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hypothermia before he came in.”
    Hypothermia – people could die of it. “No! He certainly did not have that when he was taken to Springwell,” she replied.
    She was ready to go, and stood up. “Don’t let John die – please.”
    â€œMaybe that’s a plea for the Almighty too, Mrs Chisholm? Be sure we’ll do our damnedest to see John right again.”
    Niven was summoned to escort her. She trailed him through dimly-lit corridors, passing trolleys with urns being trundled along by men in brown coats. The trolleys probably bore food and drink. Smelt like cabbage. A pleasant change from whatever foul chemical stank in the corridors earlier.
    Her taciturn companion unlocked and locked doors, and finally she was back in the Main Hall. Newman was with Mackenzie and another white-coated man.
    â€œYou’re shaking, lassie, like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Mackenzie.
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it, thanks.” Ironic. Maybe she had seen a ghost.
    She went with Newman, and doors were unlocked and then locked behind them. They proceeded in silence towards the car. She walked slowly, eyeing the ground. Newman, limping along beside her, kept looking at her. Irritating, but this gave some distraction from her dark thoughts. What a boring little man.
    When they reached the car, Newman asked, “How was your husband?”
    â€œHe’s alive – for now.”
    She wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She had questions that maybe Newman could answer. But her weary befogged mind just wanted rest. On the journey back to Elsie’s, she feigned the sleep she was craving.

10

    Saturday 21 st – Sunday 22 nd April 1956 – in Aversham.

    Drawing to a halt outside Elsie’s, Newman passed Heather a card. “That’s where you can contact me. First number’s my direct line.”
    She put it in her handbag. “Thanks.”
    He switched off the engine and turned to face her. Was he going to make a pass? “If anything happens to your husband, Springwell will contact you. And if you’ve any queries, or need to go again, ring me. I’ll help if I can.”
    â€œThanks.” She opened the car door.
    â€œBefore you go – are you okay?” he asked as he revved up.
    â€œYes.” She was too played out to feel anything but a dull headache. She forced a smile and waved as he drove off.
    Mattie greeted her in a shop packed with customers. He pointed to the back-shop. “Through there, lass.”
    She tapped on the door and, as she pushed it open slowly, caught the welcome pungent, unique aroma.
    Elsie was removing the full nappy. “She’s been a clever girl for Mummy.”
    Heather picked up her child and cuddled her. “Becky, my Becky,” she murmured, letting her tears flow.
    â€œI’ll deal with this nappy, then make us a cuppa.” Elsie rose.
    Nappy change completed, Heather laid Becky in her crib and soon the child was asleep.
    Elsie returned with the tea tray, poured two cups and sat down beside her. “You look right weary, m’dear. Do you want to tell me about it?”
    The uplift from cuddling Becky went as she started her tale. “It was horrible.” She brushed her eyes.
    â€œThere, m’dear, take your time.”
    She continued in a low voice with her main worry. “John’s dying of pneumonia.” Encouraged by Elsie, she found strength to tell of her fears, and the agonies and frustrations of the visit. When at one point Becky started crying, Heather realised she’d been shouting. Standing up, she lifted the child and cuddled her. “Elsie,” she said quietly. “It’s worse than a prison, and I fear for John in there.”
    â€œM’dear, it must be terrible for you.” Elsie’s homely face looked strained and her blue eyes shone with compassion.
    â€œI feel helpless. I don’t know what I’d have done without you