“No matter, I’ll come and collect you and all your things,” she reassured her as she patted her cheek. “We’ll get you set up in your comfy room. It will be really nice and I’ll be able to spend every evening with you.” She looked for her book. “Would you like to read some more of the play?”
“Would you mind if we just listened to music? My head is so fuzzy just now.”
“Of course we can. I have some work to complete and I’ll do it while we listen. What would you like to hear?”
“The Dream of Gerontius, for some reason I can’t understand, it makes me feel less sad.”
“Perhaps because it was an Elgar concert the night your mama gave Mona her special surprise? You enjoyed it very much.”
“Oh I’d forgotten, how lovely that you can remember things.” The corners of her mouth lifted as if to release a laugh, but it was only a tremulous smile. With her short hair now in poetic clusters about her head, Mallory saw shades of the younger girl of yesteryear. However, the sad eyes belonged to today’s young woman, beyond tears … grieving over an infinite loss.
They listened together and occasionally Nigella dozed, as she studied making notes from time to time. At one stage the girl awoke with a start. She had been drifting in and out of a dream state. Her mind had been filled with images of fleeing horses, futilely galloping across a shaly beach through a forceful sea full of fury, towards the mainland, only to be dashed back on the waves’ return, their energies all but spent.
Mallory was there to give reassurance avoiding the need to call a nurse; she hated Nigella being on such large doses of medication. It would be so good once she was back at Lychette’s; they seemed to use gentler sedatives. Quickly time passed and all too soon the nursing assistant arrived to call it a night, although it was not that late. She saw Nigella settled and with her farewell promised to visit again tomorrow.
Back at the residence she went straight to her computer and pulled up the Guardianship Tribunal fact sheets. She was able to download their application forms, being surprised at how many pages there were. The format was question and answer and went into considerable detail. In addition she would need supporting documentation for her claims. To be on the safe side, she downloaded a fact sheet on the protocols for attending a tribunal hearing and a copy of Guardians and Administrators: Their powers, responsibilities, duties and rights. After this she really did have to stop. Her gritty eyes could take no more.
* * *
The next day Mallory made a moment to slip over to Ward D, just for a quick check. She was rocked back to discover Nigella gone and her bed occupied by a stranger. This was impossible. She had promised she would be with her on the move and the very thing she had wanted to avoid had happened. Frustrated anger boiled up, but railing at the duty nurse would do no good. She would just have to wait until she could get over to Lychette’s. Anyway, she and Kylie were due to give their presentations this afternoon so she could not afford to hang about to speak to someone more senior. With no time to wait for the elevator, she took the stairs to the basement, impotent fury lending wings to her feet as her brain wrestled with the dark fear that this event could set back the course of recovery.
Everyone was there when she arrived. They were second on the list so she had time to collect her thoughts and despite the recent upheavals with Kylie, the two worked well together. Kylie had come round sufficiently to rise above their discord and they both came out winners. Tomorrow the rotation would end and the return to Campus would free up her time. All she needed now was to get over to the nursing home and make sure Nigella was all right.
This did not happen until early evening. Dr. Stubbs’ covering addendum allowed her easy access so she strode to the TV area to retrieve her charge. So concerned she omitted the greeting, just asking peremptorily to be shown to her room. The command came out gruff and harsh, her severe voice carrying across the room. Some of the residents turned their head in curiosity, although as far as she could judge most of them were asleep. She helped Nigella up her mood unusually submissive as she led them obediently down a long corridor, past the dimly lit Chapel. She shuffled along in her sock slippers, no longer using the proper heel/toe gait and leaned heavily on Mallory’s arm. That’s it she thought, as soon as I can, I shall get her kitted out in day clothes. Enough of this robe and slipper business she fumed still irate, but steadily calming down.
Nigella stopped at the last room and to Mallory’s horror she saw it was a room for two. She froze; body rigid, eyes wide. Really pissed off this time she demanded brusquely: “Who else is in here?” almost jerking the girl off balance. Confused, Nigella looked at the floor and just shook her head, eyes brimming. Immediately contrite, Mallory released the strength of her grip and lowered her voice.
“Sorry Jellie, I didn’t mean to upset you. Come, sit next to me. I’m not mad. Let’s be happy together.”
This time, Nigella’s head turned sharply as she resisted the supportive embrace, her arm coming up unexpectedly; the hand clenched in a fist as if in defence, the eyes glaring in frantic chaos.
“I won’t sit next to you. I am not happy!” she flung out the words. It was as if a shutter had opened up jarring her brain, throwing her into a deranged, white tirade: “I am … not … happy,” she shouted again. “You promised everything would be lovely here not like the hospital, but it isn’t.” Her vision cleared, but she could still hear the onslaught of blood rushing in her ears. “You lied. It’s horrible here. These people came for me and put me in this place.” Still enraged, her voice cracked on the words. “I don’t know where my things are and you were nowhere to be seen.” With a choking sob she covered her face in her hands. She felt so wretched; so isolated.
“Oh Jellie I’m truly sorry.” She had not seen such fire in the girl’s flashing eyes since that night at the carriage house. Perhaps this would turn out to be a good thing. Did it signal the potential for an emerging resilience? Could it be the intimation of an intrepid personality? She will need all her resources if we’re to get through this.
Easing her down, she took a conciliatory approach in the face of this fury. “Listen to me Nigella. It will be hard in the beginning, but I promise it will get easier … better.” She could hear her own voice tremble, but stiffened her spirit. “We have to make a plan; set a goal. Do you understand me?”
The girl turned to her questioningly, her crystalline eyes startled as if caught in the searchlight, pricking with unshed tears. The light from the window emphasized the circles beneath the lids and the hollows of the cheeks.
“It’s very important you begin to develop your own ability to be independent.” She regarded her gravely, concern shadowing her eyes. “The daytime must be for studies. Lots of reading like you did with Miss Pettigrew. For now, nurse helps you with your things, but you must learn to become self-reliant. It’s the only way you can get out of here and we can be on our own.” Her expression, already so earnest, became fiery; the eyes ardent in their passion. They were the trigger.
Suddenly a patchwork of images flooded into Nigella’s brain as so many memories deluged her senses. She had seen that intensity before. Now she remembered pleading with him to take her away, that she could help him; be supportive. Not a liability. If only he would give her a chance. He had been prepared to then and he wanted this of her now. She regarded him again in a slowly dawning understanding, with an improved comprehension of this new reality. He was doing so much for her – for them – she could do her part; stop feeling sorry for herself. To be with him had been all she had wanted. But then she had thought her parents would be there for her when in need. It was her youthful foolishness that was driving her away, but she always could have gone back. Now there was no going back. To come to terms with this baffling reality was the truly painful challenge.
Mallory observed the girl’s hands, clenching and unclenching; the various, elusive expressions chasing across the finely textured skin of the face. She saw two large tears gather, to tremble perilously
on her lower lids, but still she did not speak. Had she understood or was she drifting into some altered state? What had Dr. Stubbs said: ‘the brain is plastic’? Well, let’s hope hers isn’t plasticine! Commonly, mental illness has its onset in early adulthood. So far she was free of this, but everything hung in the balance.
Nigella reached out and took his strong hand in hers, no longer calloused from hard labour. “I will try to do as you ask,” her viridian eyes sought his with vehement eagerness. “I realise I’ve been indulging in self-pity,” she stopped, taking a deep breath: “But I will do my best to live up to that promise I made you … so long ago … to be supportive in all you undertake.” Now she was still: her body, her eyes everything, focused only on him, her expression intent, searching for that elusive answer.
The solemnity in the girl’s tone, the seriousness of her demeanour alerted Mallory to the import of the words. Something had just happened. She believed she had witnessed a tipping point. Some invisible mantle had been lifted from that clouded mind, allowing thoughts to break through the superficial layers, to penetrate to the cogent depths beneath. Perhaps reaching through to a possible enlightenment?
Don’t ask. Build on this.
“That’s my girl. Remember, we’re in this together and together we will be triumphant.” Sitting back feeling more positive, she turned her mind to practicalities. “If you’re going to start dressing then I have to get you clothes. What sort do you like? No don’t answer that,” she amended just as she was about to open her mouth. “I’ll find a magazine and you can look through for ideas.”
Nigella, now more relaxed pondered in his absence. She had said she would do it, but could she? This plan! A flutter of fear swept over her like nausea. Words were easy, but action – dress herself? She had always had Millie’s help; all those ribbons and the buttons? My hands are so shaky. But I can study … I like reading. Again, just when she thought she had it all figured out something had cropped up to tilt her axis and distort the view. One sliver of new information and her world would heave and shiver to reveal a completely different panorama. I don’t know what’s real any more.
Soon Mallory was back bearing a comprehensive arm-load. She laid the magazines out on the credenza and they pulled up their chairs. Nigella could hardly believe her eyes. “You want me to wear this?” she exclaimed, horrified. As it happened, the top copy was an old summer issue of Marie Claire. Mallory laughed: “No it’s all right. That’s for the beach not for us. Here, check this one out.” She selected more carefully and Nigella turned the pages of a Woman’s Day.
They were thus engaged when the other occupant of the room returned, being wheeled in by the diversional therapist. She had just come back from Bingo. Mallory got up and made the introductions. The therapist spoke for the woman, Mavis Johnson, and explained she was Katrina Duff. With a brief exchange they established their roles, which then allowed Mallory to ask if there would be any possibility of Nigella joining the daily news sessions.
“She won’t be able to answer questions, but just to be there will help get her involved in what’s happening in the outside world.”
Mrs. Johnson turned to the young woman. “Would you like to come with us when we go over to the community hall Nigella? What a pretty name that is.”
Nigella turned to Mallory, uncertain.
“Try it Jellie. You only have to look and listen.” She squeezed her hand. “Katrina will be there and this will be a good place to start … with the newspapers.”
“That will be very nice thank you … Mrs. Duff.”
“Well done Jellie.” She turned back to the magazines. Pick out things you like, I’m just going to have a word with Katrina.”
The two stepped outside and in the corridor she explained just enough of Nigella’s difficulties for her not to expect too much. “If she speaks, she will have an odd way of expressing herself. It doesn’t mean she’s slow more like … unaccustomed; like how she just called you Mrs. Duff.”
On her return she observed that the new room-mate was of the quiet kind, inclined to nod off. This would be better than the ones who want to be chatty all the time.
“Seen anything you like?” She looked over Nigella’s shoulder.
“I can’t understand. There’s nothing here for me,” and she did look flustered. Mallory wanted to calm her.
“Let me see if I can find something,” and they considered together, turning the pages slowly, allowing Nigella time to familiarize herself with the ‘look’. Eventually, she was able to steer her toward some fancy, knitted tops and three-quarter length skirts. “You have pretty ankles Jellie. It will be quite suitable for you to show them in public. In fact no-one will look at them particularly so try not to be self-conscious,” she encouraged gently.
Nigella looked dubious, this was all so strange. She felt perplexed: ‘the plaything of capricious time’. All supportive reference points had been removed; had become remote and detached. How could she start again? It was too hard.
“Jellie, right now the important thing is to fit in. You will see some people in clothes like what you’re wearing and you’ll see some in day clothes like these …” she indicated the models: “… and some in lab-coats like me, they’ll be the staff. You can always go to them if you need help. But you know that already don’t you?” She nodded although her confidence was evaporating.
Mallory looked at the sensitive face before her and smiled, giving her hand a squeeze in reassurance then impulsively leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on the mouth. To her surprise it lingered. It was the first time she had kissed Nigella on the lips and the feeling thus released by this sudden contact shocked her. She felt her face flush with heat as she pulled back in haste, mortification making her clumsy. She dropped the hand looking away in confusion, guilt biting ever deeper, but Nigella was regarding her with a smile.
What had she done? Where had that come from? Mal what is the matter with you? She took in some deep breaths and tried to collect herself. Stay focussed! “All right Jellie I have to get going. I can’t bring you new clothes until Saturday, but then we’ll get you looking real pretty you’ll see.” She pushed her chair back with her legs and prepared to stand. Nigella grasped her arm in desperation as if about to shed tears.
“Don’t start!” She was firm. In the state she was in she could not handle sultry sobs and clinging arms. She grimaced. How she would have loved to kiss Nigella all over again. Without the element of surprise it would be with experienced control – properly. “I’ll get your things from the lock-up. You’ll be fine. You’ll have your painting gear and music … and I’ll leave you the magazines for now.” Nigella looked bereft and forsaken. Had her self-reproach made her overly austere? She relented. “Jellie you’re not on your own just by yourself for a while, you can handle that.” She pressed her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Remember our plan. When you begin to feel uncertain, say to yourself: ‘We have a master plan’. Let me hear you say it.” Nigella did as she was told and this time the corners of her mouth lifted fully despite her regret. She smiled, openly acknowledging the foolishness, but knowing it was important.
* * *
Saturday, Mallory went early to Marks and Spenser’s and purchased an assortment of tops and skirts, plus some lacy camisoles and panties. She left the bras for another time when Nigella could choose for herself. From what she could judge, her breasts were still firm without need of support. She had been successful before in purchasing shoes and was confident enough to buy open-toed sandals with Velcro straps. As a bonus, since music had become so important, she went back to Chapman’s and asked for suggestions. She came away with Felix Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor and Dvorak’s Symphony #9, From the New World. She hoped they would find their mark. She was a great fan of The Veronicas and Pink herself, but she would have to wait to get Nigella there, meanwhile her dominant imperative was to bolster her esteem any way she could.
Balancing her packages on the handlebars, she
rode straight over to Lychette’s. The summer sun was thinning into the paler globe of autumn, cooling the light as well as the air. Mallory’s nose twitched at the pungent aroma of burning rubbish from the surrounding garden clean-ups. The swish of her tires caused the newly fallen leaves to scatter in an excited flurry; she was a woman on a mission.
Nigella was alone in her room looking through a different selection of periodicals. Sunlight poured through her small window, catching the dust motes in its glare and the girl in its focus. The nurses had bought copies of Country Life and Cleo. This time she seemed to be taking them in her stride. I could photograph her just like this.
“Here are your new things. I’ve kept the dockets, so if there’s anything you won’t wear, I can take it back. Come on … open them up.” She only bestowed a hug, no kiss and dumped everything on the table. Immediately Nigella got up to investigate.
She was not going to let on that she had, in fact, been very forlorn yesterday. She had tried to paint, but had been unable to maintain her concentration. A few sketches had been all she had accomplished; remembered scenes from childhood and then they had become too much to bear. She had read for a while, but even that had not been enough to channel her thoughts away from her loss. She had a yearning for transcendence, to rise above this tribulation. Perhaps now Mallory was back with her, she would be able to move on. That kiss had unsettled her, as she knew it had him. She took heart from this. Surely it meant he cared for her, indeed thought of her as special. Certainly, she knew he was very special to her. She always longed for his return. In some way she could not understand, he made her feel complete. She opened the first bag. “What lovely colours.”
Til Morning Comes Page 32
