’ she asked, drawing back a little.
‘I’ve had a word with her, Shelagh – though she was beginning to have her suspicions. There was never any engagement, or talk of one. I know I was wrong to act as if we were a couple, but that was because I was half crazy at the way Sykes took you for granted, and you let him. I suppose I wanted to show that I didn’t care – talk about self-deception!’
‘And I was so slow to realise that you were – that it was you I’d gradually begun to – to love over all these months. Oh, Leigh, how ashamed I was when you had to cover for me at New Year when I was back late, and the way you looked at me, despising me for it!’
‘All in the past now, my angel, don’t look back. Actually that actress has done me a favour, and let’s hope she isn’t too disappointed with her wonderful doctor! I’ve an idea that those two deserve each other, but that needn’t worry us, my love, my angel who came to me just when I – and Denise North and her babies – most needed you.’
For the next few minutes there were no words but tender, joyful, astonished kisses, until he exclaimed, ‘I must get to the office of the Everham News to put in this notice in time for tomorrow!’
‘Notice? What notice?’ she asked blankly.
‘The notice of our engagement, of course – we want them all to read about it tomorrow, don’t we?’
A shower of good wishes greeted Shelagh when she re-entered the maternity department the next day. Smiles, handshakes, kisses and a few naughty jokes expressed the delight of all, and Tanya Dickenson managed a smile and a nod that showed her goodwill. Laurie Moffatt was delighted, and the Rowans sent an engagement congratulations card.
In the staff canteen at lunchtime the ward sister of Women’s Medical approached Shelagh with a certain diffidence.
‘I hear that congratulations are in order, Dr Hammond,’ she said. ‘And I believe you’re a friend of Sister Oates.’
‘We sometimes work together in Outpatients,’ said Shelagh warily, not willing to be drawn into any gossip about Iris.
‘I wonder if she knows that Mrs Fiona North has been admitted to my ward with a severe cerebral haemorrhage. She’s deeply unconscious, and the outlook isn’t good. She may or may not come out of the coma, and even if she does it could leave her with a degree of hemiplegia and aphasia, unable to walk or speak. Terrible for the family, of course, the daughter’s just had premature twins, and the husband walked out a few weeks ago. I wonder if you could let Sister Oates know if she doesn’t know already?’
‘Yes, I’ll be seeing her this afternoon in the antenatal clinic,’ said Shelagh, ‘and I’ll have a word. Thanks very much for telling me, Sister.’
In clinic that afternoon Sister Oates appeared much the same as usual, calm and quietly efficient; when the last patient had left the clinic, Shelagh suggested that they get a cup of tea from the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service counter, and sit down for a talk. Surprised, Iris agreed, looking apprehensive.
‘I take it that you’ve heard the latest news, Iris.’
‘What latest news?’ Iris was at once on the alert. ‘Is it to do with those twins you delivered? I hear they’re doing well.’
‘No, m’dear, it’s not the twins, it’s their grandmother, Mrs North. She’s had a stroke, and is in Women’s Medical in a coma. She’s—’
‘What? What are you saying? Oh, Christ, what will he do? Is this true? Are you sure?’
Poor Iris Oates had no time for politeness, and leapt from the chair Shelagh had drawn up for her. Taken aback by this reaction, Shelagh too rose quickly, and tried to advise calmness, but Iris was in no mood to be soothed.
‘I’m sorry, but I must go.’ And still in uniform, she hurried from the outpatients hall.
‘Jenny, he’s beautiful,’ said Phyllis Maynard in wonder, holding the baby on her lap and smiling down at him, receiving a cheeky, toothless smile in return. ‘Yes, little fellow, I’m your granny, and we’re going to see a lot of each other, aren’t we? You know, Jenny I’m sure he knows who I am!’
‘Whether he knows or not, Mum, he’s certainly taken a fancy to you!’ said Jenny, holding out a blue plastic rattle and watching Donovan stretching out chubby fingers for it.
‘Ba-ba-ba-ba!’ he said, and Jenny laughed.
‘Look, he’s blowing bubbles – who’s a clever boy, then?’
Phyllis could not remember when she had last felt such happiness. If only Ben had lived to see this third grandchild, and yet she felt his presence in the room with her, and believed he shared her joy.
‘We want Marion to be his godmother at the christening, and Tim’s friend to be godfather – you know, he was best man at our wedding,’ said Jenny.
‘It’ll have to be soon, before Derek Bolt leaves the parish,’ said Phyllis. ‘Isn’t it a pity, so sudden and unexpected – I’ve heard his wife’s furious.’
‘Surely it can’t be because of poor Miss Johnson, can it?’ asked Jenny. ‘I’m sure nobody blames him for what happened.’
‘I’m afraid that a lot of his parishioners do think it was cruel and unnecessary to take her to court over it, and I’m sure he blames himself. Mary Whittaker thinks he’s doing the right thing.’
‘We must ask Mary to the christening,’ said Jenny, ‘because it was thanks to her handing us that cutting from the Daily Mail that set us off on the road to adoption – and to Donovan.’
‘How do Tim’s parents feel about it now?’ asked Phyllis.
‘Oh, they can’t help loving him, can they? You know Tim’s father said he’d never be able to love a child that wasn’t Tim’s – and told us we didn’t know what we were getting. Tim told him that no parents know what they’re getting, I mean, just look at the way that awful North family has turned out! Anyway, now that they’ve seen Donovan, his Gifford granny and granddad think the world of him.’
Phyllis looked thoughtful. ‘To be quite honest, I have to admit that I’ve felt sorry for Jeremy North, even though on the face of it he’s a neglectful father and has taken advantage of Iris Oates – it’s cut her off from taking the Sacrament in church, and makes her share in his—I wonder, does he ever consider the effect on her?’ She sighed, but Donovan claimed her attention.
‘Oh, look, Jenny, he’s smacking his lips, and any minute now he’s going to holler for his tea! You’d better take him and see if he needs changing, and I’ll go to the kitchen and get him a drink and a rusk!’
Mother and daughter exchanged proprietary smiles over the adored baby who had come into their lives. I already love him as much as Marion’s two, perhaps more, thought Phyllis in gratitude for this answer to her fervent prayers.
Jeremy North believed that his life had changed forever on the day he had left his family and gone to live with Iris Oates in her pleasant flat, her welcoming bed. He knew that he was breaking a commandment and causing her too to commit adultery, but such was the relief he found with her, the unreserved love that was like bread to a starving man, he could not in his heart believe that God condemned them. He felt no guilt, except in the case of Peter, his three-year-old grandson, soon to be four, the only family member whom he truly loved, and who loved him in return. He had approached Fiona by letter and by telephone, to request contact with the boy – to take him out occasionally, but had met with total refusal; Peter was to have no contact with that wicked woman, that slut he had chosen in preference to his duty to his own family. He told himself that when he was finally divorced from Fiona – and to date there had been no move on either side to commence proceedings – he would apply for legal access to his grandson, so that Iris could build up a relationship with the little boy.
Such had been his plan, such was his dream. Then had come the telephone call from the hospital to the school, and another frantic call from Denise; Mrs Whittaker had also telephoned, to make sure that he knew. Now as he stood beside the bed of his wife in a single room on Women’s Medical, he realised that his life would have to change again. Fiona was deeply unconscious, and might not recover; without her presence in the home, how would his adult children cope, especially when the premature twins were discharged home with all their needs and necessities? Jeremy North’s conscience could no longer be dismissed, and the way ahead now appeared frighteningly bleak.
And what about Iris? Sweet, adoring Iris who had withdrawn from the Sacrament because of him, as well as her place in the church choir; he trembled at the prospect of the pain he would have to inflict, and tried to pray for courage as he got into the car and headed for Number One Elm Grove.
He found that she already knew, and was home when he arrived, her face pale and anxious.
‘Iris, my love.’ It was all he could say at first, enfolding her in his arms. ‘How did you hear?’
‘Via the hospital grapevine – news travels fast. Jeremy, what are you going to do?’
‘I’ve just come from seeing her, Iris. I went there straight from school. She’s in a coma, and being fed through a tube down into her stomach. It doesn’t look good, they say she’s got a less than fifty-fifty chance of recovering, and even if she does, she’s going to need a lot of care. She won’t be able to carry the family around under her arm, as she has been doing, and it will be chaos.’ He gave a groan.
‘But they’re adults, Jeremy, and they’ll have to learn to stand on their own two feet!’ protested Iris. ‘And if you go back to those – those good-for-nothings, they’ll expect you to take her place and hold their hands for evermore. Don’t let them, Jeremy – you belong here now, with me!’
‘I know, dearest, I know, but for the time being I’ll have to go back to see what’s best to be done. Don’t worry, I’ll read them the riot act and won’t stay a day longer than necessary.’
‘How long?’ He heard the note of urgency in her voice.
‘I’ll be back when things are sorted out – no, Iris, don’t get into a state, you’ll have to back me up and help me to do the right thing. We’re both going to have to be brave, dearest.’
‘I’ll try – but you must promise me on your word of honour that you will come back to me. That’s all I ask.’
‘Thank you, my love, I promise. Only I’ll have to go there straight away, you must see that.’
‘Do you mean now? Can’t you stay for supper – it’s salmon salad and yoghurt.’
‘I’ll have to go, my love, to see how things are. And there’s Peter-poppet.’
Yes, thought Iris, Peter-poppet. I’ve known that all along. ‘Can’t you bring him back with you? I can take unpaid leave to look after him till you break up for the summer holidays.’
‘No, you’ve already done so much, Iris.’ He straightened his back and spoke firmly. ‘I have to go and see how things are. I’ll phone as soon as I can.’ He kissed her, and left her standing at the door as he got into his car and drove to his former home. Several people saw him, and noted that his car remained in the drive overnight. The word went round that Jeremy North had come to his senses and was facing up to his responsibilities.
And Iris, because he had promised to return, and because she could not yet be one hundred per cent sure until three months from the date of her last period, kept her secret. She spent a restless night, imagining that he was being attacked and thrown out of the house again by his wife, miraculously recovered from her stroke; in the morning she felt nauseated, and could not eat any breakfast.
It was coffee time in Maternity, and the antenatal ward was quiet. Laurie Moffatt was full of the news that Roger Stedman had passed on to her.
‘What do you think, girls, Diane Devlin’s thirty-eight if she’s a day!’
‘How does he know that?’ asked Tanya Dickenson, who with Staff Midwife Marie Burns listened eagerly.
‘She was married to a policeman, and has got a son who’s now eighteen!’
‘Never!’
‘It’s the truth. They were divorced, and he’s married again. The son lives with his father and stepmother who’ve had another couple of children. Diane has no contact with her son. It all came out when a national newspaper ran the story of her accident and engagement to the young surgeon who saved her life – or at least her leg! So the tabloids got busy digging up the details of her past!’
‘Hm. Bit of a blow for Sykes, then,’ said Marie. ‘Did you hear that, Dr Hammond?’ she asked Shelagh who had just entered the office.
‘Hear what?’
They took great pleasure in repeating the news, and Shelagh raised her eyebrows. She could well believe it to be true, and wondered whether Diane had told Paul before the press caught up with her.
‘What will Leigh McDowall say when he hears it?’ asked Marie, glancing at Shelagh.
‘Laugh like a drain, I should think,’ said Elsie the auxiliary, coming in with the coffee tray, at which everybody chuckled, except for Dr Hammond who could not help reflecting on the man who had been her lover. Leigh had been talking about their future.
‘We’ve both done our stint on obs and gynae now, my love, and I’ve been looking at general practices,’ he had said. ‘There are a few vacancies, including one in Essex, which sounds interesting. I’ve written off to ask for a few more details, and if they ask me for an interview, would you care to come along?’
‘Anywhere in the world, Leigh, you know that.’
‘Yes, but there’s a bit of a problem, you see.’
‘How do you mean?’
He deliberately put on a worried expression. ‘Well, they’d want me to start as soon as possible, which means we would have to get married in a hurry.’ Shelagh laughed.
‘In that case, I suppose I’ll have to make the best of it and marry you, as long as you don’t mind all the mental arithmetic, how many weeks, and so on.’
‘Oh, bless you, Shelagh, my angel – oh, come here and let me—’ There was no further need for words.
As soon as Jeremy North turned the key in the lock and entered the house, he was greeted by Peter-poppet, who cried and clung to his grandfather’s leg.
‘G’andad come home! Stay here, G’andad!’
Jeremy picked him up, and the little boy put his arms around his neck. In that moment Jeremy’s future was sealed.
Denise and Catherine, their eyes red from crying, were making half-hearted attempts to tidy the house. There were unwashed dishes in the sink, the beds needed clean sheets and the soiled linen basket was filled to overflowing. Roy had come to visit his mother in hospital, and had looked in on his sisters hoping to be offered supper.
Still holding Peter, Jeremy spoke to the three of them. He did not raise his voice.
‘Roy, have you still got that garage job, and are you still sharing a flat with your drinking companion?’ When his son tentatively nodded, Jeremy continued, ‘Then you can go straight back there, because I don’t intend to keep you. Off you go.’
Roy did not argue, but obeyed with a grimace. Jeremy faced his daughters.
‘Denise, you’re to look after the home properly, and care for your son. Daisy and Danny will be discharged from hospital at some point, and they’ll be your responsibility round the clock. You either take care of them or they will be fostered out and put up for adoption. Catherine, you’ve got to get a job, any job, and stick to it, because you’re going to have to earn your keep. I shall pay the bills and make an allowance for food and household requirements, nothing more.’
They stared at him, wide-eyed, and Catherine asked tearfully, ‘What about Mum?’
‘We don’t know yet whether your mother will recover from the stroke, probably caused by slogging day after day for you lot, but if she does, she’ll need a lot of care. Time will show. It’s not going to be easy, and I shall expect you both to pull together and make a home fit for children to grow up in. You are going to have to grow up!’
There were tears and protests, but his words had sunk in. He ordered Denise to get supper ready; there were sausages in the fridge and potatoes in the vegetable rack – ‘so we’ll have bangers and mash this evening, and tomorrow you’ll have to get out and do some sensible shopping, Denise.’
That was all. He had said his piece, and turned to Peter, who was smiling broadly.
‘You heard what G’andad said, didn’t you, Peter-poppet? No more tears, you’ll be all right. G’andad’s back with you again.’
‘Iris, my love, I’m going to have to stay here for a while, until I get things straight. It’s a mess, and—’
‘How long will it take?’ she asked.
‘It could be a while. I’ve read them the riot act, but we’ll have to see how things work out when Danny and Daisy are discharged. And we don’t know yet about Fiona, whether it’s the end or – Iris? Are you still there?’
‘I’m here, Jeremy.’
‘Did you hear what I’ve just been saying, dear?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was flat.
‘And you understand? You do see the position I’m in – my responsibilities – oh, Iris, I’m so sorry, so sorry.’
There was no answer, and he wondered again if she was still on the line, and then she spoke in the same flat monotone. ‘It’s Peter-poppet, isn’t it?’
‘I can’t leave him here as things are, Iris. He needs me.’
‘And I don’t?’
‘Iris, you’ll have to be brave, and so must I. Look, I’ll come over on Saturday morning to pick up a few things, clothes and stuff. If you’d prefer to be out while I’m there—’
‘No, I’ll be in while you’re here.’
‘All right, then. I’ll drop in at about ten, if that’s all right.’
‘Nothing’s all right, Jeremy, it’s all wrong. But I’ll be here.’
On Saturday morning he arrived at Number One Elm Grove at ten o’clock. She thought how strained he looked, his eyes shadowed by anxiety. He thought how pale she was.
‘Iris, you’re not taking proper care of yourself. I shall worry about you as well as all my other worries.’
‘I have something to tell you, Jeremy.’
‘Go on. What is it?’
She could have said that she was about ten weeks pregnant, but she chose a more old-fashioned way of telling him that message. ‘I’m carrying your child.’
‘What? What? But you can’t be! I always used condoms, you know that!’
‘Except for that first night, Jeremy, when you came to me because you had nowhere else to go. Those were your exact words. So, I lost my virginity and conceived a child at the same time.’
‘Good God, Iris, what can I say, what can I do – oh, God, what a – you’re absolutely sure?’ he asked distractedly.
‘Absolutely. It’s due about the end of January.’
He clenched his fists and punched his head between them. ‘Oh, you poor love, and all because of my carelessness. There must be something we can do – let me think – I know a doctor who runs a clinic in London. We were at university together, and I can look him up again. I’ll get in touch straight away, and make an appointment. He – he’ll attend to it, and I’ll pay, of course.’
The look in her eyes was one that he did not recognise. ‘I – I’ll see to it, Iris,’ he repeated, patting her shoulder reassuringly.
She drew back a little, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet and firm. ‘If you think that I’m prepared to kill my child – the only child I’m ever likely to have, you can think again, Jeremy. I’m thirty-three, no beauty, and I’ve only had one lover – you. This baby may not be as precious to you as Peter, but it’s all I’ve got left. I’m going to be a mother, Jeremy, and I’m determined to manage. I have a little money put by—’
‘I’ll make you an allowance, Iris, it’s the least I can do – oh, my God,’ he babbled like a man demented.
‘You won’t have much money left after all the demands of your family. I can claim six months’ maternity leave, and then I’ll go back to work to pay for childcare.’
‘I’ll pay for that,’ he said at once. ‘Will you – will you stay in Everham?’
‘I don’t see why not. I have friends here, I have this very nice flat, and I enjoy my work in Outpatients.’
‘But there’ll be such a scandal, Iris, all the talk—’
‘This has been a year for scandals, what with us and Mr Bolt and Mr Profumo – I don’t mind in the least about having one more. There was talk enough when you left home and came to me, and there’ll be more talk now that you’ve gone home and left me with a baby. They can talk their heads off, but why should I be dismayed?’
The wedding of Dr Shelagh Hammond to Dr Leigh McDowall was fixed for Saturday, August the seventeenth, to be held at St Matthew’s church; Shelagh knew that her mother would have wanted her to be married at the Convent Chapel of Our Lady of Pity six miles away, but being no longer a practising Catholic, she preferred to stay in Everham where most of her friends were. Her aunt Maura Carlin would be the only relative there to see her married, but there were numerous friends to wish her well.
‘It’ll be a bit awkward, my parents being divorced,’ Leigh told her. ‘My dad’s remarried, and he and his wife will be coming, but so will my mother who lives on her own up in Cheshire. My brother Andrew says he’ll bring her down with his wife and young son, but there isn’t much love lost between my mother and Dad and his wife. The atmosphere could turn a little frosty.’
‘Families!’ exclaimed Shelagh. ‘It’s such a pity, when ex-wives and ex-husbands have to face each other at the weddings of their grown children – but think of all the friends who’ll be coming, Leigh. Two consultants, Mr Kydd and Mr Fielding and their registrars, that will make an impression!’
‘Did you by any chance send an invitation to our friend Sykes?’ asked Leigh curiously.
‘Yes, I did, but he’s declined and sent a cheque for twenty-five pounds as a present,’ she answered with a slight shrug. ‘Things aren’t going too well there, I hear. Diane Devlin’s filming on location somewhere in the West Country, and her new leading man’s got his eye on her, according to Laurie Moffatt. Poor old Paul.’
‘Poor old Paul, my foot! It was inevitable that she wouldn’t hang around with him once she got back in front of the cameras. And yet – yes, I suppose I am a bit sorry for the silly chump, when I think of what he’s lost and I’ve gained!’
‘Iris! So glad to find you in. I wasn’t sure when you had your half-day, and I’ve had such an abundance of sweet peas this year, I’m giving them away by the bunch. Here are yours!’
‘That’s kind of you, Phyllis,’ said Iris, guessing the real reason for this visit. ‘I’ll put them in water – mmmmm, what a delicious scent! Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘If you’re having a brew, yes, that would be lovely,’ said Phyllis Maynard, slightly taken aback by Iris’s calmness, having come expecting to offer a shoulder to cry on. When the tea was poured, she spoke of her grandson Donovan and the happiness he had brought to the family. Iris smiled and said she was happy for them all.
It was time for Phyllis to put down her cup and address the real matter in hand.
‘Iris, dear, how are you? I’ve heard the latest news, of course, we all have, and I just want to know how you’re coping.’ She looked into Iris’s face, half expecting her to start crying, or embarking on a tale of loss and betrayal, perhaps bitterness at Jeremy North’s desertion of her. But Iris remained calm.
‘Thank you, Phyllis, but you can go back to St Matthew’s and tell them that I’m fine.’
‘Oh, Iris my dear, I’m so glad to hear that!’ exclaimed Phyllis sincerely. ‘It’s good, of course, that he has, er, gone back, but I’m equally concerned about you. You’ve got your work at the hospital, and the church—’ She broke off, remembering that Iris had not been seen at church since Jeremy’s departure. ‘You’re not planning to move, then?’
‘No, why should I?’
‘Good. You’ll find that people are mostly sympathetic, though we believe that, er, Mr North has done the right thing.’
There was an awkward silence while they drank their tea. Then Iris spoke again.
‘I wonder how sympathetic they’ll be when they know the consequence of his time spent here with me.’
‘What consequence?’ asked Phyllis in some bewilderment, and Iris looked down at her body, then raised her head again.
‘What do you – oh, my dear, you surely don’t mean—’
‘Yes, I’m expecting a baby, Phyllis, due early in the New Year. I shall become a mother, and I intend to keep my child, come what may, whatever difficulties there may be.’
Phyllis Maynard was so astonished that she could only stare for a minute, and then found her voice.
‘Will your parents help you?’
‘I’m not going to ask them for help, Phyllis. They’ll be horrified when they eventually find out, because even in this day and age, there’s still a stigma attached to illegitimacy.’ She gave a half smile. ‘This will be yet another scandal, but my mind’s completely made up, and I shan’t ask Jeremy North for a penny – he’s got more immediately pressing responsibilities.’
‘Oh, my dear, Iris my dear, what a tragedy, when you and he were so much happier, and—’ Words failed Phyllis Maynard.
‘Thank you, Phyllis, I appreciate that. But he’s had to go back, and my life will completely change. I feel better each day, so please don’t worry about me. As I said to Jeremy, why should I be dismayed?’
The August sun shone on the last week of Derek Bolt’s ministry at St Matthew’s Everham, which was remembered for a popular wedding and a christening. The marriage of two doctors took place on the Saturday, and not only Everham Hospital staff but a fair number of ex-patients, some with their babies, turned out to attend the ceremony and see the bride in her powder-blue dress and jacket and flowery hat; the groom wore a grey suit with a white carnation in his buttonhole, and a tie with rainbow colours. Mr North played the organ accompaniment to the one hymn, ‘The King of Love My Shepherd Is’, and their happiness radiated out to friends and family, healing the rift between the groom’s divorced parents, at least for the day of their son’s wedding.
Mrs Maynard and her friend Mrs Whittaker attended the ceremony, but politely declined a general invitation to the buffet set out in the hospital boardroom.
‘I thought Mr North looked rather grim,’ remarked Phyllis. ‘He didn’t smile once.’
‘Ah, but he’s doing his duty, and that’s what matters,’ replied Mary. ‘He’s got a big burden to carry, with Fiona in a wheelchair and carers going in each day. Denise has a specially trained health visitor calling to check on the twins, and I’ve fixed them up with a home help three times a week.’
‘What about the son?’ asked Phyllis.
‘Roy’s going to Alcoholics Anonymous, and Jeremy told me that he hopes he’ll be reunited with his wife eventually, and their poor little girl.’
‘Frankly, my sympathies are more with Iris Oates,’ said Phyllis, but Mary did not agree.
‘She and Jeremy are both to blame for her pregnancy, but I think it’s wrong of her to stay in Everham, announcing her condition to all and sundry when she starts to show.’
‘I wish her well,’ insisted Phyllis, and their talk turned to the christening of Phyllis’s grandson on the following day at the morning service. It was the Revd Derek Bolt’s last duty as vicar at St Matthew’s, and his farewell to Everham; a large turnout was expected, and a buffet lunch was prepared in the church hall.
Once again Mr North was at the organ, playing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, and especially for Donovan Gifford, ‘To Be a Pilgrim’. Many handkerchiefs were needed when the little smiling boy was held up in his godmother’s arms to be baptised and welcomed into the church.
After the service Jeremy North sought out Derek Bolt, alone in the vestry before joining the congregation in the hall.
‘So, time to say farewell, Rev,’ he said. ‘You’ll be missed.’
‘On the contrary, most of this lot will be glad to see the back of me,’ Derek answered wryly.
‘Don’t be daft, there’s a lot of goodwill towards you. I, on the other hand, have to stay in Everham and face the music, a whole orchestra of it.’
‘You’re doing the right thing, though, and so am I, that’s all that really matters,’ said Derek, and added, ‘I noticed Iris in church this morning, and looking very well, I thought. Happy. Nice to see her back again.’
Jeremy winced, for seeing Iris and knowing that she would bear his child was the hardest part of his self-imposed duty.
Derek continued, ‘Anyway, old chap, God go with you and, er, the family.’
‘D’you think he will? Is he there? God, I mean.’
‘Oh, he’s there all right, he doesn’t leave us in peace. He’s the voice of conscience who’s brought us both to where we are today.’
‘Dishing out prizes and kicks up the arse, as appropriate.’
Derek suddenly grinned. ‘God bless us all, old chap. We’re going to need it!’ He held out his hand which North clasped warmly.
‘Goodbye, then, Jeremy. Be happy.’
‘You too. And good luck.’