When You Walked Back Into My Life (17 page)

Fin related the details of his fall, and Flora could see Bel’s interest piqued. She was listening intently as he told of how he felt the rock suddenly give way beneath his feet, how the rope jerked violently, jolting him as he was swung hard against the rock face. How it took them nearly three hours to rescue him, by which time it was freezing cold and getting dark.

‘So you were hanging there all that time?’ Bel asked, her eyes round with horror. ‘With a broken leg?’

‘Well, I didn’t know it was broken at that stage. I was going
in and out of consciousness, so most of it’s a blur. But I do remember the cold being intense, really painful. And the Italian I was guiding, the one who called the PGHM – that’s Chamonix mountain rescue – shouting at me in Italian all the time from above to stay awake and not give up.’

Philip laughed. ‘Lucky you understood him.’

‘Yeah. I’ll never forget it …
non mollare, non mollare mai
. Even if I hadn’t spoken Italian I would have got the gist.’ Fin suddenly had a glimmer of tears in his eyes. ‘I reckon I owe him my life.’ There was silence around the table for a moment. ‘Because when you get really cold,’ he addressed Bel, ‘your body just shuts down, and you lose consciousness, like going to sleep. And once that happens, unless you’re rescued pretty fast, well … ’

‘You die, you mean?’

Fin nodded slowly.

‘Awesome.’

‘But
you
clearly lived to tell the tale.’ Prue’s tone was sardonic.

Fin raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he replied.

They had finished the Tibetan curry. It was a success – rich and spicy and delicious – even with Bel, who wasn’t the most adventurous of eaters. Flora rose to collect the plates, unable to sit still in the face of the sudden tension.

‘I wouldn’t wish that end on anyone, but I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled you’re back in Flora’s life.’ The anger had gone from Prue’s tone, to be replaced by a weary resignation, as if she’d been battling to keep Fin at bay for a lifetime.

Flora carefully rinsed the plates off under the cold tap, stacking them to wash later.

‘Mum,’ she heard Bel plead.

She took the ice cream out of the freezer and carried the tub and five bowls to the table. The others watched as she took off the lid and peeled back the paper seal, tapping the creamy vanilla surface with a tablespoon. It clinked like sheet ice.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered into the silence, ‘I should have taken it out earlier.’

‘No hurry,’ Philip said.

‘I got some chocolate fudge sauce too,’ Fin grinned at Bel. ‘Your favourite.’ As he got up to retrieve it from the cupboard, Flora realised the last time Fin had seen Bel she was still a child of twelve. Nonetheless, her niece nodded her approval, clearly awkward under her mother’s chilly eye.

They sat round the table, eyes glued to the tub, as if their collective stare might somehow soften the ice cream. Flora shot a quick glance at her sister, but her face was closed and set. It was Fin who broke the silence.

‘We’re not asking for your approval, or expecting it, Prue. Your position’s entirely fair. I messed up. I’m just sorry I put you all through it.’

Prue looked at him suspiciously. ‘Approval for what?’

Fin smiled encouragingly at Flora and reached over to take her hand. It was a relief to have someone deal with her sister, not to be the brunt and focus of Prue’s annoyance for once.

‘We wanted you to know that we’ve decided to live together again. And it makes sense for us to be here, in your flat, until the hospital have finished with my leg.’

Flora saw Prue give Philip an ‘I told you so’ look, but Philip kept his face completely neutral.

When Fin and Flora had discussed this conversation, she had wanted him to ask Prue if it was OK for him to move in. But Fin had objected. ‘I won’t beg from your sister,’ he’d stated.

‘I’ve told Flora, it’s not up to me who she lives with.’

‘We just thought you should know,’ Flora said, matching her sister’s
froideur
.

They ate the ice cream in silence, no one with much appetite. Flora wished they would just go, and she was sure it was only politeness that kept them there.

‘I took Bel to see
Madame Butterfly
the other night.’ Philip’s
words seemed to balance on the tension, but were unable to dent it. ‘She wasn’t too impressed.’

‘I was, Dad … the soprano was brilliant, and it was cool to hear that famous aria live. But it’s such a dumb story, a girl of my age who falls in love with a guy she’s only seen for ten minutes, pines for him for three years then he comes back and she kills herself. All seemed a bit turgid and sentimental to me.’

Philip and Bel talked on about the opera, but no one else joined in.

‘We should probably go,’ Prue said eventually.

Flora and Fin both threw themselves onto the sofa as soon as they heard the door at the top of the stairs close.

‘That went well.’ He let out an exasperated sigh, and pulled her close against him.

‘She can be such a bitch,’ Flora said, closing her eyes.

Fin let out a low chuckle. ‘Christ, that look she gave me. No wonder the ice cream wouldn’t melt.’

‘I’m fed up with pandering to her. I don’t give a fuck if she never comes round to us being together.’

‘We mustn’t let it affect our happiness.’

‘Happiness.’ Flora turned the word over on her tongue. Not a word she’d felt applied to her till now. She seemed on the edge of something wonderful, but also frightening in its intensity: a daredevil leap into the unknown.

‘Kiss me,’ she said, turning her face up to meet his lips.

They made love for a long time that night. At first Flora had to force herself not to think about her sister’s coldness, but gradually the touch of his fingers tracing the contours of her body, his lips urgent on her own, his body hard and strong as it entwined with hers, drove her into a place where there was no room for anything but absolute abandonment to the senses, to the physicality of desire. And her thoughts were finally stilled.

22 October

‘Dorothea?’ Flora had just said goodbye to Mary Martin the following Monday morning, and had gone in to collect the old lady’s breakfast tray. At first she thought she was asleep, but her right hand was clutching at the duvet. ‘Dorothea?’ she repeated, going closer. But Dorothea didn’t answer, just stared at Flora, her expression bewildered and disoriented.

Flora noticed at once the droop on the left side of her face, and the dribble of saliva travelling from the corner of her drawn-down mouth.

‘Can you move your arm?’ she asked, laying her hand gently on Dorothea’s left hand. The old lady shook her head weakly, but then managed to lift it slightly.

Drawing back the covers, Flora said, ‘And your left leg? Can you lift that?’

Dorothea struggled, succeeding only in twitching her foot weakly. ‘I … can’t feel it … much.’ Her speech was slurred.

Flora covered her up, making her comfortable and mopping her chin with the napkin. ‘I think you’ve had a bit of a turn,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to call the doctor. I’ll be back in just a minute.’

After Simon Kent had examined Dorothea carefully, he said, ‘Looks like another TIA. Nothing much we can do, she’s on all the drugs already. Just give her lots of rest … usual stuff, and see how things go.’ He paused. ‘Of course this might be a precursor to a much bigger stroke.’

‘I hope if it is that it’s really huge.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Everyone’s worst nightmare, hanging on in some semi-paralysed state.’

‘Her father did just that, for almost two years apparently. She’s often said it’s what she fears most.’

‘Well, let’s hope for the best. I’ll drop by later on, on the way back from my morning visits. Should be around one?’

‘We’ll be here,’ she said with a smile.

*

‘I feel … not very well,’ Dorothea said later, as Flora gave her face and hands a quick wash to freshen her up.

‘You look a bit better than you did earlier,’ Flora said encouragingly.

‘I don’t know … what happened.’

‘I think it was just another of those funny turns you have. I’m sure you’ll be fine by tomorrow. But I think you should stay in bed at the moment, have a bit of a rest.’ She didn’t want to mention the word ‘stroke’, in case it frightened her.

The old lady stared at her as if she were having trouble understanding what Flora said.

‘I … would like to sleep.’

She dozed on and off during the morning, and when the doctor came back she was once more asleep.

‘Can you stay for a minute, see if she wakes? I could make you a sandwich.’

‘Umm …’ he checked his watch. ‘Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.’

Flora made him a ham and tomato sandwich, and they went through to the sitting room.

The doctor eyed her as he ate. ‘You’re really close to her, aren’t you?’

Flora nodded. ‘I’ve always done hospital work before, mostly A&E. You don’t have time to get attached. But I’ve been with Dorothea all day, every day for two years now. We really get on.’

‘Why did you give up A&E? Was it burn-out?’

‘No. I … got ill. This job was a stepping-stone back.’

He hesitated, perhaps about to ask about her illness. Instead he said, ‘Will you do the hospital thing again?’

‘I’ll have to. I need to earn more. I’m living off my sister’s charity at the moment, but that’s got to stop. Not least because she hates my boyfriend.’

Dr Kent looked surprised. ‘Why?’

‘She doesn’t like how he behaved in the past. Which I suppose is fair. But it’s all a bit tense between us right now.’

Prue had hardly spoken to her since the night of the curry, over a week ago now. Flora had gone up on the following morning, but her sister had just brushed off any mention of Fin. ‘Nothing more to say,’ she kept repeating. She’d been barely polite, obviously just waiting for Flora to go. Flora hadn’t bothered again, but the problem was a shadow over her life. Prue had never done this before, held her at arm’s length. It reminded her how much her sister meant to her; the only real family she had.

‘Was he unfaithful?’ The doctor’s question was tentative.

‘No, no. Never. Fin’s not like that.’ She sighed. ‘He … oh, you don’t want to hear.’

He waited, maybe thinking she would tell him anyway.

‘I should get back for afternoon surgery. Thanks for the sandwich. I’ll check on Dorothea before I go, see if she’s awake.’

But she wasn’t.

‘Call me tomorrow and tell me how she is. I’ll drop by if I can.’

Flora thanked him and walked with him to the door.

‘Families … can’t live with them, can’t live without them,’ the doctor muttered.

She laughed. ‘It’s normal I suppose.’

He turned to her. ‘It is … but you need your family.’

She saw the sadness in his eyes before he turned away.

*

Rene sat beside Dorothea, holding her hand.

‘You poor old thing.’

Dorothea smiled. ‘I think … I feel a little better.’

‘Good. Glad to hear it.’

Flora stood by the door. ‘Would you like some tea?’

Rene nodded, her wild hair bouncing around her face. ‘Lovely idea. Yes, please.’

‘Dorothea?’

The old lady stared solemnly at her. ‘I … don’t think so,’ she said slowly.

When Flora brought the mug of tea for Rene, Dorothea had turned her head to gaze at her friend.

‘I thought … perhaps … I might be going.’

‘Going where?’ Rene asked.

Dorothea lifted her right arm heavenwards, her finger outstretched and gave a wry smile.

Rene looked horrified. ‘Darling, please. You’re very far from dead and you shouldn’t joke about it.’

Flora sighed inwardly. Why did they all keep up this ridiculous pretence that Dorothea, unlike every other mortal on the planet, would live for ever?

‘That’s what Dominic said. But, as I told him, I’m not afraid.’

Rene squeezed her hand tight. ‘I’m glad you’re not, but I suppose I just don’t want to lose you.’

‘Nor I you,’ Dorothea replied. ‘That seems to be the most difficult thing about death … leaving the people you care about.’ She paused, her gaze far away. ‘You’ve all been so kind … even dear Dominic, going to the bother of selling the things I don’t want … tidying up for me.’

Rene looked puzzled. ‘What things, dear? What has Dominic sold?’ She glanced across at Flora, a small frown on her face.

Flora nodded, indicating that Rene should come outside.

‘What’s she talking about?’

‘Dominic promised he’d told you,’ Flora began. ‘He sold the walnut sewing table, and now he’s taken that wooden armchair. Dorothea seemed quite happy about it.’

‘Hmm. But he’s given her the money presumably? What did he get for them both?’

‘I don’t think he’s sold the chair yet – I think he said it might be worth about five hundred – but he got two hundred and fifty for the table.’

Rene gasped. ‘The one in the corner? The Georgian one? Two hundred and fifty? It’s worth ten times that!’

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, I should have told you myself. But he swore he’d talked to you.’ Flora cursed him under her breath. ‘Maybe he left a message you didn’t pick up?’

‘I doubt it.’ Rene sighed. ‘But even if he did, there’s still the fact that the table is worth way more than a measly two hundred and fifty pounds.’

‘Surely he wouldn’t deliberately rip Dorothea off?’ Even though Flora had never trusted the man, it seemed truly shocking that he would fleece the old lady so blatantly, and to that extent. Perhaps Rene didn’t know as much about antiques as she thought, she told herself. Or maybe Dominic was incompetent, for all his pompous blustering. ‘I suppose it’s his stuff, technically … if he’s her heir, as you said.’

‘That’s hardly the point! He might assume, but he doesn’t know for certain.’ Rene shook her head, her expression pained. ‘I’m surprised at you, Flora.’

‘I didn’t say
I
thought it was right. I certainly don’t. I just said perhaps
he
had reason to think it was.’

‘Yes, well … but I must talk to him anyway.’ She sighed dramatically, her face a mask of anxiety. ‘Nothing’s easy when you take on the care of an old person,’ she muttered, gathering her coat from the hook in the hall. ‘As soon as someone’s vulnerable, it seems to be open season.’