Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 29.2

Nancy’s shadow crept over him. Air funneled against her temple. She closed her eyes in a wave of giddiness and her upper lip landed on his scar before the lower. She brought them together to enclose the scar between. His muscles writhed within a static body. The couch creaked. She parted her lips to admit the lump of his voice box and allowed it to dwell. Salt and bristle trembled within. She brought her lips together to brush the contours of his throat. His chin trembled against her cheek. And again to deliberate within each nook and then to prod her tongue against each hillock. A peck marked the end of her exploration and her lips came tackily away.

Eyelashes bled everything together. His neck came clear before her, damp and twitching. His eyes had sealed shut and his lips had parted, exposing his upper teeth. A tear had spilled from the corner of his eyelid and was making a slow runnel across his temple for the cushion. Nancy was sorry and didn’t know why. Abashment washed over her. She staggered to her feet, her skirt whispering. In her shield of attire and smart shoes, she felt awkward and dizzy. She didn’t want Vince looking at her. She moved jerkily to the door before giving him the chance and left the trolley behind.

Her question had been sabotaged. Expression had barged in. She wanted to hide behind Nora yet couldn’t bear to hear him say that name. She grabbed her coat. But Vince was getting too quick for her. He emerged from the drawing room just as she’d sheathed her arms through the sleeves. ‘Please…’ she blurted. ‘Don’t say anything.’ She pushed the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘I have returned your keys. All of you belongings are in the spare room untouched.’ Her brief glance at him garnered a sober expression, the rims of his eyes flushed. ‘I…I thought I was angry at you, but I was mistaken. It wasn’t you at all. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.’

Nancy backed towards the stairs, preferring not to exit through Vince’s grand entrance. Her question was perhaps best unanswered. He would know in time and could then claim he’d known all along. She would never know either way which was for the best. Her knee buckled as she stumbled towards the doorway into the meeting room. She had kissed his scar and now her clothes had grown stiff. But she would leave as she had entered, Nora, not the woman he could not recall. His clacks ensured behind her. God, must he follow her!  Her shoes squeaked; her skirt flapped. Blue and yellow glinted against the sun outside. His clacks stopped. Nancy continued towards the kitchen door. The maw opened out as though by sensor. Cleopatra eyes loured more than ever. Indigo shaded out from black eyeliner and her irises glinted like basalt. Nancy’s heels floundered. A man in a pinstripe waistcoat and chinos loitered by the stove in the kitchen. A hobnail boot worked the rocker adjacent.

Amy loped in on wedged sandals, her bun adding height. A hooded gaze for Nancy. ‘Mr. Jonas.’ Her lips barely moved. ‘Mr. Jonas, I have to speak with you.’ A lingering blink before her gaze lifted for Vince. Nancy’s finger worried at the bag strap. Knees slack, Nancy’s heels slid aside. Voices in the next room drew her eye. Henry nodded at the waistcoated man whose jowls bobbed against his shirt collar; the habitual listener. Amy continued past Nancy and approached Vince. ‘Mr. Jonas. It’s about Nora. She’s not who she says she is.’

Nancy sought out the window sill behind on which to lean on. On looking across, she saw Vince’s eyes had followed Nancy to the window. ‘I know she’s not a nurse, Amy.’

Amy’s wedges ambled across the room towards Vince. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Jonas. Nora’s had experience at a care home – the Weston Hill Care Centre in Coventry to be precise.’

Nancy’s stomach plummeted down a deep shaft.

Vince’s jaw twitched, sensing Amy had done a thorough job.

‘Mr. Blakemore and I have done some overtime beginning with a check on her car number plate: registered to a Miss Nancy Hutchens.’

Vince’s eyes flicked from Nancy to narrow at Amy. ‘Get to the point.’

‘Ms. Hutchens has been lodging at the Cheap Sleep Hostel in the next village. I spoke to Stewart Dunchurch and Matt Burroughs who run the place. They, like the rest of us, believe she is a well turned-out nurse called Nora Clements. In fact, Ms. Hutchens comes from a shitty little terrace in Glebe Hollow with a drunk for a mother and no father to claim her. Wouldn’t reckon on that by looking at her, would you?’

The Murmurs in the next room caressed the air.

Amy’s added height brought her almost face to face with Vince. ‘She took a job at the care centre after quittin’ school early, but that ain’t the worst part. The worst part is the reason she got sacked from her job.’

Glass lodged in Nancy’s chest as she watched Vince take it all in.

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Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 29.1

THE GATES opened for Millie.

Nancy’s right foot slid from the gas pedal to let the Punto sit. Henry wasn’t here this morning. Henry had gone AWOL with his strop and no vehicle now encumbered Vince’s driveway. Upper left was receiving her Punto image in the surveillance room. She guessed Vince had used the security app on his phone to work the gates. Nancy’s fists solidified over the steering wheel. She engaged the clutch and let the Punto roll forward. The elms filed past, the porchway beckoned.

She killed the engine and boarded the slabs. Without Vince’s keys she would have to resort to knocking. She raised her fist to do so and sensed the presence of a black bulk behind. Beside her Punto, the tortured limo would appear to have nothing in common but what defined a car. Nancy didn’t turn.

She made her way round the side of the house to the back entrance. She spotted Vince lurching from the garages towards the back door. He paused on sensing her presence. Never had she seen him manoeuvre his crutches more deftly. He faced her, looking fresh and well-rested in an open-necked shirt and slacks. Her heel boarded the patio; her coat caressed her knees. No knuckles to be seen, the crossbars of his crutches took an airing as his wrists came to rest upon the padding on the top.

Her heels drew level opposite. ‘Good to see you get some fresh air, Mr. Jonas,’ she said. She relived Marcus’ chuckles last night, his jape about the wheelchair and floundered for the Nora within.

Vince lifted his chin and brought his wrists down. The tip of Nancy’s foot hoofed the base of Vince’s crutch. The tread shot backwards. Stones showered the door and the crutch ricocheted against the slabs. His arm floundered in midair, his hip twisted. The other crutch fell. Teeth gritted, he wrestled for equilibrium as a tightrope walker. Arms came out from his sides; a string of grunts. His nostrils fluttered. The breeze teased his collar. His heels slipped.

Nancy buried the shame of what she’d done within a formal tone. ‘You’re progressing well, Mr. Jonas.’

Vince returned with a sneer she found reassuring. She strode into the house.

The four-image composite appeared static but she sensed something waiting for her out of shot. The soft clack of Vince’s crutches timed-in with the pulse at her throat. She knew he’d make it to the door in the end. In silence, she prepared Vince’s trolley and wheeled it into the drawing room. Vince had already removed his slacks and awaited her in his dressing gown. The question gathered the mass of a neutron star; she cut, cleansed and applied. Her tongue would make a mockery of her anyway, the words would stumble out. Why have you let me in today, Mr. Jonas? Why am I still here? She feared the disappointment of his answer more than asking. The soap slipped from her fingers. The towel bound her hands together. She tossed it aside.

Now was the time. The silence bricked her in. The words wouldn’t come. Vince remained supine on the sofa, his head at rest upon the cushion. Each breath caused his dressing gown to shift. Was he asleep? Nancy slid onto her knees to face him. His eyelids twitched. Air caressed her cheek. Soap and disinfectant tinged the air. Sensing her scrutiny, his lashes stirred and made a blink. His lips drew together. The dressing at this throat bobbed a noisy swallow and her eyes flicked down. The question weighed like boulders, the words would never come. But her fingers would move to her command. The mid-button of her blouse twitched against her heart as she raised her hand and brought a finger to the dressing at his throat. In mid-breath, Vince’s lips opened as though to say something and instead sipped air. The tip of her finger tweezed the surgical tape. Low tack permitted ease of lifting. A small ridge of skin migrated across as the tape peeled away. A soft whisper.

Vince watched her.

The cotton pad concealing the wound now hinged on one side. Finger and thumb opened the padding to gently peel away the other side.

She looked at it.

Vince’s chest stilled.

A maroon stain nestled within the shadow of his voice box, smaller than she imagined. Upper edge delineated sharply, lower blurred out. One side appeared darker than the other. Tip of index followed the wound from pale to dark. The gristle rolled beneath. Vince’s eyelids fluttered closed to expose a slither of white. His breaths resumed shakily.

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Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 28.4

Marcus’s hand engulfed each offering and a connection of glasses sang in the air. Amy pulled at his lapel to impart words guaranteed to lift his eyebrows. The blonde exuded another ripple and Lisa, back in her seat, toyed with her beads. Nancy’s sights brushed against Vince’s leftover bangers and mash and used dressings. No one noticed Nancy wheel the trolley from the room.

Their exchanges continued to echo through the foyer as Nancy went up and changed Vince’s sheets. Music started up; a funky remix of Sophie Ellis Bextor. Laughter and voices surged in sporadic pulses. The trolley cleaned in the kitchen, Nancy’s Oxfords came to rest beneath the stairs. The drawing room door permitted a slither of light into the gloom of the foyer. Minus Vince’s keys, Nancy pulled the satchel bag upon her shoulder. The word nurse stopped her from proceeding to the exit. Sophie had completed her outfit to permit a female opinion; Lisa’s perhaps, as her full tone matched her bosom. ‘Is that nurse for real? She looks pretty harsh.’

Amy’s reply: ‘She’s for real all right.’

The airy tone of the blonde filled the hiatus. ‘You need a softer kind. I know where I can get a nurse’s uniform. Would you like me to try it on?’ A ripple in unison drew Nancy’s heels towards the slither of light. Saffron waves and coltish thighs capered at the aperture. A tiny skirt melded into the flannelette of Vince’s dressing gown. ‘You look like you need some intensive care, Mr. Jonas.’ Her tone mocked the role-play scenario and Vince’s wry smile signified his understanding. Their faces shifted into view as Nancy approached. A long hand roved over his chest. ‘I know just how to deliver.’ The blonde grazed her finger upwards towards Vince’s neck. ‘Let’s start right here with this dressing.’ A little pat. ‘What’s it hidin’?’

Vince’s jaw clenched. ‘Go get me a refill, Faye.’

‘Pour baby. When’s the last time you let a lady take proper care o’ you, huh?’ Faye’s index made small circles over Vince’s dressing. Vince raised his hand and guided hers away.

Faye took little heed of Vince’s maneouvre. ‘C’mon. Let’s see if I can kiss it better.’

Vince’s lips braced as though lemon juice suddenly coated the inside. ‘Stop it, Faye. I’m not in the mood.’

Faye dropped the pucker. ‘I’m sorry, Vincent I didn’t mean to offend you.’ Her tone more sincere softened. ‘Perhaps I can take genuine care of you, y’ know, no games, the real thing. I can do that.’ A fingernail tweezed the edge of the dressing.

Vince’s throat jerked at her touch. His hand came up to gather her fingers. Quietly now, ‘Faye, it’s getting late and I’m getting tired.’

Faye, of the belief no meant maybe brought her index up for the third time. ‘I understand, Vince. That’s why I’m here.’

Vince glared at her. ‘Stop it!’

Silence fell over the room.

Nancy backed into the shadows. Beneath the stairs, she became the skulker Sheila always accused her of.

Clearing-up sounds commenced. Lisa spilled from the room, her beads glinting in the half-light. Murmurs oozed across the chasm before Vince’s words came distinct. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus.’

Marcus: ‘It’s okay, Man. These things take time.’ A pause, before Marcus ventured, ‘Maybe you should reconsider Faye’s offer…Faye, Lisa and that chair over there. How about that?’

Vince snorted at Marcus’ suggestion. ‘I’m ahead of you on that thought.’

‘So why not?’

Lisa’s beads clicked softly through her fingers.

And then Marcus’ voice came clearly. ‘Are you thinkin’ of that nurse of yours?’

‘Christ, Marcus, no! Of course not!’

Humour beset Marcus’ tone, ‘Yeah. Whatever you say, Vince.’ A chuckle. ‘I’ll leave that chair right there.’

Lisa let her beads drop to her bosom as Faye and then Amy entered the foyer.

Marcus took door duty, pulling at the handle as he left the room. He rested a palm upon Amy’s spine and chuckled. He chuckled all the way to the main entrance.

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Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 28.3

Nancy placed Vince’s plate of leftover bangers and mash onto the trolley. Several pieces of sky had been affixed to Big Ben, she noticed. ‘How goes the Sudoku?’ she asked not wanting the subject of Henry to come up. Vince, legs prone on the couch and in his dressing gown, knit his jaw. Her collar felt tight. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t make that call but I want to make it clear you have done me no favours.’

His eyes drifted her way.

‘And I don’t want forgiveness to come into it. It is more a question of choice. That’s why I returned your phone.’

Shadows gathered beneath his eyes.

‘Whether you decide to make that call or not doesn’t matter to me in the least. You won’t get a thanks and I won’t feel obliged. I just want to make that clear.’

Vince nodded slowly. ‘Sure Nora.’

Piqued, she grabbed the cloth and gave it a brisk flick. In a slow blink, his eyes made a descent for her skirt. Nancy grabbed the trolley handle ready to wheel out when a slam echoed in the foyer. A ruckus filled the entryway. The buzz hadn’t sounded, she noticed. Before Nancy understood what this meant, the drawing room door clicked open and Amy popped her head through the gap. The subdued light picked out the glitter on her cheeks and cherry lips did a beam without reaching her eyes. They appraised the room, deftly omitting Nancy’s existence. ‘Vince.’ Off-duty, she dropped the formality.

Amy entered the room admitting a tall square man, swarthy of skin and sly of eyes. Vince’s wheelchair loaded with wine bottles preceded him. ‘Hey, Vince,’ he drolled in a mellow Hispanic brogue. ‘Someone left your wheelchair out in the rain.’

Without delay, the square man in the square leather jacket wheeled the thing next to the fireplace. Bottles clinked as the wheels ticked. Two other women filed in behind Amy. The room filled with a roiling mix of perfume in competition: lavender, aloe era, coconut and a leathery undercurrent. Like Bex, both women wore garments top-heavy but garnered from Oxford Street or Selfridges instead of Top Shop. The tall blonde loped in as a stork in shiny tights, her saffron locks spread-eagled over her sable scarf. Her brunette friend snorted into her hand from a passing joke. Shorter and buxom, her cleavage heaved beneath bead necklaces. She chinked her way in to occupy the couch beneath the window. The square man’s jacket rode up at the back as he gathered two bottles and hemmed them into the crook of an arm. He turned to appraise Vince beneath weighty eyelids. ‘It’s good to see you outta bed, Vince. Amy’s been tellin’ me you’ve been mopin’ around readin’ poetry in your slippers. She said we oughtta do somethin’.’

Vince’s face inclined to the square man. A grin stretched his lips, his gaze steadied as though beholding the sun. ‘Marcus,’ he grunted. ‘Good to see you.’ He extended an arm. Marcus connected his free hand with Vince in a hearty slap. Nancy’s fingers idled against the trolley handle.

The blonde drifted past and folded her coltish form into the armchair next to Vince. ‘I hope you don’t mind us dropping by, Mr. Jonas,’ she breezed. Amy’s sequined trousers whispered above her sandals as she stepped towards Marcus and rested her hand upon his lapel. Next to her trolley, Nancy felt suddenly like an oak tree amongst willows. A bottle uncorked with a snap. Marcus immersed his nose in the vapors. ‘Lisa, go get some glasses.’ His sly eyes brushed against Nancy as the brunette exited the room. Such heavy lids permitted no other expression. Nancy believed slyness not his intention in that look. ‘Who’s the company,’ he asked as he placed the bottle back on the wheelchair.

Amy reveled in her flat tone. ‘This is Nora, Vince’s nurse.’

Marcus’ eyes came back to Nancy. ‘Oh.’

Nancy noticed his calf encroaching upon the jigsaw. She didn’t like his square frame and leathery smell overpowering the room. ‘Mr. Jonas shouldn’t be drinking alcohol,’ Nancy said stiffly. ‘He’s on antibiotics.’

Marcus’ expression didn’t change yet his eyelids gathered weight. ‘I think we need to get a little balance on the abstinence front, what do you reckon, Vince?’

Vince didn’t answer. A game of footsie with the blonde stole that smile beholding the sun.

‘I think that settles it,’ Marcus closed. ‘Nora, you can join the party if you like but I suspect you’ve had a pretty long shift and you’d like to get goin’.’

Amy betrayed no smirk or eye contact with Nancy yet gratification permeated that expression. Lisa clinked her way back in, the flute of several wine glasses between fingers. Marcus unburdened her and arranged the glasses on top of Big Ben. He lifted the bottle. Honey liquid fizzed within each glass. Lisa’s ripple, airy and light could have been the audible equivalent.

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Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 28.2

Nancy descended the stairs when she was done. The unasked question hovered over the room as she cut, cleansed and applied. The swelling around his knees had subsided leaving pressure marks from his braces. Otherwise, his knees appeared much the same as that first time. Before leaving, she deposited a Sudoku puzzle book onto his bed complete with ballpoint. ‘A little something to keep you diverted, Mr. Jonas,’ she uttered. His skulking appraisal concluded with a disdainful closing of eyes.

She went into the kitchen to wash her hands and the rattle of keys startled her from behind. Henry’s denimmed flank protruded from the recess. Nancy quickly dried her hands, hoping he hadn’t spotted her.

‘Hey.’

Nancy paused as a bleep sounded and his boot shifted into view. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ Henry entered the kitchen clutching Sheila’s keys. A stone formed in her chest. ‘Are these yours?’

Nancy’s lips twitched. Her previous encounter of him in the maintenance room flashed in her head. ‘Yes,’ she confessed and sensed shifting quicksand beneath her feet.

Henry’s brows knit. ‘Oh.’ The keys clinked in his palm. ‘Well, I have spares of what you’ve taken, but I’m gonna need the originals back.’

Nancy eyed him, but could not get past his apparent sincerity.

‘Y’ know, I would’ve let you in anyway. You’re working here as a nurse, after all.’

Her hands felt hot and heavy as she unzipped the front pouch of her satchel bag for the E and F keys. ‘That won’t be necessary, Henry.’ She placed the bronze artifacts upon the table in front of him.

Henry made a small shrug. ‘T’s okay. You don’t have to give ‘em back right now. I...I mean, since I’ve been taking care of stuff for you here and all…’

‘You’ve got me wrong, Henry.’

Henry’s frown collided with a bemused smile.

‘I’m not like you. I don’t get off on the stuff that you do. You obviously have a…a taste for something I don’t understand.  Perhaps we should keep…a wide berth of one another.’

All expression dropped from his face. Sheila’s keys grated within his hand. ‘I…I don’t…’

‘You’ve been watching. I saw you.’

Henry’s glasses flashed against the window. ‘Look, I don’t know why you used me to get that device thing from me that first time, but I don’t much care about that anymore. I just wanna keep stuff in line for you here. You need me.’

Her hands writhed in her pockets. ‘I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you, but I’d prefer it if you got on with your job so that I can get on with mine.’

His distilled glower came without warning. ‘Excuse me for saying so, Nora, but you don’t seem to be a regular type of nurse.’

Her hands quivered. ‘And yet you didn’t report me.’

His expression stiffened to unveil an unnerving apathy. The quicksand shifted, threatening to engulf her. Nancy knit her lip and moved to leave.

‘With airbrushed skin, no follicle astray, Cosmopolitan demands…’

Nancy’s feet froze in place.

‘You oblige with indifferent gaze, picture perfect, the height of poise. But your hair is too black and your smile is too white and I see a void in your eyes…until the day your world fell apart, and I saw you come alive.

‘I wrote it last night. I like him like this, Nora. Since you came along, the bullshit that I see here every day has shown itself to be what it really is: hot air and politics, ego trippers trying to outdo each other. You’ve cut through all that bullshit with such poetic justice.’

Nancy’s lips shifted but words stuck to her throat.

She left the kitchen.

Nancy decided to clean the trolley in the drawing room. She would do what Naomi the housekeeper had done: busy in her task and take pains not to engage. With the smell of disinfectant, mages of last night smarted. She wished Vince had stowed uppers and washed them down with scotch. She wished she could replace Vince with Sheila, prostrate over her witch-shaped vomit on the floor of the Hatchet Inn toilets. She wished she’d stuck Sheila’s scooter out in the rain and force her up a steep hill via a pair of good legs. She wished she could take back what she said to Vince and aim them back at Sheila for every time she cloaked herself in self-denial.

Nancy pushed the used rags into a plastic bag. She entered the foyer and a shadow drifted over the desk. Nancy turned to see Henry standing behind her. ‘You know what? I think you’re fair game.’ The smell of cut grass burgeoned from his jumper. He crossed his arms. ‘I don’t understand it, Nora. I thought we sort of understood each other. I thought you’d be grateful for not turning you in. You seemed to enjoy the perks of the job.’ The slackness of his eyes hinted at a lack of reason.

His jumper gathered up against her.

‘The keys are still on the kitchen table if you want them.’

Nancy’s mouth closed to a firm seam. The bag of rags crinkled as his chest pushed against it. ‘Please don’t do this, Nora,’ he breathed.

Vince’s crutched figure emerged at the foot of the stairs behind him. Beneath shadowed brow-bones, his eyes happened to direct a glower. Sensing another presence, Henry’s eyes shifted from hers. His upper lip canted in a nonchalant simper. He feigned a carefree shrug before moving from her and disappearing into the meeting room.

Nancy’s cheeks burned at how the encounter could be misconstrued. Without looking at Vince, she continued towards the surveillance room. In the enclosure, the after-burn lingered. Her venture into the kitchen afforded her the sight of Henry’s land rover passing the window. The keys remained on the table.

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Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 28.1

NANCY pulled up outside Vince’s gates the next day to see a police car sitting on Vince’s driveway. Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel. No sooner had she set eyes upon it, the police car cruised into reverse and made an idled a u-turn. The grille made steady advance at the gates panels. Nancy’s Punto, like herself, remained still as though caught off guard. As the combustion’s rumble swelled above the DJ’s prattle, the shadow of two heads within grew clearer. Neither took her much notice. The gates permitted their exit. Nancy fondled her device.

Nancy had almost decided against coming today in fear of what she had become. She had dished out her treatment to the wrong person. She had served her vitriol to the wrong ears. Her face flushed at how she could mistake a playboy millionaire for her mother. It was the limo’s fault. She blamed the limo for everything.

But the Nora still lived inside of her and at this moment, Nora etched out her life more than anything that awaited her in Glebe Hollow. Nancy keyed MILLIE and her Punto edged forwards.

Moments later, she entered the foyer to see Henry loitering at the desk. He glanced up from apparent paperwork. ‘Good morning, Nora. You’re a little late today.’

Nancy twitched a small smile. ‘Good morning, Henry. She unsheathed her coat to drape it over a stand. ‘Why were the police here?’

Henry flicked a page. ‘They were just making enquiries about the crash.’ He glanced up. ‘Y’ know.’

Nancy gave a small nod. ‘Oh.’

‘I told them Mr. Jonas wasn’t well enough to be taking visitors today, so they said they would return tomorrow.’

Nancy dressed up her anguish in formality. ‘I see.’ She moved for the doorway. ‘Well, I’d best go check on Mr. Jonas.’

‘Nora.’

Nancy paused, her stomach tightening.

‘They wanted to come this afternoon, but I told them…well, I told them he was receiving treatment. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of the care he is receiving.’

Nancy pinched the hem of her skirt between finger and thumb, and the Nora came out. ‘I trust you will be working on the elms today, Henry.’ She proceeded to the kitchen before he could answer and prepared breakfast. With a tray laden with toast and orange juice, Nancy cut through the surveillance room. She was relieved to see Henry gone. Once at the top, she rapped softly on Vince’s door.

A warm draught caressed her face as she entered. She lowered the tray on the dresser without looking at him. Slowly she tucked her hand into her jacket pocket. His mobile phone felt cool in her hand. She placed it next to his beaker on the tray. Her hands flexed at the prospect of turning; her breaths grew shallow. She did so to encounter a face, damp and sallow in repose upon the pillow. His lashes all but concealed his pupils; they lurked within, surveying her. In ruin he looked more handsome than on that first night at the Nexus. Nancy clasped her fingers at her front. ‘You might need to use you phone, Mr. Jonas.’ Her eyes brushed against his. ‘If I am still here in an hour, I shall return to administer your treatment.’

She left the room.

Many times, Nancy had evaded the cuffs. She never imagined seeing them in a place as this, and she had a choice of grand enclosures to meet her fate. Not the music room, not the kitchen, the meeting room or the foyer. But the drawing room – the humblest of all. Big Ben’s sky remained blank, but the sky outside cleared to a sunny afternoon.

The security light failed to buzz.

Baffled, Nancy returned to Vince’s bedroom. His shoulders now rested against the headboard. His profile appeared asleep. The tray beside him displayed an empty beaker and half-eaten toast. His phone had not been touched. As she moved for the door, Vince’s eyelids flickered. ‘I’m ready, Nora.’

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Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 27.3

The night clawed at her temples. She faced-off the dark in a feverish quest. For what, she wasn’t sure. The box hedge stirred in the dark; the couch grass whispered. What company did Rodin’s The Kiss keep? What about the dreamy amble? The security light had provided the perfect stage. She had given a spectator something to look at. A shudder slithered up her spine and pooled at the base of her throat.

Her fingers trembled as she grappled for his other crutch resting against the back door. The upper spindle slipped through her fingers. She had the notion the thing was trying to evade her. In her smart clothes, she felt a sham. She was still daughter of Sheila.

Vince had barely moved when she returned to him. ‘Mr. Jonas.’ Her voice came low and insistent. ‘It is time to get up now. I have your other crutch.’

She could feel the eyes within the box hedge, his boot planted in the grass, his glasses reflecting. Nancy neared her mouth to Vince’s ear and the word please teased at her lips. Vince’s wheezing had lessened and his eye made a weary blink. He swallowed noisily. Please wanted to leave her lips but she wouldn’t let it. Despite the shame burning her chest, she conjured the nurse within. ‘It’s time to get up now, Mr. Jonas,’ she said quietly so the box hedge wouldn’t hear. Vince’s eye flicked her way. She proffered his crutch.

For a moment, Vince didn’t respond, seemingly locked within a cocoon of inertia. She would wait and she would keep offering the crutch. ‘It’s time to get up now, Mr. Jonas.’ Gentle yet firm. When had he raised his trembling hand? Nancy couldn’t be sure, as time had dissolved behind a screen. His second crutch came to life. His journey to a standing position involved no further hand from her. Phases in deliberation made a simple maneouvre look graceless and difficult: the flexing of a knee, the twisting of a shoulder. The security light carved out his wretched form as he battled gravity. His crutches trembled, his crutches slipped, his heel twisted. He grazed his elbow, saliva dribbled down his chin, he snorted balls of condensation. Cords contorted his neck and sweat soaked his collar. Sightless, he groped his way to the top of his crutches. Nancy did not intervene.

The box hedge continued to watch.

Nancy’s eyes remained on Vince. He tucked the crutch-pads beneath his armpits; his fingers took position at the crossbars. Both soles came to rest upon the patio. Unceremonious, Nancy entered the house.

An eternity later, the limo flickered around her as Vince’s pallor bleached to ashen. His blanket whispered between her fingers as she straightened it over his abdomen. His lungs submitted to another wheezing ripple before his pillow consumed the back of his head. Throughout his journey, his wheelchair remained in the rain, the screws to his stairlift in her satchel-bag. He didn’t ask for them. He didn’t ask for anything. Only her presence assisted his lurch throughout the house. Her presence became the needle that wouldn’t let him settle. The stairs arrived at the dead of night. Each riser taunted his twisted form. But Vince had endless attempts as the minutes grinded past. And all the while, his sweaty grasp inched up the banister.

Before straightening his blanket, Nancy helped him out of his sweatshirt. He collapsed onto his back. She slipped off his slacks. Heat radiated from his body. She unfastened his knee braces. A maze of shadows obscured the sight and she was grateful. She went into the bathroom to find a cabinet devoid of painkillers. She filled a glass with water. When she returned, she found sleep had pulled all tension from his face. He continued to wheeze, though softly through his mouth. Shame prickled her again. She could barely look at him as she deposited the glass on the dresser. She stepped to Vince’s window to encounter an inkblot of oak-tops splintering the sky. The box hedge lurked somewhere to the right. But the lone apple tree proved a favoured prop for Henry’s garden tools. In the gloom, Nancy could make out a pole. Nancy knew before exiting the premises that Henry had set the gates on automatic again.

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