Delia’s distress. Delia would lament, ‘I’m not putting it on. I feel really terrible. Let me sleep, all I want to do is sleep.’
When Nurse Rumford left, Lorna would leer down at Delia. ‘Now you know what it feels like for the shoe to be on the other foot. For years you tormented me, made me feel less than a worm. You were brave and determined in those days about putting me down every chance you got. Me and others like poor Mrs Rawling. The first day she came into the shop after her daughter’s murder you cruelly told her that her Mary got what she deserved, shot like a dog for fornicating. You destroyed the remains of the poor woman’s dignity. You’re an evil, malicious witch. Well, you’re the one who is shit under my shoes now. I hate you and Soames hates you. Do us all a favour and die. Make it soon.’
Remembering every damning malicious word of Lorna’s, Delia flew into a rage. From somewhere deep inside her she let out a scream. It had hardly a decibel, but her wrath rendered up enough energy to allow her to push back the covers and drag her legs down over the edge of the bed. Bit by bit, grunting like a pig with half a nostril, she got her feet down to rest on the rug. She flopped her head to her chest and waited for her faintness to clear. Reaching out shakily she got a grip on a glass of water and slowly, slowly managed to take a few sips. It was risky owing to her burning need to urinate but she was desperate for sustenance.
‘Bitch!’ she gasped, her slumped body heaving in the effort. Her mind wasn’t hazy and she knew Lorna’s insistence and jeers about her being forgetful were lies. The fact was Lorna rarely put her meals close enough for her to eat and minutes later would laugh and take the uneaten food away. ‘You bitch, you’re starving me, trying to kill me. We’ll see about that.’
Delia had no notion that it was the day of the Summer Fair. Still believing she had been abandoned, but probably on a Sunday for a day’s jaunt, she was determined to get to the bathroom and then raise the alarm to her plight. Nurse Rumford might be attending her tomorrow but Delia wasn’t going to wait until then, to suffer any more of Soames’ neglect and Lorna’s cruelty.
Looking up she planned her way out of the bedroom by reaching out and grabbing hold of the chest of drawers, the wardrobe and the glass doorknob, she’d shuffle round the open door and get out of the room. If her legs failed her she would crawl to the bathroom on her hands and knees. Somehow she would do the necessary and get down the stairs on her bottom. Then she would haul herself up on to her knees at the nearest window and bang on the glass for help. Someone would be about sooner or later, neighbours going to and from the church or children outside playing.
It was proved that Nurse Rumford was right; she could use her legs. They were shaky and wobbly but inch by inch she was out of her room and lurching along the landing, with the aid of the wall and a tiny table with a potted fern on it. She had to pass the top of the stairs and then she could grab the bathroom doorknob.
She heard a clicking noise and paused to listen. She knew that noise. Someone had opened the kitchen door that connected to the passage below. A second later Lorna appeared, decked out like she had been to a wedding – but wait! She was wearing the new hat Delia had bought for the Summer Fair. Fury and indignation swept through Delia in burning waves. ‘Take off my hat, you thieving bitch!’ She hurled each word like a poisoned splinter down the stairs.
Lorna was pinned momentarily to the spot but then she hauled in the full confidence born out of her bitter resentment. She tossed her handbag on the gate-leg table. ‘So you’ve managed to get out of your stinking bed, have you, you sweating, smelly hag? You’d better move double quick if you want to make it to the bathroom or you’ll be fouling your prized Axminster, which you’re always boasting about, and if you do I won’t be cleaning it up. Instead I’ll rub your bleddy snooty