NANCY changed Vince’s sheets, she
administered his antibiotics and wheeled the trolley beside him. She cut, she cleansed,
she applied. Vince took everything she gave. She pulled the dressings tight.
She could see by his glower that she had been thorough.
Nancy
wheeled the trolley to the kitchen to wash her hands and paused on seeing Henry
at the sink. He glanced her way. ‘Oh, hi, Nora.’
Her
smile felt stretched. ‘Hi, Henry.’
Henry
saw Nancy wanted to use the sink and moved aside. ‘Er…Sorry.’
Nancy
stepped forward and flicked the tap. ‘Wasn’t that somethin’?’ he began as Nancy
dispensed liquid soap onto her hands. Nancy glanced round to see Henry lift a
mug from the table. He blew into the steam. ‘It’s just what the bossy cow
deserved.’
Nancy
massaged the soap between fingers before letting the hot water surge over.
‘Did
you…did you give Mr. Jonas his treatment?’
The
bubbles disappeared into a vortex. ‘Yes.’
‘Were
you thorough?’
She
could picture Henry sipping his tea, awaiting her answer. ‘Yes.’
‘I…I
couldn’t help but notice you don’t have latex gloves with your other stuff here.
I suppose they just get in the way, don’t they…of being thorough, I mean.’
Nancy
let the water cascade even though the soap had vanished. Her fingers nestled
beside the whirlpool and decided they would stay there while Henry stood behind
her. She heard him plonk his mug down.
‘Well,
I suppose I’d best get going,’ His boots squeaked. ‘I’ll be down by the elms if
you need me.’ He moved to the back door and paused with a little smile before
leaving. ‘Quiet day today…no visitors.’
Nancy
had neglected to close the drawing room door earlier. She had forgotten to take
vigilance as she cut, cleansed and applied.
The
elms couldn’t be seen from here. She would have to stand on the Lakeland slabs
at the front of the house to see him. She wasn’t about to make herself visible
only to him. Instead, she assembled cheese sandwiches, tea and chocolate digestives
to find the drawing room empty. She glanced out to see Vince lurch across the
lawn. At first she thought he had seen Henry but quickly realised Vince wasn’t heading
for the elms. It seemed Vince was taking a walk. Brows knit, she returned to the
kitchen to pack the food in a Tupperware box and brew fresh tea for a flask.
She placed everything in a bag and grabbed her coat.
No
leaf blotted the lawn, no wind stirred the trees. Abrasions on the turf divulged
of Vince’s passage to the copse. From here, only the tops of the oaks could be
seen. Was he going this way to prove he now could? She trudged past the box
hedge to gaze upon the elms behind. The grounds appeared well-kept yet she had
seldom seen Henry at work. This unsettled her for some reason. Nancy continued
past the willow walkway with the dreamy amble. By the time the slope had opened
out to her, the sun had disappeared behind cloud. A breeze set the oaks
creaking. Vince rested at the base of the Y-shaped oak she had occupied
previously. She could see only the back of his head. As she entered the dip,
his crutches shifted into view. They did not rest beside him, but against the
trunk of an oak on the opposite side of the pond. Had he walked unaided for
this distance?
Nancy
eased her pace, reluctant to proceed further. His blue sweatshirt rippled in
the breeze, his shoulders square; from here, a non-cripple. She wanted to see
his fifty paces crutchless. Nancy stopped at a trunk directly behind his
location to lower her picnic bag. He bowed to the fields in front to disclose
three Shetlands. Ripples scoured an inverted sky behind him. At bow’s end, the
wind fondled his hair and a hand grasped a bottle. She had seen a bottle like
that in his drawing room. The other hand teased the lid and pulled it off. The
cylinder upended to liberate a quantity. He opened his mouth to kiss his palm
and the white dots vanished. Inverted sky disintegrated in a gust. Bottle
pocketed, he flexed a shoulder to retrieve a second vessel. This one winked
against the sky as though metallic. Thumb twirled cap – a silver hipflask, she deduced.
Vince brought the mouth to his. A brisk appreciation.
Another.
Vince’s
sweatshirt continued to ripple in the breeze.
Thunder
burgeoned from deep within. Nancy’s lower lip trembled. His image blurred in
response. She contained an urge to kick his lunch across the grass but nothing
could dispel the cutting sensation inside. She made herself small at the base
of the trunk. Nettles prickled her thighs. A thousand nettles would not be
enough. Ground-moss became a patch of carpet at the back of the sofa when she
was seven. The betrayal. The lies.
How could he?
The
stitching of her coat grazed the couch grass skirting the trees; grit pierced her
palms. The pond lapped gently against the clay-soil bringing a brackish aroma.
Ahead, the scuffmarks at the base of his crutches grew clearer. She was
probably to blame for every scratch. Still the past few days had fulfilled the bearers
and they remained serviceable. Her fingers encircled the shaft above to
separate one from the other. One crutch, not two.
The
crossbar came to rest upon her shoulder before she sought out the shelter of
the oak of earlier. Without looking back, she straightened up and took a brisk
walk back to the house.
