Chapter Four

Things aren't looking too good for Aunt Jen

CHAPTER FOUR

Yewell Memorial is a teaching hospital about ten miles east of the town centre. It takes forever to get there by bus, every hour, on the hour from the Town Square. It's like a mystery tour, winding through every tiny village and hamlet in its path. If you miss the bus you endure a very long wait, so anyone who can offer a lift is a Godsend.

Dolly was on board with driving me to Yewell Memo, as it was locally known. He had done so many tines when Uncle Lewis was there. It was also very much to his advantage; one which he wasn't slow to put to good use.

“Come to the cocktail party, Belle. It'll help take your mind off Jen”, he pleaded once more. He put the hand brake on but the old mini rolled forward a fraction more so he hauled on the brake again. “Have to get that fixed.”

We had grabbed the last space in the hospital car park. I got out and walked over to the pay and display machine, retrieved the ticket and returned to the mini.

“I'm not going, end of story!” I grumbled, slapping the ticket onto the dashboard. Dolly had to stand up to his uncle some day, and this seemed as good a time as any.

Aunt Jen had sent me a text saying she was on Norris Ward up on the third floor. So we headed across the visitors' lounge towards the stairs. The lounge was always busy and today was no exception. There was a news stand, coffee shops and various charity kiosks, as well as somewhere to buy gifts and essentials for the patients. The seats were comfy, some of them occupied by visitors , a few patients, and one or two relatives grabbing a cat-nap.

At the top of the stairs stretched a long corridor; the longest hospital corridor in the country, so they said. We had traversed it many times before when Uncle Lewis was a patient.. It led past the out-patient clinics, theatres and radiography, ending at more stairs. At the top hung a portrait of Sir George Norris, founder of Yewell Memorial. It always makes me think of George Clooney.

A rapid assent in an elevator took us to the third floor where we found Norris Ward and made enquiries at the nurses station. A nurse in dark green showed us to Aunt Jen's bedside where a card over the bed declared 'Mrs Jennifer Beauchamp'.

We were greeted by her usual warm, smile and cheery hello, but I was shocked to see her looking so frail. Jen had always seemed so youthful, despite her age, so alive. She was propped up on pillows, legs stretched before her, transformed, almost overnight from a vibrant woman to a little old lady. The bed looked rumpled, as if the sheets were not fresh, the blanket frayed and threadbare in places. NHS cuts.

They were paranoid about spreading bacteria these days; we had to use hand wash before entering the ward; unfortunately they weren't so fussy when it came to laundry.

“I'm on antibiotic for a chest infection” Aunt Jen told us.

I could hear the breathlessness in her voice, and like Peggy had said, her stomach was definitely swollen. Dolly handed over the bag of things we had brought.

“It's a care package, Mrs B” he explained.

He had started calling her 'Mrs B' when we were in our teens, and continued still. Calling her Jen in person just didn't feel right, he had explained to me late one night. So Mrs B it remained.

Jen opened the bag as if she had received an expensive gift. Taking out the items one at a time she examined each one and lay it neatly on the bed; tissues, toothpaste, the latest copy of her favourite magazine and a packet of sucky-sweets. She was very grateful.

“What does the doctor say?” I asked.

“He's concerned about this swelling in my tummy, so I'm going for tests tomorrow” She looked up at us, worry creasing her brow. “I hope it's not bowel cancer again.”

'Please God, she can't go through that again' I prayed silently. Ten years ago Aunt Jen had been diagnosed with bowel cancer. She had always been afraid it would strike because it was what her father had died from; but she had survived, with Uncle Lewis by her side and the support of loving friends and family. Surely it could not happen again.

“How long have you been feeing ill Aunt Jen?” I asked.

“A couple of weeks. I've been feeling a bit uncomfortable.”

She never said a word, all this time.

“I'll visit every day” I promised.

“We both will” Dolly added.

“There's no need, you have your own lives to lead,” Jen assured us. “We have a visiting rota at St Sophia's. Peggy's coming tomorrow, and the vicar.” I began to protest. “Anyway, there is something I want you to do for me.”

“Anything.”

“I am supposed to be going to a do for YCCS tomorrow evening.”

My mouth went dry. Dolly went out to the corridor to find another chair and returned just in time to hear Jen say “I want you to represent me, Emily.” she looked at Dolly as he sat down. “I was just telling Emily about the YCCS do at the Manor tomorrow. I'm on the committee with your Aunt Cecilia.”

A smug look slowly spread itself over Dolly's face. I aimed a kick at his ankle. My fate was sealed. A deep chasm opened at my feet.

“But you already know, of course” Jen looked from Dolly to me and back again. “Sir Dickie has already demanded your presence. Look at your faces; I don't know who is more miserable. Buck up, and do try to behave yourself tomorrow, Damien,” she chided. “Pretend you're just escorting my niece. A lady needs an escort to a party.”

“Yes, Mrs B.”

“Is there anything you need from home, Aunt Jen?” I enquired, changing the subject.

She smiled and gestured 'just a minute' as she reached for her handbag. True to form she produced a list. For as long as I could remember she had made lists, for everything, even the lists had lists. It was like that rhyme about the fleas. 'Big fleas have little fleas, on their backs to bite 'em. Little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum'.

On the list were items to collect from home, things to be done at the bungalow and instructions for me at the party. Dolly had his own task; MOT the car.

“Ask and it shall be done, Mrs B”.

“Ask and it shall be given” she corrected him. “From the Book of Matthew. You can't out quote me when it comes to bible verses, Damien” Jen scolded in best school-ma'am fashion.

It was good to know her mind was still sharp. Dolly pretended to be admonished, a little boy in front of the headmistress once more. I think he did it on purpose. Usually he ran Aunt Jen a close second in a game of quote-unquote. We were always quoting films and books as kids. Jen used to make up quizzes for us on rainy days just for fun, and she always threw in bits of history or the bible. We aced religious studies.

The buzzer sounded the end of visiting and sadly we took our leave. We were quiet riding the elevator back downstairs and by the time we reached Dolly's aged mini I knew he was worried as much as I.

“She doesn't look good, Em” he said, breaking into my thoughts.

“She's lost weight, but her face looks puffy. What's going on Dolly? What's wrong with her?” Peggy was right, this isn't just an infection.”

“The doctors will sort her out, you'll see.” He tried to reassure me, echoing my sister's words. “Jen will be back home before we get tired of visiting.” He guided the car around the roundabout and under the bridge, headed for home.

“You said the same thing when Uncle Lewis was ill”, I murmured, my eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

“Try to look on the bright-side, Belle. We've got a soiree to attend tomorrow.”

“Don't you dare” I growled.

He shot me a sideways glance, but my glare stripped the grin off his face. Dolly hastily locked his eyes back on the road ahead. Part of his wish had been granted; Cinderella was going to the ball, but she wasn't at all pleased about it.