From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  There was no answer but she went in anyway. The house felt different, damp and cold, and smelt musty and devoid of its usual homely scents of cooking and baking. Actually, it not only smelt musty, it smelt bad, especially in the kitchen. Mr De Valera, her nan’s cat (named for Eamon De Valera, hero of the Irish Easter Uprising of 1916, whom Rose fervently admired), was nowhere to be seen and his bowl was empty.

  ‘Nan! Where are you? It’s me, Allie!’

  ‘In here, dear.’

  Allie wandered down the hallway, peering into rooms and frowning at a vase of drooping, shedding dahlias here and some unopened post there, till she reached the front room and stopped, shocked to see that her nan was still in bed. Rose had long ago hung a curtain over the alcove created by the small bay window and moved a single bed into the space to catch the warmth of the sun.

  She was such a small woman, made even less substantial by age, that she barely made a lump under the covers. She sat propped against pillows, was wearing several cardigans, a scarf and a knitted hat, and was reading a library book from a pile on her nightstand.

  ‘Hello, dear. I saw you come past the window,’ Rose said.

  Allie put down her tin. ‘Why are you still in bed?’

  Rose flapped her hand. ‘Oh, my damn leg’s giving me gyp.’

  ‘Well, for God’s sake, put the heater on. It’s freezing in here! Here, I’ll do it.’ Allie bent to drag a one-bar heater out from beside the sofa.

  ‘No, leave it, really, I’m fine,’ Rose protested.

  Trying to save your pennies as usual, Allie thought. ‘Have you had your lunch yet?’

  She sniffed the air, but not so her nan would notice. There was a bad smell in this room too.

  ‘Oh, well . . .’

  ‘You haven’t, have you? God, Nan, you’ll starve to death. Well, lucky I brought you some roast from Mum’s. It’s mutton, carrots, leeks in white sauce, broccoli and potatoes. Will that do you?’

  ‘Sounds lovely. I’ll save some for my tea.’

  ‘No, you’ll have it now. I’ll just put it the oven for a few minutes, shall I?’

  ‘Right you are. Thank you, dear.’

  Allie went back down the hall to the kitchen, decanted the roast into a Pyrex dish and slid it into the oven. The whiff at that end of the house, she discovered, was coming from the meat safe — a raw lamb shank definitely on the green side. Frowning, she wrapped it in newspaper and took it out to Rose’s garden incinerator.

  Back in the front room she said to Nan, ‘Now, tell me what’s wrong with your leg?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just a twinge.’

  ‘A twinge? I’ve never known you to take to your bed, Nan. Ever.’

  Rose blew out a big breath, making an annoyed horse noise with her lips. ‘I fell when I was bringing the washing in. On Wednesday, on the back steps. They were slippery. I just . . .’ She scowled. ‘Oh, it was just so stupid! And now I have this pain in my hip whenever I try to stand.’

  ‘Have you been to the doctor?’

  Raising a bony hand and twitching a gap in the lace curtains at the front window, Rose said, ‘There goes that lad again, tearing along. He’ll come a cropper off that bicycle one of these days.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. Have you been to the doctor?’

  A sigh. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I never go to the doctor.’

  Allie felt like snatching Rose’s book off her and hitting her over the head with it. ‘That’s because you’re never sick. But now you are. Did you tell Mum your leg hurts when you stand?’

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’s got enough to worry about.’

  ‘How long have you been in bed?’

  Rose made a show of having to think. ‘Perhaps Thursday morning?’

  Allie was appalled. ‘You’ve been in bed since you fell over?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘But what about your meals?’ A worse thought occurred. ‘And the loo?’

  ‘I haven’t really felt hungry,’ Rose replied. ‘And there’s the po. I’ve been putting it up on the bed.’

  With much trepidation, Allie crouched and lifted the bedcover. There was indeed a potty under the bed — a full, extremely smelly one. She gingerly eased it out, careful not to spill the contents. She didn’t say anything, not wanting to embarrass her nan, and carried it warily outside to the toilet, emptied it, rinsed it in the washhouse tub, washed her hands, then put it back under the bed.

  She’d smelt the roast dinner on the way past the kitchen so she transferred it to a plate on a tray and served it, careful where she placed it across Rose’s skinny thighs.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think I can eat all that, love.’

  ‘Well, do your best.’

  ‘There’re some pikelets in the cupboard if you’re still peckish, and some of my raspberry jam.’

  Allie hesitated. Rose Murphy was famous for her raspberry jam, but as her eyesight had deteriorated her ability to distinguish between raspberry seeds and ants had too, resulting in ‘Nan’s Ant Jam’. ‘I’m right, thanks.’

  They both looked up as muted galloping sounded along the hallway, then Mr De Valera burst into the sitting room, shot across the rug and launched himself at Rose, landing squarely on her lap. She squawked in pain and batted him off, though he still managed to snatch a piece of meat off the plate on his way to the floor.

  Watching him tear into it, Allie said, ‘He’s starving.’

  ‘I know,’ Rose said crossly. ‘But I couldn’t get up, could I? I left the kitchen window open for him, though, and he’s had a few mice.’ She pointed at several stains on the rug. ‘See where he’s brought them in? Clever old Dev.’

  Vaguely disgusted, Allie said, ‘Eat your lunch, Nan, while I feed him. What do you normally give him?’

  ‘Meat and a bit of fish, but I’ve nothing in for him. Here, give him some of this mutton. With gravy. He loves gravy.’

  ‘No! That’s for you. You’re not giving it to the cat!’

  Allie glared at her nan. Rose glared back.

  ‘Allie, dear, that cat is my live-in companion. He’s here with me when no one else is. He listens to my grizzles and groans, he gives me affection when I need it, he never judges me, and all he ever asks for is a feed twice a day. Do you understand what that means to me?’

  Not really, Allie thought. She didn’t much like cats, especially stroppy great tabbies like Mr De Valera.

  ‘Now please get his bowl and put some mutton and gravy in it.’

  Grumbling, Allie fetched the cat’s bowl and served him his lunch, saying, ‘Here you are, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know,’ Rose remarked.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Pushing the tray farther down her legs, Rose said, ‘I’ve eaten all of this I can. Tell your mum it was lovely, thank you.’

  Allie saw she’d managed a sliver of meat, half a carrot and half a potato. ‘That’s not going to keep you going.’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea.’

  ‘Well, I’m not getting you one unless you show me your hip.’

  ‘What for?’ Rose yanked the bedcover up to her armpits. ‘There’s nothing to see.’

  ‘Which leg is it? It’s the left, isn’t? Come on, show me.’

  ‘Don’t you be so damn bossy, girl.’

  Allie whipped the tray off the bed and clattered it onto the floor. ‘Nan! Why are you being so stubborn? I’m trying to help you!’

  Rose’s cheeks went pink and her eyes reddened behind her glasses, filling with tears. Then she got control of herself. ‘All right. But please don’t touch anything. It’s just too sore.’

  She folded back the bedclothes revealing veined white legs, a winceyette nightie and a sour waft of unwashed body and urine. Dismayed, Allie forced herself not to lean away. This wasn’t her cherished nan: that Rose Murphy smelt like talcum powder and rose water, not pissed pants.
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  Carefully, slowly, Rose pulled the nightie up her leg, groaning as she lifted herself off the fabric beneath her. As she slid the garment higher a huge bruise appeared on her thigh, a bilious yellow colour then a pinky-red deepening to dark purple as it neared her hip, where it disappeared under her pants.

  Allie felt sick. She’d seen worse, of course, in the fire, but this was her nan. ‘What’s it like under your pants? The bruise?’

  ‘It’s right across my belly.’

  ‘I really think you should go to the hospital, Nan. I think you’ve broken something.’

  ‘And how do you suggest I do that?’ Rose snapped. ‘Walk?’

  Allie stared at her, realising Rose knew she was in trouble and that she was really quite frightened.

  ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’

  ‘None of my neighbours have telephones. You’ll have to go all the way down to the other end of Broadway to find a telephone box. And I don’t know if I can afford to pay for an ambulance.’

  ‘They’re free, aren’t they? And it’s only round the corner to the Mater, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know what they cost, and the Mater’s private. I’d have to go to Auckland Public.’

  ‘Well, what about a taxi? You could lie on the back seat, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Allison,’ Rose barked, ‘I can hardly flaming well move!’

  They sat in awkward silence for a few moments. Allie didn’t know what her nan was thinking, but she felt awful. So often the old lady had been a source of strength and comfort to her, and now Rose was the one needing help and all she could do was dither and make unhelpful suggestions. Her nan was old. What if she had a heart attack or a stroke from the effects of the broken hip? What if Rose died right now, in front of her, like the other people she’d loved but hadn’t been able to save?

  Then Rose said, ‘I’m sorry, dear. I’m not helping, am I?’

  And then Allie heard the most welcome sound she’d heard in ages — a motorcycle rumbling along the street. ‘That’s Sonny. He’ll know what to do!’

  Grimacing, Rose eased her position slightly and muttered, ‘I’m damned if I’m going to the hospital on that contraption of his.’

  Stifling a wild urge to giggle, Allie hurried down the hallway and met Sonny at the back door, rubber-legged with relief. ‘You’re back early, but thank God because Nan needs help.’

  ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I think she’s broken her hip, or maybe her leg. It looks awful. I think she needs to go to the hospital.’

  ‘Right-oh, I’ll get the truck.’

  ‘No, I don’t think she can get in it. I’m not sure she can sit up properly, and she can’t walk at all.’

  ‘Not in it, on it. And we’ll carry her out.’

  Imagining everything that could go wrong — Nan getting dropped in the gutter, Nan rolling off the back of the truck, etc — Allie began, ‘But—’

  Sonny interrupted, ‘No buts. You organise her things and some blankets and I’ll get the truck. Go on.’

  He pecked her on the cheek and was off around the side of the house. A few seconds later she heard his motorbike start and roar off down the street.

  ‘He’s gone to get the truck,’ she said to Rose.

  Rose looked worried. ‘I doubt I could sit in a truck, Allie.’

  ‘We’ll work something out. What do you want to take to the hospital? You might be in there for a little while.’

  By the time Sonny returned Allie had packed a small bag with Rose’s necessities and fetched her beloved cloche hat, which Rose put on. She never went out without her cloche hat. Allie also collected several blankets off the beds in the spare rooms and folded them in readiness. Looking out the window she watched Sonny back the truck up to the garden gate. The house didn’t have a driveway and was fenced, and that was as close as he could get.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Rose asked suspiciously.

  ‘Not sure,’ Allie said.

  Sonny hopped out of the truck, disappeared for a moment, then they heard him clomping up the hallway.

  ‘Hello, Mrs M. Had a bit of a fall?’

  ‘It appears so, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Well, don’t worry, we’ll soon sort you out.’

  ‘I don’t think I could walk anywhere, dear, or sit in your truck,’ Rose said.

  Sonny shook his head. ‘You won’t have to. We’ll carry you out.’

  Rose looked horrified. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I think that might be rather painful.’

  ‘Not if we put you on a stretcher.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame. I think I might have given all my stretchers to St Michael’s last jumble sale.’

  Allie eyed Rose; she was getting snippy again. ‘It’s all right, Nan. Sonny was a soldier, remember? Korea? He knows about these things.’

  Sonny said brightly, ‘I’ll have a quick look around, if that’s all right. Everyone has something in the house they can use as a stretcher.’

  ‘You won’t find anything,’ Rose warned.

  He was back a minute later, carting a clanking great ironing board. ‘See?’

  Rose said, ‘I haven’t used that in years. It’s too heavy and I can’t get it to stay up.’

  ‘A few blankets and you’ll be snug as a bug on the back of the truck.’

  ‘But how do we get her on it?’ Allie asked.

  ‘The truck?’ Sonny said. ‘Easy, lift and slide.’

  ‘No, the ironing board.’

  Sonny explained that it was a matter of raising one side of Rose, sliding the ironing board beneath her, then lifting her other side and pushing the board all the way under, which they managed to accomplish but with an unavoidable level of discomfort to her.

  While Rose was catching her breath, she suddenly said, ‘What about Dev? Who’s going to feed him? He’ll get lonely too, you know, here by himself.’

  Lonely my backside, Allie thought. He’ll have the fire going, the radio on and piles of dead mice all over the place.

  ‘The cat?’ Sonny said. ‘Don’t worry about him. He can stay at our place. I like cats.’

  Allie glared at him.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘He’ll be OK.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Sonny,’ Rose said. ‘You’re such a good lad. That’s really taken a weight off my mind, that has. And you too, Allie.’

  Allie’s heart sank. She couldn’t refuse to take the bloody animal now, could she?

  ‘We’ll come and pick him up tonight,’ Sonny said, in what Allie thought was an unnecessarily jolly tone. ‘But first let’s get you to the hospital, eh?’

  *

  ‘On an ironing board?’ Colleen stared at them, aghast. ‘On the back of the truck?’

  ‘But it was all right,’ Allie said quickly. Her poor mother’s face had gone completely white when they’d told her Rose was in hospital. ‘I held onto the legs so it wouldn’t slide around.’

  ‘Mum’s legs?’

  ‘No, the legs of the ironing board.’

  Colleen launched herself out of her chair. ‘Where’s my purse? Allie, get my coat. Sid, get yourself properly dressed. We’re going up to the hospital.’

  Allie glanced at Sonny: that meant they were driving her parents to the hospital, jammed into the truck. She glanced at her watch. ‘I think visiting hours might be over soon, Mum. You might have to leave it till tomorrow.’

  ‘Like hell. I have to work. I’m not waiting till tomorrow evening.’

  ‘But the doctors said she’s quite comfortable now,’ Allie said. ‘They gave her an injection and she did seem a lot happier after that, didn’t she?’ This to Sonny, who nodded.

  ‘How can she be comfortable with a broken hip? No, we’re going up,’ Colleen insisted. ‘You’ll take us, won’t you?’

  ‘Course,’ Sonny replied.

  Allie stifled a sigh. Her nan would probably be asleep by now. But she knew what was wrong — her mother felt guilty. She’d visited Rose on Friday and not really noticed that much was
amiss, but that had been her nan’s fault, not her mother’s.

  So off they went, shoe-horned into the cab of the truck, arriving at Auckland Hospital forty minutes before visiting hours ended. By the time they found Rose’s ward there were only fifteen minutes left.

  She was dozy, and looked like a little wrinkled doll parked in the middle of her pristine white hospital bed, and was pleased to see her visitors.

  Then Sid bent down to kiss the pale skin of her forehead and said, ‘Get out of bed, you lazy old trout.’

  Raising a hand to his cheek she replied in a voice slowed by morphine, ‘I know, it’s your job to lie around and do nothing, isn’t it?’ And they both had a good cackle.

  ‘Have the doctors said anything else?’ Colleen asked. ‘Apart from the hip being broken?’

  ‘I’m dehyderated,’ Rose mispronounced, ‘but I had one of those Murphy drips.’

  ‘What’s a Murphy drip when it’s at home?’ Sid said.

  ‘Fluid up the back passage.’

  Sid looked horrified: Allie nearly laughed.

  ‘The doctor says my skin’s too fragile so I can’t have one of those needle under the skin things with the tube,’ Rose explained. ‘Plus I’ll be needing an operation.’

  ‘So you’ll be in here a while?’ Colleen asked.

  ‘Could be, but that’s all right because Dev’s staying at Sonny and Allie’s.’

  Colleen said, ‘For God’s sake, Mum, I think there’re more important things to think about than the flaming cat!’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as where you’ll go when you get out.’

  ‘Well, home.’

  ‘No, you’ll come to us,’ Colleen insisted. ‘And that’s final.’

  Both Rose and Sid looked dismayed.

  A nurse approached, telling them that visiting hours were over. In a garbled rush, Rose explained to Allie and Sonny that Mr De Valera had to be fed twice a day, his meals consisting of fresh red meat five times a week, and fresh fish (scaled and deboned) twice a week. He drank water, not milk as it upset his bowels, and he enjoyed between-meal treats of cheese, buttered toast, and plain biscuits, though he probably wouldn’t eat a whole one in a single sitting.