Isabel's Healing

by Maggie McIntyre

An hour later, after copious pills, cheese on toast squares, and sliced tinned peaches, Bryony had persuaded Isabel to trust her enough to allow her to wash her hair. She parked the wheelchair in front of, but facing away from, the bathroom washbasin and let the water run through her fingers until it came comfortably hot. She found Isabel’s shampoo, and then, protecting her neck with several towels, helped her tip her head back, and poured jug after jug of the warm water over it until her hair was thoroughly wet. Then she massaged the shampoo through her hair and used both hands to rub it in, rather like an Indian head massage. Isabel’s eyes were closed, and she literally purred.

  “Oh, that feels so good. They only tried to wash my hair twice in hospital, and it was so painful I screamed. ”

  Then she was silent, obviously enjoying the sensation too much to waste more words. Bryony let out the soapy water, and replaced it again with the soft Welsh spring water to rinse out the suds. More jugs’ full of warm water were employed, and finally a slick of conditioner from her own bottle was combed through. Isabel put her head up and Bryony wrapped it in a towel, drying it gently against her chest. She realized rather too late she was inadvertently embracing the older woman’s head between her breasts.

  “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I do apologize.”

  Isabel didn’t seem to have noticed, or at least, not appearing fazed by the intimacy.

  “No matter. You make a good hairdresser. You are multi-talented, aren’t you?”

  “Am I?” Bryony’s raised eyebrows showed her surprise at the compliment. “Do you have a hair dryer, so I can finish the job?”

  “I think Claire put one in the suitcase.”

  She found the hairdryer, and with a one minute blow-dry effectively tamed Isabel’s locks. Then Bryony picked up her comb and styled it into a shining cap of black hair. There was a natural curl to it, which flicked the ends up rather sweetly, and she was pleased with her efforts. The fringe was still rather long.

  “Would you mind if I trimmed that back for you a little? I think it must annoy you, falling over your eyes.”

  “Haircutting now? Oh, go on then. But be careful.”

  “Close your eyes please, and try not to sneeze. It will hurt your ribs if you do.”

  Isabel shut her eyes, and felt Bryony comb down her fringe and then snip it slowly along with a pair of small scissors from her make-up bag. The girl then surprised her by gently blowing the loose hairs away from her face. She opened her eyes to find a pair of green eyes again only centimeters from her own. They were kind and merry. She decided she liked them.

  “Now, sit on the bed please, and I’m going to unwind your rib bindings.”

  Isabel bit her lip, expecting it to hurt like hell, but the girl was so gentle, she hardly realized when the first cut into the tapes was made and the bandages unwound. She found herself sitting on the bed, her entire torso exposed to view, being examined by this young female, not-quite doctor. Bryony touched her bruised and swollen ribs, very lightly, and then peeped over her shoulders down at her back. It had obviously been a mass of bruises and abrasions, and still looked very sore, even after four weeks.

  She took some salve in her right hand, arnica or something like it, and very, very, gently she smoothed it up and down the bruises. Isabel was transported back in her mind to those blissful times when Carrie had done something similar, but with very different motivation. They had never needed to play doctors and nurses. Now Carrie was dead, and she was simply a piece of meat. The contrast made those stupid tears come to her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”

  She blinked away the water as she looked up at Bryony’s anxious face.

  “No, it just reminded me of something, of some-one. It doesn’t matter. Well now you’ve seen the worst, what are my chances of survival?”

  “Excellent! No question! The bruising will fade more each day now, and the ribs are healing. I’m going to wrap you up again in binding for a few more days, but the main thing to avoid is any coughing or laughing. So we must make sure we avoid any funny business!”

  “Funny business?” Isabel actually smiled at the incongruity of such an idea. She lifted her heavy burden of casts as far as she could, so Bryony could wrap the bandages and tape round and round her ribs.

  “I mean, anything which really makes you laugh,”

  “But you were nagging at me earlier to smile more.”

  “Smile yes, definitely. But laughing, no. Laughing is forbidden.”

  “And crying? Is crying allowed?”

  “Oh, of course, you can cry as much as you like. It’s a natural way for the body to rebalance its stress. There’s a perfectly physiological rationale for crying.”

  “Let me guess. You chose Science A levels at school, rather than English Literature?”

  “I had to, because I wanted to be a Doctor, but I’m not a literary ignoramus. I like reading novels.”

  “Why did you want to be a doctor?”

  “Originally? I had big ambitions to find a cure for leukemia, and breast cancer. My Dad died of leukemia before I was even born, and my mother was only twenty-eight when she developed an aggressive form of breast cancer. But since starting, I’ve become very fascinated with surgery. I might even apply to be a trauma surgeon with an overseas agency, maybe something like ‘Medicins Sans Frontiers.’ I’ve even thought of joining the army as a Medic.”

  Isabel didn’t know how best to respond. Her self-pity seemed quite shallow when she thought what the girl had lived through as a child.

  All she said was, “I see.”

  They were seated next to each other on the bed, and Bryony tugged Isabel closer as she tightened the strapping. The girl smelt of cowslips and summer, somehow. It was a pretty scent.

  “What are you wearing?”

  Bryony looked puzzled. Surely Isabel could see her T shirt.

  “Oh, I see. Not sure. Something by Givenchy? It was just a sample.”

  “It suits you. Find out the name.”

  Bryony snorted. Was Isabel actually interested in her perfume? She decided to ignore any implications, and pressed on with her nursing.

  “OK. Now lie back on this big towel, and I’m going to give you a gentle massage on all your parts which aren’t incarcerated in plaster. It’s very therapeutic Aloe Vera. It smells nice and it will help the healing. I use it a lot for any sprains and aches and pains I get in the gym.”

  Isabel submitted to her regime, and let the girl do her work. It was almost like having one’s own spa treatment. Bryony began by giving her a foot massage on her right foot, working the gel into her toes until she squirmed and almost laughed with the tickling.

  “Mind my ribs. Don’t you dare make me laugh!”

  “No, of course. Sorry.”

  The massage moved round to the sole of her feet and the soft pads of the girl’s fingers kneaded her arch and her heel. Then she felt pressure put against her Achilles tendon, and a subtle rhythm built into the massage. Isabel revelled in the physicality of the massage, which worked its way slowly up her one uninjured leg as far as her thigh. She slipped into a delicious dream as Bryony almost played her body under her fingers. She knew the highly unattractive underwear with its incontinence pad would annihilate any hint of sexuality, but while the girl missed out her crotch and hips this time, she did very lightly smooth the gel across her belly between her underwear and the strapping on her ribs.

  “When you can bear the pressure on your ribs, I’ll give you a back massage. We will also make sure to put gel on your buttocks, to prevent pressure sores.”

  At the mere sound of the word “buttocks”, Isabel felt an involuntary spasm within her vagina, which she couldn’t conceal. Was she really in such a pathetic state that a girl could almost bring her up to full blown arousal by a gentle rub? She had not felt a glimmer of sexual feeling since Carrie had been murdered, so the very sensation came as complete surprise.

  Whether it was totally unwelcome was something she did not have time
to consider, as Bryony had already moved north, and now put both hands up round her neck and gently caressed her collarbones and shoulders. My God, that was unbearably sensual as well. Isabel felt her breasts harden and rise up, aching for the girl to include them in the careful and rhythmic kneading, but stopped herself day-dreaming just in time.

  What the hell was she thinking? Bryony had a far-away expression on her face, as though her mind was on something quite different. There was no inappropriate intention in her mind, obviously. Isabel hoped desperately she hadn’t even noticed how aroused she was. She decided to curtail the session.

  “Thanks, that’s fine. If I’m not to catch a cold and get a cough, maybe I should be wrapped up again now and put to bed. And we need to avoid an accident like last night.”

  Bryony nodded, with a smile, and turned the cap on the bottle of Aloe Vera lotion until it closed.

  “Sure. I suggest we do this again each evening though. I’m sure it will be very good for you. I took a short course on massage once. It helps the blood flow and nourishes the skin and the tissues just below the surface."

  “Medically sound practice then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She dressed Isabel in another clean nightshirt, and the cozy dressing-gown, took her to the toilet, and put her into bed in a similar way to the night before, lifting her right leg. She pulled over a spare pillow and tucked it under the plastered ankle.

  “I think it would be good to keep it as elevated as possible, especially while you sleep. It will relieve the veins taking blood back up to your heart and help the healing.”

  “Anything you think is for the best. You’re the expert.”

  Bryony couldn’t resist reminding her of her words on their first meeting.

  “I thought I wasn’t employed to offer medical advice.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m a bad-tempered fool.”

  “No you’re not. You’re...well, just a little grumpy, but I quite understand why.”

  “There’s another reason I’m grumpy.”

  “Hmm? What’s that?”

  “My period is due. I can always tell. I’ll probably start tomorrow, as if you didn’t have enough mess to clear up.”

  “That will be no trouble at all, and the wonderful thing is, you’ll be so much nicer to me afterwards. Lucky me.”

  She smiled, and Isabel was completely disarmed.

  “Would you like to listen to the ten o’clock news?”

  “No, not tonight. I’m just so sleepy. But what about you? Don’t you want to shower? Do use the bathroom. Don’t mind me.”

  “Thanks, I will then. I’ll try not to disturb you.”

  Bryony went into the bathroom, and Isabel heard the shower running for five minutes or so, then between half closed eyes she glimpsed the virtually naked girl run past her. She saw her heading back towards her own room, a small towel round her waist. It had only taken one day, and they were perhaps learning to live together. That was a relief, two strangers thrown together. Being gay, you had to be careful, which was one reason why she had fretted about Ted and Claire’s choice of caregiver.

  But in this situation, nothing could happen. She and the girl, why would they ever be in that sort of relationship? The very idea was absurd. The girl looked pretty straight, and oblivious of her patient’s sexuality. Isabel guessed she was just about old enough to be Bryony’s mother, and in her own bereavement, she strongly doubted she could ever focus on any woman with desire again. She was resigned to spending the rest of her life alone. She didn’t think she could cope with any more emotional pain.

  Yet, there was no denying it, Bryony’s touch, her healing touch, had been surprisingly beguiling. She liked it, and also appreciated the girl’s gentle humor and quiet self-confidence.

  Isabel fell asleep very suddenly like a bear in a bed of leaves, and for the first night in more than a month did not wake till dawn’s misty light crept up the valley and invaded their cottage the following dawn. It was Sunday morning. She needed the loo, and she lay in her warm bed and thought again about Bryony sleeping at the end of the cottage, behind the far wooden door.

  She imagined there must be a boy somewhere, a fellow medic maybe, probably a tall, gangly young fellow on his way to being a successful doctor. They’d probably make a handsome enough couple. Isabel forgot all her firm intentions not to get personally interested in the girl, and wondered how she could discreetly find out more of her back story.

  Isabel decided to try to call her and Bryony came immediately out of her room.

  “I’m so sorry. I never heard you call before. Were you awake in the small hours? Are you in pain?”

  “No, I actually slept through. For the very first time since the accident. I just need the bathroom, and then my meds.”

  “Hooray. Maybe it was the fresh air in the woods, or all the work you achieved. Give me a few minutes and I’ll help you to the loo.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom, and then helped Isabel to hop through and sit on the toilet.

  “Here, put your dressing-gown around you, and sit for a bit. You never know...”

  Bel sighed. “Why are we such organic bodies? Why can’t we just be spirits?”

  “If we were, then I wouldn’t have a career in medicine ahead of me, and I need that, if only to pay off the student loan debt incurred to achieve it!”

  “Hmm. How much will it come to?”

  “By the time I’m finished, something quite scary. I had no money behind me, this is the problem. But many are in the same boat. No point grumbling.”

  She left Isabel discreetly in the bathroom to see if anything productive might happen, and went back to the kitchen to boil the kettle. Pulling it across to the Aga hotplate, she appreciated the steady constant warmth from the large stove, but the day would most likely be another scorcher. They had had two nights together now, an evening, two nights and one full day. So far so good.

  What would Bel like for Sunday breakfast? How about bacon and eggs? She looked in the cupboard and found beans as well, and tomatoes. How about proper old fashioned English, or she supposed, Welsh, cooked breakfast? Then it might sustain them right through until the late afternoon. She hoped Isabel would agree to return into the woods with her. The walk had been wonderfully connective somehow, and the quiet turn of the wheels along the track had been almost meditative.

  “I’m ready, girl!” called out Isabel, and she went to assist her. Bryony stayed in her pajamas while she dressed and washed her patient, and also while they ate breakfast together at the table. Isabel smiled at her Winnie the Pooh Pajamas. “Funny nurse’s outfit,” she commented, in between bites of the food which Bryony fed her. Her smile was sneaking out more often this morning than the day before, and Bryony realized this was probably because her level of pain was diminishing. When it came to giving her all her prescription drugs, she dared to suggest Isabel might just take paracetamol instead of the much stronger analgesics, and see how it went.

  “I can top you up later, if you are in real discomfort.”

  “OK, I’ll try. Working takes my mind off the pain anyway, so let’s see. Now you go and get out of those skimpy things, and let’s kick off with my book again. Even though it’s Sunday, we can’t let up.”

  “No, Isabel. I mean, yes, Isabel.” They were getting into a routine. It felt good.

  Chapter 9

  The rest of Sunday morning moved along very peacefully. While she went into the bathroom to shower and dress. Bryony left Isabel in her chair by the window so she could look out at the birds coming down to the feeder. The owners of the cottage had left a large bag of bird seed and another of peanuts in the larder, and Bryony had made sure to keep the feeders topped up. Isabel wondered if there was a bird book in the house. This was probably the case, because a casual glance through the visitors’ book with Claire when they had first arrived had revealed a large number of comments about the local ornithology.

  “Can you find me a bird book anywhere?�
� she called to the girl and Bryony left what she was doing and came out with a well-worn volume. It had a list on the fly-leaf of birds which an earlier visitor had seen and recorded, and these more or less corresponded with what they could see that morning. There was an interesting mixed bunch of tits and finches, a nuthatch and a greater spotted woodpecker which flashed up to grab the nuts, showing his or her scarlet collar.

  Ty Bach had obviously been a holiday property for a long time, the visitors’ book also indicated, but none of the inhabitants had rented it for as many weeks as she intended to. It was a lucky find to come across a property which was vacant throughout July and August at such short notice. But it seemed the owners had intended to return from New Zealand for an extended stay, only to have their plans change at the last minute. Isabel only hoped they had not had such a traumatic reason for their change of plans as she did, but she wouldn’t be surprised. Her whole world seemed cloaked in gloom, and she still felt she was teetering constantly on the edge of depression.

  She knew just how devastating that could be. The love of her life, Carrie, had been prone to deep dark bouts of depression. Although never formally diagnosed, she had presented all the signs of being bi-polar. Her highs were ridiculously high, when she would do mad, scarily over the top things. But then her lows were completely wretched, leaving Isabel wringing her hands and wondering what on earth to do to break her out of the black moods and complete lethargy they created. It was while she was on a high however, taking stupid risks, that she had died, so young, at the very top of her game as a film maker.

  Isabel stared at the birds, all clustered round the seed dispensers intent of feeding as fast as they could, but still finding time to chat and exchange the time of day with each other, despite the urgent ever pressing need for foraging. They obviously had a complex social life amongst themselves, up here in this Welsh forest.

  She wondered how they viewed the world, and whether they wondered what lay beyond their valley. Many birds of course migrated thousands of miles, but these little guys, what did they think about climate change and global warming? She knew she was rambling in her head, but she did feel a connection with them.