There’s Always Tomorrow

As Gary tried in vain to move his head in the direction of the bear, the full extent of his paralysis became a chilling reality. Dottie bit back her own tears.

‘Ivy loves Brumas very much,’ she went on, ‘just like your mummy loves you. She’ll be watching Brumas all the time, see?’

She placed the larger bear in his direct line of vision.

‘You look after Brumas and all the time you see Ivy watching him, you’ll know your mummy is thinking about you too.’

She lifted his limp arm and placed Brumas next to his body.

‘Is Ivy watching him?’

‘Yes,’ Gary whimpered.

‘See?’ said Dottie. ‘Ivy is watching Brumas so your mummy must be thinking about you.’

Gary looked up and gave her a weak smile.

‘Sister says it’s time to go,’ said a young nurse, coming up to them. ‘We have got to get all these children ready for bed.’

It was a ridiculous statement, but Dottie knew what she meant. She leaned forward to kiss Gary goodbye but the nurse held her shoulder. ‘No. Not too close.’

Dottie kissed her own fingers and touched Gary’s forehead. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can, darling.’ The lump forming in her throat felt like it would choke her. She had to keep strong. She mustn’t let Gary see her cry. ‘Mummy will come along another day.’

She left him watching Ivy. ‘Thank you, Nurse,’ she said as they reached the door.

‘No,’ said the nurse, taking a furtive glance over her shoulder, ‘thank you. I’m sure he’ll be much happier now. That was a nice thing you did.’ And with a rustle of her starched apron, she was gone.

Dottie made her way outside, her whole body racked with sobs. As she stood in the bus shelter, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Poor little lamb. Just three years old and not allowed to see his mummy. It wasn’t fair. What was going to happen to him?

‘Dear Lord,’ she prayed through her tears, ‘don’t let him be paralysed all his life.’

The bus came and she got on. Thankfully she couldn’t see anyone she knew. As she looked out of the window, she allowed herself a small smile as she recalled Brumas under the sheet and Ivy watching him. She’d go round and tell Peaches all about it later this evening when Reg had gone to the pub. It wasn’t much but it would certainly put her friend’s mind at rest. Careful that she mustn’t do anything to let Reg know where she’d been, Dottie got off two stops before she needed and walked the rest of the way home. The fresh air gave her a chance to clear her head and to compose herself.

Eleven

It was a mad rush to get the tea ready before Reg got home and the potatoes still needed another ten minutes when Dottie saw him parking his bike against the wall. She wondered what sort of a mood he was in; but she needn’t have worried. He was feeling cheerful. He handed her a bunch of sweet peas.

‘Ooh, Reg!’ She couldn’t hide her surprise. He seldom gave her the flowers from his station garden, preferring instead to hand them out to his passengers. In between his station duties, he’d built up a reputation as an expert nurseryman, cultivating flowers and even a few vegetables on the strip of land alongside the station ticket office, and collecting a great many ardent admirers along the way. It was well known in the village that if you had a gardening problem, Reg was the man to ask.

She held them to her nose and sniffed them loudly. ‘They’re lovely.’

‘The fence is covered,’ he said proudly. ‘A really nice show this year.’

He sat in his chair and took off his railwayman’s boots, then went upstairs. A few minutes later he came down in his gardening clothes. ‘Just going out to dig a few spuds,’ he said. ‘Dinner nearly ready?’

‘Five more minutes,’ she said as she arranged the sweet peas in a vase. Their heady perfume filled the kitchen and she could tell they were his prize blooms by their big, perfectly formed petals. They were the talk of the village.

‘No one can grow sweet peas like your Reg.’

‘He ought to go enter the flower show with those blooms.’

‘Magnificent. What’s his secret?’

She was back in the scullery putting the runner beans in a colander when she heard a footfall outside the back door.

‘I’m just dishing up, Reg,’ she called.

‘Dottie, it’s me.’

Dottie swung round to find Peaches in the doorway. She looked drained. Her face was pale and she wore no make-up. There were dark circles under her eyes. ‘I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, but Jack and I couldn’t wait. How is he? Did he look any better?’

Dottie grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. She’d have to be quick. She have to say her piece before Reg came back up the garden.

‘What’s she bloody doing here?’ He was already sitting at the kitchen table. He rose to his feet. ‘Get out of here, Peaches Smith. You’re not welcome.’

Peaches stared at him aghast. ‘Not welcome …?’ she said faintly.

‘No …’ Dottie began. ‘What Reg means …’

But Reg stepped between them, pushing Dottie aside. ‘Look, no offence,’ he said, his tone a little less harsh, ‘but Dottie’s afraid she’ll get it, see?

‘Wait, Reg …’ Dottie protested.

Peaches gave her a stricken look.

‘Listen, Peaches …’ Dottie gasped. ‘Let me explain.’

But before Dottie could start, Reg had taken Peaches’ arm and was manoeuvring her back through the door. ‘It’s best if you don’t come round for a while.’

Peaches stared at him. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Hang on a minute …’ Dottie began again.

Peaches rounded on Dottie. ‘You promised to go and see my Gary today. Didn’t you go?’

Dottie saw Reg’s back stiffen and her heart almost stopped. What was she going to do now? If she said yes, he would have one of his moods. If she said no, Peaches would be distraught. For a second, her brain refused to function. Think, she told herself desperately, think. Say something. Say the right thing. They were both facing her now, one staring at her with a helpless expression and the other with that dark look in his eye.

‘Look, Dottie can’t help the way she feels,’ said Reg, his eyes unmoving as they stared into her face. His words soft and measured.

‘But you did go and see him, didn’t you, Dottie? You saw my baby?’

Dottie turned away. She lowered herself into a chair. She’d have to lie. To placate Reg, she’d have to lie. She’d go round to Peaches later, like she planned, and she’d explain why she had to do it. Peaches would understand.

‘Dottie?’

‘I’m afraid Reg is right,’ Dottie said quietly. ‘I didn’t go.’

‘But you promised,’ Peaches wailed. ‘My poor baby. All alone …’

‘It’s not that she doesn’t care for the boy,’ Reg said, his voice as smooth as silk.

‘Oh yes,’ said Peaches her voice turning brittle, ‘everybody cares.’ She snatched her arm away from Reg. ‘If I’d known you weren’t going,’ she shouted at Dottie’s bowed head, ‘I could have arranged for my mother to go. At least then my Gary would have had somebody with him. I’ll never forgive you for this, Dottie. Never.’

As she swept out of the back door, Dottie put her hands over her face and closed her eyes.

‘Don’t upset yourself, Dot. It was for the best,’ Reg said as they heard the front gate banging shut. ‘You did it for my Patsy.’

‘Patsy, your Patsy,’ Dottie burst out. ‘You don’t even know when she’s coming. Australia is thousands of miles away.’

‘She’s coming.’

‘Even the boat takes six weeks.’

‘She’s coming, I tell you.’

‘And how are we going to get the money to get her here?’

Reg clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘I’ll get the money.’

Dottie blew her nose into her handkerchief. ‘Peaches is my best friend.’

‘And I’m your bloody husband,’ he said sharply. He banged his fist on the table, making all the plates rattle. The sauce bottle fell over. ‘Now stop this bloody racket and let’s be having our tea.’

‘Where d’you want it, Reg?’

Half an hour later, Michael Gilbert’s cheery shout brought an angry and red-eyed Dottie from the scullery where she was washing the dishes.

‘Hello, Michael.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘What are you doing here?’

He gave her a long look and she knew he was wondering why she’d been crying. ‘Reg asked me to bring some bales of hay round. You all right, Dottie?’

Michael was fond of Dottie. She joined the Land Girls on his father’s farm in 1941. The Ministry of Fisheries and Food had already sent some local girls, Peaches Taylor, now Smith, Hilary Dolton-Walker (she’d ended up in Canada, he thought), Sylvie Draycot (she’d married a banker called McDonald, and lived in the New Forest somewhere) and Mary had done her bit too. There were others who came and went and he’d be hard put to recall either their names or faces, except Molly Dawson of course. She stuck out in his mind only because she’d been killed in an air raid while home on leave in Coventry. As a kid, whenever he’d looked at Dottie, he got a funny feeling at the pit of his stomach. He’d never understood it of course, but he’d made up his mind that one day he’d marry her. However, when she was eighteen and he was still only fourteen, she went and married Reg Cox. He didn’t think of her in that way any more, but he was fond of her, like a sister. He didn’t like to see her upset.

Dottie smiled, her eyes willing him not to ask any more questions. ‘Reg is upstairs getting ready to go out.’

‘Oh no, I’m not, my darling,’ said Reg coming up behind her. ‘I’m staying in tonight. We’ve got to get something sorted out about that bloody pig, haven’t we?’

Dottie’s heart sank. She’d been planning to run over to Peaches’ house as soon as Reg left for the Jolly Farmer.

‘Bring the rest of the bales down the garden, will you, Michael?’ said Reg pushing past her and grabbing the first bale from Michael’s hands. ‘I reckon a dozen will do me. Got the chicken wire?’

Michael nodded. ‘On the back of the trailer.’ He lingered a second or two. Dottie was aware that he was looking at her but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. ‘I’ll be right there.’

Silently, Dottie went back to the bowl to finish the washing up. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she could pop out while they were busy up the garden; but Reg soon put paid to that.

‘When you’ve finished that, put the kettle on, Dot,’ he called cheerfully over his shoulder. ‘Michael looks like a man dying of thirst.’

The two men set to work making a pen at one end of the chicken run for the pig but first they shut the chickens in the henhouse and put the pig on a rope tied to the old apple tree. When Dottie walked up the garden with two cups of tea, Reg was missing.

‘Where is he?’ she asked Michael furtively.

‘In the lavvy.’

Michael was at the back of the newly made pig run banging in the wooden posts. Dottie sidled up to him.

‘Listen, Michael, do me a favour, will you?’ She heard the bolt slide back on the lavatory door. Michael carried on banging. ‘It’ll take too long to explain,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Would you tell Peaches not to say anything to Reg but tell her I did go?’

Michael stopped banging. He readjusted a pin in his mouth and said, ‘You what?’

She glanced nervously over her shoulder and realised it was too late. Reg was already coming back up the path.

‘I’m sorry, Dottie,’ said Michael. ‘I missed that. What did you say?’

‘Do you have sugar in your tea? I can’t remember.’

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘No thanks.’

Reg took his cup and Dottie returned to the house. She went upstairs and looked out of the window. Michael was helping Reg staple the chicken wire onto the posts. Did she have time to get over to Peaches? She could if she got her bike out, but the bike was in the shed, and Reg would see her going in there. She’d just made up her mind to chance it when Reg spotted her at the window and shouted, ‘Bring us another cup of tea, Dot.’

Downstairs in the scullery again, Dottie wiped away her angry tears. Everything was going wrong. Reg wanted her to have his child and yet he didn’t want her. She had upset her best friend and if she didn’t explain everything to Peaches as soon as possible, she’d never repair the damage done. And on top of all that, there would be another row when she told Reg about Sylvie coming.

Twelve thousand miles away, Brenda Nichols shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare with her hand as she watched the Flying Doctor’s plane bank and circle the homestead. As it finally came in to land, the red earth exploded into a cloud of hot dry dust, which set up a swirling trail behind it.

Their radio call had been very specific. ‘We have to make Muloorina before nightfall. Can you make sure everybody’s ready to meet the doctor on the airstrip? Over.’

Brenda pressed the control button. ‘This is 8 EM. Everyone is here, Doc. I have five patients for you. Baby Christopher Patterson for a Salk inoculation, little Mandy Dickson wants some cough medicine because her chest is bad again, Taffy Knowles needs you to look at his toe. He reckons a snake bit him but I think he’s got an ingrowing toenail. Dick Rawlings has a cut in his finger that will need a couple of stitches and Mick Saul has another ear infection. Shall I have some tea ready for you? Over.’

‘Right on, Bren.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Out.’

The plane taxied towards them and came to a stop. They all waited for a few minutes before the door opened and Doc Landers, wearing his now familiar brown Tyrolean hat, given to him by a grateful patient, climbed onto the steps.

Brenda had put a white sheet over the table on the veranda and it was here that the doctor set up his makeshift surgery. As usual Brenda’s diagnoses were correct and it didn’t take him long to dish out the medicine and insert a few stitches into the cut. As soon as he’d finished he sank back into a chair and Brenda put the kettle on.

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