A Kind Man by Susan Hill Read Free Book Online

But I would rather not.’
    Eve coaxed open the child’s mouth and sprinkled the powder and sugar on her tongue. She coughed once or twice but took a spoon of warm water and then turned her head away.
    ‘I can’t leave her on her own.’
    So Tommy brought the cot into the front bedroom, before carrying Jeannie up the stairs with great tenderness, cradling her head against him and moving slowly. By the time she was undressed it was clear that her fever was lessening. Her face was still flushed but there was no longer so much heat radiating from her.
    They did not turn on the lamp but left the door ajar and the landing light on. Eve did not leave her but lay on their bed, her arm outstretched to touch her daughter’s damp hair that was pressed down onto her forehead. Tommy brought her tea and would have made food but she told him to eat it, for she could not.
    And so the evening wore away and the night drew in and, eventually, they slept, Jeannie now cooler, herlimbs no longer going into spasm, her head flat on the bed, as if she did not need to press it into the pillow.
    An owl hooted softly from the far edge of the field.
    Several times Eve woke and at once leaned over and looked carefully in the dim light to check on the child, but each time she saw and felt that she was sleeping peacefully, her breathing easier, her skin normal to the touch. Tears came with the relief and then she slept herself.
    The mornings were light by six now and Eve woke as the dawn seeped through the thin bedroom curtains. She could hear Tommy moving quietly about in the kitchen, the rumble of the coal as he filled up the range, the sound of the water running into the kettle. She leaned out of bed and reached to the cot and knew.
    These things happened, the doctor said, and there was no telling how or why. They happened. But his face was grey and he seemed suddenly older as he stood in the room, looking down.
    ‘If I could have known … But I could not. You understand that, don’t you? It seemed the greater risk to move her in the state she was, all the way to hospital. I would do the same today, you know. I’d have left her here at home.’
    ‘At home to die,’ Eve said. But she did not blame him. She understood, looking at his face, how it must be for him.
    ‘Children die,’ he said quietly. ‘They do.’
    ‘But if I –’
    He shook his head. ‘No. Not you, nor me. No way of knowing, no way of preventing it.’ He did not look at her. ‘The worst of all,’ he said.
    But for her the worst thing was that she wanted to explain to Jeannie and could not.
    That week was the most terrible of Eve’s life and the year that came after it the most terrible of years. She did not want the funeral to be public and open to all eyes, nor in the granite-grey town church and so Tommy arranged that it would not be, found out about St Paul-Alone and how they could take her there. No one came. Tommy himself carried her to the grave.
    After that, life went on, a long, narrow, bleak tunnel through which they had to walk, one which would surely never end in any light. The only thing Eve had with which to comfort herself was that she had enjoyed every last moment of the little girl’s life, and never once felt her to be a burden, difficult or tiresome, never once failed to love her absolutely, in flesh and spirit. She had been a happy, open, givingchild and loved easily in return, and no moment had been missed, no day wasted. She wished Jeannie back but regretted nothing.
    Miriam had six boys and did not come to see them though she sent a brief letter. But Eve would not go to the town and besides, Miriam would never welcome her.
    No other child was born to them. Tommy became quieter still, afraid to intrude on Eve’s sadness. He felt the death of Jeannnie Eliza more than he had words to express – if he had had need of words. But neither of them did and the comfort was that they understood one another.
    So great a pall lay over the town still that