A bell was ringing intermittently and the sound fitted into a dream Rose was having. After the third or fourth time, she wriggled down in the sleeping bag and covered her exposed ear. Then the idea penetrated that this had to be a real sound. But if it’s the doorbell I’m supposed to ignore it, she told herself, remembering enough of yesterday’s instructions to justify her sloth. Fine. She felt so drowsy she could sleep for another six hours. Soon, surely, the bloody thing would stop.
Through the padded sleeping bag she could hear the ringing almost as clearly as before. Please give up and go away, she silently appealed to it.
Now the sound changed to knocking. Whoever it was had no consideration. Angrily she freed one arm and felt for the small digital clock on the shelf by the bed.
10.08.
She sat up and took in the scene, registering that she was in a strange room and that it was daylight and that her head felt like a butterfly farm.
The doorbell started up again.
Her surroundings began to make sense – the twin divans, the chipped tallboy, the wardrobe with a door that wouldn’t close properly – a job-lot of second-hand furniture to fill a flat. She remembered being brought here by her sister Doreen. Squirming out of the sleeping bag, she put her feet to the floor, padded through the living-room and looked through the spyhole. Doreen was out there, alone.
Rose released the safety-chain.
‘I thought you’d never come,’ Doreen said as she entered.
‘Asleep. Sorry.’
‘Why don’t you swish some cold water over your face and wake yourself up?’
‘Sadist.’
‘I did say I’d be here by ten. I’ll make coffee.’
Still light-headed in a way she didn’t like or understand, Rose went into the bathroom. The sensation of the water against her face helped a little. She took a shower and then remembered there was no bath-towel. After the bath last night she’d had to improvise. Fortunately the kitchen-roll she had used was still here and there was enough left, just. The coarse feel of the paper against her goose-pimpled skin did more to waken her than the shower. She slipped the nightdress over her head again. She could smell bacon cooking when she stepped into the living-room.
‘I’m getting you some breakfast,’ Doreen called out from the kitchen. ‘One egg or two?’
‘One’s enough. I feel just as if I took a sleeping-tablet.’
‘You did, darling. I popped a sedative into your tea last night.’
There was a second of shocked silence.
‘You didn’t?’ She went to the kitchen door and looked in, to see if the remark was serious.
Doreen said without looking away from the frying-pan, ‘It’s always difficult sleeping in a strange place, so I helped you out.’
‘You had no right.’ If she had not felt so muzzy, she would have objected more strongly. ‘I’m trying to get my brain working properly, not make it even more woolly.’
‘I guessed you’d say something like that. Get some clothes on and don’t be too long about it. This’ll be ready in five minutes.’
She didn’t feel alert enough to stand there arguing, but she would later, she would.
Over breakfast, she registered another protest about the sedative, but Doreen dismissed it. ‘That was only something herbal that I take myself. It might have a very good effect on your amnesia.’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘Relaxing you.’
She made it as clear as she could that she didn’t want any more sedatives secretly administered. ‘Look, if we’re going to stay on speaking terms, there’s got to be some trust between us.’
Doreen started to say, ‘I was only doing it-’
‘… for my own good? Well, I’d rather decide for myself what’s good for me.’
Doreen suggested a walk. The sun was out, she said, and they should make the best of it.
They strolled around St James’s Square and left at the north-west end to make their way up the hill in search of a good viewpoint.
Rose asked, ‘Are you and Jerry planning anything today?’
‘Planning anything?’
‘Sightseeing.’
She sounded relieved. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. No plans. Jerry’s not feeling too good. Last night’s wine, I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Some little Italian place in the centre of town. I didn’t even look at the name. We made the mistake of ordering a bottle of the house wine. Jerry had most of it. The taste put me off.’
‘Is it a headache, or what?’
‘Tummy. He doesn’t dare go out. I don’t think you’ll be seeing him today, poor old thing.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, I’m assuming it was the wine. We don’t want our holiday ruined.’
‘How many days are left?’ Rose asked.
Doreen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Of the holiday. When do we all go home?’
‘Oh. Tuesday or Wednesday.’
Rose wondered if she could hold out so long. ‘Wouldn’t it be simpler all round if I took a train home this afternoon? You wouldn’t have to pay for the flat and you two could enjoy your holiday without bothering about me.’
‘I thought we’d been through that,’ Doreen said in her brisk, assertive way. ‘We couldn’t possibly enjoy ourselves in the knowledge that you’ve gone off again. You’re in no state to cope on your own. Besides, you don’t know where you live.’
‘Hounslow, you said.’
She gave a smile that said she could trump anything. ‘Yes, but I didn’t tell you the address, did I? And I won’t, just in case you get ideas of wandering off.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Rose said with a glare. ‘I haven’t got enough for a train ticket.’
They toiled right up to Lansdown Crescent by way of Somerset Place. The panorama of the city, the limestone walls gleaming in the thin autumnal sunshine, was worth the climb. Against all her inclinations, Rose had to concede that you could do worse than pass a few days here.
Doreen took a wallet from her handbag and handed across two ten-pound notes. ‘Take it. Really. You may want to do some shopping. Tomorrow we’ll go into town together and get some more food in. Make a note of anything you need. Would it suit you better if I came in the afternoon?’
She came alone again. Jerry, she said, sent his apologies. He was still quite poorly. Rose found herself unkindly wondering if Jerry’s upset stomach might bring a premature end to the holiday.
The possibility didn’t seem to have crossed Doreen’s mind, because she insisted on buying Rose a set of towels and three days’ supply of groceries. They had tea and pastries in Jolly’s department store.
‘How did you spend yesterday evening?’
‘Reading.’
‘One of those books in the flat?’
‘An old Georgette Heyer. I don’t want anything more demanding.’
‘You’re still blocked – your memory, I mean?’
‘Unfortunately.’
They were so laden with shopping that Doreen suggested a taxi. She was less bossy today, and Rose quite enjoyed her company. They emerged into Milsom Street to discover that this was the Bath version of a rush hour and all the cabs coming down from George Street were occupied. They stood uncertainly, watching the steady one-way flow of traffic.
