by Rosie Harris
The two paramedics were suddenly at her side. One was middle aged and tired-looking, with grey hair and watery blue eyes. The other was very young, freckled and with a wide grin as if he found the whole world one big joke. The younger one picked up her bag, the elder one handed her the crutches.
‘Do you need these?’ he asked.
Before she could answer, a nurse came bustling over and handed him another bag which she explained contained Mary’s medication.
‘Haven’t you brought a stretcher or a wheel chair?’ she demanded of the eldest paramedic. ‘Mrs Wilson can’t walk all the way to the ambulance from here and she will need to be conveyed from your ambulance into her house at the other end.’
‘I’ll go. Which is it to be?’ the younger one asked.
The elder of the two looked at the nurse. ‘Think she can manage with a chair?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Possibly, but you will have to be careful. No weight bearing on the left leg remember.’
‘Fetch a chair,’ the older man ordered. ‘We’ll be careful,’ he told the nurse.
Ten minutes later, after a shift into the wheelchair which Mary considered to be quite traumatic, she was taken from the ward down a long corridor and then into a lift, only to emerge in another long corridor; along which the younger paramedic pushed her at what she thought was terrific speed.
She looked around with interest as she found herself in the main reception area and then outside, to where the ambulance was parked. He wheeled the chair up a ramp at the rear of the ambulance and then carefully anchored it to a seat, using a series of straps so that the chair was immovable. The bags containing her belongings and her crutches were also safely stowed away. Then the ambulance doors were slammed shut and she was finally on her way home. Mary found it overwhelming to look out and see familiar roads and shops, and waited eagerly for her first glimpse of her own house as they drew nearer.
They lowered the ramp at the back of the ambulance and wheeled her out onto the driveway. Then they assisted her to stand up with the aid of her crutches. With their assistance, she was able to walk from the ambulance up to her own front door. Bill was waiting there as he had promised to be and Mary felt tears of gratitude brimming up in her eyes. Slowly she manoeuvred her way into the sitting room and within minutes was sitting in her favourite armchair, comfortable and happy to be there.
‘Now is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs Wilson?’ the oldest paramedic, she now knew as Jim, asked.
‘No, you have been very kind,’ she told him.
‘Where you going to sleep tonight?’ the younger one, Tommy, asked whilst looking around the room. ‘You’re not going to try and get upstairs are you?’
Mary bit her lip. ‘There’s a single bed upstairs in the back bedroom and … I’m planning on having that brought down. Until I can manage to do that I can curl up on that settee.’
‘I’m going to see if I can find someone to help me get it down,’ Bill said quickly.
The two men looked at each other.
‘Lead the way, show us where it is and while we get it down you make us a brew,’ they told him.
Ten minutes later they had dismantled the single bed, brought it downstairs, moved the furniture around so that there was room for it and reassembled it.
‘That is simply wonderful and so very kind of you,’ Mary told them as Bill handed them both a mug of coffee and then offered them some biscuits. They wasted very little time in drinking their coffee and after wishing Mary a speedy recovery, they were on their way.
Left on their own, Bill and Mary breathed sighs of relief.
‘That was good of them,’ Bill commented.
‘Two very helpful men,’ Mary agreed. ‘It seems I am all set up now with no worries other than managing those wretched crutches. I am so afraid that one of them will slip.’
‘Don’t attempt to walk without them,’ Bill warned. ‘Take your time, be careful and make sure they are firm before you put your weight on them. Give it a couple of days and you will have mastered them and not give it a second thought.’
‘I hope you are right,’ Mary said dubiously.
‘I do think you should get rid of some of the rugs though,’ Bill advised. ‘It would make it much easier for you to get around. Shall I roll them up for you?’
‘Yes, very well, if you think it is necessary.’
She watched Bill remove the rug from the middle of the room, the one in the kitchen and the one in the hall. Without them the room looked bare but much larger. She could see what he meant; the space was now clutter free and there was nothing to catch the crutches in.
‘I’ve brought you some milk and bread, and also some tins of soup, cheese and one or two frozen meals. Enough to keep you going for a day or so and I’ll be round in the morning to make you some breakfast and see if there’s anything else you need.’
‘You’d better take my key,’ Mary said.
‘I’ll call out when I come in so that you won’t be startled or wonder who it is.’
‘I’ll know it must be you because no one else has a key, except Richard and he’s away,’ Mary reminded him with a smile.
‘True, true!’ Bill agreed. ‘Now is there anything else you need before I go?’
‘Nothing at all and thank you for all you’ve done,’ Mary told him warmly.
As she heard the front door close behind him, she took in a deep breath. She was home on her own at last. The silence was overwhelming but it was an atmosphere she loved. Quiet, peaceful and orderly. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She suddenly felt so tired that she was almost tempted to get into the bed that had been left ready for her.
The only disturbing thought that nagged away in her mind was that there was only one day left before Christmas Day. She knew there was no chance she would be able to provide the Christmas dinner for herself and Bill that she had intended to do. She didn’t know whether to tell him now how sorry she was about this or to simply say nothing and hope that perhaps he would forget that it was Christmas Day.
That, of course, was nonsense she told herself. He would know it was Christmas Day the same as she did. She finally went to sleep hoping that a solution would come to her in the next twenty-four hours.
As it turned out, Bill solved the problem. When he arrived next morning, he wished her a Merry Christmas and handed her a Christmas card before he went about the usual chore of making tea and a bowl of porridge for her breakfast. All the time he was whistling happily, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Breakfast over, he didn’t go off to attend to his own home. He sat there talking to her and enjoying a TV programme with her.
‘See you tomorrow,’ he said as he left.
It was the same on Christmas morning. Bill arrived bright and cheerful, made her breakfast and cleared up afterwards, and then sat there with her.
At midday, he looked at his watch once or twice, his brows drawn together in a frown, and Mary thought he was anxious to get home. When she asked him he shook his head and then his face brightened as the doorbell sounded. Mary looked puzzled. Who on earth could be calling? Surely Richard hadn’t come back already, not on Christmas Day.
Bill went to answer the door and returned to the living room accompanied by a smart young man wearing a high-necked white jacket and black pinstripe trousers. He was carrying a heavy tray covered over by a snowy white cloth, which he took through into the kitchen.
‘Whatever is going on?’ Mary gasped.
Bill held a finger to his lips, accompanied the young man back to the door and in a couple of minutes they returned; the young man carrying another covered tray and Bill an ice bucket with a bottle in it.
The young man, whom Bill introduced to Mary as François, whipped out a crisp red tablecloth, spread it on the dining table and started to lay it up for four people.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Mary asked again.
‘Christmas dinner,’ Bill announced proudly.
‘There are only
two of us so why is he laying for four?’
Before Bill could answer there was a ring at the doorbell and with a beaming smile of triumph Bill hurried to answer it. Mary felt tense. Surely he hadn’t been in touch with Richard and asked him back? He couldn’t have done so because he didn’t have a contact number for him, she reminded herself. As Bill came back into the room Mary thought she was dreaming. He was shepherding Lucia and little George. They were both laughing at her surprise and George flung himself into her arms, almost knocking her out of her chair.
‘Is your daddy …?’ Mary began but Bill quickly silenced her by shaking his head and frowning.
‘We’ll explain everything after we have eaten our Christmas dinner,’ Bill promised. ‘Come on, coats off and let’s sit down and enjoy our feast. We have everything from champagne to turkey and Christmas pudding. The food is all piping hot so sit up to the table and enjoy.’
It was a meal Mary would remember forever. François opened the champagne with a flourish and a loud pop and poured a glass for the three of them, and a glass of apple juice for George. While they were drinking their drinks, François finished laying the dining table. The napkin rings had holly and mistletoe on them, the placemats had a festive snowman and the larger mats for hot dishes depicted a bright Christmas scene. George was entranced; he kept looking from one to the other of them, pointing out things he recognised.
François then served them with a traditional Christmas dinner of the highest order. He made sure that the portion he placed in front of George was the right size for the small boy, and that the turkey was diced so that George was able to eat unaided. The meal over, they sat drinking their coffee and eating a mince pie, while George, his eyes wide with wonder, unwrapped the big box of Lego that Bill had bought for him.
Silently and efficiently François whisked away all the dirty dishes, cleared the table, and after wishing theme all a Happy Christmas, departed.
‘Did that really happen or have I dreamed it all?’ Mary gasped as the door slammed shut behind him.
‘Bit of all right, wasn’t it?’ grinned Bill proudly.
‘Absolutely perfect! I’ll certainly never forget it,’ Mary beamed, her eyes misting with tears of happiness. ‘Thank you Bill, it really was wonderful,’ she added, stretching out a hand to take his.
FIFTEEN
Mary’s wonderful Christmas had filled her with a purpose for the coming year. She was going to regain her mobility, she told herself, even if it meant using a stick for the rest of her life. She was intent on discarding her crutches as soon as she possibly could and followed the physiotherapist’s instructions assiduously, about what she must or must not do. On her next visit to the hospital, they praised her progress but said they wanted to see her again in three weeks’ time. Even so, Mary was delighted. She was winning, she told herself. She was now weight bearing on her broken leg and, provided she took care, she would be back to normal in next to no time.
Bill was equally enthusiastic about her progress. Although he had not minded looking after her, he had found the additional shopping and other duties very tiring. It had made him very much aware that he was not as young as he used to be. His joints ached at the end of the day and he often felt stiff when he woke up in the morning. His eye was troubling him and, because of his concern about Mary, he had skipped his last appointment at the eye hospital. He told them that he had a heavy cold so he was now behind with his treatment. He hadn’t told Mary because he knew it would worry her and he hoped she wouldn’t find out. She had enough problems of her own without adding his to them. He had the date of his next appointment and he vowed he would keep that no matter what happened.
It was five days into the New Year when Richard and Megan returned home. George was very excited to see them again and ran straight into Richard’s arms shrieking, ‘Daddy, Daddy, I love you and I’ve lots and lots to tell you.’
‘Have you now?’ Richard exclaimed swinging the boy up in his arms and hugging and kissing him. ‘Well, go and kiss Mummy first and then you can tell me all your news.’ George’s news was a gabbled account of the fun he and Lucia had had over Christmas at Silver Street with his grandmother and Bill. His eyes were shining as he told his father about the wonderful box of Lego that Bill had given him and how Bill had helped him to build things.
Megan’s frown increased with every word George uttered. Richard put a finger to his lips, signalling her to be quiet until George had finished and then visibly squared his shoulders for the onslaught he knew would follow.
Megan was incandescent with anger. ‘I gave strict instructions to Lucia that she was not to take George to visit your mother,’ she fumed. ‘She will have to go; I will not stand for such disobedience.’
‘Don’t be silly; it sounds as though it all turned out for the best. George had an exciting Christmas and I am pleased to hear it. I’ve had quite a conscience about leaving him without us over the festive season.’
‘Lucia was with him,’ Megan retorted. ‘He probably wasn’t even aware that it was Christmas.’
‘No, he probably wasn’t and that was our fault. We didn’t even fill a stocking for him before we left, or leave him and Lucia any presents.’
‘George doesn’t need any more toys. He has plenty and he will be off to school soon and won’t need babyish things like that.’
‘Toys aren’t babyish, Megan,’ Richard said reprovingly. ‘Look how excited he is over the Lego that Bill bought for him.’
‘Yes, and that’s one of the things I object to. It can go straight into the bin.’
‘Megan! You can’t do a thing like that. It was a present and very kind of Bill to buy it for him.’
‘Kind! Don’t be so gullible, Richard. As I’ve told you before, that old man is trying to inveigle his way into your mother’s life.’
‘By the sound of it he has been very good to her. Where would she have been without his help after her accident?’
‘She should have stayed in hospital or told them to send her to a nursing home. It’s a disgrace sending her home with no one there to look after her. It certainly gave that old man a wonderful opportunity to worm his way still further into her home. I also want to know the truth from Lucia about what happened. Why did she succumb to his scheming ways? How did he get in touch with her? Did he come round here looking for her?’
‘Wait until we have heard my mother’s side of the story,’ Richard said placating. ‘I’ll go round to see her later on to let her know we are home and hear what she has to say about this wonderful Christmas George tells us he had.’
Mary’s version was more lucid. She explained that Bill had bumped into Lucia and George while out shopping and had naturally invited them to come on Christmas Day, because he thought it would be a lovely surprise for her. Richard accepted her story that it had all happened in good faith and said he understood. He said nothing about Megan’s orders to Lucia because he thought his mother would be very hurt. When he returned home and tried to explain all this to Megan, however, she was far from mollified.
‘Lucia should have refused his invitation, she had my orders not to go there,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Very difficult for Lucia to do that when she knew it was being done to please my mother,’ Richard pointed out. ‘Anyway, George was there at the time and he knew what Bill was saying and of course he wanted to go and see his grandmother.’
‘I gave Lucia strict instructions not to visit her and from what George says they have been back there several times since Christmas,’ Megan pointed out angrily.
‘Well, I suppose Lucia felt she had to do so if my mother invited her.’
‘Not when I had expressly told her not to visit,’ Megan repeated angrily.
Richard sighed. ‘Well, what’s done is done and there’s nothing we can do about it now, so I think the best thing to do is forget it happened.’
‘I shall certainly be having strong words with Lucia. She must be made to understand that she has to do what I te
ll her and not ignore the instructions I give her.’
SIXTEEN
Mary Wilson felt worried. Although she was making good progress with her walking, even though she was much slower in her movements than she would have liked, she was concerned about Bill.
Bill Thompson didn’t seem to be anywhere as alert as he had once been. He had become clumsy, bumping into chairs and tables, knocking over a glass and not bothering to read the newspaper when she offered it to him. His excuse that he hadn’t the time to sit down and read it now was so unconvincing that she wondered if he was making excuses because his sight was deteriorating.
When she found him pouring boiling water down the side of the teapot instead of inside it, she felt the time had come to question him about what was happening. She waited until he had brought their tea into the sitting room and they were both in their armchairs before asking, ‘What did they tell you about your eyes the last time you went to Windsor hospital?’
‘They said they would see me again in a month.’
‘Have you had an appointment?’
Bill didn’t answer. Instead he picked up her cup and saucer and asked, ‘Would you like another?’
‘Yes in a minute, after you’ve told me when you have to go to the hospital again.’
Bill concentrated on drinking his tea and didn’t answer.
‘Bill, you haven’t missed an appointment have you?’ Mary asked, her voice full of dismay.
‘I think I have,’ he admitted. ‘I forgot the date.’
‘So when should it have been?’
‘I told you, I can’t remember.’
‘Then we’d better ring up the hospital and find out,’ Mary said, picking up the phone that stood on the small table beside her chair.
‘I don’t know the number or any of the details they always ask for when you phone them,’ Bill prevaricated.
