Chapter Ten.
Lyra
William avoided me, which was best for now.
His lack of consideration earlier hadn’t impressed me, especially when he’d come to my defence.
I couldn’t decide if this was William’s version of mind games or if he was confused himself.
As usual, I cooked enough dinner for both of us and left his out.
William had become very handy in the kitchen.
As I curled up in bed that night, I drifted off into a broken dreamland filled with confusion and alarming images. I woke several hours later, shivering violently. The window in my room was open, and my duvet had been pulled off.
“That’s wrong, William, you don’t mess with someone’s health,” I chided and shut the window, pulling the covers back up.
William didn’t answer, not that I’d expected him to, and he did it twice more during the night. Each time William ignored my chastisement. In the end, I wrapped the quilt around me and hoped that would stop him. As I drifted off, I heard a sea shanty being sung.
William
My plan for this morning was foiled as I overheard Lyra coughing terribly. Entering a lady’s bedroom without permission was something I’d been brought up to avoid. Lyra coughed again, and it sounded awful. Concern overruled protocol, and I pushed her door open, ready to duck out if need be.
Lyra lay on her back, one blanket twisted around her and the rest on the floor.
Sweat dripped from her forehead as she rested lifelessly in the bed.
Instantly, I guessed Lyra had a fever. That silly girl, why had she opened her window and kicked the blankets off?
I settled her in bed, dragged the covers back up, and headed down to the kitchen.
I opened the cupboards until I found some cans labelled “soup”.
Unsure how to get into it, I stabbed a sharp knife into the lid, yanked it open and warmed it on the stove.
I’d watched Lyra use it the other day, and I turned the knob.
While that heated, I grabbed drinks. Lyra needed hydration and nourishment.
Without either, she’d grow weaker, which meant more strangers might come.
Balancing everything, I headed upstairs and, for the second time, discovered the window open and the covers on the floor.
What the hell? I shut it again, tucked Lyra up, and then realised my predicament.
How did I feed her? Rather awkwardly, I kicked my boots off and sat on the bed.
I propped Lyra up and leaned her against me as I managed to grab the soup.
Carefully, I spooned the liquid into Lyra’s mouth and watched her swallow.
With extreme patience, I fed her from the bowl and then helped her drink the warm tea.
After that, I wrapped her back up. Now I faced a difficult predicament.
Lyra needed clean pyjamas and a bath to cool her down.
Her temperature was sky-high, and her body was too hot to touch.
Gritting my teeth, I ran the tepid water and then, praying Lyra wore underwear, I stripped her down.
A hiss of relief left me as I spotted what ladies now called a bra and knickers.
Without a second thought, I scooped her up and placed her in the tepid bath.
Lyra had several bottles of shampoo and liquid soap, and I washed her body and hair.
“Conditioner,” Lyra muttered, looking at me with dazed eyes. They closed, and she shivered again. I checked her temperature and found it was falling. I grabbed one of the fluffy towels Lyra favoured and carried her back to the bed. Now came the hard part: getting her redressed.
I wasn’t a prude; I’d seen women naked before, but this felt wrong. Lyra was helpless, and I wished to avoid being labelled a deviant. But she couldn’t stay in wet underwear.
“Lyra, I want you to undress and put fresh clothes on.” I nudged her a little.
Lyra didn’t respond, and I repeated my actions until she opened her eyes, which welled with sadness. “What?” She croaked and winced.
“You’re ill. Lyra, please, I need you to get out of your damp clothing and change into dry clothes,” I insisted.
Lyra’s eyes rolled up, but I shook her again.
Tears trickled down Lyra’s cheeks, but fifteen minutes later, I was tucking her back into bed.
I headed to Lyra’s bathroom cupboard and rummaged through it.
I found a box called painkillers, took two out and woke Lyra up enough to swallow them. Hopefully, they helped.
For the next couple of days I looked after Lyra, sponging her hot body down and forcing her to change sweat-soaked clothes.
On the third morning Lyra’s fever broke, and I sighed in relief.
Even though I didn’t want her here, I certainly didn’t wish for her to get ill.
I had to question her mindset—what person opens a window in the cold air of March?
Had the visit from her ex-boyfriend—still a stupid thing to call a grown man—tipped Lyra over the edge?
I needed to check supplies today, so I left her alone for a couple of hours. When I returned, Lyra had got up, bathed, and changed her clothes.
“I’m as weak as a kitten,” she complained.
“You’ve been very ill.”
“That wouldn’t have happened if you’d not kept opening the windows on me,” Lyra weakly accused.
“I didn’t do any such thing!” I exclaimed, unamused. How dare Lyra accuse me of such a heinous act? Especially when I just spent the last few days caring for her.
“Whatever,” Lyra murmured and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was asleep again. I headed into the kitchen to cook a casserole. Despite her cruel accusation, she needed nourishment, and I would not be accused of neglecting a poorly person.
Lyra
I dreamed a dream the other night.
Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John
I dreamed a dream the other night.
My Lowlands, away my John.
The singing woke me up. The lyrics were fixed in my mind.
I recognised the tune as being Lowlands, an old sea shanty.
The words were chilling, and I wondered why William sang them.
Had he lost someone? I turned over. Why was that song haunting me?
Was William trying to tell me something, or was the melody simply stuck in his head?
My phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi, I was wondering if you’d like to meet up,” Ophelia asked.
“I’ve been ill. Flu and a fever. Would you mind coming here?”
“Of course not. I’m on my way,” Ophelia said, and before I could tell her not to rush, she hung up.
Slowly, my body aching, I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen, hugging the walls.
I didn’t feel stable on my feet, but I had to let Ophelia in.
It took what little strength I had to unlock the door, and then I collapsed onto a dining chair.
Moments later, a tea with honey was placed in front of me.
I couldn’t see William, but it was him. Closing my eyes in sheer weariness, I cupped the mug and let its warmth flow into my hands.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I’ve a casserole on. Tell your cousin not to let it burn,” William ordered.
I nodded once; it was all I could manage. Twenty minutes after her call, Ophelia came through the door. She took one glance and began bullying me upstairs. I headed for the living room.
“You look like death warmed up. How long have you been ill?” Ophelia demanded.
“A couple of days,” I muttered as I curled up on the sofa. Ophelia grabbed the blanket off the back of it and tucked me in.
“And you didn’t call any of us?” Ophelia continued scolding.
“I’ve not had anyone to rely on for five years; this is all new to me,” I replied.
“Not good enough. You’ve got family now. You don’t need to be so independent. Stay there; I’ll go prepare you some lunch.”
Before I could say another word, Ophelia popped the TV remote into my hand and disappeared.
“What just happened?” I murmured, slightly dazed. I closed my eyelids; I needed a short nap.
“Here,” Ophelia said, and I opened my eyes. “Drink this. My old nanny would make it for me.
“You had a nanny?” I croaked.
“Yes. My parents were averse to raising a child. If you knew my mother, you’d know it’s a miracle she ever got pregnant. Although I did wonder if they’d used a surrogate once,” Ophelia remarked.
I stared in horror. “Are you joking? I can’t tell,” I said and wished I had not spoken. The discomfort in my throat was as if I’d swallowed razors.
“No. This is honey and lemon water. It’s hot. I saw you had a casserole on; why on earth you did that, I don’t know. This is one of your cans of soup. Eat it,” Ophelia ordered.
“You are far too bossy,” I complained as I shoved upwards. A glance at the clock on the wall made me flinch. “I was asleep for an hour?”
“Yes. I have cleaned up, not that there’s much mess. I changed your bedding and put fresh on. Stay there and eat. Do as you are told.”
“Are you staying at Clamshell?” I asked.
“Yep. I left my job in London and won’t be going back.” Ophelia’s eyes took on a distant look. “I don’t care what anyone else says!”
“Is someone saying you should?” Concern flared in me. Was Ophelia in trouble?
“Not yet, but they will. My parents disapprove of my choices lately, and they’ve no idea about any of this.” Ophelia looked amused.
“Ophelia…”
“Call me Lia. I prefer that. Anyway, what’s your movie preference?” she asked, picking up the remote control.
“Avengers?”
“Oh, my kind of cousin! So many hunks!”
Lia flicked through the channels until she found the streaming one, and we settled in. Halfway through the film, I fell asleep again.
The sound of shouting startled me awake as I heard Lia on the phone. “Yes, we need police assistance,” she was saying. What on earth? I sat up, shoving the blankets off me.
“What’s going on?” I croaked.
“My cousin just woke up. Considering the mob outside, I’d say we’re in danger,” Lia replied.
Lia held a finger up, and I waited. The shouting grew louder.
“Thank you. And this is private property, so they’ve no legal right to form here,” Lia stated and cut the call.
“What?” I gasped, grabbing my throat.