‘I’d rather have that whisky.’
Going into the kitchen he poured a prudent measure of Scotch into a glass. Then he reached up into the cupboard and took down a tin of Bovril. Quickly he boiled the kettle and made a cup full of the extract. He poured the whisky into it and took it into the bedroom. She was lying very still, ashen, with her eyes closed. Alarmed, he blurted: ‘Korky . . .’
‘I’m still here,’ she said drowsily. He took the cup to her. ‘Whisky and Bovril,’ he said.
‘Great,’ she nodded. He could hear her chest creaking. She sipped at the cup and drank half of it. ‘I can’t manage any more, Savage,’ she told him helplessly. ‘What a bummer.’ Like a child she slipped under the cover, her head scarcely denting the pillow. She coughed and groaned again. He heard the carrier bag shuffling into the room. It came to the edge of the bed and he had to step quickly out of the way for fear of treading on it. He picked it up and with an anxious glance towards the girl, took it with him as he went out.
He knew he ought to call a doctor. Now. Early hours or not. He sat on the chair trying to decide. The carrier bag was continuing its rustling progress over the carpet. He could be decisive about that. Lifting it and balancing it in his hands, he detected the warm animal. Carefully he took it out, rounded, short-furred, suspicious-eyed. It seemed content, now it was out of the bag, to sit on his carpet as if waiting to see what would happen next. It gave its face a token wash. A harsh, low, voice came from the second bedroom.
‘Savage . . . Savage.’
Swiftly he got to the door. It was an effort for her to move her lips. Her eyes remained shut. ‘Give John some milk and bread. Put him out for a shit.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said anxiously watching her slight shape scarcely breathing enough to lift the bedcover. ‘You get some rest.’ He lied: ‘I know about gerbils.’
Leaving the door an inch open he returned to the gerbil which regarded him with sleepy nonchalance but, at the moment he crouched to pick it up, darted away from his hand. Creeping in pursuit he finally cornered it behind the television. It felt fat and warm. He carried it to the kitchen and, closing the door, put it on the floor. Recognising the situation it made no attempt to evade him again but squatted in anticipation watching him with tight, bright eyes. He put some bread on a saucer on the kitchen worktop and added milk almost to the rim. The gerbil stood on its hind paws and sniffed industriously. Even before he had balanced the saucer to the floor it had its sniffling nose over the edge. As he set it down the animal threw its paws across the rim and spilled the bread and milk. He left the kitchen and going carefully to the half-open door of the second bedroom he listened. She was still awake. She sensed he was there and called to him and he went in and sat on the side of the small bed. Her frail, old lady’s hand came from the sheets and he held it. ‘Savage,’ she said, her eyes still closed and her voice grating and weak. ‘Savage,’ she repeated. He answered her. ‘Don’t worry, Savage,’ she breathed. ‘I’ll look after you.’
Eight
At seven in the morning he went down to Tomelty’s door. The caretaker and his wife, apparently anticipating some news or explanation, came out together, holding identical cups of tea before them, sheltering the cups with their hands as if hiding the contents from each other. ‘I need a doctor,’ said Savage.
‘It’s that girl,’ nodded Mrs Tomelty dressed in a flowered overall and with her hair cramped into curlers. ‘I knew she’d be trouble.’
‘She’s no trouble,’ Savage said so uncompromisingly that they both looked alarmed. He softened his tone. ‘She’s very ill, that’s all.’
‘They get ill,’ Mrs Tomelty gave a grave nod. ‘Out on those damp streets.’
‘In all weathers,’ agreed her husband. He looked sideways at his wife. ‘Donovan,’ he said.
‘I don’t like Donovan’s eyes,’ she objected. ‘Prassad.’
‘Donovan,’ said the caretaker decisively. ‘Prassad takes his time. Being Indian. Donovan will come right away. Remember Mrs Golightly.’
‘He came,’ confirmed Mrs Tomelty sombrely. ‘Too late.’
‘Get Donovan then,’ put in Savage to curtail the debate. ‘She’s very ill.’
‘I’ll come and look at her,’ said Mrs Tomelty as though offering an expert diagnosis. ‘You get Donovan, Tomelty, and tell him it’s urgent. Life and death.’
She pushed her husband inside so positively that he spilled his tea. Carrying her own cup before her, she led the way up the stairs. She wore carpet slippers that might have been made out of carpet. She bustled ahead of Savage. ‘Donovan’s quicker,’ she conceded. ‘It’s just his eyes.’
He had left his front door unlocked. Mrs Tomelty entered in a businesslike way. She sniffed the air in the flat from habit and quickly turned to Savage. ‘There’s a funny smell,’ she noted. ‘It’s her gerbil,’ he said.
‘Where is she, the girl? She’s been reported by the other residents, you know.’
‘I thought it wouldn’t take long. She’s in the small bedroom.’
‘Yes, she would be.’
Mrs Tomelty shuffled towards the half-open door and pushed it quietly. Korky was asleep, her frail ribcage heaving below the cover. The caretaker’s wife stood watching, still holding the teacup. ‘I don’t care for the way her lungs are rattling,’ she intoned morbidly. She leaned over and held her free hand against the white forehead. ‘Hot as toast,’ she sniffed. She turned. ‘Last time he was too late.’
They went back into the main room. ‘I should have got a doctor hours ago,’ said Savage bitterly.
‘You weren’t to know,’ she said. Her body had dropped forward in thought but now she straightened. ‘He is quick, don’t worry. He only missed Mrs Golightly by minutes. I’ll make some tea.’
She was still waiting for the kettle to boil when her husband appeared at the door. ‘Donovan’s on his way,’ he said. He nodded towards Savage reassuringly. ‘He’s very quick,’ he said. ‘A clever man,’ recommended Mrs Tomelty from the kitchen. She made the tea and poured three cups. ‘How was it you took her in?’ she asked Savage obliquely.
‘She followed me back the other night,’ said Savage. ‘Early hours in fact. From the launderette. I let her stay . . .’ He quickly glanced at them. ‘Not . . .’
‘Not in that way,’ Mr Tomelty completed. ‘No, we understand. You’re a decent man.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ sighed Savage. ‘The next morning she had disappeared and then when I came back last night, again early hours, she was lying downstairs, outside.’
‘You can’t turn a young soul away like that,’ nodded Mrs Tomelty. ‘Whatever the residents say.’ As though the possessor of acute sense she went to the window and pulled back the curtain. ‘He’s here,’ she announced peering down. ‘That’s his new green car.’
Like someone conscious of their duty she went out of the door and down the stairs. They heard her returning with the doctor in the lift. She showed him into the apartment. He was a haggard man with a kindly manner, a deep blue chin and a fierce squint. ‘Haven’t had time to get near a razor this morning,’ he said rubbing the chin. Mr and Mrs Tomelty edged towards the door. She reverted to formality. ‘I’ll be back later to see if you need me, doctor.’
‘The Irish,’ said Donovan as though they were beyond understanding. ‘Now, where is the patient?’
Savage showed him the room. ‘Korky,’ he said as he went in. ‘The doctor’s here.’
She roused herself weakly and muttered: ‘I dreamt I was dead.’
She looked like a ghost in bed, her young features gaunt and damp, her eyes opaque. Dr Donovan put his bag on the floor and motioned Savage out of the room. With a sudden feeling of dread Savage walked to the window where Mrs Tomelty had pushed aside the curtains. He stared out, looking nowhere. A scraggy pigeon bounced on the narrow balcony and strutted along the parapet. Savage remembered the gerbil and turned inside to look for it. It had been in the kitchen nosing around the stain that the bre
ad and milk had left on the floor. Now he could not find it. He searched, whispering: ‘John, John, John.’
Eventually the doctor emerged, his face lower hung, it seemed, than previously. ‘She’s a very poorly girl,’ he said folding his stethoscope and putting it into his worn bag. ‘She ought to be in hospital.’
‘No hospital!’ It was almost a screech. They both went to the door. She was dragging herself up in the bed, trying to support herself on her elbows. Dr Donovan moved with professional alacrity and eased her back on to the pillow. ‘You’ve no strength for shouting,’ he said, his voice remaining mild.
Korky’s eyes went to Savage. ‘No hospital,’ she repeated doggedly. ‘I’ll walk out, I promise you. I’ll drop dead in the bloody street and then you’ll be sorry.’
Savage said to her quietly: ‘The doctor says you ought to be in hospital.’ He turned to Donovan. ‘It’s essential is it?’ He heard Korky croak. She began to cough and shake.
Donovan said: ‘If you keep her here you’ll have to have a nurse.’
‘A nurse,’ put in the girl with strange vigour. ‘I’ll have the nurse.’
‘If you think it will be all right,’ said Savage to the doctor. ‘She could have a nurse.’
Donovan turned and walked back into the main room. He leaned back and closed the door behind Savage. ‘No hospital!’ called Korky from inside.
‘You’re not her father, I take it,’ said the doctor. He too had walked to the window. It was strange how everyone did. The scruffy pigeon was still there and he regarded it with medical interest. ‘Those creatures,’ he said. ‘They spread half the ailments in London.’
Savage said: ‘You’re right, I’m not her father. I hardly know her. Last night I found her lying outside the front door. She’s been living rough.’
The doctor frowned. His blue chin folded and his eyes converged. ‘She’s got bronchitis. She’s got no resistance by the shape of her. She’s in a serious way.’
‘If it’s that bad then . . .’
‘She won’t go,’ said the doctor putting his hand on Savage’s sleeve. ‘I’ve seen these kids, I’ve had dealings with them. I’m a police doctor. They roam the streets in packs. I’ve seen a girl like her dead in a rubbish skip.’
Savage felt his face drain. ‘I hardly know her,’ he repeated in a mumble. ‘She followed me home the other night and I gave her a bed . . .’ He glanced up. ‘Not mine.’
‘I would not have imagined so,’ responded the doctor in his mild way. ‘And so she turned up again.’
‘The early hours of this morning. I had to take her in.’
‘Of course you did. She’ll be all right. But she’ll need looking after. She’s lucky she knew somewhere to come. You’ll have to have a more or less full time, paid for, nurse for a while.’
Savage said: ‘That’s all right. It’s no problem.’
‘Good then.’ He looked at Savage’s clock. ‘But I don’t know how quickly I can get one. It might not be until this evening.’
‘Perhaps Mrs Tomelty can help,’ said Savage.
Dr Donovan nodded. He took out a prescription pad and began to write swiftly. ‘Get Mrs Tomelty to go and get these things as soon as you can,’ he said. ‘Don’t let the patient get out of bed . . . or try, although I doubt if she’s really capable of it. I’ll come back this afternoon. I can get all her details then. What did I hear you call her?’
‘Korky,’ said Savage resolutely. ‘She’s called Kathleen Wilson but that’s her nickname.’
‘Korky,’ mused Donovan picking up his bag. ‘That was a cat in my younger days.’
‘Mine too.’
‘Was it the Beano?’
Savage smiled seriously. ‘The Dandy,’ he said. ‘I think.’
Thoughtfully the doctor went out. On the landing he turned and said: ‘She’d be better in hospital, you know.’
‘She’s afraid,’ said Savage. ‘She has a sort of . . . general fear.’
‘Yes, I can see. It’s difficult. All right. I’ll be back later on. Get the antibiotics down her as soon as you can. And keep her quiet. She should be as still as she can be. I’ll get the nurse in as soon as possible. For the next few days she needs somebody here all the time.’
Savage thanked him and slowly closed the door on him. He heard the doctor passing Mrs Tomelty on the stairs. She knocked almost immediately. ‘I’ll go and get the prescriptions for you,’ she offered. ‘She’s quite bad, isn’t she? I’ll get anything else she needs. I’ll get a couple of nightdresses. Those pyjamas make her look drowned.’
Savage caught her eye. ‘She had nothing else,’ he said defensively. ‘All she had was a few scraps of clothes . . . and the gerbil.’
When the porter’s wife had gone he turned reflectively into the room. He went to the door of the second bedroom and looked in at her. She was awake. ‘No hospital,’ she breathed.
Savage sat on the edge of the bed. Her fragile hand was lying on top of the sheet. He picked it up and put it below. ‘You’re not going to hospital,’ he assured her. He could smell something. ‘There’ll be a nurse here some time today.’
It seemed to take all her strength to keep her eyes open. He could hear her chest creaking. Her face was luminous. ‘Savage,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve wet myself.’
He stared at her then said slowly: ‘Oh, don’t worry. It will be all right. Mrs Tomelty will be . . . ’
‘Not Mrs Tomelty . . . ’
Even then, he thought, there was a trace of mischief in her paled eyes. ‘You do it.’
Savage looked about him as if hoping for help. He got up from the side of the bed, his eyes returning to her face. ‘You,’ she repeated. ‘Please.’
‘All right.’ She closed her eyes. He lifted the duvet and the sheet. The undersheet and the pyjama legs were wet. Her shins and thighs were like sticks inside the pyjamas. ‘I’ll get a bowl,’ he mumbled.
He almost panicked as he went into the kitchen. His hands moved haplessly. God, how had this happened? Perhaps he should ring Jean Deepe. No. No, he could not do that. She might not understand. When he returned to Korky’s bed, carrying the bowl, she seemed to be sleeping. She hardly stirred; her face was damp, her breathing laboured.
Once more he eased back the duvet. He took away his wet pyjama trousers from her spindly legs and, with difficulty, the soaked sheet from below them. ‘Just lift up,’ he said. He might have been speaking to himself. Gently he lifted her legs and put a towel beneath them. The lower part of her was thin and wasted, the flesh tight under the white skin of her stomach. Timidly he washed her, hardly looking. He wiped the warm flannel across her stomach and between her legs. He levered them up again and washed her bottom. Then he took the towel and dried her, barely touching her as he did so. He still felt helpless. Going into his own bedroom he took another pair of pyjama trousers from the chest and went back with them. She roused and mumbled something. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. He put her feet into the pyjamas and worked them carefully up to her narrow waist.
Korky hardly stirred. When he had finished he stood watching her fevered face. His was full of fear. What if she died? Tentatively he rearranged the duvet over her. The undersheet could wait till later. When the nurse came. When.
He had left the apartment door open and heard Mrs Tomelty come in. She put her head around the bedroom door and saw the bowl and the towel. ‘I’ve got them,’ was all she said. ‘And I got her some nightdresses. And a toothbrush.’
She looked at the breathing shape in the bed. ‘She don’t look very well at all, does she,’ she said sombrely.
More firmly than he felt Savage said: ‘She’ll be all right. The doctor is coming back this afternoon. The nurse should be here soon.’
‘That’ll be a great burden taken from you,’ said Mrs Tomelty, her eyes again going to the bowl and towel. Savage picked up the wet pyjamas which were almost under the bed. He rolled them carefully. Mrs Tomelty put out her hand. ‘I’ll see to those,’ she said. ‘You won’t do the
m properly.’
Between them they sat the girl up long enough for her to swallow the first antibiotics. She had trouble keeping her eyes open and when she looked at them it was as though they were strangers. They eased her back on to the pillow and she slept again immediately. Mrs Tomelty went as far as the door and crossed herself. ‘I don’t like the look of her,’ she said. ‘Not one bit.’
Dr Donovan returned at three o’clock. He found Savage sitting on a stool beside the girl’s bed. ‘The nurse is on her way,’ he said. He looked at Korky, her eyes closed, her face blank, and took her temperature, then held her wrist for her pulse.
They walked back into the main room together. ‘She’s got to be watched,’ he said almost secretly. ‘All the time. If anything worries you then telephone me. It doesn’t matter what time. You’ve taken on a big responsibility.’
Savage said: ‘What else could I do? She won’t go to hospital, and she’s a determined person even if she is ill.’
‘But you don’t know her well, you say.’
Savage’s shoulders sagged. ‘As I told you, this is the second time she’s turned up here. Previously I’d seen her around the streets. She’s got an old pink coat. Her mother disappeared and she ran away because of her stepfather.’
Donovan looked unsurprised. ‘Keeping one step ahead. Some stepfathers have a lot to answer for,’ he murmured pensively. He waited, then added: ‘So do some mothers.’ Breathing deeply he shut his bag. ‘But that is how it is these days.’ He glanced at Savage. ‘Have you been married?’ It was like asking for a reference.
Savage nodded. ‘I still am,’ he said. ‘We’ve parted. I was in the army and I was invalided out. After that it never worked.’
‘So you live here by yourself?’
‘Up until now,’ Savage answered wryly. ‘I was trying to shut myself away. I thought I’d be . . . well, safe up here.’
‘It’s difficult to hide,’ agreed the doctor as though he had tried it.
Kensington Heights Page 12
