Second Thyme Around (18 page)
The doctor came into the kitchen to see how she was getting on. He caught her with tears in her eyes. Perdita hoped he wouldn’t comment, but he put a hand on her arm.
‘Mrs Anson is very old. She might make a full recovery, but she might not. You will have to think about how to go on from here. Unless we’re very lucky she won’t be able to live alone again.’
‘But she will survive?’
‘Of course I can’t make promises. But the signs are good. It seems to be only the left side of her body which is affected, which means the right side of her brain is OK.
Her speech is slow, but she isn’t suffering from dysphasia – when speech and comprehension are damaged. Whether she’ll ever come home again is another matter.’
Her speech is slow, but she isn’t suffering from dysphasia – when speech and comprehension are damaged. Whether she’ll ever come home again is another matter.’
‘I want her here. Even if she has to have twenty-four-hour nursing. I don’t want her in a nursing home.’ ‘Perdita, my dear, that is a major commitment. Even if Kitty can afford it, the organisation involved is a nightmare.’
‘I can move back here. My business is only over the other side of the garden. I can just shut up my house and come here.’
‘I can’t imagine Kitty allowing that. And she asked me to call her that, by the way.’
Perdita smiled faintly. ‘Well, obviously. You wouldn’t dare use her Christian name otherwise. But as far as me moving in goes, I don’t think she’d mind.’
‘It may not be necessary, but from my point of view it’s very reassuring to know Kitty has you batting for her. Now, is that tea ready? I’m gasping.’
Kitty was propped up to sip her tepid tea. She didn’t complain, but Perdita wondered if Kitty, who liked her food and fluid scalding hot, would now have to have everything lukewarm. Some of the liquid dribbled down the side of her mouth.
Perdita made a deliberate effort to smile as she produced a tissue, to hide another lot of tears. Kitty was not a milky-tea person.
Kitty had made it quite clear that she didn’t want Perdita to travel in the ambulance, and while Kitty was being manoeuvred onto a stretcher, Lucas offered to drive Perdita to the hospital.
‘No, don’t be silly! You’ve got a restaurant to run, and I’ll be fine. I don’t need to be driven!’
Lucas frowned, torn between the desire to disagree with her, and the knowledge that she was right, he had got a restaurant to run.
Perdita put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Really, Lucas. You don’t need to worry about us. You’ve been marvellous; we never could have got Kitty indoors without you. But you’ve got your own life to lead.’
He grunted. ‘I’ll ring you later, then. And promise to call me if you need me. For anything. I’m very fond of Kitty.’
‘I know you are. And she’s very fond of you too.’
‘Yes. Now, have you worked out how to use your phone yet? So you can ring if necessary?’
She grimaced. ‘If I have a problem, I’ll find an ordinary phone. People did manage before mobile phones were invented, you know.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, driving yourself to the hospital?’ asked Dr Edwards, when Lucas had gone, and Kitty and the ambulance were safely dispatched.
‘Absolutely. I’ve been driving myself about for years.’ The doctor looked disbelieving. ‘I’m nearly thirty, you know!’
‘Oh, sorry. I thought you were younger.’
Perdita glanced in the rather spotted hall mirror to see why. ‘I look like an anxious adolescent!’ she complained. ‘No wonder everyone keeps treating me like a child.’
‘Hardly that. But however old you are, it’s still a big responsibility, caring for an elderly relative.’
‘I know. But I really want to do it, and I’m sure I can.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Now I think I’d better lock up and chase after Kitty’s ambulance. She’ll need me when she arrives.’
Four hours, a thousand questions and answers and a million forms later, Perdita drove her van into the gateway of her house and turned off the ignition. She was exhausted. She had left Kitty lying on a high, narrow hospital bed, looking small and frail and light years older than she had when Perdita had seen her just the day before. It occurred to Perdita that life would now always be divided into pre-stroke and post-stroke. Pre-stroke already seemed a long time ago.
She let herself into her house, planning what to say to her parents on the phone. It was ten o’clock at night, and she ought to work out what time it was in their part of the world. But on the other hand, it was an emergency and they probably wouldn’t object to being woken.
She had her address book open and was ready to dial when there was a very quiet knock on the door. For the first time in her life Perdita wished she had a dog so she could hold on to its collar and pretend it was vicious.
‘Who is it?’ she called through the door.
‘It’s me, Lucas.’ She opened the door. ‘I came to see if everything was all right,’ he explained. He sounded almost apologetic.
‘You’d better come in. I’ve just got to ring my parents. If you listen, then I won’t have to say it all twice.’ Perdita swayed with fatigue, and Lucas steadied her elbow.
‘When did you last eat?’
Perdita had answered enough questions. She flapped her hand at him, went to the phone and started dialling.
Her mother, who had never accepted that Perdita was grown up, wanted to drop everything and fly over to be there for Perdita and Kitty. Perdita, who would have liked that in many ways, knew her mother drove Kitty mad.
‘I really don’t think that’s necessary.’
‘But, darling,’ her mother persisted, ‘it’s a lot for you to cope with on your own. Old people can be so difficult!’
Perdita didn’t like Kitty being lumped together with her mother’s idea of ‘old people’. ‘Honestly, Mum, I can manage. Kitty and I get on very well, you know that. We’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to come rushing over here.’
‘Well, we were going trekking in the Andes again, but—’
‘You go trekking. I can cope. I’d rather keep you for when I can’t than have you coming over now.’
‘Well, if you’re sure … I’ve never got on with Kitty in the way that you seem to. But she could turn into a really dotty old lady, love. You’ve got to promise to tell me if she gets difficult, and we’ll find a nice home for her.’
Perdita managed not to say that Kitty had a nice home, and that Kitty would stay in it while she and Perdita had breath in their bodies. ‘We hope it won’t come to that,’ she said instead.
‘And Kitty told me that Lucas Gillespie is in the area. I do hope it’s not awkward for you.’
‘No, not at all.’ Lucas was in the kitchen, so wouldn’t overhear. ‘He’s been very helpful with Kitty, actually.’
‘So she said in her letter. I thought she must be going senile. But you’re not going to let yourself get tangled up with him again, are you?’
‘Of course not! I’m not a complete idiot!’ Lucas came back into the room with a plate of sandwiches. Perdita gave him a rather hysterical smile. ‘But, Mum, I must go. I’m completely exhausted. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow with a progress report.’
‘OK, love. But don’t do anything foolish, will you? After all, Kitty has been very good to you, but you don’t have to sacrifice your life to looking after her. She’s not actually a relation, after all. I’m sure there must be a distant cousin or other who could be made to take responsibility.’
Perdita put the phone down before she could express her feelings on this matter, and utter phrases like blood not necessarily being thicker than water, or generally causing upset.
There was cocoa to go with the sandwiches. Lucas handed her a mug and the plate without speaking. Too tired to do more than murmur her thanks, Perdita sank into the armchair and started eating.
‘Right, now I know you’ve at least eaten something, I’ll get back. I’d offer to stay, but I know you’d refuse. Let me know how Kitty is when you’ve seen her. When are you going in?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon. But they say it’ll be about a week before they can do a full assessment. They can do a lot with physio and stuff these days.’ She repeated the words that had been said to reassure her. Somehow they didn’t seem very reassuring.
‘But she’s unlikely to do her garden again.’
Perdita nodded. In fact, the nurse had told her that it was perfectly possible that Kitty would be able to work on waist-high beds, even if she was in a wheelchair. But Perdita was very tired, and felt that if she tried to explain all this to Lucas, she’d start to cry. She didn’t want Lucas feeling obliged to put his arms round her or anything, and she certainly didn’t want to appear as if she wasn’t coping.
‘Well, I’ll go. Ring me if you need me.’
She nodded again. ‘Thank you for the sandwiches.’
‘That’s OK. I see the kitchen’s reverted to being a potting shed again.’
This time, when Perdita nodded, she felt less desolate. If
Lucas was still sniping at her, the world hadn’t completely fallen off its axis.
Lucas was still sniping at her, the world hadn’t completely fallen off its axis.
The next morning, after a night of confusing dreams, most of them about Kitty, Perdita rushed through her jobs as quickly as possible, telling William what had happened as she worked.
‘You’ll have to do more delivering than you did, because people must get their stuff. I can always catch up on the afternoon chores in the evening if necessary.’
‘Well, of course. Anything I can do to help.’ William looked doubtful. Although his romance with Janey had given him confidence, he was still shy.
‘So, you deliver in the morning, and then I can have the van in the afternoon, while you get on with what I’ve prepared for you.’ Perdita did a lot of the more menial jobs herself, as she didn’t have to pay herself wages.
‘Fine. It’s going to be difficult for you, though, isn’t it? With the old lady in hospital?’
‘Well, a bit, but not as difficult as it is for her. She hates being surrounded by people who call her “dear”, I could tell yesterday. I do hope they won’t use her Christian name, either. She’s dreadfully old-fashioned about that sort of thing.’
William shuddered at the thought of anyone daring to call Mrs Anson anything but that.
Perdita smiled gently. ‘Nurses aren’t always as sensitive as you are.’
William made himself scarce. Being labelled ‘sensitive’ was almost insulting.
When Perdita got to hospital she found Kitty, in a ward of three other women, lying propped up in bed. Her left hand rested on the sheet, looking as if it was no longer part of Kitty. Her long hair was in a plait over her shoulder and she looked tiny and very frail. The other women, all
wearing pastel shades of brushed nylon and crocheted bed shawls, seemed equally fragile. Perdita wished she hadn’t made jokes about the garments that society dressed its female elderly in; none of it seemed at all funny now.
wearing pastel shades of brushed nylon and crocheted bed shawls, seemed equally fragile. Perdita wished she hadn’t made jokes about the garments that society dressed its female elderly in; none of it seemed at all funny now.
‘Darling,’ Kitty’s voice was croaky, as if she hadn’t yet spoken that day. Her expression brightened when she saw Perdita, relief at seeing someone familiar. ‘Lovely to see you,’ she said slowly.
Perdita gulped back the tears. ‘Lovely to see you too. How are you?’
Kitty smiled with half her mouth. ‘Don’t know. Won’t tell me. You find out.’
‘I will in a minute. Let me check you over myself first. Here, I’ve got the regulation bag of grapes. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want. Do you want me to peel one for you?’
Perdita chatted and joked, fighting her desire to weep at the sight of Kitty and her ward-mates, looking inches away from death, wondering if any of them would ever look after themselves, let alone anyone else, ever again. They were women who had probably spent all their lives caring for other people to a greater or lesser extent, forced by illness into utter dependence.
When Kitty seemed to tire, she went in search of information. The nurse she asked told her to wait while she fetched Sister. When the sister finally appeared, looking younger than Perdita and four times as tired, she couldn’t give her much information.
‘It’s very early days yet. Mrs Anson had quite a severe stroke. It’ll be the end of the week before we have much idea of the prognosis.’
‘But she’s not going to die, or anything, is she?’
The sister smiled wanly. ‘We’re all going to die – sorry, who are you again?’
‘A friend – it’s a long story. Mrs Anson is my nearest relative, in a way, though we’re not actually related.’
‘Oh. I’m not sure I should be telling you about her condition. Who is her next of kin?’
‘Kin doesn’t come into it. Kitty – Mrs Anson – hasn’t got any living relatives that we know about. She’s my mother’s godmother, and she looked after me during the school holidays. We look after each other, now.’ Perdita bit her lip, nearly crying at the thought that because they shared no actual blood she might be prevented from looking after Kitty. ‘You could talk to her GP about it if you like, for a reference. Dr Edwards, at the Edwards, Spring and Chapman Practice?’
‘Oh well, if she’s got no actual family – she’s lucky she’s got you, isn’t she?’
‘Actually, I’m lucky I’ve got her. And I would like to keep her as long as possible – or at least, get her home.’
The sister shook her head. ‘I’m afraid it’s far too early to be thinking about that. We’ll want to be doing a great deal of physio, and she’ll need to get accustomed to her disability.’
Perdita left the hospital feeling tired and depressed. All she was able to do for Kitty was wash her nighties, otherwise she was in the hands of strangers, who, however well meaning, might not understand her needs, and wouldn’t have time to offer her stimulating companionship.
She drove her van home, heated a tin of soup and tried to have an early night. She was extremely tired, but couldn’t sleep. Usually her physical outdoor life meant she slept like a log, but spending the afternoon in the hospital had depressed her deeply. Partly because it brought home to her so strongly what she had always known, that Kitty was a very old lady and would die soon. And partly because she realised that without Kitty she would have no focus for her love and affection.
Lying there in the dark, she realised that although she was no more alone now than she had been for years, it was the first time she’d felt alone. The difference between
solitude and loneliness, she said into the blackness, was that solitude was voluntary, and could be ended at will. ‘Therefore,’ she went on bracingly, ‘I am not lonely, because tomorrow I can go and talk to William, or deliver something to someone.’ Perhaps I should get a cat, she thought as she turned her pillow and curled onto her side.
solitude and loneliness, she said into the blackness, was that solitude was voluntary, and could be ended at will. ‘Therefore,’ she went on bracingly, ‘I am not lonely, because tomorrow I can go and talk to William, or deliver something to someone.’ Perhaps I should get a cat, she thought as she turned her pillow and curled onto her side.
The next day, Perdita decided to go to Grantly House first, in theory so she could bring Lucas up to date, but also so she could have some contact with the young and fit.
‘So, how is she? Why didn’t you ring?’ Lucas demanded.
Perdita found herself smiling at him. His abruptness was such a relief after the hushed voices of the hospital. ‘They won’t commit themselves, they just keep saying,
“It’s very early days.” Of course it is early days, but I can’t help feeling that she’ll give up and die if she doesn’t get home soon.’
‘Is she eating?’
‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t think she has much of an appetite. I don’t know what the hospital food is like, or whether she can feed herself, or anything.’
‘I expect her appetite needs tempting. They’re probably offering her slop.’
‘You don’t know that. I don’t know when you were last in hospital, but I expect the meals are lovely.’
He looked at her dubiously. ‘I know you, too well bred and ladylike to find out whether the food is edible. I’ll go in this afternoon and ask her.’
‘Oh, I was going to go in this afternoon.’
‘Couldn’t we both go?’
Perdita shook her head. ‘Only one at a time at the moment.’ She thought for a moment. It would be nice for Kitty to have more than one visitor. ‘I suppose I could go this evening. I’ve got a lot to do this afternoon.’
‘Fine, when are visiting hours?’
‘I think you can go more or less any time. I’ll give you the number, you can ring up.’
He gave her a teasing smile. ‘Got it in your mobile, have you?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have.’ Hugely smug, glad that an evening in front of the telly, when she needed added entertainment, had paid off, she tapped the keys until she came up with the number of the hospital. ‘There you are. Do tell Kitty I’m coming this evening, though. I don’t want her to think I’ve deserted her.’
When Perdita arrived at the hospital that evening, armed with clean clothes, she found her elderly friend looking much better. The reason, she soon found out, was Lucas.
‘He told the sister he was my long-lost nephew,’ Kitty explained slowly, but highly amused.
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