Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  “Yes I see,” she said looking across. “One step removed as it were from the nitty-gritty of human nature. Mm…m, I can see how the law could attract you.” Mallory’s surprise was replaced by insight. Kylie was a highly intelligent woman who certainly had enough smarts to cope with judicial issues. Not that she lacked sensitivity, but interactions could be rough, out from behind the office desk. “Makes sense Ky.” She took a slow, thoughtful swallow.

  Revelations over Kylie moved on as she set down her cup. “That’s next week. How about tonight? Come and join us for Mexican. We’ve not been round to Montezuma’s for an age.”

  She thought it over. It would be good to take time out. Lots of laughs; let off some steam and just hang out with the gang. “Great idea, what time were you thinking?”

  Kylie had been preparing herself for a refusal and was elated by the decision. At last an evening together which would not involve work. “We’ll meet you there, about seven okay? I volunteered to get the wine; save everybody traipsing over to the Off-License.

  “Fair enough,” she already felt like having a good time.

  Kylie stood to leave knowing only Jenna would be there and after she left – she would have Mallory all to herself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next day Mallory had not been able to obtain the early twentieth century music she had wanted, but in the end had found a varied enough selection to begin the new attack on Nigella’s past. The hunt however, had not started well. Kylie had kept her up late and somehow she had drunk to excess.

  It had come as a shock to see it was just the three of them for dinner. Then Jenna had revealed she was going on to a party. They could join her if they liked. It was a big bash over at Rochester House. Not that she had not enjoyed Kylie’s company … she had, it had been fun. After several courses, tasting all manner of interesting dishes, she had suggested they drop into the new night spot, just around the corner. She had hesitated: “Five minutes … for a nightcap?”

  She remembered what a spunk she had looked as she made the suggestion, tilting her head to one side in that way of hers, and smiling invitingly. She had been persuaded. Five minutes must have turned into two or three hours. She could not blame Ky though. She was the one who had brought the bottle to her lips; who had gyrated her body on the dance floor ’til she thought she would fly.

  The Brass Bottle was a mixed club, Straights and Gays. The ambience was hot, marijuana in the air; the music a fusion of hip-hop and funk. Everyone was drinking ‘coolers’ or ‘crushes’. It was like old times and they had knocked themselves out. Back at the residence Kylie had invited her in for one last drink and in her revitalized state she had said: “Yes”. Oh Mal and you resolved not to hurt the girl.

  She reviewed her behaviour under a cloud of lacerating recriminations as she cycled over to the hospital. She was not proud of herself. You should have known better. Of course, they had ended up on the couch and then Kylie had become all ‘touchy-feely’. She had responded and she had to admit, Ky was a good kisser. It had been a long time since she had felt the softness of a woman’s mouth. She had realised she had almost forgotten its heady impact, but those kisses had brought it all back … and her body….

  She shook her head. She should have stopped, but she had been carried along on the lustful wave. When the realisation had come to her just how far they had gone, she had pulled back and that really had pissed Kylie off, right royally. Although she attempted to cover it up, she could tell Kylie had tried to be persuasive by revealing some of her inner feelings, but it was no good. Once she knew how Kylie felt about her, she just could not let it go further. Her heart had not been in it, only her body. She could not pour blame if she refused to acknowledge her from now on. I don’t want to speak to me either. Kylie cares and I was only using her.

  Now she had woken up late, thick and groggy and missed her session at the gym. On top of that it had taken three goes to find suitable music, so frustrating. No one store had had everything she needed and searching had used up most of the morning, what little there was of it.

  Well here she was, but really, she did not feel like doing this today despite its crisp, clear effulgence. It was that brown end of summer, the bright flowers all but over. The subtler hues of autumn’s blooms however, seemed especially fresh and intense, outlined as they were with molten gold from the dazzling sun. This glare only served to increase the pounding in her head and it stung her eyes. Disgruntled, she was oblivious to these seductive attractions, including the amber tinge to the oak leaves on the turn. Still there was no choice her week was jammed tight, so it was today or not at all. Parking her bike in the stand, she adjusted the weight of the backpack and set herself on a determined approach.

  Sunday afternoon was usually a busy time on the wards with open visiting hours, but D Ward was quiet. These were not your regular hospital patients; here there was no chatting in the day-room, or bustling arranging of pretty flowers. As case manager she had no problem with access. On checking in, she explained her purpose and asked if it would be possible for them not to be interrupted. Staff Nurse gave her a ‘Do Not Disturb’, sign.

  Nigella was out in the recliner her feet elevated on the foot-rest. Although still quite thin and gaunt in the face there was more colour to her cheeks and perhaps the dark circles under the eyes were less pronounced. At Mallory’s entrance she looked over and her face lit up in a radiant smile. What a wonderful welcome. However the pleasure was hollow, as she revised her first impression. It was probably just the interruption in a tedious solitude.

  Upon further reflection she had decided not to continue in the role of butler. It was not what she wanted and really, it would do Nigella no good in the long run. So today she greeted her not by name or title, but as a friend. She put her feet down and sat her upright. She needed her full attention when she disclosed what she was about to do. “We’re not painting today. This time I’ve brought us some music. Would you like that?”

  Nigella nodded her head and said: “Yes,” then looked about in a bemused state. Seeing the confused glances, Mallory explained the music was in this little box. She was unconvinced and upset. This was too strange. How could they listen to the musicians? That was not even a phonograph.

  “Don’t worry about this. What I want you to do is concentrate on what you’re hearing,” Mallory ordered. “Let your mind relax and your thoughts wander at will and see if the sounds bring back memories. Do you think you can do that?” She was standing at the window to draw down the blind. There was an inky-blackness until illumination from a small night-light blurred the outline of objects and the room took on a shadowy, mysterious aspect. “After we’ve listened for a while we can talk. Will that be all right?” She set a glass of water on the locker then placed herself in the corner near the circle of yellow light, using a low table for the player. She looked at her watch. It was three o’clock, ample time before dinner.

  The haunting violins of Sibelius’ Sixth Symphony gently filled the room. He had entitled it: Scent of the First Snow. It was not Finlandia, but she felt sure this opus would be evocative. They listened to its three movements in the darkened room. Neither spoke. Mallory found the interlude salutary; her mind began to appreciate the reflective character of the music. The break it afforded her from her frantic rushing about was surprisingly restorative. This was not her usual music. She was a ‘pops chick’, but after last night … Perhaps Jellie will make a convert of me?

  She had thought long and hard over which piece to choose to follow the Sibelius and had picked a piano solo by Eric Satie. The gentle, trembling notes in pensive mood, encouraged the spirit to fly free, released from earthly bonds. For her last one, she lightened the mood and played excerpts from Johann Strauss Junior’s Die Fledermaus. True, it was from the Victorian era, but she was confident the operetta would be familiar. The music at an end she raised the blind slightly. When she looked across to the girl it was to see that tears had been streaming down her face. Not sobbing tears; te
ars of consuming emotion. She went over and bent down on one knee, taking her in her arms to hold and give comfort.

  “It’s all right Jellie. You’re safe with me. Let your tears flow.”

  Nigella did weep now, her head resting against Mallory’s neck as her shoulders heaved with each breath. Gradually the long, shuddering sobs subsided and Mallory pulled up some tissues.

  “There Jellie let the memories spill out. You can share them with me.”

  She brought the visitor’s chair close to the recliner and held Nigella’s hand. They sat quietly the girl saying not a word, only a slight trembling of her lips manifesting the extent of her inner grief at the torrent of awakened memories. Eventually, a discreet knock forced Mallory to her feet.

  “It’s almost six o’clock and the trolleys will be coming round.”

  “Thank you nurse, we’re finished here. I’ll come and see you when I’ve packed up.” She turned back into the room to speak softly and promise to return. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” She wished she did not have to leave like this, but in the real world she was not powerful enough to have her own way.

  At the station, Tracy Scott was just starting her shift. She was glad it was she who would be in charge. She seemed such a sympathetic woman.

  “Tracy, I want to clarify some facts which have come to light.” She perched her hip on the edge of the desk as Tracy swivelled her chair to face her. “They’ll be hard to understand, but understanding them will help so much with Faith’s recovery.”

  She listened attentively as Mallory elaborated, her eyes growing wide when she learned her name was Nigella Patchford and that she was only a girl.

  “She looks older I know, but she’s eighteen. She knows nothing of our world and lives solely in her own; peopled by beings important to her, but who will be non-sensical to us.” It was hard for Mallory to go on with Tracy’s eyes following the movement of her lips, as if mesmerised. How could other people, however well-meaning, understand?

  “Her brain injury has left her in a labile state so I suggest that for now, we just go along with whatever story she feels like telling us. Do you think the staff can do this? I expect on a Psych. Ward, you’re used to some pretty far-fetched claims.” She gave Tracy a chance to respond.

  “How do you know this?” she queried, hardly able to take it all in.

  Mallory considered half-truths to be the best way to go and acknowledged that she had been able to get Faith/Nigella to open up during their sessions. I’ll make a full report on her cognitive improvements for Dr, Stubbs. There’s another week yet and I hope to get her talking to you guys.”

  Tracy nodded. “You’ve done exceptionally well so far Mal. I can see how valuable it is to have sufficient time for this type of case. Drugs are a wonderful medium, but nothing really beats the power of personal attention.” She smiled up at the young woman. “Keep up the good work. I’ll include your findings at Report.”

  “Thanks Trace,” she nodded her appreciation. “I’ll see if I can pop in again tomorrow. I’m pretty busy. It may have to wait ’til evening. Will that be all right?”

  “Sure. I’ll tell the girls.”

  * * *

  Monday was fraught and tense. She was scheduled for home visits in the morning with Kylie, then team meetings in the afternoon. As she had thought, the woman was distant, but she retained her professionalism and did not sabotage their assignment. Nonetheless, concentration was difficult. Her thoughts ceaselessly retuned to Nigella, wondering how she was doing and wishing she could be there. The degree of impatience revealed by these circumstances was disconcerting. She had not recognised it as one of her personality traits, but with the slightest provocation, irritability was ready to erupt. Events turned in her favour with Kylie not feeling her usual, chatty self. As quickly as possible, she dispatched her work obligations then readied herself for the visit. Up until now she had always worn her lab coat, but tonight she deemed it appropriate to be more casual. Not only did she decide on jeans and shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, but also gave herself a haircut. She approximated the length Nigella might recognise, but the gel did not stick it down quite same. With her ID prominent in case of a challenge she signed in and went directly to D Ward, excitement mounting at the prospect of this encounter. How would she be tonight?

  The evening meal was over. It looked like she had eaten some slices of roast beef and vegetables, but had left the strawberry mousse in its plastic container. Mallory made a mental note to ask Dietary if they could use china or glass instead, although aware this could be requesting too much even of an obliging kitchen. Care had to be taken not to provide patients with anything that could be converted to an instrument of self-harm.

  “Hello Nigella.” She greeted her with a light hug which lingered slightly, giving the girl time to register the warmth of human contact. “How’re you feeling today?” She did not answer, but watched Mallory warily, drawing back as if seeing a stranger. She was in her usual hospital gown, but her hair had been recently washed and was neatly parted down the centre. It was growing out, showing signs of curling at the ends.

  “I was here with you yesterday afternoon.” She pulled up the other chair. “We listened to some lovely music.” As she sat she leaned forward taking the girl’s hands in hers then asking: “Did you like it? Do you remember?” She looked into her eyes, her own showing frank concern.

  Nigella searched the face before her, her gaze travelling to the strong hands holding hers and picked out the tattoo on the forearm. She lifted her eyes to the deep blue ones, now regarding her compassionately, then tears welled up and big drops spilled over onto her cheeks.

  Once more she took her in her arms and held her close.

  “Yes Jellie … it’s Mallory Mason. You’re here with me at last, we’re together again.” She felt the frail body trembling next to hers, her own tears pricking the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt the release of overflowing emotion, the flood gates, locked for so long, suddenly unbarred. The girl, the moment, it was all too much. Her hopes were being realised, but the reality was overwhelming.

  Eventually Nigella spoke, blinking back the burning veil of tears from her eyes. She did not pull away, but whispered into Mallory’s neck: “Where have you been all this time. I’ve felt so alone? Why did you leave me?” The dam, which had occluded her emotions, broke and a deluge of misery and frustrated anger streamed over them in a terrifying tidal wave. Then Nigella pulled herself up: “You left me with these strangers.” The emotional anguish was naked in the dark centres of her eyes as she re-lived again, that aching sense of exhausting loss.

  She will have so many questions … how can I answer them?

  She bought the girl to her once more, stroking her hair until her hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Hush Jellie, try not to distress yourself. There’s much I have to tell you, but for now I’ll just explain that you have been in a serious accident. You were very sick, but you’re getting better. Can you understand that?” She lifted her chin, tilting the pale face toward her. “For the time being you’re in the hospital. As soon as the doctor gives his permission, then I can take you out of here.” She could see she was bewildered, but the crying had stopped and she was absorbing the words. She nodded and pulled away. In a firm voice she declared: “I would like to go home now. I don’t want to stay here anymore,” then she commanded in that imperious manner she knew of old: “Take me away Mason. I want to go now.”

  “Nigella, you must call me Mallory and you must do as you’re told. It’s too soon to move you, you’re still very weak. We have to build your strength and make you well again.” She spoke firmly, as one in authority. The girl heard the change in tone and immediately regressed, her eyes misting with tears as she pleaded: “Please don’t be cross with me. I can’t bear that.”

  “No … no Jellie, I’m not cross. It’s all right. There, there … don’t cry Pumpkin. Everything’s all right. You’re tired. It’s time you got ready for bed. I’ll call nurse
.” She got up, but immediately the clutching fingers dug in to hold her back.

  “No, don’t leave me. I don’t want to be on my own.” Now the tears flowed in a gushing flood.

  This was going to be so hard. What could she do? Gently, she disengaged the spasming hands from her arm. “You need nurse to look after you. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can do some more painting. That will be fun won’t it?”

  Directly she let go and sat back. It was obvious she was fatigued. All this emotion had drained away her strength. It would be a good idea if they gave her something for sleep. “I’ll get nurse Jellie and then I have to go, but I promise I’ll be back.” She returned shortly with a nursing assistant who helped put the patient to bed. Once she was tucked in, Mallory bent over and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead then reminded her: “You’re no longer alone Nigella. I’m here now and I’ll make sure you get strong.” She stroked her cheek. “As soon as I can I’ll take you out of here, but you have to be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

  Staff Nurse came in with the meds and Mallory finished: “I’ll see you tomorrow.”