CHAPTER 17
The baby was a joy, even if including the broken nights, dirty clothes, both infant and adult variety, and the later eating of mashed mixtures of strange sounding foods which the baby didn’t want to eat, the remains of which were rather too great in quantity to throw out.
Donald kept his promise to Marie’s mother and named the baby Gabrielle after her and in so doing, earned the old woman’s undying gratitude. She came to stay for a week after the birth helping out in so many unobtrusive ways that what she had actually done was not obvious until she returned home.
’Never did I think that one tiny infant could cause so much disruption,’ said Donald one evening, after getting Gabrielle off to sleep and relaxing on the sofa with an exhausted Marie stretched out across his knees.
’I never realised they could be so noisy,’ said Marie. ’She’s worse than the kids at school.’
’Perhaps you could give her a hundred lines,’ suggested Donald, hopefully. ’You know the sort of thing ¨I must not scream and shout in the house¨.’
’I could be tempted if she was old enough to write, but unfortunately I think she’d just eat the paper and come back for the pencil. I suppose it’s too late to change our minds and send her back. Why did you talk me into it, Vickers? I could have been a good old fashioned maiden aunt.’
Donald made no answer but ruffled Marie’s hair fondly. She took his fingers and kissed them.
’I’m rather glad you did, though. She’s lovely,’ continued Marie. ’And she’ll grow out of demanding constant and instant attention. Before we know where we are, we’ll have the boys queuing up at the door, fighting for the privilege of taking her out.’
Gabrielle grew in stature and maturity. Always small for her age, she gave the impression of precociousness in her speech, using terms and long sentences which most people found astonishing on the lips of a child not yet at school. When Gabrielle was old enough for play school, Marie went back to work part time. The hours suited her, as she was able to take her daughter out on the morning and bring her back when she finished work, thus leaving Donald with some free time for his all important writing, writing which he was nevertheless glad to leave in order to spend time with the child. They became very close, much closer than fathers and daughters normally do and Marie was glad to see it.
Donald found it was possible for him to work, making notes if nothing else, while Gabrielle sat alongside him, chattering away like a highly intellectual parrot. It didn’t disturb so much and he enjoyed the girl’s presence. It was at this time he began to call her Gabby, being beaten for his pains by two tiny fists on explaining the meaning of the term. He loved that too. They were all, the whole family, intensely and almost insanely happy.
Their happiness warped one dreadful day. Gabrielle was not yet at full time school but was of an age where she had begun to assert her independence. It was getting difficult for her to remember to hold on to Marie’s hand when walking along the busy street. On this day, however, she was obedient, holding tightly as Marie took her back home from play school, although the obedience was perhaps more due to bribery than to anything else. They were talking of the day’s happenings when there came a strange whirring noise close by. Marie turned her head in time to see the youth riding his bicycle along the pavement just before he ran into her, sending her crashing down to the pavement, bags and exercise books flying over a considerable distance. The sudden jerk as she fell was enough to push Gabrielle staggering and out of balance off the pavement and into the road. A passing car ran into her and knocked her down, passing a front wheel over her legs. There came a high pitched scream of pain, shortly and ominously cut off. The car driver stopped and left the vehicle, looking pale and sweating heavily. A crowd gathered quickly around. The cyclist had already disappeared. Marie left her scattered belongings and ran to the still figure on the road, cradling her in her arms, calling to her over and over.
’Don’t move her,’ said a voice at her elbow. ’Someone’s sent for an ambulance already.’
’It wasn’t the driver’s fault,’ said another voice. ’The girl was thrown right in his path. It was the cyclist. He should never have been on the pavement. They’re not supposed to. At that speed too, and he’s gone. As soon as he saw what had happened, he was off like a flash.’
Marie searched for and found by an effort of will, the degree of calmness she required. ’Would somebody get my husband, please?’
’I’ll do that, Mrs. Vickers. I know where you live. Back in a moment.’
Donald threw down his pen in disgust as the door bell rang for the third time. He had tried to ignore it but whoever it was seemed to be leaning on the bell push. Wearily, he got up and answered the call. A strange man stood on the step, a sombre looking man.
’Your wife asked me to come for you, Mr. Vickers. Look, I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident. It’s your little girl. She’s been run over. Your wife’s with her now.’
Donald opened his mouth in shock. ’Run over? How? Where is she? Is she all right?’
Hastily, he pulled the door closed and hurried along the street, accompanied by the caller.
’I don’t know how the girl is, Mr. Vickers. She was laying in the road very still. There’s an ambulance coming, that I do know.’
The ambulance was there as Donald arrived. A small, still figure was being lifted into the back of it, Marie standing nearby, looking anguished. Donald went to her. Seeing him, she threw herself into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably, semi hysterically. One of the ambulance men took Donald’s arm and led him and an unresisting Marie into the back of the vehicle, before sounding the siren briefly to move the crowd before driving away. Donald tried to calm Marie but could get nothing more from her than the fact that Gabrielle was alive. It was only later, during the long hours in the hospital waiting room that she felt able to tell him the whole story. At intervals, a nurse entered the room and tried to persuade them to wait at home.
’Thank you,’ said Donald. ’We’ll wait here.’
‘It could take a long time,’ said the nurse.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Donald. ‘There’s nowhere else we should be right now.’
At last the wait was rewarded. Someone they supposed to be a doctor came to them and explained what had been done. The good news, that Gabrielle was alive and would stay that way, was given first, then they were allowed to see her.
’Only for a few minutes though, she’s still unconscious after the operation on her legs.’
They were shocked to see her, doubly shocked to see the green blankets humped up over her lower body to keep any pressure from her injured limbs. It was explained that immediate treatment had been given to reset the bones as well as possible but that the injuries were quite extensive and that another operation, possibly more than one, would be required.
Donald and Marie reached their home in a solemn mood, late in the evening, to find that someone had picked up Marie’s belongings and left them all on the step, together with a note expressing the writer’s concern. The thought touched them and lifted up their spirits slightly.
The following weeks and months were a dark time for them all. The happiness they had felt for so long had been savagely stripped away. Gabrielle spent a long time in hospital and needed to go back at regular intervals. Either Donald or Marie stayed with her at such times, to comfort a frightened child who barely understood what was happening to her on the occasions the surgeons gave more pain. At last, it was finished. She had been taught to walk again, but would only ever do so in a lop-sided, crab like fashion. The surgeons had done a marvellous job. Her legs looked almost normal, but still had a weakness that would never quite go away. She tired easily and had to be carried for much of the time. Small as she was, she became heavy to bear, even for Donald and it was clear that she was really too much for the altogether slighter build of his wife. At the suggestion of the hospital, a wheelchair was found and this provided an enormous relief to the parents.
The dark days continued. Gabrielle improved slowly, which was a spot of light in the year that followed. Marie, highly stressed, fell ill herself, complaining about severe pains in her lower body. With some reluctance, she allowed herself to be persuaded to visit the doctor, who sent her to the hospital for a number of tests. On the day she got the results of the tests, Donald had been out with Gabrielle. When he arrived home, he found Marie sitting in the kitchen looking more despondent than he had ever seen her. Her face was streaked with tears and she made no answer to Donald’s greeting. He picked her up and sat on the chair she had been occupying, settling her on his lap. He smoothed her hair and laid her head on his shoulder.
’All right, Marie, there’s something wrong. Won’t you tell me about it?’
’It’s those tests, the ones I had to have at the hospital.’
’Yes?’
’It’s cancer, Donald. I’ve got cancer.’
Donald felt sick. Not Marie. Please, let it not be Marie.
He composed his voice and said, as neutrally as possible, ’It can be cured nowadays.’
’Not always, not very often. I’m frightened, Donald. I have to have an operation.’
’Well then,’ he said. ’That must be a good sign, surely. I mean, they wouldn’t want to operate unless there was a good chance of a cure.’
Marie smiled wanly. ’I’ve told myself the same thing but somehow I’m not as assured as I should be. Still, what choice do I have? Without it, I’m dead.’
’And with it, there’s a chance.’
’Keep telling me that, darling. I want to believe it.’