Chapter 8 #2
‘I knew you were tired.’ She leaned down to kiss him.
‘How about a big slice of syrup sponge to wake you up after I sort these out?’ She held the brushes and the container of water aloft.
Acrylic paint dried quickly; you never wanted to leave brushes lying about, especially not these, which were the pricier kind and part of the set Howard gave her for their last anniversary.
Howard murmured an agreement of sorts and she went off to the small utility room at the far end of the kitchen, rinsed her brushes, and lined them up to air-dry.
After washing her hands she took the opportunity to put on some washing, shoving the clothes into the machine along with a capsule of detergent.
In the kitchen she closed the door to the utility room to keep the machine noise away.
She caught sight of the framed photograph of her in her district nurse’s uniform.
Howard had pinned this one to the pinboard that sat behind the end section of kitchen bench.
It was taken with her friend and colleague, Beverly, their arms linked, resting against the bonnet of her car as they prepared to head out for the day.
Bonnie had been a district nurse for over twenty years.
When she’d started as a nurse, she’d worked in a couple of different hospitals and then she’d seen an advert for a district nurse and decided that perhaps it was the change she needed.
She’d never regretted it either. In her new role she began to meet all sorts of people; no two days were the same.
The struggles were often hard as she was visiting housebound patients, but she revelled in the support she was able to give each and every one of them.
She could natter through a catheter change and make a patient feel at ease, and ignore any messes or smells as she dealt with continence care.
She could tend to wounds that were not for the faint-hearted.
Her job made her feel like she had a purpose and that she was delivering the very best of care.
Even when she got the curmudgeonly patients, the ones who moaned or snapped at her, it slid right off her back.
Half the time they couldn’t help it; part of the time they were in such a bad way that she understood why they were so annoyed.
And all she’d ever wanted to do was help.
Saying goodbye to some of her regular patients when she retired had been harder than she would’ve thought possible, especially when they got upset.
Beryl, a ninety-year-old lady with limited mobility, had been the most distraught even when Bonnie handed over to Yvonne, a bubbly redhead who always had a smile and a kind word.
She supposed that was what happened and what she’d loved so much about being a district nurse.
You got involved; you developed a deeply personal connection to patients and their families outside a hospital setting.
Then there was Stephen, a fifty-two-year-old living at home with his parents after a motorcycle accident put him in a wheelchair.
He had his name down to move to a specialist facility with people his own age but until then he’d been stuck at the house he’d grown up in and couldn’t wait to leave.
He’d always made her laugh with his moans about his parents, always very good-natured grumbles, and they were doing nothing but fussing over the son they loved, but he had a dry sense of humour and Bonnie had had a hard time remaining professional rather than giggling all the time.
She missed her work. She hadn’t at the start. She hadn’t when they’d been on their travels or busy moving into the cottage in Driftwick Bay, but now life had settled somewhat she missed a routine. Had she retired too early?
The timer buzzed, signalling the syrup sponge was ready.
She took the basin off the pan, set it down on the trivet and opened the top carefully to avoid any burns from the steam.
The skewer she poked into the sponge’s centre came out nice and clean, and she left it to stand for a few minutes while she washed up some of the utensils she’d left piled in the sink in favour of getting on with her painting.
Howard always said she liked to use every pot.
She hadn’t but somehow, yet again, it did look like she’d done her best to.
The pudding was best served hot and so she wasted no time turning the sponge out onto a deep plate. She spooned some of the syrup from the bottom of the basin over the fluffy golden top and then cut two enormous wedges.
She’d take Howard his portion first, get him settled and happy and then come back for hers.
On her way to the back room she trilled, ‘Now, don’t eat this too fast; it’s very hot.’ But he’d fallen asleep again. ‘Howard… pudding…’
But in seconds she knew.
He wasn’t sleeping at all.
The bowl, the sponge, and the syrup fell from her hands, crashing onto the floor and sending splatters all over the rug and the side of her husband’s favourite chair.
That day was four weeks ago and very quickly Bonnie had had Howard’s assistant Iris put a sign up on the door to the bookshop saying Permanently Closed.
Bonnie had no intention of ever setting foot in there again.
It would be far too painful. Iris had brought over the post from the shop the day she put the sign up and sure enough there was another letter from the developer.
She’d set it in the letter rack because she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t get in touch with them.
Driftwick Bay Books might not have been Howard’s for all that long, but much like his bookshelves here, it was all Howard.
She couldn’t go inside the quaint shop with its warm dark wooden interior, its little antique-effect signs dotted around to point customers to the right section if they were lost, without expecting him to look up at her from the counter behind the till and beam a smile her way, a smile like he’d had that rainy day in Blackpool when they first met.
The town loved the bookshop; the community would hate to see it go. But without Howard, was she really going to hang on to it? Was she really a part of things around here anyway? Was living here still her dream without her husband by her side?
Howard had gone, and sometimes Bonnie wished she had too.