Brenda nodded slowly, although Lucy wasn’t convinced she understood what she was agreeing to.
‘You stay there under that snuggly blanket and keep warm.’ She tucked the sides around her friend to keep it from falling. ‘I won’t be long. Just need to make a quick call.’
‘Use the phone in the hall, dear. Mind the flex though. It’s dreadfully frayed. Jim will keep playing with it and putting his fingers through the fabric, but he says we can’t afford a replacement, and it still does the job.’ Her eyes looked glazed but she suddenly became aware of the blanket on her knees again and started to pick at the threads.
Lucy’s heart heaved, but she pulled herself together and went into the hall. Brenda’s phone was quite a modern walkabout one and the base unit was in the kitchen, not the hall, but the number to the surgery was on her mobile contact list so she used that.
Lucy explained the situation to the receptionist, trying to keep her voice low so she didn’t alarm Brenda, who was now singing ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ quietly to herself. Establishing Brenda was calm and safe and that Lucy could stay with her for as long as necessary, the helpful lady asked her to hold and said she would see if she could catch Dr Hopgood before he started surgery. Lucy popped her head around the living-room door whilst she waited. Brenda looked drowsy and her singing had slowed to a mumble. The surgery hold music stopped and the phone line clicked.
‘Given everything you said, including the possibility your neighbour is currently incontinent, Dr Hopgood suspects some sort of urine infection. They can lead to spells of delirium in the elderly and are quite common. He’s put her down as a priority house call and she’ll be first on the list. If you are happy to stay with her, he’ll be out to you just after twelve.’
‘That’s not a problem, thank you.’ Although Lucy was starting to suspect there was more to this than a simple UTI.
‘He also suggested getting some fluids into her, as UTIs tend to go hand in hand with dehydration. See if you can get her to drink some water, or even some tea.’
After hanging up, Lucy tried the office, but the out-of-hours answerphone was still on. Because recording messages made her feel self-conscious, she decided to wait until the phones were manned and explain the situation properly.
When she returned to the living room, Brenda was asleep, so Lucy took the opportunity to run up the first flight of stairs and find her friend some clean clothes. Even though she’d been up to the third floor on numerous occasions, she hadn’t been in the master bedroom before. Like the rest of the house it was cluttered but in a welcoming, lived-in way. The imposing mahogany wardrobe stood with one door open, and a rainbow of clothes hung on old-fashioned padded hangers. There was a thick brown and orange geometric rug on the floor next to the bed and the room had a strong lavender smell. Like all the other rooms in the house, this one also held a noisy clock, its steady ticking adding to her feeling of unease. She grabbed a pair of wide-legged cotton trousers and a red loose-fitting top, remembering to pick up some clean underwear at the last moment.
In the bathroom she found a small plastic bowl, a flannel and a bar of home-made rose petal soap. Last year, whilst she sat in Brenda’s kitchen knitting clothes for premature babies, her friend melted tallow, added rose-hip-infused lye and a handful of petals (informing Lucy how good rose hip was for ageing skin) and finally poured the silky mixture into small lined bread tins to set. It had been left for a few weeks to age and then Lucy had been given a bar, tied in raffia with a dried rose tucked in the bow. It was some of the nicest soap Lucy had ever used and she understood Brenda’s passion for the natural and the home-made.
Whilst the old lady continued to sleep, Lucy dashed home for some clothes of her own, not wanting to deal with the doctor in her pyjamas. After locking her front door, she nipped into Brenda’s kitchen and made herself a much-needed cup of tea. It was a room that resembled an old-fashioned apothecary, with racks of jars and tins on every wall, but then Brenda was running an apothecary in all but name.
Finally, with the hot tea by her side, she sat down near her softly sleeping friend and tried to make sense of events. Something was wrong – very wrong. Brenda had never before displayed such unsettling behaviour. Putting the pieces together, she realised this wasn’t a simple and inevitable case of ageing – physical deterioration and a slowing of thought – but escalating issues with memory and confusion, highlighted by this episode. And there had been no husband or children to pick up on the signs or seek the necessary assistance. This dear old lady, who’d spent a lifetime helping others with her herbs and potions, now needed help herself. But, although she had no family, Brenda had one very special friend, one close at hand who would step up and step in, and that was Lucy.
As she wondered how much and how soon the care would be needed, and if she could work it around her job, she remembered the office. With all the running about, it had completely slipped her mind. Adam was unimpressed.
‘Where the hell are you, Lucy? We’re up to our earlobes here. Two members of sales are off for half-term and Sam has mentioned your unauthorised absence several times. Hope you’re going to come up with something better than the dog ate my homework?’
‘I tried earlier but the phones weren’t manned,’ she mumbled.
‘Then the reason for your no-show had better be good, Lucy-Lou, like decapitation or death. Are you actually dead?’
Lucy told him about her traumatic morning. ‘I don’t like letting everyone down, but I think I need to stay with her until she’s been seen by a doctor.’ She was aware her voice was wobbling but there were bigger things at stake here than her job. Her friend had disappeared into a world Lucy couldn’t follow her into, and it was heartbreaking. Getting her back was paramount. ‘I’m sorry, but Brenda is my priority. You can dock my pay, or make me work late all week, or take it from my holiday, or—’
‘Okay. Okay. I get the picture. Leave it with me,’ he huffed, and ended the call.
Dr Hopgood was a young man who had more stubble around his face than hair on his shaven head. It was very Vin Diesel, and obviously done to combat the prematurely receding hairline, but it suited him. He was wearing a loud pink shirt and a dazzling black and white spotty tie – one where the spots jumped about if you looked at them for too long. Answering the door and escorting him down the hall, Lucy quickly filled him in on the situation, mentioning she’d now washed and changed Brenda, and how drowsy her friend had been since the episode.
As they entered the room, Brenda stirred. The doctor walked over to the wing chair, knelt down next to the fragile old lady and put out a hand to her knee, gently teasing her for being somewhat of a stranger at the surgery.
‘And what’s all this I hear about you practically putting me out of a job with all your alternative treatments? Don’t get me wrong, my own grandmother is a fan of home remedies and she is one of the healthiest people I know. She still starts every day with two tablespoons of apple cider vinegar in hot water…’
For someone who didn’t like doctors, Brenda managed a surprisingly flirtatious smile.
Dr Hopgood then established that although Lucy wasn’t family, his patient was happy for her to stay, and began to assess Brenda in earnest. Lucy stood at the back of the room, uncomfortable intruding on a personal consultation but aware Brenda needed the support.
‘Give
