Tim by Colleen Mccullough

Author:Colleen Mccullough [Mccullough, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Classics, Modern
ISBN: 9780380711963
Google: suBjPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0380711966
Goodreads: 182434
Published: 1974-01-01T13:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Tim sat silently in the car all the way to Artarmon. He had not slept in her Sydney house very often, and the room he always occupied there did not have the same sense of belonging about it as his room at the cottage did. He did not seem to know what to do when she prepared to leave him to change his clothes and rest; he stood in the middle of the floor fiddling with his hands, looking at her pleadingly. Never proof against that particular expression, Mary sighed and came to his side.

“Why don’t you change into your pajamas and try to sleep for a little while, Tim?” she asked.

“But it’s not night time, it’s the middle of the day!” he protested, the pain and fear he was suffering revealing themselves in his voice.

“That’s nothing to worry about, love,” she replied, her throat aching. “I think you’d manage to sleep if I closed all the blinds and made the room dark.”

“I feel sick,” he said, gulping ominously.

“Oh, poor old Tim!” she responded instantly, remembering how he dreaded being chided for making a mess. “Come on, I’ll hold your forehead for you.”

He began to vomit just as they reached the bathroom entrance. She held his brow in the palm of her hand, crooning softly and stroking his back while he writhed and gagged wretchedly.

“Finished?” she asked softly, and when he nodded she sat him on her padded bathroom chair and ran warm water into the bath. “You’ve made rather a mess of yourself, haven’t you? I think you ought to just get out of those clothes and hop into a nice bath, don’t you? You’ll feel much better the minute you’re soaking.” She wrung out a washcloth and cleaned the worst of it from his face and hands, slipped his shirt off and folded it in on itself carefully, then used it as a rag to wipe the splattered floor. He watched her apathetically, white and trembling.

“I’m soh-soh-sorry, Mary,” he gasped. “I made a meh-meh-mess and you’ll be mah-mah-mad at me.”

She smiled up at him from where she was kneeling on the tiles. “Never, Tim, never! You couldn’t help it, and you tried so hard to get to the bathroom in time, didn’t you? That’s all the matters, dear heart.”

His pallor and weakness alarmed her; he did not seem to be recovering as quickly as he should, so she was not surprised when he fell on his knees in front of the lavatory and began to retch again.

“I think that’s definitely it,” she said when he was quiet once more. “Now how about that bath?”

“I’m so tired, Mary,” he whispered, clinging to the sides of the chair seat.

She dared not leave him; the chair was straight-backed and armless, and if he fainted he would never stay on it. The best place for him was the lukewarm bath, where he could stretch out supine and warm himself through to his bones. Shutting

Dawnie’s bitter words out of her mind and praying

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