John Halkin - Squelch

Desperately she hammered at it, bringing that sandal down again and again, but she could swear it was having no effect. The more she hit it, the more menacing that caterpillar seemed to become. At last, steeling herself, she placed the sandal carefully on top of it, then pressed down with her full weight until she felt the sudden Squelch! as she squashed it to death.

Its sticky, green body fluid spread over the sandal, dissolving and mingling with the dull brown stain left by her sister’s blood.

That whole afternoon was a nightmare, not least the problem of moving Lesley to a place where she could be looked after. Ginny prayed that Bernie would be at home, not out on his rounds. It would take her no more than three minutes to drive to his surgery, whereas the hospital was fifteen miles away. Lesley could even die before she got there.

She was just conscious, but in a delirium. Her eyes moved wildly though it seemed they saw nothing; her lips scarcely even trembled as she muttered a stream of words which had neither shape nor meaning.

‘I’ll have to try and lift you,’ Ginny told her, bending down to take hold of her arm. Vaguely she remembered the fireman’s lift one of her actors had been taught for a soap opera episode. ‘I’m not sure I can manage.’

The ‘lift’ had appeared a lot simpler on the screen. Her sister was heavy; Ginny was scared she might drop her as she attempted to swing her up over her shoulder. She lowered her gently back on the grass, abandoning the idea. Somehow she’d have to bring the car down the side of the cottage.

A section of shaky old fence was the only real obstacle. It had been on the point of falling down; only a few days ago she’d done a temporary repair job, lashing it to the post with a length of twine. Hurriedly she fetched a sharp knife from the kitchen and slashed through the knots. Taking a grip on the loose fence she pulled it back and felt the rotting timber snap free of the few remaining rusty nails. The question now was whether the gap was wide enough to drive through.

Lesley’s Mini was the nearer of the two cars and her keys were still in the ignition. Reversing down the path to the broken fence was tricky. Her nearside wheels ploughed through a flower bed, flattening the hyacinths and clusters of daffodils, while on the other side stray branches and twigs from the unkempt hedge scratched along the paintwork. She hit the decaying fence-post as she went through, bringing it down.

Half-lifting, half-dragging her sister across the grass, she somehow managed to get her into the front seat of the Mini, using the seat belt to hold her there. It was then Ginny realised she was still almost naked, wearing only her bikini briefs, just the way she was when that first caterpillar had appeared. Her top was still on the rug, among that mess.

She ran into the cottage to pull on a T-shirt and grab a pair of jeans which she tossed on to the Mini’s back seat as she got in. Lesley’s head was slumped forward, her chin resting on her chest; she seemed frighteningly quiet.

‘Won’t be long now,’ Ginny tried to reassure her as she turned the key to start the engine. ‘I am trying to hurry, Les.’

Lesley’s silence accused her of every sin in the book. It all crowded back into Ginny’s mind as she drove off, scraping against the cottage wall in her haste: the occasions when they had quarrelled, the hard words, the small selfish acts when she could have been more helpful. Oh God, what if she died?

Oh please don’t let her die!

Not that Ginny had ever believed in God, not since she was small when she’d imagined Him as a Father Christmas figure with a long beard. In fact, she’d never given it much thought. Until now, which probably meant it was too late.

She took the corner too quickly. Lesley slumped towards her, held back only by the seat belt.

‘Oh Les…’ Ginny slowed down and tried to push her upright again. ‘Les, hold on. We’re almost home.’

‘Home’ was at the far end of the village, a double-fronted Edwardian house with creeper spreading cosily over the stonework around the windows. Bernie had taken it over from his father together with the practice. His surgery and waiting area occupied a self-contained suite on the ground floor with its own separate side entrance, but that still left — as Lesley so often explained — plenty of space for the family. Three large rooms downstairs, five bedrooms — six at a pinch — two of them equipped with their own washbasins. Only one bathroom, though.

The moment she turned into the drive which curved gracefully up to the front of the house she realised Bernie’s car was missing. He must be out on call.

Or playing golf, she thought bitterly as she pulled up.

Or was this one of his days in Lingford where he was also a part-time consultant?

Oh hell…

The front door was locked and she could hear no sound of voices from inside the house. She rang the bell violently, prolonged. No response. But there must be somebody in — what about the children or Phuong, their nanny? She ran back to the car to sound the horn, holding her finger on it steadily, desperate for someone to hear. In her mind she went feverishly over the alternatives. Phone from the police house? But he was usually out at this time of day. The two or three village shops had early closing. The garage? At least there might be someone there to let her use the phone.

Then Phuong appeared, running towards her around the side of the house. ‘I’m sorry. We are at the bottom of the garden. By the summer house.’

‘Oh Phuong! I thought no one was in!’ The relief was almost too much for Ginny to bear. It was all she could do to hold back her tears. ‘There’s been an accident. Where’s Bernie? I must phone for an ambulance.’

Phuong stooped to take a quick look at Lesley’s huddled figure in the front seat of the Mini, an expression of concern on her pale Vietnamese face. Then she nodded briskly, grasped Ginny’s arm and led her into the house.

‘You sit down,’ she said calmly. ‘You want I phone?’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Okay. You phone. I look after Lesley.’ Her attractive, lilting English sounded clipped and prim.

She was so cool-headed and practical, Ginny thought enviously as she fumbled through the dialling. Of course, they must have taught her some nursing when she did her child care course, but that could not be the only reason. It was in her character too. She had been one of the first batch of Vietnamese boat people to settle in Britain. Most of her family had died during the long weeks of drifting in that open boat. When at last a passing freighter picked them up, only she and her brother were still alive. But she seldom talked about those days now she was happily settled with Lesley’s family. She seemed to live only for the children; in return, they loved her like a sister.

‘Hello?’ the operator was repeating patiently. ‘Which service do you want, please?’

‘Ambulance,’ Ginny said.

When she went outside again, she found Phuong holding a basin of warm water and bathing Lesley’s face. It was puzzling that she was still not properly conscious. The wound in her foot was deep and she must have lost an awful lot of blood, but would that in itself have caused this delirium? And so quickly?

‘She has high fever,’ Phuong informed her. ‘What cause this? She hurt her foot?’

‘An insect bite,’ Ginny explained wearily. It was only a half-lie, but would anyone believe the truth? ‘An ambulance is on its way. That’s something, I suppose.’

‘I think we take her inside house,’ Phuong announced. She put the basin down on the wall beside the steps. ‘Is better she lie down. Can you help?’

‘Of course.’

Ginny held Lesley by the shoulders, ready to take her weight the moment Phuong released the seat belt. Before she could do so, they heard the crunching of tyres on the drive.