Anita Frank - The Lost Ones

‘Oh! Madeleine? I’d better come straight away.’ I contrived a look of polite – if not sincere – disappointment and took a final, hasty gulp of tea. ‘Goodbye, Dr Mayhew.’

I didn’t shut the door fully behind me. I indicated my gratitude to Annie with a curt nod which she acknowledged before returning to her legitimate chores. I, however, loitered.

‘How is she really?’ Dr Mayhew asked.

‘She was caught at the lake again, the other evening.’

I hadn’t realised my mother knew.

‘With intent?’

‘Annie saw her going and followed her down. She brought her back before she had the chance to …’ She didn’t need to finish – we all knew what happened last time.

‘Well, I must say, that is most disappointing to hear. I thought she was making better progress – she’s seemed a little more collected of late.’ He let the dread sink into my poor mother before making a half-hearted attempt to reassure her. ‘Well now, we shouldn’t leap to the worst of conclusions every time. Perhaps it was nothing more than an innocent walk that took her that way – it is a beautiful spot after all, and nothing did happen – but we must also …’ He left a meaningful pause. ‘As you well know, my dear Mrs Marcham, there are a lot of women mourning in this country today. The majority will no doubt overcome their grief in time, but the added trauma of what Stella went through – it might be she never recovers from it.’

‘Then what should we do, Doctor? God knows I can’t lose another daughter.’

‘The medication should help – if she takes it.’

‘She says she is, but if she’s not?’

‘Then maybe we should revisit the idea of a short break away.’

I recoiled from the doorway, a bile of fury rising up inside me. I would never agree to it. I would not be incarcerated simply for feeling a natural human emotion.

The concept was insane – but I most certainly was not.

I slammed my bedroom door and retrieved my secret stash of cigarettes from underneath the wardrobe. Kneeling on the grate of my fireplace, I tapped one from the packet, dangling it from my bottom lip as I rasped a match across the rough strip on the matchbox. I held the flame to its tip and drew in, a deep shuddering breath, before blowing the smoke up the chimney. Mother didn’t know I smoked and would certainly not approve. It was a habit I had picked up early on in my VAD career, while serving at the 1st General in London. Another nurse had advised it after a horrendous shift. She promised me it calmed the nerves.

I leant against the blue Delft tiling of the fire’s surround, with their quaint images of windmills and fishermen, and felt my tension begin to ease. I closed my eyes, fatigue dampening my fury.

I was alarmed to hear a gentle knock at the door, but I reasoned it would not be my mother or Dr Mayhew. Annie cracked it open, a linen basket balanced on her narrow hip.

‘I have a few things to put away, miss.’

I took another drag on my cigarette before gesturing her in. I held the smoke in my mouth then let it slip like silk into my lungs. Stubbing the butt out on the charred stone of the grate, I scrabbled to my feet, batting the air with my hand to dissipate the lingering taint. Annie began filling the drawers of the tallboy.

I drifted towards the window intending to lift the sash for some fresh air, but I saw Dr Mayhew below, engaged in parting pleasantries with my mother, so I left the window shut. I had no desire to draw attention to myself.

‘I take it you’re not an admirer of Dr Mayhew either,’ I said with idle curiosity.

‘Not really, miss.’

‘Any particular reason?’ I turned my back on the window, resting my bottom on the sill.

‘He’s always pegged me as a troublemaker.’

‘Oh?’ I was only mildly interested and made no effort to press her when she didn’t respond. She carried on placing the folded clothing within the drawers as if I’d never spoken. The carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour.

‘Mother knows about you finding me the other evening.’ I left the unspoken accusation suspended in the air, a gossamer thread connecting us. I had not requested her confidence, but I had rather taken it for granted she would remain mum.

She made no attempt to face me. ‘Mrs Scrivens caught me going back to my room. She thought I had been engaged in some … assignation. I had no choice but to tell her.’

‘I wasn’t going to do anything silly.’ I recalled curling my toes over the rough edge of the jetty and the inviting oblivion awaiting me below the dark surface. ‘I just …’ I turned to rest my forehead against the cool glass, flimsy under the pressure. I watched Dr Mayhew’s car pull away. What was the point? How could I make anyone understand that somehow on the jetty I still felt close to Gerald? It was the one place where I didn’t feel the terror of him slipping away. Standing there, if I closed my eyes and focused, I could almost feel the warmth of that late August sunshine on my cheeks and sense his solid presence beside me. I could almost hear those magical words ‘marry me’ and feel that explosion of joy again. Who could blame me for searching out a crumb of happiness amongst this feast of misery?

Annie shunted the drawer to. ‘Dr Mayhew … There are things he doesn’t understand.’

‘He seems to understand very little about grief.’ I made no attempt to conceal my bitterness.

‘Which is something we both know all too well, miss.’

I looked at her. I could only speculate as to what damage might lie beneath her carefully crafted façade. She had lost everyone dear to her. Jim Burrows had died to save his master’s daughter, condemning his own child to a life without the love and security of a father. How had that made her feel? Less valued? And then her poor mother, left to bear the burden alone – it was a tribute to her they had remained free of the workhouse. I could only imagine what deprivations they had been forced to endure. Perhaps, then, it was not so surprising Annie was odd and aloof – her world had been ripped apart at such a tender age and for what? Lydia had died anyway. Sometimes I wondered how she could bear to be around us. Perhaps she couldn’t.

She dipped a curtsy and made to leave, but before she could close the door behind her my mother appeared, sweeping in as Annie slipped out. Feeling petulant, I turned away.

‘Have you been smoking in here?’

‘I don’t smoke, Mother.’

‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Stella!’

She bustled over to my nightstand and pulled open the shallow top drawer, its brass handle rattling with the violence of her action. She began rifling through the contents.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Where are they? The pills Dr Mayhew gave you?’

‘Why do you want them?’

She held out her hand. ‘Give them to me, Stella.’

With rising ire, I yanked open a drawer in my dressing table. I snatched out the small brown bottle and slammed it into her palm.

‘There!’

She held it between her forefinger and thumb and raised it to eye level. ‘Untouched,’ she observed.

‘I don’t want his pills, Mother. I don’t need them.’

‘These pills are to help you.’

‘These pills, Mother, are to sedate me. I can’t be any trouble if I’m not capable of functioning.’

‘They are to help you cope.’

‘I won’t take them. I simply won’t. I don’t want to be numb. I want to feel – I need to feel.’

‘Sometimes we feel too much.’

‘That is better than feeling nothing at all! You can’t just wave a magic wand and make me forget everything – make me better. You heard Mayhew. I might never recover.’