Ladies From Hell by Keith Roberts

Author:Keith Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

3

On Saturday morning she walked into the village. Usually the phone box wasn’t working; but the smashed handset had been replaced only the day before. She dialled, not expecting an answer; but the receiver was lifted. Helen’s voice said, “Hello?”

She worked the coinbox. She said, “It’s Liz.” Then, “Yes. Yes, fine.” To her request Helen said, “David isn’t home. Look, I’m not too sure. I don’t know whether it would be a good thing. Have you talked to your mother?”

Liz said, “She said to speak to you.” She could square Pam later.

Helen said, “I’m still not happy about it.”

She said, “It is important.”

A long pause. Then Helen said, “All right. I’ll try. But if they say no you will understand, won’t you?”

Liz said, “I’m…thank you. Very much.”

The phone said, “Look Liz, promise me something. You won’t get upset again, will you?”

Liz said, “I promise.”

The bus was quieter than those to which she was accustomed. Pamela sat tightlipped for a while, aware that she had been outmanoeuvred but unwilling to contradict the Properjohns. Later, as they reached the town, she thawed. She said, “Now remember what Helen told you. You’re not to get upset.”

Liz said, “I won’t.”

Pamela said, “I don’t expect they’ll let us stay more than a minute anyway.” A pause; then she smiled. She said, “You’re a good girl, Liz. It was thoughtful of you to want to come.”

The hospital was an enormous place, bigger even than she had imagined. They had to follow lines of certain colours, along this corridor and that. Once when she crossed a little courtyard the lines were painted on the asphalt. It was funny somehow; like a children’s game.

He was in a private room. It was very small. The nurse who took them in—or maybe she was a Sister—seemed disapproving; but the Properjohns’ name was magic. She said, “It’s five minutes at the outside.”

He looked different somehow, lying there in the bed. Smaller. His eyes were closed; and there was a big gauzy dressing on his head. His cheek was scratched all down one side. She supposed it must have happened when he fell. The marks looked very bright. A clip of notes hung on the bedrail; there was a side table with a bowl of flowers and a telephone. She could have brought some flowers. But she hadn’t thought.

She walked forward. She said, “Hello, Ian.” He opened his eyes; but they soon lost interest. She said, “We came to see you.”

She was wearing her best jeans, and a bright checky shirt he’d said one time he liked. She said, “Are you feeling better? We wanted to bring Sheba but she couldn’t come in.”

She’d realized of course it wouldn’t be like the telly. When you got hit on the head in a gangster film you just got up and carried on. She said, “You remember Sheba, don’t you? You met her when you told me about the guns.”

He started fumbling at the bedclothes. He said, “Gu…gu…” His voice sounded queer and thick. She realized he was trying to say, ‘gun’.

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