(11/20) Farther Afield Read online

  I lay back, exhausted, on the sofa. The pain had frightened me, and I was very careful to keep the arm quite still.

  Dr Martin now turned his attention to the ankle. I had taken off my stockings and shoes, and looked morosely at the swelling of my left ankle.

  He began to wriggle the toes this way and that, and Mrs Pringle came into the room.

  'Mrs Garfield on the phone,' she told us. This was Amy, my old college friend, and it was welcome news. Perhaps she could come to my aid?

  'I must speak to her,' I told Dr Martin. 'She might be able to take me into Caxley if I have to go to be X-rayed.'

  'Caxley? That's no good to you, my girl. There's no casualty department there now.'

  I looked at him in horror.

  'Do you mean I've got to be jogged all the way to Norchester?'

  'That's right, my dear. And if your friend can take you, the sooner the better.'

  The thought of travelling over fifteen miles to our county town appalled me. I lowered my bare legs gingerly to the ground, clutching my wounded arm tenderly the while.

  Dr Martin came to my aid, and leaning heavily on his shoulder I hopped to the telephone.

  'I've told her you're suffering from an accident,' Mrs Pringle said importantly, as I stood on one foot holding the receiver.

  'What's happened?' asked Amy.

  I told her.

  'I'll be over in half an hour,' she promised. 'Get ready for the hospital and I'll take you straight there.'

  My cries of gratitude were cut short by a click and the line going dead.

  Amy had gone into action.

  By the time she arrived, Dr Martin had departed on his rounds, and I was lying on the sofa, dressed by Mrs Pringle ready for the journey.

  It had not been an easy preparation. Fastening stockings to suspenders I now found quite impossible with one hand, and I was obliged to Mrs Pringle for her assistance.

  It was equally impossible to put on a coat, and this was draped round my shoulders insecurely. The sling was like emery paper round the back of my neck, until Mrs Pringle managed to insert a silk scarf between it and my scarlet flesh. The ankle had been wrapped in yards of crepe bandage, and I felt as swaddled as an Egyptian mummy.

  'You'll be a lot worse before you're better,' Mrs Pringle warned me.

  The cupboards had been abandoned since my fall, and I could see she was torn between returning to her duties and tending the fractious sick.

  'I'll be all right,' I told her, 'if you like to get on with the work.'

  Before she had time to make her decision, the door opened and in walked Amy, looking as elegant as ever in a cream silk suit.

  'Poor old love,' she said, in a voice of such warm sympathy, that only Mrs Pringle's presence kept me from shameful weeping.

  'What do you need?' she asked more briskly.

  'Only this chit from Dr Martin, I think.'

  'Then let's ease you into the car and trundle on our way.'

  Together, they helped me to hop to Amy's waiting limousine.

  'Take the lettuces,' I shouted to Mrs Pringle through the window, 'and your money, and a thousand thanks.'

  I finished on a high-pitched yelp as Amy let in the clutch and my elbow moved a millimetre.

  'Sorry,' said Amy, looking anxious.

  With infinite caution we began our journey.

  Amy and I have known each other ever since our college days. She was one of that establishment's brighter stars, excelling in sport as well as work, and would have made a splendid headmistress of some lucky school had she not married within three years of leaving college.

  It was quite apparent that James would succeed in anything he took up. He was a dark-eyed charmer, with boundless energy and an effervescent sense of humour. He loved parties and social occasions of all kinds, going to great lengths to arrange outings which would please his friends, and always generous with his time and money.

  He was, as the saying goes, 'good with children', and I know it was a blow to both of them that they had no family of their own. Nephews and nieces were frequent visitors to the house, and I think that Amy's spells of supply teaching gave her much-needed contact with children.

  These spells grew more frequent as James advanced in his career and was more and more away from home. At this time he was a director of a cosmetic firm, and his work took him abroad several times a year. There were also a great many meetings in the United Kingdom to attend, and Amy was often alone at the lovely house in Bent, the village not far from Caxley and Fairacre, where they lived.

  I must confess that I had my suspicions about James's fidelity. He was a warm-hearted gay fellow, as appreciative of pretty women as he was of the other attractive things in life. His frequent absences from home gave him ample opportunities for dalliance, and although I never doubted his love for Amy, some of his absences seemed unusually protracted to me. Added to that, his home-coming presents to Amy were so magnificent, that I personally should have viewed them with some suspicion, even from such a generous man as James.

  Amy, however, was completely loyal and discreet. Secretly I had no doubt that she shared my feelings – she was far too astute to be deceived. Nevertheless, nothing had ever been said between us, and our affection increased over the years. Certainly, Amy tends to be bossy, and is always attempting to reform me in one way or another, but I am wonderfully resistant to pressure, as Mrs Pringle knows, and Amy's failure to improve me had not altered the very warm regard which we feel for each other.

  This immediate response to my cry for help was typical of her, and I tried to tell her so, as we turned into the hospital grounds.

  Still clutching my piece of paper from Dr Martin, I was ushered into the waiting room of the casualty department, with Amy in attendance.

  There were about fifteen of us unfortunates gathered there, some looking, to my inexperienced eye, at the point of death. There were also several children, all of whom appeared to be in excellent spirits.

  'Sit down, dear,' said a nurse briskly, pushing up a wheel chair. It struck me smartly behind the knees, so that any modest refusal was cut short as I sat down abruptly.

  A lively six-year-old pranced up to make my acquaintance.

  'Are you very bad?'

  'No,' I said bravely, 'Just my arm and leg are hurt.'

  'My sister's bitten her tongue in half,' he said, indicating a screen in the middle distance. 'She won't let them put the stitches in.'

  I began to hope that the child would be called away. I had quite enough to bear without all this extra harrowing.

  'D'you know what that's for?' he asked, indicating a small scoop about the size of an ash tray, on the arm of my chair.

  'No,' I said faintly. Hadn't this horrible child got a mother somewhere?

  'It's to be sick in,' he told me.

  'Here,' said Amy severely, 'you run away and find a book to read. This lady doesn't want to be bothered with you.'

  'I don't want to be bothered with her either,' said the horror, moving towards the end of the room, where a battered cardboard box housed a collection of even more battered toys.

  He selected a fiendish mechanical car which needed to be run over the tiled floor to make it work. The noise was hideous, but infinitely preferable to the child's company.

  He was still at it when I was summoned to be examined by a doctor young enough to be my son. Used as I am to Dr Martin's venerable aspect, I had some qualms, but he was quick and competent and I was despatched to the X-ray department with yet another piece of paper.

  Amy waited in the first room and smiled cheerfully at me as I passed to be wheeled down a long corridor. There is nothing, I decided, as we steered an erratic course down the shiny passage, quite so demoralising as being obliged to sit in a push chair.

  By now the elbow was torturing me, and no matter how carefully the nurse arranged my arm for the camera I yelped frequently.

  'One of the most painful injuries,' she told me, echoing Dr. Martin, 'and of course it c
an't be put in plaster.'

  I heard this with mixed feelings.

  'The sling will be a great help,' she assured me, seeing my consternation.

  'This one won't,' I told her. 'It's as rough as emery paper.'

  'I'll change it,' she promised me. 'This does seem rather antique. Must be war issue.'

  She set me up with one rather less scratchy, and I begged her to accept Dr Martin's.

  'Dear me, no,' she replied, folding it up briskly. 'Take it home as a spare. After it's been boiled a few times it will be quite comfortable.'

  We returned in the push chair to the waiting Amy. The horrible boy had been joined by another, slightly larger, and they were engaged in sticking out their tongues at each other.

  'I'm glad you've found a quieter game,' said Amy kindly to them.

  We waited yet again. At last, my X-ray photographs were displayed on a screen.

  'A nasty crack across the radius,' I was told. 'Don't move it for three weeks, and we'll see you then.'

  Don't move it, I thought rebelliously! What a hope!

  I shuffled crossly towards the door, with Amy in attendance.

  'Goodbye, Auntie Hopalong,' shouted the rude boy.

  'I think you'd better come straight home with me,' said Amy, as we left the town behind us. 'You can't be alone like this. You're practically helpless, and there are some knock-out pills which I see Dr Martin left on the mantel-piece which you are supposed to take before you go to bed. Lord knows what they'll do!'

  'It's terribly good of you, Amy, but I really can't be such a nuisance to you. Besides there are all sorts of things to see to. Tibby, for instance, and the laundry hasn't been sorted, and the groceries arrive tomorrow, and I'll have to make some plans with Mrs Pringle.'

  'Then I'll come and stay with you tonight,' said Amy firmly. 'James is away. There's nothing to worry about, and you're certainly not staying alone in the house. So, no arguing.'

  I was deeply grateful. If only I could go to sleep, I felt that I would face any thing when I woke up. Now all that I craved for was oblivion, and no doubt Dr Martin's pills would help there.

  The journey seemed endless, but at last the school house was in sight. I edged my way painfully from the car, and was glad to gain the sitting room.

  'Good heavens,' I said, catching sight of the clock. 'It's only half past two! I feel as if I'd been away for a fortnight.'

  'I'm going to heat some soup,' said Amy, 'then make up a bed for you on the couch here. Mrs Pringle's left you a note.'

  She handed it to me and then vanished towards the kitchen.

  It said:

  'Have put all to rights and fed cat. Will come up this evening. Can live in if needed.'

  Amy reappeared in the doorway.

  'I take back all I've ever said about Mrs Pringle,' I told her, giving her the note to read.

  'A handsome offer,' agreed Amy.

  'Downright noble,' I said warmly.

  'And how long,' said Amy, 'do you think you two could rub along together?'

  'Well-' I began, and was cut short by Amy's laughter.

  4 Amy Takes Command

  THOSE of us who are lucky enough to live in a village, face the fact that our lives are an open book. Those dreadful stories of town-dwellers found dead in their beds, having been there for months, and even years sometimes, are not likely to be echoed in smaller communities.

  Here, in Fairacre, villagers tardy in bringing in their milk bottles run the risk of well-meaning neighbours popping round 'to see if they are all right.'

  There are times when this concern for each other seems downright irritating. On the other hand, how comforting it is to know that people care about one's welfare!

  Mrs Pringle, of course, had not been able to resist telling several of her friends about the drama in which she had taken part that morning.

  Thanks to one of Dr Martin's pills I knew nothing from three o'clock that afternoon until I woke at ten that night, but Amy evidently had a succession of visitors during that time, and was very touched by their sympathy and their practical offers of help.

  'The vicar's wife brought those roses,' she told me, waving towards a mixed bouquet which smelt heavenly on the bedside table.

  'And she says you are not to worry about the organ on Sunday, as she is quite able to cope if she transposes everything into the key of C, and they cut out the anthem.'

  I clutched my aching head with my sound hand.

  'I'd forgotten all about that!'

  'Well, keep on forgetting,' Amy advised me. 'You'll have to get used to the brutal fact that no one is indispensable.'

  I nodded meekly, and wished I hadn't. Those pills were dynamite.

  'And Mrs Willet's sent six gorgeous eggs and some tomatoes, and will do any washing while your arm's useless.'

  'That woman's an angel. Luckily, her husband recognises it.'

  'Someone from the farm – I didn't catch the name -'

  'Mrs Roberts.'

  'That's it. She'll help in any way you like. Shopping, bringing you a midday meal. Anything!'

  'People are kind.'

  'They most certainly are,' agreed Amy, 'and I am absolutely flabbergasted at the way they're all rallying round you.'

  I felt slightly nettled. Anyone would think that I am normally such a monster that I do not deserve any consideration. I was deeply grateful for all this concern, but Amy's astonishment was hard to bear.

  'It isn't as though they have children at the school,' went on Amy, musing to herself.

  'Even Mrs Pringle,' she continued thoughtfully, 'called this evening to see how you were.'

  She sighed, then jumped up to straighten the counterpane.

  'Ah well! People are odd,' she said, dismissing the subject.

  But by tins time, my irritation was waning, for Dr Martin's blue pill was wafting me once more into oblivion.

  ***

  The sun was warm upon the bed when I awoke. It shone through the petals of the roses, and sent their fragrance through the room.

  Amy was gazing at me anxiously.

  'Thank God, you've woken up! I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come to.'

  'Why, what's the time?'

  'Ten o'clock.'

  'No! I must have had about sixteen hours' sleep.'

  'How do you feel?'

  'Marvellous, if I don't move.'

  'Could you manage an egg?'

  I sat up cautiously.

  'I could manage an egg and toast and marmalade and butter and lashings of coffee and perhaps an apple.'

  Amy laughed.

  'You've recovered. Do you ever lose your appetite?'

  'It improves in a crisis,' I assured her. 'When war broke out, I ate with enormous gusto. The more sensitive types on the staff of that school I was at then, couldn't touch a morsel – or so they said – but I had the feeling each meal might be my last, so I made the most of it.'

  Amy laughed, and went to the kitchen.

  I could hear her moving china and saucepans, and lay back feeling one part guilty and nine parts relieved. How pleasant it was to be waited on! I tried to remember the last time I had lain in bed while someone else cooked my breakfast, and found it beyond my powers.

  Tibby came undulating into the room giving little chirrups of pleasure at having found me at last. She jumped elegantly on to the bed, missing my damaged ankle by a millimetre. I clasped my poor arm in trepidation. Tibby's affectionate attention was a mixed blessing this morning.

  Before she could do much damage, Amy appeared with the tray.

  'I've cut your toast into fingers, my dear, and I'll spread your marmalade when you want it.'

  'I feel about three years old,' I told her, 'and backward at that.'

  Eating a boiled egg left-handed is no easy task, and I should certainly have gone without butter and marmalade if Amy had not been there to help me. Suddenly, I realised how horribly helpless I was. It was frightening.

  'Now, about plans,' said Amy, putting down the
knife.

  'With all these offers of help from kind neighbours, I should be fine,' I said.

  She looked at me quizzically.

  'You haven't tried walking yet, or washing, or doing your hair or dressing.'

  'No,' I agreed sadly.

  'And let's face it, you can't possibly negotiate the stairs even with that ankle strapped.'

  I knew this was the plain truth.

  'I've thought it all out. You're coming back to Bent with me. There's plenty of room. I shall be glad of your company, and it will do you good to have a change of scene. So say no more.'

  'It's more than generous of you, Amy, but – '

  'It's no use arguing. I know what you are going to say. Well, Tibby can come too, or Mrs Pringle has offered to come in to feed her, so that's that. We can shut up the house and give Mrs P. the key. Mr Willet says he'll keep an eye on the garden and mow the grass.'

  'But Dr Martin...?'

  'Dr Martin can be kept informed of your progress by telephone, and is welcome to visit you at my house.'

  I looked at Amy with admiration.

  'You've worked it all out to the last detail, I see.'

  'I had plenty of time yesterday – and lots of offers from others, don't forget.'

  I nodded in silence.

  'Let's get you along to the bath.'

  Bracing my arm stiffly, for I dreaded the pain when it was moved, I struggled to get my legs to the floor. Once they were there it was obvious that only the right one could bear any weight. Amy was quite right, I was helpless.

  She was looking at me with some amusement.

  'Well?'

  'You win, you lovely girl. I'll come thankfully, bless you.'

  One arm round her shoulders, I shimmied my way to the bathroom.

  We were seen off that afternoon by a number of friends and well-wishers. I began to feel rather a fraud. After all, no one could say I was seriously ill.

  Nevertheless, it was delightful to receive as much sympathy and attention.

  'The vicar and I will visit you next week,' promised Mrs Partridge.