Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,43

commode!’ she shrieked. She sensed that much but comprehended little otherwise; her eyes stayed glazed.

‘Now, now, the nurse said you were to shuffle along to the bathroom. We must get you moving again,’ Lorna said officiously, enjoying herself. She dragged away the bed table and pulled back the bedcovers. It was very satisfying not to have to bother to be gentle. ‘Swing round and I’ll put your slippers on.’

‘I can’t. Oh no, it’s too late,’ Delia wailed, horribly awake now.

As a strong-smelling dark yellow stain pooled around Delia’s lower regions, even though Lorna knew she would have to clean it up – and Delia too – Lorna laughed softly, gloating.

‘I’ll report this to the doctor the moment I’ve got you sorted out, poor thing. I will insist they take your illness seriously. You could have something really dreadful wrong with you.’

‘Oh, do you think so?’ Delia sobbed clearly in fear, her wan face hot with shame.

‘It reminds me of a young family man I once knew. One minute he was as strong as an ox then some strange malady overtook him and he went swiftly downhill. Can’t remember what was wrong with him but he was dead and buried inside two months. Now don’t you worry, Delia. I’ll soon have you sorted.’

It took nearly an hour before Lorna got Delia’s floppy naked body washed and into a clean nightdress. While Delia shivered slumped on the easy chair that Soames had carried upstairs for the early days of her infirmity, Lorna added a quilted bed jacket and a plaid wool shawl round her quivering shoulders.

‘Thank you, Lorna,’ Delia addressed her humbly for the first time. ‘I’m sorry you have to do this.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Lorna replied cheerfully, tackling the soiled bed linen. Thankfully Nurse Rumford always advised a rubber sheet for a sick room, so the mattress had been spared. ‘You couldn’t help it.’ Never was there a truer word, Lorna revelled to herself. Delia’s humiliation would be complete when the neighbours saw the extra bed linen hanging on the washing line this week.

‘Is the shop busy?’ Delia mumbled, trying to stay awake.

‘Quite busy, I think. While Soames was taking his crib, I served Mrs Resterick.’

‘Did she ask after me?’

Delia halted at unfolding the clean bottom sheet and her eyes bored into Delia. ‘No, not at all.’

‘Oh, does anyone ask after me now?’ Delia kept her heavy head up with a hand.

‘No, no one, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh . . .’ Tears filled the edges of Delia’s droopy eyes. ‘I haven’t seen Soames for days. Seems I’ve been forgotten, that no one cares about me.’

‘Yes, Delia.’ Lorna licked her lips with delight and went up to Delia and hissed into her ear. ‘I’m afraid it does. You’re quite forgotten and no cares about you any more.’

Twelve

Taking her new position seriously, Fiona dragged herself out of bed early each morning and got dressed to make Finn’s breakfast and prepare his crib box of sandwiches and her home-made cake. Neither spoke much over the kitchen table, both glumly polite, like strangers. Over a single cup of tea Fiona would plan her day’s cleaning and cooking. Finn would eat quickly and go up to his room to give Eloise her first bottle and nappy change and dress her for the day. Fiona would hear him talking and laughing to Eloise, amusing her with toys and rattles, but Fiona was too raw inside to be warmed by it, to feel the pride in her son that others constantly remarked she must have in him. All she was glad about was that the baby, secure in Finn’s devotion, always drifted off to sleep and stayed down for the next two to three hours so she could get on. She and Finn were talking now. If he went to the hall building-works she would ask him how he’d got on and he’d tell her. He would ask her how Eloise was throughout the day and how Fiona’s day had been. They were talking, politely, warily, and just about giving each other a smile.

Finn would bid her a quick goodbye, his tin crib box tucked inside a long-handled cloth bag Dorrie had made for him, reminding Fiona if anyone happened to be calling there that day, usually Dorrie or Belle. Then Fiona put all her energies into her duties. Keeping Merrivale pristine, without a thing out of place, and tending the burgeoning gardens was her means of keeping sane. It had turned into an obsession, she knew that; she