by Hilary Boyd
When they reached the crescent, her sister’s house loomed large, all lit up, three doors along on the right. Fin stopped.
‘Better not risk it,’ he whispered, nodding his head towards her home.
Flora was reluctant to let him go, but she said, ‘Yes, better not.’ She didn’t want the evening ruined by some hostile interchange with Prue.
They stood face to face on the corner for a moment.
‘Thanks, tonight was …’
Fin didn’t let her finish. He laid his hands gently either side of her face, lifting it to his, and kissed her. The kiss was so brief that Flora had no chance to respond before Fin had dropped his hands and moved back.
‘Sorry, sorry … didn’t mean to do that, just couldn’t help myself,’ he said, making no effort to suppress a mischievous smile.
When Flora didn’t say anything, he added, obviously fearful he had offended her. ‘Just to say goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Fin.’ Flora turned away before she had a chance to change her mind and ask him in.
‘Ring me tomorrow,’ she heard Fin’s voice behind her, and she waved a hand in acknowledgement before hurrying down the area steps to her flat.
Her mobile rang as she was unlocking the door. She smiled, sure it was Fin, and answered it.
‘Flora?’ She heard Jake’s voice with surprise, then remembered she hadn’t replied to his last text. ‘Just checking in. Wondered what you were up to next week.’
She hesitated. ‘Umm …’
‘Thought we might take in a film or something?’
‘That would have been fun … but the thing is,’ she spoke carefully, not wanting to offend him. ‘You know the man I told you about? The one I had a relationship with before? Well, he’s turned up suddenly.’
‘O-kaaay … This is the one who let you down? Made you ill.’
‘Yes …’ she sighed. ‘I know, it’s daft.’
Jake gave a short laugh. ‘Not judging, Flora. Shame though. We had fun. Let me know if it doesn’t work out.’
‘I will.’
She put her phone down on the table. She liked Jake a lot, but Fin blotted out any possible alternative. They had been together for nearly six hours this evening, and it had passed in a flash. As always. Think this out, she told herself, as she sat on the sofa, wide awake. But each time she began to make a mental list of the pros and cons of trusting Fin McCrea again, her mind wandered back to his eyes, his big square hands, his sheer – albeit wounded at present – physicality. And thoughts of their past lovemaking played over in her brain, setting her on fire again, making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything but memories of his naked body pressed hard against her own.
CHAPTER 8
1 October
‘Morning Dorothea.’ Flora put her head round her patient’s door, making the old lady jump.
She was sitting up in bed, the cornflakes in front of her on the bed table, a spoon clasped in her hand. But she was making no attempt at eating.
‘Sorry, I startled you.’
The old lady stared at her. ‘Are you … here now?’
Flora nodded. ‘All week. Do you want some help with your breakfast?’
Dorothea looked down at the bowl and back up to Flora. ‘I … don’t think so.’
‘OK, well I’ll just have a word with Mary. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘She wet herself last night.’ Mary held out a cup of coffee to Flora. ‘She’s never done that before.’
‘God. She must have been really upset.’
‘I’d have thought so too. But she didn’t seem to realise what had happened.’
‘Maybe she was too deeply asleep?’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. She was quiet when I came on, and did seem really tired. Didn’t want to talk about the day. Pia said they’d been busy, going to church again, and Rene’d dropped by for tea. So she was asleep early. Then I didn’t hear a squeak from her until about one o’clock. That’s when I found she’d wet herself.’
The two nurses pondered the news.
‘She seems a bit dazed this morning. Did she sleep after that?’
‘She didn’t call until six, so I suppose so.’
‘And Pia? How did she seem?’
Mary shrugged, cradling her pot-bellied blue mug in her large hands. ‘Same as usual, butter wouldn’t melt.’
Flora frowned. ‘You suspect her, don’t you?’
‘Do I? I don’t know, I change my mind every few minutes. It’s a terrible thing to think about someone. But it’s just so strange that Dorothea’s always upset – different, you know – when Pia’s been on. I mean, when I got here Saturday, Dorothea was definitely twitchy. She held my hand when I went in to say goodnight, which she’s never done before. As if she didn’t want me to leave. And she woke four times in the night.’
‘Maybe that’s why she slept so heavily last night?’
‘Probably. But she’s never like this in the week, when you’re here.’
‘Perhaps she is, it’s just we don’t notice … now we’re looking for stuff to condemn Pia.’
‘I’m not, though. I don’t want Pia to be abusing the old lady. But something’s up, Flora.’
*
Flora undid the buttons of Dorothea’s pyjama top and peeled it off her frail body. The bowl of hot water sat on the bed table, and she began to wash her patient’s breasts, her arms, her stomach. The bedroom was very hot, but Flora laid a towel over the old lady to keep her warm until she was ready to be dressed.
‘We had nurses for my father when he got too much for me and Mother. One of them was responsible for killing him, my mother always said.’
‘Killing him?’
‘The silly girl left the bar fire too close to the bedroom curtains. It was only a tiny fire, but Mother said the shock killed him.’
‘How awful. Did he die immediately after?’
Dorothea chuckled. ‘No, about eleven months later. But Mother liked to apportion blame!’
Flora grinned at the old lady. ‘Roll over.’ She helped Dorothea turn towards the wall so she could wash her back. As the old lady did so, Flora saw her wince.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked.
‘I … I’m fine,’ came the muffled reply.
But Flora saw immediately the cause of Dorothea’s pain. Across her lower ribs on the left side was a large bruise. It looked recent, a reddish purple spread beneath the old, thin skin, not yet yellowing. And it hadn’t been there on Friday.
‘God, Dorothea, how did you get that?’
‘What?’
‘The bruise on your back. It’s huge.’
Dorothea tried to turn her head, then gave up. ‘I … didn’t know I had one.’
‘You didn’t know? But it must be so painful.’
The old lady didn’t reply, and Flora gently washed and dried her back around the bruise, dusted her with talcum powder, then rolled her back against the pillows.
‘Maybe you knocked yourself, getting in and out of the wheelchair?’ Flora thought about this as she spoke, but couldn’t actually see how it was possible, doing any of the things that the old lady did in a day.
‘I expect I did,’ Dorothea said, not looking at Flora.
‘You didn’t have a fall, did you?’
Her patient shook her head slowly. ‘I … don’t think so.’
As soon as Flora had dressed Dorothea and settled her in her armchair in the sitting room, she called Rene.
‘What sort of a bruise?’ Rene asked, the pitch of her voice immediately rising.
‘Well, a bruise. Large, about the size of the palm of my hand, just below her ribs.’
‘And Mary didn’t mention it?’
‘She wouldn’t have seen it. And another thing. She wet herself last night. First time.’
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
‘Always a Sunday night.’
‘But surely … surely Pia isn’t hitting her? I just can’t believe it,�
�� Flora said.
‘I’ll call her now and ask her about the bruise. If it’s recent, it must have been on her watch. Dorothea couldn’t injure herself without the nurse knowing, could she? At night, perhaps? Trying to get out of bed? Old people do bruise very easily, especially when they’re on anticoagulants.’
‘Well, I suppose she could. But Mary didn’t hear anything.’
‘Will you call Dr Kent, please. Better be safe. Not because he’ll do anything, but if there is something going on, we’ll need a witness.’
Flora brought Dorothea a cup of tea. She sat with her, searching her face for signs of distress, but the old lady seemed calm, a faraway look on her face.
‘Did you have a good weekend? Pia says you went to church again. You must have enjoyed seeing the reverend.’
‘I … didn’t.’
Flora laughed. ‘Didn’t enjoy it? Why not? You love Reverend Jackson. Or wasn’t it him this time?’
‘I … haven’t been to my church in a long time.’
‘Haven’t you? Not yesterday? The report said Pia took you.’
Dorothea raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, she didn’t.’ Her voice was firm. No vagueness. No argument.
‘OK … so you’re saying you didn’t go to church?’
She looked at Flora patiently, as if she were hard of hearing. ‘No … I told you.’
*
Dr Kent said he would drop round late morning. As Flora waited for him, her thoughts returned to Fin. She’d called him on Sunday and they’d talked for hours. He’d wanted to meet up again that afternoon, but she knew he would end up in her flat, and she knew if he did – as night follows day – they would make love. She wasn’t ready for that. Ready physically, yes – her body cried out to be with him again – not ready mentally. But would she ever be? Perhaps she just had to take the plunge. What good would a bit more time do? she asked herself.
The doctor raised the powder-blue cardigan, and the blouse beneath. He didn’t touch Dorothea, just bent close, then pulled her clothes back into place.
‘It must be sore,’ he said to the old lady.
She raised her hand and waved it dismissively. ‘Not really,’ she replied.
‘Do you remember how you did it?’ he asked.
Dorothea giggled nervously. ‘I … don’t … think so. I bump around a bit these days.’
‘It’s a nasty bruise.’
‘Is it?’ she asked, without much interest.
‘Her skin’s so thin and she’s on the Clopidogrel. It could have been caused by even the slightest bump.’
Flora nodded. ‘I know. I just wonder.’
‘About one of the nurses hurting her?’
They stood in the kitchen, their voices low. The doctor was in casual clothes today, jeans and a light blue shirt. He always smells so clean, Flora thought, as she handed him a cup of coffee.
‘I don’t think you can take the bruise as a sign of it, necessarily. Or wetting the bed, either. She’s old, Flora.’
‘Yeah, I know. I just want to make sure. Sorry to drag you out again.’
‘Always a pleasure to see you both,’ he said, smiling at her, and setting his half-drunk coffee on the draining board. ‘You look a lot happier.’
Flora couldn’t help the blush. ‘I am.’
‘Worked out, did it? With the Mars Bar?’
She laughed. ‘I wish I could answer that. I suppose I’m looking for certainty. I want to know for sure that I’m doing the right thing, but I know that’s dumb.’
‘Weeell … not dumb. A bit unrealistic perhaps.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Was.’
‘Oh … sorry.’
‘Don’t be, we’ve been divorced a year now.’ He shrugged. ‘Not sure you should take my advice though, because at the time I thought Carina was completely the right thing … and she turned out completely not to be.’
‘So if she suddenly came back and said she loved you, would you believe her?’
‘That’s about as likely as me becoming the next Olympic pole-vaulting champion.’
‘That bad.’ She wished she hadn’t asked now. He was almost squirming with discomfort at discussing his private life.
‘But to get back to your dilemma. Obviously, it’s really hard to trust someone again who’s let you down badly. But not impossible, if the will’s there.’
‘I think we both want to make this work.’
‘Well, follow your instincts, Flora. You won’t forgive yourself if you walk away without trying.’
As she opened the door for him, she asked, ‘So you don’t think I should worry … about Dorothea?’
‘I didn’t say that. I just said bruising’s a common side effect of the drugs she’s on, and incontinence, similarly, one of old age.’
‘Thanks. Now I know exactly what to do.’
He grinned. ‘Always glad to be of service.’
*
Fin texted her as she made her way home on the bus: How was your day?
OK. Usual, she texted back.
Shall I come round?
She hesitated before replying, Bit tired. Later in the week maybe? She waited.
OK, ring me if you like. x
She realised one of the things she missed most about not living with someone was that there was no one to talk to about the day. Even though he was away a lot, when she and Fin had been together, she would come back from the hospital and relate stuff that had happened, good, bad or merely trivial, and listen to his news in return. Since then, she often felt that events at work lay heavy on her, bottled up, blown up, made worse than they really were – the Pia issue, for instance. She had got used to being alone, but she knew she didn’t want to be by herself any more.
She was looking in the fridge to find something for supper when there was a knock on the door at the top of the stairs, and her niece’s voice called out.
‘Mind if I come down, Flora?’
‘Of course not.’
Bel galloped down the wooden stairs and threw herself onto the sofa. She looked worried.
‘Sorry, sorry … I know you’ve just got in, but I had to talk to you.’
Flora sat down opposite her. ‘It’s fine … Go ahead.’
Bel pulled a face. ‘It’s Mum.’
Flora had known it would be. Bel, over the years, had often confided in her about altercations with her mother. Now her niece hesitated, searching Flora’s face anxiously before speaking.
‘Well, not just about Mum. This Fin business,’ she began, ‘she’s so wound up about it. Keeps banging on about how horrible he is and how he’s going to ruin your life again and how it’s not fair on her. She’s in a vile bait all the time.’
Flora didn’t know what to say.
‘And I’m worried … not just about Mum, but about you. I get that she’s protective about you, but she seems so certain he’s a bad person. What if she’s right?’ Her brown eyes were round with concern.
‘Listen, Bel, I have no idea what will happen between me and Fin. But I still love him, as I told you before. And I want to give it a go.’
Her niece sighed, drawing up her legs to clutch them to her body. ‘And you’re sure, totally positive, he’s not bad like Mum says?’
‘You’ve met him. Did he seem bad to you?’
Bel shook her head slowly.
‘It’s early days. We’ve met a couple of times for a drink, that’s all. I promise I’ll take it really, really slowly, darling, not rush into anything. Promise.’
‘Do you think he really loves you this time?’ her niece asked.
‘This time … I don’t think I know.’
‘Mum says you can’t tell with people like him. They say one thing and mean another.’
Flora sighed. ‘On paper, Fin is a bad bet. But sometimes you have to take risks in life, Bel, because we can never be certain about any outcome.’
‘But you won’t rush?’
‘I won’t. Promise.’
Bel seem
ed to relax a bit. ‘OK. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out. Hope Mum calms down a bit.’
‘She will.’
Bel raised an eyebrow. ‘OK for you to say. You don’t quite live with her. She’s getting more and more like Chucky every second. I reckon she keeps electrodes in her bag in case she bumps into Fin.’
Flora giggled. She’d watched Child’s Play with Bel on sufferance, her head under the cushion.
When Bel said goodbye, she leant against her aunt, unwilling to let go. ‘I just want it all to be OK with everyone,’ she whispered. But as she drew back, both of them heard a noise, something tapping against the window. Bel’s eyes widened in alarm.
Flora moved cautiously towards the barred window and peered out into the darkness. Fin’s face peered back, wreathed in an expectant smile. Flora silently cursed him.
‘It’s OK, it’s just Fin.’
Bel looked hard at her.
‘I didn’t ask him round. I promise I didn’t.’
Her niece just turned and ran for the stairs.
‘Bel?’ Flora called, but she didn’t reply and the door to the main house slammed loudly behind her.
Flora said nothing as she let Fin in. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around, a faint air of satisfaction on his face as if he’d breached the barricades.
‘You sounded a bit down in your text,’ he said, looking intently at her. ‘Thought you might need some company.’
She glared at him. ‘I said I was tired. I’ve just had Bel down here, worrying about you and me being together. And I said I was taking it really slowly … then you pitch up in the dead of night.’
Fin looked contrite. ‘Oops. Bad timing, eh? Sorry about that.’ He sank down onto the sofa, and patted the brown seat cushion. ‘Recognise this,’ he said.
Flora didn’t reply. She remembered him so well, lounging on that same sofa in the Brighton house, looking up at her just as he was now. And suddenly she was tired of fighting her feelings.
