A Summer Idyll

‘Miss Mason’s niece,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Susan said you was come.’

Phoebe offered a hand over the counter. ‘Phoebe Creswell,’ she said politely.

‘Mrs Platt. Come to stock up a bit, ‘ave you? By all accounts there weren’t much in the house. Can’t say I blame that nurse—not that I liked her, mind you—a stuck-up piece if ever there was one.’

She studied Phoebe’s pleasant not quite pretty face and nodded. ‘Now what’s it to be?’

Phoebe studied her list. She had whittled it down as far as she dared, for Aunt Kate hadn’t been over-generous with the housekeeping. Luckily Mrs Platt was sympathetic; Phoebe made her purchases, bought some stamps for herself and went to the butcher next door. He obliged with a piece of chicken, a large bone and two lamb chops, made the observation that it was a pleasure to have her for a customer, and bade her a cheerful good morning. At least the people were friendly, she thought, and the morning was bright and the sky blue. Life could be far worse. Just for the moment she allowed her thoughts to dwell upon Basil, but only for a moment; he wasn’t worth wasting time over. She went back into the house, watched, if she did but know it, by Dr Pritchard, pausing between patients. Only when she had closed the door behind her did he press his buzzer and turn an impersonally friendly face to his next patient.

Phoebe put away her purchases, made a neat list of what she had spent, and took it upstairs with her aunt’s egg and milk. She listened to Aunt Kate’s tirade over the cost of everything without rancour, handed over the change and observed that she was going to find out from Susan where she could buy vegetables. She slipped away before her aunt could argue.

Susan was a mine of information. Her own dad had a tidy bit of garden, she could bring anything within reason any time she was asked, she said.

So Phoebe made another list, argued prices with Susan and went back upstairs to ask for the money. ‘Far cheaper than I could buy in a shop,’ she pointed out cheerfully, ‘and Susan will bring just as much as we need; there won’t be any waste.’ And this argument appealed to Aunt Kate, who produce the purse once more.

Susan had done her best with the kitchen. Phoebe shared the Nescafé with her, and, left alone, began on the lunch. She was peeling potatoes when Dr Pritchard came in. His ‘Hullo,’ was brisk and friendly. ‘I never knock,’ he advised her. ‘Susan’s always sweeping and dusting and I know my way around.’ He gave her a quick look. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Me? Oh yes, thank you. Aunt Kate had a good night, she’s got a very rapid pulse and a bit of a temperature; I’ve written them down upstairs. She ate most of her breakfast and took her pills.’

‘Then we’ll have a look at her, shall we?’

We waited while she washed her hands and then followed her upstairs.

Aunt Kate received him with a testy observation that she didn’t need him, that she was feeling better and that if she wanted him to visit she would send a message.

To all of which he merely nodded his handsome head, observed that it was nice to see her looking so much better and that he would take a look at her chest now that he was there.

He was kind and gentle, waiting patiently while she coughed and grumbled, struggling for breath. He put his stethoscope away presently and sat down by the bed to enquire in a leisurely fashion just how she felt.

The old lady cast him a waspish look. ‘None the better for seeing you, young man. I doubt you know anything about me—all I need is a bottle of tonic to get me on my feet and something to ease the cough.’

It was no good talking to Aunt Kate about antibiotics, Phoebe could see that, and Dr Pritchard didn’t really try, he remarked that it was early days for a tonic to be of much use but that he would send over a bottle of something to help the cough.

Phoebe’s eyes flew to the bottles already arranged tidily on the chest of drawers, some only half finished. She looked away and caught the doctor’s eye, a limpid stare which forbade her to make any comments about the half-empty bottles. It was as they went downstairs and she was on the point of opening the door for him that he said: ‘Your aunt forgets easily. Pop over to the surgery in about half an hour, I’ll give you a bottle of linctus; keep on with the antibiotics. Her heart’s weaker, but there’s nothing much I can do for congestive heart failure at this stage.’

‘I’ll take care of her,’ said Phoebe. ‘You’ll—you’ll come if I’m worried? There’s no phone…’

‘I’ll come.’ He nodded and strode off across the green. Perhaps she should have offered him a cup of coffee, she thought, watching his broad back disappearing into his house.

Life settled itself into a routine, taking care of an increasingly querulous Aunt Kate, shopping as frugally as she was able and taking snatches of time off whenever she could. The highlight of her day was Dr Pritchard’s visit—not that he wasted much time on her, merely giving her fresh instructions, enquiring casually as to her own welfare and urging her to get out into the fresh air as often as she could. ‘Make a point of going for a walk before you do the shopping,’ he suggested. ‘Susan’s in the house and she’ll let me know if I’m needed in a hurry.’

His intent eyes studied her face. ‘You’re too thin and far too pale.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Pining for the bright lights or a boy-friend?’

She was furious to find herself blushing. ‘No, I’m very happy here.’

His grunt was unbelieving.

Days became weeks and March became April, and the early mornings were now a delight. She read letters from her friends at St Coram’s and found herself glad that she wasn’t there any more. There was nothing to do in Woolpit, and yet she was content with her dull life, nor did she look ahead. It was soothing to live from day to day, forgetting the past and paying no attention to the future. Aunt Kate took up more and more of her time, for she was becoming weaker and more difficult to nurse. She had no appetite now and Phoebe spent a long time with her nose in a cookery book, turning out appetising little meals which, as often as not, were not eaten. But ill though she was, Aunt Kate’s tongue hadn’t lost its sharpness, nothing was right. Phoebe spent too much money on the food, didn’t answer the bell as quickly as she should, left her poor old aunt alone for hours on end…

She said nothing, because it was clear that Aunt Kate was getting worse. Dr Pritchard had taken to calling in twice a day now, never stopping for more than a few minutes, but it was comforting to know that he was very aware of the situation. Phoebe had been in Woolpit almost three weeks when Aunt Kate began to go downhill fast. Phoebe took to sitting up late and getting up very early and then, finally, getting into her dressing gown and sitting in a chair in Aunt Kate’s room and dozing through the night, waking at the first cough or movement.

‘Getting tired?’ Dr Pritchard wanted to know. ‘Hang on if you can—I don’t want to upset her by bringing in a strange face. I’ll come over about midnight. Would you like Mrs Thirsk to sleep here?’

Phoebe shook her head. ‘No, thank you all the same. I’ll be all right. If—if I’m worried I shall run over and fetch you?’

‘Right, do that.’

Her aunt was weaker when he came that afternoon. ‘Plenty to drink if she’ll take it, and keep her comfortable,’ he said and went again.

With the evening the house seemed very quiet. Phoebe saw to her patient, made herself some tea and finally got ready for bed. She longed to sleep, but although Aunt Kate was sleeping she looked much worse. She curled up in a chair just beyond the lamp’s dim light and longed for Dr Pritchard to come. But that wouldn’t be for another couple of hours.

He came long before then, opening the street door and calling softly as he came into the house. When he came into the room Phoebe got out of the chair. ‘I am glad you’re here,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think—that is, I think Aunt Kate’s not so well…’

He had gone to bend over his patient. ‘We won’t disturb her. I’ll stay—you can go to bed, you’re asleep on your feet!’

‘Is she…?’ And when he nodded: ‘I’ll stay, she’s my aunt.’

So they sat facing each other in the big bedroom while Aunt Kate slipped peacefully away. It was after midnight when the doctor stood up finally.

‘You’d better sleep at my place,’ he suggested gently.

‘I’ll be quite all right, thank you. Would you like tea before you go?’

‘A good idea. I’ll get the writing done while you are making it. You’d rather stay here?’

‘Yes.’ She went past him and down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. There was really a good deal to think about, but she was far too tired.

They drank their tea almost in silence, while Dr Pritchard did his writing, and she got up and went to the door with him when he’d finished. It was a chilly night and she shivered as she opened it, and not altogether with cold, although her thanks and goodnight were composed enough. He took the door handle from her. ‘Mrs Thirsk will be over in five minutes,’ he told her and was gone before she could argue.

Indeed, she didn’t much want to argue. She was thankful not to be alone in the house despite her assurances to him, and the housekeeper’s matter-of-fact presence was comforting. She waved away Phoebe’s apologies, took the cup of tea which she was offered and sat talking about nothing much for a few minutes. Then she got up briskly, asked where the hot water bottles were kept, filled them, gave one to Phoebe and told her with brisk kindness to go to bed, ‘And no getting up at crack of dawn,’ she warned. ‘I’ll see that you’re up in time for Susan before I get the doctor’s breakfast.’

Phoebe hardly heard her. She said goodnight in a wispy voice and went upstairs and presently got into her bed, listening with childish relief to Mrs Thirsk’s rather heavy footfall mounting to the room on the other side of the landing. The bed hadn’t been made up, thought Phoebe sleepily, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them Mrs Thirsk was standing by the bed with a cup of tea in her hand. ‘Plenty of time, Phoebe. Just you drink this up and then come down when you’re ready. I’ve put everything out for your breakfast. I’ll be off now—you’ll be all right?’

Phoebe sat up in bed, her mousy hair a fine curtain round her still pale face. ‘Oh, Mrs Thirsk, thank you! Yes, of course I will.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure what to do…’

‘Doctor will be over when he’s had his breakfast—he’ll know,’ said Mrs Thirsk comfortably.

Things seemed so different now. The morning was bright and sunny and Dr Pritchard would see to everything. Phoebe dressed and got her breakfast, then opened the door to Susan, who in some mysterious way knew all about Aunt Kate. ‘Poor ol’ soul,’ she observed in her soft courteous country voice. ‘She’ll be better off where she is. When’s the funeral, miss?’

Phoebe shook her head. ‘I don’t know—I don’t know anything at present.’

Dr Pritchard came then, and sat himself down at the kitchen table. ‘The district nurse will be here in a few minutes,’ he observed. ‘Now listen to me…’

He had thought of everything. When he had finished he said, ‘Mr Cole, your aunt’s solicitor, will come here for the funeral—you’ll stay here for the time being, of course. Do you mind being in the house alone?’

‘No.’ She glanced at Susan, sitting between them, listening to every word. ‘Susan and I could springclean.’