Breathe by Dominick Donald

Author:Dominick Donald [Donald, Dominick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781444775563
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2018-09-05T22:00:00+00:00

‘What about doctors?’

‘Doctors there same as the doctors here. Three, four in Cirencester.’

‘I don’t have clothes.’

This was getting silly. ‘Perfectly good ones, love. Like your red coat. They loved that, first time we went down. First colour of the spring.’

‘But what will I do?’

‘Rest.’ As gently as he could. ‘Sleep. Get well. Breathe some proper air, get that cough out of your lungs.’ He smiled at what would win her. ‘Eat Mum’s scones with butter off the ration, her raspberry jam, damson if the raspberry’s gone.’ Which it will be now. ‘Get Dave to nab you a pheasant or two. You can go out, snare some rabbits. Do you good to get out on the heath.’ Her shoulders had relaxed. She must be warming to the notion. ‘Set up shop by the parlour fire. Finish that scarf somewhere you can see what you’re knitting.’

‘I’m not going for that long.’

‘O’ course,’ keeping the triumph at her acceptance out of his voice, ‘just what you need to wait out the fog, clear the lungs, no one to look after but yourself.’

She raised her head so that for the first time since he’d come in the door she was actually looking at his face. ‘But what about you? Who’ll look after you?’

‘Can feed in the canteen – can débrouille like the best of ’em. Managed for a while before you come along, though not as well. Might even lose a bit o’ weight.’ He tried for a reassuring tone. ‘I can look after myself, love. It’s you who really needs it.’

His eyes must have adjusted because he could see her smile, brow unknotted, face softened. Job done. Get her in the country, breathing clear, and perhaps we can talk about what it might be. TB? His stomach lurched. Then he— She couldn’t go down to his mum’s. But it can’t be TB. The Proctors, they all had that dry cough, gravel in a bowl, and she doesn’t – and TB means surgery, isolation hospital, the churchyard above Stroud …

‘We’re supposed to stick together,’ she whispered.

‘It’s days, love, nothing more.’ Please, stay until it’s gone. ‘An’ I can come down on the train at weekends, can come down this weekend, bring you home, no time at all. Just to clear the lungs. Like a little cure. A spa. Switzerland, only in Gloucestershire.’

‘I can stay here.’

‘But you’re ill, love.’ Gripping her shoulder hard. ‘This fog, it’s clearly got something in it, doesn’t agree. You need to get away from it. Wait it out, give your lungs a rest.’

‘The fog will pass.’

‘An’ kill you.’ She blinked as if he’d slapped her, but the realisation had popped into his head and he wasn’t going to take it back. ‘You know how many people these fogs kill? Thousands. Every time. I’ve looked at the death books an’ every borough, every time, people die. Old, young, babies, people with weakened lungs, they start off with a cough, something in the air doesn’t agree, infection sets in an’ suddenly there’s nothing they can do.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.