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.’
‘You’ll sleep here on your own?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She looked enquiringly at him and he said: ‘You’ll have it to yourself, Phoebe.’ He started for the door. ‘Borrow Mrs Thirk’s bike and take yourself off for a ride round, and don’t come back until after twelve.’ He smiled. ‘Doctor’s orders!’
The next day or so went quickly enough. Susan came each morning and the pair of them scrubbed and polished and turned out cupboards and drawers, and Phoebe was too tired in the evenings to do more than tumble into bed. She saw almost nothing of Dr Pritchard, but he was there, on the other side of the green,