bombshell.’
Helen pushed herself out of his arms and shook her head. ‘I’m stronger than Marigold. Gran knew she’d need me.’
‘How can I help?’ Rex started to dress too.
‘You can’t. You aren’t supposed to be here. Stay in bed a bit longer and then go to work. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.’
‘You must feel awful, as though the bottom has dropped out of your world. Are you all right to drive?’
Helen was a bit shaky and she could see he was concerned. ‘My knees feel like rubber.’
‘I could take you.’
‘No, Rex.’ She had to stand on her own feet. ‘I’ll need my car to get back, won’t I?’ She was strapping her watch on.
‘It was only yesterday lunchtime,’ Rex said. ‘Mrs Darty said it wouldn’t be long. She must have had a premonition.’
‘I took no notice,’ Helen lamented, as she pulled on a coat and ran out into the cold early dawn.
The only dead person she’d ever seen was her husband, John, but one look at Gran and she had no doubt that she was dead too. Marigold was in floods of tears and walking round in her nightie with bare feet.
‘What about the doctor?’
‘He said he’d come.’ Marigold was shivering, her hands and feet were a mauvish colour and the house itself was freezing cold. Helen led her to her own bedroom, pushed her arms into her dressing gown and knotted her into it. She found her a pair of Gran’s bed socks and made her put them on before her slippers. She pulled the eiderdown from her bed and wrapped it round her.
‘Come on downstairs and I’ll make a hot drink.’ Helen had grown up in this house; it always had been a cold place. She took their tea to the shabby living room. The grate was filled with cold ash and there was no other source of heat. Helen groaned. She’d lost the art of laying fires, if she’d ever had it.
She was relieved to see a car pulling up outside behind her own. ‘Look, here’s Dr Harris.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Marigold shot to open the door before he knocked, but was then too upset to be able to tell him clearly what had happened.
Helen knew Dr Harris well; he’d been their family doctor for years. He was painfully thin, and his tired grey face made him look more ill than many of his patients. On being consulted regarding some indisposition, his soulful grey eyes would stare with benign intensity into those of his patient. Helen followed him upstairs, recounting how they’d both been to her house for Sunday lunch where Gran had eaten nothing; how a friend had brought them home and helped Marigold get Gran to bed for her afternoon rest.
‘What happened after that?’ the doctor asked.
‘She went to sleep,’ Marigold said. ‘I helped her take off her skirt first, so she wouldn’t crease it. It was her best one.’
Helen turned down the bedclothes and was shocked to see that Gran was still fully dressed apart from her skirt.
‘When did she wake up?’ the doctor asked.
‘Well she didn’t. I made her tea – she likes scrambled egg with some soft bread and butter on Sundays – but I couldn’t wake her up to eat it.’
‘Marigold!’ Helen was horrified to think that Gran might have died yesterday.
‘I tried to ring you, but you weren’t there,’ Marigold wailed.
‘Rex took me out for a walk.’ Helen was defensive.
‘I tried again and it was getting dark; you couldn’t have been out walking then.’
‘And out to supper afterwards.’
‘Was your mother breathing, Marigold? Can you remember?’
‘Yes, but it sounded different. Slower and deeper somehow.’ Tears were streaming down her cheeks. ‘I sat here with her for a long time. I held her hand and kept talking to her, but she didn’t answer.’ Marigold clucked with distress. ‘I couldn’t wake her.’
Helen shivered, tears stinging her eyes. She could understand why Marigold was upset now.
Dr Harris smiled gently at her. ‘You did right, Marigold. If your mother could hear you, that would have
Helen pushed herself out of his arms and shook her head. ‘I’m stronger than Marigold. Gran knew she’d need me.’
‘How can I help?’ Rex started to dress too.
‘You can’t. You aren’t supposed to be here. Stay in bed a bit longer and then go to work. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.’
‘You must feel awful, as though the bottom has dropped out of your world. Are you all right to drive?’
Helen was a bit shaky and she could see he was concerned. ‘My knees feel like rubber.’
‘I could take you.’
‘No, Rex.’ She had to stand on her own feet. ‘I’ll need my car to get back, won’t I?’ She was strapping her watch on.
‘It was only yesterday lunchtime,’ Rex said. ‘Mrs Darty said it wouldn’t be long. She must have had a premonition.’
‘I took no notice,’ Helen lamented, as she pulled on a coat and ran out into the cold early dawn.
The only dead person she’d ever seen was her husband, John, but one look at Gran and she had no doubt that she was dead too. Marigold was in floods of tears and walking round in her nightie with bare feet.
‘What about the doctor?’
‘He said he’d come.’ Marigold was shivering, her hands and feet were a mauvish colour and the house itself was freezing cold. Helen led her to her own bedroom, pushed her arms into her dressing gown and knotted her into it. She found her a pair of Gran’s bed socks and made her put them on before her slippers. She pulled the eiderdown from her bed and wrapped it round her.
‘Come on downstairs and I’ll make a hot drink.’ Helen had grown up in this house; it always had been a cold place. She took their tea to the shabby living room. The grate was filled with cold ash and there was no other source of heat. Helen groaned. She’d lost the art of laying fires, if she’d ever had it.
She was relieved to see a car pulling up outside behind her own. ‘Look, here’s Dr Harris.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Marigold shot to open the door before he knocked, but was then too upset to be able to tell him clearly what had happened.
Helen knew Dr Harris well; he’d been their family doctor for years. He was painfully thin, and his tired grey face made him look more ill than many of his patients. On being consulted regarding some indisposition, his soulful grey eyes would stare with benign intensity into those of his patient. Helen followed him upstairs, recounting how they’d both been to her house for Sunday lunch where Gran had eaten nothing; how a friend had brought them home and helped Marigold get Gran to bed for her afternoon rest.
‘What happened after that?’ the doctor asked.
‘She went to sleep,’ Marigold said. ‘I helped her take off her skirt first, so she wouldn’t crease it. It was her best one.’
Helen turned down the bedclothes and was shocked to see that Gran was still fully dressed apart from her skirt.
‘When did she wake up?’ the doctor asked.
‘Well she didn’t. I made her tea – she likes scrambled egg with some soft bread and butter on Sundays – but I couldn’t wake her up to eat it.’
‘Marigold!’ Helen was horrified to think that Gran might have died yesterday.
‘I tried to ring you, but you weren’t there,’ Marigold wailed.
‘Rex took me out for a walk.’ Helen was defensive.
‘I tried again and it was getting dark; you couldn’t have been out walking then.’
‘And out to supper afterwards.’
‘Was your mother breathing, Marigold? Can you remember?’
‘Yes, but it sounded different. Slower and deeper somehow.’ Tears were streaming down her cheeks. ‘I sat here with her for a long time. I held her hand and kept talking to her, but she didn’t answer.’ Marigold clucked with distress. ‘I couldn’t wake her.’
Helen shivered, tears stinging her eyes. She could understand why Marigold was upset now.
Dr Harris smiled gently at her. ‘You did right, Marigold. If your mother could hear you, that would have
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