Sue Townsend - The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

Ruby said, ‘Will you tell Brian, when he comes home from work, that Eva now thinks she’s a giant grub?’

Titania said, ‘Oh yes, I’ll be delighted to pass on that message.’

‘I’m going home now,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m feeling a bit poorly.’ When she had put her hat and coat on, she said, ‘Titania, what would happen to Eva if I passed away?’

Titania said, ‘We’d cope.’

Ruby checked, ‘You’d feed her?’

‘Obviously.’

‘Do her washing, change her sheets?’

‘Of course.

‘Keep her clean?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you wouldn’t love her, you and Brian, would you?’

‘There are plenty of people who love her.’

Ruby’s voice cracked. ‘But she needs her main, and if I went to the arms of Jesus, she wouldn’t be looked after properly, would she?’

Titania said, ‘I sense Alexander loves her.’

Ruby picked up her empty shopping bag and said, ‘That’s sex, I’m talking about love.’

Titania watched her walking down the hall, and thought that she had visibly aged in the last week. She looked unsteady on her feet, and her shoulders were stooped. She might suggest that Ruby swap her mid-heeled court shoes for a pair of Merrell body-shaping trainers.

When Brian opened the front door, he could smell curry, his favourite food. Titania was at the stove, cooking chapattis over a gas flame. Every surface that could be burnished, shone. There was a faint smell of bleach. All the surfaces had been washed down. There was a small pot of snowdrops on the table, which had been set for two, and a bottle of Burgundy was breathing. Glasses had been polished, and reflected the lights.

He lifted the lid off a saucepan and asked, ‘What is it – chicken?’

‘No, goat,’ said Titania. ‘And before I forget, your wife now thinks she’s a giant grub. A “monstrous vermin”.’

Brian had a delicate stomach. He replaced the lid. His appetite waned a little. ‘A giant grub?’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you have waited until after dinner?’

The next morning, Barry Wooton turned up on the doorstep with a woman he described to Yvonne as ‘a new friend’.

Yvonne, who was on the morning shift, led them upstairs to Eva’s bedroom, talking as she went. Like a parlour maid in a costume drama, she announced, ‘Mr Barry Wooton and Miss Angelica Hedge.’

Eva sat up in bed and said to Barry, You’re still here then?’

Barry laughed and said, ‘Yeah, thanks for that.’

Eva looked at Ms Hedge, waiting to be properly introduced.

Barry said, ‘She likes to be called Angel. She was waiting in line for a cab at the station. She said, ‘You look cheerful for a February morning,” and I said, “Well, it’s all down to the amazing Eva Beaver.” She wanted to meet you.

Angelica was a small, slight girl, with a no-style haircut. Heavy make-up could not conceal her owl-like features. She held out an unmanicured hand to Eva. Her voice was light and devoid of accent. She said, ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Mrs Beaver. I think it’s wonderful that you saved Barry’s life.’

Barry said, ‘She’s a saint.’

Angelica continued, ‘But beware, I think it was Confucius, or it might have been Plato, who said, “If you save a man’s life, he is yours for ever.”‘

Barry said, ‘Well, I wun’t mind that, but I don’t know about Eva.’

Eva gave a weak smile, and allowed her hand to be shaken for slightly too long. She made general demurring sounds.

Angelica asked, ‘Was it your mother-in-law who showed us in?’

‘Yvonne,’ said Eva.

‘And how old is Yvonne?’ asked Angelica.

Eva said, ‘How old? I don’t know Seventy-five, seventy-six?’

‘And does she live here?’

‘No, she calls in three or four times a week.’

‘And your children?’

‘They’re seventeen,’ said Eva. Then she asked herself, ‘Why does she want to know how old everybody is? Perhaps the girl is autistic.’

‘And you, how old are you?’

Eva thought, ‘Yes, she’s autistic.’ She asked Angelica, ‘How old do you think I am?’

‘I can never tell with older people. You could be a young-looking sixty or an old-looking forty. Who knows now we’ve got Botox?’

Eva said, Well, I’m a fifty-looking fifty.’

‘And how long have you lived here?’

‘Twenty-six years,’ said Eva. She thought, ‘This is going to be tiresome.’

Angelica said, ‘Barry tells me that you are bedridden. That’s tragic.’

‘No, I’m not bedridden and it’s not tragic.’

‘You’re so brave. Is your husband’s name Brian?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how old is he?’

‘He’s fifty-five.’

Yvonne came into the room and asked, ‘Would your guests like some refreshments, Eva? We have tea, we have coffee, we have hot chocolate and, of course, we have various cold drinks. And I think I could rustle up a few light snacks.’

Eva could almost have leapt out of her bed, strangled Yvonne and thrown her down the stairs, such was her rage. She thought, ‘Yvonne has never really liked me, and now here’s the proof.’

Barry and the girl turned to Yvonne gratefully and said, ‘Hot chocolate,’ in unison. This made them laugh, and Barry invited Angelica to sit in the soup chair. He perched on the arm and they both stared at Eva. Eva threw herself back on the pillows. Yvonne took her time on the stairs, unaware that Eva was counting every second before her unwanted quests were on the street side of the front door.

An agonising thirty-five minutes followed, during which Yvonne handed scalding-hot mugs of milky drinking chocolate to Barry and Angelica, who promptly dropped them when their knuckles came into contact with the fearsome heat.

The boiling brown liquid splashed over Barry’s legs and ran along the white floorboards. His nylon socks retained the heat and he screamed in pain. There was a lot of kerfuffle as Yvonne tried to stem the flow with a meagre handful of toilet tissue she’d taken from the lavatory.

Eva was shouting, ‘Cold water! Put your feet in cold water!’

But nobody was listening.

Above Barry’s cries of pain, and Angelica’s little squeals, Yvonne raged at Eva, shouting, ‘Don’t blame me, there’s nowhere in this room to put anything down! Why did you have to get rid of your furniture?’

Eva tried to lower the metaphorical heat, saying with a smile, ‘A tip, Yvonne, when handing out mugs of boiling liquid try supplying asbestos gloves beforehand.’

Yvonne shouted, ‘A tip, Eva? Here’s one for you! People lolling in their beds, admiring their navels, should not try to ridicule people who are walking about actually doing things! I should be at home. This is not even my day for looking after you, Ruby should be here! But, guess what? She’s having one of her convenient “heads”. And I’m expecting a parcel from Amazon! It’s Alan Titchmarsh’s When I Was a Nipper, and they’ve been kind enough to track down a signed first edition for me. It will make a complete set. I’ve left a note on the front door, asking the courier to put it in the coal bunker – but that’s supposing he can read English!’

Angelica said, ‘What is a coal bunker?’

Yvonne snapped, ‘It’s a bunker for putting coal in.’

Eva said, ‘Don’t you want to know the age of the coal bunker?’

‘Well, how old is it?’

‘It will be sixty next birthday.’

There followed a great palaver as the floor was mopped, clothes were removed and scalded skin was cooled with unguents that Yvonne brought out of her large handbag. While Yvonne found a dressing gown big enough for Barry, and was washing his socks and trousers, Angelica engaged him in conversation.