“But,” he said much louder and with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, “we also know how lucky Peter is to have a lady like you.” Eve looked up quickly and blushed again at the compliment. “I know we never really knew each other at school, but through Peter’s conversation, I feel that I know you a lot better.”
Dan was right about school. Eve had felt surprised that he even knew her name. At least he’d never been one of the gang who’d just called her “Tits” from about the age of eight onwards, but this was mainly because he’d never acknowledged her existence sufficiently to warrant calling her anything at all. “He, er, mentioned me then?” she said, the hope evident in her eyes.
“Yes, yes, of course. He would come in here full of his new flatmate – especially of her boiled cake. Yes, your boiled cake was quite the talk of the bar!”
Eve glowed anew and felt ready to face Dan on a new level. “I think, Eve, we need to take this terrible, er, accident, and make it work for Peter, don’t you? Have you spoken to the doctors about him?” he said, knowing perfectly well that she had. To her nod he replied, “Well, Peter is always welcome here, but, it’s probably not really the best place for him is it?” Eve shook her head. “What do you reckon if I have a quiet word with all the landlords in the town and we can all refuse to serve Peter any alcohol. It can all be done very quietly and no one else need know. Then if you can keep an eye on him at home and we keep an eye out for him in town, we’ll have all avenues covered. What do you think?”
“Yes, yes, that would be great.” Eve referred back to Doctor Radcliff’s words. “I’m to make sure that there is no alcohol in the house and feed him lots of good food and vegetables. He won’t even be able to open a door easily so he can’t really go anywhere without me. I can leave him at Mother’s when I am at work and they’ll be company for each other.” Eve didn’t even notice Dan’s amused grimace at the thought of the impending relationship. “His medication will help the symptoms and in six weeks he’ll be clear and fine.” Dan nodded, knowing that after six weeks, the real fight would be just beginning.
“Good for you, Eve. Good for you. Peter is, indeed, a very lucky man. Look, I have to do the cellar now, but, well, good luck, and pop in – on your own of course – now and then after work and let me know how you are getting on. If you need anything, anything at all, you know where I am,” and he gave Eve the first hug from a friend that she had had in years and as he opened the door for her, she walked out of the pub feeling she could achieve anything.
Eve was like an unsocialised puppy, desperate to please and get on with people, but had just not been taught how to do it. She gabbled away to Lettie a jumble of sentences about her meeting with Dan, her conversation with Doctor Radcliff, her own thoughts on the matter interspersed with “Would you like some more tea?” and “I have some boiled cake; it’s Peter’s favourite you know. Everyone in the pub likes it.”
Lettie accepted the offer of tea and cake with a smile and tried to piece the rest together. Having never lived outside of the small community of Glan Llanfair and being used to knowing everyone, Eve had forgotten that Lettie may not know who Dan D was or even Doctor Radcliff, but slowly Lettie put two and two together, storing the names to ask Doug about later. “…And I’ve got to stop Peter drinking and in six weeks when his plaster is removed, he’ll be fine and we can start lookin’ for our own place.” Eve made it sound so simple.
“Wow, Eve – you have quite a job ahead of you – and looking after your mother too? You’ll be exhausted!” It was clear that Eve had no real conception of what she had let herself in for, and Lettie in return had no conception of the huge complications that made it more difficult still, but then, in fairness, neither had Eve, let alone Peter.
It was only when Eve let Lettie out of the front door, thanking her again for returning the blanket, that she realised that she had no real idea of who Lettie was and how she had come to be in Stryd y Fachnad at half past midnight one dark night.
Chapter 32
The Waffer Thin Mint…
At the same time that Eve was painting a very simple picture of the six weeks ahead, Doctor Radcliff was about to paint a much more sinister one to Peter.
He had woken in his usual haze but had taken much longer than his usual time to gather his thoughts and bearings. Although he was now more used to clean sheets that covered his whole bed, rather than the grey rag crumpled beneath him of pre-Eve days, he was not used to them being so tightly tucked around him. The smell of his room was also new. He was used to creating his own powerful scent during the night, so much so that even Eve sometimes struggled to stomach it, but the smell here was a different kind of strong and reminded him of his grandmother’s kitchen.
His head pounded and although this was nothing new, the pain in his arms was. He winced as he tried to move position, but quickly found that he was unable to. A nurse, who had been sat at her desk writing up notes, sensed his stirrings and quickly scuttled over to him.
“Hello, Peter,” she said gently. “How are you feeling? You’re in Abergavenny hospital – you were transferred here from Glan Llanfair earlier this morning. Everything is OK, but you’ve hurt your arms. No, don’t try and move – you won’t really be able to. The doctor is coming soon and she will be able to tell you everything. You’ve had a bit of a fall – look, here’s Doctor now.”
A brisk lady clipped up to the bedside; her day was long and difficult enough without having to explain to pissheads that this time they had really done it.
“Hello, Mr Andrews, how are you this morning?” Her thick Spanish accent mingled with the fug in Skinny’s head to produce a mumble. He winced again as his eyes tried to filter out the bright light beaming in through the large energy inefficient windows. “I’m Doctor Marks and we are looking after you until you are able to be returned to Glan Llanfair hospital. How are you feeling?”
People usually answer “fine, thanks” to such a question and Skinny, out of habit, tried to mumble the same. “Now, you have broken both arms – your ulna and radials in both arms and also fractured some of the metacarpal bones in your wrists. Quite nasty I am afraid. We have plastered you up as you can see, and, look, you should still be able to waggle your fingertips? You have a catheter inserted for the time being, but this will be removed after discussion with your carer. OK?” Her words came and went from Skinny’s mind and he nodded as gently as he could now and then in order to keep her happy. “Now, you will be having your breakfast and a nice cup of tea brought to you soon, so you’ll probably feel better after that, but is there anything else you would like to ask me now?”
Skinny licked his cracked lips and felt the desire to ask for perhaps a small glass of beer as that usually helped him to come to properly in the morning, as he was more of an evening man. But there was something about her demeanour that told him that it would not be a good idea. So instead, he shook his head and mumbled his thanks. Doctor Marks wrote some professional notes onto her form, wishing instead that she could write “pitiful” in their place and, glancing quickly at her watch, she bade him good luck and strode on to the next poor soul.
The ambulance journey back to Glan Llanfair was long and tortuous for Skinny. The driver had spent her time bantering with the ambulance man in the back, as she strove to avoid the potholes and “wha-heyed” her way through the ones that were unavoidable. There was an elderly stroke patient on the other stretcher and the ambulance man used the same tones with each patient, neither of whom really cared what was being said, but appreciated the soothing voice and the occasional tucking up of blankets.
Peter managed to get across that he was thirsty, but was not overly impressed or quenched by the plastic cup of water that was gently put to his lips. “No!” his mind screamed, “I know a good little pub near here, come on, let’s stop for just one,” but his mouth was unable to verbalise his words properly and the ambulance man just patted his leg again and said, “there, that’s better isn’t it”. It certainly didn’t help
that between the soothing tones, the ambulance man was recounting an excellent night of cocktails and dancing just two days before. Peter tried to join in the conversation, feeling that he was on familiar ground, but every time he mumbled something, the soothing tones returned and the blanket was re-tucked around him.
He had been eventually dropped off at Glan Llanfair’s Cottage Hospital, received by different nurses than those from the night before. However, these were fully and delightedly briefed and therefore he had quite a welcoming committee, not afforded to the average sickly incumbent. They seemed a little disappointed that Skinny was still just Skinny – albeit a bit more pathetic, shivering despite the boiled-to-raggedness NHS blanket around his shoulders. The next excitement, they told themselves, would be visiting time and the rota had already been consulted on a number of occasions…
Most people have a conversation at one point in their life that changes things forever. The neglected child receiving belief from a teacher, the anorexic having their eyes opened to the real person in the mirror or the lover declaring their feelings to their intended. Doctors have to be aware that, on many occasions, this role falls to them. Shock tactics are used to stop the smokers smoking themselves to a grave wracked with coughs, or the obese eating the cholesterol packed morsel that will block the remaining gap in their arteries. It is a role that Doctor Radcliff took very seriously and she had been planning this particular spiel for many months.
An alcoholic, or perhaps the family of an alcoholic, have to decide that the time is right before attempts to quit can be successful. As a smoker or a dieter knows, doing something simply for someone else is a short-term tactic that will surely end in failure. The desire and motivation have to come from within and the support from without. Eve had had her chat and was eagerly trying to come to terms with the importance of her own role whilst still being aware of its limitations. But the real issues had to be resolved by Skinny, and Skinny alone.
Doctor Radcliff had had Skinny in her surgery on many occasions, as well as speaking with him during his phase of NHS Bed and Breakfast. She’d had him weeping, denying, being aggressive and being drunk, many times pleading for help that would be organised, but never taken up. More recently he had come in under duress with a stern-faced aunty who’d had enough of his embarrassing the family and who felt that it was now time that “somebody did something”. Doctor Radcliff, irritated by the slur on her profession, had reeled off the list of missed opportunities and had asked Mrs Thompson whether she had any suggestions, other than locking him in the attic? Skinny had been led crossly out of the door and dropped off in town in order for him to embarrass the family some more.
Doctor Radcliff sat at the desk that was used by the doctor on duty in the hospital and sipped her coffee quietly, aware that Skinny was waiting outside the room, getting more and more anxious and agitated about the forthcoming interview – all part of the master plan. Another part of the plan was to rearrange the room for maximum intimidation. She had been taught about bedside manners and how a patient would feel more comfortable if they were not sat directly opposite the doctor with a desk in between creating a further barrier.
However, Doctor Radcliff did not want him to feel comfortable. She wanted to intimidate him, assert the authority of her profession over him and basically scare the bloody hell out of him. So, a smaller chair was placed for him some distance away from the desk behind which she would be sat, the heating was turned back on and she pulled her blackest, sternest jacket on over her whitest blouse, which was ironed to perfection. Taking a last swig of coffee and a purposeful breath of resolve, she got up and opened the door.
“Ah, Mr Andrews,” she said, offering no sign of recognition. “Would you like to come in?” and the slight man with the grey pallor and the sagging pyjama bottoms got unsteadily to his feet. His plastered arms hung limply and painfully at his sides and the doctor looked on sternly as he took a deep breath and shuffled his way to his Maker.
No one ever found out what was said in that room, but nurses who were summoned to take Mr Andrews back to his bed had to help the pitiful form to his feet, luckily pulling up the faded pyjama bottoms as they did so. They led him wordlessly to his sanctuary and pulled the curtains around him. They returned an hour later with a drink of water and his medication and found him in exactly the same position. He was staring vacantly ahead, biting his chapped lips as if doing that would help stop the sad tears that had to be allowed to roll their path, unchecked, down his sallow cheeks.
Skinny Twat had always been somewhat of an accident waiting to happen. He was always the kid in the playground that fell over and had developed into the bloke in the office who brought the dog shit in. But, he was a likeable twat and his good humour and helpful nature had allowed him to retain his job in the builder’s yard despite having to be told everything at least five times and always cutting the lengths of wood too short, his boss cursing the resulting wastage.
Teresa had been his female mirror image personality wise. Blonde enough to allow her to be legitimately dizzy, she had been his perfect partner. She worked in an office in town and her ability to welcome and charm customers just about compensated for her ability to miss-file. Sweethearts from school, Teresa and Skinny had been planning their wedding for seven years when the accident had happened.
The usual routine of the weekend evening had been underway. Skinny had played rugby and was reaping the rewards of the essential drinking games. Teresa had spent the afternoon shopping in Hereford, the early evening at a friend’s drinking wine as they got ready into their new outfits and the remainder of the night trying to entice Skinny away from his rugby mates in order to take a bit more notice of her.
Remonstrations, flirtations with other men and eventually tantrums had worked their magic and finally Skinny was at her side, watching sadly as his mates boat-raced with the visiting team and cheered as the beer trickled out of the up-turned glasses and down their scrum-scuffed faces. In return, Teresa watched her mates flirting with a gang of handsome visitors to the town and she compared the pissed figure at her side, with his flies undone and a shirt of a colour that showed the sweat marks under his arms, rather unfavourably to them.
The only remaining weapon in her armoury was a sulk and then an argument and this she did with a level of skill and competence that would have surprised her long-suffering boss. Skinny’s mates had watched from a distance, waving and raising their glasses to him behind Teresa’s back.
The last they saw of him was as he realised that there was no way out and he held out his hands for the car keys that were attached to a teddy bear clutching a red silk heart. His girlfriend slammed them into his hands and then rolled her drunken eyes as he fumbled and dropped them.
The last they saw of her was as she tried to fill the gaping pores on her face with powder from her silver compact, oblivious to the smudges around her eyes from the tear-ruined mascara.
“Oy, Skinny – if you’re driving, don’t forget the car, eh?” were the last words they shouted to him as he grappled with the door and pushed Teresa through.
Chapter 33
The Fat of the Land
After Eve had seen Lettie to the door and returned to eat another slice of boiled cake to keep her strength up, she prepared herself for the next task ahead. Mother. Gloria Mathews: tyrant and undeserved role model. However, unfortunately she was also the only person who really spoke to Eve and therefore, technically, her best friend. Doctor Radcliff had highlighted the need for family support and for people to pull together to help Peter and Eve. To Eve, the only people this could mean were her mother and maybe Mrs Jones from next door.
She had suffered her mother’s disdain about her Peter for some time and had put up with the dismissive snorts, sniggers and tutts, simply because she hadn’t really known what else to do. But, Doctor Radcliff had said she must insist on support and if that is what the doctor had said, that is what she must have. Popping quickly into town to pick up a box of proper cream cakes
from the bakers, rather than damaged or out of date ones from work, she set off on her mission to insist on support.
Not realising that she would put herself at an immediate power disadvantage by shouting “Only me!” through the door as she opened it, she shouted “Only me!” Gloria was surprised to see her at a time other than within her routine, but her eyes caught sight of the square white cardboard box in Eve’s hand and her juices began to flow in expectation.
Eve was determined to be in control of the situation and therefore said she would make tea as she had something to tell her mum. Gloria’s left eyebrow lifted sarcastically as she said, “Remembered your name, did he?” Eve smarted at the unkindness, but braced her shoulders as she carried the tea tray in. Instinctively knowing that to sink into the sagging, groaning armchair opposite her mum would be a tactical mistake, she perched instead on a wooden chair next to the dining table. Gloria had to crick her neck to speak to her: even better.
“Mam, I need your support. These are going to be difficult times.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Eve? And, er, what’s in the box? That looks exciting; from the baker’s is it?”
Eve lost sight of Doctor Radcliff’s words as she muttered yes and did battle with the tape that held the box shut. As she poured the tea, she described the night’s activities. She handed Gloria her cake and in between licking the proper cream from her fingers, she described what Skinny’s problem actually was, ignoring Gloria’s snorts and shaking of her head in a “do you really mean to say you didn’t know” kind of way. She then returned to Doctor Radcliff as she said, “And therefore it is critical that I have your support and that we pull together as a family and, with his friends, we can help him to help himself.”
Somewhere in her desperate naïvety, Eve had pictured Gloria nodding seriously, “OK, Eve. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. I’ll support you in this; that is what family is for.” Instead, Gloria scoffed at her words and then scoffed at her cake, dismissing Eve with a wave of her chubby hand. “Eve, the man is a soak. Always will be. Why you won’t open your eyes and see this, I don’t know.”
Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons Page 17