Page 71 of Never Tear Us Apart
I’m about to turn away when the door opens, and Stella looks at me.
‘Oh, good,’ she says calmly, handing me a bowl of bloody water. ‘I need fresh, boiled water and more towels, linen. Anything will do as long as it’s absorbent, and I need it fast. Can you do that? These young ladies will help you.’
‘Of course,’ I say.
The door is closed.
‘This way.’ The girl who was sitting on the floor leaps to her feet, desperate to do something, anything. ‘I’m Daphne. This is Gloria.’
‘Hello, I’m Maia,’ I tell them.
‘Thank you, thank you for coming,’ Gloria says. ‘We were afraid no one would come to help Vittoria. When Dr Borg came, we were so grateful. And now you. There are good people, truly.’
She crosses herself, glancing briefly at the heavens.
In a basic kitchen, they show me a pot of water simmering over a fire. Gloria’s face pales as she looks at the blood in the water, and she throws it out into the yard. She begins to tear down the washing.
‘It’s no good,’ she cries. ‘It’s covered in dust. Nothing stays clean!’
Daphne washes and refills the bowl with hot water. ‘Our sheets – they were fresh yesterday, and we have not slept in them. Strip the beds!’
Gloria runs upstairs, and Daphne and I carefully carry the water. Gloria opens the doors for me into the bedroom. Daphne thrusts a bundle of sheets into Stella’s arms. I notice she is careful not to let the girls see into the room. She steps aside slightly to let me pass.
‘Set it there,’ she tells me, pointing to a small chest of drawers.
It’s the smell that hits me first, the sharp scent, followed quickly by the sweet sickly smell of infection and sour sweat. The windows are open, the curtains billowing in the breeze, but somehow it seems as if the fetid air will not be moved, as if it has its own mass. A pile of bloody towels slumps at the foot of the bed. Stella sits down on the edge of the bed, holding the girl’s hand.
‘What should I do?’ I ask her.
‘Very gently, take the towels between her legs and replace them with what you have brought. Gently. She is in pain.’
As I move around the bed, I see Vittoria properly for the first time. Her dark hair clings to her face, which is sheened in waxy sweat. It’s hard to match this near-dead girl with the young woman whose eyes shone the last time I saw her, just two days ago. Vittoria’s complexion is a very pale grey, her parted lips dry and bloodless. When I lift the sheet that covers her lower half, I see the wad of linen already in place is saturated with red. She groans quietly as I remove the towel and gently press the fresh sheets into place.
‘Thank you,’ Stella says. ‘I don’t want to let go of her hand again – she thinks I am her mother.’
‘Will she recover?’ I ask, already knowing the answer.
‘She will die,’ Stella says. ‘The water, the sheets, are for her friends’ benefit rather than hers, so they will be able to comfort themselves after she has gone.’
‘Jesus.’ I cover my mouth, my throat suddenly full of grief. ‘I said I’d help her. She promised she’d come to me if she ever needed help.’
Stella’s expression is implacable, detached somehow. She watches Vittoria struggle for another breath like an angel in a stained-glass window, sad and remote.
‘Her pain is eased now, at least,’ she says eventually. ‘I had a little morphine left. Now I have none. She has lost a lot of blood, and sepsis has set in. Her organs are failing. But she is young and was healthy, so her body clutches at life. We must pray that her death is swift.’
‘No penicillin?’ I ask.
Stella shakes her head.
‘I could find some – I can search the island.’ I think of Nicco. ‘I think I know someone who might help.’
‘There is none,’ Stella tells me. ‘I have already sold everything I had of value to buy what stocks Elias had.’ She says this matter-of-factly, as though she already knows I know of Elias and his ways, and is unshocked by it. ‘There is none, and even if there was, it’s too late now, Maia.’
Of all the incredible things I have been through, this is the hardest to believe.
‘Listen, will you go and find Father Vincent at St Paul’s? Many would not come, but he is a good man. He will give her the last rites.’
‘Where will he be?’ I ask, focused by Stella’s commanding tone. ‘I don’t know the area that well.’
