War Girl by Leah Fleming

Author:Leah Fleming [Fleming, Leah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-09-20T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The hospital outside Scarperton stood like a fortress, set high on the moor overlooking the River Wharfe; a world of its own with high forbidding gates, a palace with tall windows with bars across them. It had taken two trains to get here. Why was she coming?

Mirren gulped. Was it to see Jack suffer? One look at the place and she sensed it was like a prison. Her husband was under lock and key and she must face him for the first time since Sylvia died. How could she look on his eyes and hair and not see the image of her own child? How could she face the murderer of her unborn baby? She would soon know.

The pills that Dr Murray forced upon her were long flushed down the pan. They had done nothing to dull her pain. They made her woozy and dry in the mouth, but she couldn’t face this journey without some strength from somewhere.

In her bag was a cake in a tin from Florrie, a copy of the local Gazette and a little package from Tom that looked like a bottle, a bit of comfort to help him. There was no point in giving him that, she sneered. It had done enough damage. She would chuck it in the nearest dustbin.

Anger rose like bile in her throat. What was the point in giving him liquor to drown his sorrows when she couldn’t drown hers with anything stronger than tea?

There was a small crowd gathered at the door for visiting time. She wished she’d asked Ben to come for support, but he was too busy, and Florrie came when she could. The visitors made a row of anxious faces as they were ushered down tiled corridors to the wards, hearts beating faster at the thought of what they must face and the smell of mopped floors and bed pans.

It was a strange subdued meeting. Jack sat there staring out the window, not even looking up when she came. His eyes were like dead fish on a slab, cold and glassy and drugged. He was in a borrowed dressing gown that was too big for him, his cheeks were sunken and he looked like an old man. She wondered if he had even recognised her. The sight of him overwhelmed her.

‘Jack! It’s me, I’ve come to see you,’ she offered.

He turned, looked at her unsmiling, nodded his head and she sat down. He didn’t speak so she filled the gaps by telling him she’d lost the baby and had to have a scrape-out and wasn’t up to visiting before, making excuses why she had put off this moment.

He listened, his face blank as if he was a stranger, fiddling with his dressing gown cord, not looking at her. She didn’t understand.

‘I thought you’d be glad I’d made the effort to come and clear the air,’ she offered. This was hard work and it was making her angry. ‘Look, speak to me or not, but we’ve got to have this out,’ she nagged.

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