Seven Week Itch

by Victoria Corby

  ‘It’s going to be very rare, extinct in fact, if I get my hands on it!’ Luke muttered, making an ineffectual effort to get out and do just that. The sheep baa’d at us and when it got no response turned around and began to meander back down the road, stopping every so often to snatch a mouthful of much greener grass from the verge. ‘What sort of bloody fool allows his sheep to run around loose on the sodding road? And in the dark too,’ Luke growled as the sheep’s woolly bottom disappeared into the darkness. ‘It’s a danger to the public. A ram too. Everyone knows they attack people. I’ll kill him! He should be sued, locked up...’ After venting a lot of steam in this manner he obviously felt better, though I was developing a headache, and he began to try to get himself out of the car.

  It took him five minutes of panting, groaning effort. He would doubtless have been much quicker if he hadn’t been trying to make sure he didn’t kick me as he heaved his way out, but eventually, after considerably more bad language, he was standing on the verge looking down at me.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, bending into the car and holding out his hand, ‘let’s get you out and then we can go to that house down the road for some help.’

  It was drizzling and I was wearing a pair of strappy slingbacks which were definitely not the right footwear for a tramp in the dark of a mile or so. I didn’t want to ruin them either. I might have been prepared to ignore these trifling matters, and show I was made of the same stern stuff as Victorian lady-explorers, if a rare burst of common sense hadn’t pointed out Luke would go much quicker on his own, and be dryer too, since he could use the umbrella himself instead of chivalrously holding it over my head. And there was another not so minor point; I was beginning to feel decidedly odd and wasn’t at all sure if I’d be able to walk that far.

  He was still arguing whether it was safe to leave me alone in the car with only a curly-horned ram around to protect me against any passing predator, when we heard the welcome sound of a car engine in the distance.

  He dashed out into the middle of the road, waving his arms about and shouting, ‘Hey!’ as a mud-splattered Range Rover rounded the corner and came to a halt. From my vantage point I could see a large pair of wellingtons come down the road and then stop opposite the car door. ‘You’ve met my ram then,’ a country voice said in a tone of deep resignation.

  ‘It’s your bloody ram?’ exclaimed Luke incredulously. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, you stupid idiot, allowing your livestock to roam free around the roads? We could have been killed. You know what you can do with your sodding ram, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of having old Houdini with some redcurrant jelly many a time. Though maybe now at his age he’d be better in a Lancashire hotpot, I’d have to ask the wife. But my son won his first prize at the County Show with our Houdini and won’t hear of it,’ said the voice with a tinge of regret. ‘Houdini by name, Houdini by nature. Two hours and more I’ve been out looking for the old bugger tonight. I’m right sorry for all the trouble he caused you. We’ve never had an accident before, usually people go so slow around here they have time to stop when they see that dratted beast. But I’ve already made up me mind, this is the last time. Young Miles might like to see Houdini in the field, doing what he does with the ladies,’ he chortled richly, ‘and he does that well, I can tell you! But this one stays locked up in the stable from now on. I can’t be doing with all this chasing around...’

  ‘Frankly I’m not interested in your sodding animal,’ interrupted Luke. ‘My car’s in the ditch and my friend’s still inside it.’

  ‘Your friend?’ exclaimed the farmer sharply. He bent down and a round, red face peered in through the window. ‘Evening, miss, I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances. Tom Cartwright’s the name,’ he said, with excruciating politeness. ‘I didn’t mean no offence.’ I assured him that I was brought up in the country and knew quite well what rams did with the ladies. He smiled in relief and looked doubtfully down at me. ‘Now what are we going to do about you? Do you think if I give you a hand you can climb out?’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly, having already discovered by dint of experimentation it hurt like hell to move my left arm. Even with help, there was no way I could put any weight on it while I got myself upright.

  ‘Right you are,’ Mr Cartwright said cheerfully when I explained. ‘We’ll have to tow you out. It’s lucky that I got the rope in the Range Rover then, isn’t it?’

  I’m sure that he tried to drag the car out of the ditch as smoothly as he could, but it wasn’t possible without a certain amount of jerking and bumping, which of course thumped me back against the door each time. I was feeling sick and more than a bit dizzy by the time the car was at long last level on the road and Luke rushed around to lever the door open.

  ‘Don’t - touch - my - arm,’ I warned through gritted teeth as he put out a helping hand.

  He jumped back, looking shocked.

  ‘Oh God, Susie, have you broken it?’

  I leant back against the car for support. My legs were so wobbly I’d probably have fallen over otherwise. ‘I’ve never broken anything, so I don’t know what it feels like. But -’ I did an experiment - ‘I can move my fingers, isn’t that supposed to be a good sign?’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting that you were paralysed,’ said Luke, frowning.

  ‘The lass had better get to hospital, she’s going to need one of them X- rays,’ said Mr Cartwright. He bent down and inspected the front wing of the car, which seemed to have taken the brunt of the impact. ‘Well, you won’t be driving this again until the panel beater’s got that off the wheel, but it seems you were lucky, there ain’t much else in the way of damage.’

  ‘With no thanks to your ram,’ muttered Luke, a bit churlishly, I thought, but perhaps in the circumstances forgivable.

  ‘True enough,’ Mr Cartwright said imperturbably, ‘and I’m right sorry about that. Don’t worry, I’m fully insured.’ He chuckled. ‘Took a five-year plan out as soon as I saw what that ram was like. Never seen another bugger like him for getting out, begging your pardon, miss. Paid the premium up front too. That insurance chappie thought he were so clever in getting all my money at once, now there ain’t a thing he can do to try and cancel it.’ He rumbled with laughter again. ‘Course, I didn’t tell him the ram’s name was Houdini. Even that daft so-and-so might have realised something was up then.’

  He reached into the car, got my handbag out of the footwell and closed the passenger door. ‘Right you are, I’ll take ye both to the hospital. Lucky the casualty ain’t too far away and they ain’t closed it yet, though they keep talking about it.’ As Luke seemed to be about to protest he said firmly, ‘The car’ll be safe enough where it is if you lock it and I’ll get the garage to tow it in the morning. They might want to see you in the hospital too.’ He looked pointedly at Luke. ‘You can inform the police about the accident afterwards. That should give you enough time.’

  ‘I can assure you I didn’t put the car into the ditch because I was drunk,’ Luke said frostily. ‘I was talking to Susie.’

  ‘Well, I’m with you there, a fine lass like that is enough to distract anyone,’ said Mr Cartwright, with considerable generosity I felt. Just as I’m not the sort to escape a red nose and swollen eyes when I cry, I was also absolutely certain I wasn’t one of those rare individuals who could come out of a minor car accident without looking like a wreck.

  ‘I’ve got a few things I don’t want to leave in the car,’ said Luke, opening the boot and putting a small package into his pocket. He went around the car, checking each door was locked, and then pronounced he was ready to go.

  ‘But what about your ram, Mr Cartwright?’ I asked weakly, mind fixing on trivialities.

  ‘He’ll be up the road there. We’ll go by slowly and I’ll put him in a field and collect him on the way back.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘That is if he hasn’t gone too far up towards Jackson’s oil-seed rape. In that case, he’ll have to go
in the back of the car.’ I sincerely hoped he hadn’t gone as far as Jackson’s oil-seed rape. I was sure Houdini was a delightful character once you got to know him, but I didn’t want to have get to know him. ‘Now, lass, do yer need a bit of help to get into the car?’

  I could have done without having to climb up into something the height of a Range Rover. What I would have liked was a sort of motorised stretcher on to which I could simply topple over sideways and lie supine while I was transported to a place where I sincerely trusted I was going to be given several large pills to take away the feeling that somebody had just tried to cut off my arm with a blunt saw. I’ll draw a blank over what I said when Luke accidentally took hold of my elbow while helping me up. Suffice to say that Mr Cartwright chuckled and said that young girls knew some right funny words these days.

  I had hoped that my first ever visit to casualty would be rewarded by George Clooney bending over me solicitously, wielding a stethoscope and murmuring soothingly that he’d get this sorted out in just a minute and I wasn’t going to feel a thing. Instead, I got Bob Geldof, whose red-rimmed eyes suggested that all that stubble wasn’t a sartorial statement but the result of not going to bed for the last week and thus missing out on the early-morning wash-and-shave routine. I’d read all those scare stories about overworked doctors who cut off the wrong leg because they were so tired they couldn’t read their notes, and I’d taken them with a pinch of salt - until now. I couldn’t sink into that nice feeling of mindless trust that you’re supposed to have in hospital. Especially after he started examining my nose for damage, when I’d quite clearly pointed out I’d knocked my head on the side. He said he was looking in my eyes for dilated pupils.

  Several hours later, I was pronounced unbroken in every area, not even concussed, though severely bruised all down my left side. I hadn’t needed six hours in hospital to tell me that. My shoulder was turning interesting shades of purple and pink. Neither did I need Bob Geldof to inform me it was going to hurt like hell. It already did. But he was decent enough to give me a large bottle of pink pills, with instructions to take a satisfyingly liberal dose up to four times a day. ‘And take this week off work too,’ he said firmly.

  I brightened slightly. So there really was a silver lining behind every cloud. Stephen should have recovered his temper by next week. And even in his current mood he could hardly accuse someone of skiving who had one arm supported in the largest sling I’d ever seen.

  ‘And I doubt you’ll be driving for at least a week,’ Bob Geldorf said definitely. ‘You aren’t going to enjoy changing gear with that arm.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be driving to Sussex this weekend,’ I said.

  He laughed hollowly to indicate that I’d made an unfunny joke. ‘Take the train,’

  he said succinctly. ‘But travel light, because you aren’t going to want to carry anything. Or see if you can get someone to give you a lift,’ he suggested, already losing interest in me and yawning. He was no doubt thinking about moving on to the 515th patient he was about to see since he had got out of bed a few days ago. ‘Call your GP if you have any problems,’ he said in clear dismissal and, taking the hint, I got up and left.

  Luke was half asleep outside, slumped sideways on one of those moulded-plastic orange chairs that seem to breed in hospital and doctors’ waiting rooms. He’d escaped with only a slight bruise along one cheekbone, the result of banging it as he climbed out of the car. Unfairly, along with the dark shadows under his eyes, it only served to increase his good looks, giving him an air of romantic fragility. Whereas I looked more as if I’d just stopped off on my way to the morgue. Dr Bob’s nurse said rather stiffly I should be grateful I’d escaped from a car accident so lightly (though, frankly, when I tried to move my arm ‘lightly’ seemed a distinctly relative word) and not be worrying about my pallid face, scruffy hair and the mascara track leaking from one eye. At my insistence, she announced frostily she’d give me five minutes’ wash-and-brush-up time in the ladies and no more. Unfortunately, the contents of my bag, designed only to give a quick lick and polish during the course of one evening, were unable to rise to the task of turning me into an interesting replica of La Dame aux Camellias so I had to settle for merely clean and brushed, which was a considerable improvement in itself.

  Not enough, evidently. As I approached, Luke jerked upright into wakefulness. ‘God, you look awful,’ he said immediately. ‘Aren’t they going to keep you in for observation?’

  As downers go that one took quite a lot of beating. ‘Nope. The doctor says I can go home. I’m not seriously damaged enough to stay here,’ I said.

  He gave me another searching look. I had a nasty feeling that my bruise on my cheekbone was rapidly spreading upwards to my eye and was generally a lot less fetching than his. ‘Can’t think why not,’ he retorted. But the damage to my ego was partially massaged by the immediate look of contrition on his face. ‘I’m so sorry, Susie, it’s all my fault.’

  ‘You couldn’t have been expected to anticipate a sheep in the middle of the road at midnight,’ I pointed out.

  He looked down. ‘But if I’d been concentrating... It shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Well, as I doubt I’ll be suing you for damages, it doesn’t really matter how culpable you are.’ I could see from the surprise on his face it had come out a bit more sharply than I’d intended. But I was tired, everywhere that wasn’t already agony was beginning to ache and I just wanted to get home, to bed, to sleep. I could ease Luke’s guilty conscience when I felt more like the full quid, but until then he’d have to live with it. I yawned, swaying slightly. Luke sprang up, hand outstretched to catch me, then recoiled at my look. No doubt he was remembering the last time he’d touched my left arm. And the grey-haired nurse with the ferocious perm behind the reception desk looked far too respectable to hear that kind of language.

  ‘Could you call a taxi?’ I asked wearily.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he said quickly, hovering protectively as I sank down on to a chair. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, something from the machine?’

  I shook my head, too exhausted to speak, and sank into a sort of restless and uncomfortable doze as he went off to find the phones and some change.

  I woke with a stiff neck to add to all my other minor and major aches, and to the sound of a familiar voice. I blinked, still too dopey to work out what or who it was in front of me, until it said, ‘Susie! Wake up! Are you sure she’s not concussed, Luke? She looks completely do-lally to me. Do you think we’d better call the doctor? I don’t like her colour…’

  I lifted my head a bit, unglued my eyes, and managed to focus. ‘I was asleep. I’m fine, they say. What are you doing here, Rose?’

  ‘I’ve come to take you home,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Luke had the sense to ring me and I came straight over.’ For once this seemed to be no exaggeration. She had no make-up on, her hair was untidily bundled back into a ponytail, and she looked as if she’d got dressed in the first things that came to hand, including several garments that must belong to Jeremy.

  ‘I could have taken a taxi back to the cottage,’ I said stupidly. ‘There was no need to drag you out of bed at this hour just so you can ferry me there. You aren’t ever up this early.’

  She smiled at me in a determined manner. ‘You aren’t going back to the cottage. You’re coming back to Moor End and staying until you’re back on your feet again.’ As I opened my mouth to protest she cut in firmly with, ‘Don’t be stupid, Susie. It was Luke’s idea and he’s quite right.’ Behind her shoulder I saw Luke give a pleased smirk. ‘He didn’t think you should be on your own. You need looking after. For one thing, what would you do about things to eat?’

  Probably better than relying on her cooking, but that would have been a cheap shot so I stayed silent. Besides, there was no point in arguing, I knew Rose when she had an expression like that on her face and she didn’t take no for an answer. So though I felt everyone was making much too much fuss, the pills were
kicking in with pleasantly euphoric effects, I said, ‘That’s really kind of you, Rose. Thank you. I really appreciate it.’ I yawned hugely. ‘But could we go, please? I’m so tired.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Jeremy, poor man, had the task of half carrying, half dragging me up the wide oak stairs to a pretty blue-and-white room with a heavily curtained four-poster bed and a view over the garden and the ruins of the old house, not that I was in any fit state to appreciate scenery just at that moment. Rose raided her bedroom for necessities such as a nightdress and a spare toothbrush to tide me over until she could go over to the cottage and get my own things. She bossily shooed Jeremy out, saying I had to get undressed, though I would have happily crawled under the bedclothes fully dressed and, worst sin of all, without taking off what remained of my make-up. But Rose had stronger moral fibre than me, especially when it came to inflicting it on other people, and insisted I followed all the right procedures. I muttered resentfully as my make-up was being creamed off that I was surprised she wasn’t making me floss my teeth as well. She hesitated then said she thought it would be a bit difficult one-handed and it wasn’t really something she could help me with. I could see I was in for bed-baths next if I wasn’t careful.

  Actually, she made a better care assistant than I would have expected, gently easing my jacket over my arm as if she were playing one of those games you find at church fetes, where you have to pass a loop of wire along a twisted shape. A bell rings if you accidentally jog it. Like me. She did pretty well, all told, I only nearly hit the ceiling squealing about three times. Rose had even found a nightie that did up with ties on the shoulders so I could step into it and didn’t have to manoeuvre any armholes, which would doubtless have prompted another burst of bad language.