Isabel's Healing

by Maggie McIntyre

  This was getting ridiculous. She seemed to have no self-control at all. Where did this sudden resurrection of her sex drive originate? Thank God Bryony noticed nothing, and carried on as though everything was normal,

  “We’ll keep to this system, shall we?” she asked. “Salve on the bruises in the morning and a massage at night? When did you say they want you to return to the fracture clinic to remove the casts? “

  “Next Monday, a week today, if all’s well.”

  “Fantastic. Only a week to go then. You’ll get through it, Isabel. The time will fly by.”

  “Fly by? Some hope, but let’s at least use the time productively. I’m very tired of living like this, being trussed up like a mummy.”

  “Yes, I can’t imagine it is any fun for you, being so grounded. You are such a high flyer.”

  “No fun for you either, being stuck here with me.”

  “No, I like looking after you. I am perfectly happy.”

  “Really? Truthfully?”

  They observed each other, Bel searching for the insincerity she suspected must be somewhere in Bryony’s mind, but she couldn’t detect anything other than a genuine cheerfulness.

  “Yes, really. I wouldn’t be anywhere else if they paid me £10,000.”

  “Not even with the boyfriend? What’s he called again?”

  “Aiden. No, not even with him.” And as she spoke Bryony realized how true that was. The thought did little to cheer her troubled conscience. The weakness of the Wi-Fi signal had been her excuse, but she still hadn’t Skyped him, just sent a text to say it was a good job and she was very busy but happy.

  She really had to end it with Aiden, but explaining why would be so difficult. Up here, perched on this hill-side next to the forest with Isabel, she felt just as happy as she would have been with Aiden, perhaps even more so. It was difficult to excuse, but it was true.

  “Well I am grateful, anyway. When I am fully fit again maybe I will take you on a balloon ride across the Serengeti as a thank-you.”

  Bryony laughed at the extravagant idea, and it made her forget her worries.

  “Be careful what you promise. I may take you up on it! Now, are you ready for breakfast, and then another book session?”

  “Yes, bring on the bran-flakes.” and they went through to the kitchen together, Bryony pushing the chair, and Isabel trying hard not to make life difficult for her by tucking her arms out of harm’s way as they went through the narrow cottage door-ways.

  ***

  The first half of the morning was spent barreling through the writing task for the day, but by eleven o’clock they had both worn themselves out sufficiently to mutually agree they could do with a break. Bryony stripped both their beds and tossed the sheets and pillowcases and any clothes they’d worn over the weekend in the washing machine.

  “Monday is wash-day. I know it’s not long since we moved in, but I like a system. They may dry in a couple of hours, and if not, I am sure there are spares. “

  She was making a fresh pot of coffee as well, and dusting around. She really was very domesticated, far more than Isabel would have been. Isabel decided to press Bryony a bit further on her relationship with the absent boyfriend. She wondered if they were love’s young dream or anything like it.

  “Tell me about your friend Aiden,” she commanded boldly. “I haven’t noticed you calling him much.”

  “There’s hardly any signal here for my phone network.”

  “Well, you could surely use WhatsApp.”

  “Hmm.” Bryony sounded very non-committal. Maybe she didn’t want to spread out her most intimate relationship in front of some grumpy old woman she had just met. Fair enough. But Isabel pressed on forward. She couldn’t resist doing it for some reason.

  “Well, at least tell me about him. I’m interested in the sort of young man you would go for.”

  Bryony opened her phone and flicked through to some photos.

  “Here. You can see him if you like. He’s there.”

  She passed the phone so that Bel could see the picture of a conventionally good-looking young man with nice eyes. He looked intelligent, and obviously worked out, judging from his biceps.

  “A fellow medic I take it?”

  “Yes, we met at the start of Year 3. He transferred to London from Oxford and we were in the same cohort. But he took different specialties from me. He wants to be a radiologist.”

  “And he’s OK with you being apart all summer?”

  “Well no, not really. Actually it’s difficult, Isabel. Just before I left London, he proposed. He’s still waiting for an answer.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t know what to tell him. No, that’s not being honest. The truth is I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t want to get engaged. I don’t think I can,”

  “Why not?”

  Isabel watched as a faint pink blush delightfully crept up Bryony’s cheeks.

  “I...I just can’t commit, OK? I’m far too young.”

  “Well, I won’t disagree with that. How old are you, in fact?”

  “Uh, twenty-three.”

  “There you are, just a baby.”

  Bryony for some reason took offense at her comment.

  “I’m nearly twenty-four! I was born in August.”

  “Then you will still be dancing attendance on me when your birthday comes. What is the date of this celebrated event?”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you nearer the time. I’m not looking to make a fuss.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of any fuss. I thought you might just deserve a day off for your birthday and I can get Claire to cover, so you can get away.”

  “Thanks, but really, there’s no need to bother. I have decided what I need to do with my Fridays off anyway.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Yes, it’s only 30 minutes on the train from Machynlleth to Aberystwyth, and I have a student railcard, so it will cost hardly anything. I’ve checked and I can use my University of London library card at the University campus there, so every Friday I can go down and study for my special project for my final year elective.”

  “Which will be?”

  “It was going to be the treatment of compound fractures in children, but I’ve decided to change it now to holistic aftercare for trauma victims.”

  “Oh, so I’m to be the subject of your dissertation, am I?” Isabel rolled her eyes heavenward.

  “No, well, sorry, not exactly the main subject, but I’ve just realized over these few days how important it is to see injured parties as real people. I don’t think I had fully taken that on board before. Nor, how it’s not just physical recovery that’s important.

  “The shock of the trauma, the effect it has on one’s psychological health as well, one’s confidence, all sorts of things. It would be an honor if I could include you in the research, interview you, chart your recovery maybe, but it’s not essential if you’d rather not. In any case, of course you’d remain anonymous.”

  “But you and I would know it is me you’re writing about, won’t we, and most of your friends and associates presumably?”

  “Oh, dear, well if you’d rather not...I don’t want to compromise our working relationship.”

  “Girl, I don’t mind. Don’t be put off by my negativity. If any good can come out of that stupid accident I’d be pleased to help. Just disguise my real profile if you can, otherwise you can say what you like about me. I have already lost all my finer feelings, so you can’t hurt them. I’d like to read the final draft though, when you complete it, just for my own interest.”

  “Thanks, Isabel. Thanks so much.”

  “Is this where your smiley graph will come into its own then?”

  “No, I hadn’t thought. That’s purely for my own pleasure, and I will go and add a smiley face to it now!”

  Isabel tried hard not to react. The girl was very young and very silly. But despite herself she had made her smile. She was concerned about the mixed feelings Bryony voiced about the boy
who had proposed. It wasn’t fair on him to leave him wondering. She should encourage the young woman to communicate with him more clearly, either invite him up, or talk to him honestly by internet or on the phone.

  But while she wanted to appear helpful, she really didn’t want to waste her current very shallow reservoir of human kindness on him, nor on all the other people who must be in the girl’s life. If she finished with dishy Aiden, no doubt there would be more boys, more men for Bryony. The girl was like a peach waiting to be plucked from a tree.

  Isabel was still so withdrawn into her own unresolved grief over the loss of Carrie’s love and brilliance in her life; she felt she could hardly bother to think of what other people were doing, in and out of love all the time, falling in love, breaking up.

  It all seemed so trivial, so facile, somehow. When you had lost your best love, your only love, it mattered little how others felt.

  Bryony broke into her thoughts with a sudden question.

  “So how about that trip down to town we talked about? If we’re going veggie, we need to stock up.”

  She had neatly changed the subject, and had even pulled over a notebook to start to write a shopping list in longhand.

  “Do you want to go the whole hog, and try vegan? In which case we’ll need soya milk and vegetable oil margarine instead of butter?”

  “You are mixing your metaphors slightly. I don’t think “the whole hog” is a good way to talk about a plant based diet. But no, I think I should include milk and cheese in my diet, for calcium. OK, let’s decide to do it. I’ll choose the mains and you can decide on side dishes and desserts. For week one, then next week, let’s swap. I’m not a complete control freak.”

  “Very well. Good thinking.”

  Isabel’s fondness for quick decisions, coupled with Bryony’s wish for everything to be tabulated and organized, soon led to them creating a scheme of meal planning for the coming week. The resulting spreadsheet looked promising.

  “Monday—something Asian, a little spicy, a Thai based curry dish with stir fried vegetables maybe.

  Tuesday—good old British staples, a shepherdess pie made with lentils, or vegetarian sausages with mashed potatoes.

  Wednesday—a big mixed salad with eggs and falafel fritters.

  Thursday—hearty veggie soup with beans.

  Friday—pasta, to meet Isabel’s liking for Italian food.

  Saturday—black bean burgers with all the trimmings, and chips.

  Sunday—a nut roast with cabbage and roast potatoes.”

  The desserts would either be fresh fruit or a non-dairy ice-cream or yogurt. Lunch could be salads or sandwiches, as the weather was still very warm and not conducive to a cooked meal.

  “Well!” commented Bryony as she laid all this out on yet another spread sheet. “Now, all I have to do is to cook it.”

  They carried on discussing their new diet, and planned meals for the rest of the next two weeks. It diverted Isabel, and made her feel she could get through another seven days of immobility without flying into a screaming fit of frustration.

  So what would you like for supper this evening?”

  “Well, vegetable curry. How about that? I haven’t had a good korma since Kerala.”

  “You know, you do place-name drop rather a lot.”

  “I do not!”

  “Yes you do. I like it though. It’s like listening to a live copy of Boys’ Own Adventures. Were you ever at home?”

  “Humph. Well, I have wandered for much of my life. Carrie gave me the most stability I’ve ever known, and she travelled with me as well as taking her own frequent trips. I should have been with her when...I still blame myself...”

  Isabel was angry with herself to find tears were running unbidden down her cheeks at the very mention of Carrie’s name. This was shocking, nearly two years on, to still be so out of control. But she did feel maybe she might want one day to talk about the great love of her life to the girl. She suspected she’d be a good listener. It would possibly let out some of the pain held tightly in her heart, pain she revealed to no-one, not even Edward and Claire. Bryony said nothing, but simply fetched a tissue and delicately wiped the tears from Isabel’s cheeks and eye-lashes. Then she nodded.

  “Later. I would love to hear about her. Please do tell me about her.”

  “Yes, I will. As and when. She was...she was truly the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Then you must have been an astounding couple. You’re quite something yourself, you know.”

  “Am I?”

  “Sure thing. Now would you like an omelet for lunch, before we go out?”

  Isabel nodded.

  “No cheese though. For some reason, I don’t like cheese omelets.”

  “Right you are. How about some chopped tomatoes then?” And Bryony went to crack some eggs.

  ***

  Their shopping expedition for vegetarian options went very well. Isabel had never gone out into public in her array of three plaster casts and she was aware she looked, if not freaky, at least a little strange. She wanted to sit in the car and wait for Bryony to do the shopping, but the girl insisted she needed to be with her to make decisions, and fetched a trolley which would clip onto the front of a wheelchair. They had a little stand-off while Bryony held open the passenger door and Isabel just sat there looking very angry.

  “Come on, Izzy, come on. You won’t like it if I buy all the wrong things. I’m sure you have a favorite brand of ice-cream or crackers.”

  “Izzy?! Izzy?! Don’t you ever call me that ridiculous name again! You do have the most appalling cheek.”

  “Ok, sorry. But when you get furious, you look like an Izzy. Please just get in the chair, and we can stop wasting your valuable time.”

  “Hmm, ‘Izzy!’ Whatever next?”

  But Isabel capitulated, and held out her arms to be helped up from the passenger seat.

  Thankfully the co-op supermarket in Machynlleth wasn’t too busy, and once she was clipped on, wedged in, and generally sorted, she actually enjoyed the trip round the store.

  Chapter 12

  If Isabel had been told a week before, just how much better she would feel by the following Friday, in just seven days, she would never have believed it. The time with Bryony in the house had not dragged. In fact as they became better acquainted with each other, their communications became ever easier.

  Isabel somehow grew so used to Bryony looking after her that she could be stripped naked, washed, dusted with talc, massaged and manipulated without hardly a care as to how she looked, or what the girl’s reactions would be. Bryony always behaved professionally, always treated her with respect, but her touch, her actions were necessarily intimate and personal, and she didn’t hide her admiration for Isabel’s physical attributes as well as her mind, and her achievements.

  “You’re so slim, but you are looking a bit less skeletal. I’m sure your bones have a bit more flesh on them now.”

  “Well, after you’ve gone to the trouble to cook for me, I suppose I feel obliged to eat the meals, more than I would if I was just cooking for myself.”

  Sexuality, or anything to do with it, was never mentioned between them however, for which they were both secretly grateful, but Isabel slowly began to feel less hideous, and regain something of her old self confidence.

  Bryony applied arnica every morning and the many bruises began to fade right away, from purple to yellow, and even disappear in some places. Each evening she laid Isabel down on the sofa and gave her a therapeutic massage, and every night, as she was so relaxed, Isabel slept right through the small hours into the dawn. Her ribs were still very sore, but following the girl’s suggestions, she was trying only to use the minimum painkiller dose necessary to stop her body throbbing with pain.

  Her spirits were brighter as a result. If she was awake by 6 am, then Bryony would rise with her, help her to the bathroom, and then make tea for her to drink while Bryony held the cup to her mouth. They shared breakfas
t in a similar manner as they sometimes sat outside in the little south-facing garden. Isabel called it greeting the sun, and wondered if she would ever be able to return to the morning yoga routines she had practiced for years wherever she lived and whatever her circumstances.

  They were sitting like this, already dressed and ready for the day ahead on Friday morning as they waited for Claire to arrive. Each evening they had had a brief phone call as promised, and now they had heard from her as she left Chester by 6:15 am. She would be there by 8, so Bryony could leave in time to catch the early train down to Aberystwyth.

  “I expect you’re looking forward to a day off. You’ve worked longer shifts than even the most overworked junior hospital doctor.”

  Bryony felt she wanted to be honest.

  “When I took the job, I did rather dread being up here, with just one other person all the time. But after I met you, it’s been so different. I haven’t felt trapped at all, and you’re not a very troublesome patient, are you? I’ve learned so much from you already. And we’ve made our word target, which pleases me.”

  “Yes, 26,000 words in the bag. And from Monday, after I get the use of my arms back, then everything will be much easier for you.”

  “Don’t expect to have much strength in your arms to start with. I’m researching a regime of physio which can build them up slowly. And Isabel, I won’t be late tonight. I’ll be back by 8 at the latest. I’ll call in the co-op to buy something nice as a treat on my way.”

  “You’re a good girl.”

  Isabel said it quietly, but she meant it. A day of listening to Claire’s good-natured prattling about her book-club, the latest news from the Cheshire set, and how their dog’s digestive problems were settling down, was not really a prospect which excited her. But for goodness sake, of course the girl needed some time away from her.

  ***

  Claire arrived on time, as she had promised, complete with a bag of knitting and a thermos of cooling coffee she had not had time to drink en route. She was obviously curious to see how the two of them had survived the week.