Gilliflowers (44 page)

I found the paint cans in the garage and collected together decorating paraphernalia.

After clearing the area of moveable objects I lay down dustsheets and set to work on painting the hall ceiling first. I was less than half done when I began to tire. White is hard to work with, especially when you’re applying it to white. Being up a ladder with my neck craned back didn’t help either. My headache returned and strengthened and I had to keep blinking my eyes to focus. Regret began to creep in. I wished I hadn’t started the bloody job, but I could hardly give up and leave the ceiling half-painted so I persevered. I decided to abandon the idea of painting the walls. It was too big a job and I didn’t have the energy, not today anyway.

I was almost done when the phone rang. I located it under the dustsheet. It was Eileen with a lunch invitation. She’d made corned beef stew and there was plenty of it. I love her corned beef stew so I said yes please, explaining I had a small patch of painting to finish and then I’d wash my hands and be straight over, five minutes tops.

I climbed back up the ladder, loaded the paint pad for the final assault on the ceiling and tilted back my head, and that’s when it happened, my vision pixilated. It was weird, like a TV picture breaking up. Then my familiar aura struck.

The next thing I knew I was lying on my side on the hall floor with Eileen kneeling beside me looking ashen faced and tearful. I tried to sit up, but couldn’t. I felt too dizzy and nauseous, and also wet. A blaze of humiliation burned over my skin. The front of my jeans was soaked. I must have lost bladder control during the episode that felled me. I’d have to start wearing man nappies.

Eileen put a hand on my shoulder telling me to lie down; an ambulance was on its way. As if I didn’t already feel shit enough my invisible spider leapt into action yet again, scuttling across my skin. As a climatic finale my feelings of nausea manifested before the spasms had passed. I was sick. I might have choked if Eileen hadn’t been there to hold my head in a more suitable position for vomiting.

I had a vague sense of there being people other than Eileen on scene and then nothing until I woozily opened my eyes and found a ginger haired paramedic looking at me. He spoke with cheerful authority informing me I’d fallen and fitted and was on my way to A&E as a precaution. Wonderful. A siren wailing blue light ride to hospital had not been on my agenda for the day. My tear ducts emulated my bladder and began leaking water, doubling my shame.

“All right, son, soon be there.” The ginger man kindly patted my shoulder.

I was thoroughly checked over at the hospital. The doctor who attended me thought I might have a mild concussion from a blow to the head I’d sustained in the fall. Because of the circumstances he said he’d like to keep me in for observation for at least six hours before sending me home. I felt too unwell to care or argue. My head felt like it was being crushed between two boulders.

I was given painkillers, stripped of my pissy sicky paint soiled clothing, put into an undignified arse baring hospital gown and moved to a bed in an observation room.

Eileen had accompanied me to the hospital and she sat with me. I was grateful for her company, but I wanted my men folk. I knew Shane was on his way. Eileen has my ICE numbers and she gave them to the ambulance crew when they arrived on scene so they could contact him to let him know I’d had an accident and also garner information regarding the nature of my episodes.

Shane obviously alerted Dick because they arrived at the hospital together. Like Eileen they both looked shaken to the core and I felt terrible for worrying them.

Eileen explained how she’d found me. She has a spare key to our house, as I have for hers. When I didn’t appear for lunch after ten minutes she had given me a call to ask what was keeping me. She’d served out the stew and it was getting cold. When I didn’t answer the phone she got worried and came over, getting even more worried when I didn’t answer the door. She ran back home to get the key, subsequently finding me lying unconscious in the hall. I’d bashed my head in the fall and knocked myself out cold. I had a tender lump above my right ear. Shane questioned and I admitted an episode had caused the fall and the fall and bang to my nut had then caused another episode.

The rest of the day was a hazy affair as I drifted in and out of sleep. I had a vague recollection of Dick leaving to take Eileen home and of him returning with a pair of pyjamas for me and of him and Shane putting me into them. A nurse flitted in and out at intervals to check my pulse and blood pressure. I took comfort in knowing the men folk were close by and from the low murmur of their voices in my more wakeful moments.

In the event I was reassessed and discharged ten hours later with a prescription for rest and more rest. I was taken home and put to bed where I slept solidly. I slept most of Friday.

I woke up late on Saturday morning with the bed to myself. The headache had gone, my mind was clear and I felt fit and well, in a physical sense at least. Curling on my side I tucked my hands under my head, mulling over what had happened. I clearly remembered the frightening moment when my vision had pixilated. I also recalled my aura sensation. It had been strong, but the fall itself was a blank. I had no memory of hitting my head.

What would have happened if Eileen hadn’t been around to help me? How long would I have laid unconscious and what might have happened if she hadn’t been there when I was sick? I tried to block the thought, but it persisted. I could have choked to death on my own vomit.

A wave of fearful depression swept over me as I acknowledged something I usually endeavour to ignore. Being an epileptic is a bit like being a cat on a motorway, prone to accident and sudden death. Some cars might swerve and miss, but one would get you in the end barring a miracle.

I closed my eyes in a fruitless effort to keep tears at bay. In all likelihood I’d follow my parents' example and not get to make old bones. Dick and Shane had promised me marriage lines in my turn, but there was a chance I’d never get them. I’d die ahead of them in some stupid meaningless accident after having a twitching session at an inappropriate moment. They’d remain a couple until one or other passed away and the survivor would be under no obligation to take a neurotic and jealous little houseboy to be their spouse. It would make Penny happy at least. Maybe she was right and they had only made the promise to keep me quiet, guessing they were unlikely to have to follow through.

Getting out of bed I went into the ensuite and washed away my tears pressing the towel to my eyes to stop more falling. I took a few deep breaths, stood a bit taller, pushed away all unpleasant thoughts and managed to compose myself before going in search of the men folk, pausing in the hall, taking note of the mess my impromptu decorating had made. The paint I’d used had obviously fallen with me. It had left white splashes all over the cream walls and on the wood banister rail. It would have to be redone. Thank God I’d had dustsheets down to protect the floor.

I caught a scent of grilled bacon. It made my mouth water and my stomach growl.

I was ravenous. I followed my nose.

Dick and Shane were sitting at the kitchen table finishing off their morning repast.

“Don’t tell me I’ve missed the miracle of you two making your own breakfast?”

“How are you feeling, honey?” Dick smiled and pushed back his chair, inviting me onto his lap for a cuddle.

“I’m good.” I perched on his knee and put my arms around his neck, kissing him on the lips.

“I know you like to think we can’t find our way around the kitchen without a sat nav and an instruction manual, but you’re wrong.” Shane got to his feet. He leaned to kiss me. “You must be hungry. What do you want to eat?”

“It’s okay. I’ll make myself some bacon sarnies in a minute.”

“The only thing you’re doing this weekend is resting. You can have a supervised bath or shower after breakfast and you can get dressed and that’s your lot.”

“I’m fine, Shane, fit as a flea. I’ve rested enough. I don’t want to sit around all day.”

“You’re going to do as the doctor ordered and rest, no arguments. I mean it, Gillibran.” He fixed me with a stern look. “It’s been a worrying few days. I’m tired.

Dick’s tired. We all need a quiet restful weekend and we’re going to have one. Is that very clear?”

My stomach clenched. There was an edge to him, a deadly serious one and though he hadn’t raised his voice his words had an impact not least because he did look tired.

The fine lines around his eyes and mouth looked more pronounced than usual.

“Yes, Daddy.” I got off Dick’s lap and sat on the chair next to him at the table.

Shane got the bacon out of the fridge and put some rashers under the grill. He then filled the kettle to make tea. It felt wrong having him cook breakfast for me. I didn’t like it. I glanced at Dick, my stomach clenching tighter. He also looked weary. His eyes were heavy lidded, almost as if he’d been crying. I felt sick with guilt.

“Are you okay, Dick?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired like Shane said.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you both. I didn’t mean to.”

“We know, hun. We’re just glad you’re all right.”

“You’re a first class nuisance.” Shane adopted the role of bad cop to offset Dick’s good one. “I’m seriously annoyed with you for deciding to paint the hall in the first place. There was nothing wrong with it. If acting on impulse and stubborn lack of common sense were Olympic sports you’d have taken gold at Beijing in the summer.”

I was then cross-examined. He wanted to know if there’d been a specific trigger for the episode that toppled me off the ladder. It was an opportunity to confess to my crime of drinking while under a lifetime ban. I didn’t. I didn’t want to further criminalize alcohol. After all there was no irrefutable evidence that it was the villain.

I claimed the cause to be glare from the white paint I’d been using, just as I’d claimed snow at Easter had triggered the episode leading to the ban. The difference this time was the men folk believed it. They had no reason not to. The sole culprit was paint. I made a joke about wearing my Polaroids next time I painted. Shane made the announcement.

“There’ll be no next time.”

“What do you mean?” I laughed. “I’ve got to do the hall, Shane. It’s a mess. I need to paint the walls and sand the banister down and re-stain it.”

“It’s all in hand. We had someone call yesterday to give us an estimate.”

I was appalled. Decorating is my province. I enjoy it. I didn’t want some stranger muscling in on my territory while I sat impotent, so to speak. “There’s no need for a decorator, Shane. I’m perfectly capable of doing it. I want to do it. The walls are cream not white so there’ll be no problem.”

“No.” He was adamant. “If white can act as a trigger there’s no reason why cream can’t. It’s a pale colour on a big expanse. It will strain your eyes.”

Dick chimed in. “We’re not happy about you clambering around on ladders anyway, not after this. You could have broken your neck.”

“I didn’t though. I didn’t break so much a fingernail. I’m fine. I’ll do it while you’re both at home this weekend. It won’t take long. You can take turns holding the ladder.”

“Talking to you is like pissing into the wind at times.” Shane stabbed a finger at me. “Get it into your thick northern head. Your DIY days are done. A decorator is doing it.”

“Over my dead body!”

“That’s what we’re trying to avoid you stubborn boy.” Dick glared at me.

“It’s ridiculous.” I glared back. “Why pay someone when I can do it better for nothing. It’s part of my job to do it.”

“Decorating isn’t actually included in the terms of your contract.”

“Neither is giving you two a blowjob, but I still do it.”

“Blowjobs are part of a different contract between us, the same one that states you do as you’re bloody well told. It’s all arranged. Someone is coming on Monday.

Subject is closed, Gilli.”

“No! I want to talk about it. I want you to see this from my point of view. I don’t want to be invalided out of my job, and that’s what you’re doing.”

“Putting safeguards in place isn’t ‘invaliding’ you out of anything.”

“We just want to keep you safe, honey.”

“You’ll have me wearing a crash helmet and knee pads around the house next in case I fall over. I don’t want limitations put on every single thing I do. I want to get on with my life as normal. I want to feel I’m on a level playing field the same as everyone else.”

Shane indulged in a brutal truth moment. “Having epilepsy means you’re not on a level playing field, you can’t be, not anymore. You have to play to a different set of rules. You have to accept there are limitations to what you can do. What happened on Thursday proves the point. It was serious, Gilli, serious. You can’t dismiss it. We won’t let you. Safeguards are part of managing your condition. You don’t shower or bathe when home alone and now you don’t climb ladders.”

“Look on the bright side.” Dick tried to pour oil. “You’ll get all the fun of choosing paint colours and papers, but none of the hard work of applying it.”

“I like applying paint and paper, it’s part of the fun.”

“Enough. The decision has been made.” Shane put a plate of bacon butties down in front of me. “Eat your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” I pushed the plate away and stood up. “I’m going out for a run.

I hope the decorator shares Dick’s talent for picking locks, not that it will help, not unless he has chain cutters on him as well. I’m locking and chaining the door on Monday. He’ll need the SAS to get him in.”

“Park your arse on that fucking chair, boy. NOW!” Shane slammed his palm on the tabletop. I immediately sat back down, my heart thumping.

He leaned towards me, his eyes sparking danger signals. “Make that your last bit of shit stirring provocation for today. Use your mouth to eat with and nothing else.”

Picking up a sandwich I forced myself to eat. Shane set a cup of tea before me. He also put a fresh cup of tea in front of Dick and then tenderly brushed his fringe back from his eyes. “This needs a trim, cariad.” He rubbed his hand over Dick’s shoulder.