But all of that was so far removed from Ella’s day-to-day existence that it felt as if she was reading a novel when she read the letters from Caroline, a story of people and places that couldn’t exist in reality.
And, so here she was, living her life with her husband and her children who anchored her in that reality every day.
She rumpled Robbie’s hair and he ran through the school gate to the boys’ entrance without a backward glance, dragging his gym bag along the playground floor in his wake, having spotted a group of his friends.
‘Remember to hand in the note about the trip to the Botanical Gardens today, won’t you?’ she said to Rhona, hugging her tightly, knowing that it was acceptable to do so as it was different for girls.
‘I will, Mummy. See you this afternoon.’ Ella stood at the gates, watching. Rhona turned back, as Ella had known she would, and she waved a little wave of encouragement and solidarity, then blew her daughter one last kiss before turning away to go and do the day’s food shop before she returned to the security and predictability of their home.
‘Did you have a good day?’ Ella asked Rhona.
‘It was alright. I got an alpha plus in mathematics. And my painting of the seaside has been put up on the wall.’
‘Well done, Rhona. And how about you, Robbie? How was your day?’
He shrugged, trailing behind them as they walked to the tram stop. ‘Alright.’ He was unforthcoming, and Ella thought he looked a little pale.
‘You must be tired after your first week back. Never mind, it’s the weekend now and I’ve got your favourite sausages for supper, with mashed potatoes. You’d better have an early night tonight.’
Thank goodness the first week back of term was a short one, she thought. The energy levels they seemed to require at the school were daunting, especially when they were readjusting after the long summer break.
That night, as she tucked Robbie in and bent to kiss him goodnight, Ella said, ‘There you go. Feeling better now?’ He’d eaten most of his supper and then spent the evening happily lying on the floor of his bedroom playing with his cars. He nodded. ‘Good. You can have a long lie-in the morning and then you’ll be full of beans!’ She smiled at him, knowing that he’d be up early, as usual, as it was Saturday and he wouldn’t want to waste a second of his weekend. The luxury of long lie-ins was long gone these days in the Dalrymple household.
Later that evening, she turned to Angus in bed and drew his arm around her, trying to ignore the tiny pang of sadness she felt at his not gathering her into his arms automatically, the way he used to do before . . . He kissed her on the forehead, slightly absent-mindedly.
‘Is everything alright?’ she asked him, trying to keep her tone light.
He smiled at her, as if suddenly seeing her at last. ‘Oh, yes, fine, just got a lot on at work at the moment. You alright?’
‘Yes, fine. Glad it’s the end of the week. It always seems harder getting back into the routine after the holidays.’
He reached over and switched out the lamp on the bedside cabinet and then turned back to her. ‘Never mind. The weekend starts here . . .’ He began to kiss her properly, more seriously, with intent, and she relaxed into his arms, reassured, losing herself in the moment.
They were awoken the next morning by a hesitant tap on the bedroom door. ‘Daddy? Mummy? I’ve made you a cup of tea.’ Rhona pushed the door open, carefully carrying two cups and saucers on a tray. The china rattled as she made her way across the carpet, concentrating hard on not spilling a drop.
‘Why, thank you, sweetheart.’ Angus took his cup from her and put it on the bedside table then gathered her into a bear hug. ‘That’s my girl.’
‘That’s a lovely treat, clever you, Rhona. Thank you. Is Robbie behaving himself?’
‘Well, yes, but only because he’s not awake yet.’ Rhona tucked her already-neat hair, which was the same dark honey colour as her mother’s (although her eyes were as blue as her father’s), behind her ears, relishing the approval of her parents and the rare opportunity to have them to herself for once.
‘I thought it was very peaceful.’ Angus consulted his watch. ‘It’s nearly nine! Miraculous.’ He yawned and stretched, exchanging a smile with Ella over his daughter’s head and then reaching his arm across to include her in the family hug too. ‘A cup of tea and my two best girls, what more could a man want?’
A faint wail interrupted their moment of peace. ‘I knew it was too good to last! No, don’t worry, you two stay there, I’ll go.’ Ella got out of bed and pulled her dressing-gown on over her nightie. ‘It’s alright, Robbie, I’m coming . . .’ she called, tying the cord around her waist.
His bedroom was still half dark, the curtains drawn across the windows blocking out the light of a grey Saturday morning. The air in the room smelled stale, of sleep and a night full of troubled dreams. Ella wrinkled her nose at the slightly sweet and fetid edge.
She crossed to the bed where Robbie lay, unmoving beneath his rumpled blankets. She put a cool hand to his forehead as she bent to kiss him, saying, ‘What is it my darling, are you not feeling well? Why Robbie, I think you have a temperature . . .’
He gave a feeble wail, his eyes glassy as though his gaze was turned inwards to something inside: something that was consuming him alive, steadily and inexorably.
A wave of panic surged, suddenly, through Ella and she seized hold of his shoulders to bring him to a sitting position. But his hot limbs were heavy and unresponsive between her hands and he fell forwards against her where she held him. She hugged his body desperately against hers, as if she could absorb whatever was wrong with him and draw it out into her own self.
‘Mummy,’ he murmured, scarcely finding the breath to speak, ‘my legs don’t work.’
Angus was there in two strides when he heard Ella’s scream.
‘Call an ambulance! Fast! Oh, Robbie, Robbie! My baby boy!’ She was rocking to and fro, her son’s small, fragile body held tight in her arms.
‘Ella, what is it?’ Angus’s voice was taut with fear.
She turned to look up at him, tears streaming down her face. And then she whispered the words that parents at that time dreaded the most, ‘He’s paralysed.’
The polio ward at the children’s hospital is the most terrifying place on Earth, Ella thought. She would rather have faced another night lost in a dark, foreign forest than be standing outside the locked door of the ward, pressing her face against the square pane of glass cross-hatched with a grid of wires, trying to catch a glimpse of her son on the other side of it. Nurses moved briskly around the clinical, brightly lit ward, attending to the rows of iron lungs that were arranged in ranks there, each of the large, white cylinders containing one small child. Through the door, she could hear the mechanical push and pull of the machines as air was forced in and out of them, causing their occupants’ lungs to rise and fall, cheating the paralysis which would otherwise have made those tiny chests fall still.
The nurses ignored Ella. They were used to desperate parents standing there on the other side of the door, forbidden from entering, unable to touch or hold their children as their small bodies struggled against the silent killer that had invaded them. Ella had begged the Ward Sister to allow her in, just for a few moments, so that she could reassure Robbie that she was there with him. ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Dalrymple, but it’s not allowed under any circumstances. We appreciate that this is hard for you, but if we make an exception for one parent then we’ll have to allow everyone in. Imagine how it could upset the other children, and how it would increase the risk of carrying contamination home with you. Think of your daughter. You need to protect her, don’t you?’
And so Ella had to make do with standing and gazing at Robbie from the other side of the door while she felt as if her heart was being wrenched from her breast. She would smile and wave, hoping he could see her, careful to choke back her anguish until she was walking away down the corridor and safely out of his sight.
For several weeks, Ella made a daily pilgrimage to stand at the door that separated her from her son, braving the stony looks from the hospital staff who disapproved of these troublesome parents who had no regard for the official visiting hours.
At home in the evenings, while Rhona did her homework or sat quietly reading her favourite Malory Towers books, Ella would scour books and magazines for any new information about the treatment of polio sufferers or compose notes, which she would press on any nurse who emerged from the ward, to be read to Robbie.
After what felt like several eternities, Robbie was finally pronounced out of danger by the doctor and moved out of the iron lung. Ella was overjoyed when the day came that she could visit him and hold him and give him the hugs and kisses she’d yearned to for so long. His legs were still paralysed and she’d had to turn away, that first day, when she saw him lying on his bed; his muscles were so wasted that his legs looked like fragile twigs, thin enough to snap in a stiff breeze, strapped into metal callipers that ended in a heavy pair of boots. His face was white and drawn, and he lived with the constant anxiety that the disease might return and take him off for good this time. The nurses told her that he was having nightmares, waking screaming and gasping for air, dreaming that his breathing had stopped without the machine to keep it going.