Page 15 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
I sink back against my pillows, unsure of what to say next.
‘Are you looking after the pub?’ I ask.
She pauses, then nods. ‘Yes. Don’t worry, the pub is fine.’
‘And what about Whiskers?’
Whiskers is my cat. She usually sleeps on my feet and will only eat one particular brand of cat food. I’m so worried that she’ll be pining and on hunger strike.
‘Whiskers is fine too. Please, Shelley, try not to worry. Everyone here wants the best for you and is working to make you better. Please believe me.’
And it’s frustrating, but what choice do I have? I trust this woman more than anyone else, and she’s telling me to be patient, to wait. So that’s what I’ll do.
‘Do you know where my phone is?’ Surely that’s safe enough to ask about.
‘Oh, it’s broken. Did you have insurance?’
Broken. In the fall? ‘No.’
‘We’ll sort it out. Do you want me to get you one of those cheap Nokias so you can make calls and send messages in the meantime?’
‘Can you still buy those?’
‘Yes, my mum has one.’
‘Yes please. Where are my flowers?’ It’s a message, a signal that I’m doing what she has asked. Because this is how we are with each other. Not polite and reserved.
She grins. ‘I didn’t think this was bad enough for flowers.’
‘What, a coma? What do I have to do for a bunch of tulips?’ She laughs, but I am suddenly elsewhere. The word ‘tulip’ was atrigger, a key. It’s unlocked something. I can see a bright kitchen, a vase of tulips on the wooden table. Purple and red. But it isn’t a room I know or can remember. And then it’s gone, and I’m back in the hospital bed. I look at Dee, and she has her head tilted to one side, like she’s concerned, so I smile at her.
‘Tell me stuff,’ I say. ‘I need gossip and stories.’
Gossip and stories aren’t why I went into pub work, but they’re an inevitable by-product. Always a steady stream of people, and half of them drunk. ‘Loose lips sink ships’ and all that. I’ve lost count of the number of strangers who’ve trusted me with their sadness and secrets. The affairs and the family feuds and the regrets. They are endless. And it could be depressing, always hearing about things going wrong, but I’ve never seen it that way. Because I always try to help, try to point out the other person’s position, try to steer people back to one another. I’m like an agony aunt, but on the ground.
Dee puts one finger to the side of her lips, to demonstrate that she’s thinking.
‘How’s Derek?’ I ask.
When I left the Horse and Wagon to take over the Pheasant, it wasn’t just Dee who came along with me. Derek moved from one barstool to another, and he’s barely moved since. Dee likes to joke that he’s in love with me, and I say he’s in love with her.
She rolls her eyes. ‘You know Derek. That last stool on the right is never going to get cold while he’s around. Oh, here’s something. He brought a woman in.’
‘No!’ I clutch at my chest as if to show I’m heartbroken.
‘Yes. He didn’t introduce her. And he sat in his usual spot, of course, and she sat next to him. She matched him drink for drink, though she was on halves. When they got up to leave, she was a bit unsteady on her feet, and he linked her arm.’
‘Well,’ I say.
Just then, Angela comes over, wheeling her machine. Dee stands up to make sure she’s not in the way.
‘I’d better go,’ she says.
It feels like she just arrived, and I want to ask her to stay a bit longer, but I couldn’t bear it if I asked her and she said no.
‘If the police talk to you, about David, will you tell them I want to give a statement?’ I ask her.
She flicks her eyes towards Angela and then back to me. ‘I will.’
