Shirley, on the way to the canteen, tucked her arm through Judy’s.
“Have a good time?”
Judy gave her an affectionate dig with her elbow.
“You know, you’re wasted on this factory, you ought to be a policewoman. Nothing goes on that you don’t know about, does it?”
Shirley moved her arm to Judy’s shoulder and gave her a hug.
“If you think anybody catches the train from this station escorted by a man and the rest of us girls don’t know about it, you’re more of a fool than you look. But when it comes to you, who’ve set every girl in a jitter since the factory dance in case you nip off with one of their boys, you just can’t take a step without us all knowing about it. A sort of running commentary went round Pinlock. ‘Judy Rest is coming down the road with her suit-case.’ ‘Judy Rest has called in at The Bull. She’s picked up Mr. Parsons. They’ve gone to the station,’ and after that, of course, we just said oo-er!’”
“Just to satisfy your curiosity and not because I care a damn what any of you think I do with my week-ends, I stayed with his mother.”
Shirley’s eyes grew round with interest.
“No! What’s she like? Very posh and la-di-da, I suppose.”
Judy pictured Lady Parsons in her mind’s eye.
“The least posh and la-di-da, in the sense you mean, person in the world I should think. She wears old clothes, I don’t think she cares at all what anybody thinks about her. She’s lost two sons in this war and minds all the time and never says a word about it. In fact, a perfect darling.”
“She all right to you?”
“Couldn’t have been more enchanting. She wasn’t a bit like you’d think she’d be to some strange girl. I mean, you’d think she’d be a bit looking me over and all that.”
Shirley giggled.
“I dare say she thought there was no need with a lifetime of doing that ahead of her.”
They were in the canteen. They had to take their place in the queue so Judy had no chance to answer, for which she was grateful. Funny the way people would take it for granted that there was something more than friendship between herself and Nicholas.
Shirley and Judy sat down facing each other. Shirley, though she was eating hard, had a good look at Judy.
“Doesn’t seem to have done you much good, your holiday. You look on the pale side. But then, I suppose it’s a long journey.”
“It’s a beast, though I don’t think that’s why I’m looking pale, if I am. I came back to such a fuss, and I hate fusses.”
“What’s happened?”
Judy laid down her knife and fork.
“The old lady hasn’t been well. It seems that while I was away she tripped in the garden, and though she wasn’t much hurt Clara sent for the doctor, and the doctor had a talk with Miss Rose –that’s Mrs. Former’s daughter that I told you about, and he told Miss Rose the old lady was breaking up and ought to be looked after rather more, and amongst other things that she ought not to be allowed to give herself her own insulin injections. She might give herself too much or too little one day, and Clara’s to give it to her.”
“Fancy giving yourself an injection! I’d hate to.”
“Insulin patients very often do look after themselves,” Judy explained. “And Mrs. Former’s a wonderfully independent old lady, hates to think she needs any help physically.”
“Still, I suppose if the doctor’s talked to Miss Former about it she’ll talk the old lady into it, won’t she?”
“Though she wouldn’t admit it for worlds, the old lady doesn’t like her granddaughter; she admires her and knows she’s competent, and she’s forced to admit that she’s most frightfully good to her, but she hates the thought of being dependent on her. I’m fond of the old dear and I hate to see her in a state, but, of course, she’ll have to give in in the end, now that the doctor’s insisted, though, mind you, I can’t think why he did, the old girl couldn’t be more competent.”
“If the old lady can’t give herself an injection and doesn’t like that Clara doing it, why don’t you do it? You were trained in a hospital, weren’t you? Is it difficult to give an injection?”
Judy’s face lit up.
“Of course it isn’t. How stupid of me not to think of it for myself; it’s an awfully good idea, settle all the bother I expect. Between you and me, though I can give it, I shan’t, I’ll just stand beside the old lady and see she gives herself the right dose.”
Judy tried out Shirley’s suggestion as soon as she got in that evening. On the doctor’s orders the old lady was having a day or two in bed. Her face lit up as Judy came in.
“There you are, dear! I was hoping you would find time to come up and see me. Doctor Mead is a very old friend and I’m certain would not keep me in bed unless he thought it necessary, and I don’t like to offend him by getting up when he said I was to stay in bed, but, you know, Judy dear, there’s nothing whatsoever the matter with me. You see, the trouble is that Clara fusses. On Sunday I tripped over a bit of string that was lying about; it had got caught up somehow on to a branch or something, and I would have had a very nasty fall, but fortunately I just saved myself and came down on my hands and knees, but by bad luck Clara was out collecting firewood and she saw me, but she couldn’t find the string that I tripped over, though I know it was there because I felt it, and she insisted I had a giddy fit and sent for Doctor Mead, and I think must have seen him first and had a talk with him, because you know he is anything but an alarmist, but he treated me, dear, just like a child. Really, I could have slapped him. Then, to crown it all, the next day he told Rose that she was to take away my hypodermic and Clara was to give it to me. Of course I refused and made Rose go back and see him about it. Doctor Mead came up himself last night and gave me my injection, but he said I must let Clara do it to-night. Such nonsense!”
Judy took one of the old lady’s hands and patted it. “That’s what I came to see you about. I quite see that if the doctor’s got it into his head that you ought not to be giving yourself a hypodermic that he won’t let you, but I’ve got a suggestion to make. How would it be if I gave it? Not really, you know, because all I shall do is to see you give it to yourself. I’m perfectly used to them in hospital, and I’ll see you don’t have a giddy fit while you’re putting the needle in.”
She laughed as she said giddy fit.
Mrs. Former beamed at her.
“You do see it’s nonsense, dear, I knew you would. But I think that’s a perfectly splendid idea. It’s very naughty of me, but I do dislike feeling dependent on Clara. I feel once she starts giving me injections she may go on doing it, and the next thing we know is that she’s treating me like a baby.” She gave Judy a conspiratorial twinkle. “Run along now, dear, and tell her that we’ve arranged everything.”
Judy went to the kitchen quite thinking she would get thanks. Clara had more than enough to do, goodness knew, for the old lady now that she was in bed, and she would probably be only too thankful to have something taken off her hands. In the kitchen Clara was working at the stove, Desmond was standing at the window slapping vaguely at flies on the pane, and Miss Rose was out in the scullery singing at the top of her voice:
“O happy band of pilgrims
Look upward to the skies.”
It was always understood that Clara reigned in the kitchen though Miss Rose pottered in and out. Judy never went in without asking permission. She stood now in the doorway.
“Can I come in, Clara?”
Judy’s voice evidently penetrated Miss Rose’s singing and she broke off in the middle of a line and came hurrying into the kitchen.
“Ah, there you are back, Judy dear. Would you go up and see Mother, she’d love to have a talk with you.”
“I’ve been,” Judy explained, “and that’s what I’ve come to see Clara about.” She turned to Clara. “You know what a fuss she’s in about you giving her her insulin – well, it seems she wouldn’t mind if I did it. I suppose it’s because . . .” she broke off, staring at Clara.
Clara was at all times rather pale, but now she turned quite white, and the expression in her eyes, which were fixed on Judy, was intense, out of all proportion to the words that were being said. She spoke as she had on the day when Mr. Jones stole the meat ration. Words poured out of her mouth in a meaningless jabber. Why should she be insulted when she was perfectly capable of giving an injection, as the doctor well knew? Why did Judy always try to interfere? Life was difficult enough with a senile woman in the house without Judy making difficulties. It wasn’t right that time should be taken from bringing up a sensitive little boy in order to keep old people going.
Judy felt quite stunned by the flow of words. What in the name of wonder was there to fuss about? As soon as Clara paused for breath, she broke in.
“But, Clara, if the old lady wants it, what’s the objection? After all, I was trained in hospital.”
Clara came to the edge of the kitchen table and beat on it with her fist.
“I knew that was coming. Throwing up your hospital training in my teeth, but let me tell you I was trained too. My husband sent me for classes. There’s a lot of odd jobs you have to do in chemist’s shops.”
Judy did not know what to say. She was completely in the dark as to what had caused this outbreak. It was no good saying that Clara was unbalanced, even if she was and if she was going to be terribly upset about this injection business, nothing could alter what the old lady wanted, and, after all, the old lady was the patient.
Desmond gave her time to think. He suddenly wandered over to the table holding a dead fly between his fingers.
“I killed him. I killed a mouse once, stamping on it.”
If there was one thing that Judy was sure of it was her violent revulsion to Desmond.
“Poor mouse,” she said severely, before she had time to remember that Clara was present.
Clara gave Desmond a push.
“Go out into the garden, dear.”
“The old wind has got tied up in our chimney, he’s moaning and groaning.”
Clara took the child by the hand.
“Go outside, dear.”
She shut the back door, taking quite a time over it. When she came back to the table Judy was relieved to see that she looked more normal. She had been cooking when Judy came in, and she now went back to the stove. She spoke with her face over a saucepan.
“Sorry if I lost my temper, but life seems to be just one thing on top of another. I’ll have a talk to the doctor to-morrow. If he says you can give the injections then I won’t say any more about it, for to-night he’s ordered a bit of a sedative, and I’m giving it her in some soup, and by the time I come up to settle her off she’ll be too drowsy to care who puts the injection in, but as she’s taken a fancy to you you can come up with me and sit with her while I do it.”
It was still light when Judy and Clara went up to put the old lady to bed, that queer, unreal light of a summer evening. The sedative had done its work. Mrs. Former was not asleep, but she was too drowsy to say much, and contentedly let Judy and Clara make the bed and wash her and settle her for the night. On a tray on the window-ledge was the insulin. The syringe and its needle were lying in a jar on a bed of cotton wool soaked in surgical spirit. Clara, in an experienced way, picked the parts out one by one and put the syringe together.
“She has twenty units. She’s not a bad case, just the one dose a day keeps her going.”
“That’s right,” agreed the old lady sleepily, “just one dose a day, but, you know, I could give it to myself, Clara dear.”
“That’s right,” Clara agreed, “so you shall in a couple of days’ time.”
Clara had just filled the syringe when the old lady spoke again.
“It’s so curious, Judy dear, do you know, I thought just now I heard Mr. Jones come in and stand just inside the door, like he always did. It’s as if he was saying, ‘Come on, let’s go for a walk, I’m waiting for you’.”
Clara touched Judy’s arm.
“You strip back the sheets and dab a little bit of spirit above her knee.”
Judy did as she was asked, filled with relief that Mrs. Former was too sleepy to notice who was giving her the injection. Clara was clearly no novice; she slipped the needle in expertly and withdrew it and covered the old lady up and tucked her in.
“I’ll just draw the curtains, I think, we don’t want the morning light to disturb her.” She pointed to the syringe now back on the tray. “Take that thing apart and put it back in the spirit, would you?”
Judy did as she was asked. Then she moved over to the bed. There was no sound at all from the old lady.
“She’s asleep, I think,” she whispered.
“That’s right.” To Judy’s amazement Clara thrust her arm through hers. “We’ll slip out, shall we?”
“Well,” thought Judy, “I never thought I should be walking arm-in-arm with Clara. I suppose it’s just a matter of stopping anywhere long enough and you become buddies, though, as a matter of fact, this buddyism, if Clara only knew, is a bit one-sided.”
There was a large window half-way down the stairs, and out of it you could see the most beautiful part of the garden. Clara drew Judy to this window.
“There. That’s something to look at, isn’t it? Not overlooked, nice and remote, and our very own. Just a few repairs now and again. Plenty of money for that.”
Judy was startled by Clara’s voice. It had taken on an odd, gloating tone.
“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s rather nice to have some neighbours and, as far as the money’s concerned, I should think if the property were nearer the road the price would go up if Mrs. Former should ever want to sell it.”
Clara continued to look out of the window. She was smiling.
“She won’t want to do that. She certainly will never want to do that.”
Judy always went to bed early, partly because there was nothing to do in the evenings, mostly because of her early start. She rather liked the time in bed before she fell asleep. She saw the rooks fly by the window cawing off to bed, and listened to the night breeze getting up, and let her mind travel till it reached The Bull Inn. Then she would shut her eyes and say to herself, “What’s he doing now?” Sometimes she saw him playing a game of darts, sometimes smoking a pipe on the bench outside the inn while he talked to a couple of friends. Sometimes she knew he was out with the Home Guard. Sometimes she imagined him doing just what she was doing herself, lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, dreaming. She never got as far as to hope he was dreaming of her, she was quite sure he never did anything of the sort, in fact, it was practically certain that his dreams would be about his work. “What a queer world,” thought Judy, “in which men spend their thinking time not on girls but on an explosive.” To-night she knew that Nicholas was out with the Home Guard, and having mentally put him into his battle-dress she could go no further. What exactly Home Guards did on a night exercise was beyond her, but she still thought of him, and presently her eyes began to droop, she turned over on her side and prepared to go to sleep. She was just over the border between sleeping and waking when she heard a scream. In one second she was out of bed and into the passage. The screaming came from Mrs. Former’s room. Judy had only taken a step towards it when Miss Rose almost fell out of the door, her face was greenish white and she was making animal moanings. She had, however, just sufficient strength left to realize that Judy was coming towards her. She tottered forward.
“Oh, Mother! Mother! I went in to kiss her good night. She was turning cold. She’s dead, Judy. Dead.” She fell in a heap on the floor.