Making Sure of Sarah

That lady was sitting up in bed, pecking at her supper.

‘It’s so early,’ she complained, as soon as she set eyes on Sarah. ‘How can I possibly eat at half past six in the evening?’

Sarah sat down by the bed and listened with outward patience to her parent’s grumbles. When there was a pause, she told her about her stepfather.

‘How tiresome. What is to happen to me, I should like to know? I’ve no intention of staying here a day longer than I must. You will have to take me home, Sarah. Your father—’ she caught Sarah’s eye ‘—stepfather can return when he’s recovered. I can’t be expected to look after him. Of course you will be at home, but I suppose you will need some help.’

She didn’t ask Sarah how she had spent her day—Sarah hadn’t expected her to—but told her to come the next morning.

‘You must get me that special night-cream—and a paler lipstick, oh, and a bed jacket. Pink, something pretty. I don’t see why I should look dowdy just because I am in this horrible place.’

‘Mother,’ said Sarah, ‘this is a splendid hospital, and if you hadn’t been brought here you might be feeling a lot worse.’

Mrs Holt squeezed out a tear. ‘How hard-hearted you are, Sarah. Go away and enjoy yourself—and don’t be late here in the morning. I want that bed jacket before the doctors do their rounds.’

Sarah stifled a wish to burst into tears; she was tired and hungry by now, and the future loomed ahead in a most unsatisfactory manner. She bade her mother goodnight and went in search of Sister.

Her mother was doing well, she was told; rather excitable and unco-operative, but that was to be expected with concussion. Sarah could rest assured that hospital was the best place for her mother for the moment, and that as soon as possible she and Mr Holt would be transferred back home.

‘So you need have no more worries,’ said Sister kindly.

Sarah began the lengthy walk back to the entrance. She must get her case and then go to one of the hotels. She had spent rather longer that she had meant to with her mother, and somewhere a clock chimed seven. She hadn’t been looking where she was going and had got lost again. She stood in the long corridor, wondering if she should go to the left or the right…

A hand on her arm swept her straight ahead. ‘Lost?’ asked Mr ter Breukel cheerfully. ‘We’ll collect your case and go home. Suzanne will be wondering where we are.’