Bye Bye Love. Patricia Burns

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 wanted to drag him along.

      ‘Come round the back,’ she said as they reached the Red Lion.

      She knew as soon as she and the doctor went through the door. She knew by the way they were standing, by the way they turned as she entered the room. She knew by the look on their faces.

      ‘Mum?’ she croaked. ‘She’s not—? Please say she’s not—’

      There was a ringing in her ears. Everything was blurred, everything but the woman lying on the floor, the dear woman who was the rock of her life, the one dependable point upon which everything else was fixed.

      ‘Mum!’ she wailed, running forward, dropping to her knees. She grasped one of the limp hands in hers, clasping it to her chest. ‘Mum, don’t go, don’t leave me!’

      Hands were restraining her, arms were round her shoulders. She shook them off.

      ‘No, no! She can’t be dead, she can’t!’

      Dr Collins was listening to Joan’s chest, feeling for a pulse in her neck.

      ‘Do something!’ Scarlett screamed. ‘You’ve got to do something!’

      Two strong hands were holding the tops of her arms now.

      ‘Now, then, that’s enough,’ a firm female voice was saying.

      Scarlett ignored her. She was staring wildly at her mother, at the doctor, willing him to perform some miracle of medical science. But he just gave a sad little shake of the head.

      ‘I’m sorry, Scarlett—’

      ‘No!’ Scarlett howled. Her chest was heaving with sobs, tears welled up and spilled over in a storm of weeping. Her father was there, kneeling beside her, pulling her into his arms. Together they rocked and wept, oblivious to the people around them.

      ‘She was the best woman in the world,’ Victor croaked. ‘A gem, a diamond—’

      Scarlett could only bury her face in his broad chest and cry and cry. It was like the end of the world.

      After that came a terrible time of official things to be done. However much Scarlett and Victor wanted to shut out the world and mourn the dear woman who had gone, there were people to see, forms to sign, things to arrange. The funeral was very well attended. The Red Lion was a centre of village life. Joan had been there behind the bar all through the terrible war years and the difficult days of austerity afterwards. Everyone missed her round smiling face and her sympathetic ear.

      ‘She was a wonderful woman,’ people said as they left the church.

      ‘One of the best.’

      ‘Salt of the earth.’

      ‘She’ll be much missed.’

      Standing by her father’s side, Scarlett nodded and shook hands and muttered thanks.

      ‘You’re a good girl,’ people said to her. ‘A credit to your mother, a chip off the old block.’

      And all the while she wanted to scream and shout and rage against what had happened. This couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be happening to her. Her mother couldn’t really have gone and left her like this.

      But she had, and there was worse to come.