When You Walked Back Into My Life (8 page)

‘Flora?’ His tone softened to hardly more than a whisper, and she felt his hand on her shoulder. ‘Please. Can we meet up? Just once?’

She looked up at him finally. Their eyes met, and a frisson of pure longing passed through her tired body as she took in his familiar face, his expression both boyish and pleading. She tore her gaze away.

‘OK …’ She rattled her mobile number off. His face looked panicked as he tried to remember it while rooting around in his Eastpak for a pen, quoting the number back to himself. She relented, and repeated it more slowly. He found a pen and wrote hastily on the back of his hand. She remembered him often writing stuff on his hand or the inside of his wrist, and also her frequent, lighthearted advice to him that this wasn’t the best way to file information.

The lift doors opened and she wheeled Dorothea into the crowded interior, everyone pressing themselves against the sides to make room for the chair. There was no space for Fin, and she didn’t turn round as the doors closed.

*

Flora had thought she would sleep like the dead that night. When she got home, almost dizzy with exhaustion, she just
ate some toast, drank a large glass of water and was in bed before nine o’clock. But minutes later her mobile pinged with a message. Fin, she thought, as she reached across for it, and suddenly she was wide awake.

Last night great. Should do it again soon? Best, Jake
, read the text.

She fell back on the pillows, disappointed, and then cursed herself for giving in and letting Fin have her number. She felt suddenly on the back foot, as had so often been the case in the past – waiting for him, in thrall to him, however willingly. And although she wanted him to ring, part of her also dreaded hearing what he had to say: perhaps that he had moved on, or that he just wanted to exonerate himself, no more than that. Fantasies that he still loved her were nothing short of imbecilic, she knew. And here was Jake, willing to take her on.

Yes, I enjoyed it too. Bad head now! See you soon,
she texted back to Jake on the spur of the moment.

*

Flora mooched around for the rest of the weekend, checking her mobile a ridiculous number of times, and gradually getting more and more angry with Fin. Why did he ask for my number if he wasn’t going to use it? she asked herself repeatedly. What does he want from me? But however much she talked herself down, the feeling that she might see him again drove her heart to race, put her off her food, made her languish on the sofa, dreaming, like a lovesick teenager.

She was glad when it was Monday again.

‘Morning Keith,’ she said, stopping by the porter’s desk.

Keith’s face lit up. ‘Florence! Haven’t seen much of you recently. How’s it all going?’

‘Not so bad,’ Flora replied. ‘You?’

For once Keith Godly didn’t pull a face. ‘Yeah. Not so bad my end either. Been out a bit …’ He looked embarrassed and hurried on. ‘Nothing serious yet.’

‘Know the feeling.’ Flora decided the porter did look different this morning, his heavy face topped with the dark buzz-cut somehow brighter, a light in his normally troubled eyes.

‘Do you now? So you’ve got something brewing too?’

‘You could put it like that,’ she laughed.

Keith nodded approvingly. ‘Nothing like a bit of action to lift the spirits, eh?’

Mary looked relieved to see her and immediately pulled
her into the kitchen before she even had time to take off her coat.

‘Happened again. Sunday night, just like last week. She was as twitchy as hell all night. Calling out all the time, saying she was uncomfortable, or wanted a wee, anything and nothing. Seems she just wanted me there.’

‘But she didn’t seem ill?’

‘I took her blood pressure, which was quite high, but it often is. And she doesn’t have a temperature. I’m saying, it’s just like last time.’

Both of them stood thinking for a while.

‘You don’t think it has anything to do with Pia do you? I mean, that’s two weeks running that she’s been like this on a Sunday night. And Pia stayed over Saturday night both weeks, didn’t she?’

Mary nodded, reaching for the kettle and filling it. ‘Pia said she needed the extra work, and I must say it was grand having the night off.’

‘So Pia was here all weekend each time.’

Mary looked at her, frowning. ‘Are you thinking there’s something going on?’

Flora told her about what Rene had said.

‘But can you imagine Pia being mean to anyone?’ Mary countered.

‘No, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t, does it?’

‘Should you talk to Dorothea again?’

‘I suppose. But I don’t want to put something into her mind about Pia if it’s not true.’

‘Christ,’ Mary muttered. ‘Pia seemed very bright and breezy about the day when I came on. How can we find out then?’

‘I’ll try again, and I’ll tell Rene. Not sure what else we can do.’

Mary’s brow darkened. ‘If anyone’s bullying that sweet old lady, she’ll have me to answer to.’

‘Well, hold on. Let’s establish some facts first. It’s probably nothing to do with any of us.’

*

Flora waited till she had settled Dorothea. It was a gloomy day, and she put the lamp on next to the old lady’s chair, then sat down opposite her on the sofa.

‘Dorothea, I … er … I wanted to ask you about Pia.’ This wasn’t the first time she had asked, but the old lady was always vague in her replies.

‘Pia?’ She looked blankly at Flora.

‘You know, the nurse who looks after you at the weekend.’

Dorothea looked away, then down at her hands.

‘Dorothea?’

‘What is it that you want to know?’ she eventually replied.

‘Well, I was wondering if you like having her here.’

There was a very long pause.

‘I think she’s … helpful.’

Flora was puzzled by the word. ‘So you do nice things together do you? She said in the report that she took you to church on Sunday … in Eldon Road?’

Another pause.

‘She … No, she didn’t.’

Flora was surprised, but maybe Dorothea had forgotten. It was possible. Surely Pia wouldn’t lie about something like that?

‘So you didn’t see Reverend Jackson?’ She knew how much Dorothea loved the charismatic vicar of her church.

‘I … don’t think so,’ the old lady replied.

‘You know that Rene can stop Pia coming if you don’t like having her here.’

Dorothea looked at her, her expression suddenly alert.

‘We can easily get another nurse to look after you at the weekends,’ Flora added.

‘Can you?’ Her pale eyes looked doubtful.

‘Yes. It would be no problem. You wouldn’t have to see her again.’ It would be a problem, in fact, finding a really good nurse to take over weekends. But Flora knew Rene would go to the ends of the earth to protect her friend, if that’s what was needed.

Dorothea seemed sunk in thought, to the extent that
Flora began to wonder if she had forgotten what they were talking about.

‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea.’ The old lady spoke slowly but firmly.

‘So Pia is kind to you. You like having her here.’

Her patient stared at her for a long time. ‘I … think it’s best to leave things as they are,’ she said.

Flora didn’t know what to think. Surely, if Pia was the problem Dorothea would have said something to one of them by now. She and Rene had given her every opportunity.

On her way out to the shops, she questioned Keith.

‘I’m not up here much on the weekends,’ he told her. ‘I know who you mean … small Asian lady, plumpish. We’ve said hello once or twice.’

‘So you wouldn’t know if she took Miss Heath-Travis to church on Sundays, for instance?’

Keith shrugged. ‘Not sure how she’d get the chair down those steps, she’s only a wee thing. She hasn’t asked me, but maybe one of the residents helped her out?’

Flora sighed.

‘Problem?’

‘Not sure.’ She wasn’t going to point the finger, but Keith had understood anyway.

‘I can check on them next weekend if you like. Wouldn’t
be a problem to make up some excuse to drop in. I’ve got a key.’

Flora thought about this. ‘That might be helpful. Can I let you know when I’ve talked to Rene?’

*

Dorothea slept for almost two hours that afternoon. Flora took the opportunity to ring Rene and tell her what had happened, but she wasn’t sure what to do either.

‘Keep an eye,’ she told Flora in her breathless high-pitched voice. ‘Let me know what you think by Thursday, so we have time to get something else organised if necessary. I’m going to ring Pia and see if she can throw any light on it all. We mustn’t fall into the trap of blaming her unless we’re absolutely sure. I must say, I find it hard to believe … Dorothea might just be going a bit dotty.’

As Flora finished the call, she found a text from Jake:
Do you fancy music and pizza Tuesday eve? Got friend playing jazz in Soho caff. Might be a laugh. Jake x

Without hesitation she replied,
Yes, love to. What time?

Starts eight. Later ok. You say.

Flora told him she’d be there by eight-thirty. She’d ask Mary to come half an hour earlier, and she’d make it up the following morning. They’d done it before.

Great, Flora thought. That sounds like fun. There had been nothing from Fin, and each passing hour of silence
chipped away at her burgeoning dreams, making her angrier, more determined than ever to put him behind her and begin enjoying her life.

When Dorothea woke up she seemed disorientated and still anxious.

‘You … are here today?’

Flora nodded. ‘All week.’

‘Every day?’ Dorothea asked, working her fingers together as they lay on the bedcover.

‘Yes, every day.’

‘You said something … about another nurse coming?’

‘Not for my days.’ Flora wanted to make it very clear. ‘I am coming all week, every week. That’s not changing. I was only asking you if you wanted another nurse for Saturday and Sunday when I’m not here.’

Dorothea nodded and seemed to relax. ‘I’m so sorry … I wasn’t quite sure …’

*

Flora was getting Dorothea’s supper, beating the eggs in a plastic bowl, when the doorbell rang. It was Dr Kent.

‘Hi, Flora. Bad time?’

Flora shook her head. ‘No, come in. I was just getting her supper.’ The sound of canned laughter blared from the television in the sitting room. ‘
Dad’s Army
. Her favourite,’ she explained with a long-suffering grin.

‘Could be worse, could be
Nightmare on Elm Street
. I was just passing and I hadn’t seen you … well, Dorothea, for a few days. How is she?’

‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’d like to tell you something.’

‘Such a difficult thing to call,’ Simon Kent said, when she’d finished explaining. He was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, cradling his cup, as Flora got on with setting Dorothea’s tray. ‘From what you say, she does seem to be getting more confused since the last TIA, and perhaps the Sunday night thing is just coincidence. Someone ought to talk to Pia in any case. Find out what she has to say about what Dorothea’s like in the daytime.’

‘Rene’s doing that, but according to the report, she’s fine. It says they do things together, like go to church and to the park, but when you ask Dorothea, she says they didn’t.’

‘Ill-treatment of the elderly is rampant,’ he said, ‘and it’s notoriously difficult to prove, unless they speak out.’ He watched her as she melted butter in the small pan and dropped the eggs in for scrambling.

‘I’m glad you don’t put milk in. Ruins it,’ he commented.

She smiled. ‘Mum used to put loads in, and it dribbled out of the egg all over the plate.’

‘Don’t complain. You’re lucky your mother made scrambled eggs at all. I don’t think mine even knew where the kitchen was.’

Flora was surprised. ‘You had servants?’

‘Nooo, me and my brother just looked after ourselves most of the time. She had … hard to put this delicately … a drink problem.’

‘And your father?’

‘He couldn’t handle it. He left, came back, left again. He did his best for a while, but then he met someone else and moved away. You know how it is.’

Flora took some sliced brown bread from the plastic packet and spread butter on it, then cut it up into quarters and laid them round the edge of the plate before spooning the egg into the middle.

‘Your brother’s older?’ she asked.

‘Younger. He’s a research scientist at Cambridge – DNA stuff.’ She could hear the pride in his voice.

‘God, must have been such a responsibility for you.’

The doctor gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘Could say that.’ He put his empty mug in the sink and ran some water into it. ‘It was my daughter’s fourth birthday at the weekend, and I suppose it made me think about the whole fathering thing. Nothing, literally nothing on this planet, would make me lose touch with Jasmine.’

Flora put the plate on the floral-patterned plastic tray and added a glass of water. She waited for a moment, not sure what to say.

‘Sorry, don’t know why I’m laying my dismal past at your door,’ he went on as he moved aside to let her through, the expression in his eyes suddenly miles away.

‘Don’t apologise. It’s good to find out something about you. I feel we’ve known each other for years without knowing anything at all.’

‘I haven’t found out anything about you though, except your mum put too much milk in the scrambled eggs – and you can’t dance.’

Flora grinned. ‘No, well, you might want to keep it that way.’

He shook his head.

‘Anyway, about Dorothea. Do you want me to talk to her?’

Flora considered this. ‘Thanks, but leave it for now. Both Mary and I have been on at her and she’s just clammed up. I don’t want to upset her.’

‘Of course not. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ He picked up his black bag. ‘I’d better let you get on.’

They said goodbye, leaving Flora with memories of her mother absent-mindedly doling out their supper in the family kitchen in Kent. The house was a 1930s suburban four-bedroom, the furniture and decor mostly reproduction and without much style, but the garden, sloping up to a small copse, was a work of art. Prue always said she and Flora were surplus to requirements for their parents. Linda Bancroft
went through the motions of mothering in a conscientious way, but always seemed happier alone in her garden.