CHAPTER THREE
It was Wednesday when Mallory discovered the note in her pigeonhole. Dr. Stubbs would like to see her in his office at four o’clock. It seemed like eons had passed since they had spoken and her mind had been filled with worry over Nigella. Even the others had noticed an unusual distractedness.
“Come in.” Dr. Stubbs sat at ease behind his broad desk. Typical of the man, his ‘in’ and ‘out’ trays stood neatly piled with only a few scattered papers in front of him. He motioned her to the easy chair which seemed to swallow her up as she sank into it.
“I’m sorry Miss Mason the news is not good,” he declared without preamble as he removed his spectacles to place them carefully at the side of the blotter. “After all this time her state remains unstable and sometimes delusional. Her decision-making capabilities are still very much in question. Maintaining her serotonin at the appropriate level also remains a challenge.”
The news she had dreaded all week had just been delivered. She felt her shoulders hunched and tried consciously to drop them and breathe deeply. She deliberately sat back and relaxed her clenched hands. “So you believe there’s no hope of further recovery Doctor?” she asked in a flat, dispirited tone.
“Under better circumstances … appropriate stimulation etcetera, there could be some improvement. The brain has remarkable plasticity with an infinite capacity to amaze us …” he delivered ponderously: “… but this young woman has had ample time. It’s a difficult case.” The observation set his chins quivering.
“But surely we can’t just leave her … without even trying?” Mallory’s voice had risen with her degree of concern.
“I realise this case is important to you Miss Mason, but just because you feel strongly about it doesn’t mean you’re right!” The scrutinising, grey eyes seemed to miss nothing.
“So it’s back to Lychette St. Agnes?” she concluded on a sigh.
“As nursing homes go …” he spread his hands “… it has high standards. She’ll be well taken care of,” he asserted reassuringly, seeing only as far as her physical needs. The consultation appeared to be terminated at this point, but Mallory persisted.
“Would it be possible Doctor, for me to take on the responsibility of supervising her further rehabilitation?” She could not yet close the door on her dreams of immeasurably more for Nigella. “You said yourself, what she needs is appropriate stimulation.” This time there was even more conviction in her voice, more passion in her eyes as they met his. The line of his bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.
“This is highly irregular Miss Mason and you could be setting yourself a huge task. Anyway, only a person related to the patient or with the legal right to provide supported decision making can take on such responsibilities.” He shuffled the papers again. “As I see it unless she regains her faculties, she will remain a Ward of the State until she is twenty-one. We are endeavouring to decrease her psychotropic dependency.” He regarded her more closely, his eyes boring to her inner core. It was unusual to come across a student with such intensity. In all his experience at a teaching hospital, he had found them to be more obsessed with marks and their own personal success. He was intrigued and felt impelled to ask: “What is it about this particular case that absorbs you?”
The response was some time in coming, but he could be patient when really interested. He steepled his fingers and swivelled back in his chair and waited, watching the spare line of her throat rise and fall as she struggled to answer.
How could she get this man on the same page, so prescriptive; so grounded in science? The truth would sound implausible, he would never believe her. Could she get more traction if she made the appeal a personal one?
“Dr. Stubbs, suppose she were your daughter … but you were not here? Wouldn’t you want the hospital … or someone … to offer some assistance to help her recover, or at least find the best outcome possible?” He was saying nothing. Blood rushed hot to her cheeks. Had she been too bold?
“I do have a daughter Miss Mason and you’re right. I would like to think there was someone out there who would be prepared to go that extra mile.” He returned his eyes to his desk and picked up the papers to look over them once more. “Very well, I will make a note that you will be supervising her rehab. whilst she’s in the nursing home.” This time the interview was at an end and Mallory rose with the assurance she would keep him informed of all developments.
With sharp footsteps echoing down the corridor, her spirits were once again flying high. It had suddenly come to her how she would find the solution to her dilemma. She would visit the web site of the Guardianship and Administration Tribunal and download any information they had on the Adult Guardianship of a minor. She would get onto it right away. She didn’t care how much red-tape there was. In the interim all her spare time would be devoted to Nigella. Abruptly a sobering thought brought her down to earth with a thud. How could she be with Nigella? What spare time? This was her final rotation. Her next reality check; they would return to the Faculty next week and two weeks after that her thesis was due. They were all stretched to the fullest just to keep up. But Nigella needed her now, not after she graduated.
I’ll take my lap-top to her room, my books and everything. I can work there. With this resolution her spirits soared again. She was certain there was more recovery ahead. And I aim to bring it all out!
* * *
That evening Mallory found Nigella already in bed and quite subdued.
“Hello Jellie,” she greeted as she gave her a peck and pulled up the recliner. “How are you? How did it go with Dr. Stubbs yesterday?”
Nigella sat up and reached for Mallory’s hand her face distorted in misery, her voice emerging in a broken whisper. “Oh Mallory, when the elderly gentleman came in I thought it was Grandpapa Broadhurst. I was so relieved the tears just came and I pleaded with him with all my might, to take me back to the Park. I told him over and over Mama and Papa would be sure to be worrying and we had to go immediately.” She stopped to catch her breath: “When I realised he was not Grandpapa I never said another word, even though the man kept asking me question after question.”
Dear God! No wonder he rated her so low.
“Dr. Stubbs is a nice man. He was just trying to help.” She got up and sat on the side of the bed. She knew it was against hospital policy, but Nigella needed to feel the reassurance physical contact could bring. Somehow she must try to stem the helpless sobs that now shook her thin frame. Such unprotected vulnerability, accentuated by that soft gaze, caught as it was between a mixture of hope and despair, tugged at her heart.
“Don’t worry Possum, I have good news.” The girl relaxed into her shoulder as Mallory told her of the move on the weekend, back to the nice house. “You remember. Where you were before you came to the hospital?”
“No.” Her naive young eyes looked back at her blankly from below the sweep of long lashes, so stark against the translucent delicacy of her skin. Oh dear, I forget so much these days.
“No matter, I’ll come and collect you and all your things,” she reassured her as she patted her cheek. “We’ll get you set up in your comfy room. It will be really nice and I’ll be able to spend every evening with you.” She looked for her book. “Would you like to read some more of the play?”
“Would you mind if we just listened to music? My head is so fuzzy just now.”
“Of course we can. I have some work to complete and I’ll do it while we listen. What would you like to hear?”
“The Dream of Gerontius, for some reason I can’t understand, it makes me feel less sad.”
“Perhaps because it was an Elgar concert the night your mama gave Mona her special surprise? You enjoyed it very much.”
“Oh I’d forgotten, how lovely that you can remember things.” The corners of her mouth lifted as if to release a laugh, but it was only a tremulous smile. With her short hair now in poetic clusters about her head, Mallory saw shades of the younger girl of yesteryear. However, the sad eyes belonged to today’s young woman, beyond tears … grieving over an infinite loss.
They listened together and occasionally Nigella dozed, as she studied making notes from time to time. At one stage the girl awoke with a start. She had been drifting in and out of a dream state. Her mind had been filled with images of fleeing horses, futilely galloping across a shaly beach through a forceful sea full of fury, towards the mainland, only to be dashed back on the waves’ return, their energies all but spent.
Mallory was there to give reassurance avoiding the need to call a nurse; she hated Nigella being on such large doses of medication. It would be so good once she was back at Lychette’s; they seemed to use gentler sedatives. Quickly time passed and all too soon the nursing assistant arrived to call it a night, although it was not that late. She saw Nigella settled and with her farewell promised to visit again tomorrow.
Back at the residence she went straight to her computer and pulled up the Guardianship Tribunal fact sheets. She was able to download their application forms, being surprised at how many pages there were. The format was question and answer and went into considerable detail. In addition she would need supporting documentation for her claims. To be on the safe side, she downloaded a fact sheet on the protocols for attending a tribunal hearing and a copy of Guardians and Administrators: Their powers, responsibilities, duties and rights. After this she really did have to stop. Her gritty eyes could take no more.
* * *
The next day Mallory made a moment to slip over to Ward D, just for a quick check. She was rocked back to discover Nigella gone and her bed occupied by a stranger. This was impossible. She had promised she would be with her on the move and the very thing she had wanted to avoid had happened. Frustrated anger boiled up, but railing at the duty nurse would do no good. She would just have to wait until she could get over to Lychette’s. Anyway, she and Kylie were due to give their presentations this afternoon so she could not afford to hang about to speak to someone more senior. With no time to wait for the elevator, she took the stairs to the basement, impotent fury lending wings to her feet as her brain wrestled with the dark fear that this event could set back the course of recovery.
Everyone was there when she arrived. They were second on the list so she had time to collect her thoughts and despite the recent upheavals with Kylie, the two worked well together. Kylie had come round sufficiently to rise above their discord and they both came out winners. Tomorrow the rotation would end and the return to Campus would free up her time. All she needed now was to get over to the nursing home and make sure Nigella was all right.
This did not happen until early evening. Dr. Stubbs’ covering addendum allowed her easy access so she strode to the TV area to retrieve her charge. So concerned she omitted the greeting, just asking peremptorily to be shown to her room. The command came out gruff and harsh, her severe voice carrying across the room. Some of the residents turned their head in curiosity, although as far as she could judge most of them were asleep. She helped Nigella up her mood unusually submissive as she led them obediently down a long corridor, past the dimly lit Chapel. She shuffled along in her sock slippers, no longer using the proper heel/toe gait and leaned heavily on Mallory’s arm. That’s it she thought, as soon as I can, I shall get her kitted out in day clothes. Enough of this robe and slipper business she fumed still irate, but steadily calming down.
Nigella stopped at the last room and to Mallory’s horror she saw it was a room for two. She froze; body rigid, eyes wide. Really pissed off this time she demanded brusquely: “Who else is in here?” almost jerking the girl off balance. Confused, Nigella looked at the floor and just shook her head, eyes brimming. Immediately contrite, Mallory released the strength of her grip and lowered her voice.
“Sorry Jellie, I didn’t mean to upset you. Come, sit next to me. I’m not mad. Let’s be happy together.”
This time, Nigella’s head turned sharply as she resisted the supportive embrace, her arm coming up unexpectedly; the hand clenched in a fist as if in defence, the eyes glaring in frantic chaos.
“I won’t sit next to you. I am not happy!” she flung out the words. It was as if a shutter had opened up jarring her brain, throwing her into a deranged, white tirade: “I am … not … happy,” she shouted again. “You promised everything would be lovely here not like the hospital, but it isn’t.” Her vision cleared, but she could still hear the onslaught of blood rushing in her ears. “You lied. It’s horrible here. These people came for me and put me in this place.” Still enraged, her voice cracked on the words. “I don’t know where my things are and you were nowhere to be seen.” With a choking sob she covered her face in her hands. She felt so wretched; so isolated.
“Oh Jellie I’m truly sorry.” She had not seen such fire in the girl’s flashing eyes since that night at the carriage house. Perhaps this would turn out to be a good thing. Did it signal the potential for an emerging resilience? Could it be the intimation of an intrepid personality? She will need all her resources if we’re to get through this.
Easing her down, she took a conciliatory approach in the face of this fury. “Listen to me Nigella. It will be hard in the beginning, but I promise it will get easier … better.” She could hear her own voice tremble, but stiffened her spirit. “We have to make a plan; set a goal. Do you understand me?”
The girl turned to her questioningly, her crystalline eyes startled as if caught in the searchlight, pricking with unshed tears. The light from the window emphasized the circles beneath the lids and the hollows of the cheeks.
“It’s very important you begin to develop your own ability to be independent.” She regarded her gravely, concern shadowing her eyes. “The daytime must be for studies. Lots of reading like you did with Miss Pettigrew. For now, nurse helps you with your things, but you must learn to become self-reliant. It’s the only way you can get out of here and we can be on our own.” Her expression, already so earnest, became fiery; the eyes ardent in their passion. They were the trigger.
Suddenly a patchwork of images flooded into Nigella’s brain as so many memories deluged her senses. She had seen that intensity before. Now she remembered pleading with him to take her away, that she could help him; be supportive. Not a liability. If only he would give her a chance. He had been prepared to then and he wanted this of her now. She regarded him again in a slowly dawning understanding, with an improved comprehension of this new reality. He was doing so much for her – for them – she could do her part; stop feeling sorry for herself. To be with him had been all she had wanted. But then she had thought her parents would be there for her when in need. It was her youthful foolishness that was driving her away, but she always could have gone back. Now there was no going back. To come to terms with this baffling reality was the truly painful challenge.
Mallory observed the girl’s hands, clenching and unclenching; the various, elusive expressions chasing across the finely textured skin of the face. She saw two large tears gather, to tremble perilously on her lower lids, but still she did not speak. Had she understood or was she drifting into some altered state? What had Dr. Stubbs said: ‘the brain is plastic’? Well, let’s hope hers isn’t plasticine! Commonly, mental illness has its onset in early adulthood. So far she was free of this, but everything hung in the balance.
Nigella reached out and took his strong hand in hers, no longer calloused from hard labour. “I will try to do as you ask,” her viridian eyes sought his with vehement eagerness. “I realise I’ve been indulging in self-pity,” she stopped, taking a deep breath: “But I will do my best to live up to that promise I made you … so long ago … to be supportive in all you undertake.” Now she was still: her body, her eyes everything, focused only on him, her expression intent, searching for that elusive answer.
The solemnity in the girl’s tone, the seriousness of her demeanour alerted Mallory to the import of the words. Something had just happened. She believed she had witnessed a tipping point. Some invisible mantle had been lifted from that clouded mind, allowing thoughts to break through the superficial layers, to penetrate to the cogent depths beneath. Perhaps reaching through to a possible enlightenment?
Don’t ask. Build on this.
“That’s my girl. Remember, we’re in this together and together we will be triumphant.” Sitting back feeling more positive, she turned her mind to practicalities. “If you’re going to start dressing then I have to get you clothes. What sort do you like? No don’t answer that,” she amended just as she was about to open her mouth. “I’ll find a magazine and you can look through for ideas.”
Nigella, now more relaxed pondered in his absence. She had said she would do it, but could she? This plan! A flutter of fear swept over her like nausea. Words were easy, but action – dress herself? She had always had Millie’s help; all those ribbons and the buttons? My hands are so shaky. But I can study … I like reading. Again, just when she thought she had it all figured out something had cropped up to tilt her axis and distort the view. One sliver of new information and her world would heave and shiver to reveal a completely different panorama. I don’t know what’s real any more.
Soon Mallory was back bearing a comprehensive arm-load. She laid the magazines out on the credenza and they pulled up their chairs. Nigella could hardly believe her eyes. “You want me to wear this?” she exclaimed, horrified. As it happened, the top copy was an old summer issue of Marie Claire. Mallory laughed: “No it’s all right. That’s for the beach not for us. Here, check this one out.” She selected more carefully and Nigella turned the pages of a Woman’s Day.
They were thus engaged when the other occupant of the room returned, being wheeled in by the diversional therapist. She had just come back from Bingo. Mallory got up and made the introductions. The therapist spoke for the woman, Mavis Johnson, and explained she was Katrina Duff. With a brief exchange they established their roles, which then allowed Mallory to ask if there would be any possibility of Nigella joining the daily news sessions.
“She won’t be able to answer questions, but just to be there will help get her involved in what’s happening in the outside world.”
Mrs. Johnson turned to the young woman. “Would you like to come with us when we go over to the community hall Nigella? What a pretty name that is.”
Nigella turned to Mallory, uncertain.
“Try it Jellie. You only have to look and listen.” She squeezed her hand. “Katrina will be there and this will be a good place to start … with the newspapers.”
“That will be very nice thank you … Mrs. Duff.”
“Well done Jellie.” She turned back to the magazines. Pick out things you like, I’m just going to have a word with Katrina.”
The two stepped outside and in the corridor she explained just enough of Nigella’s difficulties for her not to expect too much. “If she speaks, she will have an odd way of expressing herself. It doesn’t mean she’s slow more like … unaccustomed; like how she just called you Mrs. Duff.”
On her return she observed that the new room-mate was of the quiet kind, inclined to nod off. This would be better than the ones who want to be chatty all the time.
“Seen anything you like?” She looked over Nigella’s shoulder.
“I can’t understand. There’s nothing here for me,” and she did look flustered. Mallory wanted to calm her.
“Let me see if I can find something,” and they considered together, turning the pages slowly, allowing Nigella time to familiarize herself with the ‘look’. Eventually, she was able to steer her toward some fancy, knitted tops and three-quarter length skirts. “You have pretty ankles Jellie. It will be quite suitable for you to show them in public. In fact no-one will look at them particularly so try not to be self-conscious,” she encouraged gently.
Nigella looked dubious, this was all so strange. She felt perplexed: ‘the plaything of capricious time’. All supportive reference points had been removed; had become remote and detached. How could she start again? It was too hard.
“Jellie, right now the important thing is to fit in. You will see some people in clothes like what you’re wearing and you’ll see some in day clothes like these …” she indicated the models: “… and some in lab-coats like me, they’ll be the staff. You can always go to them if you need help. But you know that already don’t you?” She nodded although her confidence was evaporating.
Mallory looked at the sensitive face before her and smiled, giving her hand a squeeze in reassurance then impulsively leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on the mouth. To her surprise it lingered. It was the first time she had kissed Nigella on the lips and the feeling thus released by this sudden contact shocked her. She felt her face flush with heat as she pulled back in haste, mortification making her clumsy. She dropped the hand looking away in confusion, guilt biting ever deeper, but Nigella was regarding her with a smile.
What had she done? Where had that come from? Mal what is the matter with you? She took in some deep breaths and tried to collect herself. Stay focussed! “All right Jellie I have to get going. I can’t bring you new clothes until Saturday, but then we’ll get you looking real pretty you’ll see.” She pushed her chair back with her legs and prepared to stand. Nigella grasped her arm in desperation as if about to shed tears.
“Don’t start!” She was firm. In the state she was in she could not handle sultry sobs and clinging arms. She grimaced. How she would have loved to kiss Nigella all over again. Without the element of surprise it would be with experienced control – properly. “I’ll get your things from the lock-up. You’ll be fine. You’ll have your painting gear and music … and I’ll leave you the magazines for now.” Nigella looked bereft and forsaken. Had her self-reproach made her overly austere? She relented. “Jellie you’re not on your own just by yourself for a while, you can handle that.” She pressed her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Remember our plan. When you begin to feel uncertain, say to yourself: ‘We have a master plan’. Let me hear you say it.” Nigella did as she was told and this time the corners of her mouth lifted fully despite her regret. She smiled, openly acknowledging the foolishness, but knowing it was important.
* * *
Saturday, Mallory went early to Marks and Spenser’s and purchased an assortment of tops and skirts, plus some lacy camisoles and panties. She left the bras for another time when Nigella could choose for herself. From what she could judge, her breasts were still firm without need of support. She had been successful before in purchasing shoes and was confident enough to buy open-toed sandals with Velcro straps. As a bonus, since music had become so important, she went back to Chapman’s and asked for suggestions. She came away with Felix Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor and Dvorak’s Symphony #9, From the New World. She hoped they would find their mark. She was a great fan of The Veronicas and Pink herself, but she would have to wait to get Nigella there, meanwhile her dominant imperative was to bolster her esteem any way she could.
Balancing her packages on the handlebars, she rode straight over to Lychette’s. The summer sun was thinning into the paler globe of autumn, cooling the light as well as the air. Mallory’s nose twitched at the pungent aroma of burning rubbish from the surrounding garden clean-ups. The swish of her tires caused the newly fallen leaves to scatter in an excited flurry; she was a woman on a mission.
Nigella was alone in her room looking through a different selection of periodicals. Sunlight poured through her small window, catching the dust motes in its glare and the girl in its focus. The nurses had bought copies of Country Life and Cleo. This time she seemed to be taking them in her stride. I could photograph her just like this.
“Here are your new things. I’ve kept the dockets, so if there’s anything you won’t wear, I can take it back. Come on … open them up.” She only bestowed a hug, no kiss and dumped everything on the table. Immediately Nigella got up to investigate.
She was not going to let on that she had, in fact, been very forlorn yesterday. She had tried to paint, but had been unable to maintain her concentration. A few sketches had been all she had accomplished; remembered scenes from childhood and then they had become too much to bear. She had read for a while, but even that had not been enough to channel her thoughts away from her loss. She had a yearning for transcendence, to rise above this tribulation. Perhaps now Mallory was back with her, she would be able to move on. That kiss had unsettled her, as she knew it had him. She took heart from this. Surely it meant he cared for her, indeed thought of her as special. Certainly, she knew he was very special to her. She always longed for his return. In some way she could not understand, he made her feel complete. She opened the first bag. “What lovely colours.”
“I tried to mix and match.” She noticed how pleasure lit up the young face and felt gratified.
“What does that mean?” Her eyes smiled at him, no longer impatient if she did not understand. She would learn.
“You don’t have to have one outfit only. Sometimes you can wear this with this, another time …” she picked up a different skirt: “… you can wear it with this. It just depends what you feel like on the day.”
She regarded him and laughed. “You look funny standing there holding women’s clothes,” then took the garments and began to see how they could go together. The observation pulled Mallory up short. Still a man! How will I deal with this? Her eyes narrowed as she watched her open each bag in turn. Eventually she came to the ones with the underwear.
“Listen Jellie, I’ll leave you to sort through everything and send the nurse to help you dress. She’ll come and tell me when you’re ready and then I have a surprise for you, OK?”
Nigella inclined her head. “That will be very nice.”
“Great.” She went to the nursing office and quickly an aide was dispatched to help. She had time to herself for thought. Things could not go on like this. Nigella would have to know sometime and that ‘sometime’ should be soon. How would she take it after everything else? How should she do this? Was she strong enough to cope with such a revelation? Discouraging misgivings began to fill her with reservations. Could she herself handle the fallout? The repercussions could be shattering. I could stand to lose all that I hold dear!
She wanted to be the most important person in Nigella’s life. She wanted her trust and yes – her love. But did she have the right? How could she earn trust based on a lie? Especially, did she have any right to receive love under false pretences? She sat and pondered.
The nurse’s aide was a West Indian woman from Jamaica, large and motherly with a bubbly personality to go with her cherubic face. Nigella was not only surprised by her appearance, but really intrigued by the accent. As they worked through the dressing process, Rhianna kept up a lively banter and Nigella found out more about her. She chose to match a pale turquoise, long sleeved sweater with a lacy neckline, with a two-toned brown skirt sewn together from triangular panels. The hem flared out and the whole swished gracefully about her legs. It appeared Mallory had chosen well. The footwear she found not as elegant as her button boots, but used now to seeing her feet bare the sandals passed muster.
Rhianna said the blue ribbons looked pretty in her hair. It was parted in the centre and tied either side in entwined spirals. Eventually, once everything was complete Nigella stood before her and asked: “Do you think he’ll like how I look?”
“Who do you mean, Dearie?”
“Why, Mallory of course.”
“Oh, you mean Miss Mason.”
“No, I mean Mister Mallory Mason.” She looked at the black face and considered her foreigness must account for the woman’s confusion.
Poor girl, Rhianna thought. But then head injuries can do strange things. Look at that Jimmy Hanpton in #306 and he’s only in his twenties. She gentled her tone as if to a child. “Mallory Mason is the Social Work student, appointed by Dr. Stubbs to supervise your rehabilitation until you’re better.”
“You mean Mallory Mason is here on doctor’s orders?” she asked slowly, hardly able to move her lips. Her body had suddenly become constricted, the muscles unable to obey her commands. This is just work to him, her inner voice taunted her.
“That’s right.” Perhaps her brain was not so addled after all. She could understand a simple explanation. “She’s in her final year and you’re one of her case load. She’s very keen, always checking at the station that everything is as it should be. She’s never behind in her records.”
The girl’s face had blanched. She did not look well. “Sit here Dearie and I’ll go get her for you.” Rhianna guided her to a chair and Nigella collapsed, as if in a trance saying nothing, her mind all the while whirling at a dizzying speed. Oh too, too cruel! And she had basked in his regard. The knowledge of it had given her comfort and solace in those desolate hours. She had built her hopes like a house of cards and now it had come tumbling down. All of it lay destroyed, crumbled into useless blocks about her. It had all been specious, nothing but illusion. When she had thought they would be together – none of it was true. She had no-one to turn to in this inexplicable world.
Malicious fate had dealt her an indurate hand which she could not play. How could she continue when there was no-one here for her? No caring – no loving! She had thought deep down that he did love her. Had believed she had seen it in those searching, magnetic eyes; felt it in his kiss – but another woman. That could not be. That was unnatural. She remembered her mother’s shudder at the mere mention of Oscar Wilde. She felt her mother’s shudder of horror, even now. Her feelings had been for a man. Like every other young girl that was normal. Emotions of this sort for a woman, it was repulsive. She did not want to see him/her, ever again. It was disgusting what he – what she had done. This is sickening and repellent! Reaching for the bell to ring for the nurse to stop her, the door opened and Mallory came in.
“You do look the pretty one,” she admired, but Nigella turned her head away. There was no responsive smile, no playful rejoinder. “Jellie, what’s the matter? Did the nurse upset you?”
She kept her head averted and refused to speak. She did not want to see this person, let alone converse. She had given the doctor the silent treatment. She could do it to him/her. Mallory walked around to the front. She turned her head to the other side. “Nigella, don’t keep doing this. Look at me, what’s the matter?” Worry began to gnaw her insides. The nurse must have said something. “Did Rhianna upset you?”
She turned to her this time, eyes cold, voice brittle. “You have lied to me. Everything you have said to me has been a deceit.” She looked away and muttered: “I never want to see you again. The sight of you repulses me. I am thoroughly disgusted.”
Mallory took a step back as if struck, then turned away to the window. Now she knew exactly what had happened. It was a long sigh that came from deep within, as her fractured gaze roamed the lawns and flower beds. The morning sun split the air into brilliant shafts, which enhanced the floral colours, but she saw no beauty. A sudden rush of scalding, salt tears stung her eyes as she expelled a long breath and felt her heart beat painfully against her ribs. A pressure was rising in her stomach. A heaviness which at first she could not identify – perhaps contrition? Then, as it started to tighten she realised it was fear. That possibility she had dreaded earlier? What could she do? Should she remove her presence as had been requested? Allow her time to get over this? Would she get over it alone? Mal don’t panic.
She pulled her eyes from that innocent scene, back into this room of contempt and disgrace. They focused on the girl. The mortification was unconcealed as a fleeting look of reproach suffused across the inflamed features. Large, slow tears fell from her lids to drain unheeded down her face. Mallory reached for a tissue and leaned forward.
“Don’t … don’t touch me!” The harsh voice flashed with rebellion as her hand came up to ward off the approach. “Please leave.”
“Nigella, won’t you even allow me to explain myself?” She waited, still as a statue, her breath held in suspension. There was no response. “Can you at least hear me out?” A dark note of pleading crept into her voice. She moved to pull up a chair as the door opened and the other occupant of the room was wheeled in. Instantly, she changed her tone.
“Oh, hello Mavis,” she greeted and straightened up. Nigella said nothing.
“We were just leaving …” she told the assistant: “… for a stroll in the garden. It’s such a fine day.”
“That will be nice. Nigella needs to get out a bit more,” the nurse agreed.
At first she thought she was going to resist, but she did get up. She collected her coat in case the sun, which at the moment was shining majestically, went in. It was indeed a radiant day. The tall spikes of the late blooming Lupins were still brilliant in their bi-colour combinations, reaching high toward the light. The sky was an intense blue, causing the small, fluffy clouds to stand out in silver relief. One of those glorious English, autumnal days that make you think winter will never come.
It was anything but glorious for these poor souls, locked in their private torment, seeing no way out. They walked in silence, Nigella very slow, but Mallory was not bold enough to offer her arm. Anyway, she was sure the offer would be knocked back. There had been no doubt she had this coming, but she had not anticipated a nurse would be the instrument of her downfall.
Not wanting to over-tire her, as quickly as possible she located a seat, a rough bench deep in shadow close to the boundary fence, away from the sunny locations where other residents took their ease. However, they could observe the sun’s rays sparkling on the still water of the over-grown pond. They brought a touch of gold to the bank of Weeping Willows.
“Would you like your coat?”
Nigella shook her head. From her non-verbal communications she sensed the previous outburst had not been a true reflection of her real feelings. She had come along with her; she was sitting here next to her. If I can just strike the right note then perhaps all will not be lost.
She leaned forward, elbows on knees hands clasped, her hair bleaching to an ashblonde in the slanting light. Nigella was impressed by the glimmer of the coppery streaks, but then averted her eyes. It was not for her to like anything about this … this … horrible person. Mallory looked to the ground, affliction swirling in the blue depths of her eyes, mixed with reticence.
“Nigella, I would appreciate this chance to explain to you some of the very difficult problems I’ve had to face and how it all came about. If you agree, I just need you to be patient and then make your own judgement … after you know everything.” She turned to face her now, her earnest eyes searching for a positive response. The girl did not look at her, but continued to sit rigidly upright, arms stiffly folded, but nor did she object.
It took some time for Mallory to cover the story, her voice becoming remote and husky in memory. By the end Nigella had turned toward her, her spine slightly slumped; hands folded in her lap.
“You look chilled. Would you like your coat?”
“Yes please.” She slipped it around her shoulders and Nigella pulled the empty sleeves across her chest.
“I’m not trying to make excuses. I know it all sounds so incredible.” She returned once more to her exploration of the gravel, not wanting to reveal the rawness of the heartache which had been tormenting her since that unnerving outburst, then added: “I do so need you to believe me.” Directly, she too, lapsed into silence.
Momentarily their lives were held in an intermission. She had said all she could and now she was out of words. It was up to Nigella. She tilted her head and regarded the pale face with watchful focus. The depth of the green eyes had intensified; the pupils almost black under the shade of the Chestnut canopy. Although there had been few words spoken, Mallory had heard remorse and compassion softly touching the voice. Understanding what the girl was feeling had been gained more through intonation, than the words themselves. She did not know the source of such deep feeling, but was moved by the sincerity.
Suddenly their relationship had reached a new plateau of accord and discernment. They were genuine, kindred spirits locked together in a shared experience of penetrating insight. They were, for each other, a support and help-meet. They could give what no-one else in the whole world was capable of – true empathy. Without speaking out loud a bond had been forged. They were connected at the heart level. It was an invisible thread, but the synthesis was such it could not be disconnected.
Mallory delivered Nigella to the dining hall in time for lunch. “I’ll see you again after dinner.” The girl watched the movement of the woman’s lips, then looked into the clear blue of her eyes and smiled her thanks.
“I look forward to your return,” she replied with level honesty and so their lives continued, each along its separate track.
Although frank revelations had been admitted on both sides, neither had laid bare the depth of their true love. Mallory’s call: to avoid creating further tribulation. Nor could she risk any more distressing alienation. Enough she had not been banished. There were truths this girl need not combat and she knew her love for her would sustain itself, unrequited. Her driving force was to be in Nigella’s life; to be here to bring her forward into today’s world with all its vibrant abundance. There were no trying demands she would make that could possibly be construed as egotistical. She did love her; and it was devotedly. She would strive for this love to remain beyond any possible accusation of vain or oppressive self-interest.
Nigella did not know where she was in all of this, except contrite over the vehemence of her outburst. She regretted that impassioned anger, desperately wanted to make amends, but did not know how. For her part she knew her feelings had not changed. She had thought the discovery of her real identity would instantly destroy the love; turn her against her – but it had not. Now she was totally confused.
Does this make me one of those strange women?
Mallory had explained why she had carried on the masquerade, but she had never said she felt love. It was just her caring for her that she herself, had misconstrued. There was no fault on Mallory’s part. She was innocent. She was the one, and she alone, who secretly harboured these unnatural feelings. Oh twice cruel world!
Suddenly, everything that had ensued this past twenty-four hours boiled up and surfaced, uncontrollably. Her spirit was not strong enough to bear the load. The dam broke; she was engulfed in a tidal-wave of self-reproach and recrimination as once again the tears flowed, unheaded.
Oh Jellie, have you no back-bone? Where’s your self-determination?
She tried to pull herself together. She had vowed to support Mallory in all that she attempted and she would honour that vow, but she must keep hidden the depth of her feelings. They had run deep before, but now her love ran unfathomed. Darling Mal was her whole world, especially after all that she had shared. If her heart could speak it would reveal her devotion. But her adoration would have to be her secret; a hidden passion that no-one must know. It was as if she stood on the edge of time, detached and distant, holding onto an enormous emptiness. Only Mal could keep her grounded in the real world. Without her, her mind would explode; shatter into a thousand shards of broken images. Without her, she would surely fall to pieces and disintegrate.