The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year (13 page)

Nurse Spears said, ‘We’re in the third week of October.’
Then she asked if Eva knew the name of the current Prime Minister.

Again, Eva hesitated. ‘Is it Cameron …? Or is it
Cameron and Clegg?’

Nurse Spears said, ‘So, you’re not certain who the
British Prime Minister is?’

Eva said, ‘I’ll go for Cameron.’

‘You have hesitated twice, Mrs Beaver. Are you aware
of day-to-day events?’

Eva told Nurse Spears that she used to be very interested
in politics and would often watch the parliamentary channel in the afternoon
when she was ironing. It enraged her when apathetic non-voters maintained that
all politicians were ‘in it for what they could get’. She would lecture them in
her head on the importance of the democratic process, and would stress the long
and tragic history of the fight for universal suffrage — telling them,
erroneously, that a racehorse had died for the vote.

But since Iraq, Eva had been vociferous in her condemnation
of the political class. Her language on the subject was not measured.
Politicians were ‘lying, cheating, warmongering bastards’.

Nurse Spears said, ‘Mrs Beaver, I’m afraid I’m one
of your despised apolitical non-voters. Now, I’d like to take some blood, for Dr
Lumbogo.’

She wrapped a tourniquet around Eva’s upper arm, and
took the cap off a large syringe. Eva looked at the needle. The last time she’d
seen one that size had been on a documentary about hippopotamuses in Botswana,
and the hippo had been sedated.

Nurse Spears said, ‘Sharp scratch.” then the small
mobile phone she wore on her belted uniform dress vibrated. When she saw Mr
Kelly’s number, she was incensed. While still drawing blood from Eva she used
one hand to put the call on speaker.

The first sound that Eva heard was a man screaming
as though he were being burned alive.

Then a woman came on the line and yelled, ‘Spears?
If you are not back here in five minutes with sufficient morphine to control
Dad’s pain.’ I’ll put a pillow over his face! And I’ll
kill
him!’

Nurse Spears said, quite calmly, ‘Your father has
had the correct quota of Tramadol for his age and condition. Any more opiates
could result in over-sedation, coma and death.’

‘That’s what we want!’ shouted the woman. We want
him out of it. We want him dead!’

And that would be patricide and you would go to
prison. And I have a witness here with me.’

Nurse Spears looked at Eva and waited for her to
nod.

Eva leaned towards the phone and shouted, ‘Send for
an ambulance! Take him to Accident and Emergency. They’ll control his pain and
ask Nurse Spears why she’s left a patient in such agony.’

Mr Kelly’s screams down the phone were unbearable.
Eva’s heart was beating as fast as a clockwork drummer.

Nurse Spears pushed the needle further into Eva’s arm,
jerked it free and simultaneously terminated the call.

Eva gave a shout of pain. ‘You could be in a lot of
trouble. Why won’t you give him what he needs?’

Nurse Spears said, ‘Blame Harold Shipman. He killed
over two hundred patients with morphine. We professionals have to be cautious
now’

Eva said, ‘I can’t bear it.’

Nurse Spears said, ‘I’m paid to bear it.’

19

Over
the following days, Alexander managed to see Eva on many occasions. In between
other jobs he moved the radio, the television, the bedside tables, the phone,
the seascape pictures, the model of the solar system with Jupiter missing and,
last of all, Eva’s Billy bookcase which she had bought from Ikea.

He had an identical one at home, though the books
could not have been more different.

Alexander’s books were immaculate heavy volumes, the
size of small tea trays, on art, architecture, design and photography. Such was
their combined weight that the bookcase had been attached to the wall with long
masonry screws. Eva’s books were English, Irish, American, Russian and French
fiction classics. Some were tattered paperbacks, some were Folio first
editions.
Madame Bovary
was in close proximity to
Tom Jones,
and
Rabbit
Redux
had been placed next to
The Idiot.
Poor, plain Jane Eyre was
flanked by David Copperfield and Lucky Jim.
The Little Prince
rubbed
shoulders with
A Clergyman’s Daughter.

She said, ‘I’ve had many of them since I was a teenager.
I bought most of the Penguins at the Leicester market.’

Alexander asked, ‘You’re keeping them, of course?’

‘No,’ said Eva.

‘You can’t let these go,’ he said.

Will you take them in?’ she asked, making the books
sound as though they were orphans searching for a home.

‘I’ll gladly take the books, but I can’t house
another bookcase. I live in a
thimble,’
he said. ‘But what about Brian
and the children — won’t they want them?’

‘No, they’re numbers people, they distrust words. So,
you’ll take the books to your house?’

‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’

Eva said, Will you lie to me and promise to read
them? Books need to be read. The pages need to be turned.’

‘Man, you’re in love with those books. Why are you
giving them away?’

‘Since I learned to read I’ve used them as a kind of
anaesthetic. I can remember nothing about the twins being born, apart from the
book I was reading.’

And what was it?’

‘It was
The Sea, The Sea.
I was thrilled to
have two babies in my arms, but — and you’ll think this is awful — after twenty
minutes or so I wanted to get back to my book.’

They laughed at this flouting of the maternal
instinct.

Eva asked Alexander if he would take the bookcase to
Leeds for Brianne. She sorted her jewellery and put aside all the valuable
pieces — a diamond ring, bought by Brian and presented to her on their tenth
wedding anniversary, several eighteen-carat gold chains, three slim silver
bracelets, a necklace made of Mallorcan pearls, and platinum earrings in the
shape of a fan with black onyx drops hanging from them, which she had bought
for herself. Then she scribbled a note on a page torn from Alexander’s
notebook.

My darling girl,

As you can see, I have sent you
the family jewellery. I have no use for it any more. All the gold is eighteen
carat, and the stuff that looks like silver is platinum. It may not be to your
taste, but I beg you to hold on to it. I know you have sworn never to marry or
have a child, but you may change your mind. You might have a daughter one day
who will enjoy wearing some of it. Tell Brian Junior I will send him something
of equal value. It would be lovely to hear from you.

Al1 my love,

Mum

PS: The pearls are genuine and
the diamonds were cut in Antwerp (they are D grade
—
the best
—
and have no inclusions). So, please, however poor you may be, do not be
tempted to sell or pawn any of this jewellery without consulting me about the
value.

PPS: I suggest you keep it in a
security box in a bank. I enclose a cheque to cover your expenses.

She was still left with a huge amount of stuff.
There were four drawers under the bed, in which were:

a Chanel handbag with gold chain handle

a
pair of binoculars

three
watches

a
gold-plated powder compact

three
evening bags

a
silver cigarette case

a
Dunhill lighter

a
lump of plaster into which twin hands and feet had been pressed

a
stopwatch

a
certificate to prove that Eva had once attended an advanced First Aid course

a
tennis racquet

five
torches

a
small but heavy model of Lenin

an
ashtray from Blackpool (complete with tower)

a
pile of Valentine’s Day cards from Brian.

One card said:

I will love you until the world ends,

Brian

PS: World predicted to end in five billion years
(Red Giant expansion during end of Solar Main Sequence).

There was also:

a Swiss
Army knife with forty-seven tools (only tweezers used)

a Hermès
silk scarf with a white horse design on a blue background

five
pairs of designer sunglasses, each in a case three travel clocks

diaries
scrapbooks photograph albums two baby books.

Tomorrow, Alexander said, he would take the carpet
up, ready to start painting. Before he left the room he asked, ‘Eva, have you
eaten today?’

She shook her head.

‘How can he go to work and leave you hungry?’

‘It’s not Brian’s fault. We keep different hours.’
Eva was very critical of Brian’s behaviour sometimes to herself, but she did
not like him being criticised by others.

Alexander foraged downstairs and found a banana,
half a packet of cream crackers and five small triangles of Laughing Cow. He
also found a flask and filled it with drinking chocolate.

When
Brian came home from work, Alexander was washing up the cups that he and Eva
had used throughout the day. Alexander watched him picking his way through the
black bags and boxes on the hall floor.

Brian said, ‘I’m thinking of asking you for rent
soon. You’re getting to be a permanent fixture. I shall be buying you a
birthday card next.’

‘I’m working for Eva, Brian.’

‘Oh, it’s work, is it? So, how does she pay you?’

‘Cheque.’

‘Cheque! Nobody uses cheques any more,’ scoffed Brian.
‘I hope you’re not going to leave this crap lying around.’

‘I’m taking most of it to Oxfam.’

Brian laughed. Well, if Eva thinks she’ll be helping
the poor by donating her old knickers, let her. The rest of us know that the
so-called “charity” bosses drive around Mogadishu in Lamborghinis, chucking a
few handfuls of rice at the destitute and starving.’

Alexander said, ‘I would hate to be you, man. Your
heart must look like them ugly pickled walnuts they sell at Christmas.
Naasty
tings!’

‘I’m one of the most compassionate men I know,’ said
Brian. ‘Every month the sum of ten pounds is taken out of my bank account by
direct debit, which enables an African family to feed and care for two water
buffalo. It shouldn’t be too long before they’re exporting Fair Trade
mozzarella. And if you think that by affecting a West Indian patois I will be
intimidated by you, you’re wrong. I’ve got a pal called Azizi — he’s African,
but he’s a good chap.’

Alexander queried, “‘But” he’s a good chap? Think
about it. And I’m trilingual. I spoke like dis until I was adopted, man. Then I
slowly learned to speak like this,’ he said, affecting an exaggerated form of
received pronunciation.

Brian eyed Alexander’s muscled torso and bulging triceps,
and wished that he too could wear a tight white T-shirt. He was anxious to
reduce the increasing heat of their confrontation. He cast about for something innocuous
to say. ‘I don’t need to think about it, Azizi
is
a good chap.’

Alexander changed the subject. While we’re talking
about mozzarella, who’s in charge of feeding Eva?’

‘Eva thinks the people will provide — very biblical,
isn’t it? But until that miracle happens it’s down to my mother, her mother and
muggins here.’

He put a lump of lard in a frying pan and watched it
melt. Before it got hot, he threw two slices of white bread in.

Alexander burst out, ‘No, man! Let the fat get hot
first!’

Brian quickly turned the bread over and cracked an
egg in the gap between the slices. Before the white of the egg had set, he slid
the eggy mess on to a cold white plate. He ate standing up at the counter.

Alexander watched him in disgust. Each one of Alexander’s
meals was an occasion. Those eating must be seated, there must be a tablecloth
and proper cutlery, children under ten were not allowed free access to the
sauce bottles, and hands must be washed. Children were required to ask
permission to leave the table. It was Alexander’s contention that food cooked
without love was bad food.

Brian had fallen on the slimy mess like a starving
dog. When it was gone, he wiped his mouth and put the plate and the fork he’d
used into the dishwasher.