Convalescence Read Free

Apart from greeting us when we first arrived, I had seen or heard nothing of him since.
    â€œMaybe,” the elderly woman said. “Your uncle’s a very busy man.”
    â€œCome along, James,” Miss Holt said, walking to the door and opening it. “Upstairs to wash and clean your teeth. I’ll look in on you before you settle down.”
    I said good night to Mrs. Rogers and walked from the room, feeling sad that the day had finished so abruptly.
    I climbed the stairs wearily and was about to enter the bathroom when my bedroom door opened and Amy stepped out onto the landing. For a second her eyes widened and she looked flustered.
    â€œYou surprised me,” she said. “I was just turning down your bed.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    Her face relaxed and her smile returned. “Never to worry,” she said. “Sometimes this house can take you unawares. No harm done. Good night.”
    I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but she had already turned and was disappearing down the landing towards the stairs.
    I walked into the bathroom and saw my washing things had been laid out on the marble shelf above the washbasin. Quickly I sluiced my face and ran a brush over my teeth.
    Five minutes later I was in my room and undressing for bed.
    I had not long climbed into bed and pulled up the sheets when Miss Holt came into the room without knocking and walked over to the bed.
    â€œPut out your hand.”
    I did as I was told and she dropped two orange pills into it and handed me a glass of water from the dresser. “Take those,” she said.
    I tossed them into my mouth and washed them down with a gulp of water.
    â€œRight,” she said when she was satisfied I’d swallowed them. “Sleep well.” She turned and walked to the door, but only took two steps before turning and coming back to the bed. She thrust out her hand. “Give me your wireless.”
    I could hear it playing softly beneath the sheets—the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride”. I’d forgotten it was on. “But I like listening to it. It helps me get off to sleep.”
    â€œJames, give it to me,” she insisted, jabbing her outstretched hand at me.
    With a sigh I fished out the radio from under the covers and dropped it into her palm.
    As her fingers closed over it she said, “If you spent more time trying to sleep and less listening to that awful, cheap pop music, you might recover quicker. I’m going back to London the day after tomorrow. I would like to give your doctor some good news about you.”
    â€œYou’re going back?”
    â€œYes. This was only a temporary arrangement to see you settled in. I’m sure your uncle and Mrs. Rogers are more than capable of looking after you. I’m needed back at the hospital.” She turned abruptly and walked to the door. This time she completed the journey and opened it. “Come and see me in the morning. You can have your wireless back then.”
    â€œIt’s called a transistor radio.”
    She gave me what could best be described as a cross between a patronizing smile and a contemptuous sneer. “Yes, I’m sure it is.” She reached out and flicked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness, and then she was gone, my radio with her.
    It took a while but gradually my eyes adjusted to the gloom. There was still a grayish light filtering into the room through the net curtains, and slowly the furniture began to take shape. Whether it was the nap in the afternoon or because my mind was replaying the events of the day, I’m not sure, but sleep was elusive. I tossed and turned for ages before I made a decision and slipped out of bed, crossing to my suitcase and opening it.
    I found my penlight quickly, tucked into one of the zip-up pockets of the case. I flicked it on and shone the beam down onto the pile of yet-to-be-unpacked