‘Err … no. She said something about having to go somewhere.’
‘Did she say anything about meeting up with her mother?’
‘No,’ Amy said, shaking her head.
‘All right, thanks,’ Frank said, suddenly struck by an idea. Perhaps Daphne’s mother was ill and they were both round there.
He hurried off and it didn’t take him long to reach his mother-in-law’s house, where he rang the doorbell. Daphne had been an only child, a late one, and his mother-in-law, Edna Newman, was in her seventies now. She looked a bit surprised to see him, but without preamble he asked, ‘Is Daphne here?’
‘No she isn’t and I haven’t seen her all day. Some daughter she’s turned out to be.’
Frank thought Edna must have gone senile. ‘Leave it out. Daphne’s always around here.’
‘That’s only because she prefers my company to yours.’
Frank’s jaws clenched, but he ground out, ‘What about Carol? Is she here?’
‘You must be joking. I haven’t seen her for ages. Now I’ve got things to do, so bugger off.’
With that the door slammed shut, leaving Frank both angry at the old witch’s attitude, yet bewildered too. Where the hell were his wife and daughter? He couldn’t think of anywhere else to try, so he returned home.
It was after nine thirty in the evening before one of them turned up; by that time Frank was so out of his mind with worry that he was about to go to the police station.
‘Where have you been?’ he yelled at his daughter when she walked in.
‘Out with a mate,’ was Carol’s terse reply.
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘I don’t know. Isn’t she here?’
‘No, she flaming well isn’t. Have you got any idea where she might have gone?’
‘She’s probably round Gran’s house.’
‘I’ve checked there and your gran said she hasn’t seen your mother today.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. Mum’s always round there.’
‘Your gran might be going batty, but it doesn’t change the fact that your mother wasn’t there,’ Frank said, running both hands through his hair in agitation.
‘Mum can’t have gone far; she’s sure to turn up soon.’
‘She’d better,’ he growled, then turning his anger on his daughter, ‘and as for you, my girl, what are you playing at? You went straight out from work and I had no idea where you were either. I’m not having it – in future I don’t want you disappearing without telling me where you’re going!’
‘Yes, all right,’ Carol said meekly. ‘Dad, I’m sorry, but I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.’
Frank frowned, noticing for the first time that his daughter looked a bit washed out and pale. ‘Yeah, yeah, all right, but aren’t you worried about your mother?’
‘No. Not really. As I said, she’s sure to be home soon, but in that mood you’re bound to have a row. I don’t want to stay up to listen to it.’
With that, Carol went upstairs while Frank sat down again. Yes, his daughter was right. When Daphne showed her face, he’d have a few things to say to her – and he wouldn’t be doing it quietly.
Carol was curled up in bed, hating what she’d done. Yet what choice had there been? She was sure that if she’d waited any longer her parents would have seen the tell-
tale bump that was starting to show. They’d have gone mad, but at least this way they would never know anything about it.
It had been awful to go to that woman’s house – terrifying to endure what had been done to her, but at least it was over now. The woman had said that there’d be pain later, but so far Carol felt fine, though she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. She closed her eyes, and at last drifted into a troubled sleep.
Carol had no idea how long she had slept, but she awoke with agonising pain ripping through her stomach. She drew up her knees and clenched her teeth, fighting the need to cry out. At last it abated, but soon after it started again and perspiration soaked her body.
She bore wave after wave of pain that grew in intensity until at last, in fear and agony, sure that something was wrong and she was dying, Carol couldn’t stand it any more. ‘Mum! Mum!’ she yelled. ‘Help me!’
Her bedroom door flew open, but it was her father who turned on the light as he dashed into the room. ‘What is it! What’s wrong?’
‘Mum! I want Mum!’
‘She isn’t here.’
Agony again came tearing through her and Carol screamed, barely aware of her father rushing to her side as she felt something slithering from her body. She flung back the rumpled sheet, looked down, but saw only blood, soaking the sheets, unable to do anything but stare, transfixed, as the stain spread.
Her vision dimmed and she felt strange, her head swimming, but then Carol knew no more as darkness enclosed her.
Frank was barely able to comprehend what his eyes saw, but acting on impulse he bunched up the top sheet, frantically trying to stem the blood that was flowing from his daughter’s body.
Carol was unconscious, her face ashen and, sure that he could see her lips turning blue, Frank knew he had to get help. He fled the room and headed for the nearest telephone box, his hands shaking so much he could only just manage to dial the emergency service.
‘Ambulance,’ he cried when the call was answered.
He then gave the address, begged that they hurry, before he ran home again, relieved to find that though Carol was still unconscious, she was breathing.
Though almost overwhelmed with anxiety, Frank was no fool and could see what had happened. He just couldn’t believe it – couldn’t comprehend that Carol had just had a miscarriage.
Every minute felt like an hour as Frank waited in Carol’s bedroom for the ambulance to arrive, his mind reeling. He needed Daphne, his daughter needed her mother, but she wasn’t there and somehow he had to deal with this alone.
Frank went to the window over and over again until at last he saw an ambulance turning onto Lark Rise. In the early hours of the morning the bell was silent as it pulled up outside. He ran downstairs to let them in, urging the men to Carol’s bedroom where he watched their every move until his daughter was being carried to the ambulance. After a momentary hesitation, he climbed in too.
The ambulance sped off, and when they reached the hospital Carol was unloaded, still unconscious and deathly pale, her skin almost translucent. Frank looked up at the night sky and felt like howling his distress to the full moon, but instead he followed behind as they entered the hospital, his shoulders slumped like those of an old, broken man.
When Amy’s father had come home from the pub, he’d said that Rose hadn’t turned up for work. She had seen the look that passed between her parents and at last realised what would happen when Celia Frost found out that her husband had run off with Rose, a member of their family.
Amy had gone to bed, not only fearing Celia’s reaction, but Tommy’s too. She had lain awake for ages, finally drifting off to sleep after midnight, and woke to the sound of her father’s voice.
‘Come on, Amy, it’s time to get up.’
‘Wh … what?’ she murmured.
‘Amy, I’ll have to leave for work soon and you haven’t made my breakfast.’
Amy blinked her eyes, and at last her mind cleared. Not long after that she