through to the bedroom next door. She saw at once that her father’s pillows were spotted with blood and there was more on his nightshirt. Heart racing, she rushed to him and bent over to find a pulse. Thankfully, it was there but faint. ‘He’s not dead, Mum. I think he’s passed out – probably felt weak after bringing up that blood …’ She turned and saw that her two young brothers had come to the door and were staring at her in distress. ‘Freddie, go back to bed,’ she said. ‘I’ll get dressed and phone for the doctor.’
‘Can’t you do anything for him?’ Michelle’s mother asked as her father stirred and moaned weakly. ‘He won’t thank you for fetching the doctor.’
‘You look after him, Chelle,’ the elder of her brothers said. ‘I’ll go and ring from the box on the corner.’
Michelle glanced at the alarm clock by the bed; the time was a quarter to five and the doctor wouldn’t be pleased to be called out at this hour.
‘No, wait,’ she said. ‘Dad’s coming round now. Freddie, go back to bed – you too, Ben; go on now. I’ll clean him up and see how he is and then we’ll get the doctor later if we need to.’
‘Michelle’s right,’ her mother said. ‘No arguments. Your father hates a fuss; you know that – so go quietly now and leave this to us. I’ll fetch you some warm water, Michelle …’
Michelle touched her father’s face. He opened his eyes and she saw the fear in them as he became aware of her and then the blood everywhere. She took his hand and he gripped it tightly. His mouth moved but his voice was only a whisper.
‘What … happened?’
‘You had a coughing fit, brought up some blood and then passed out. You’ll be all right in a while; it’s merely the shock.’
‘You didn’t send for the doctor?’ He clutched at her urgently.
‘Not yet, but you must see him, Dad.’
‘Meant to,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I’ve got long, girl. You’ll have to look after your mother and brothers. Ben will be out to work in another few years, but Freddie’s still a boy …’
‘Don’t talk,’ Michelle hushed him as he closed his eyes, clearly exhausted. ‘Try not to think about the blood; there’s not as much as you think.’
‘Yes,’ he said weakly. ‘Ben is sensible but Freddie needs a firm hand. Remember that when I’ve gone.’
‘Shush … the doctor will help when he comes and you’ll soon be better.’
‘You know that’s not true.’ His eyes reproached her. ‘My own fault, but I didn’t want to let you all down – should’ve done something ages ago.’
‘It isn’t too late,’ Michelle said, praying she was right and not giving him false hope. ‘You’ll need to go away if it’s consumption – don’t look like that; you know I’m right. We don’t know for sure what it is – I’ll look after Mum and the boys, I promise.’
‘Not fair on you – should be courting …’
‘Lie back and rest. I’m going to clean you up and make you comfortable, and then we’ll have the doctor as soon as it’s light.’
‘I can get up and go myself …’
‘You will stay where you are and do as you’re told.’ Michelle fixed him with her best Staff Nurse look. ‘You owe it to Mum and the boys to get better – and the only way that will happen is bed rest in a sanatorium. I shan’t listen to you, Dad, so you may as well listen to me. This attack was sent as a warning. Do as you’re told, and you’ll live to see the boys leave school – both of them.’
The faintest flicker of a smile passed across his mouth, but he was too weak to do more than press her hand. Michelle’s mother came back with the bowl of water and together they changed his shirt and Michelle washed away the blood, tucking him under a clean sheet.
‘Shall I bring him a cup of tea?’ her mother asked. Michelle hesitated, and then shook her head.
‘Only a few sips of water until the doctor has been. I think he’ll sleep now.’
‘Yes, he looks more peaceful,’ her mother said. ‘I was so frightened, Michelle – I don’t know what we’ll do if—’
‘Hush …’ Michelle led her from the room. ‘It’s too soon to think that way, Mum. This has been coming on for a while now. It probably looks worse than it is … let’s wait until the doctor tells us what he thinks; it might not be as bad as we fear.’
‘Well, Miss Morris,’ the doctor said as he finished examining his patient later that morning. ‘You were quite right to call me. I know you think your father has TB, but I’m not too certain of that. We shall do some tests and they will give us a better idea. In the meantime, keep him warm in bed; give him milky drinks and soft foods – nothing spicy for a while at least. It may be ulcers – they cause pain, but a severe attack like this is rare; we’re not sure what causes ulcers in the first place, but bad eating habits can aggravate them in certain patients.’
He was an attractive man with a pleasant smile and a way of looking at you that was appealing. Michelle had been surprised at how young and enthusiastic he was. The doctor they usually saw was much older and set in his ways; this man was bound to have new ideas and theories of his own. Perhaps they’d all been wrong to jump to conclusions, but TB was prevalent in the poorer districts and she knew both her father and mother feared it. Dr Kent was new to the area; he hadn’t been here long enough to understand how many people suffered from bad conditions and poor diets. Yet she would give him the benefit of the doubt and pray that he was right.
‘Bert likes spicy foods,’ Mrs Morris said as they stood at the top of the stairs after leaving the patient to rest. He’d been given something to help him sleep, as he was restless and kept trying to get out of bed. ‘He had some food last night at the pub. It smelled awful to me, and tasted very hot, but Bert has always liked those kinds of foods.’
‘Yes, and that makes me think it may be ulcers, Mrs Morris, rather than TB. I know he’s had a bad cough for a long time, because your daughter told me so and she’s a good nurse – but the blood he coughed up may have been caused by ulcers rather than tuberculosis.’
Mrs Morris looked at him uncertainly. ‘Is that better or worse news, Doctor?’
‘Better – providing you can keep him off greasy foods. Vinegary things are often as bad – so from here on it’ll be rice pudding, jelly, blancmange and soft mashed potato with mince and gravy or boiled fish rather than the things he likes, Mrs Morris. However, he may have to go into hospital for tests. They will sort him out and, if I’m right, he’ll have a good chance of getting over it.’
While Michelle nipped back into the bedroom to make sure that her father was resting, Mrs Morris went downstairs to see the doctor off. When she returned, her eyes were wet with tears.
‘Thank you for stopping until the doctor came,’ she said. ‘You should get off now, Michelle. You don’t want to be late for work.’
‘It’s all right, Mum, I’m on the early evening shift today. I rang and swopped with Paula; she didn’t mind; it means she can go out with her boyfriend this evening.’
‘Oh, then let’s have a cuppa,’ her mother said and looked at her anxiously. ‘Do you think Dr Kent is right – that your father’s cough is bronchitis and the blood was due to ulcers?’
‘I don’t know, Mum. Dad’s been losing a bit of weight recently and together with the cough I thought it might be TB. Did you know he was having stomach pains?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Well, if it is ulcers he won’t like rice pudding and mashed potatoes for his tea. Your dad loves a fry-up or roast beef, and those’ll be on the forbidden list.’
‘If it is ulcers, he’ll