(20/20)A Peaceful Retirement (8 page)

'Poor Mr Jenkins,' she said to me, as I stood waiting to pay for my milk. 'Isn't it a shame?'

Of course, by this time I had John in a Portuguese hospital with multiple injuries, and unable to speak a word of the language. Alternatively, he could be in the wreckage of an aeroplane at sea, with the rest of his fellow passengers.

'The doctor's with him now,' continued Jessie, hoisting an enormous hold-all from the floor. 'I shall look in later on.'

'But what's the matter? What's happened?'

'He was ill on the flight and went straight to bed on Saturday night. Been there ever since.'

She staggered out with her burden, and I left soon after.

Within half an hour, I walked into John's house bearing a few things which I thought might be acceptable to an invalid.

The doctor had gone, and the place was very quiet. I called up the stairs.

'Come up,' said a weak voice.

He sat in bed looking thoroughly wretched, propped against his pillows. I was secretly shocked at his appearance. His smile, however, was welcoming.

'I'm so sorry I didn't ring, but we were held up for hours at the airport. It was two o'clock in the morning when I crawled into this bed, and I've been here ever since.'

What is it? Shouldn't you be in hospital?'

'I didn't ring the doctor until this morning. Can't worry the poor devil on a Sunday.'

I thought privately that this was being far too altruistic. If I had been as ill as John obviously was, I should have got the doctor whatever the day of the week. This patient was obviously of far nobler stuff than I was.

'What did he say it was?'

'Some bug which affects you rather like the malaria one. High temperature, shaking, nausea, all that.'

'When did it start? In Portugal?'

'I felt lousy on the plane. Some fly had bitten me earlier in the day, and it itched like mad. Doctor seems to think that started it. Anyway by the time I got home I was only fit for bed and quarts of water.'

'What can I do?'

'Nothing. Just stay and talk. Jessie is coming in every morning and evening, and she takes my sheets and pyjamas. I get soaked every few hours. With
sweat
, I hasten to add.'

I remembered Jessie's burden and felt guilty.

'I could wash some things for you.'

'I can't think what the neighbours would say if they saw my pyjamas blowing on your washing line.'

'To hell with the neighbours!'

John laughed. It was a wheezy laugh, and a weak one, but good to hear.

'That's my girl! But don't worry. Jessie's got a tumble drier, and she's taken everything at the moment.'

'Can I get you a drink?'

I made for a jug of orange juice standing nearby, but he grimaced.

'What I'd really like is a great mug of tea,' he said.

I went to get it, and when I returned he was lying back with his eyes shut. It was alarming, and he must have sensed my concern for he sat up again and spoke cheerfully.

'You could do something for me if you happen to be going to Caxley today.'

'I'm definitely going to Caxley today.'

'Well, could you get my prescription made up? And dare I ask you to buy me some more pyjamas? I'm running out of them pretty fast.'

'Of course. What size?'

He told me, and added:

'Three pairs, I should think. Any sort.'

I studied the pair he was wearing. They were the traditional blue and white striped things, probably made of winceyette. They reminded me of my father's night attire.

'Like those?'

'Not necessarily. Thinner, I think. I've got some polka-dot ones which Jessie's just taken away. It's a pity you didn't come when I was wearing them. I look like Noel Coward.'

'I'll take your word for it. I think I'd better get drip-dry ones to save Jessie some work.'

We sipped our tea in companionable silence for a few minutes. I felt very uneasy about him.

'Did the doctor mention hospital? I don't like the idea of you being alone. What about a nurse?'

'If you're offering, I can't think of anything nicer.'

'I'm the world's worst nurse,' I told him.

'This bug I've got gives you a pretty foul time for a week or two, but according to the quack it runs a predictable course and all one can do is to sweat it out and drink pints of liquid. The temperature drops after a bit, and apart from feeling like a wet rag one survives eventually.'

'But should you be alone? What about getting to the loo or having to fetch something from downstairs?'

'My dear love, and I mean that,' he said, suddenly earnest. 'I can get to the loo. I've even had a shower or two. I'm not eating, and the doc says that's OK as long as I
drink.
So I'm quite all right, and there's not a thing I need. Except your company, of course.'

I collected the mugs and stood looking at him.

'If Jessie's coming night and morning, I'll come and get your liquid lunch each day, and see what you need.'

He had a telephone by the bed, and I nodded to it.

'And
any
time, do ring. I'll come like a shot. You know that.'

'Suppose it is in the middle of the night? What would the neighbours say?' he laughed.

'You know what I think about the neighbours! Now I'm off to Caxley. Anything else you want?'

"You know what I want.'

I bent to give him a farewell kiss. His forehead was wet with sweat.

'You're terribly
dank?

That's a fine thing to say to an invalid. You make me sound like a dungeon.'

'What you need,' I told him, 'is a few hours' sleep.'

'Maybe you're right.'

He was already slipping down the bed as I departed on my mission to Caxley.

***

I parked behind the same shop where I had recently bought tights and boxes of soap.

The men's department was virtually unknown to me, and seemed very quiet and austere compared with the toiletries and haberdashery departments I usually frequented.

There was only one other customer in there, a man absorbed in turning over piles of pants and discussing with the shop assistant the merits of various weights of garment.

An elderly man hurried to serve me. He had a pink and white face, white hair and moustache, and half-glasses. He reminded me of an old gentleman who used to keep our local sweet shop when I was a child.

I explained my needs, and he held before me an oblong package wrapped in shiny cellophane, just as the sweet-shop owner had been wont to hold out a flat dish of Everton toffee, complete with a small hammer for breaking it up, so many years ago.

He slipped the contents out of the bag and displayed the pyjama jacket. It was of some satin-like crimson material with black frogging across it. It reminded me of the sort of costume a Ruritanian prince used to wear in musical comedies in the 1920s. I could not see John in this confection.

'I think something
quieter
,' I said. He turned to the shelves and added three more packets to the first.

These were certainly more normal, the sort of uninspired garment sported that morning by the invalid. They also looked as though they would take hours to dry, even in Jessie's tumble drier.

'Have you got any non-iron pyjamas?' I asked, turning over the heavy ones before me.

'Hello,' said someone beside me. It was my former assistant at Fairacre school, Mrs Richards.

'What are you doing playing truant on a Monday?' I said, secretly rather taken aback in the midst of my male shopping.

'Half term,' she said succinctly.

'Of course. My goodness, it'll soon be November.'

She was eyeing the pile of pyjamas with considerable interest. I supposed resignedly that news of my purchases would soon be known to Fairacre. Ah, well!

'Getting Christmas presents already?' she hazarded.

'That's right,' I lied.

'Now these,' said my assistant returning, 'are our usual nylon sort. We sell a lot of these, particularly for summer wear.'

I looked at them. They were cold and slippery. They looked as though they would be horribly chilly for a feverish body. Possibly
dank
too after an hour's wear, I decided.

Well, I'll leave you to it,' said Mrs Richards. 'I'm looking for a larger belt for Wayne.'

'You feed him too well,' I responded, before turning back to my task.

'Or these,' added my nice old gentleman, drawing out some light-weight pyjamas in a rather nice grey and white Paisley pattern. They felt warm but thin.

'A very nice crêpe,' enthused the man. 'Just come in. Fully washable, drip-dry and thoroughly approved by the medical profession.'

That clinched it.

'I'll take three pairs,' I said, getting out my cheque book.

6. Back To School

T
HE PATIENT
made steady progress. Jessie went in morning and evening, and I cooked his midday meal, such as it was. For the first few days he only wanted liquids, but quite soon came the great day when he clamoured for bacon and eggs.

He had lost weight and tired easily, but the fever had gone after a week or two, and the doctor pronounced him fit soon after that.

I ceased my regular midday ministrations when he insisted that he could cope again, and perhaps it was as well that I was able to do so, for I had a surprising telephone call from the local education office one foggy November morning.

'Miss Read?'

'Speaking.'

'Francis Hannen here.'

He was the local education officer, a cheerful fellow who had held the post for a couple of years now. What could he want?

'We wondered if you could help us out.'

'In what way?'

'Miss Summers has been smitten with the prevailing flu bug, but it has given her acute laryngitis, and she is speechless.'

'Poor soul! What an affliction for a school mistress.'

'It is indeed. Well, we've rung one or two ex-teachers on our list, but they are either in the same boat, or away, and I hardly liked to bother you when you are so recently retired, but -'

His voice faded away.

'How long for?'

'The doctor insists on a week, maybe longer.'

I mentally checked my engagements for the week. It was Friday today. That would give me time over the weekend to collect my wits and a few teaching aids. John Jenkins was now able to cope without help from me, and only a shopping trip with Amy lay ahead on Tuesday.

'Of course I'll stand in.'

There was a gusty sigh.

'Marvellous! Miss Summers will be so relieved. Her sister is with her at the moment, so I'll ring and tell her straight away. A thousand thanks. I'm sure the children will be thrilled to have you back.'

I was not so sure about it, but with mutual well-wishing we rang off.

Over the weekend I did a certain amount of telephoning myself. First, of course, to Miss Summers' house where I had news of the invalid from her sister.

'She seems a little better. Temperature down a trifle, and the throat not so sore, but not a sound comes from her. The house is remarkably quiet, and I find myself whispering to Jane. It's quite uncanny.'

Then to Amy to postpone the shopping trip, and then to Mr Lamb at Fairacre asking him to pass a message to Mrs Pringle about her usual Wednesday visit.

That evening she rang me, obviously delighted to be among the first with my dramatic news.

'It'll be quite like old times,' she said with such gusto that it sounded welcoming. This was a pleasant surprise, until she added:

Til come a bit earlier each morning while you're at the school. There's always more to clear up.'

'Thank you, Mrs Pringle,' I replied, hoping it sounded as sarcastic as I meant it to be, but she was not abashed.

'And I'll be at your place as usual Wednesday afternoon, catching the Caxley.'

'The Caxley' in this instance meant the Caxley bus. Sometimes 'The Caxley' means the
Caxley Chronicle
, as in 'I read it in the
Caxley,
so I know it's true.' The local inhabitants of these parts are loyal readers.

I also rang John to tell him where I would be the following week. There was no need to of course, I told myself, but it seemed the civil thing to do after our extra close ties recently.

He sounded aggrieved.

'Surely you're not tying yourself up with
teaching,
all over again?' His voice was querulous. 'I hoped I could bob in now and again, now that I'm back on my feet.'

I bit back the sharp retort I should like to have made, and as I put down the receiver reminded myself that he was still convalescent.

Men, I thought disgustedly, are selfish to the core.

I set out on Monday morning with mixed feelings. Part of me welcomed this return to my old pastures, but I also felt remarkably nervous.

Several children were already running about in the playground, and they rushed to the car as I got out.

'You going to teach us again?'

'Just for a week,' I replied.

'Will Miss Summers be back then?'

'Is she really ill?'

'Is she in hospital?'

'She learns us lovely.'