Bella smiled in an unusually friendly manner. ‘Oh, hello there, Maddy. Your mother’s in bed. You knew she was poorly, didn’t you?’ Maddy nodded, still mistrustfully. ‘Well, the doctor had been to see her this morning and she really is…quite poorly. That nasty thing called influenza, that’s what she’s got. Now you mustn’t worry. The doctor has given her some medicine to take, and if she keeps nice and warm and has plenty of hot drinks she should be as right as rain in a few days. So your dad has asked me to help with the meals and to take care of your mother.’
‘Yes… I see,’ said Maddy guardedly. ‘Can I go and see her now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Bella. ‘Don’t get too near her though, dear. You don’t want to catch any nasty germs, do you? She’s awake now but she’s still feeling pretty rotten, I guess. She’s had a nice hot drink of lemon juice and a dose of her medicine. The doctor seems to think it’s a magic sort of powder, so we hope it will make her better very soon, don’t we? Off you go then; run along and see her. And then I’d like you to help me to set the table. Could you do that, please? You know where everything is, don’t you, better than I do. And perhaps you could think of something you would like tonight for your evening meal. Something you would all enjoy.’
Maddy pursed her lips. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied.
She was puzzled; unable to understand why Bella should suddenly start being so nice to her instead of criticising her and being downright nasty like she was sometimes, when the two of them were on their own. Perhaps Bella really was feeling very sorry for her because her mother was poorly; maybe she was very ill indeed?
Clara smiled weakly at Maddy and said, ‘Hello, love,’ in a very shaky voice. Then she said, just as Bella had done, ‘Don’t come too near me, love. You don’t want to catch this awful thing.’
She really did look dreadfully ill, thought Maddy. Her eyes were bright, but not a nice normal sort of brightness; they looked glassy, and confused as well. Her face was damp with sweat and her hair was wet and clinging to her forehead. As Maddy stood and looked at her she closed her eyes as though she was too weary to even speak.
Maddy tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Bella was cutting slices of bread off the loaf. ‘Aunty Bella…’ she began, knowing it might be best to address her in that way. ‘Me mam’s real poorly, isn’t she? She’s not… She won’t…die, will she?’ Her words whispered the dreadful words.
Bella seemed to give a start and she paused before she answered. Then, ‘No, of course not,’ she said brightly. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Because she looks so ill, that’s why,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ve never ever seen her look like that. She doesn’t like staying in bed, so she must be feeling real bad.’
‘I’m sure she is at the moment. But you mustn’t worry, Maddy dear. We’ll do all we can to make her better… You’re so used to having your mother around to look after you all, aren’t you?’ She sounded rather critical for a moment, more like the old Bella that Maddy was accustomed to. ‘Well, it’s time now for you to help her, for a change. Would you like to butter this bread for me and put it on a big plate? Then you can set out the mats and the knives and soup spoons. I’ve already put the cloth on the table.’
It was strange having Bella sitting with them as they ate their meal, instead of Mam, especially as she was sitting in what was Mam’s chair. But maybe she didn’t know that. Maddy didn’t like it though, and she decided she would sit there herself next time. When it was time for their evening meal Maddy sat down first, and it did not go unnoticed by her father that she was sitting in what was normally her mother’s chair. He did not say anything, but he gave her a sort of knowing smile.
‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,’ said Isaac, as he always did, and Bella bent her head like the rest of them.
Maddy noticed that her attitude towards the family, particularly towards Grandad, was now rather different. She had always known that Bella and her grandad did not like one another very much and only spoke when they were forced to do so. But Bella was talking to him now; not exactly chattering, but addressing a few of her remarks in his direction.
‘Maddy helped me to make this cottage pie, didn’t you, dear?’ she said. She turned to Isaac. ‘She said it was one of her grandad’s favourite meals.’
‘Aye, so it is,’ replied Isaac. ‘And very tasty it is an’ all. You’ve made a good job of it…both of yer.’ He looked down at his plate, though, not catching her eye.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time to bake,’ Bella went on. ‘I’m afraid the apple pie is shop-bought, but I’ll try and make time to do a spot of baking before long.’
She had spent the afternoon at the local shops, buying what she thought they needed, including the minced beef for the pie. Then she had moved some of her belongings from her flat, which was about five minutes’ walk away, into her new rooms.
William, meanwhile, had kept a careful watch on his wife, supplying her with drinks and the medicine – every four hours – and changing her damp pillow slip. She was still very feverish and was spending a good deal of the time sleeping. He had decided it would not be advisable for him to occupy the same bed at night. Much as he loved Clara it would not be helpful to anyone if he were to catch the illness as well, although it was possible that the germs had already been passed on. Only time would tell. He would sleep on the couch in the small room, next to the bedroom, which he used as a study. He would be near enough to hear if Clara called out, and he would check on her regularly throughout the night.
Bella, it was decided, would see to Clara’s needs during the daytime. It was the busiest time of the year for undertakers. There was a funeral on the following day which it was necessary for all the menfolk to attend, the younger two, William and Patrick, acting as pall-bearers. And the rest of the day they would be occupied with the carpentry part of the business.
‘Yes…thanks for all you’re doing, Bella,’ said William, sounding a trifle preoccupied. ‘The cottage pie’s champion. It’s one of Clara’s favourites, an’ all. Perhaps we could have it again in a few days’ time. Happen by then she’ll be able to enjoy it herself. I know she won’t be happy about staying in bed for too long.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll be sitting up and taking notice in a day or two,’ replied Bella. ‘I think I can see a slight improvement already. Her breathing’s a little easier, don’t you think so, William?’
‘Happen so,’ replied William. ‘I hope so…please God,’ he added under his breath.
The next morning Clara seemed a little better. Her chest did not sound quite so congested, although she was still sweating profusely and her pillow was continually damp and in need of changing. She appeared confused, too; unsure as to what time of the day it was, morning, afternoon or evening. William gave her another dose of medicine and made sure she was comfortable before setting off, with his father and son, for the funeral which had been arranged for the mid-morning. He told Bella that he hoped they would be back by lunchtime. Clara was still not interested in eating and had shaken her head when he suggested that she might try just a mouthful or two of porridge.
‘Rest, that’s what she needs,’ he told Bella. ‘Complete rest, and sleep if she feels inclined, and she’s certainly sleeping a lot at the moment. It’s nature’s remedy, I suppose; she must have been exhausted, poor lass. But I’ve every confidence that she’s getting better. Just see that she keeps warm. She’d thrown the bedclothes off when I went in just now and that won’t do her any good at all.’
‘No, of course not,’ Bella agreed. ‘She’ll feel hot and sticky, though, won’t she, with perspiring so much?’
‘I’ve sponged her down and…er…made her clean and comfy,’ said William, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘So you don’t need to do anything of that sort, Bella. She’s due for another dose of medicine, happen about eleven o’clock?’
Bella nodded. ‘I’ll see to it,’ she said.
‘Well, thanks again,’ said William. ‘I’ll leave her in your capable hands.’
Clara had fallen asleep again. Bella went down to the shop to make sure that all was running smoothly, then returned to the Moon family home. It was the first time she had had a chance to have a good look around; to have a ‘good old nosey’ in other words.
She noted the homely touches in the living room. Clara’s half-finished knitting in a patchwork bag, still where she had left it, shoved down the side of an armchair; Isaac’s pipe and tobacco tin on the mantelshelf; William’s library book, The Woman in White – at least she guessed it was William’s – again left on the seat of a chair; they were not the tidiest of families. On the top of the sideboard there was a collection of framed family photographs, some of which she knew had been there for ages. William and Clara’s wedding photograph, for instance, and one of old Isaac and his wife, Hannah; casual snapshots of Patrick and Maddy as tiny children, as well as a more formal studio photograph, posed with a huge rocking horse.
There were two that Bella had not seen before, although it was the first time, of course, that she had had the chance to examine any of them closely. There was Maddy with her arm around Jessie, the girl she had got so friendly with during the summer; and there they all were in a second photograph – taken by Isaac, she recalled – standing in the yard after they had returned from that Pierrot show, Faith Barraclough looking elegant and dressed in the height of fashion, with a faraway smile on her – admittedly – beautiful face. Bella had not taken to that woman at all, and she knew that that was because she had noticed the way that William had glanced at her once or twice. Not that William would ever dream of being unfaithful to his beloved Clara, not he! He looked proud and pleased, standing between his wife and his son, and with one of his hands resting gently on the head of his daughter, Maddy, who was seated in front of him. And there was she, Bella, standing at the end of the row…like an afterthought. It had probably been an afterthought to invite her to that family outing anyway.
She felt a spasm of resentment run through her as she recalled, again, her loyalty and years of service to this family. She put the photograph down and went upstairs and into the bedroom. She had seldom entered this room before, except to leave her coat on the bed, maybe, when she had paid one of her infrequent visits to a Moon family get-together. Looking around the room now reawakened her feelings of bitterness and envy, much more than had her forays into the other rooms of the house. There was something so intimate about a brass bedstead, she thought. It was a design loved by the Victorians, to be found in the homes of the rich and poor alike. This one gleamed with constant polishing, and hanging on one of the brass balls at the foot of the bed was William’s striped pyjama jacket. She knew he had slept in the small study-room last night – at least, that had been his intention – but the blue and white jacket and the trousers, which were folded and laid on a chair, evoked images in her mind of the two of them in the marital bed.
On top of the dressing table – a dainty piece of furniture with a swing-mirror and a chintz frill – were three mats with crocheted edges. Two silver-backed brushes and a hand mirror, all inscribed with the initials CM lay upon them, a gift, no doubt, for birthday or Christmas from a loving husband; and a glass hair tidy with a silver top out of which protruded wisps of Clara’s red-gold hair. A tall chest of drawers of dark mahogany – a much more manly piece – held William’s wooden-backed brushes and a photograph of Clara, a much younger Clara, in a silver frame.
Bella’s eyes rested in turn on the chintz curtains with a design of large pink roses, partially drawn to keep the light out of Clara’s eyes, although it was a miserable greyish sort of day anyway, with no hint of sunshine. The satin eiderdown and the silken counterpane beneath it were pink as well, as was the fluffy rug on Clara’s side of the bed.
The eiderdown, really only for show except when the weather was extra cold, had slipped sideways and the rest of the bedclothes – the sheets, blankets and counterpane – were tangled and only partly covering Clara’s body. Automatically, Bella straightened them and pulled them more closely around her. William had said she must be kept warm.
Clara stirred at that moment and opened her eyes. She blinked confusedly then stared at Bella as though trying to remember who she was. Then, ‘Oh…it’s you,’ she said. ‘Bella… I was dreaming. What time is it? Where’s William?’
Bella glanced at the clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a nice long sleep. William is out on a job, so I’m looking after you. Are you feeling any better, Clara?’
She closed her eyes again. ‘I’m not sure. I think I might be. But I’m so terribly hot… Eleven o’clock did you say? In the morning?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Bella, smiling. ‘You’re a bit mixed up, aren’t you? Eleven o’clock in the morning, and that means it’s time for your next dose of medicine.’ She looked at the bottle, standing next to the clock. There was a small drinking glass there too, a jug of water covered with a bead-edged doily, and a bottle containing orange squash.
‘How do you take your medicine?’ asked Bella. ‘Let me see…’ She picked up the bottle and read the label. ‘Oh yes; it dissolves in water. Does William mix it with the orange juice?’
‘I think so,’ said Clara. ‘Yes…in a glass, with the orange juice. Or hot lemon juice.’
There was a teaspoon there as well. Bella carried the bottle of white powder and the glass over to the window so that she could see more clearly. Half a teaspoonful… What would be the effect, she pondered, if she were to administer a full spoonful, or two…or the whole bottleful? You would be found out, you stupid woman, she answered herself. William would ask where the powder had gone. He would know how much of it was left, even now. But what if…? A niggling little thought which she had not, as yet, allowed to take control in her mind, was becoming more persistent. This medicine was meant to be Clara’s lifeline, her aid to recovery. Supposing, instead of increasing the dose, which would be sure to be noticed, she were to withhold it? It was supposed to be taken regularly in order to bring the temperature down and reduce the feverishness. But supposing Clara was to be deprived of the next two doses, and the same again tomorrow? She, Bella, would have no control over what happened when William was caring for her, but now…now she was in charge.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she whispered to Clara, even pausing for a moment to touch the hand that was lying on the bed cover. ‘I’m just seeing to your medicine.’
Driven by an impulse that seemed, almost, outside of herself, she hurried into the bathroom. She scooped out half a spoonful of the white powder and emptied into the washbasin, turning on the taps and making sure it was swilled away down the drain. Returning to the bedroom she mixed together the orange juice and water and took it over to Clara.
‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘Do you think you can manage to sit up a bit? That’s right… Now then, drink it all down in one go, then you won’t taste it.’ Clara smiled weakly and did as she was told.
‘That’s good,’ said Bella. ‘Now, can I get you anything else? A cup of tea? A drink of lemon juice?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Nothing, thanks. But if you could change my pillow case, please, Bella? It’s wet through again. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’
‘Don’t mention it. Of course you’re not a nuisance.’ Bella stripped off the pillow case which was soaked with perspiration, exchanging it for a clean one which she found in the airing cupboard on the landing.
Clara smiled her thanks. ‘That feels better. I don’t want to go to sleep again. I feel as though I’m sleeping my senses away. I’ll just lie here quietly… Send Maddy in to see me, please, will you, when she comes home from school?’
She was sounding a little more coherent now, thought Bella. All the same, there was still a long way to go.
At lunchtime, at William’s insistence, Clara managed to drink a small amount of the chicken soup which
Bella had heated up. Only a few spoonfuls but William seemed well pleased with her progress.
‘That’s good,’ said Bella with a forced brightness. ‘She had her eleven o’clock dose of medicine. And I could see to the afternoon one too, if you like?’
‘Yes, if you would, please, Bella,’ he replied. ‘We shall be busy in the workshop all afternoon. We’ve another rush job on, I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t worry; I’ll see to everything,’ she said.
Clara had perked up a little when she had drunk the chicken soup. Bella asked if she would like anything else; a cup of tea, perhaps? To her surprise Clara agreed that she did rather fancy a cup of tea. Bella sat with her whilst she drank it, watching her carefully all the while. She did not seem to want to talk but appeared glad of the company. Soon her eyelids began to close and her head fell forward. Bella put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Clara…’ she said. ‘It’s nearly time for your next dose of medicine. I think it would be best for you to have it now, then I can leave you to sleep in peace. I can see that you’re feeling tired again.’
‘Yes, so I am,’ smiled Clara. ‘I’m a real old lazybones, aren’t I?’
Once again Clara partook of the imaginary dose of medicine and handed the empty glass back to Bella. ‘I can almost feel it doing me good already,’ she said. Such was the power of self-delusion… In a few moments she was asleep again.
Bella closed the curtains fully, then went down to the shop for her daily visit to make sure that all was running smoothly. Martin assured her that they were managing just fine. They had had several customers during the morning, but it was not likely there would be any more now as darkness was falling early. Bella gave them permission to close an hour earlier than usual. A thick mist was rolling in from the sea and although it was only just turned three o’clock the daylight had almost vanished.
When she returned to the sickroom she found that Clara’s bedcovers were once again in a tangled heap, barely covering her, and her pillow was wet again. Her head, in fact, was hardly touching the pillow at all. She straightened the bedclothes and then, instead of covering her up again, she turned them right back to the foot of the bed. She saw Clara give an involuntary shudder, but she did not wake up. Her nightdress was a pretty summery one, not at all suitable for the winter, but Bella guessed that the more serviceable ones might be all in the wash.
A True Love of Mine Page 21