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‘We’re fine,’ the old woman said. ‘Go and open the shop.’
Lucy thought Bessie looked a bit better, but decided she’d look in on her again in an hour or two. If there was no further improvement by then she was going to ring the doctor – whether the old woman liked it or not.
For Pearl, the weekday morning followed the usual routine. She made breakfast, Derek left for work and then John went to school. Her mother taught art in a local primary and had already left; the house now quiet as Pearl did a little housework before taking a break. While sipping a cup of coffee she let her gaze rest on one of her mother’s paintings that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Her choice of pastels was restful to the eye, the scene a cottage window dressed with soft, blue, gingham curtains and a toning vase of cottage garden flowers on a windowsill.
Pearl had always loved painting. She had inherited her mother’s talent but what with housework, cooking, and a part-time job in a chemist, her days were full. There had once been a time when Pearl had dreamed of being an artist, of her paintings being shown in an exhibition, but those dreams had long been put aside in favour of being a wife and mother.
Though she hadn’t wanted to think about him, the news of Kevin’s possible parole loomed heavy in her mind. The things he’d done, his violence, had sickened her, yet there was no denying that from the moment John had been born, Kevin had loved him. At his own insistence, Kevin hadn’t seen John while he was in prison, but Pearl felt he would want to see him when he was released. Her stomach lurched as the same fears made her hands tremble. What if he tried to take John away from her? He was certainly capable of doing that.
Her thoughts were cut off by the ringing of the telephone. It was Lucy.
‘Pearl, despite Bessie insisting that she’s fine, she’s getting worse. I know she’ll do her nut, but I want to call the doctor. What do you think?’
Frowning worriedly, Pearl asked, ‘Has she got a fever?’
‘No, I don’t think so and as I said, Bessie insists she’s fine. It’s just that her breathing is really bad.’
‘In that case, call the doctor.’
‘All right then. I just hope she doesn’t have a go at me.’
‘Bessie’s bark has always been worse than her bite, but if you like, tell her it was my idea.’
‘Thanks, Pearl. I’ll give that a try.’
‘There’s no need to thank me. I’m just glad you’re there to keep an eye on her. I’ve got to go to work soon, but I’ll give you a call as soon as I come home.’
‘Right, I’ll speak to you again then,’ Lucy said, saying goodbye before hanging up.
Pearl could just imagine Bessie’s reaction when the doctor walked in. Poor Lucy, she was right and fur would probably fly. She put on her white nylon overall, something the chemist insisted all the staff wear, and with Bessie on her mind, all thoughts of Kevin were put to one side. There was no news of his parole so perhaps it had been denied and she was worrying about nothing.
Pearl enjoyed her part-time job at the chemist’s but today the hours seemed to drag. At last she was on her way again and on arriving home she immediately went to the telephone. The news was reassuring. Lucy told her that the doctor hadn’t seemed overly worried, but he had put Bessie on a stronger dose of antibiotics.
Pearl at last relaxed, and after telling Lucy that they’d drive down to see Bessie on Sunday, she replaced the receiver, flooded with relief.
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