Dirty Game

mown grass. She could hear birds singing.

I’m in heaven, she thought. I died and now I’m in heaven.

There was no pain now, but her body still felt heavy. She tried to raise an arm but it felt like a ton weight and she let it fall back on to the bed. Something stirred over by the window. A woman in a chair there. A woman in a white cap. She looked over at Annie and put down her knitting and came over to the bed.

An angel.

‘You’re with us at last then?’ she asked.

Annie nodded. But she was tired. She closed her eyes and was gone again.

62

Ruthie was still furious. After three days of anxiety and police questions and waiting and hoping, Annie finally came back to full consciousness at last. Her surgeon was confident that she should make a full recovery from the wound caused by the bullet that had passed straight through her body and embedded itself in the wall behind Max’s desk. In its passage it nicked her aorta and one lung, but missed her heart and her spine. She was lucky.

After two weeks of being hospitalized, Annie was pronounced fit enough to go home, providing she had nursing care. Without debate, Max had her moved to the Surrey house and hired the best private nurses to attend her round the clock. And he stayed at the house. He’d never stayed there for Ruthie, but he stayed for Annie.

Which only added to Ruthie’s rage. In fact she was royally pissed off with the whole thing. Max dropping everything for Annie but never for her was a bitter pill to swallow. But then – she’d learned to live with that a long time ago.

She kept away from Annie’s room for some time. Max would be there, or the nurses, and she was full of resentment that Annie got the five-star treatment while she was disregarded totally. When she finally went up to the wood-panelled guest room at the front of the house – yes, he’d put her in one of the best rooms, with the French windows and the balcony and the views out over the garden – she didn’t enter. She just stood at the door and looked in.

The nurse was changing Annie’s dressings. Annie was sitting up half-naked against the pillows and she was wincing in pain as the bandages were pulled away from the pus-covered dressings on her chest.

Does that stupid woman have to be so rough about it? wondered Ruthie in irritation. Ruthie didn’t know which peeved her most. Annie for getting herself into this state, or the nurse for handling her with such apparent lack of care. Annie cried out as the nurse tried to pull the dirty dressing away from the wound.

Ruthie found herself rushing in and over to the bed.

‘Don’t pull her ruddy skin off,’ she said, pushing the woman back, away from her sister. Annie was sweating with pain, she saw. That enraged Ruthie even more.

‘The dressing has to come off, Mrs Carter,’ said the nurse, colouring up with annoyance.

‘Why not use a bloody crowbar and have done with it? Go on, get out, I’ll do it.’

And so Ruthie found herself nursing her sister back to health. Part of her wanted to let Annie rot, but she couldn’t do it. Despite everything that Annie had done, she didn’t want to lose her. And now she had something that demanded all of her attention, the booze didn’t seem quite so necessary as it had before.

Ruthie carefully dabbed the dressing free of the healing wound with warm water. Annie lay back weakly on her pillows and watched her sister’s face as she worked with gentle hands. Much gentler than the nurse’s, feeling Annie’s pain and not wanting to add to it.

‘You shouldn’t be doing this,’ said Annie as Ruthie put on fresh dressings and then helped her lean forward a little so that she could look at Annie’s back and attend to the exit wound.

Ruthie repeated the procedure she had performed at the front.

‘I’m your sister,’ she said roughly. ‘Who else should do it?’

After that, Ruthie had a word with Max and they disposed of the day nurse’s services but kept the night nurse.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked her, more than just a little surprised.

‘That woman was far too rough,’ said Ruthie. ‘It’s better I take over.’

So Ruthie took over during the days, changing Annie’s dressings, feeding her, bathing her, bringing her bedpan and finally helping her to the bathroom. Inch by inch, Annie was mending. Max came up to see her. Ruthie’s excellent care of her sister was working small miracles every day, he could see it. The colour was coming back into her cheeks. She was gaining a little weight. Ruthie fussed around her constantly.

‘I don’t deserve this,’ said Annie sometimes, her eyes sad as she watched her sister hustle efficiently around the sickroom.

‘Rubbish,’ said Ruthie, folding towels and pouring barley water and straightening the bedspread.

Annie caught her hand. ‘I don’t deserve it,’ she said, holding Ruthie’s eyes with her own.

‘You’re my sister,’ said Ruthie firmly. ‘I want to do it, it gives me the higher ground for a change, Annie Bailey. Just be a good patient and shut up and let me get on with it.’

Annie had to smile. ‘Now you’re even talking like a nurse.’

‘Well, listen to me and you’ll hear a lot of sense,’ said Ruthie, but she almost smiled back. ‘You can go out in the garden this afternoon. It’s warm. The fresh air will do you good.’

‘Yes, Matron,’ said Annie.

‘You’re doing fine now,’ said Ruthie. ‘That wound’s as good as healed.’

‘Thanks to you.’

‘Nonsense. You’re as strong as a horse, that’s all. Take more than a bullet to stop you in your tracks.’ Ruthie tidied the sheets and told her to lean forward, then plumped up the pillows.

‘I’m off up to London this afternoon,’ said Ruthie while she worked. ‘Going to stay at Queenie’s place up there for a bit.’

‘Oh.’ Annie frowned. It had been so nice having Ruthie around her. But she understood. Annie was well enough now to manage on her own, and this situation must be slowly killing her. Max coming up and sitting on Annie’s bed and the pair of them talking quietly and holding hands. She’d walked in on them once or twice and quietly excused herself. She never stayed in the room if they were together.

Now, Annie was stronger. They would be together even more. Max seemed hardly capable of keeping away. She thought that Ruthie accepted that, but of course the poor mare didn’t want to stop here and see it with her own eyes.

Annie caught her sister’s hand as she came and sat on the bed for a moment. ‘You’ve been wonderful,’ she said.

‘That’s me. Wonderful Ruthie.’

Annie laughed. ‘Mum always said you were.’

‘Dad always said you were.’ Ruthie looked at Annie and felt that whole mix of emotions again, the anger, the annoyance, the jealousy and – yes – the love. She wanted to forgive her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

‘I can’t ever begin to thank you enough, Ruthie.’

‘We’re family. We don’t have to thank each other.’ Ruthie freed her hand and stood up and looked down at her little sister. ‘Now you keep well, okay? No more getting shot. No messing about.’

Annie nodded, feeling desolate. This felt like goodbye. Hell, this was goodbye. She knew it. Ruthie wouldn’t be coming back here again, not while she was here.

‘Goodbye now,’ said Ruthie, and dropped a quick kiss on to Annie’s cheek. Then she hurriedly left the room.

It was only when Ruthie had closed the bedroom door behind her that she broke down and cried her heart out.