Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  Her lips quivered and she swallowed: “I’m not so sure now. I think it’s too much for me.” The green eyes were awash with a tearful sheen. Not bothered by the plan, no … by you, yes!

  “Even with staff to help …?”

  “I’m not like Mama. I can’t order servants about,” she hurled out abruptly.

  “No Jells. You wouldn’t have to do that. Anyway, they wouldn’t like it.” Her response was prompt, the words uneven as she tried to reassure her. “These people would be your helpers.” She thought again. Sometimes it was profitable to abandon logical assumptions, to consider perhaps the most obvious. “Are you worried about being by yourself?” She didn’t respond. Mal shot a quick glance across to see a very disconsolate expression fixed on stony features.

  “You’d have a live-in carer to look after you. I don’t think the Trustees would allow you out there on your own it’s just … it wouldn’t be me.”

  Emotion tightened her throat as she tried to speak. “But that’s it! I don’t want to live with a stranger.” Her eyes were alarming, irrational, her cheeks blotchy with colour.

  “I’d be there weekends.” The protest didn’t help. The eyes that turned on her were manic indeed.

  “I thought we’d live there together,” she whispered forlornly, all fight suddenly evaporating, her voice laden with sadness.

  Mal tried to reason: “I have to earn my living.” She could see her obduracy was causing further hurt, but what else could she do? This occasioned another agitated outburst, the impotent rage assailing the air between them like clouds in a storm.

  “You don’t! What’s wrong with the carer’s stipend?” A single tear discharged from compressed eyelids. Mal took time to answer. Her words should not antagonize and she needed to give her a moment to regain her composure. Nonetheless, she herself had a lot to lose. There was too much at stake. Thinking it through some more, trying to see into the future she knew she didn’t want them locked in each other’s pockets, a growing resentment developing between them. The other aspect of all this, which of course Jellie could not appreciate, was the importance of her steady advancement into maturity and independence. She cannot remain reliant on me forever. Is the project too big … too soon? This move was to foster her progress, give her freedom to re-develop her own, unique personality.

  It was obvious she still needed support, but it was getting harder for Mal to preserve her objectivity. As Jellie’s capabilities expanded and her confidence grew, she was reminded daily of the girl who had stolen her heart and captured her love. How could she keep her true nature hidden? Is there any way through?

  “Perhaps we could continue as we are? As it stands, I pay my rent to Dez. I could pay you rent …” Jellie was about to interrupt, but Mal cut her off saying abruptly: “Hear me out Jells. So … I will live at Driftwood Acres as your carer, but to earn my living I’ll continue my social work part-time … say three days a week.” Her eyes left the road to rest momentarily upon her. Jellie was prepared to listen. “At other times, I would be working with you … managing the stables … doing whatever. I’d like that. We need only have the accountant come out once a month to do the books and perhaps an occasional handy-man. Not too many people.” She paused: “As you get stronger, you can take over more responsibilities … as you felt able.”

  There was no response, but Mal had to pay attention to the road. The traffic on the outskirts of the city had become more demanding; for the remainder of the journey no-one spoke.

  * * *

  That evening and for most of Sunday, it was as if they lived in separate worlds, but still they vibrated together in an unspoken tension. By dinner-time Mal could stand it no longer. She knew she had no right to put Jellie on the spot, but could not hold back forced, despite her better judgement, to ask if she had given any further consideration to their discussion.

  Jellie looked at her then returned her eyes to her plate, eating slowly. In fact she had thought of nothing else. She had spent anguished hours fighting with herself, agonising over whether any good could come of this obsessive association, or if to break the ties now would be a more restorative measure. For the first time she was facing the reality of her situation. For the first time she could see it as desperate. The horrible realisation had penetrated to her most insecure places; their separation was most likely inevitable. In trying to weigh up this new insight she was considering if perhaps sooner would be better than later. Inside she felt the full weight of her plight. It had dragged her down all weekend. Over and over she asked the same questions: Can I live without this love? Could I survive without this woman? Like incessant drum beats, the words pounded inside her head until she believed she would go mad. Yes mad, for each time the same answer came up: “No!” Where did this leave her? Untold rocks were looming as she navigated her ship. Was she sick? What should she do? Her ingenuous love seemed a world away. So much had happened since then. It was too late now to recapture that guileless innocence. Her body had awakened to this new reality. Too late, too late!

  “Jells, aren’t you going to answer me?”

  The words punctured her thoughts, dissociating them into remnants which she must allow to scatter. “I’m sorry. What was your question?”

  She was dismayed. Not even willing to listen to me? Despite this setback she repeated her question.

  “First I must ask you a question,” Jellie stalled. She needed to pull herself out of this black hollow of heart-breaking wretchedness and could see only one way to do it.

  “Ask away,” she responded trying to sound nonchalant, but worried all the same.

  “Do you want to continue in your role as carer?” This time the dark, serious eyes regarded her unwaveringly. She would not flinch from the answer.

  “Oh Jells, of course I do. There’s no problem there.” The question flooded her with relief. Not so indifferent after all. “I just thought you needed more freedom … you know independence, more space.” She trotted out the excuses knowing in her heart she was just finding some plausible rationale – simply covering her tracks.

  “I see.”

  Mal observed the measured response. As short as only a week ago, the rejoinder would have been a happy acknowledgement. What a revision. Would she buy her answer? That ebullience that would break free on hearing good news was now on hold. Anyway, she deserved whatever time she needed to sort things out. Try to see it from her viewpoint, Mal. You’ve been too self-centred by half. Flames of disappointment in her shallowness fanned the self-reproach. What sort of love is this that cannot see beyond its own desires?

  Now Jellie had to work out if she were telling the truth or just trying to placate her. Surely, over something as important as this Mal would not try to dissemble. Her dark eyes gleamed, the gaze remaining steady trying to probe to the woman beneath. She had never suspected her in the past, what was different now? My own guilt! I have too much to hide. Oh Nigella, don’t make her the scapegoat for your abnormality. Emotional pain channelled itself into a sense of loss, leaving her feeling numb. The meal came to an end; neither moved.

  Mal so wanted her to agree. Let this not be a parting of their ways. As legal guardian she would always have contact, but how official – how cold. Her darling Jells, light of her life! This was not how it was going to end – was it? But it’s not up to me all I can do is wait.

  “You would be prepared to make that long drive?” She made an effort to rally.

  “It’s not so far. But I was thinking of transferring to Selly Oak Hospital. That’s an easy distance.” They sat and looked at each other, their words on the surface seeming so mundane, their hidden thoughts so intense; so at variance.

  At last Jellie got up and collected the plates. “That would be better then?” she questioned cautiously.

  “Do you think it a good idea?” Mal watched her give the dishes a rinse and stack them. “Do you want some dessert?” she asked.

  She didn’t answer right away her mind still too chaotic. “That was enough fo
r me.” She sat down again. “What about you?”

  “No. I’m good.” Be patient Mal. This time she got up. “I’ll get us something to drink.” While she was at the fridge, her back turned, she declared: “I think it could work very well,” then returned to her seat.

  “Do you?” still this wary circumspection.

  “Tell me what you think Jells.” She took a sip and put down her can.

  “I think … it would be worth a try,” she rejoined guardedly.

  Mal had expected greater enthusiasm, but willingness to try the modified plan was a positive start. She could not complain at that. “Do you want to put a time limit on it and then review, say in six months?” What crap! I sound like a bloody social worker.

  “I hadn’t thought of anything like that.” Jellie looked shocked, the arched brows ready to take flight.

  “No … no, it’s all right. Sorry, I don’ know what got into me.” She ran a convulsive hand through her hair and mentally kicked herself. The gesture was full of annoyance. Wacko job! “Good. Well that’s settled. I’ll contact Johdi to get Mr. Dearing to send Connor the business papers and set up a property inspection. You know Jells these things take time, so nothing will happen immediately.”

  “That’s all right. It will be something to look forward to, won’t it?” Now Jellie was smiling as optimism billowed once more. Nothing lost yet. Her face had lit up in relief and it gladdened Mal’s heart to see elation returning. “Who’s Connor?”

  “Connor Mitchell is your solicitor. He’s a nice young man. Although only a junior partner, the firm itself, Armstrong and Walsh, has an excellent name. He’s looking after your annuity and will take on whatever business dealings eventuate. If everything looks kosher then he’ll put in the offer. We still have to wait for it to be accepted of course, so nothing’s certain.” Suddenly she resounded with hollow laughter. “Someone might out-bid us and pip us to the post.” She didn’t really believe it.

  “You mean we wouldn’t have it?” Jellie did … and looked so completely dashed, Mal jumped up to encircle her shoulders and give a reassuring squeeze. Me and my big mouth! As she stood over her she turned her face, tilting her chin.

  “I think it will be OK, Pumpkin. After all, there aren’t too many people who want to buy agistment stables … in the middle of winter.” The glistening red mouth was so close, the lips trembling slightly. Her hair shone like polished jet under the kitchen fluoro. The cashmere aroma of her shampoo surrounded them and she felt the soft warmth of her pliant body through their sweaters. Her heart began thudding against her ribs. Overwhelmed, too aware of powerful, physical reactions she took in a deep breath and a long step back.

  Looking up at her, Jellie did feel bolstered and believed everything would be good, at least for a while. This gave her happiness. She would not let herself think in the long term. That was a luxury she couldn’t afford. For now, if they got their own place, they would have a home to share and they would just have to see how it went from there.

  * * *

  It was another week before they heard from Connor Mitchell. He had given the papers a thorough going over and found nothing amiss. No encumbrances; the title was free, the business solvent. Subject to the inspection being negative, they could go ahead with the deal. If the estate agent put them at the top of her list, it was very likely they would be in by Christmas.

  “The best Chrissie prezzie, ever,” Mal had declared jubilantly. By now Jellie was truly into the spirit of things, bursting out excitedly with some idea for the house or garden, or to do with the stables. Mal was more cautious in this regard. She didn’t want to see Jellie disappointed. There was much to be done and they wanted to get stuck in, but at this stage had to hold themselves back and stay content with enthusiastic speculation.

  As it happened, closing took place on Christmas Eve. Because of the business involvement, the process had been more complicated than the usual conveyancing. Connor had texted Mal to make an appointment for the signing. He arrived on their doorstep at three o’clock that afternoon, bearing a bottle of sherry with a bright Christmas bow around its neck. He had not minded doing this on Christmas Eve. It had resulted in a handsome bonus so he was feeling expansive.

  Deszree was there to celebrate with them. She had heard so much about Driftwood Acres and was eager to check it out for herself. At the same time she was sorry to have to see them go. Over the weeks she had become fond of them both. The one so different from the other, yet somehow they managed to complement each other very nicely.

  When Mal had seen Connor in the office, he always looked the competent accountant in severe business suit, seated behind his desk. Today he was full of Christmas cheer. When she took his coat it was to reveal him dressed in a green plaid waistcoat, white poplin shirt, red bow tie and black cords. She had not been struck before by how personable he was, however his clean-cut good looks did not go unnoticed by the others. He was not tall, but very neatly put together. He had light brown hair, gelled to spikes that peaked over his brow. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, were the same colour and crinkled engagingly at the corners when he laughed; altogether the smart man about town.

  Being a special day, they had Christmas music playing and Deszree had dug out her old Christmas decorations. There was no tree, but they had personally made an effort to look festive. Jellie had dressed her hair up, allowing a few curling strands to drift past her ears and at the back of her neck. Mal had let her wear the set of ruby and diamond earrings which had been amongst Lady Glencora’s favourites. Jellie claimed her mother always chose them when she felt something important was going to happen. In the past few days she had blossomed like a scarlet rose, turning its petals toward the sun.

  She wore a white, long sleeved frilly blouse with frills repeated on the cuffs and a wine red, velvet skirt. It had a slight flare at the hem from a series of gusset pleats and reached to just below the knee. Black patent shoes with an ornate, silver buckle completed the ensemble. She looked stunning, with a radiance that shone through everything. For the first time since her recovery, she felt beautiful inside and out. She was elated over the house, over Christmas and not least that Mal would be moving to Driftwood with her. At this stage it was enough to have that. Her cup was full. She had no need to ask for more.

  By coincidence Deszree and Mal were wearing similar red pants; Deszree with a red blouse, Mal with a green Tee-shirt that sported a jolly Santa face on the front. She made the introductions and once they had signed the papers and Deszree had witnessed them, she opened a bottle of champagne and poured everyone a glass. The toast was jolly as the bubbles rose and popped in a lively tarantella.

  Meeting Miss Patchford for the first time, Connor was totally knocked out. She had not been in the least what he had expected. Although not quite sure what that was, he now found it hard to take his eyes off her. He had to make a conscious effort to drag them away so turned his attention to Deszree. Quite taken with him, this one was happy to talk.

  Connor Mitchell was an aspiring young man. He felt there was a bright future for him to grasp. He only needed the right break and was sure he could go places. He was intimately familiar with the details of Nigella Patchford’s dossier. Her inheritance was more than enough for his needs … at the moment. ‘Net-working’, that was what he wanted. It’s who you know! He would be happy to be seen in all the right establishments with someone as attractive as she. Admittedly, he didn’t have the details of why there was a carer, but it did appear there was no man on the scene to queer his pitch. Meeting her now, he could hardly believe his luck – that she was a beauty into the bargain. His eyes were full of calculation. If he played his cards right.…

  Jellie mostly watched the exchanges, speaking only when she was directly addressed. However, she had sensed the weight of the young man’s regard. Perhaps because she was coming more into her own, she didn’t experience that knotted agitation which usually afflicted her, in fact she thought he was rather nice. He didn’t make her feel disturbed
or apprehensive; how she had been at Fulton House. Today she was at ease in his friendly company, even pleased with her new-found self and with him.

  The small talk continued until their glasses were empty then Connor got up, wishing them all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. At the door he turned to add: “The next time I see you Nigella will probably be when you’re in your new house,” and his sparkling eyes had smiled into hers. “I hope all goes well with your move.” Her thanks were formal, but she had felt thrilled inside by his gallant attention.

  Mal observed her delight and was happy the closing had been completed so propitiously. This was going to be a very Merry Christmas. After searching at some length, she had found what she felt was the perfect gift for Jellie – an intricately beaded top in cream and white, to be worn over a blouse for that layered look. She was sure this rococo garment would be something she would love. Admittedly the decoration was not composed of real seed-pearls, but the laciness and its weight would be elements familiar to her. Her other gift was a mobile phone. For some time now she had felt the dependability and security of this form of contact would be a valuable asset. Living in the country she would not have the luxury of Deszree and although it probably would not mean much to Jellie, it made her feel more confident.

  * * *

  As it happened possession would not take place until early in the New Year. Now it seemed there was not enough time to do all that was necessary. Ever practical, Mal had pointed out they would be able to make the most of the January sales. Sales had never featured in Jellie’s consciousness so they had no impact. However, going around and looking at furniture and furnishings gave her great pleasure. Sometimes she had no trouble making a decision, at others she could dither for ages changing her mind several times, but with Mal’s help she usually finished up satisfied. Only once did they have to take something back. She had picked out a lamp for the office. To Mal’s eyes it looked totally unsuitable. A fabric shade, divided in sections featuring pink daisies on a white background. The base was porcelain and looked to be hand-painted, but she suspected it wasn’t. Jellie was sure it would be perfect. When they drove out with their purchases and she saw it on the desk, immediately she recognised how inappropriate it was. No harm done. It was easily replaced with a sensible halogen lamp; simple black with a flexible goose neck.