Losing My Identity Page 21

  Then she felt the cold pressure of a stethoscope on her back.

  ‘Is that the one from my vet’s bag?’

  ‘Of course it is. You reckon I carry one with me? It’s all right – I washed it.’

  He pronounced her chest clear. He fetched two paracetamol from the bathroom cabinet and made her swallow them down. She heard him rushing around, opening and closing drawers and wardrobes. Then he was back at her side. She noticed, though a fug of headache, that he’d got dressed. He pulled back the bedclothes.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get these trousers and this sweater over your nightie.’ He knelt on the floor, pulling socks onto her feet. ‘I’m taking you back to my place. I can nurse you more easily there. You’ve got more than a cold. Did you get a flu jab last autumn?’ She shook her head. It felt as if her brain had come loose. ‘Thought not. That’s silly. I’d say you’ve picked up a nice, exotic form of flu in Cambridge.’

  ‘Then you should leave me alone to get over it. You don’t want to catch it.’

  ‘I’m a sensible person. I always get a flu jab. I’m not likely to catch it. Come on.’

  He heaved her into a sitting position and started to pull a sweater over her head. She tried to push him away. ‘Too hot!’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Within five minutes, he was bundling her into the car, along with the suitcase of her clothes he’d packed, plus the food he’d prepared, that she hadn’t felt up to eating.

  She spent the next four days in a daze. Hari called in to work to take time off. From Monday until Wednesday he sat by the bed much of the time, reading. He had raided her bookcase, and was working his way through the complete back-list of Karin Fossum. He brought Leila hot drinks and snacks to tempt her appetite. Each evening, he ran a bath and carried her through to it as if she were a child. By the time she was ready to come out, he’d laid out a clean nightie (he’d been to Markies and bought three new ones; she was sure he hadn’t batted an eyelid either), and changed the sheets she’d soaked with sweat. There would be at least two bags for the laundry that week. By Wednesday evening he said he felt she was sufficiently on the mend to be left next day. The fever had broken.

  ‘On second thoughts, you must have picked this up days ago, and been incubating it when you went south. You’re damn lucky you managed to drive back without having an accident.’

  Leila decided not to share with him the information that she had absolutely no recollection of driving home. Automatic pilot the whole way.

  ‘You’d make a great doctor,’ she said dreamily, as he slid into bed beside her. ‘You’re wasted on the dead.’

  ‘I am a great doctor. I’ve cured you in less than a week. My usual patients don’t complain so much as you, by the way. I’m going back to work tomorrow. You have everything you need here, and I’ve asked Doris to look in on you a few times over the day. I’ll be home as early as I can.’

  ‘Who’s Doris?’

  ‘The lady downstairs. You’ve met her.’

  ‘So I have.’

  The one who looked and spoke like a retired hospital matron.

  ‘I don’t need anyone to look in on me. Are you sure she’s had a flu jab?’

  ‘You do need looked after. Doctor’s orders. And yes, she’s a sensible woman.’

  ‘You’re a treasure, nursing me so well.’

  ‘It’s what couples do. Anyway, I enjoy it. I know you’d do the same for me.’

  She wasn’t so sure, in her heart.

  ‘You look after me when I’ve let work get me down,’ he added. ‘And you don’t glare at me with a curl of the lip when I get home, as if I was somehow contaminated. You understand how thoroughly I clean myself before I leave that place. This is just payback. I owe you. As soon as you’re thoroughly better, we’ll start looking for our new home.’

  She bit back her answer. After all, lots of couples owned property together these days. It was possible to make it legally watertight. And she had a very good lawyer, who’d make sure she was never trapped into anything she regretted. She decided she didn’t have any great attachment to her flat. A new place would be an adventure.

  Maybe somewhere on a single level, all the same. Hari was right about the idea of a main-door flat. Leila got the odd twinge in her right knee (but who their age didn’t?). Plus in the place where her left arm had been broken years ago by stupidly hanging onto a frisky cow in a crush crate. And Hari was en route to having a bad back. There were no bungalows in central Glasgow. A main-door flat it had to be. Bigger than hers, and in a classier area.

  ‘Mmphm,’ she said.

  ‘And the other thing I asked you, did you think any more about that?’

  ‘What other thing.’

  He nudged her with his elbow. ‘You know what I mean. When can we get married?’

  ‘Maybe sometime.’

  Beatrice would have leapt at a chance like that. Most women would. But Leila wasn’t most women. In particular, she wasn’t Beatrice. There were still so many things she didn’t understand. His son, for instance. What the hell was that all about? The way Hari’s voice could transform from velvet to steel in an eye-blink. The bottom line was: could she stand it if she lost him? That was the worst of relationships: you risked getting your heart broken as soon as you jumped in with both feet.

  But on balance, she decided she probably would buy a home to share with him. She wouldn’t make a fuss if he signed them in as Mr and Mrs at a hotel. That would have to do meantime.

  Hari leapt out of bed and ferreted in his briefcase, then climbed back in beside her.

  ‘I meant to save this for an evening when we had roses and champagne, but I’m a great believer in striking while the iron is hot.’

  He slid a ring onto her third finger, then held her hand up to admire it. ‘That fits well. They’re Burma rubies. The Indian ones aren’t great quality, I’m told.’

  ‘You can’t call it Burma nowadays!’

  ‘The sort of pragmatic answer I’d expected. That’s why I love you. You could call it Burma when this was made, sweetheart. Around 1905, I believe. The same sort of time as your grandmother’s necklace. It’s all been properly cleaned, and the mounts checked. They altered the band to fit you.’

  ‘How did you know what would fit me?’

  ‘I measured your finger one night while you were asleep.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Ages ago. Anyway – these stones haven’t been heat-treated to deepen the colour. Most of the modern ones are, apparently. Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it.’

  And she specially loved the idea of a very, very long engagement.

  Seventeen

  Next day, Doris visited the flat every hour or so, making Leila hot drinks, plumping up her pillows, and generally seeing if she needed anything. Not a retired matron, as it turned out. A retired headmistress.

  Leila pumped her shamelessly for information.

  ‘Hari’s spent a lot of time here, over the years?’

  ‘A lot, yes. Not all the time, but yes, I’d say he stayed here much more than anywhere else.’

  ‘He’s such an attractive man – I’m sure he must have had girlfriends?’

  Doris frowned. ‘I’m sure he had. But he’s a very proper man. Very discreet. He certainly didn’t have a string of women staying with him here.’

  Probably reliable information. The bush telegraph of elderly women would have known. So he used hotels then?

  ‘Did you ever meet his parents, Doris?’

  ‘His mother. She was a pleasant lady. Reserved, but very gracious. And determined, in her own way. Very much the sort of person you’d expect Hari’s mother to be. She adored him. He looked after her for a while before she died. He was devoted to her too.’

  ‘You didn’t meet his father?’

  She shook her head, then crossed to gaze through the window. ‘As far as I know, he never set foot here. I got the impression he disapproved of Hari’s lifestyle – his decision to l
ive alone most of the time.’

  ‘Ah. The “you’ve made your bed” school of thought?’

  ‘Something like that. He sided with the wife. And then, the son, of course… Hari’s mother understood him better, I think.’

  ‘And did you meet…?’

  ‘The wife? No, I was never introduced. I saw her from a distance when she visited here a few times – not to stay, you understand. Nor the boy. I only know of his existence because Hari mentioned it.’

  ‘He never talks about her.’

  ‘Would you want him to?’ Doris turned to study Leila’s face.

  ‘I suppose not.’ They both laughed, a little embarrassed.

  ‘She was a troubled soul, I think. You could tell.’

  ‘I seem to remember something from the newspapers,’ said Leila tentatively. ‘It was a suicide?’

  ‘Yes. It was tremendously upsetting for Hari. She had left a note, I believe, blaming him.’

  Yes. I know how that feels. Poor Hari. But when I told him about Greer’s nasty little handwritten effort, he just told me to put it out of my head. Has he been able to do that?

  ‘How did she…?’

  Doris shuddered. ‘I have no idea. I think she’d tried before, with pills. I always assumed that since she was found in a wood… but I don’t know. The newspapers were very discreet about it, and of course, Hari never went into details.’

  ‘Surely he didn’t have to do anything…?’

  ‘I think he had to identify the body. They’d have got someone else to do whatever else was necessary.’

  ‘Poor, poor Hari.’

  ‘The way I saw it, as an outsider, their marriage had been over for years. I’m sure he wanted to divorce her, but any mention of that would always trigger another psychotic episode, so he didn’t. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t be saying so much. He must tell you himself.’

  Leila wanted to ask her if she knew what had happened to Anita’s body. Was there a grave somewhere that he visited on the quiet? But she found she couldn’t find the right words. Doris would find that too weird.

  ‘He doesn’t mention it at all.’

  ‘Maybe for the best.’

  ‘I’m tremendously fond of Hari, but I recognise he has a hard edge to him.’

  The older woman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I should hope you’re fond of him! He’s pragmatic. That’s no bad thing.’

  Doris was lingering, finding excuses to chat.

  ‘It’s choir night tonight,’ Leila said, to break the awkward silence. ‘Hari should go – this is just the second week back after our summer break, and he didn’t go last week, because I wasn’t here.’

  ‘There’s no way he’ll go out and leave you on your own. The choir will survive. Hari says you’re almost completely recovered, but not quite back to your usual self yet. You need more rest.’ She smoothed the hair back from Leila’s brow. ‘Do you have a hairbrush?’

  ‘In my bag.’

  ‘Sit forward, and I’ll brush your hair.’

  Leila couldn’t remember anyone brushing her hair since she was a small child, when Eva would do that. A hundred strokes with a bristle brush every evening. The memory made her eyes well up. She knew she could almost get accustomed to being cosseted.

  ‘A hundred strokes,’ Doris said. ‘That’s what you should give it every day.’

  ‘That’s what my grannie used to say.’

  ‘She was right too, wasn’t she? You have lovely, thick hair. Have you always worn it long?’

  Eva left her hair long when she was older too. Leila hadn’t thought about that for years.

  ‘I cut it when I was in my thirties, then let it grow again. Probably I should have it bobbed. More sensible at my age.’

  ‘Listen to the girl! “At my age”. I’d imagine Hari would have something to say if you cut it.’

  Leila’s mind flipped back to that picture, to Anita with her long plait over her shoulder, almost to her waist.

  ‘Doris – do you remember Barmouth biscuits?’

  ‘Of course I do! A lovely, delicate taste. What put that into your head?’

  ‘I was remembering that my mother always had a packet of them in the biscuit tin. You can’t get them nowadays. It’s a shame.’

  ‘They stopped making them years ago.’ Doris stepped back and examined her handiwork critically. ‘I wonder if you should wash your hair?’

  ‘Is it awful?’

  ‘It’s not looking its best, because you’ve had a fever. There shouldn’t be a problem if we get it thoroughly dry. I wonder… I don’t suppose Hari has a hairdryer.’

  ‘Not much call for one!’

  They giggled like conspirators.

  ‘I think Edna next door to me has one. I’ll only be a tick.’

  Leila envisaged one of those contraptions with a plastic hose and a hood, but the item Doris was brandishing when she returned was modern and slick.

  ‘Parlux? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of these.’

  ‘I think they’re the kind hairdressers use. Edna’s great-niece is one.’ Doris rolled her eyes. ‘Off you pop. I thought you might not have shampoo here, so I brought some of mine.’

  By mid-afternoon, she had Leila arranged to her liking: showered, hair freshly-washed, dried and brushed, a clean nightie. The younger woman let herself relax and be pampered.

  ‘I’m so much better. I should get dressed.’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I won’t answer for the consequences if you get up before he says you can.’

  ‘He’s bossy, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s a doctor. Doctor’s orders, you’re to stay in bed. He wants you to be thoroughly better for your holiday. It’s less than three weeks away.’

  ‘I need to be thoroughly better by next Thursday! I’ll have to go back to Dennistoun to vote in the referendum.’

  Doris rolled her eyes. Not a fan of independence for the country then.

  Hari had, by some miracle, managed to secure a rental of the flat in Florence where Robert and Elizabeth Browning had lived, for the first week in October. He’d dropped heavy hints that it might be a very nice place for a honeymoon. Latterly, he’d decided that since they were as unconventional as the Brownings, they might as well break with tradition and have the honeymoon before the nuptials.

  Doris was rooting around on the dressing table. ‘Have you any blusher? You’re still a little pale?’

  ‘In the wee pouch in my bag.’

  ‘Oh my!’ She’d found the ring. ‘How lovely! Hari told me you’d finally agreed to marry him, and that you’re looking for a larger house to share.’

  Have I? Did we?

  ‘Finally? I didn’t exactly keep him waiting long.’

  ‘Why keep him waiting at all, if you’re sure?’

  ‘I think I’m sure.’

  Doris looked startled. ‘You think? I’ve always felt Hari’s the type of man where one would feel very, very sure. And they say being in love is always the same, whether you’re sixteen or sixty. But you’re not sixty yet, are you?’

  ‘Flatterer. I’m the same age as Hari. Almost exactly the same, in fact.’

  ‘He’s like you then. Young for his age.’

  ‘Must be something in the water here. You and Edna and the others – you’re all amazing. Did you never want to marry, Doris?’

  ‘I suppose I never met my Hari.’

  And she sounded so wistful that Leila scrabbled in her still-addled brain to find the right thing to say. ‘Never say never!’ What a stupid saying: you’ve already said ‘never’ twice.

  Doris almost choked with genteel laughter. ‘I think at eighty-eight I’m entitled to say “never”, my dear girl.’

  Girl! But Leila was technically young enough to be Doris’s daughter… And the older woman typified what she used to think she was herself. Something like a dam inside her burst. What good is an identity if it’s merely a wall to keep happiness out? She had met her Hari. All the same, if she had to abandon some of her ‘red lines’, so
did he…

  Doris was pacing the room. She seemed tense.

  ‘What’s wrong? You mustn’t feel you have to stay. You’ve been wonderful today.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to help look after you.’ A long pause. ‘Leila, if you and Hari move to another house – I hope it won’t be too far away from here?’ She looked suddenly frail and old.

  Leila almost cried out with guilt and relief. Poor Doris! Hari wasn’t the lover she’d never met, he was the son she’d never had. She reached for the older woman’s hand. ‘Of course it won’t be. Hari’s very settled in this area. It won’t be far at all. Just somewhere slightly bigger.’

  And her mind spun to wondering if they should add an extra room or two to their wish-list. A grannie-flat for Doris. She’d never want that. She’s too independent.

  ‘What Hari and I probably need is two separate houses. Separate but adjoining.’ Leila remembered reading about an architect in Aberdeen who’d designed such a thing. Two interlinked cubes. He had named it ‘the divorce-proof house’, because all you had to do was brick up one doorway, and hey presto. Two separate dwellings.

  Doris looked scandalised.

  ‘I’m joking. We’re looking for another flat. If we could find a suitable one in this same street, I’m sure that’s what we’d go for.’

  ‘Hari’s so happy. We were discussing that the other day, the ladies in the close and I. We’ve never seen him so happy, ever, and we’ve all known him since he was quite a young man.’

  ‘You knew him when he had hair then?’

  Doris shook with laughter. It wasn’t that funny.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I think he looks better without it. He has a well-shaped head.’

  ‘He has.’

  She held the ring out to Leila. ‘You should put this on, for him coming home.’

  ‘Is it that time already?’

  ‘It’s almost four.’

  Leila picked up her phone, to check. There was a text from him. Think I can get away early. I should be home by half-four.

  ‘Ah. He should be here shortly.’

  ‘Then I’ll make myself scarce. You look lovely, Leila.’