Page 19 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
She feels firm hands on her upper arms and a shoulder pressing against her on the left, like half a brace.
‘We’ve got you,’ Patricia says softly, but Grace Maud is still unsteady.
She is reminded of what happened the other day when she attempted to crouch to pick up a stick in the garden: she made it down, but not up. Luckily Cecilia was nearby and could help her. But it’s one of her frustrations about her age. In her mind her body works the way it always did, so crouching isn’t something she stops to think about; and by the time she does think about it, she finds herself awkwardly dropping onto the grass and calling out to a much younger woman for assistance, hoping the neighbours don’t interpret it as some kind of distress call that might lead them to ring for an ambulance.
‘There’s a seat outside,’ Dorothy is saying. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down?’
‘I don’t want to … want to keep you from the class,’ Grace Maud says, trying to make her brain work at its usual speed now her blood all seems to have gone elsewhere.
‘It’s fine,’ Dorothy says, gently pivoting Grace Maud towards the door with Patricia’s assistance. ‘I don’t like this pose anyway. Too hard!’
Grace Maud doesn’t know what the pose is because they have her almost to the door.
‘Please, I’m all right,’ she urges. ‘Go back to class.’
But the others don’t answer; instead, they guide her to a bench seat deeper in the garden of Orange Blossom House.
They ease her down, sitting on either side.
‘I got a bit dizzy myself,’ Patricia says, ‘so I’m happy to take a break.’
She is, no doubt, lying but Grace Maud appreciates that she’s trying to smooth over the situation. Neither woman knows Grace Maud; doesn’t know that it would take more to embarrass her than this.
‘And I have first-aid qualifications,’ Patricia adds. ‘Just in case – you know – you feel faint.’
‘Why do you have those?’ Dorothy asks. She has kept hold of Grace Maud’s arm and it feels quite comforting.
‘I’m a teacher,’ Patricia says. ‘At the high school down the road. They like us all to have them in case a student slices open a knee or something.’
‘Has that ever happened?’ Dorothy asks.
‘Not yet.’
‘I should probably learn first aid.’
‘It’s a good thing to do. Handy.’
‘Yes, and – I work in a café. There are knives in the kitchen.’ Dorothy laughs almost nervously, like she’s envisaging what could happen with those knives.
‘Are you trying to distract me?’ Grace Maud says, now feeling morecompos mentis.
‘What’s that?’ says Patricia.
‘Are you trying to distract me until I feel better?’
‘Not really.’ She has a loose, throaty laugh. ‘I’m just chatting. Dorothy and I only met at the last class so I don’t know anything about her.’
Dorothy smiles. ‘Grace Maud, how are you feeling?’
‘Improved.’
‘Do you want to go back to the class or go home?’ Patricia says, her brow furrowed.
‘I think I can manage the class.’ Grace Maud pushes herself up from the bench, Dorothy’s hand still attached to her. ‘But I will listen to instructions more closely in future.’
‘In my first class I got so caught up trying to breathe the way she says that I forgot what we were meant to be doing.’ Dorothy’s laugh is different to Patricia’s: more of a tinkle.
‘It takes a bit of getting used to,’ Patricia agrees, then she turns to Grace Maud. ‘You’re sure?’
