CHAPTER TWO

The next day Mallory had not been able to obtain the early twentieth century music she had wanted, but in the end had found a varied enough selection to begin the new attack on Nigella’s past. The hunt however, had not started well. Kylie had kept her up late and somehow she had drunk to excess.

It had come as a shock to see it was just the three of them for dinner. Then Jenna had revealed she was going on to a party. They could join her if they liked. It was a big bash over at Rochester House. Not that she had not enjoyed Kylie’s company … she had, it had been fun. After several courses, tasting all manner of interesting dishes, she had suggested they drop into the new night spot, just around the corner. She had hesitated: “Five minutes … for a nightcap?”

She remembered what a spunk she had looked as she made the suggestion, tilting her head to one side in that way of hers, and smiling invitingly. She had been persuaded. Five minutes must have turned into two or three hours. She could not blame Ky though. She was the one who had brought the bottle to her lips; who had gyrated her body on the dance floor ’til she thought she would fly.

The Brass Bottle was a mixed club, Straights and Gays. The ambience was hot, marijuana in the air; the music a fusion of hip-hop and funk. Everyone was drinking ‘coolers’ or ‘crushes’. It was like old times and they had knocked themselves out. Back at the residence Kylie had invited her in for one last drink and in her revitalized state she had said: “Yes”. Oh Mal and you resolved not to hurt the girl.

She reviewed her behaviour under a cloud of lacerating recriminations as she cycled over to the hospital. She was not proud of herself. You should have known better. Of course, they had ended up on the couch and then Kylie had become all ‘touchy-feely’. She had responded and she had to admit, Ky was a good kisser. It had been a long time since she had felt the softness of a woman’s mouth. She had realised she had almost forgotten its heady impact, but those kisses had brought it all back … and her body….

She shook her head. She should have stopped, but she had been carried along on the lustful wave. When the realisation had come to her just how far they had gone, she had pulled back and that really had pissed Kylie off, right royally. Although she attempted to cover it up, she could tell Kylie had tried to be persuasive by revealing some of her inner feelings, but it was no good. Once she knew how Kylie felt about her, she just could not let it go further. Her heart had not been in it, only her body. She could not pour blame if she refused to acknowledge her from now on. I don’t want to speak to me either. Kylie cares and I was only using her.

Now she had woken up late, thick and groggy and missed her session at the gym. On top of that it had taken three goes to find suitable music, so frustrating. No one store had had everything she needed and searching had used up most of the morning, what little there was of it.

Well here she was, but really, she did not feel like doing this today despite its crisp, clear effulgence. It was that brown end of summer, the bright flowers all but over. The subtler hues of autumn’s blooms however, seemed especially fresh and intense, outlined as they were with molten gold from the dazzling sun. This glare only served to increase the pounding in her head and it stung her eyes. Disgruntled, she was oblivious to these seductive attractions, including the amber tinge to the oak leaves on the turn. Still there was no choice her week was jammed tight, so it was today or not at all. Parking her bike in the stand, she adjusted the weight of the backpack and set herself on a determined approach.

Sunday afternoon was usually a busy time on the wards with open visiting hours, but D Ward was quiet. These were not your regular hospital patients; here there was no chatting in the day-room, or bustling arranging of pretty flowers. As case manager she had no problem with access. On checking in, she explained her purpose and asked if it would be possible for them not to be interrupted. Staff Nurse gave her a ‘Do Not Disturb’, sign.

Nigella was out in the recliner her feet elevated on the foot-rest. Although still quite thin and gaunt in the face there was more colour to her cheeks and perhaps the dark circles under the eyes were less pronounced. At Mallory’s entrance she looked over and her face lit up in a radiant smile. What a wonderful welcome. However the pleasure was hollow, as she revised her first impression. It was probably just the interruption in a tedious solitude.

Upon further reflection she had decided not to continue in the role of butler. It was not what she wanted and really, it would do Nigella no good in the long run. So today she greeted her not by name or title, but as a friend. She put her feet down and sat her upright. She needed her full attention when she disclosed what she was about to do. “We’re not painting today. This time I’ve brought us some music. Would you like that?”

Nigella nodded her head and said: “Yes,” then looked about in a bemused state. Seeing the confused glances, Mallory explained the music was in this little box. She was unconvinced and upset. This was too strange. How could they listen to the musicians? That was not even a phonograph.

“Don’t worry about this. What I want you to do is concentrate on what you’re hearing,” Mallory ordered. “Let your mind relax and your thoughts wander at will and see if the sounds bring back memories. Do you think you can do that?” She was standing at the window to draw down the blind. There was an inky-blackness until illumination from a small night-light blurred the outline of objects and the room took on a shadowy, mysterious aspect. “After we’ve listened for a while we can talk. Will that be all right?” She set a glass of water on the locker then placed herself in the corner near the circle of yellow light, using a low table for the player. She looked at her watch. It was three o’clock, ample time before dinner.

The haunting violins of Sibelius’ Sixth Symphony gently filled the room. He had entitled it: Scent of the First Snow. It was not Finlandia, but she felt sure this opus would be evocative. They listened to its three movements in the darkened room. Neither spoke. Mallory found the interlude salutary; her mind began to appreciate the reflective character of the music. The break it afforded her from her frantic rushing about was surprisingly restorative. This was not her usual music. She was a ‘pops chick’, but after last night … Perhaps Jellie will make a convert of me?

She had thought long and hard over which piece to choose to follow the Sibelius and had picked a piano solo by Eric Satie. The gentle, trembling notes in pensive mood, encouraged the spirit to fly free, released from earthly bonds. For her last one, she lightened the mood and played excerpts from Johann Strauss Junior’s Die Fledermaus. True, it was from the Victorian era, but she was confident the operetta would be familiar. The music at an end she raised the blind slightly. When she looked across to the girl it was to see that tears had been streaming down her face. Not sobbing tears; tears of consuming emotion. She went over and bent down on one knee, taking her in her arms to hold and give comfort.

“It’s all right Jellie. You’re safe with me. Let your tears flow.”

Nigella did weep now, her head resting against Mallory’s neck as her shoulders heaved with each breath. Gradually the long, shuddering sobs subsided and Mallory pulled up some tissues.

“There Jellie let the memories spill out. You can share them with me.”

She brought the visitor’s chair close to the recliner and held Nigella’s hand. They sat quietly the girl saying not a word, only a slight trembling of her lips manifesting the extent of her inner grief at the torrent of awakened memories. Eventually, a discreet knock forced Mallory to her feet.

“It’s almost six o’clock and the trolleys will be coming round.”

“Thank you nurse, we’re finished here. I’ll come and see you when I’ve packed up.” She turned back into the room to speak softly and promise to return. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” She wished she did not have to leave like this, but in the real world she was not powerful enough to have her own way.

At the station, Tracy Scott was just starting her shift. She was glad it was she who would be in charge. She seemed such a sympathetic woman.

“Tracy, I want to clarify some facts which have come to light.” She perched her hip on the edge of the desk as Tracy swivelled her chair to face her. “They’ll be hard to understand, but understanding them will help so much with Faith’s recovery.”

She listened attentively as Mallory elaborated, her eyes growing wide when she learned her name was Nigella Patchford and that she was only a girl.

“She looks older I know, but she’s eighteen. She knows nothing of our world and lives solely in her own; peopled by beings important to her, but who will be non-sensical to us.” It was hard for Mallory to go on with Tracy’s eyes following the movement of her lips, as if mesmerised. How could other people, however well-meaning, understand?

“Her brain injury has left her in a labile state so I suggest that for now, we just go along with whatever story she feels like telling us. Do you think the staff can do this? I expect on a Psych. Ward, you’re used to some pretty far-fetched claims.” She gave Tracy a chance to respond.

“How do you know this?” she queried, hardly able to take it all in.

Mallory considered half-truths to be the best way to go and acknowledged that she had been able to get Faith/Nigella to open up during their sessions. I’ll make a full report on her cognitive improvements for Dr, Stubbs. There’s another week yet and I hope to get her talking to you guys.”

Tracy nodded. “You’ve done exceptionally well so far Mal. I can see how valuable it is to have sufficient time for this type of case. Drugs are a wonderful medium, but nothing really beats the power of personal attention.” She smiled up at the young woman. “Keep up the good work. I’ll include your findings at Report.”

“Thanks Trace,” she nodded her appreciation. “I’ll see if I can pop in again tomorrow. I’m pretty busy. It may have to wait ’til evening. Will that be all right?”

“Sure. I’ll tell the girls.”

* * *

Monday was fraught and tense. She was scheduled for home visits in the morning with Kylie, then team meetings in the afternoon. As she had thought, the woman was distant, but she retained her professionalism and did not sabotage their assignment. Nonetheless, concentration was difficult. Her thoughts ceaselessly retuned to Nigella, wondering how she was doing and wishing she could be there. The degree of impatience revealed by these circumstances was disconcerting. She had not recognised it as one of her personality traits, but with the slightest provocation, irritability was ready to erupt. Events turned in her favour with Kylie not feeling her usual, chatty self. As quickly as possible, she dispatched her work obligations then readied herself for the visit. Up until now she had always worn her lab coat, but tonight she deemed it appropriate to be more casual. Not only did she decide on jeans and shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, but also gave herself a haircut. She approximated the length Nigella might recognise, but the gel did not stick it down quite same. With her ID prominent in case of a challenge she signed in and went directly to D Ward, excitement mounting at the prospect of this encounter. How would she be tonight?

The evening meal was over. It looked like she had eaten some slices of roast beef and vegetables, but had left the strawberry mousse in its plastic container. Mallory made a mental note to ask Dietary if they could use china or glass instead, although aware this could be requesting too much even of an obliging kitchen. Care had to be taken not to provide patients with anything that could be converted to an instrument of self-harm.

“Hello Nigella.” She greeted her with a light hug which lingered slightly, giving the girl time to register the warmth of human contact. “How’re you feeling today?” She did not answer, but watched Mallory warily, drawing back as if seeing a stranger. She was in her usual hospital gown, but her hair had been recently washed and was neatly parted down the centre. It was growing out, showing signs of curling at the ends.

“I was here with you yesterday afternoon.” She pulled up the other chair. “We listened to some lovely music.” As she sat she leaned forward taking the girl’s hands in hers then asking: “Did you like it? Do you remember?” She looked into her eyes, her own showing frank concern.

Nigella searched the face before her, her gaze travelling to the strong hands holding hers and picked out the tattoo on the forearm. She lifted her eyes to the deep blue ones, now regarding her compassionately, then tears welled up and big drops spilled over onto her cheeks.

Once more she took her in her arms and held her close.

“Yes Jellie … it’s Mallory Mason. You’re here with me at last, we’re together again.” She felt the frail body trembling next to hers, her own tears pricking the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt the release of overflowing emotion, the flood gates, locked for so long, suddenly unbarred. The girl, the moment, it was all too much. Her hopes were being realised, but the reality was overwhelming.

Eventually Nigella spoke, blinking back the burning veil of tears from her eyes. She did not pull away, but whispered into Mallory’s neck: “Where have you been all this time. I’ve felt so alone? Why did you leave me?” The dam, which had occluded her emotions, broke and a deluge of misery and frustrated anger streamed over them in a terrifying tidal wave. Then Nigella pulled herself up: “You left me with these strangers.” The emotional anguish was naked in the dark centres of her eyes as she re-lived again, that aching sense of exhausting loss.

She will have so many questions … how can I answer them?

She bought the girl to her once more, stroking her hair until her hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Hush Jellie, try not to distress yourself. There’s much I have to tell you, but for now I’ll just explain that you have been in a serious accident. You were very sick, but you’re getting better. Can you understand that?” She lifted her chin, tilting the pale face toward her. “For the time being you’re in the hospital. As soon as the doctor gives his permission, then I can take you out of here.” She could see she was bewildered, but the crying had stopped and she was absorbing the words. She nodded and pulled away. In a firm voice she declared: “I would like to go home now. I don’t want to stay here anymore,” then she commanded in that imperious manner she knew of old: “Take me away Mason. I want to go now.”

“Nigella, you must call me Mallory and you must do as you’re told. It’s too soon to move you, you’re still very weak. We have to build your strength and make you well again.” She spoke firmly, as one in authority. The girl heard the change in tone and immediately regressed, her eyes misting with tears as she pleaded: “Please don’t be cross with me. I can’t bear that.”

“No … no Jellie, I’m not cross. It’s all right. There, there … don’t cry Pumpkin. Everything’s all right. You’re tired. It’s time you got ready for bed. I’ll call nurse.” She got up, but immediately the clutching fingers dug in to hold her back.

“No, don’t leave me. I don’t want to be on my own.” Now the tears flowed in a gushing flood.

This was going to be so hard. What could she do? Gently, she disengaged the spasming hands from her arm. “You need nurse to look after you. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can do some more painting. That will be fun won’t it?”

Directly she let go and sat back. It was obvious she was fatigued. All this emotion had drained away her strength. It would be a good idea if they gave her something for sleep. “I’ll get nurse Jellie and then I have to go, but I promise I’ll be back.” She returned shortly with a nursing assistant who helped put the patient to bed. Once she was tucked in, Mallory bent over and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead then reminded her: “You’re no longer alone Nigella. I’m here now and I’ll make sure you get strong.” She stroked her cheek. “As soon as I can I’ll take you out of here, but you have to be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

Staff Nurse came in with the meds and Mallory finished: “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walked slowly back along the dimly lit corridor so quiet now, to the discretely down-lit nurses’ station. At the desk she wrote her report and added the suggestion that her hair should be allowed to grow, explaining she was used to long hair and would not feel right when she finally saw herself in the mirror. If they ignored her plea, she vowed she would look after this herself. It would be important to the re-emerging persona that the resemblance to the original be as close as possible. It was also time for some physical rehabilitation. She included an addendum to that effect: out of the chair and onto a stationary bike. With this kind of progress they could be allowed outside. The grounds here at the Queen Elizabeth reminded her of the Park. A walk through the garden would help to identify with old times. She knew walking outdoors was commonly used to help patients regain a sense of rhythm. For Nigella it would be the start of a reintegration with the outside world. All this was uncharted territory. Nigella would need all the help she could get.

Alone in her room Mallory thought over the last hours as she brought together items for the close of this day and prepared for the next. What was her perspective on these events after all this time? It was as though all her prayers had been answered, yet she did not feel she deserved so much elation. No matter, she beamed as her head filled with thoughts of the future. She and Nigella would be together again. When she was better and back to her normal self, they could take up where they had left off. They had a pure affinity. At last she had found her soul-mate, the one person on Earth who would see the world through the same prismatic perspective as she. There could be no truer bond or more noble union.

She remembered all Nigella had wanted at that time was to be with her. All she had wanted was to have Nigella by her side. This time would be even better. She would be earning good money. Nigella would take up her teaching studies. They could live wherever they chose. She could take her to Australia; introduce her to her folks, show her the beauties of far north Queensland. She could learn to dive the Coral Reef and they would go riding together. When Mallory finally slipped between the sheets, she was so – so happy. Life would be wonderful.

* * *

There was no time for Art Therapy as the physiotherapist was scheduled for that afternoon. It was good she could be fitted in so promptly, but Mallory was left to think of something else. A Eureka moment, she believed she had been inspired. It happened at the library. She was packing away her books when she linked the thoughts of Nigella and reading. She crossed to the lending section and browsed the novels. There was nothing of the right vintage. She continued to stroll between the stacks and arrived at the drama section. Oh cool, they could do a play-reading, something Edwardians had done all the time. She found the perfect answer: An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde. She remembered Lady Patchford had vetoed Wilde, but she was sure Nigella would identify with the people and the language. If she were not up to reading a part, she could take on the characters herself. Now she had the thought, she must start immediately.

Mallory stepped back in time for this visit. She dragged out her old brown cords and although the shirt was long gone, was able to find the same style in faded denim which for her purpose, would do. As she slicked back her hair she laughed to herself at the Shtick the others had given her over the hair cut. She looked critically at her reflection. The consensus had been that short and free was ‘her’. Kylie had remained stony-faced of course, making no comment. What would they think if they saw me now? She arrived during visiting hours to fit in with hospital routine and knew she could continue like this on a regular basis.

There was no need tonight to tease out responses. Nigella burst forth: “I couldn’t wait to finish dinner because then I was sure you would come.”

Yesterday’s experiences had not only been cathartic, but had renewed her faith in the world. With Mason – Mallory, back with her she could let go her fears and trust again. At last she had a sense of connection. Her life up ’til now had been so insecure, all alliances gone with no safe protectors. Without trust how could she thrive and build confidence? He had changed all that. She felt optimistic everything would return to normal and it would not be long before she saw Mama and Ramona again. They would be the first to visit she was sure of that: perhaps Papa too, if he isn’t too busy?

“Hello Jellie. How are you today?” She held both her hands, took a pace back and regarded her. Nigella held her head on an angle giving her cheek for him to peck. Mallory obliged then took a seat.

“Mallory, I went to the gymnasium this afternoon.”

She’s remembered my name.

“I asked about painting, but they told me I had to start exercising.” She smiled mischievously. “I was a good girl, I didn’t stamp my foot. I sent Miss Cross-Patch home as Nanny would tell me to do.”

“Everything from here on is to help you get better Jellie. All these people, they’re only trying to do what’s best for you.” Mallory’s lips curved at the girl’s change in manner. She was improving so fast. Of course, with others she could be different, but at the moment this was all good. Later, a more discerning perspective might develop, when her brain started to register the true state of her circumstances. This could prove to be a serious hurdle, but for now.…

She pulled the trolley table between them and set out two books. “I’ve brought us a play to read. I thought this might be fun in the evening when it’s quiet. See which one I’ve found.”

Nigella turned the book toward her. “Oh, it’s an Oscar Wilde. Will Mama let us?” She looked up dubiously, frowning. “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“No. You won’t Jellie. Her Ladyship won’t mind. Anyway, she isn’t here now is she?” She held her breath, waiting for the response. She had no idea which way the girl would jump.

Nigella considered a moment. “I haven’t seen her today. Is she waiting for nurse to say it’s all right? I remember when I had chicken pox; Nanny wouldn’t let her into the sick room until I was better. It was when Mama was going to have her last baby … but she lost it … it made her very unhappy, even though I got well again.”

She did not know what to make of this. Perhaps back to the present was the safest course. “Jellie, would you like to read the ladies’ parts and I’ll read the gentlemen’s?”

“Oh, what a romp!” she looked over the dramatis personae. “There are parts here that would suit Mona and one is perfect for Patchy.”

“We’ll have to manage with just us today. Let’s make a start and see how we go.” She filled her water glass; the heavy medication caused a bothersome dry mouth, and urged her to take frequent sips. Quickly, she covered stage directions to set the scene and happily time sped by. Each relished the witty dialogue, changing her voice with every personality. Nigella was good. There must have been much reading out loud in her formative years she was so accomplished. Mallory felt rather inadequate, but soldiered on.

They enjoyed themselves enormously, laughing and talking about the play, the characters and their reactions. The hour flew by. At eight o’clock nurse popped her head in to tell them it was bedtime. Mallory put the books away in the locker then had to break her news: “I can’t come tomorrow Jellie, but I’m going to see if we can take a stroll in the park. If you work hard in the gym, your legs will be strong enough for us to go outside. Would you like that?”

Nigella had looked crestfallen at this information, but the thought of going outdoors displaced any melancholy and she clapped her hands in delight.

She’s so child-like, but it’s good to see her responding whichever way it is.

“I want you to continue reading the play and when we meet again, you can fill me in on what I’ve missed. Will you do that for me?”

“Oh, like prep. you mean?” Her green eyes, so clear and bright now, looked back at her as if with insight.

“Not home-work exactly, this is a diversion for when you’re on your own; something for you to enjoy. You like reading don’t you?”

“I do, but I would really like to hear the music again. Can I do that?” The emerald eyes grew large and round with entreaty.

“Of course, I’ll bring it for you tomorrow. I’ll come by at lunch-time. I won’t be able to stay,” she added hastily: “But I can set you up, no problem.”

“Oh thank you Mallory. It was so enchanting that evening. You know I love music.” The smile when she gazed at her was sweet with the memory of a heavenly interlude.

“Yes Jellie I know that,” she responded softly and suddenly felt, deep in her heart: And I love you.

* * *

Mallory found Nigella sitting in an upright chair at a table in the day room. There were few others present and those who were sat quietly, lost in their own world, whether it be drug induced or from boredom it was hard to tell. The TV, situated high on its perch was on without sound. Nigella seemed unaware of it, but the time would surely come when the reality of the Twenty-first Century would intrude unquestionably into her world. She was playing solitaire, the only really alive being in the room. How out of place! She stood in the doorway for a moment, observing her intense concentration. She was beginning to look like the girl she remembered, her zest for life returning with full force. How astounding this was, when she thought back to that first encounter, so much had changed. There were more developments to come, but the process was well under way.

She frowned as she watched. Regardless, the problem remained: how to disclose the truth? If not careful, these revelations could ravage her mind. Dear God not yet, she needs more time. She must regain her faculties before facing the shocking details, she argued, let alone my particulars. I must be sure the time is right; that she is properly ready. This decision was like a heavy stone, immovably lodged; the burden on her back.

“Well, look at you.” She pushed her perturbing thoughts away and stepped forward to plant a light kiss on the waiting cheek.

“I played it out,” Nigella peeled as she looked up. “But this is my fifth try and I haven’t been able to do it since then.”

“You can give it a go later,” she responded looking around for the wheelchair. “Did you walk here?”

“Yes! I held onto nurse’s arm and didn’t feel tired at all.” The pride was obvious.

“Well done Jellie, that’s the way. Come with me now and I’ll organize the music for you.”

Back in the room Mallory gave her two more CDs. “This is some new music.” Her aim was slowly, to bring her forward in time, at least as far as music was concerned.

She looked at them with interest, her eyes now remarkably direct and clear. “I recognise the names: Ernest Bloch and Ottorino Respighi, but I don’t think I know the music.”

“No, you won’t have heard these pieces before. Bloch found inspiration in Jewish liturgical music. I’ve chosen two symphonies for you, his Israel first and America, second.” She handed the CD across and picked up the other one. “These are two Italian suites written by Respighi: The Fountains of Rome and The Pines of Rome. They’ll be different from what you’re used to Jellie, but try to keep an open mind. They may take a few listenings before your ear is attuned.” She handed it over. “Now I’ll show you how all this works.” She watched in awe as this miraculous box was positioned on her table and the function of the buttons demonstrated. Fascinated, she had to try it immediately.

“Don’t change anything at the wall,” Mallory admonished sternly: “It’s important you only touch these knobs, understand?”

She nodded, putting on her serious face. “I do. Nanny told me that if I disobeyed important instructions I would ‘sup sorrow from a spoon from the cradle to the grave’.”

“Mm…m, that’s as maybe,” she demurred somewhat astonished. “I just don’t want you bending over at floor-level … or pulling anything apart. Nurse will do that sort of thing.” Again Nigella inclined her head. “Show me how to play the music.”

She selected a disc and applied the ear phones then pushed Play. A startled look crossed her face. “This is the volume.” Mallory turned up the dial on the side much to Nigella’s delight, as the strains of the orchestra filled her ears. Then she pushed Stop expressing regret that she had to leave. “Don’t let yourself get too tired. You can listen any time you want, but it’s important you get lots of sleep just now. It will help you get well again.”

Removing the earpieces, she asked when he would be back. She hated it every time he had to go away.

“Get fit Little One and we’ll go for a walk on the weekend. How does that sound?”

* * *

By Grand Rounds on Friday, Mallory’s report to Dr Stubbs was highly favourable. He was impressed at the speed of the recovery and encouraged that the Hydro-bath need not be an option, but Mallory wanted to achieve more than this. Rounds had been completed and they were standing outside in the corridor, not an ideal location for her discussion with all the hospital noises and busy staff coming and going.

“Dr. Stubbs, I believe this patient is ready for supported care.”

“Where are you taking this Miss Mason?” He was not inclined to disagree, but his nature and experience over the years had made him naturally cautious.

“I’m concerned that if she’s returned to Lychette St. Agnes she could regress. The nursing home environment can’t possibly provide the stimulation she needs to aid her continued recovery.” Without realising it, her speech had taken on an impassioned fervour causing the professor to regard her with surprise.

“That’s all well and good Miss Mason,” he replied decisively, “but in the real world we deal with the problem of (a) insufficient resources and (b) under funding for progressive programmes.” He stared over the rim of his spectacles with sharp, intense eyes. “I’m afraid for this type of patient there’s nothing left but nursing care. You have to face the fact that she cannot live independently.” He knew the problems that existed for healthy, young adults with disability. Too many of them lived with the elderly and infirm in well-meaning, aged-care homes, but other alternatives were few and far between.

“Dr. Stubbs … I am well aware of the difficulties. I’ve looked into the alternatives and believe she’s an ideal candidate for a disability support pension. This would provide the needed finances for admission to CACPS.”

“My specialty is not Social Work Miss Mason. CACPS …?” he inquired impatiently.

“Oh sorry, Sir – Community Aged Care Packages that is, low level care in a supported environment.”

“Then there’s still the age problem,” he insisted.

“Yes, but with sufficient funding, I think I can get her into HEADWAY, the ABI programme.”

The professor looked at her severely. “Miss Mason!”

She hastened to amend: “Acquired Brain Injury programme, Doctor.”

“What makes you think that?”

She was about to answer when an orderly rounded the corner, pushing an extremely noisy trolley laden with even more clinking and clanking stainless steel objects, of the personal hygiene kind. She waited.

“The patient meets the three major criteria to be eligible. I just have to get her on the waiting list for a residency.”

“Mm…m. Disability Services are usually pretty strict with their table of impairment points,” he temporised.

“This is so, but she’ll get her twenty points easily with the brain damage and accompanying psych. impairment. Also, her impairment will be prohibitive of more than fifteen hours of work per week, so her ability to work is certainly low. She can’t drive and her use of public transport would be pretty dodgy.”

“What about the status of her condition?”

“I would need your confirmation on that Doctor. From what you have seen of her recovery, would you assess her condition as treated and stabilised?”

“I acknowledge she is much improved, but we need more time to determine if her condition is stable.”

“How much time do you think?”

At this juncture the professor’s pager beeped and immediately took his attention.

“I’m sorry Miss Mason I have to go. I’ll look in on her sometime next week and let you know the result.”

Mallory watched his retreating back, his white coat swishing importantly; nurses acknowledging his passing with a respectful nod. Had she accomplished anything here? Was she to continue? You can’t give up now Mal. She clenched her hands and squeezed her eyes as a momentary discouragement threatened to bring her down, but she had made a commitment; to herself, to Nigella. In fact it was imperative she continue with Nigella’s therapy. Any failure of the client to participate in their rehabilitation program meant automatic disqualification and access to support would be discontinued. She felt it keenly as her responsibility to steer a successful course over any menacing hurdles. Not least was the risk of a post traumatic epileptic seizure. Unexpectedly, this could come upon Nigella following any form of intense emotion. The risk of destabilisation was real.

Last night she had been able to slip in to see her. She had been enjoying her CD’s, especially she claimed The Fountains of Rome. She had caught her up on An Ideal Husband and they had continued their readings for another hour. She was not fatiguing so easily and was taking more notice of her surroundings. The still-life painting had been hung where she could see it and Mallory thought to remark on this.

“Yes, it reminds me of my Botany studies,” she smiled in recollection, the quiet thrill in her voice drawing forth a tender response: “How so?”

“We had to study the form and structure of plants and my flower was the Marigold daisy. We were to pull the flower apart, petal by petal, right to its very centre, then slice it in half. Once we had revealed everything, we were to draw and label the various structures.”

“Did you like those studies?”

“Oh yes. Miss Pettigrew was very nice.”

After this she had asked about the television in the day room and Mallory had been hard pressed to find a suitable answer. In the end she had had to explain that quite a lot of time had passed while she had been ill and there were many new inventions she did not yet know about. The explanation had sounded pretty lame even to her ears. It would not be long before she would have to start really talking. To this end she had arranged to take Nigella out for a short stroll in the grounds. Tomorrow she would bring in sturdy shoes and a warm coat and scarf. They had not asked for a hat, but she knew one would be needed and had found a red felt beret. It was becoming clear how few possessions the girl had, yet another issue to be addressed.

* * *

“Oh Mal, this is so exciting! It’s been such a long time since I smelled the flowers; or heard the birds sing.”

The day had dawned cool, grey and cloudy and Mallory had feared it would rain, but shortly before ten o’clock, while she was still cycling over the sun had broken free and escaped in joyful abandon to shine on all of them. She was not wearing a coat and hat, but had found gloves and chosen good shoes. Just a scarf over her sweater was warm enough for her.

“All right, you’re dressed now we’re ready to go.” She took her to the ground floor in a wheelchair then they exited through a less-used side entrance, for privacy. Nigella took her arm. The path led directly to a walled garden, but through the opposite gate the lawns could be seen disappearing into the distance. They did not walk far before Mallory indicated a wooden bench and they sat, basking in the warmth reflected off the hot bricks. Soon she removed her scarf and gloves and was able to open the front of Nigella’s coat.

They were coming to the end of October, the trees resplendent in their autumnal colours and only a gentle breeze to scatter playfully, the fallen leaves. The scene was reminiscent of that day in Belgrave Square. Mallory asked if she could recall it.

“Indeed I do.” Her clear eyes were squinting against the unaccustomed glare of the sun. “I remember I was so worried about Ramona and Myles.”

“Yes that’s right,” was all she contributed in response. Her heart was heavy. She had decided today would be the time and place to reveal the true circumstances. Last night had been an agony, deciding what to do and eventually, she had come to realise that nothing would be gained by delay. Hers was a dilemma no-one should have to face, but warring with herself, for however long, could not postpone the inevitable. She would put it off no longer. Nigella’s disposition had remained well-grounded, but who knew the extent of the risk? Would she undo all the constructive achievements so hardly won, in the space of a single hour?

“Nigella.” She turned slightly toward the girl and took one of her hands, then looked into her eyes: “Nigella.”

“Yes?” She was alerted to something serious with no idea what to expect. She felt troubled and anxious. Her hand quivered as her eyes narrowed and her face looked on, apprehensively.

“Nigella, everything’s all right. No harm will come to you and I am here to look after you …” she paused to draw breath. Nigella watched tight-lipped: “… you do understand, don’t you?” Hesitantly, she nodded.

“This is very hard for me and I’m not sure where to begin.” She stopped again. “There’s something I have to tell you, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.” Colour flamed into the girl’s pale cheeks. Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Instantly she had seen dismay leap to trepidation. Quickly she continued: “What I have to tell you is this.” Now she held onto the other hand. “In that accident we had … the night we left Guilfoyle Park, time flew us ahead … this is not … 1909.”

The girl pulled back. “What are you saying?” Her green eyes grew large in fright. “Not 1909, of course it is. I’ve not been sick that long.” Fear made her voice squeak.

“Nigella, listen to me.” This was going to be much harder. How best to explain? “Jellie I don’t know how this happened, but you have passed through time to my world. I was born in 1984. I’m twenty five.” She said no more allowing the information to be absorbed, watching the stricken face before her. She took hold of her hands again. “You’re not alone in this time. I’m here to take care of you.”

“Are you telling me I’m over one hundred years old? This is impossible!”

“No … no Jellie, you are older than that night when we tried to get away. Two years have passed since the accident. Next month you will be nineteen.” Now she wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulder and pulled her close. The sun beat hot on their faces.

Nigella said nothing and Mallory drew her head down to rest on her chest, gently rocking to and fro. Her whole body vibrated in sympathy for this poor girl’s plight. Large, slow tears began to escape the closed lids. Her thoughts were taking her to dark, solitary places, where she was socially atomised and grief held sway. Eventually, she stirred as the shaking stopped and she was able to regain control of her breathing.

“I’m so sorry.” Mallory knew exactly what she was going through, empathised but totally. She experienced a fierce burning behind her eyes and fought to keep her emotions in check. For Nigella, only time could reconcile her doubts and fears with this new reality.

“Together we’ll get through this. Remember, you’re not alone.” She tried to keep her voice reassuring, but it was so low it was barely audible. She stood and raised the girl to her feet. “Come, let’s go back and we can talk some more or not, as you like.”

They returned slowly, their footsteps shuffling through the stones of the gravel path, the October sun warm on their back and somewhere in the distance, a knot of Sparrows twittered busily. There were more people about, but they hardly noticed. Once Nigella was comfortably in her room Mallory left to order tea. On her return she took the chair opposite the recliner. They looked across in mute dismay until Mallory asked if she had any questions. They had shared a tumult of unsettling agitation in these brief, unprecedented moments.

“I hardly know what to ask … everything and nothing.” Do I really want to know, or do I prefer to remain in my previous world … in ignorance? “I remember from before you said: ‘You can never go back’.” She looked at her miserably. “I didn’t know what you meant then, but now …” the words trailed off as a lament. The tea arrived and they took a few sips. Eventually she spoke into the silence that had risen between them: “I think I’d like to be alone.” She knew her mind was scrambled and needed some uninterrupted quiet in which to sort all this out. She looked up and tried to smile, forcing down a wave of despair. “I know I had to learn at some stage and no time would be easy, but….” again the unfinished thought. Her contorted face was desolate and woebegone.

Mallory’s heart felt it was breaking and the lump in her throat so constricting, the words could hardly come; her own memories crowding in. “I can have someone come sit with you if you like.” She shook her head. “When next I’m here I’ll do my best to answer all your questions. Shall I see you tonight, after dinner?”

“Yes. I’ll have got myself better sorted out by then.”

Mallory leaned forward and held her hands in both of hers, but there was no girlish request for a goodbye kiss.

* * *

That evening Nigella was singularly distraught. She had begun to think through the multitude of implications in her current position. She was extremely upset and insecure going from the confidence that all would be well now Mallory was in her life, to not knowing what to think. How could she live like this? If this were really true – never to see her beloved Mama and Papa. That fateful night she had only wanted to get as far away from all she had known as fast as possible, but not really. Had not she only wanted to stop the hurting inside? Had thought Mason taking her away the means by which to accomplish her desires? She had been a foolhardy, impetuous child. She wanted it all back – everyone back. No matter if they did not love her exactly as she expected; she would forgive them anything and everything. There was nothing so important it was worth losing all these precious things. Her wonderful brother and sister! Her wonderful parents! Even Nanny and Mrs. Aldred, but now here was this! She looked about her through a blur of tears. This was the hospital, but once she was better she should go home again. That was what happened. There had to be some mistake. Mallory could not be right. He had gotten everything mixed up.

The nurses had put her back to bed and recognising the distraught state, given her a needle. When asked what was the matter, she could not speak in coherent sentences and they conjectured it was just another of her inexplicable outbursts. Sedation would resolve the situation. Despite this her temperament was still uncertain and fragile. When Mallory saw her, distress welled up again and agitation caused the words to come tumbling out in incomprehensible cascades. It was all Mallory could do to calm her sufficiently to discover some sense.

“I know Little One … it’s hard,” she spoke softly. “Slow down and let me hear properly what it is that’s troubling you.”

“Mama and Papa, they must be here. Can I see them?” she asked tearfully through racking sobs. Her eyes sought his, looking desperately for some reassurance, some inner comfort; this nightmare must come to an end.

“Nigella …” oh this was dreadful: “… they are all gone. There’s just you and me.” What more could she say?

“No … no, that can’t be right.” The girl began to writhe in anguish, rocking her body. “This isn’t fair.” It was not a scream, more like a plea.

“I don’t know how this can be, but it has happened. You must be brave Nigella.” The words echoed in her head. How often had they been delivered to people in distress and really, they were of no use. But now was the time she must make everything clear, despite the inevitable hurt. “Everyone you knew … they have all left us.” She could hardly articulate the words, so blocked was she by her own emotions; so overwhelmed by sympathy and sorrow.

“I want to die. I don’t want to live without them … Mona. Patchy! How can I possibly go on? I don’t want to. I have no life.” A black knot of mourning invaded her soul and bruised her spirit. The girl’s shoulders heaved with every intake of breath as she sobbed her heart out against Mallory’s chest. Her desolation knew no bounds and there was nothing Mallory could do. This was Nigella’s nadir of despair and she would have to make grief’s journey alone.