The Girl in a Swing

from her own grief and not merely in sympathy for me, 'Oh,

  Alan, I'm so dreadfully sorry! Poor, poor Kathe! Such a

  sweet, beautiful girl, and always kindness itself to everyone!

  What a pity! What a terrible pity!'

  Once more Dr Fraser was sitting on the bed, but this time

  we were alone. Since the previous day the pain of my cuts

  and lacerations had become less and this in itself made it

  easier for me to appear calm as he sat looking down at me

  from under his thick eyebrows.

  'Ah ye sure, now, Mr Desland, that ye feel equal te hearin"

  what Ah have te tell ye?' he began. 'Ah know ye asked for

  me te come, but Ah'm afraid ye're bound to find it verra

  distressin', an' if ye'd rather wait a while still, there's no

  necessity for ye to be forcin' yersel'.'

  'No, I'd like to hear it now,' I said. 'I can manage it.'

  'Ye can?' he answered. 'Good man! Well, as ye'll understand,

  a dorctor not infrequently has the task of tellin'

  people distressin' things, but the untimely death of a beautiful

  young girrl - a young wife - that's enough te make any

  dorctor wish he hadnae such a duty te perform. Ye must

  believe, Mr Desland, that Ah feel for ye verra sincerely. This

  is no' just a routine matter te me. Ah can assure ye.'

  He paused, seeming to be considering his next words. At

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  length, looking at me directly, he said, 'Ah must ask ye - did

  ye know, now, that yere wife was pregnant?'

  I had not been expecting the question. After a few

  moments I answered, 'We both felt fairly sure.'

  'Ay - about six or seven weeks. She'd no' had a test, then,

  or any medical examination?'

  'No. She didn't want to. I think she - well, it was more to

  her - to her fancy, I suppose you'd say - to wait until she

  was in no doubt herself.'

  'Ay - sometimes they prefer that. It's a great pity, but

  ye're no' te blame for lett'n' her go her own gait in a matter

  o' that sort. How long had ye been married?'

  'A little over six weeks."

  'Ye'd not been livin' together before that?'

  'Oh, no! No, Doctor Fraser! We'd met only three weeks

  before our marriage!'

  'Had she been married before?'

  'No.'

  'Ah see. Well, now, Ah'm sorry te have t'ask ye this, Mr

  Desland, but did ye know that she'd already borne a child?'

  Panic rose in me. What I knew, I knew. But what did he

  know? Had they already been making some sort of investigation?

  What was he leading up to, in his deliberate, Scotch

  way? With an effort I forced myself to reply as steadily as

  I could.

  'I - yes, I knew. That's to say, it -' In spite of all I could

  do, my voice broke. 'That child - it died - some time before

  we were married. That's all I know. Do you mind telling me

  how you know?'

  Clearly, he had not perceived my alarm.

  'Well, d'ye see, she had an episiotomy scar. With a firrst

  baby, ye know, an incision sometimes has te be made at the

  mouth of the vagina, te facilitate the birrth. So we know

  that a child, living or dead, she had surely had.'

  He paused, and now it was I who misunderstood his

  motive. You'll get nothing out of me, I thought desperately:

  you'll get nothing out of me. But he was only considering

  how best to continue his explanation.

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  'It may be,' he said at last, 'it may be that yon firrst confinement

  of yere puir wife's wasnae very skilfully attended.

  D'ye think that's pawssible, now?'

  'It's possible.'

  'Ay, well; so at that time she might have picked up - Ah

  fear she probably did - what we call a tubal infection; that's

  te say, one affecting the Fallopian tubes: and if it isnae

  cleared up, that can lead te an ectopic pregnancy - a

  fertilized ovum that's no' in the uterus, but in the Fallopian

  tube. D'ye follow?'

  I nodded.

  'Such a pregnancy starts by appearing normal. The girrl

  misses a period and so on. But if it's no' diagnosed airly,

  it's verra dangerous. At six, or seven, or eight weeks it's likely

  te rupture. Sexual intercourse, for example, could well bring

  it on. Pain's rare before the rupture, but once that takes

  place there's both pain and shock.'

  Seeing my distress, he took my hands in his, though

  lightly, because of the wounds and bandages.

  'Now when yere puir wife was brought in, d'ye see, they

  had no inkling of any o' this. They were thinkin' o' rape

  and foul play and Gawd knows what. It's not for me te be

  criticizin' ma own colleagues, Mr Desland, though sometimes

  Ah could find it in ma heart te do so. But that's just between

  ourselves. It wasnae till Ah was called to see her the night

  before last that anyone formed an idea of such a diagnosis.

  She died an hour or so after that, puir lass, but ye can believe

  me when Ah tell ye that in any case it's verra doubtful

  whether she could have been saved. The post-mortem confirmed

  that it was a severe case from the start. At least we

  were able te keep her out of pain.'

  'I see,' I said. And then, still aloud, 'So even here, there's

  a rational explanation.'

  'There's always that.' He could not have understood me,

  but nothing in his face or voice showed it.

  'Yes. But - things aren't always what they seem, are they?'

  He looked puzzled for a moment, but then answered, 'Indeed

  they are nawt. Ye're a brave man, Mr Desland, but

  Ah'm glad ye have yere mother here with ye. Ye've heard

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  me out most courageously, but the grief an' shock are gawn'

  te catch up with ye and press ye hard, an' Ah'm glad te

  think ye'll have her by to help ye, for Ah'm afraid that that's

  no' quite all there is te the business.'

  'What do you mean, Doctor Fraser?'

  'Well, knowing all Ah do of the case, Ah wish ye could

  have been spared the business of an inquest, but that's no'

  pawssible, for an inquest there has te be. Neither the police

  nor the coroner himself are gawn' t' budge on that. In the

  firrst place, d'ye see, yere wife was brought here as an

  emergency: no dorctor had been treatin' her. But secondly,

  settin' aside the medical aspect, ye'll understand, Mr Desland

  - an' Ah'm no' makin' any sort o' pairsonal comment there

  were unusual circumstances attachin' to the whole sad

  business, and into those circumstances the coroner has a

  duty to inquire. That's no' my affair, but he'll be askin' ye te

  tell him what took place - as no doubtye can.'

  I said nothing and he went on, 'Well, Ah wasnae gawn'

  te say more now - an' so Ah've already told those concerned

  - if Ah'd formed the opinion that ye seemed in no fit state te

  hear it; but since ye do not, Ah'll go on te tell ye that they're

  naturally anxious te get the weary business over as soon as

  may be. And Ah dare say that since it has te be done, ye

  wouldnae disagree wi' that.'

  I shook my head.

  'To-morrow's Friday; and what Ah've been authorized te br />
  ask ye is this: would ye rather it took place to-morrow, or

  would ye prefer te wait until next week? Ah think masel'

  that ye're fit te go through with it to-morrow - it'll no' be a

  lawng business - always provided that you yerself agree. But

  if ye do not, or if ye want more time, Ah'm prepared te

  support ye medically an' recommend that it should be held

  over.'

  'It's very good of you, Dr Fraser, but I agree with you.

  Waiting would make no difference to me. I'll telephone my

  solicitor, and if he can come down in time, then I think it

  would be best to hold it to-morrow.'

  'Ah'll look in on ye agen about half-past eleven, and if

  ye're still o' the same mind, Ah'll tell the coroner that that's

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  yere feelin' in the matter. Ah know him, o' course. He's a

  decent fellow, and Ah'm sure he'll no' be out te cause ye

  more distress than can be helped.'

  He nodded, unsmilingly but kindly, and stood up to go. At

  the door he turned and said,

  'Ah'll just be addin' a word of thanks on ma own account,

  Mr Desland. Ma task could well have been a great deal

  harder than ye've made it. So Gawd bless ye, now.'

  And what am I to say to the coroner, Kathe? 0 Kathe, for

  both our sakes be with me; only help me, tell me what I

  must say! Take ye no thought how or what thing ye shall

  answer, for the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same

  hour what ye ought to say.

  But what happened, Mr Desland? What happened? Why

  did you leave her? Why was she alone when she was found

  naked and out of her mind? Why?

  'Alan, darling,' said my mother, coming in, 'that kind

  Sister says it's all right for me to use the electric ring outside.

  Shall I make some tea for us both now? And I can stay

  tonight until you're asleep, they say.'

  27

  THEY would not be wanting to make any difficulties. The

  hospital would not be wanting to make difficulties, I reflected

  next morning, as I dressed and tried to eat a reasonable part

  of my breakfast before Nurse Dempster could urge me to do

  so. They had failed to diagnose a fatal ectopic pregnancy

  for several hours after the patient had come into their hands.

  The young doctor in Casualty had shown an unprofessional

  lack of control, in effect calling me a liar and accusing me of

  violence and rape in the hearing of others. The hospital

  themselves might well believe that Kathe could have been

  saved and that I, feeling the same, might mean to make

  trouble for them. They were not to know that I knew that

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  nothing could have saved her and that in truth the circumstances

  which appeared so fortuitous were nothing of the

  kind. Nor were they to know why I, no less than they, had

  every reason to want a swift and final conclusion and as few

  questions as possible.

  No, they would not be wanting to make difficulties. But the

  coroner and the police might well be of another mind. And

  what possible explanation could I give of what had passed

  between Kathe and myself?

  Adding to my perplexity and sense of helplessness was the

  sheer physical difficulty of everything I had to do. I could

  not bath properly, because of my bandaged wrist. I could not

  shave my lacerated face. Several of my fingers were still

  painful, so that I could scarcely button my shirt or tie my

  shoe-laces. When I had finished I felt untidy and ill-turnedout.

  It mattered little, I thought.

  It was another dark, wet morning; cold, with sudden

  squalls rattling the rain across the window-panes. Soon

  after nine my mother went out to buy me a macintosh, for

  my overcoat (though not our suitcases) had somehow disappeared.

  Brian Lucas had arrived the evening before and we had

  talked for the best part of an hour. Himself a rather diffident,

  uncommunicative man, happier with conveyancing and probate

  than court appearances, he was clearly acutely conscious

  of the wretched nature of what had happened, and in his

  wish to spare me as much as possible had in effect rested

  content with emphasizing that the medical evidence would

  be enough to dispose of any suggestion that I could be held

  directly to blame. He had, indeed, invited me, rather hesitantly,

  to tell him how Kathe and I had come to be on the

  beach and what had occurred there, but when I replied, untruthfully,

  that I felt no anxiety on this score and would

  prefer not to have to recount it more than once - that is, to

  the coroner - he seemed content to leave the matter there;

  or at all events did not persist. We had never been more than

  friendly acquaintances; and in the circumstances he no doubt

  felt fastidious, and reluctant to press me for embarrassing

  details of what he knew to have been a sexual business.

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  'You're sure about that, are you?' he asked, and when I

  repeated that I was, merely replied, 'Well, that's a matter

  for your own decision. I'm sure you've got nothing to worry

  about from a purely legal point of view.' Perhaps he thought

  that, this being so, he might as well stay outside something

  which he believed his client could not creditably explain.

  In any case I had made but a poor fist of the consultation.

  Continuously, throughout the three days which I had spent

  in the hospital, I had been oppressed by a crushing sense of

  grief and loss, and by the horror - the recollection - appearing

  again and again before my inward eye. I could not gather

  my wits or concentrate on anything, much less think about

  the future. Sometimes I found that I was weeping without

  being able to recall when I had begun to do so. Like everyone

  overwhelmed by a deep, personal sorrow, I felt shut in

  with it alone. The world had withered, shrunken and enclosed,

  for I had no interest and no hope in it, and whenever

  I was talking to others - even to my mother - felt between

  them and myself an invisible barrier of affliction which they

  could not cross, however full of sympathy they might feel.

  I had never been so unhappy in my life before.

  Sitting on the bed and waiting for my mother to return, I

  wished I had exercised Dr Eraser's option of waiting another

  three days. Had I done so, I thought, perhaps I might after

  all have been able to devise some convincing explanation for

  the coroner. Yet I knew that I would not. Kathe and I had

  separated on the beach, and she had been found out of her

  mind and mortally ill; while the police had come upon me

  self-injured, in a state of incoherent distress. There was

  medical evidence of an earlier childbirth. It was not certain,

  but very possible, that they would infer that I knew something

  which they ought to know too. Why did you leave her,

  MrDesland? Why?

  'O Kathe,' I whispered, my face in my hands, 'only help me!'

  Time passed. I could hear, in the silence, a thrush singing

  somewhere outside. At length I got up and, walking over to
/>
  the window, stood watching the rain speckling the asphalt.

  I was still standing there when the time came to set out.

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  Our party consisted of Lucas, my mother and myself, together

  with Tony, who had once again driven down in the

  early morning (it was he who had brought my clothes) and

  Nurse Dempster, who joined us at the last moment, saying

  that she had been instructed to come with us 'in case I

  needed anything'. The hospital, I thought, were dealing with

  me like thieves of mercy, but they knew what they did.

  The coroner's court was at the local police station. As we

  went in, two macintosh-clad men with notebooks tried to

  speak to me, but Lucas, who had evidently already made

  some sort of reconnaissance, led us straight down the corridor

  to the courtroom, giving them no opportunity.

  The place was larger than I had been expecting, and looked

  like a cross between a lecture-theatre and a committee-room.

  On this stormy morning it seemed dark, and cheerlessly

  gloomy. The coroner's desk stood in the middle and on

  either side of it, facing inwards, were three or four rows of

  wooden seats like pews. In one of these, facing us as we

  came in, Dr Fraser was sitting, together with a middle-aged

  man whom I had not seen before. He nodded and smiled as

  we crossed over and took seats between him and a little

  group of policemen, among whom I recognized the officers

  who had driven me to the hospital on Tuesday morning.

  Whoever was in charge had evidently been waiting for all

  those directly involved to take their places before letting

  in the press, for now the notebook-men, together with two

  or three other people who also looked like reporters, came

  in and found seats on the benches opposite. A few moments

  later we all rose as the coroner entered.

  The coroner was spare and brisk, about fifty, with rimless

  glasses, greying hair and the alert but conventional air of a

  town clerk or a bank manager. Without smiling or looking

  directly at anyone he said quietly, 'Please sit down,' took

  his place and then sat silently for about a minute, methodically

  arranging his various documents and making entries on

  a printed sheet. Then he looked up and said interrogatively,

  'It's rather a dark morning, but perhaps we don't quite need

  the lights?' No one said anything to this and after a few

  moments he went on, Ts Mr Alan Desland here?'

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  I stood up for the second time and replied, 'Yes, sir.'

  'Mr Desland, I understand that it's with your agreement

  that we're holding these proceedings today and that you

  prefer that to a postponement until next week. Am I right?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Well, I realize that you must have been suffering a great

  deal and also that this inquest is bound to cause you further

  distress. I shall do everything possible to spare you and so,

  I'm sure, will everyone else concerned. If at any point you feel

  that you want me to adjourn the court, you've only to ask.'

  All this was uttered in the courteous but perfunctory tone

  of someone whose real motive is that no one shall be able

  to say afterwards that every consideration was not shown or

  that the proper things were not said. 'A polite stander of no

  nonsense,' I thought. 'A man who will show every courtesy

  consistent with not letting go of anything he's got his teeth

  into. Well, perhaps that's best. Too much kindness and I

  might very well collapse again, as I did with Dr Fraser.' I

  said, 'Thank you, sir,' and sat down.

  'Now,' said the coroner, 'may I start by asking everyone

  concerned to tell me, one by one, who they are? Let's begin

  with the police, shall we?'

  Anxiety was closing round me like a fog, dulling my mind.

  Each witness's voice, following upon the last, seemed to be

  blowing the courtroom up like a balloon, tighter and tighter.

  Before the end it would burst in my face, to disclose - I put

  my thumb between my teeth, bit it and stared unseeingly

  across the sombre room towards the reporters by the door.

  A heavily-built young man in a brown suit, who had been

  sitting with the police, stood up, said his name was Martin

  Sims, and took the oath '... that I will speak the truth, the

  whole truth and nothing but the truth'. I listened as he told

  of finding Kathe wandering on the verge of the road while

  driving to work on Tuesday morning, the 9th July. He was

  neither fluent nor articulate and his evidence finally became