Isabel's Healing Read online

  It was quite simple really. For some strange reason, Aiden wanted her to agree to a formal engagement after a year of dating, and Bryony had huge problems with that. She knew it was the guys who normally had commitment issues, but the thought of marrying Aiden, a charming hunk though he was, filled her with a secret dread. She wasn’t even quite sure why. He had been surprised, even affronted, and was now almost bullying her to agree. Maybe he was worried she’d meet someone else in Wales. But honestly, how crazy was that idea?

  Still, she had made it onto the train, and the right train at that. Look on the bright side. This was a journey to what sounded a good job, an eight week contract to look after a woman who had been in a road accident, and who needed a caregiver until she was back on her feet. She was also apparently trying to write a book and wanted someone to type while she dictated. It all sounded a nice peaceful summer, which would give her the space to sort out her head.

  By this stage in the academic year Bryony was exhausted, as all medical students approaching their final year would expect to be. But the promised job would keep her through until September. The pay was excellent with full board and all expenses thrown in, and for someone who had been a child caregiver since the age of eight, domestic duties and mopping up after just one person in a wheelchair presented little challenge.

  The train gathered speed out of London, and she looked at her shadowy reflection in the window. She saw someone she recognized, a young, relatively fit, and anonymous medical student who just needed to catch up on her sleep to be on top form.

  Bryony arranged her rucksack as a pillow, and leant back on it, closing her eyes. She was more than halfway to becoming a fully-fledged junior doctor, so she could sleep anywhere and anytime, given half a chance. Within three minutes she was fast asleep, and when the tea trolley did come rattling through the carriage, she never knew about it.

  Four hours after leaving London she finally arrived at the little mid-Wales station, and pulled her rucksack up onto her shoulders. She was one of only three people to get off the train, and she quickly identified the man who had come to meet her. He had a pleasant, academic sort of face with grey hair, and looked like a retired professor in his sixties, which was of course just what he was.

  “Hello! You must be Bryony. I’m Edward Bridgford. Let me help you with your bag.” And he led her out of the station straight towards his car.

  It took thirty minutes to drive up to the cottage, and Edward used it to assess the character and capabilities of the young girl beside him. She certainly looked fit and strong, slim and easy on the eye. But looks weren’t everything. How would she possibly cope with his mercurial and volatile sister?

  He asked her about her medical studies.

  “I’m almost finished. I hope to be a surgeon, and have been heading that way in my electives.”

  “You said you’d cared for your grandmother. You must have been young. How long did that last?”

  “Oh, right through my teens. But I had to. I owed her a lot. She brought me up after my mother died of cancer when I was eight. But she had a stroke when I was twelve, so could not get about very well after that. I also nursed my great aunt. I do know all about personal care.”

  In fact Bryony had taken this job, apart from its good pay and full board, as an exercise in trying to gain some more practice in the art of being a perfect hands-on healer. If she was honest, she reckoned she had a better chance of speaking fluent Welsh in eight weeks, than in achieving this though. She had never felt a natural nurse.

  Forced out of necessity to care for both her grandmother, and her great aunt had made her domestically very competent and almost immune to embarrassment over the issues to be encountered in personal care. But their constant complaining had made her inwardly impatient with people she considered ‘moaners’. And working in a trauma unit as a student reinforced this. When you’d been with people who literally had had their guts falling out after a major accident, it made you inclined to dismiss people who cried over a stiff neck.

  By then they were approaching a set of old gates with TY Bach signed on them, and they could see Bel kicking at the gravel like a petulant child.

  From her hated wheelchair Bel could see her brother turn to the girl beside him and say something, but couldn’t work out what it was exactly.

  In fact Edward was saying, “My sister, as you see, has still some way to go before her injuries heal. It’s been very frustrating for her. I’m afraid you’ll need a good deal of patience.” He spoke cautiously, which only emphasized his euphemistic assessment.

  Bryony Morris nodded in reply but her eyes were fixed on the woman in the wheelchair. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to mention it, but patience wasn’t her strongest suit. An A in diagnosis, OK, but a self-awarded D in patience, and a complete Fail sometimes in bedside manner.

  Oh, well, at least she knew all about compound fractures. She pulled herself out of the car and walked over to meet her new employer and patient. She smiled to hide her nervousness. This, she soon realized, was her first mistake.

  “What are you smirking at?” were Bel’s first remarks to her. “Never seen an actual accident victim before?”

  The words fell from her mouth unbidden. Bel had been so anxious not to appear pathetic and impotent she slipped far too far the other way, and knew she simply sounded rude and hostile, oh, and stupid. Of course the girl must have seen accident victims.

  The young woman in front of her actually jumped backwards a step, whether in fear or repulsion she couldn’t tell. They simply stared at each other for a second or two, and then Bryony gave a little shrug and pressed forward with the greeting she had intended.

  Bel’s hostility surprised her, as she had not been prepared to be instantly disliked, but she knew in normal circumstances she came across as intelligent, civilized, and self-confident. She wouldn’t be cowed within the first three minutes of their meeting.

  So, she ignored the questions, and because Bel was in no position to shake hands, folded her own back in a defensive body position but smiled politely.

  “Hi, I am pleased to meet you Miss Bridgford. This is truly a beautiful location and I am very happy to have arrived at last.”

  “It’s Dr.”

  “What?”

  “Dr Bridgford. PhD, not Medical. But you had better call me Bel I suppose.”

  “Oh, sorry. Bel, then. I’m glad it’s not a medical doctorate at least. Can’t have two of us clashing on the best way forward all the time.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you are a qualified doctor? Nor were you employed to offer medical opinions. It is basic personal care which I need, and for you to give me my necessary painkillers at the right time of day, and night. But most of your work will be either in the kitchen preparing food and cleaning up, keeping the house straight, or acting as an amanuensis helping me write a book on climate change. How good is your IT, are you on top of all the Office programs at least?”

  “Well,” Bryony thought, “Not exactly charm personified!”

  She ventured to reply in kind.

  “Yes, with Word and Excel anyway. Actually, in answer to your earlier questions. I wasn’t smirking. That was my friendly face. And, secondly, in fact, I have seen too many accident victims. You can’t avoid them in a busy London teaching hospital. I’ve been seconded to Accident and Emergency, and worked in Triage for twelve weeks earlier this spring. I hope to specialize in emergency surgery after I qualify next year.”

  Bel looked up at her sharply, but her temper and nerves both began to settle, just a little. The girl wasn’t a mouse at least. After the initial shock, she had shown no fear, rather a realistic attitude to injury, based on her obvious short-term forays into dealing with seriously damaged bodies, and sustained by what Bel suspected might be a decent sense of humor.

  Oh, well, it would be an advantage if one of them had a cheerful disposition. Her own joi de vivre had been completely splintered weeks before, just as thoroughly as her car’s sha
ttered engine.

  Ted and Claire, watched this opening exchange with obvious apprehension, and now chipped in to try and improve the atmosphere. They made small talk about the heat of the afternoon, how tired Bryony must be how regular the trains were from London. Ted pulled her small suitcase from the back seat, and Bryony lifted out a rucksack onto her shoulder. She obviously travelled lightly.

  Claire, unlike Bel, looked at Bryony and liked what she saw. She was an attractive girl, first of all, and if Bel had to look at one person for weeks on end, then it was good her eyes weren’t subjected to anything too disagreeable. She also looked normal, the sort of girl who would fit in anywhere, and also, thankfully, not gay! Isabel didn’t need any more complications of that nature during her convalescence.

  Bryony was only slightly taller than Bel, and slim enough to look very good in the jeans and high-end T-shirt she wore under a light blue linen jacket. She had tawny blonde hair tied back in the ubiquitous soft ponytail style all girls seemed to go for these days, and her eyes were green.

  She also appeared strong enough to haul Isabel in and out of bed and the shower without damaging her own back. Isabel had lost so much weight since the accident, that shouldn’t be a problem, but she hoped the girl would be very gentle with Bel’s frail body and fragile bones.

  “Let’s go inside, shall we?” said Claire, “I’ve made some tea and brought along some scones, and the warmth is fading a little bit now outside. We can discuss all the necessary practicalities better in the kitchen.”

  She went to release the brake on Bel’s chair, but Bryony stepped in.

  “Let me,” she said firmly. “I might as well get started straight away.”

  Bel flinched at the thought of anyone moving her chair and carelessly bumping her, but the girl managed to wheel her in, and even up and over the door lintel without hurting her. She decided to start by talking about the cottage, rather than her own physical issues.

  “It’s a traditional Welsh long house, which means it’s all on one level, one important reason we chose it, but it is small, very small for two strangers to co-exist in. There are two bedrooms, at opposite ends of the house. Yours will be in there.” She nodded her head towards the end door leading out of the kitchen.

  “There is this kitchen, with an electric Aga which heats the hot water and warms the whole house really, then the living room, and beyond that my bedroom and the bathroom.”

  Bryony looked around. She enjoyed the smell of the summer invading the cottage. It was light now, with windows all facing south, but in the winter, it would probably be dark and damp unless the Aga ran constantly. The ceilings were low, but high enough not to bang your head on them.

  “I can smell wood-smoke,” she observed.

  “Yes, we only arrived this afternoon, but the previous tenants must have lit the wood-burner in the living room,” explained Edward.

  “Our plan is for Claire to return next Friday, and then once a week to give you a full day off. Bel can’t be left on her own at all yet, but we understand you will need time off to recharge your own batteries. The hospital only released her if there is someone here to help her take her medicine in the night and be there constantly in case of an emergency.”

  Bryony breathed an internal sigh of relief. It was more than she had expected. There would be breathing holes in the ice at least.

  “Thanks, that’s cool. But I haven’t anywhere near enough to go overnight. If you could just manage to come and stay 9am to 9pm, that will be fine. And I’m used to broken sleep.”

  Bel wanted to take some part in this induction.

  “As soon as my arm casts come off I’ll be perfectly OK to be on my own for a day. I won’t be able to drive, obviously before the end of your contract. There’s a market in Machynlleth on a Wednesday. Maybe you can drive me down. I know the way. Otherwise the fridge is well stocked. I presume you can prepare basic meals.”

  “Basic meals, yes. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Could I see your list of medicines please? And when do they expect to take the casts off?”

  “My arms, in ten days, I hope. This right leg was badly smashed, so that may be longer. My arms and ribs aren’t yet healed enough to cope with crutches. Hence I’m confined to this chair, or the bed.”

  Bryony looked at her new patient with a little less dislike and a measured amount of regard. “Brilliant bone structure...” was the first unbidden thought which hit her brain.

  Chapter 3

  Bryony thought Dr. Bridgford was really very beautiful behind the scowls and grumbles. She had what might be termed Irish good looks, with black hair, just beginning to have flecks of grey, and very clear blue eyes, fringed with extravagantly thick lashes set on a face with high cheekbones.

  Her eyes stared out from all under a short haircut, which must have been very well styled not long ago. Now though, after a month or so of neglect, it looked flat and uncared for. Her fringe was rather too long for comfort as well, as it fell over her field of view, and she couldn’t even brush it away.

  Isabel decided to say something more about the medical issues the girl would have to face.

  “The trouble with the pain killers is that they make me rather nauseated, so I have to take anti-sickness medication. Then there’s the problem of constipation, so I have to take something to counteract that. I can’t tell you how bloody furious it all makes me, how frustrating.”

  Nights spent sweating in pain had obviously taken their toll. Bel had deep grey shadows under her eyes, and a few wrinkles and frown lines across her forehead and at the corners of her mouth. In earlier years and months, she had probably been in the sun too much without protection, and it showed in her face, and through the faded tan on what Bryony could see of her hands.

  “Let’s go through to the bedroom, so I can see what they’ve prescribed for you.”

  She pushed Bel’s chair through the living room and into the bedroom behind. Beside the bed there was a large suitcase, open but still unpacked, full of papers, a lap-top and several books, all too heavy for the woman to hold on her lap, let alone read. A commode chair was placed discreetly behind the bed, which was a double one and covered with a Welsh woven throw.

  The room was simply furnished, but not unpleasant. A large collection of pills and medicines covered most of a side table, and Bryony read through the long check list on a clipboard beside them.

  “I haven’t had the chance to arrange things as I like them yet. Perhaps that can be your first task.”

  Bryony surveyed what would be her main centre of operations. Obviously Bel would not be able to move, even to scratch her own nose for quite a while, and she would need nursing 24/7. After a month in hospital, under an even tighter regime, no wonder her nerves were frayed and her temper gone from bad to filthy.

  Bryony braced herself for a good few days of bearing the brunt of Bel’s tongue.

  “Six days, and then I get a day off,” she thought. “I can do it. I can get through it. The woman really needs me, and I can save all my wages here.”

  Making a dent in the enormous student debt piling up round her ears had to be a priority. And the physical process of healing did genuinely fascinate her. What makes a person well, what gives them good health; this had always been of great interest.

  At least Dr. Bel Bridgford had genuine reasons to be miserable. Her pain must be acute, judging from the very high levels of opiates and especially morphine she’d been prescribed.

  Bryony looked at the panoply of drugs, and wondered how quickly she could get the patient to reduce her intake of them. They were all addictive, so there was a fine balance between achieving effective pain control and falling into dependence.

  Claire explained more about the house and their plan for Bryony to have use of the Citroen Berlingo for the duration of her posting.

  “It’s a high vehicle, so we hope Bel might be able to sit in the passenger seat without too much trouble. We drove over in it today,” she said.

  “It would be g
ood if you can get her out for an hour or two’s drive now and then. She is used to variety, and she will be prone to cabin fever if she’s too confined.”

  “The person in the wheelchair can still speak!” snapped Bel, deciding she was sick and tired of being talked about as if she wasn’t even present.

  She turned her head so she could look at her sister-in-law. “Thanks for all you’ve done, Claire, but I think I can take it from here. You’ve a long drive home, so I advise you both to set out before long.”

  Her brother and sister-in-law took the not too subtle hint and decided to leave. They gave Bryony their phone numbers and the ones for a local doctor, as well as the department at the Countess of Chester hospital where Bel had been treated. Bryony watched as they both awkwardly kissed Bel on the cheek.

  “She’s not very used to being kissed by them,” she thought.

  “I’ll be back in a week,” said Claire, “But call me tomorrow evening will you, to give me a progress report? And I can be here in less than two hours if necessary.”

  “Oh, don’t fuss the girl,” were Bel’s final words. “She’ll be fine. We both will. We’ll see you next Friday.”

  Bryony watched as the Peugeot containing her last link with normality slipped away down the hill and round the valley. Then she turned to the woman who would be her sole responsibility for the next two months.