‘I’m not on duty.” he said, with difficulty – due to the toffee. ‘I’ve come to see Eva.’
And bring her a gift of toffee, I see,’ said Nurse Spears.
Eva said, ‘Thank you for coming, but I’m not ill.’
‘Have you undergone medical training?’ asked Nurse Spears.
‘No,’ said Eva, who could see where this exchange was leading. ‘But I’m fully qualified to have an opinion about my own body, I’ve been studying it for fifty years.
Nurse Spears had known that she would not get on with anybody in this household. Whoever put those unrinsed milk bottles on the step was clearly a monster.
‘Your notes tell me you intend to stay in your bed for at least a year.’
Eva could not take her eyes off Nurse Spears, who was buttoned up, belted, shiny clean and looked like a wizened child in school uniform.
‘I’ll get out of your way. Thanks for listening, Eva. I’ll see you tomorrow I know you’ll be in,’ Peter said, laughing.
When he’d gone, Nurse Spears unbuttoned her navy gaberdine coat. ‘I’d like to examine you for pressure sores.’
Eva said, ‘There are no sores. I apply cream to the pressure points twice a day.’
What do you use?’
‘Chanel body lotion.’
Nurse Spears could hardly conceal her contempt. Well, if you want to throw your money away on such an extravagance, go ahead.’
‘I will.” said Eva. ‘Thank you.’
There was something about Nurse Spears that disturbed Eva. She sat up straight in bed and tried to look cheerful.
‘I’m not ill,’ she said again.
‘Not physically ill, perhaps, but there must be something wrong with you. It’s certainly not normal to want to stay in bed for a year, chewing toffees, is it?’
Eva had a couple of chews on her toffee and said, ‘Forgive my bad manners, would you like some?’ She proffered the bag of Thorntons.
Nurse Spears hesitated, then said, ‘Perhaps a small piece.’
After a thorough physical examination – during which the nurse ate two more quite large lumps of toffee (it was unprofessional of her, but she had always been comforted by confectionery) – she carried out a mental health evaluation.
She asked, What is today’s date?’
Eva thought for a moment, then admitted that she didn’t know.
‘Do you know what month we’re in?’
Are we still in September, or is it October?’
Nurse Spears said, ‘We’re in the third week of October.’ Then she asked if Eva knew the name of the current Prime Minister.
Again, Eva hesitated. ‘Is it Cameron…? Or is it Cameron and Clegg?’
Nurse Spears said, ‘So, you’re not certain who the British Prime Minister is?’
Eva said, ‘I’ll go for Cameron.’
‘You have hesitated twice, Mrs Beaver. Are you aware of day-to-day events?’
Eva told Nurse Spears that she used to be very interested in politics and would often watch the parliamentary channel in the afternoon when she was ironing. It enraged her when apathetic non-voters maintained that all politicians were ‘in it for what they could get’. She would lecture them in her head on the importance of the democratic process, and would stress the long and tragic history of the fight for universal suffrage – telling them, erroneously, that a racehorse had died for the vote.
But since Iraq, Eva had been vociferous in her condemnation of the political class. Her language on the subject was not measured. Politicians were ‘lying, cheating, warmongering bastards’.
Nurse Spears said, ‘Mrs Beaver, I’m afraid I’m one of your despised apolitical non-voters. Now, I’d like to take some blood, for Dr Lumbogo.’
She wrapped a tourniquet around Eva’s upper arm, and took the cap off a large syringe. Eva looked at the needle. The last time she’d seen one that size had been on a documentary about hippopotamuses in Botswana, and the hippo had been sedated.
Nurse Spears said, ‘Sharp scratch.” then the small mobile phone she wore on her belted uniform dress vibrated. When she saw Mr Kelly’s number, she was incensed. While still drawing blood from Eva she used one hand to put the call on speaker.
The first sound that Eva heard was a man screaming as though he were being burned alive.
Then a woman came on the line and yelled, ‘Spears? If you are not back here in five minutes with sufficient morphine to control Dad’s pain.’ I’ll put a pillow over his face! And I’ll kill him!’
Nurse Spears said, quite calmly, ‘Your father has had the correct quota of Tramadol for his age and condition. Any more opiates could result in over-sedation, coma and death.’
‘That’s what we want!’ shouted the woman. We want him out of it. We want him dead!’
And that would be patricide and you would go to prison. And I have a witness here with me.’
Nurse Spears looked at Eva and waited for her to nod.
Eva leaned towards the phone and shouted, ‘Send for an ambulance! Take him to Accident and Emergency. They’ll control his pain and ask Nurse Spears why she’s left a patient in such agony.’
Mr Kelly’s screams down the phone were unbearable. Eva’s heart was beating as fast as a clockwork drummer.
Nurse Spears pushed the needle further into Eva’s arm, jerked it free and simultaneously terminated the call.
Eva gave a shout of pain. ‘You could be in a lot of trouble. Why won’t you give him what he needs?’
Nurse Spears said, ‘Blame Harold Shipman. He killed over two hundred patients with morphine. We professionals have to be cautious now’
Eva said, ‘I can’t bear it.’
Nurse Spears said, ‘I’m paid to bear it.’
19
Over the following days, Alexander managed to see Eva on many occasions. In between other jobs he moved the radio, the television, the bedside tables, the phone, the seascape pictures, the model of the solar system with Jupiter missing and, last of all, Eva’s Billy bookcase which she had bought from Ikea.
He had an identical one at home, though the books could not have been more different.
Alexander’s books were immaculate heavy volumes, the size of small tea trays, on art, architecture, design and photography. Such was their combined weight that the bookcase had been attached to the wall with long masonry screws. Eva’s books were English, Irish, American, Russian and French fiction classics. Some were tattered paperbacks, some were Folio first editions. Madame Bovary was in close proximity to Tom Jones, and Rabbit Redux had been placed next to The Idiot. Poor, plain Jane Eyre was flanked by David Copperfield and Lucky Jim. The Little Prince rubbed shoulders with A Clergyman’s Daughter.
She said, ‘I’ve had many of them since I was a teenager. I bought most of the Penguins at the Leicester market.’
Alexander asked, ‘You’re keeping them, of course?’
‘No,’ said Eva.
‘You can’t let these go,’ he said.
Will you take them in?’ she asked, making the books sound as though they were orphans searching for a home.
‘I’ll gladly take the books, but I can’t house another bookcase. I live in a thimble,’ he said. ‘But what about Brian and the children – won’t they want them?’
‘No, they’re numbers people, they distrust words. So, you’ll take the books to your house?’
‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’
Eva said, Will you lie to me and promise to read them? Books need to be read. The pages need to be turned.’
‘Man, you’re in love with those books. Why are you giving them away?’
‘Since I learned to read I’ve used them as a kind of anaesthetic. I can remember nothing about the twins being born, apart from the book I was reading.’
And what was it?’
‘It was The Sea, The Sea. I was thrilled to have two babies in my arms, but – and you’ll think this is awful – after twenty minutes or so I wanted to get back to my book.’