Chapter 2. The haunting Parkins.
Shelagh wasn't really listening. It was just that she couldn't help hearing. She was in the maternity home hall on her way home after cleaning the sluice. The door to the ward was open to the hall and the women at visiting hour didn't exactly make any effort to keep their voices down.
She heard her own name mentioned, and had to stop. Not again gambling about the baby? She shook her head, smiling uncertainly, then her smile froze.
"Babies here, babies there, even one for the Turners," a woman visitor said. "I sometimes wonder what Sister Evangelina would have made of it. In public, she was always very correct about the Turners, bless her soul."
"Doctor Turner was always, and still is, such a considerate doctor. Mrs Turner is a very nice woman. I don't think there is anything to be made out of it," Mrs Collier said, with some spark.
"But there is a downside in being so considerate." Another woman was now speaking. "He is said to be quite nervy, you know. He's had those…. spells of exhaustion. I wonder if Doctor Turner is having a treatment of some sort, in that psychiatric hospital, Northfield. It was my Bert who saw him at Northfield last week. Bert was delivering new furniture to that nut house."
"That can't be true. Surely Doctor was there in a professional capacity," Mrs Collier insisted.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Shelagh felt betrayed. She retreated to the sluice and slumped down on a chair. The gamble on her being pregnant - even if it had sounded frivolous, the congratulations had seemed sincere and heartfelt. Mrs Collier can't guarantee her relatives' or neighbours' opinion, it seemed.
Rapid steps were clattering in the hall now. "Come on ladies, the visiting hour is over. Surely you should go home to make tea." Barbara sounded professional and firm.
"Oh, so we should, Nurse Gilbert. Well, Katie, I suppose we will see you at home in a few days. Goodbye."
"Goodbye Mrs. Archer. Goodbye Mrs. Parkin." Barbara's voice had a chilly quality. Shelagh recoiled at the name. Mrs Parkin. She surely wasn't Susan and Ben's mother?
She saw Barbara walking by the sluice in the hall. She didn't notice her, sitting there with flushed face. When she returned a moment later, she saw her.
"Oh, Shelagh, you're still here. Go home." Then Barbara winced, noticing Shelagh's unease. "Oh dear. You heard." She came to sit by her and took her hand. "Chin up, Shelagh. Find your backbone. "
Shelagh smiled at her, Barbara's concern and kindness so evident in display.
"Barbara, you have become very apt at finding the right Poplar phrases. I've heard worse gossip. I suppose… I will go home. "Shelagh rose. "All the same, it was good that Patrick could drive Sister Mary Cynthia to Northfield himself." She pursed her lips together. "But no good deed seems to go unpunished. "
Barbara watched her helplessly. They had been so relieved that Sister Ursula and Sister Jesu Emmanuelle had agreed to Cynthia's treatment at Northfield, and so grateful for Doctor Turner's help.
At the door Shelagh turned and asked a hesitant question: "Do you know Mrs Parkin?"
"I know her by name. Not a patient of mine. Shelagh, let it go."
"I will. Thank you, Barbara."
It had been a long time since Shelagh had heard gossiping about Patrick or her. On one or two occasions during her engagement, she had felt that people swiftly changed the topic when she had stepped in a shop or a post office, but never before had she heard people talking of Patrick in this way.
The following day, Shelagh was walking in the street and saw something that made her think of sorrows coming in battalions, not in single spies. On the other side of street, a pair of teenagers were walking, holding hands. Jack Smith waved his free hand: "Hello, Mrs Turner." He sounded casual. The girl with him was Susan Parkin.
Shelagh hoped the Parkins would stop haunting her and Timothy. "Oh, let's hope there is no heartbreak imminent because of this," she prayed.
Shelagh felt that she needed a few days of thinking over these events. She wanted to talk with Patrick about them – but not yet.