Reforming Jane

by Maggie Carpenter

  “I don’t have anywhere else to be,” she said, thinking her voice sounded feeble; she didn’t do feeble, not ever.

  “That’s why you want to stay? Because you have nothing better to do?”

  Jane could feel her stomach churning. Why couldn’t she bring herself to say it? Why couldn’t she tell him that, yes, she did want to have dinner with him because he was… what? Interesting? Different?

  “Not exactly,” she managed.

  “That’s good enough for me,” he said warmly. “Are you hungry? Do you want to order right away, or just have some munchies?”

  “I’d actually like some bread and butter,” she said, thinking it might help settle her tumbling stomach.

  “I think some bread, butter, and some cheese. They have a marvelous smoked Gouda here. Have you ever had smoked Gouda?”

  “No, I don’t believe I have.”

  “Then I’ll order us some, with water crackers. You’ll love it with this wine,” he said, signaling to a waitress who immediately moved to the table.

  “Hello, Henry. Nice to see you here on a Sunday night. What can I get you?”

  “Hello, Kimberly. Some of your French rolls and butter, and your Gouda cheese platter with plenty of water crackers.”

  “Coming right up.”

  As the waitress walked away, Henry lifted his glass in the air.

  “To happy days,” he announced,

  “I like that, yes, to happy days,” Jane repeated, and in spite of her reservations, she found herself smiling across the table at him, thinking he really was very attractive.

  They clinked, sipped, then putting down his glass, Henry put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil.

  “I just had an idea,” he grinned. “There’s this thing I do, and I suspect you do it as well.”

  “Something I do? I can’t imagine we have that much in common,” she said skeptically.

  “My friends call me Sherlock because I have an observant nature and sum things up very quickly. You no doubt do exactly the same thing in your line of work.”

  “I suppose I do,” she said thoughtfully.

  “You’d have to, or you’d be in jail right now.”

  “I suppose that’s true as well,” she replied, grinning for the first time since she’d arrived.

  “Do you have a pen on you?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Here, take this,” he said, tearing off a couple of sheets of paper from the notebook. “I’m going to point out a couple, and you’re going to write down what you think is their story, for example, is this their first time out together, are they attracted to each other, whatever comes to mind. What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Uh, nothing, it’s just…” she mumbled, her smile fading.

  “Would you rather not? My goodness, Jane, you look as if you’ve just seen—”

  “Don’t say it,” she said sharply, cutting him off.

  “I’m terribly sorry if I said something to upset you.”

  “You didn’t, I’m fine, yes, let’s play,” she nodded, picking up her glass and taking a swallow.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’d like to, honestly I would.”

  The reason for her sudden and stark reaction hit him in a flash. He’d reminded her of someone, or the idea of the game had reminded her of someone, and that someone had been important to her. An ex-lover?

  “Why don’t you pick the couple?” he suggested.

  “Okay, sure,” she nodded, “those two at the table in the corner by the window.”

  “The woman in the green blouse?”

  “Exactly, we can see their faces. I just need to get my pen.”

  She had hooked her bag over the back of her chair. It had a long shoulder strap, and she was leaning down, unzipping the top, when she abruptly stopped, gripped the edge of the table, and let out an odd sound.

  “Jane?”

  “I… I… don’t feel very well,” she muttered.

  To his shock, she jumped to her feet and half-ran, half-staggered through the restaurant toward the ladies’ room. Startled, Henry sat for a moment, not sure what to do, then decided to follow. Walking briskly after her, he wondered if it had been a stunt, a way to get out of the dinner, but as he reached the door of the powder room and leaned awkwardly against the wall waiting for her to reappear, he recalled how pale she had looked. The minutes ticked by, and becoming increasingly concerned he knocked on the door and called her name. Receiving no response, he was about to enter when he saw Kimberly. Managing to catch her attention, he urgently waved her over.

  “Henry? Is something the matter?”

  “The young lady I’m with, she’s not well. Can you check on her, please?”

  “Yes, of course,” she nodded, pushing open the door, but seconds later she was calling for him, and rushing inside he found Kimberly crouched down, holding a moaning Jane in her arms.

  “She’s sick, she said she’s super dizzy,” Kim declared. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

  “No… no…!” Jane groaned. “Just put me in a taxi.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Henry muttered as he hurried forward to help. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with you, Jane? Has this happened before?”

  “Nooo,” she moaned. “So dizzy, I can’t stand up, everything’s spinning.”

  “I think we should get you to the hospital,” he said gravely. “You’re totally white.”

  “I have a doctor I can call,” Jane mumbled, her voice shaky. “I just need to get home.”

  “Kim, can you have Jimmy ring a car service for me?”

  “Sure, we have one on call, but of course you know that, sorry.”

  Henry could see the waitress was flustered, and he placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s fine, Kim, just call for the car, I can take it from here.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t ring for an ambulance?” she repeated.

  “No, no, no hospitals,” Jane grunted. “Home, I need to go home.”

  Pulling out his wallet, Henry handed the waitress a wad of bills.

  “That should cover what I ordered, and the rest is for you.”

  “Henry, this is—” She frowned, staring at the money in her hand, knowing it was much more than the twenty percent he always left.

  “It’s fine,” he said firmly. “You’ve been great, and I appreciate it. Just get me that car.”

  “Right, the car,” she repeated, rising to her feet and hurrying through the door.

  “Jane, can you tell me what happened?” Henry asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Did you have much to drink before I came in?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” she mumbled. “I leaned down to look inside my bag and all of a sudden I felt really dizzy, then I realized I was going to be sick.”

  “Strange,” he frowned. “You must have picked up some kind of bug.”

  “Can you get me up? I think I’ll keel over if you don’t.”

  “Of course,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Hopefully by the time we get you outside, the car will be waiting.”

  Clutching her bag, she leaned against him, steadying herself, and as they were about to head out, another woman pushed open the door.

  “Sorry, we’re just leaving,” he said apologetically. “She’s not feeling very well.”

  The woman held the door open for them as Henry supported Jane firmly around the waist, and they made their way slowly forward.

  “How are you doing?” he asked softly as they moved through the restaurant and approached the door.

  “Not so good, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been dizzy like this, never.”

  “The fresh air might help.”

  “I’m really sorry about this, Henry.”

  “Hey, there’s no need to be sorry. Things happen.”

  They reached the coat rack, and Henry helped her with her jacket, then guided her outsi
de and discovered the car was just pulling up to the curb.

  “Just put me in and go,” she mumbled.

  “No, I’ll see you home safely,” he insisted. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone.”

  “I have a doctor friend,” she argued as they approached the car. “I’ll ring him when I get home.”

  “It doesn’t feel right to just put you in a taxi and send you off when you’re so unwell.”

  “You were right, the fresh air is helping,” she lied. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  She was looking up at him earnestly, and he was just about to grant her wish when her knees suddenly buckled and he had to catch her.

  “Oh, my head,” she groaned, “everything’s spinning again.”

  “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “I know you don’t want to go to a hospital, but it’s my place or yours. Take your pick. I’m not leaving you until you’ve been seen by a doctor.”

  Flashing pinpricks were dancing in front of her eyes, and though she thought she was going to fall over, he managed to get her inside the car. Sliding in beside her, she buried her head in the crook of his shoulder.

  “My place or yours?” he repeated.

  “Mine, 710 Courtney Place in Hampstead,” she mumbled.

  As much as she didn’t want him to know her address, she was too weak to argue, and she was scared. She was sure she had a brain aneurysm, or something equally horrible. If she was going to die, she wanted to be in the only real home she’d ever known, and she didn’t want to be alone.

  Chapter Five

  Henry had expected Jane would be living in a flat, and as the taxi cruised down a residential street and pulled to a stop outside a charming cottage, he wasn’t quite sure what to think. Did she have a house full of roommates? How could a young woman, especially an unemployed young woman, afford to live in such a lovely place? Houses in Hampstead weren’t inexpensive, and when he saw it had an attached garage, he was doubly surprised. Perhaps hustling paid well!

  He helped her out, and she leaned against him as he walked her to the front door, then fished out her keys from the depths of her bag. Walking inside, his astonishment grew. The foyer boasted cream porcelain tiles and a thick burgundy rug. Tasteful paintings graced the walls, an antique hall tree was by the door, and a bouquet of fresh flowers sat on a marble pedestal.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whimpered as she tried to pull off her coat. “My legs are all wobbly.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, helping her slip it off her shoulders. “Where’s your phone? You need to call that doctor friend of yours right away.”

  “I need to sit down first, and I have to get this bloody thing off my head.”

  “I assume you mean the wig. I was going to ask you about that over dinner. It looks so real.”

  “It’s supposed to.”

  “Ah, right, of course,” he muttered, feeling foolish. “Let’s get you on to the couch.”

  She gripped his elbow, and as he moved slowly through the arched entrance into a spacious living room, his eyes scanned his surroundings. Tasteful and understated, the room was filled with items he imagined it would have taken a lifetime to accumulate. Clearly the young woman had a story to tell, and he very much wanted to hear it. He deposited her on the couch, then sat in an adjacent armchair, but leaned forward ready to help her if she needed him. She didn’t say anything, but placed her bag on her lap, retrieved her phone, ran her finger across the screen, then held it to her ear.

  “Cam, hi, it’s me, and I’m sick, really sick. Can you come over? Fantastic, thanks, and be prepared, there’s someone else here.”

  Ending the call, she dropped her phone back in her bag and proceeded to pull clips out of her head.

  “That was fast,” Henry remarked.

  “There wasn’t a lot to say,” she mumbled.

  “Be prepared?”

  “No one ever comes here. No, uh, strangers, I mean. I’ll explain later.”

  “Are you feeling a bit better? Can I get you anything?”

  “I feel totally weak, and every time I move my head I think it’s going to fall off,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s a horrible feeling. Henry… I’m scared. What’s wrong with me?”

  The tough, confident, cheeky girl was dissolving in front of him, and frightened and vulnerable, she was fighting back tears as she pleaded for reassurance. Moving swiftly to her side, he sat beside her and took her hand.

  “I’m sure you’ve picked up some nasty bug. Try not to worry, your friend will be here soon, and no doubt he’ll tell you the same thing.”

  “I need to get this wig off, my head is so hot, but every time I lift my arm it makes me feel worse. Actually, every time I move, it makes me feel worse.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “There are pins around the edges. You can feel them. If you could pull them out, you’ll be able to lift the wig off.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before, but I’ll do my best,” he said, running his fingers around the base of the wig. “Ah, success, I found one.”

  “You’ve been so nice. I’m sure this is the last thing you expected when you left your house tonight.”

  “You could say that,” he said softly, finding more pins and carefully withdrawing them, “but one of these days we’ll look back at this and have a jolly good laugh about it.”

  “I hope so,” she mumbled, wiping a stray tear off her face. “I really do hope so.”

  “I feel terrible that this has happened to you. I wish I could help more.”

  “You are helping. I’m really glad you’re here,” she said quietly, slowly moving her head around to face him. “Oh, my gosh! Just moving to look at you has made me all dizzy again. Henry, I’m really worried.”

  He could see the fear in her eyes, and searching for the right words, all he could think to do was to distract her.

  “You’ll know soon, and in the meantime, do you think this is ready to take off now?”

  “Yes, oh, yes, please,” she groaned. “I don’t care if you pull my hair out doing it. I can’t stand to have it on another minute.”

  Gently giving the lustrous red wig a tug, he was relieved that all the clips had been removed and it lifted cleanly away. Her blond hair was curled under a hairnet, and slowly lifting her hand, she pulled it off, allowing her long natural locks to fall to around her shoulders.

  “There you are,” he smiled. “That ginger hair did throw me when you walked in the other night. I still recognized you, but that’s only because I have an excellent memory. The bartender didn’t. He just said you looked vaguely familiar. When you’re feeling better I want to know about all this. I don’t condone what you do, but I do find it fascinating.”

  “Henry?”

  “Yes, Jane?”

  “I know you’re trying to take my mind off things, but could you please just hold me until Cam gets here?”

  Henry felt his heart melt, and putting his arm around her shoulders he slowly leaned back against the sofa. She was still for a moment, then lifting her legs, she placed them over his lap, curled into him, and let out a long, mournful sigh.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said tenderly. “It will, you’ll see.”

  The room fell quiet, but he could hear a faint ticking, and looking up, he saw an exquisite carriage clock sitting on the fireplace mantel. His eyes traveled across to a bookshelf, and as he took in the porcelain figurines, bronzes, small glass vases, and antique books, he realized he was looking at treasures. Pricey treasures. It was all very curious, but then the doorbell chimed, breaking into his reverie.

  “You stay put,” he said protectively.

  “I couldn’t stand up if I wanted to,” she moaned. “I literally can’t move from this spot.”

  “And you don’t have to.”

  Gently extricating himself, he rose to his feet and hurried to the door, opening it to find a slightly built man he guessed to be in his fifties. He was carrying
the quintessential black bag, and had a deep frown across his forehead.

  “Hello, I’m Cam,” he said, moving quickly into the house.

  “Good to meet you, Cam, I’m Henry.”

  “Thanks for getting her home, where is she?”

  “In the living room.”

  The man turned and hurried forward, and though Henry followed, he hung back, not wanting to get in the way, and watched the man called Cam sit next to Jane and take her hand.

  “My poor child,” he murmured, “you’re as white as a sheet. Tell me everything.”

  As Jane relayed what had happened at the restaurant and how dizzy she still was, Cam listened attentively, nodded his head, then reached into his bag and withdrew a small flashlight.

  “What do you think,” she asked, her voice filled with apprehension, “is it bad?”

  “Follow this light for me,” he said, holding it up to her eyes. “Yes, as I thought. You have a condition called Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo, otherwise known as BPPV.”

  “What the heck is that?”

  “It’s a fancy name for vertigo. A bit more complicated than that, but in layman’s terms, that’s what it is. You’re seasick.”

  “What? Seasick? How? Why?”

  “Let’s start with the good news. The first attack is the worst, and the attacks generally lessen in severity as time goes on.”

  “You mean this will happen to me again?”

  “Most likely,” he nodded. “It’s caused by an imbalance of the inner ear. When you’re feeling better you should read up on it. There’s quite a bit of information about it now. It’s very common. Many times people think they have food poisoning, or a stomach bug, but they have BPPV. It’s often misdiagnosed. The symptoms are very similar.”

  “Can you give me something to make it stop?”

  “Yes, I can, and you should keep Dramamine handy. Check the medicine cabinet. I’ll bet you’ll find Bernie kept some in there. Just take a half during the day. It will help you function. If you take a whole one, you’ll fall asleep.”

  “I really am seasick?”