Chapter 59
Belinda
The next day I return from A & E at the local hospital after being X-rayed and bandaged up. Almost immediately, I am called to Mabel’s room. ‘Where have you been?’ she demands petulantly. ‘I had another carer today who couldn’t be bothered to chat.’
‘I hurt my leg,’ I say. ‘Luckily, it isn’t broken.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I walked into a chair,’ I lie. I can’t exactly say I was attacked by the resident in Room Six. Or that it was followed by a threat of ‘much worse’ if I didn’t ‘get on with the job’.
‘I haven’t felt well either,’ she says plaintively.
My friend, as I am beginning to see her, is hunched up in her bed, appearing smaller than usual, with a childlike ‘please help me’ expression on her face. I don’t like the look of this. I often forget how old she is because she’s still so articulate.
I lay my hand on her forehead (‘That’s lovely and soothing, Belinda’) and check her records by the bed. Her obs (our shorthand for observation tests) seem fine.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she says, seeing my concern. ‘It’s just age and tiredness. I need distraction. Will you go on with your story?’
So I do.