Sedating Elaine by Dawn Winter

Author:Dawn Winter [Winter, Dawn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2022-04-12T00:00:00+00:00

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The street down below was aglow in the full unhindered sun, and Friday traffic clogged the road as people tried to hurry, to get on, to get to the pub, to get home. It was lunchtime and the table and chairs outside the cafés were all busy, the pubs surrounded by patrons who spilled into the road and irritated the drivers. Elaine was still in bed. She had drifted in and out, and once shouted for help, to get to the bathroom. Frances was horrified to realise she needed assistance in there; it reminded her of care homes and frailty and weakness. Afterwards, Elaine had mumbled loving thanks, then crashed out again. Now, Frances sat smoking on the window ledge, wondering what would happen if Elaine awoke completely, if she should drop some more of the drug into her sleeping mouth, but then it might be too much—she might slip into a coma. It had not been simple up ’til now; it was not like stasis, and she knew the dosage must have been wrong, and it was very difficult to tell what were side effects and what were to be expected—it had all been bizarre and unexpected so far. But it was undeniably nice to now be in the quiet: untouched, undisturbed, alone. Then, gazing lazily down, she noticed the top of an enormous bright red sunhat whizzing its way down between the masses like a Frisbee. Frances watched, exhaling, absently wondering where such a hat could be going. She wondered more as it sidestepped the crowd and headed off, on a tangent, in the direction of the downstairs entrance. Peering over, ash dwindling down and away, she saw the man who lived upstairs hold the door open as he left, and the hat disappeared into the building. Curious, she thought. We don’t see hats like that around here much. It looked better suited to Royal Ascot. Then, a few minutes later, she jumped as there came a knock at the door. A very loud rat-a-tat-tat.

Looking through the spyhole, she saw a pair of fiercely painted lips, perfectly matching the scarlet shield above. “Hello?” she said through the door. “Who is it?”

A voice replied: “Oh, hello. It’s Mrs. Langthorn. Elaine’s mother.” Frances stepped back, as if the door were lying to her. “You must be Frances, I presume?” the voice enquired.

Just as Frances was about to lie—the wrong address, Elaine’s not in, I’ve never even heard of her—another voice, from the bedroom this time, feebly called out, “Mummy?”

It was a difficult situation. If she let this woman in, who could tell what might happen, what she might say, what she might suspect. But if she turned her away, she’d have Elaine to deal with, she would have to explain. Besides, she doubted this lady in her bold colours and Head Mistress voice was going to be easily fobbed off. She seemed the type who might bang louder still, bellowing her daughter’s name, demanding to be let in. Full of reluctance, Frances unlocked the door.

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