Bye Bye Love. Patricia Burns

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      ‘Phew!’

      It was cooler and the air was much clearer out here. Better still, there were no raucous voices calling out to her. It was tempting to linger over the washing up, spinning out the time before going back into the bar. Her school friends would all be at home or round at friends’ or relatives’ houses enjoying themselves this evening. They’d be playing card games or watching repeats of the day’s ceremony on their new televisions, not rushing about working. She thought of the copy of Gone with the Wind waiting for her upstairs. How nice to be able to slip up there now and escape into Scarlett O’ Hara’s world and just listen to the rumble of voices coming up from below, like she used to when she was younger.

      ‘Hey, Scarlett, my pet!’

      Her father’s head appeared round the door.

      ‘Those glasses ready yet?’

      ‘Nearly.’

      Scarlett dried the last one and hurried out with the loaded tray. Her parents immediately grabbed them and started pouring fresh drinks.

      ‘Good girl—can you do the ashtrays now?’ her mother asked. ‘Yes, Mr Philips? Two best bitters and a mild, was it? And a G and T. Right. Mrs Philips here too, is she? How did the children enjoy the tea? All right, sir, be with you in a minute. Yes, I know you’ve been waiting. Scarlett, leave the ashtrays and serve this gentleman, will you?’

      Scarlett concentrated on the impatient customer as he reeled off a long and complicated round. Over on the far side of the public bar, a sing-song had started.

      ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do—’

      Others took up the song until the whole bar had joined in.

      ‘I’m half crazy, all for the love of you—’

      ‘Two port and lemons, a rum and blackcurrant, half of bitter shandy, a Guinness—’ Scarlett muttered to herself, adding it up in her head as she went along.

      People in the lounge bar heard the singing and started up a rival tune.

      ‘Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves—’

      ‘Oh, and a pint of Coronation Ale, love,’ Scarlett’s customer added, shouting above the noise.

      Both songs were going full blast, but the lounge bar crowd didn’t know all the words to Rule Britannia, so they contented themselves with singing the chorus three times and tra-la-ing in between. The public bar finished Daisy, Daisy and started on Roll out the Barrel. The lounge bar lot gave up competing and joined in too. Scarlett finished her round and took the money. As she rang it up on the till, there was a crash and a thud behind her. She spun round and cried out loud. Her mother was slumped on the floor surrounded by broken glass and a pool of beer. Her face was deathly pale and her lips a dreadful bluish colour. Scarlett bent down beside her.

      ‘Mum, Mum! What’s the matter?’

      ‘Joannie!’

      Victor crouched at the other side of her, patting her cheek, shaking her arm. His face was as flushed as hers was pale.

      ‘Joannie, what is it? Come on, Joannie, speak to me!’

      Joan’s eyes were staring. Jagged groans tore from her mouth as she struggled to breathe.

      ‘What’s up? What’s wrong?’

      People were leaning over the bar.

      ‘Joan’s had a funny turn.’

      ‘Get her into the fresh air.’

      ‘Get a doctor.’

      One of the regulars lifted the flap and joined them behind the bar.

      ‘Come on, Vic, let’s get her out the back.’

      In an agony of worry, Scarlett followed. She grabbed a cushion from one of the chairs to put under her mother’s head as the men lowered her mother gently to the floor, then Scarlett crouched beside her, holding her hand and feeling utterly helpless. What could she do? She wanted so desperately to help her mum and didn’t know how.

      A woman came in. ‘Can I help? I’m a nurse.’

      Scarlett felt a rush of relief. Here was someone who could advise them.

      Victor welcomed her in. As she knelt by Joan, a man put his head round the door.

      ‘Someone’s gone for Dr Collins. How is she?’

      ‘Thanks,’ Victor said. ‘I don’t know. She’s—’

      ‘Ring for an ambulance,’ the nurse cut in. She looked at Scarlett. ‘You’ll be the quickest. Run over to the telephone. Do you know how to do it? Ring 999 and tell them it’s a heart attack.’

      Fear clutched at Scarlett’s entrails. A heart attack! Her mum was having a heart attack! Wordlessly, she nodded and sprang to her feet. She was out of the back door, round the side of the pub and across the village green in seconds, running faster than she had ever run in her life. Her lungs heaving, she wrenched open the heavy door of the telephone box on the far side of the green from the Red Lion, picked up the receiver and dialled 999. She struggled to control her breathing so that she could speak clearly.

      ‘Ambulance—my mum—the nurse said she’s having a heart attack—’

      A calm female voice on the other end of the line took the details and assured her that an ambulance would be with them as soon as possible. Scarlett replaced the phone and stepped out into the summer evening again. Everything was carrying on as if nothing had happened. Houses were bright with flags and bunting for the big celebration. Across the green, the door of the Red Lion stood open and children were still playing outside. Someone cycled past and called out a greeting to her. It all felt unreal, as if she were watching it on the cinema screen. This couldn’t really be happening, not to her. It was all too much, too fast. One moment she had been serving a customer, the next she’d been telephoning for an ambulance. A heart attack. It wasn’t right. Men had heart attacks, not ladies, not her mother.

      ‘Mum!’ she cried out loud. ‘Oh, Mum!’

      She set off across the green again, ignoring the shouts of the children as they chased round her. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed two other figures hastening towards the pub. Something made her look again, and then she veered over to meet them.

      ‘Oh, Dr Collins, thank you, thank you—it’s my mum—’

      ‘I know, I know—’

      The doctor was an elderly man, past retirement age. Already he was out of breath, and the man who had gone to fetch him was carrying his bag for him. Like the rest of the village, he must have been celebrating, for he was wearing evening dress and Scarlett could smell drink on his breath. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder as he hurried along.

      ‘Don’t worry, young Scarlett—’

      Scarlett hovered by his side in an agony of impatience. She knew he was going as fast as he could, but he was so slow, so slow! She СКАЧАТЬ