“Maybe I should stick to bottled water.”
“No, we’ll be fine. I have found in the guidebook to the house in the kitchen, it says the water is totally safe to drink and is fully guaranteed from the tap. You need to keep drinking to flush out the toxins, and the more you drink water, the sooner your bruises will disperse.”
After the drink, Isabel insisted they resume the work. She had completed her PhD eighteen years before by exposing sexual exploitation of girls in eastern Kenya, working with Kenyan colleagues on the shores of Lake Victoria, and had then done similar research into women’s abuse in the Philippines. In the UK, she subsequently headed up a think tank on domestic violence, and had written several books and papers on that subject.
The more she heard Isabel speak, the more regard Bryony had for her experience and forensically sharp brain, but she could see the woman was grey with fatigue.
“Isabel, can I take you to rest on the bed for an hour, while I correct and check through my notes from last night and this morning? Then you can read through them while I prepare lunch, maybe?”
Isabel was all set to disagree strongly, and then she realized how much her body needed rest.
“OK, just for an hour, mind.”
Bryony wheeled her to the bathroom, and when they had coped with the business there, took her back into the bedroom and helped her up onto the bed. She covered her lightly with the throw and the dressing-gown from the previous night, and pulled the curtains across slightly.
As she lay down on the bed, Isabel’s head still swirled with the details of her research, and she thought it would be a long time before she could relax enough to sleep. For the last four years she had been compiling notes on the effect of global warming on fragile communities, and had her head full of anecdotal evidence to back up the data.
All this was alongside being executive director of a specialist aid agency, and monitoring projects across four continents. She wondered if she would ever be fit enough to return there, or like so much else in her life, had to be discarded as a shattered dream. Anyway, that was another worrying decision she would have to postpone until another day. Focus, focus! That was what she had to do, focus on her book.
Bryony watched her struggling not to lose consciousness, and helped by gently lifting her reading glasses off her nose and folding them beside the bed. By the time she had reached the door Isabel’s eyes were shut and her face looked peaceful. She was already asleep.
Chapter 7
Back at the kitchen table, Bryony did as she’d promised and made as many corrections to the text as she was sure about, then closed the page on her lap-top, and plugged it into the power source to restore its battery. Then she went through to the kitchen and started to peel potatoes. There was minced lamb, onions and carrots in the fridge, and she had in mind a nice little shepherd’s pie. The next couple of hours passed very peacefully.
The smell of the meal cooking had woven its way out of the kitchen as far as the bedroom before there was quite an imperious call from Isabel.
“Hey! You, girl!”
Bryony finished laying the table and then went through, wiping her hands on the tea towel she held.
“Hi,” she said evenly.
“I thought we agreed I’d only sleep for an hour. It’s now nearly 1 pm!”
“Yes, but earlier you seemed angry I woke you, when it was past eight. You obviously needed your sleep. You worked very hard earlier.”
“Oh, don’t patronize me. And don’t argue with me. It’s ridiculous to sleep right through the mid-morning. Did you finish writing up the first pages at least?”
“I did, and you can read through them all after lunch. Restful sleep is very healing. I wasn’t going to wake you when you were so settled, so please don’t be cross.”
“Humph.”
Isabel wasn’t used to being challenged by her minions, but she wasn’t sure if Bryony quite fit into that category of staff member. Their relationship was so intimate, and yet so impersonal. She knew it felt weird, and would probably continue to feel weird.
Anyway, the smell of something very tasty emanating from the kitchen stimulated her brain, and she felt motivated to leap out of bed and eat lunch. To do this though required complete help from Bryony.
The girl parked the wheelchair next to the bed and helped Isabel raise her body. She saw her wince, and asked, “Ribs still very painful?”
“Yes, but maybe better than last week. They say it will be six weeks minimum from the accident before they heal, and I’ll have some pain for months probably.”
“That’s why sufficient bed-rest and sleep is essential. See, it’s not just me being difficult.”
Isabel sighed and almost fell against her shoulder as Bryony stood her up, turned her round and then helped her sit back down in the chair.
“I know. You’ll just have to be patient with me when I snap and snarl. I’m fighting this on so many fronts, and my brain wants to fly away and get going on all the really urgent things on my agenda. I’m sorry for my bad temper.”
This was very magnanimous from Bel, whom she could see wasn’t prone to giving easy apologies. Bryony knelt down in front of the chair and adjusted Isabel’s clothes, and then she said, “You know, I really don’t mind you snapping and snarling at me. It stops me feeling too sorry for you, which might hamper my efficiency as your caregiver!
“But, Isabel, I do want you to know life will get better. Everyday your body will move forward towards healing, if I have any say in the matter, and I don’t want you to worry about whether or not I’m going to stay. I’ve already signed up for this posting. I can see why I’m needed, and I am enjoying the challenge.”
Isabel was determined not to show too much of the huge relief she felt inside at those words.
“I could still sack you, you know,” she said, but there was no bite to her words.
“Yes, you could, of course. But you won’t, because why would you? I’m not bad at this caring business, and I suspect you may grow to quite like me by the end. Now let’s go through and eat lunch. I’ve made us some shepherd’s pie, with plums and custard for afters. Plums will be good for you know...”
“I know, don’t say it!” Isabel cut her off irritably, as she let Bryony push her out of the bedroom, back into the sunny kitchen. The workings of her bowels had been far too much a subject of prolonged discussion with the nurses in the hospital and she was heartily sick of it. She hadn’t meant to snap at the girl, though and instantly regretted it.
Bryony did seem to have a calm disposition and more patience than most, and the last thing she wanted was for her to decide Bel was just too difficult a patient to cope with for a full two months, and give in her notice. She gave her a little smile, as a silent apology, and was rewarded with one in return. Maybe the girl was telling the truth when she’s assured her she was signed up for the duration.
After lunch, pudding and a cup of tea, all fed to her spoonful by spoonful, sip by sip, she sat in her chair at the table and read the chapter and a half she had finished so far. Bryony had transferred the text from her lap-top onto an even lighter I-Pad, and placed it low on her lap so she could reach it, even with her constricted arms.
She had the strength in her fingers to scroll down the pages and check through the two documents. It was obviously very rough still and would need editing, but it made sense, and was at least a creditable start.
“It’s good. You are a careful typist. Well done.”
Bryony gave a mental high five, and a visible smile. “Spellchecker is a great help, obviously, but I think we will work well together. You speak at just the right speed for me to follow. Thank you, though, for the compliment, if that’s what it was.”
Isabel regarded her, now busy washing up and putting away crockery and cutlery from lunch. Her long tawny hair swirled down her back in a very slow wave, held together by a cheap hair band, and her body was toned and fit.
“You are in good shape,” she commented, “You m
ust work out or go running or something. You will get very confined with me in here all day. I suggest you take at least an hour off each day to go walk in the woods or something.”
Bryony faced her. “No, Isabel. Remember what Edward said. I’m not leaving you alone for more than ten minutes, not while you have no use of your arms even to raise an alarm. If we go out, we’ll go together. There may be a smooth enough track we can take the chair along to get some fresh air, and I also have a set of air-force exercises I can use as a mini workout in my own room. Next Friday, when Claire comes for the day, then will be soon enough for me to leave you.”
“It’s all going to be very intense. I’m naturally very crabby these days, and I’m not an easy patient, as you’ve seen already. I’ve got used to being alone much of the time.”
Bryony heard what she was saying. Maybe the house was rather too small for comfort. Even if they weren’t directly in the same room, they would be in earshot the whole time. She decided to make sure she had her ear phones in if she wanted to listen to music.
“If you get tired of seeing my face, then I can read in my room, or listen to podcasts, but I’m not leaving you alone, OK?”
Isabel sighed, and raised her eyebrows in weary acceptance.
“That was my expression of weary acceptance,” she explained, mimicking Bryony’s quote from the previous day. Then, without any prodding, she smiled.
Bryony basked in its splendor. “Oh, my word,” she thought. “When she does that, she really is stunning.”
She said, “Thanks. In return I’ll fetch your medication for the afternoon,” and she went briskly off to bring a glass of water and tablets.
They worked again on the book together for another long session, and reached Isabel’s target by three o’clock, by which time her voice was hoarse, and Bryony’s fingers were almost going into rigor mortis. They stopped and Bryony helped them both to another long drink of water. The sun was still shining through the cottage windows, throwing sunbeams against the opposite wall, which showed dust dancing in them.
“You know what you said earlier, about me taking exercise. Well, why don’t we try a gentle push along the woodland track? I’ll take great care with the wheelchair, and if it gets stuck, well we can just turn back. Let’s see how far we can go.”
Isabel couldn’t think of any reason to object, and allowed herself to be pushed outside. Bryony put an extra cushion behind her back to shield Bel against any bumps. She was concerned how very thin the woman had become, but she’d at least eaten a good lunch. Battling constant pain was just consuming so many calories, and she suspected she hadn’t eaten much in the hospital, especially if busy staff had had to make time to feed her. Fresh air would certainly do her good.
The cottage had only a very small garden, mainly given over to parking spaces and a turning circle, but it stood next to the deep forest, where through a gate, a track, covered in larch needles and last year’s beech nuts and masts, seemed to wind into the green stillness. It was also pretty well flat, running along the contours of the hill.
Bryony maneuvered them through the gate and into the woods. The green canopy above them almost blocked out the sunlight, but where a fallen tree or a gap in the foliage permitted, bright shafts of sunlight illuminated the woodland with gold, and revealed so many different shades of greens, browns and yellows, that it was like moving through a real wonderland.
The track was firm beneath the tires, and they went further and further. They could hear the summer murmur of the woods, a breeze blowing down from the very tall branches at the top, small birds chattering and chirruping together, not the full-blown concert arias of spring, but a convivial gossiping between nestlings and their parents. Isabel looked up, searching for squirrels’ nests.
“The guide book says there are red squirrels still in these woods.”
“That would be lovely if we could see any.”
Their voices broke the silence, and slightly startled them.
“It doesn’t bear thinking about,” said Bryony as she pushed the chair round a fallen branch.
“No? What doesn’t?”
“The implications of global warming, what your book is about. The whole world needs healing. It’s really awful we are only now even coming to terms with it.”
“I know. I’ve been working on it for years. Not a cheerful prospect.”
“But can something be done? Enough?”
“Yes. If there’s the will. And you, by helping me, you are making a small contribution.”
“Well, thanks.” Bryony wondered if Isabel was being condescending to her, but decided she wasn’t.
“Have you gone far enough? Would you like me to turn back now?”
“I suppose so. You’ve pushed me for almost a mile. It is so beautiful. I feel, I feel, maybe a little better. But let’s go back and see if we can put together another five hundred words.”
So they turned the chair and Bryony propelled her patient back down the track. She realized they’d been out for an hour, but there was a little bit of color now in Isabel’s sunken cheeks and her eyes had lost some of their dark shadows. This was something they should do together every day, she decided, and by the time they reached the house, back out into full sunshine, her muscles did feel they’d already had a full work-out.
“Shall we stay outside for a little while? We could work at the garden table.”
Isabel nodded. “Very well. Go inside and fetch the lap-top, while I get my brain into gear.”
When Bryony returned she was also carrying a tube of sun-block.
“What’s that?”
“My sun-cream. I want you to have some on your face.”
“Far too late now.”
“Not at all. Here.”
She put a dab on the back of her hand and gently applied it to Isabel’s cheeks, nose and forehead, then onto her throat as well. Isabel closed her eyes, and then as the soft fingers touched her throat, she opened them to gaze straight into Bryony’s, only inches away.
They stared at each other, before each of them simultaneously lowered her gaze in something approaching shyness. The intensity of that one second bemused and completely took Isabel by surprise. She broke the spell by saying, “What I really need are my sunglasses. Can you fetch them please? They are on the windowsill.”
Bryony moved quickly, and fetched the glasses, a top-end brand, reflective, and opened them to place them on Isabel’s nose. The woman’s expression was now completely hidden. Bryony decided she needed similar camouflage for any inappropriate staring, and went to get her own sun-specs. So, similarly protected from each other’s gaze, they got down to business. The book grew some more beneath Isabel’s brains and Bryony’s fingers.
“Thank goodness we have this project on which to focus,” thought Isabel. “Otherwise what would I be doing with this girl all day? There’s something about her, which is rather beguiling in its own right. She presents herself as straightforward, scientific, methodical, but there is definitely more to her than that. I wonder what goes on inside that head of hers, really...”
“Isabel. Sorry, what were you saying? I lost concentration for a moment.”
Bryony’s voice broke into her reverie and Isabel gave a little jump in her chair, almost as though she felt guilty for her wandering thoughts. “Right. Well, ‘Considering the situation of the Tuareg people in northern Mali...’ and so they continued through the tea-time hour, and beyond, as the shadows lengthened into early evening.
Chapter 8
The clock chimed seven and Isabel finally stopped speaking. She had achieved more in one day than she had thought possible, even though her brain felt like a piece of chewed string, and all her aches and pains were returning.
“I promised to wash your hair,” murmured Bryony, “And when was the last time they changed the binding on your ribs?”
“Last Monday.”
“Well then. Let’s tank up your medication, and then let me re-do them and make you feel like a new
woman.”
“Whatever you think best,” sighed Isabel. “I can tell you, I have never felt less attractive in my entire life than I do right now. Feeling like a new woman sounds almost unattainable.”
“Sshh. We’ll have a light supper, and then when the pain-killers are functioning, we’ll see just what your ribs are like under the strapping. I can see a slight improvement in your face color just in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Don’t forget we must phone Claire and Edward to tell them we haven’t killed each other yet. If you find the number on my phone, and connect it for me, I can take the call with the phone tucked under my chin.
Bryony could hear half the conversation while she prepared supper. “Yes, I feel a little better, well a lot better, if I’m honest. No, she’s been fine. She’s very competent. Honestly. What do you take me for? No, everything’s good. You can talk to her yourself if you don’t believe me!”
“Girl, come here and talk to Claire. She won’t believe that you’re not already packing to leave.”
Bryony wiped her hands and took the phone. Without thinking, she placed her hand on Isabel’s shoulder, and held it there softly while she spoke.
“Yes, Isabel does look and feel better. It’s very early days, but we’re establishing a routine. No, she hasn’t...and anyway, I’m not the crying kind. Yes, I will. Thanks. ‘Bye.”
Isabel moved her head so she could feel Bryony’s hand rub against her cheek for a second.
“What did she say? Was she asking if I’d made you cry? Really! Have I? Did I hear you sobbing yourself to sleep last night?”
Bryony grinned. “No, of course not. Don’t give yourself credit for such a silly thing! Twenty-four patients, half with leaking stomas in an acute gastro-intestinal wards at three in the morning couldn’t reduce me to tears, so I can’t imagine you will. Now come on, I’ve made lovely cheese on toast on the Aga. Let’s have supper. “
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