‘I’m sorry about the fuss,’ Iris said to Hathaway. She glared at Bex. ‘She panicked. And she won’t let me get up. It’s cold down here.’
Bex had covered Iris with a blanket and put a pillow under her head, but Iris was still managing to imply that Bex had violated the Human Rights Act.
‘She did exactly the right thing,’ Hathaway said, gently checking Iris over. ‘You are severely dehydrated. When did you last take a drink?’
‘Ten minutes ago,’ Iris said.
‘And before that?’
Iris looked away. ‘I had tea this morning.’
Bex looked on the counter. There was a full mug of cold tea on the side, the milk, which had separated slightly, giving it an unpleasant, scummy look.
‘You made it, but I don’t think you drank it.’
Iris narrowed her eyes and Bex cut in before she could say something she might regret. ‘I’m just saying.’
The doctor was taking Iris’s blood pressure and she gave them both a warning look. After a moment of silence, she put away the meter. ‘You need to be hydrated. Easiest would be an overnight at the Royal United.’
‘No hospital.’ Iris pressed her lips together in a stubborn line.
‘Up to bed, then?’
‘Yes,’ Iris said, already trying to stand up. Between them, the doctor and Bex got Iris upstairs and into her room. ‘I don’t need to get changed, just my shoes off.’
They helped Iris into bed, although this mainly involved Iris shooing them away and telling them ‘not to fuss’. The doctor gave instructions for mixing up an electrolyte-replacing drink. ‘You need an IV, really,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘I promise to take tiny sips at regular intervals for the next twelve hours,’ Iris said.
‘You can’t promise that. You’ll fall asleep,’ Bex said, then ducked out of the bedroom in case Iris decided to throw something at her. She went downstairs to mix the drink and, as she left the room, she heard the doctor say: ‘Fine. Have it your way.’
Bex mixed the powder into some water and stirred it until the grains had dissolved, then she took it back upstairs. She passed the glass to Iris who sipped some and looked at them both defiantly. ‘You can go now. I’m perfectly fine.’
‘I’ll check in on you in the morning,’ Hathaway said, closing the bedroom door.
They walked downstairs, silent by tacit agreement. Bex didn’t want Iris to overhear. ‘You can’t leave her. Shouldn’t we call an ambulance, anyway?’
‘She’ll be all right. I’ve seen her in a worse state than this.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Bex said. ‘Aren’t there community nurses and stuff?’
The doctor shook her head. ‘Iris won’t take help.’
‘She’s too stubborn for her own good.’
Hathaway smiled. ‘I think she’s doing so well because she’s stubborn. Can you stay around for bit, though? Make sure she drinks the rest of that glass and make her up another one?’
How did this happen? One day out of work and she was volunteering as outreach for the elderly. Her mother was right; she was a sucker.
‘I can stay for an hour,’ Bex said.
‘Great.’ Hathaway was packing things away into her bag. ‘She likes you, I can tell.’
***
When Iris woke it was early morning. Light was coming through the gap in the curtains and the air was filled with rampant birdsong. Iris loved hearing them, especially in the spring when their enthusiasm was tinged with a manic energy. She got up slowly, waiting for the ache in her back to reignite to yesterday’s level of unpleasantness.
After she’d managed to wash and dress and get downstairs without incident, she felt a lift of triumph. Which was quickly squashed by what she saw through her living room door. The girl, Rebecca Adams, was asleep on her sofa. ‘I’m not running a hostel,’ she said, loudly, and enjoyed the sight of the girl sitting straight up as if she’d been electrocuted.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said. She rubbed her eyes. ‘That wasn’t very nice.’
‘Neither is squatting. What are you doing here?’
‘Don’t you remember? Last night?’
‘I remember perfectly well,’ Iris said, wishing she didn’t. Humiliation. That’s what old age brought. Continual low-grade humiliation with occasional spikes of acute embarrassment. ‘I don’t recall asking you to stay.’
‘Doctor Hathaway did.’ The girl stood up and stretched. A loud cracking sound came from her shoulders. ‘And you were in no state to be left alone.’
‘Nonsense,’ Iris said. ‘You are making a fuss about nothing.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘You should call someone. Seriously.’
Iris made a shooing motion with her hands. She didn’t need help from anybody. It would ruin her reputation, for starters.
‘Who’s Gwen?’
Iris frowned. ‘My great-niece. Do you know her?’
‘No,’ Bex shook her head. ‘You said her name when I came in last night, that’s all.’
‘Oh.’ Iris looked away. ‘Her mother, Gloria, lived with me for a while.’
‘Right.’
‘We never became close,’ Iris said, ‘but she used to bring her girls round to see me. Ruby and Gwen.’
‘That was nice,’ Bex said.
‘Ruby was nothing special, but Gwen was very talented.’ Iris said.
‘Wow, poor Ruby,’ Bex said, her hand on the door handle. ‘You can be very harsh, you know.’
The child knew nothing. ‘I’m just being honest. It’s generally for the best.’
Having managed to shoo Rebecca from the house, Iris tried to get back to normal. The girl’s words haunted her, though. Had she grown mean in her old age? She hadn’t been once, she knew. Once she’d been a kind person. A person worth loving.
James Farrier had been everything that Iris hadn’t even known she’d wanted. He’d looked at her as if she were truly precious and it had warmed her right through to her bones. The wedding date had been set and Iris was counting down the days until she became Mrs Farrier. She’d told James about her affliction and he’d called her a silly goose, said that it was just like her to give people things, that he loved her generous nature. Iris had meant to correct him, to explain more fully that it had
