Animal Instincts

by Alan Titchmarsh

  He walked round the bed and lowered himself slowly into the blue plastic chair beside her head, without taking his eyes off her. He looked at her arm lying still by her side, and at the pure white gauze that fastened the transparent tube to the back of her wrist. Only a short while ago she had been laughing and loving, now she lay still, her breathing slow and shallow.

  He was afraid to touch her, afraid to speak. He just sat and looked at her, taking in the grazed face, the strapped and splinted arm raised up by a series of pulleys. He looked at her body, covered with the pale blue blanket, and wondered how badly it had been injured.

  He gazed at her face, willing her to open her eyes and tell him that she was fine, that she couldn’t wait to go home, that she would cook for him tomorrow. But she did not open her eyes. She had not opened her eyes for three days now. Perhaps tomorrow. He would wait. He would wait for as long as it took. He would tell her that he would stay for as long as she wanted.

  The nurse was kind but firm. He really would have to go now. He asked to be allowed to stay a while longer. The nurse gave in and suggested just another half-hour, after which she thought he should get some rest.

  An hour later she ushered him from the room. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll take good care of her.”

  He looked at the woman in the dark blue uniform and white pinafore.

  “What do you think?”

  “We’re still waiting to see.”

  “Could she still be all right?”

  “We hope so. We’ll do our best.”

  Kit turned and walked down the corridor. The nurse went back into the room where Jinty lay, and eased her fingers under the wrist of the still body. She checked the steady beat of the pulse against her watch, which said it was three o’clock in the morning.

  She pushed a stray strand of hair back into the clip behind the girl’s ear. Bald patches dotted her scalp, but the blonde curls would grow back, God willing, if all was well. The eyes of the patient flickered, then closed again, and the nurse made a note on the chart.

  She looked out of the door at the retreating figure of the man who came to sit beside the girl’s bed every day, and prayed that she would soon have good news for him.

  “Perhaps tomorrow, my love,” she murmured, and stroked the back of Jinty’s wrist with her forefinger. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Chapter 15: Gracie Day

  (Narcissus pseudonarcissus)

  Roly could not settle to anything. He’d tried to busy himself on the estate but, like others around him, his mind was on nothing but Jinty. The house seemed quiet and cold; even when there was a roaring fire in the library and he and Charlotte came together for supper, a pall of sadness hung like a dark shroud over the evening. Jinty’s smile and chatter were missing.

  He poured himself a large whiskey. Charlotte came in and perched on the arm of the sofa, her face drawn and tired, her elegance overlaid by a despondency that robbed her of her usual sparkle. Roly turned round, startled to see her. He had failed to hear her come in and poked at his hearing-aid. It let out a piercing whistle, and he winced, poked again, then enquired as to the whereabouts of the dogs.

  “In the kitchen. Didn’t feel like falling over them tonight.” She smiled wanly and took the proffered gin and tonic. “Oh dear.”

  “Yes.” Roly nodded. “Oh dear.” He took a large gulp of whiskey and rolled it around his mouth before swallowing and exhaling loudly. “Still no news, then?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “The longer it goes on the more difficult things become.”

  “Mmm.” Roly gazed at the flames licking around the logs. A spark spat out on to the rug and he trod on it, then bent down and threw a tiny splinter of charred wood back on to the fire. “A spark. That’s what we need. A spark.”

  Charlotte said nothing, but the tears welling in her eyes spilled into the small lace handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. Her husband walked over and cradled her head in his arm. “Oh, now, now,” he whispered. “Where’s all this come from? Mmm?” He rocked her gently as she sniffed back the tears then blew her nose.

  “Been holding it all in, I suppose. Sorry.”

  “Ssh . . .” He stroked the top of her head.

  “Oh, Roly. What a to-do.”

  “Mmmm. Yes. A real to-do.”

  “If only . . .”

  “No, no. No if-onlys. Come on. Got to hold up. Be positive. Think positive.”

  “I know, but it’s been three days now . . .”

  “Yes . . . Any news of the lad?”

  Charlotte brightened. “Goes in every day. Stays far too long. The nurses are worried about him. Doesn’t say much.”

  “Mmm. Understandable.” He sipped at his drink.

  “Apparently the two women at West Yarmouth were a bit surprised. Didn’t even know he knew Jinty. Not sure they approve. But they seem to be doing their bit – making sure he eats when he does go home. Well, trying to.”

  Roly looked again at the fire and sighed. He drained his glass and tapped his wife gently on the shoulder. “We should eat, too.”

  She looked up at him. “Do you feel like anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Nor me.” She blew her nose once more, and the two of them sat in silence, while in the kitchen Mrs Flanders put the freshly made casserole to cool before transferring it to the freezer, which was now bursting with ready-prepared meals. She left out a jug of home-made soup, hoping that perhaps hunger might get the better of them before they turned in for the night. Then she switched off the kitchen light and slipped quietly out of the back door. She hadn’t eaten much herself over the last three days.

  Gradually Roly came to. The ringing in his ear caused him to reach for the hearing-aid once more, but it was not there. He had removed it when he went to bed. It must be the alarm clock. He stretched out for the bedside light and switched it on; the clock said a quarter to two. His alarm was set for seven. Why was it ringing now? At last he identified the sound as coming from the telephone. He lifted the handset and put it to his ear. He could just make out the muffled voice at the other end of the line.

  “Hello. It’s Kit. She’s woken up. She’s woken up!” Then the line went dead, and Roly Billings-Gore was up and dressed faster than he had ever been since his days in the army. Within five minutes he and Charlotte were in the car and speeding towards Plymouth, hardly daring to think what they would find on their arrival at the hospital, but praying that the brevity of the message meant that the news was good.

  “Please, God,” muttered Charlotte, under her breath, “let her be all right.”

  They found him sitting in the chair at her bedside holding her hand. Her pale green eyes were as clear as ever, but her face bore a faraway expression. Charlotte found it difficult to speak, but smiled through her tears, while Roly, leaning over the bed, stroked her shoulder and said, “Hello, old girl.”

  Jinty smiled weakly. “Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. Mmm? How are you feeling?”

  “Bruised,” she said softly. “A bit battered.” She had difficulty forming the words, and, for the first time, Roly felt a pricking at the back of his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Er, Nurse – where’s the nurse?”

  “Sir Roland?” The nurse put her head around the door and raised her eyebrows, indicating that he should follow her. She took him to a desk opposite the room in which Jinty lay.

  “She came round about an hour ago. Her eyes had been flickering during the night so we were hopeful of some progress. She was on a ventilator at first but now she’s holding her own.”

  “And is she . . . er . . .”

  “We’re very hopeful. Pity she hadn’t fastened the strap on her hard hat – it gave her some protection until it came off. Fortunately the brain scan is clear, but we’ll need to keep her under observation for a while. Run a few tests. But the fact that she’s come out of the coma and seems to be reasonably lucid is a good sign.”
/>   “Thank the Lord for that.” Roly ran his fingers through his iron-grey hair.

  “I really think the best thing you can all do is go home and get some sleep now. We’ll keep a close eye on her. We’re not through the woods yet, but things are looking much better. We’ll know a little more after the doctor’s rounds in the morning. Perhaps if you came in the afternoon?”

  “Yes. Mmm. Of course. Thank you. Thank you very much.” He shook her hand, then walked across the corridor to the room opposite to collect Kit and Charlotte.

  Jinty was looking at him when he walked in – she had turned her head slightly in the direction of the door – a head with shaved patches among the blonde tresses. Roly could hardly bear to meet her eye, but he did so, firmly and fixedly. “You rest now,” he instructed. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Mmm?”

  Jinty closed her eyes then opened them – the nearest thing she could manage for a nod.

  Roly took Kit by the elbow and raised him from the chair. “Come on, let’s get you home for some rest.”

  Jinty moved her lips again, and Roly leaned forward to catch the arduously enunciated words. “Take care of him. Very precious . . .”

  Roly nodded. Then he kissed his forefinger and placed it gently on her cheek before shepherding Charlotte and Kit back to Baddesley Court.

  In the morning it was a few moments before Kit realised where he was. It was nine o’clock and as the events of the last few days crystallised in his mind he woke properly with a start.

  A tap on the door followed – the first must have woken him up. He pulled up the bedclothes to cover himself and called, “Come in.”

  Charlotte entered with a tray bearing a silver teapot and milk jug, toast and marmalade. She wore a long, pale blue dressing gown of shimmering satin, and looked, thought Kit, like a gracefully ageing Greta Garbo.

  “Breakfast.” It was an instruction, as much as a description of the contents of the tray.

  Kit looked up at the tall, elegant figure, wondering how she had managed to keep her hair perfectly in place even after a night’s sleep. (In fact, Charlotte had removed the net that had safeguarded it during the night. It was not something that should be seen by anyone other than Roly who, by now, had ceased to notice it.)

  She put down the tray at one end of a large ottoman at the bottom of the bed, and perched on the other end.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Knackered . . . er, tired.”

  “No. I think knackered is probably more accurate.” Charlotte smiled at him. “You’ve been very kind.”

  “No. I . . .”

  “Well, whatever. I’m just so relieved that she’s come round.” She did not want to enquire, put him on the spot. She knew now that there was some bond between them, but she was old enough and wise enough to wait to be told.

  Kit sat up in the bed and leaned back on the pillows. Charlotte looked at the tanned torso, beginning to fade to a shade of pale honey. He was a good-looking boy. They were a perfect couple. She chastised herself inwardly for matchmaking and asked, “Will you stay for lunch?”

  “I think I should go back to the hospital.”

  “No. They’ve asked us not to go until this afternoon. Give the surgeon time to do his rounds.”

  “Then I’d better get back to the farmhouse.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I’ve spoken to Miss Punch and told her that you were here. Just in case she was worried.”

  Kit looked at her, questioningly.

  “It’s all right. You won’t be struck off for consorting with the hunt fraternity. She was a bit surprised at first, but I think she understood. I told her that I’d ask you to stay for lunch. Said that you were worn out and that it would do you good to have a rest. She’ll expect you when she sees you – I said I’d make sure you got back there before dark.”

  He looked startled, then realised her intended humour and grinned. “Thank you for looking after me.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Charlotte rose from the ottoman and walked to the bedroom door. “The bathroom is at the end of the landing. There are towels in there for you. Roly’s down at the stables, trying to repair his relationship with Allardyce.”

  In his concern for Jinty he had barely thought about the horse. He now felt guilty. “Is he all right?”

  “Absolutely fine. Bruised foreleg, but that’s all. It took him a while to calm down afterwards. Titus brought him back. Poor man – feels it’s all his fault. That little dog of his has been locked up at the kennels ever since. Just a silly thing, really. It could have happened to anybody.”

  “Poor Titus.”

  “Yes. Poor Titus. He’s a good man. Wonderful with animals. I just hope he isn’t too hard on the spaniel. She’s only young.” Charlotte looked reflective, then came back down to earth. “Anyway, I’ll see you later. I’m off to the hairdresser’s. Back by lunchtime. Mrs Flanders says if we don’t eat a casserole soon we’ll have to buy another freezer.” She closed the door quietly behind her, and Kit found himself wondering what improvements the hairdresser could possibly make to Charlotte’s already immaculately crafted coiffure.

  He found Titus looking balefully through the iron bars of one of the kennels at the dejected animal on the other side. Nell lay flat on the concrete floor, her head on her paws, the whites of her eyes pleading for forgiveness.

  “Oh dear.”

  Titus turned round, startled. When he saw Kit he shook his head. “Bugger. Absolute bugger. Any news?” he asked, his face haggard from worry.

  “She’s come round.”

  “Thank God!” Titus slapped his hand to his forehead in relief. “And?”

  “We’re waiting to see. Going round this afternoon. After the doctor’s rounds.”

  “I don’t know what to say. It were just so bloody stupid. Only t’orse came out of nowhere. We were down in the dunes. I didn’t think anyone would be down there. Stupid.”

  “Hey, come on. You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Not going to get us anywhere, though, is it?”

  “Don’t know how I’ll face Sir Roly. He cancelled the hunt, you know, and Major Watson’s standing in as Master for the rest of the season.”

  “Well, he’s not blaming you, if that’s what you think.”

  “I don’t know why not. It were my fault.”

  “It was just one of those things. Come on, it could have been anybody’s dog.”

  “Aye, but it were mine.” He looked through the bars at the doleful Nell, who looked back at him with bewilderment.

  “You can’t leave her in there for ever.”

  “No, I know. I just need to – well, you know. At least now that she’s woken up there’s a chance she’ll be all right.” He looked at Kit, whose face bore a distracted look.

  “Yes. I hope so. I do hope so.”

  Roly, Charlotte and Kit tucked into lunch at Baddesley Court as though they had not eaten for days. But then they hadn’t.

  “Good casserole,” muttered Roly, as he spooned up the last of his gravy.

  Kit ate ravenously, but declined all offers of a drink. He wanted to keep a clear head for the afternoon – wanted to make sure he understood perfectly the state of Jinty’s health.

  They motored to the hospital in Plymouth at three o’clock. No one spoke much, although Roly peppered the journey with good-natured but disparaging comments on the inept performance of other road-users. He handled the estate car as though it was a Chieftain tank.

  When they walked into the ward the nurse was ready for them. She stood up and greeted them with a smile. Kit allowed himself to hope that it meant the news was good.

  “Doctor’s very pleased with her. Surprised, but very pleased.”

  “Why surprised?” asked Kit.

  “Because normally someone who’s taken a tumble like the one Jinty had is lucky to come out of it alive, let alone with just a broken arm.”

  “Is that all? A broken arm?” Charlotte was amazed.


  “She’s had quite severe concussion, and some external head injuries, which is why we had to cut off some of her hair. A few stitches here and there, and her face is badly grazed but there won’t be any need for plastic surgery.”

  The three of them mumbled grateful thanks to their Maker, almost in unison.

  “So . . . er, when can she come home?” asked Roly.

  “In a couple of days. We’d just like to keep an eye on her for a little while longer, but she’s much perkier today. Her speech has improved a lot, which is good. Go and see for yourself.”

  Kit looked at Charlotte and Roly. They looked at each other and Roly nodded in the direction of Jinty’s room. “Go on.” Kit smiled, walked across to the door, tapped and went in, closing the door behind him.

  She was sitting up. Her arm was still held aloft by the pulleys, but she looked altogether more of this world than she had the day before. Her partly shaven head gleamed in places with golden down, and she tilted it to one side and looked at him with her soft green eyes.

  “Hello, you,” she said, clearly.

  He went over to the bed, bent down to kiss her and felt a huge sense of relief at her return to the land of the living.

  She nodded in the direction of the elevated arm, and the other with its drip attached. “Bit of a bugger, eh?”

  “Bit of a bugger indeed. Just relieved you’re OK.”

  “Oh, I’m OK. But look at my head! What a sight! I look like a punk. Think I’d better buy a pair of Doc Martens.”

  “It’ll grow.”

  “Yes, but when?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She grinned. “I’ve been thinking. . .”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “It’s funny.”

  “Not the word I would have chosen.”

  “No. I mean us.”

  “What about us?”

  “Well, I’ve only known you a couple of weeks.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “But it feels like ages.”

  He bent and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’ve missed you.”