‘So will you assure me? No more ill-treatment of your nurses? They mean no harm, Hortensia.’
‘You just want someone here with me, is that right?’
‘That’s right. Someone with some ability. Even just another body for … well, in the instance of an emergency, for example.’
Hortensia nodded. She’d already asked Bassey. He’d declined in that way that was annoying but that she respected; she did not own him, he did not owe her.
‘There’s a great nursing sister – I’ve had the chance to work with her before. Trudy.’
Trudy? What kind of name was Trudy? Hortensia forced what she hoped was a smile. But she felt helpless, put-upon.
‘So, is that settled? You happy with that? She’ll come in from tomorrow and, at least for the first week, I’ll have her stay nights. Then we look again – how’s that?’
Hortensia flicked her fingers, a sign of defeat.
‘I’m glad we could work something out.’
She felt nauseous for the rest of the day.
The unfortunate person named Trudy was black. She said she was Zambian, spoke with an American accent and was so short and pudgy that after the first week Hortensia felt Trudy was the perfect comedic foil to Bassey’s largeness. Put the two of them onstage and laughter would happen spontaneously. Trudy was also disappointingly young. After her first day Hortensia called Dr Mama.
‘You sent me a Lilliputian.’
He laughed and Hortensia pointed out that she wasn’t joking.
But it was Trudy or nothing – there were no more nurses. And perhaps her youth helped. Hortensia disagreed with the prevailing wisdom that the young were somehow quick-witted and savvy. On the contrary, in her older years Hortensia had discovered young people (generally speaking) to be cocooned in a special fluff of obtuseness, which made them immune to the world and could easily be mistaken for intelligence, but only if you, the onlooker, were a little less than sharp in your observations. Trudy had this coating, which was just as well because Hortensia’s bite had little effect on her.
‘And that name of yours?’ Hortensia had started in on Trudy within hours of her arrival.
‘I hate it,’ Trudy had said in a whine that wore on Hortensia like wire on glass.
There the volley ended. Hortensia, for once, without a response.
On the bottom floor of No. 10, apart from the common areas and Hortensia’s study that had now been converted into a sickbay, there was also Peter’s study, which he hadn’t used since his illness. There too was a laundry room that led out to a granny flat. Bassey stored his day-bag there and Hortensia threatened him with it as a place to live if he agreed to stay nights, but in all the years he’d worked for her this had never happened. Adjacent to the laundry room was a small en-suite guest room, which is where Trudy slept.
Without knocking, Trudy walked into Hortensia’s study. ‘You slept later than normal today, it’s almost nine a.m. Wonderful progress.’
Hortensia wished she could reach her to slap her. Where did these people find these tones of voice? That particular lilt that could only mean they thought they were talking to someone they considered mentally deficient.
‘What do they teach you?’
‘Pardon?’ Trudy was constantly hard of hearing, which was both good and bad.
‘What, are you deaf?’ It was bad because Hortensia actually wanted people to hear her, but good because it allowed her extra room for particularly rotten insults.
‘Yes, I’m deaf in my left ear actually. Sorry, I often forget to mention it. I lip-read. Let me put this down and give you my full attention.’ Trudy placed Hortensia’s exercise file on the desk and turned to face her charge. ‘You were saying?’
Hortensia, her lips pushed forward in displeasure, shook her head.
‘What I meant was sleep is good at this stage. Doctor would be happy to hear the small change in medicines is working. You ready for your ablutions? And then today we’ll walk the hallway. I’ve set up a little obstacle course for you to make it fun.’ At this Trudy giggled.
Hortensia cursed God.
Lawyer Marx called. He asked if she’d contacted Esme. And she said no, she hadn’t contacted Esme. To hell with Esme. What, was it a crime to take her time? An old woman like her.
The medication took turns making Hortensia feel like a superhero and making her want to punch everyone. In other words, it had little effect on her. She felt she owed Trudy a daily battle when it came to the time to swallow the pills.
‘What’s this now?’ Hortensia asked, although it was the same dosage of medicine she’d been taking for the past couple of weeks. ‘They giving me morphine again?’
‘Nothing’s changed, Mrs James. We stopped the morphine – Carole stopped that, as far as I can tell from your chart. This is jus—’
‘And no sleeping pills. I expressly asked for no sleeping pills.’
‘Absolutely, Dr Mama made that clear to me. He’ll make a call tomorrow by the way. Check in on you.’
Trudy handed Hortensia the cup of water and then passed her the pills one by one.
‘What’s that noise?’ Hortensia asked, alarmed.