My futile exertions in that disastrous race and the struggle to find a lodging had left me almost dead with fatigue. The mattress on which I lay, on the floor of the boxroom, was not uncomfortable. Yet I couldn’t sleep. Round and round, inextricably tangled, the events of this most unnatural day kept spinning inside my head. What a fool I had been, what a soft mark, so easily, willingly duped, flattered into the belief that I was a paragon who must win today. And what ironic diversion my idiotic credulity must have afforded Terence and Donohue as, from that first farcical trial at the Harp football ground, they led me on, with serious faces, stuffing me for the slaughter. Why did I lack the common sense to see that while I might run well enough for my age, competition against seasoned professionals who habitually made the rounds of all the Border sports was lunacy? From the beginning it had been a hoax and it ended as a swindle. Donohue had planted the paragraph in the local paper and by offering excessive odds against me, had cashed in heavily on my defeat. If only I had won, and made him pay out five times over, ruined him in fact, what a triumph it would have been, not for me alone but for Nora too, since from her own words, I knew that she must hate him. But that, like most other things I had wanted in my life, was beyond me, an achievement realized only in my dreams, never by accomplishment.
Tortured by my own inadequacy I turned restlessly on the mattress. It was evident that I had been born to fail and to be imposed upon. A sudden recollection, as from a distant world, of the Ellison added to my distress, less on account of the difficulty in getting to the University on Monday—the early train would be in Winton at least by noon—than from the settled conviction that, as I had failed in the race, I would fail there too. Pin had led me on, not like Donohue, but from the best motives, merely to improve the standard of my education.
At this point, I drifted into a troubled sleep, but not for long. Suddenly my brain snapped back to consciousness with the startled impression that someone was calling my name. I raised myself on my elbow, listening in the darkness. Sounds from the bar beneath and the distant hum of the fair in Berwick both had ceased. The faint scratching of a mouse somewhere in the room intensified the stillness. I was about to lie down again, convinced that I was mistaken, when again I fancied I heard someone call.
I jumped up, knocking my shins hard on the sharp of an unseen object, and felt my way to the door. Undecided, I stood there, listening with my ear against the panel, but hearing nothing. Yet if someone had called me it could only be Nora. Guardedly I opened my door. The corridor was in darkness, but halfway along a faint silver of light showed beneath the door of her room.
I had not undressed, having merely taken off my jacket and my boots. Now, moving softly in my socks, I advanced to the lighted door and tapped on it with a finger-nail. There was no response.
‘Nora,’ I whispered. ‘Are you there?’
Her voice came back to me, indistinctly yet with an unmistakable appeal. I turned the handle and went in.
She was lying sideways on the bed with nothing on but her chemise, which had rucked up above her knees. Her eyes were shut and her hands half clenched. The sheets and blankets of the bed, tumbled in a heap, were bunched in disorder on the floor. Worst of all was the strained, sunken greyness of her face. She looked older, almost ugly, scarcely recognizable.
‘Nora,’ I faltered. ‘You called me.’
She half opened her eyes.
‘I couldn’t stand it alone any longer. I’ve such a pain.’
‘Where, Nora?’
She made a gesture towards her stomach, but lower. She was obviously in severe pain. A fear that had hovered in the back of my mind during the day now took formidable shape. I might be a fool and a failure but, thank God, I had enough sense to know about appendicitis. I went forward to the bed.
‘Do you still feel sick?’
‘Yes. I feel awful.’
‘Nora.’ I tried not to alarm her. ‘We’ll have to get help.’
Still pressing her side, she did not answer. I took her free hand. It was hot, the palm moist with sweat.
‘We’ve got to find out, it’s dangerous not to. You must have the doctor.’
‘Oh, not yet.’ She gasped in another spasm. ‘ We’ll wait for a bit.’
‘We must,’ I pleaded.
‘It’s the middle of the night. You’ll get no one to come. I’d rather stick it out by myself. Just stay with me.’
‘But, Nora …’ I broke off, aghast that she wouldn’t let me go for assistance.
‘Please stay. If only you’ll get me up to walk about the room, that might get rid of the pain.’
She raised herself on one elbow and put her other arm on my shoulders. While I supported her, I was conscious of a bad, unhealthy smell in the room. Then I noticed that the Gladstone bag was open and empty. My white singlet and shorts were lying, sodden and terribly soiled, a dirty brownish colour, in the corner.
I thought she had been sick on them and that decided me. I put her back on the pillow. Without a word I went out and downstairs to the room marked Private. I knocked hard on the door, then, as no one answered, I turned the handle and went into the room, found the switch and put on the light. I was in a small comfortably furnished sitting-room. A clock, ticking on the mantelpiece, caught my eye. The time was half past two o’clock in the morning. Another door, almost hidden by a curtain, led me into the kitchen where, starting up from its basket before the red embers of a fire, a small dog began to bark and growl at me. Suddenly a sharp voice called out.
‘Who’s there?’
I called back, saying who I was, and that I needed help at once. For some minutes nothing happened, then, to my immense relief, the woman, who was the old man’s daughter, entered the kitchen. Still tugging at the cord of her wrapper, she quietened the dog and stared at me angrily, her eyes swollen with sleep, her hair, in a thick plait tied at the end with tape, hanging down her back.
‘My cousin’s terribly ill and in great pain.’ I got it out before she could start on me. ‘I’m sure it’s appendicitis.’
This silenced her: she was still angry, but could not quite bring herself to abuse me.
‘Oh, Lord,’ she groaned. ‘Why did I ever let you in?’
‘It’s awful to have to trouble you. But please come and see her. Or phone for the doctor now.’
Another silence, then she said:
‘I’ll have a look at her. Go on, you clown. Don’t keep me standing here all night.’
I led the way upstairs and opened the door of Nora’s room. The woman went in, at least she paused, one step beyond the threshold. Her gaze took in Nora, the disordered bed, the tumbled blankets, my soiled singlet in the corner, even the half full chamber-pot and some alarming stains on the sheets, which I had not noticed before. Then, in quite a different manner, a voice that suddenly chilled me, she said:
‘Go to your room, you. And don’t stir inch out of it till I send for you.’ She shut the door in my face.
I could not disobey her, yet, back in the boxroom, I sat close to the door, in the darkness, listening, with every sense quivering and alert, afraid, dreadfully afraid for Nora. I shivered as I thought of her chalk-white face, so drained and sunken. I prayed that the doctor would come quickly. The operation for appendicitis was in itself serious and I knew also that if an inflamed appendix was not quickly removed it would burst, with fatal consequences.
The woman was still in the room with Nora; for perhaps ten minutes she had been there. Suddenly I heard her go downstairs. The boxroom was directly above the lower passage and its old floor-boards bare of any covering. Flattened out and straining my ears, I heard her go into what I guessed was the sitting-room. Almost at once she began to talk and although I could not distinguish the words I gave a quick sigh of relief. She was telephoning for the doctor. This went on for some time and when it ended I heard her come upstairs again.
An interval elapsed, insufferably long, before the doctor arrived. He was not long in Nora’s room. Almost at once he went down to the telephone. I knew, with a slight shudder, what that meant. Then I heard him on the stairs again.
Now a few streaks of dawn were beginning to creep into the boxroom, revealing a dusty clutter of boxes, mops, pails, odd pieces of broken furniture and other lumber. I went to the single window to watch for the ambulance. But when it swung into the still, grey street, I could bear it no longer. Retreating from the window I listened to the sounds of Nora’s removal. I could not bring myself to look.
At last all was quiet again. I put on my boots and jacket, and half opened the boxroom door. I could hear nothing. Surely I couldn’t be expected to go on enduring this suspense. Cautiously I came along the corridor. The woman was in Nora’s room, with her sleeves rolled up and her hands on her hips, surveying a scene of appalling disorder.
Only one thought was in my mind. I said:
‘Will she be all right?’
She spun round. Her face was a deep red, mottled and distorted with anger.
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. You young blackguard, bringing that slut in here, messing up all my bed-linen, mucking the room so it must be scrubbed, and keeping me up half the night, and all for a two-faced little bitch you pretended was your cousin. I ought to turn you over to the police, that’s what I ought. And I will too. Just like they’ll be after her.’
I might be scared, yet I had to stand up for Nora.
‘She couldn’t help it.’
‘Couldn’t she? I’ll swear she brought it on herself.’
What on earth did she mean? She must be mad with rage.
‘Brought on what?’
‘You young twister, don’t pretend you don’t know. She’s had a filthy miss.’
I did not understand.
‘A what?’ I said.
‘A lowdown dirty abortion from taking pills.’ She shouted and caught me a stunning box on the ear that nearly knocked me down. But the brutal force of her words stunned me worse than the blow. Unable to speak, I stared at her dully, so shocked I lost all sense of where I was, or what was making me shake all over. Then something within me gave way. I covered my face with my arm and leaned against the passage wall.