Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  It should not be long now before the summons from the Tribunal arrived. She had prepared thoroughly for the hearing. All the background material on the nature and degree of Nigella’s impaired capacity had been collated. To be on the safe side she had included the initial surgical procedure notes with the professional progress report from Dr. Stubbs. Tracy and Katrina had supplied references.

  The Tribunal had had this material for a week already and she was impatient to get on with it. The wheels of bureaucracy could grind too slowly. She felt there should be no problems however; the subject had no family or friends to give support or make decisions. To ensure her interests were protected there really was no other way. When it came to the selection of support services, Nigella definitely could not decide who should provide them. If she were to choose, there was no guarantee her decision would not turn out to be detrimental to her welfare. Katrina had agreed to speak at the Tribunal, which would consist of the President and one Deputy President with a panel of three other members. She hoped they would not need to have Nigella present. She really did not want to put her through such an ordeal, for all her progress, she was not yet ready for the impact of the outside world.

  She had shown her the papers and gone through the types of decisions she would have to make. She had signed the acceptance section of the form, allowing her to act on her behalf, although the writing was still quite shaky, the spidery signature was legible enough to be legal. Then Mal had signed it herself and Katrina had witnessed. Of course she was keen for the hearing, then she would be Nigella’s attorney and there was so much to be done. Nigella understood her decisions would have the same legal force as if she had made them herself. It all seemed to be sitting comfortably with her.

  Mal was anxious to move on to the next stage – only two hurdles to go. In the meantime, she had access to all the social services data, so she drilled down to find what options were open to them, pending discharge. CACPS would come to the party if the ABI section of Headway came on board. Although Nigella could not be classified as ‘aged’ she would require low-level care. All this took time to sort out. Just as well being a health professional was her bag – any lay-person trying to penetrate through these bureaucratic stipulations would have given up by now. Her own struggle was intense enough, but persistence paid off.

  * * *

  As an overseas student, she could remain at the Faculty residence until the results came through, but then it was expected she would move on. To this end she had started to search the papers. Nothing had popped, but she had a lead on shared accommodation with a woman who needed help with the rent. Much would depend on what work she could find. Sometimes she felt she had too many balls in the air and was run ragged trying to keep them all in play.

  Finally D-day arrived and in the grey light of morning, which she hoped was not an indication of how the day would unfold, she set off for the hairdresser’s. She had her hair cut and fluffed out, in an effort to soften the rather severe planes of her face. She wore her best pants, but teamed them with a new blouse which had long sleeves and smart, buttoned cuffs. Katrina had no difficulty in looking feminine and just right. Their appointment was for ten o’clock, on the second floor of the Department of Justice Building, room #214. It had not been so easy to find and now their nervousness grew with the waiting. The previous hearing ran overtime so what had started out as fresh and crisp was now decidedly bedraggled. Their turn!

  They need not have worried. In fact, the Tribunal was very pleased to have someone take on the responsibility, especially in the absence of any known family. Also, there was no necessity to call Nigella. The only stipulation was that she must keep them apprised of all developments. No dramas there. Forty minutes later it was done and dusted.

  They took themselves off to a nearby coffee shop for lunch and to celebrate. They ordered Caesar salads and rolls and Mal had time to expound in more detail what she wanted for Nigella.

  “She has a funny way of expressing herself sometimes,” Katrina observed between munches.

  “Yes, but I think it’s very refreshing. There seems to be no guile behind it.”

  “Very true, but it’s a bit hard to get used to,” she mused, thinking back how she really had thought Nigella had lost it somewhere along the way. There were any number of underlying psychotic events that could manifest themselves, sometime after the initial medical event.

  “Kat, have you any idea how soon she could be independent in her ADL’s?” Mal wanted to know.

  “Just yesterday morning I checked with the Aide. She seems to have a problem with bent over positions; still prone to dizziness. Her manual dexterity is improving, but drops off if she’s getting tired. All in all though, she’s making good progress; feeding and such like. She’s very fastidious with personal hygiene, like it’s all new to her.”

  “Mm…m.” Mal decided not to go there and neatly sidestepped to another tack. “The good news is, I can get funding from Disability Services for rent and living expenses. I must move her on if we’re to achieve those superior outcomes Dr. Stubbs is so keen on.” She did not want her to think she was being critical, or unappreciative of everybody’s effort and added: “You guys do a good job, but she needs stimulation 10/7. It’s so important for her not to finish up in isolation, cut off from real life.”

  As it happened, Katrina was aware of a place that could be suitable. Since she now knew Nigella better, she reckoned this could be the ideal transition into the outside world. “Fulton House is a supportive, residential facility for young adults. They’re not all brain damaged so she would be interacting with normal people her own age.”

  “That sounds promising. Do you know if there are any vacancies?” The eagerness in her voice was unmistakable; the searches to date had proved unproductive.

  “I don’t, but I’ll look into it for you. Sometimes there’s a bit of a revolving door syndrome in this type of housing. It’s so easy to move from State-care into homelessness if not careful. Did you know the number of young people can reach as high as 40% of the total, on the street? People in crisis can be so vulnerable.” She smiled broadly. “Fulton House is a wonderful institution.”

  They finished lunch and headed back immediately. Katrina had wangled a late roster, but still had some commitments before she was due on. Mal wanted to share the good news before she went back, too elated to keep it to herself until evening. Nigella accepted it as already foreseen. In the afternoon she received a text from Katrina: No vacancies. Expect some discharges. Call supervisor for chat/inspection: C U soon K. The number followed. Before leaving work Mal phoned the residence and Brendan Reeves answered. He was one of a number of health workers on staff. She explained the situation which he seemed to grasp with sweeping comprehension.

  “No problem.” His voice was gruff and positive. “We’re a community shelter for teenagers and young adults; provide them with home-space. Help them get back on their feet … you know the stuff. I agree with you … much better than having to stomach the old folks.”

  Mal had not quite put it like that, but the environment did sound more in line with what she had in mind. He told her she could drop in any time. “There’s always someone here and I’ll leave a note for Cory Sixsmith, our supervisor.”

  * * *

  “I think I’ve found the home for you Jellie.”

  It was Saturday afternoon and Mal had collected Nigella for a brisk walk in the fresh air, although the October winds could find those unprotected spots. Nigella wore a lightly padded, three-quarter length jacket and the red beret now had a matching scarf. She enjoyed the crispness of the outside. It made her feel so alive. She felt more comfortable wearing knee socks with her shoes than when her legs were bare, but Mal had promised to buy her a pair of trousers. She was eagerly looking forward to this experience. She remembered the divided skirt Ramona’s friend had worn for their pedal-cycling jaunts and her own riding breeches, but this would be something quite different. So daring!

  Mal was att
empting to build stamina with these walks, but for now they were on a rest period by an ornamental pond, down at the back of the grounds. Mallard ducks were herding their chicks like ships of the line, to the various feeding sites, upping their tails intermittently, as they made their stately progression. Above their bench, in the low hanging branches of the Horse Chestnut trees Starlings, so attractive with the metallic sheen of their plumage were squawking unattractively, over important birdbusiness. Then a shadow, cast by the span of big wings descended menacingly, forcing them to take flight in a cannonade of sharp screeches. Silence reigned once more.

  “Oh Mal I don’t know that I can move so soon. I feel I’m just settling in here,” she demurred anxiously, her brows drawing together in that nervous frown.

  “This will be a good place Jellie. There will be other young people. I went this morning to have a look. The rooms are bright and colourful. You’ll have your very own. There’s a common room for socialising where the kids play games; listen to music, watch videos, that kind of stuff.”

  She turned from her study of the ducks: “Watch videos?” she asked in surprise.

  I’ll have to cover this, perhaps tomorrow? “I’ll explain later Jellie. For now, we have to think of all the things we can do to help you move on, OK?”

  “Yes Mal, I don’t want to stay stuck in the Twentieth Century. Just sometimes, I don’t feel ready to let go of all that formed me …” there was a deep catch of her breath: “… then I feel so afraid.” She retreated to her safe place as a stabbing bolt of panic discharged through her chest. She hugged her body and folded in upon herself, rocking slightly. Those large, appealing eyes and the tone of gloomy dejection drew Mal in. She felt for her plight and circled her shoulders protectively.

  “Yes I know Pumpkin,” she confirmed gently. “But think of this. The more you learn and experience, the more confidence you’ll build up and then the happier you’ll be.” She squeezed the hand resting on her other arm. She had noticed Nigella still seemed to like this contact, despite the fact that her walking was strong and steady and although they were now seated. She liked it too, she had to admit.

  “There remain some steps to be completed, so first thing Monday I’ll inform the Tribunal and if Dr. Stubbs agrees, I’ll see if we can make it for next Saturday. How does that sound?”

  “If you think so …” the doubt resonated in each word.

  “This is a wonderful opportunity Jellie,” she reassured encouragingly. “Finding somewhere to live isn’t easy. Of course, it won’t be the Park, but we have that in our memories.” She smiled at her and added: “We can visit there in our mind whenever we want, can’t we?”

  Nigella agreed. How could she not when those bright eyes rested on her and that smile pierced through her. It was like being dipped in melted chocolate. Her profile set with a new determination.

  “Do you think you could paint Patchford House for me … us? I’d really like that. What do you say … once you’re settled in your new home?”

  Of course, a visual reference of what we once shared. Something to hang on to that is important to us both. “Yes, I’d like that.” She needed to take out all the precious memories on a regular basis and polish them to their original clarity. She must bank them safely against decay or corruption. She would do more drawings; try to capture the spirit of what remained of those tattered fragments. She must record and preserve what had been ’til her old age. Do I have the confidence to grow old?

  “Let’s stroll to the fence so you can look at the street. This is a nice neighbourhood … then we should make tracks.” She stood and indicated the path. Sometimes the sky became overcast, the dispersed sunlight then blurring the air into a haze of grimy grey that threatened rain. However, this uncertain weather had not stopped the people from coming out. They were industrious about their business; some walking back with shopping bags, two were mowing their front lawns and a whipper-snipper regularly shattered the afternoon silence with its high-pitched whine. A number of cars passed by, their motors droning or purring and at one stage Nigella’s ear caught the sigh of pneumatic brakes from the local bus as it stopped to pick up its passengers.

  Standing at the tall, wrought iron gates she looked on in wonder. Mal watched her take it all in as the slight ripple of a breeze was enough to flutter the end of her scarf. Not enough to stir the branches, but it did set the late season Dahlias nodding on their slender stems. She was not voluble in her observations, too intent on missing nothing. However, Mal was sure some reference to these novel images would be made in times to come. There would be many questions to answer. Afternoon shadows began to make their appearance as yet only sliding inconspicuously across the lawns, but Mal felt it was time.

  “All right, let’s see how fast we can make it back without running. I’d like to see you breathless. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  That evening Mal found a DVD and borrowed the nursing home’s player. She arrived after dinner and just as with the CD’s, Nigella watched with interest as she went through the set up hooking it to the TV in the corner. She told Mavis of their intensions and invited her to watch, but this was her cards night.

  Mal explained about videos and DVD’s, and peoples’ obsession with recording everything, even with hand held telephones and she showed how her mobile could take pictures. This really impressed the girl, causing her to insist she try for herself. The diversion gave them almost an hour of fun, experimenting with poses then showing each other the results. It was quite late before they settled down to watch Phantom of the Opera. As Mal had guessed, she was familiar with the original novella by Gaston Leroux, so watching the musical she could readily follow what was happening. They sat side by side within the glow of the desk light, their space defined by the shadowed corners of the room. While watching Mal felt Nigella reach for her hand. The mood was relaxed and she was conscious of their closeness. With the music hovering and swirling about them this was an untroubled interlude, filled with the pleasure of each other’s company and the delight of the moment. Time flew. In fact Mavis returned and watched the ending with them.

  With this arrival Mal was forced to let go of Nigella, albeit reluctantly, but she could not risk any trouble before they would be out of there. In a place like this, rumours flew and expanded with each telling. As for Nigella, she was spell-bound. She loved Lloyd-Webber’s music and watched the screen fascinated from beginning to end. This was the Michael Crawford version and it transported her. She believed she had never been as blissful as in that darkened room, holding the hand of the woman she loved. At the end she turned to Mal and exclaimed: “That was so marvellous!”

  “I’ll look for the music for you,” Mal promised as she stood to disconnect everything. “This show began its life in the theatre, but when you can’t get there a DVD is the next best thing,” she observed, so pleased her selection had been a success.

  “I like this Twenty-First Century,” Nigella assured her happily. “There’s so much at one’s command … and all it takes is the touch of a button. It’s truly stupendous!”

  Mal laughed. “For you Jellie, here everyone takes it for granted and you will too, when you get used to it. ‘Push-button’ is around us everywhere.”

  “You don’t have a telly dear?” Mavis enquired pleasantly.

  Nigella looked at Mal. Telly? “I don’t have anything. Well, very little at the moment.” She smiled at Mal. She knew things were going to change … and for the better.

  * * *

  Next morning Mal noticed a missed call on her mobile. She was getting ready for her workout at the gym. These days she had time on a Sunday to go through a full circuit and a relaxing swim afterwards. She punched the number. It was a response to her shared accommodation enquiry. The voice was older and pleasant. She wrote down the address and promised to go that afternoon.

  Working on the Peck Deck she thought how everything was falling into place. If I can just secure a good paying position. QEH would do nicely. The staff the
re seemed to like her and then she would not be too far from Fulton House – bike or bus, she could do either. Riding on the bus would be good experience for Nigella. There was the HACC Department itself. They were sure to need social workers for their home and domestic services. The problem here was that everyone else could be applying. Still, not many of the others were Birmingham people. Surely they would want to go back where they came from. I want to eventually … just not yet. When Jellie’s her old self again then I can take her home.

  Her last station was the Abs. corner. She climbed into the rocker and after three sets went down to the mat for her forty crunches with a weight. She liked feeling fit again. Even the lung capacity had expanded with her increased stamina. She put this down to the weekly sessions at RPM. If anything, she felt better than before the accident. Certainly she had been eating more healthily. Then again, if she really thought about it, the good feelings could stem from how well things were going with Nigella.

  Deszree Lanskey responded immediately to the knock on her door. Her round, fresh face, made cheerful by a scattering of freckles across the cheeks, welcomed Mal into the unit. It was a six block complex and she was on the first floor, #4. No elevators, no carports and no pool. She had judged right with the voice. The woman was in her thirties, of medium height and build with a ‘no-nonsense’ sense of dress. Not a business woman; she found out later she worked at Cadbury’s on a production line, but she felt confident she could share a bathroom and kitchen with her. She seemed down to earth, at least on first meeting; nothing weird and it was certainly more space. Two bedrooms spare, but clean. The laundry tub was in the kitchen. She guessed she could get used to that, but it seemed a strange place to put it. Anyway, it beat going to the launderette. The line was outside.