After breakfast, Pearl commandeered the maid who was polishing silver in the dining room, and set about laying her things on the bed ready for her to pack. Pearl surveyed her wardrobe. Everything looked perfect but she was badly in need of a blue shawl. Of course, there was no time to buy one, but she vaguely remembered that her sister had one in her room. It was an age since she’d seen it and perhaps her memory was hazy, but she thought it might be just what she needed.
Halfway through the morning, her mother set off for the hospital. ‘Do you want to come, dear?’
Pearl frowned. ‘Whatever for?’
‘To see your father.’
Pearl stared in disbelief. ‘Mother, you know how I hate hospitals.’ She handed Elsie another blouse to fold. ‘Anyway, I have to get all this done if we’re to be on our way by lunch time.’
As soon as her mother was gone, Pearl hurried to Milly’s room. She’d heard Mrs Cunningham telling her mother that Milly had caught the bus into Worthing some time ago, so she knew she wouldn’t be back any time soon.
The hideous frock her sister had worn last night was draped across a chair. How could she bring herself to wear such a ghastly thing? Honestly, she had no dress sense at all. Poor Mother. Getting such an old-fashioned frump ready for her coming-out ball would be an uphill job.
Pearl rummaged carelessly through the drawers but couldn’t find the shawl. She stood in the middle of the room and looked around. The only place she hadn’t looked was in the old chest of drawers where Milly kept her childhood toys. She wouldn’t have a shawl in there, would she? But for some reason Pearl was drawn to the bottom drawer. She pulled it out and reached inside. Right at the back she spotted a blue fringe. There it was! Pushing aside the teddies, a stuffed rabbit and a jack-in-the-box, she pulled it out. It was heavy. Something was wrapped inside. Pearl pulled the shawl and something fell to the floor with a clatter. She let out an involuntary squeal. It was a doll. Not just any doll, but it looked like the doll she had used that time when she and Milly had cursed that trollop in the cottage. Pearl stared down at it in disbelief. Surely it couldn’t be the same one? Yet it looked like it. But how on earth did it get here? Hadn’t she’d thrown it to the back of the log pile? And the eye . . . hadn’t she poked that out with her finger? She bent down and picked it up. It had been repaired; repaired and dressed up. A white rage filled her whole body. Of course, now that she was older she didn’t believe the curse could have done real damage, but back then she certainly did. Now it looked as if all those years ago her stupid sister had gone back to fetch the doll, despite her best efforts to get rid of her father’s tart and save their family. How dare she? How bloody dare she! For a second or two, Pearl was sorely tempted to smash it on the floor, or stamp on its face but, after a short pause, she thought better of it. Calmer now and breathing normally again, she reflected that the shawl would be useful for tonight and, as for the doll . . . She nodded as a triumphant smile moved across her face. The doll would be useful on another occasion. She would keep it.
Milly and Lena were on the horns of a dilemma. It tore both of them apart to see their father so broken in body, and it was even worse to see him broken in spirit. As they left his bedside, they asked to see the ward sister, who explained that Charles had lung cancer. It had eaten away most of his left lung and already his right lung was showing signs of damage.
‘Shouldn’t we encourage him to give up smoking?’ Milly asked.
‘There is little point,’ the sister said kindly. ‘Thirteen years of forty or more a day is a hard habit to kick. He hasn’t got long anyway. Let him continue to do what he enjoys.’
‘What will happen to him now?’ Lena sniffed into her handkerchief.
‘I’m afraid there is nothing more we can do. We suggested to your mother that you take him home, but she says it’s impossible. That being the case, we shall move him into a home for incurables.’
Both girls stared at her, aghast.
‘Is it possible for a relative to look after him?’ Milly said. She suspected that her mother didn’t want her husband at home simply because it wasn’t convenient. ‘I mean, what sort of care does he need?’
‘Just to be made comfortable,’ said the sister. ‘You’ll probably need a nurse to keep an eye on him, and someone to come in when the end is near, but other than that, all he needs is to be surrounded by his family and the people he loves.’
As they left the hospital and walked to where Seebold had parked the lorry, Lena was already weeping. Seebold jumped down and came to meet them. He helped Lena up into the cab. Ashen-faced, Milly climbed in after her and put her arm around her half-sister who sobbed on her shoulder.
‘I’m guessing it’s not good news,’ said Seebold, climbing into the driver’s seat.
‘Our father is dying,’ Milly said simply.
Seebold looked at her, sympathy written all over his face. ‘I’m sorry.’
Milly felt her chin quiver as she battled her tears.
‘I’m taking you both for a stiff drink,’ he said, starting the engine.
Ten minutes later they were sitting in the Half Brick on the corner of Brighton Road and Ham Road. Under normal circumstances, Milly would have shared her knowledge of the public house, which dated back to the middle of the last century. It had been built to replace the original Half Brick, which had been washed out to sea in the days when it stood on an unstable salt-grass common, but what did she care for that now? She was far too upset about what was happening right now.
Seebold bought each of them a sherry (as strong a drink as Milly would allow, considering that Lena was under age) and half a pint of bitter for himself.
‘So what can I do to help?’ he said, looking directly at Milly.
She looked up at him, grateful for his genuine concern. ‘Nothing,’ she said sadly. ‘The sister said we can take him home, but my mother is adamant that he can’t be nursed in the house.’
‘Is there no one else?’
Milly shook her head.
‘No other relatives?’
Again Milly shook her head. ‘He has a sister but she lives too far away. She lives in a village called West Moors, which is on the Hampshire–Dorset border. The journey would be too much.’
‘Why can’t your mother have him home?’
Milly was beginning to feel embarrassed. All this was typical of her mother. Milly was used to her stubbornness, but for an outsider it was difficult to understand. ‘I’m not sure. She says she’s going to London later today and I know there’s to be a big party at the end of the week.’
Their angry and frustrated thoughts remained unspoken. Seebold sipped his beer. ‘What about that place where you used to live?’ he asked Lena.
‘Nan would have him like a shot,’ said Lena, ‘but,’ she glanced helplessly at Milly, ‘I don’t think . . .’
‘My mother would never allow it,’ Milly chipped in. ‘What would the neighbours say and all that.’
‘The man is dying,’ said Lena. ‘What event is so important that it can’t wait?’
Milly sighed. ‘It seems that my sister is getting engaged, once her future intended has proposed. Like I say, they’re all coming back to the house for a stupendous party.’
‘I can’t believe your mother would put a party before her husband’s last wishes,’ Lena spat.
Milly felt her face colour.
‘It’s not Milly’s fault,’ Seebold said.