We Couldn’t Protect Her…
Outside the hospital ward window, the rain pelts noisily against the corrugated iron porch roof, cruel and coldan unmistakable English autumn downpour. The sound is harsh, intrusive.
Mary wakes to the clamour, lying in bed and trying to listen inward. This is where shes had her operation: a cyst removed, along with an ovary. Perhaps its just her agealthough there are women here of every age, from young to old.
Dull light leaks in through the half-open corridor door. The air smells of bleach and something bitter, like valerian.
Through the metallic racket of the rain, Mary suddenly hears someone whimperingnot a sharp sound, more a muffled sob. She listens hard; its quiet again, and then she hears it once more.
Mary sits up and realises right away: its the young girl across the room, about sixteen, crying quietly. Shed heard the storycomplications after a backstreet abortion, the girl having used a knitting needle herself. The oldest trick in the book…
Mary leaves her bed and walks over to the empty cot by the girl. The girl is curled up, little more than a bundle of sharp knees and a mane of tangled hair on the pillow. Mary fetches the spare blanket and tucks her in gentlyshe looks cold.
The girl peeps out, wipes her nose with the back of her hand like a child. Shes only just come out of surgery; the ward assistant had whispered, abscess, and theyd removed her womb.
“Are you in pain?” Mary asks softly. No need to whisperthe rain is deafening enough.
The girl shakes her head.
“Are you sure? Do you need anything? Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes… please.”
Mary fetches her thermos, pours some sweet warm tea.
“Here you go. Just sit up a bit,” she says, propping her up with a pillow.
“Thank you.” The girl sips, managing a few gulps.
“It’ll pass, this. No more tears, love. Whats done is done.”
Mary desperately wants to lecture her. What were you thinking, you silly thing? Youve ruined your liferobbed yourself of children, nearly lost your own life! But now isnt the time. The girl is worn out, anaesthetic wearing off, grasping what shes done.
“No one needs me now,” comes her broken sigh.
“Dont be daft,” Mary says. “Your mum needs you. Your family.”
“He doesnt. Hes probably not even thinking about me,” the girl sniffs.
“So youre crying over him, are you? Thats not worth your tears. You need to look after yourself now, get stronger.”
“I dont want to. I might as well die. I cant live without him. I love” Her words break apart, lips trembling and blue. She curls away to the wall, sobbing again.
The rain outside seems to echo her.
Mary rests her hand gently on her shoulder, just to comfort her. What can you say to a girl so lost? That this kind of heartbreak is just foolish, fleeting? That if he loved her, this never wouldve happened? That hes a coward and a scoundrel for leaving her in this mess? But would she even believe it?
“Tell me about it,” Mary suggests at last, hoping it will calm her down.
The girl wipes her nose and beginshalting, jumping from detail to detail, as if excusing herself to the whole world.
They both went to the track and field club. He was from the next village, went to a neighbouring school, dashing and promising, arrived on his motorbike, all the girls adored him. Shed never dreamt hed pick her, but he did. That summer, they travelled to a competition together, staying at the local schoolbeds lined up in one classroom for the girls, another for the boys.
She tells it all, every insignificant detail.
It all happened in a deserted classroom, with candles and everything. Her dream come truehe chose her. How could she have said no when he was so persistent?
“He said he was being careful, I remember. Then he kissed me, and it was lovely, really lovely. You can’t imagine.”
“Go on. What after?”
“He wanted to again, just before we left, but the coach was coming down the hall so we hid under the desks. We laughed so much… it was so much fun. But nothing happened that time, really…”
“And then?”
“I dont know what happened after. He changed. We didnt line up at the same practices, so I came specially to his time, but he acted like he didnt see mehe even pulled his hand away when I tried to hold it. And then the girls told me he was with ChristineChristine Mitchell,” a tear runs down her grey cheek.
“Did he know you were pregnant?”
She nods.
“And?”
“He just tapped his temple, then his forehead, as if to say, think before you talk. Afterwards, I went to him again, all the way to his house, you know, after I was sure. Thats when he got scared, started shouting. But I love him! I dont want anyone else. No one! No one!” She buries her face under the blanket, skinny shoulders shaking. “I wiped the knitting needle with alcohol, I didnt know itd go like this,” comes the muffled voice through tears and the noise of the rain.
Listening to her, something heavy settles in Marys chest.
Still just a child. She doesnt even begin to grasp the scale of what shes done. She should be crying for herself, not some teenage crush. For that’s all it isa childish infatuation for a cold-hearted boy. Her story is nothing new; its the oldest in the world.
“Whats your name, love?”
“Sophie. Sophie Rosendale.”
“Rosendale? Are you from Ashford?”
She nods.
“Is your father Michael?”
“Yes…” She looks frightened. “They split up ages ago, though. Please, dont tell Mum. She thinks Im at a friends house in Buckleigh. Please, please dont tell her.”
“She doesnt know? Good heavens. Oh, thats bad…”
Michael Rosendale had been in Marys school class. She remembers his wife tooAnna, a petite, sharp-nosed girl a year or two below them.
“Soph, your mum needs to know. Honestly…”
“No! Shell kill me! Shell throw me out of the house. Please, dont say anything!”
“I wont. Dont worry. But you need to sleep now. Look at yougrey as a ghost. Rest, love.”
Sophie obediently turns on her side, hands under her cheek like a little child, closing her eyes. Mary tucks her in, returns to her own bed. The others in the ward have probably heard every word. Of course, the doctors will let her mum know her daughters here. Maybe they already have. But Mary doesnt mention that.
The darkness begins to lift; the rain washes away the night, carrying whats happened into the past.
Oh, the pity… Mary aches for her, for the loss of that simple thingmotherhood.
Next morning, there is Anna, tearful by her daughters bed, swaying forward and back on the thin sprung cot, hunched, devastated.
“Why? Why, my darlingmy little onehow did I not see, how did I miss it…?”
Mary pulls the blanket over her own head.
Outside, the last heavy drops fall from the roof, as if telling her the worst is over, the past cant be washed awayonly what remains lies ahead.
It takes Mary years to forget. Thats how it is with womenstories from hospital stick. Maybe its the stress; it cuts deep and stays in memory.
But eventually, five years later, it fades. Marys teaching at the local primary. Life with her husband is good: their youngest is at Sandhurst, training to be an officer, the elder is serving in the army as well. She rarely visits the old home in Ashford nowher younger sister and family are there with their mum.
Then, one spring, news arrives: Chris, her nephew, is to be married. Mary has a soft spot for Chris, just younger than her boysalways a gentle, clever lad.
During half-term, she and her husband drive down to Ashford, to visit and find out morewho is the bride, whats the gift for the wedding?
The joy of seeing her family is real, but Mary cant help grumbling. Isnt Chris a bit young to marry? Hes just finished construction college, and he still has army ahead.
Isnt this perhaps one of those urgent weddings?
The fields are green, the woods waking from winter, and everywhere is that scent of home, bittersweet nostalgia.
They arrive by evening. The house is refreshedwith a new porch and a stone extensionChris and his brother-in-law Peter have been at work.
There are hugs, warm welcomes. Mary settles in: her mum dabbing her eyes, then smiling, busying herself. They sit for tea, chat about this and that. Peter and the kids are out.
“Theyre always building,” her mum sighs, but she looks proud. “Poured concrete all weektwo new rooms and a terrace. What on earth for?”
“Its lovely here. Feels like home at last,” Mary says, reaching for last years strawberry jamher favourite indulgence.
“So, Chris is sure then?” she asks.
“Oh yestheyve booked the restaurant already. The 8th of July, a proper local celebration. Lucy from the clubs been over, therell be a concert, whole village festival.”
“Thats just as Alex will be home for break. Pity Peter cant get away, wont be at his brothers wedding,” Mary says, spreading thick jam on her bread. “The most important thingand I forgot to ask! Whos the bride? I didnt get the details on the phone, didnt expect Chris to beat my boys to it!”
“The bridewell, shes one of ours, really,” her mum smiles kindly. “Her parents split up long ago. Sophie Rosendale. Remember Anna and Mike?”
“Of course she does, Mum, they were all at school together. Mike says hell be there for his daughter, he promised.”
Sunlight fades behind a haze, the blue dusk stretching across the garden, dogs barking in the cool evening. Mary feels a chill trace down her armsthe bread slips, jam slipping onto the tablecloth.
Her eyes grow hard, lips tense.
“Whats wrong? Dont you remember? Mikebit short, played guitar at the club with Rob Davis. Not ringing a bell?”
Mary nods, dabbing up the spill to compose herself.
“I remember, yes. Just thinkingall these old faces, long ago forgotten.”
“Shes a lovely girl,” her mum continues, unaware. “Annas struggledalone, no richesbut Sophies a hard worker. Helped me dig potatoes in autumn, helped the men too on the buildeven though shes so thin, shes handy… Oh dear.”
Marys palms are damp. She spreads another thick layer of jam, eating with nervous appetite.
Back then, she only told her husband about that night in the hospitala little womans secret. He, being from another town, couldnt cause any trouble. Listened, forgot.
No one in Ashford ever found out. Anna collected Sophies school records that autumn and transferred her to college in town. Usually news like that spreads fast in a village, but not this time.
Mary, too, kept silentshe felt too much pity for them both, mother and daughter.
But now
Chris! Her cherished nephew, her sisters pride! How do you wait for great-grandchildren in such circumstances?
No, she cant allow it!
“Tell you what, darlings,” Mary starts, glancing over at her sisters keen, happy eyes, at her mothers warm, hopeful face and “For the weddingwhat shall we give? Money, you reckon, or”
Peter comes home, their niece Lara returns from dance club, everyone talking at once, the whole house busy and bustling.
Evening settles. The meal is over, and the men watch football, silence falling across the village as the last human sounds fade. Mary and her sister take a turn on the porch.
“Youre thinking about a baby, arent you?” Nat mutters. “NoSophie isnt pregnant. Thats not the reason for the wedding. Chris is finishing college, shell get placed somewhere near. He has his army service to do, they said theyll wait for kids. Still well, if something happens, were hereplenty of room for everyone once the house is doneincluding grandchildren,” Nat laughs. “Wouldnt have thought Id be a grandma before you! But maybe I will be.”
No, you won’t! No, Nat! Mary wants to shout, scream out her anguish and the unfairness, wants to weep. She hugs her sister tight, bursting into tears.
“Whats all this, Mary? There, there Yours will be soon, too!”
Mary cant sleep. Shes swept by the urge to go at once to Anna and Sophies house, to knock on the door and demand they tell the truth.
The impulse is so strong she jumps up at midnight, gets dressed, and wanders the village in the silent night, even up to the Rosendales gate. She stands there, under a sky sharp with stars.
She finally falls asleep at dawn, exhausted but still anxious for a conversation. Wakes around nine, confides in her husband, reminding him about Sophie. Hes stunned.
“Well! Brides these days…”
No breakfast, no washingMary heads straight to the Rosendales. It cant go on like this. The family deserves to know before the weddingbut Sophie and her mother must be the ones to say it.
She knocks; theres a shuffle inside, Anna opens the door, stepping back to let her in.
“Come in. Hello,” Anna says.
“Id like a word”
“I knew youd come. Im alonewant some tea?”
“Please. Havent had breakfastthis is important,” Mary parks herself on a stool.
Anna nods. She doesnt look like the proud mother-of-the-bride at all, busying herself with the cups. The kitchens homely, mismatched furniture but warm.
Mary suddenly feels awkwardawkward to bring sorrow into this settled house. But she must be honest.
“Anna, Ill be straight. I love Chris like my own. Nat wants grandchildren, my mother great-grandchildren. But your Sophieshe doesnt have a womb. I remember…”
Anna nods, pouring tea, pushing the cakes and fritters closer.
“Just baked thesestill hot. Have one.”
“Thank you.” Mary obediently eats, trying to calm herself.
“I tell herbest be straight with everyone. But Sophie…”
“And?”
“She says Chris forbids it.”
“What?” Mary chokes on her tea. “He knows?”
“Yes, he knows. I spoke to him like a mother would. Why tie yourself to a childless marriage? But hewell, what can you do with the young these days?”
“So he knows…” Mary sighs, takes another cake.
“Yes. Theyre both besotted. Sophie wont let go, and Chris is protective. I dont know what shed do if you talked him out of it. Honestly, part of me knows you shouldbut from a mothers heart…” Anna covers her face, begins to cry. “I couldnt protect her”
“There, there. Tears wont help us. But you must see it from our sideit isnt our tragedy but soon it will be. Why bring such pain? Do you think I dont feel for Sophie? I wept for her in the hospital and kept it secretbut my nephew and his familymy heart is with them. Im sorry, but I have to talk to Chris. You must help as wellprepare your girl. We cant let this happen,” Mary says, raising her hands helplessly.
She walks home, fists clenched from nerves. Crossing the threshold, she manages a strained smileno one will know shes about to try and stop her nephews wedding.
Chris arrives that day with Sophie from college. On edge, he relaxes seeing nothing has changed. Hes growntall, strong, with warm brown eyes; a lad to turn girls headsmaking this even harder.
Sophie, back in the hospital, hadnt recognised Mary as a fellow villager. But Anna had seen her, so Chris knows Marys aware of their secretand hes wary.
That evening, they sit together on a garden bench.
“Aunt Mary, thank you for keeping quiet to Mum,” Chris begins.
“You call that quiet? Chris, I will speak upbut I want to talk to you first. Do you realise what youre giving up? And not just for you: your mum, your dad, your grandma, all of us! Mums already dreaming of grandchildren. Isnt there a good, normal girl for you, Chris?”
“What if I dont want anyone else?”
“Don’t be silly, Chrisyou’ll regret it. Think about how many youll hurt.”
“Ill make her happy,” he mutters, staring at the ground.
“Happyher, yes, but shes responsible for her own mistakes. Shes paying, true, but youre making it a reward. And your mum, your familywhat of their pain? Don’t you want children, Chris? All your mates, future kids like themselves, hand in handyoull never have that. Never. Do you understand?” Marys tears finally break out.
Chris hugs her, resting his head on her shoulder.
“Aunt Mary, pleasedont tell them yet. Ill Ill tell them later.”
“Whens later, Chris?”
“After were married.”
“Foolish boy, Chris. My own mother will never forgive meknowing and saying nothing!”
“Ill marry her no matter what. Theyd only worry more. You dont want that, do you?”
Mary shakes her head, not even sure what she wants anymore. She clings to her last hopea talk with Sophie.
And next morning, she finds Sophie on their back step, staring into the garden, answering in monosyllables while Mary pleads, making her case with examples and tears.
“You should own your mistake, not make it someone elses burden, Sophie. Chris is soft-heartedhe pities you, but youre going to ruin his life.”
“How can it be ruining if you love?”
“You loved the other before too, Soph. Remember? Loved him so much you howled all night. But time passes. It will for this too. Chris deserves a family, childrenand I wish happiness for you too. But if you truly loved him, you’d let him go.”
“Yes,” she turns, face twisting with hidden pain. Shes beautiful now, nothing like the frightened girl Mary met years ago. Tall, slender, dark-haired, wide-eyed. Marys heart acheswhat a wife she could have been, what a mother.
Sophie smooths her skirt, stands up.
“You’re right, really. Everyone must find their own way.”
Mary says her goodbyes. That day she and her husband leaveshe says nothing to her sister or mother. Chris looks at her hopefully. She says nothing. Later she wipes tears as they drive home. Her husband scolds her, but she can’t find peace.
“You shouldnt get involved, Mary, its not your place.”
“How can it not be, John? They dont know”
A week later, her sister rings: “Sophies in hospital, medicine poisoning. They thinkshe meant to do herself harm. Chris is with her. He lives there. I cant get an answer why”
Chris says nothing. Mary says nothing, tooshes at work, surrounded by colleagues.
But after school, she makes for the hospital. She doesnt know what for. Sophie is, perhaps, too sensitive, too troubled for anyones good.
Again, its raining harda solid wall of water. She has to wait at the bus stop, umbrella useless.
At the hospital door, shaking off the rain, she runs into Chris.
“Oh! Youre here,” he says tensely.
“Hi, Chris. Your mum phoned, I wanted to check on Sophie,” Mary mumbles.
“Please dont. She doesnt need you right now, Aunt Mary.”
“Its only family, Chris. No harm meant”
“No, please, she mustnt see you. Not now.”
“Chris, did she do this because of me?”
“Couldnt you guess?”
Sudden anger flashes in Mary. Shes come across the drenched city, only to be told off by her nephew. She brushes past him but he blocks her again.
“Chris, let me through or I swear Ill clobber you!” she wags her umbrella.
“Go on then,” he says. “Youre not getting in.”
“Excuse me, could we get out, please?” Someone behind him needs to pass and Mary seizes the chance to slip into the hall.
“Oh, Aunt Mary, why are you being so stubborn?” Chris grabs her arm.
“Honestly, Chris! What a strange girl youve picked. Did you search for someone as difficult as possible?” Mary retorts, pulling away, too loudly; people stare.
Chris just stares back. She tries to close her umbrella, fumbling.
“Why are you here?” he asks quietly, taking the umbrella to help her.
“I don’t know anymore. Nat rang, and I just seemed to end up here.”
“If you wont start in on her again, come along. Ill be next to herremember that. And we’re getting married, even if the world turns upside down. You can’t change it.”
Mary nods. They don hospital robes, wait in the hallway as Sophie gets ready.
Sophie arrives, sees them both, slows her steps, sinks onto a bench, hands limp on her knees, head bowedpale and silent. Chris sits beside her, takes her hand.
Mary looks over thema modern Romeo and Juliet.
“God, Sophie, why do we always meet in hospital corridorsand always in the rain? Look, its sheeting it down again. What a curse. And such a ghost you are, not looking after yourself at all.”
“We,” Sophie looks up, “Were not going to split up. I couldnt go through with it.”
“Welldont even try next time.”
“Aunt Mary,” Chris frowns.
“What? Nothing fine, do what you want. Get married if you wish. You can break the news to your mother and grandmother yourselves. Heregot you some fruit.” She passes Sophie her shopping bag, turns and marches off, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Aunt Mary,” Chris calls after her, “Thank you!”
Mary nods, hurrying out into the rainwhere tears wont show.
The wedding is lively, full of tearsboth mothers, both grandmothers, and the aunt all crying their hearts out.
“My beautiful girlIm letting her go!” boasts Mike Rosendale, proud. He knows nothing of her past.
Outside, the club is hosting Family Daybanners with a stork carrying a baby. The new couple are stars of the show, along with all the big happy families.
Mary watches Sophie shrink further into herself every time future children are mentioned. And Mary pities her, sincerely.
Two years later, Mary is appointed to the council for youth services. She visits care facilities, including childrens centres, makes friends with staff. She sees it allthe blackened walls, greasy pans, rags, foul smells of homes that arent really homes. From such places, they rescue children.
At times, the sadness keeps Mary awake. She feels everything deeply. After these visits, she lies awake thinking of the fates of so many children.
One sunny spring weekend, Mary and her husband visit Chris and Sophie. They live nearby in town, both working on siteshe in the office, he now a foreman. Chris has finished his service and Sophie her studies; theyre waiting for a flat allocated by the company.
“I probably shouldnt meddle again, but” Mary begins, “Theres a little girl at the centre, no parents, a sweet thing”
Sophie and Chris exchange a look and both nod, together.
