A Spot Of Bother

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Jean apologized to Eileen for her outburst and Eileen said, “I forgive you,” in a way that made Jean want to be rude all over again.

Ronnie said, “I do hope George is all right.”

And Jean realized it was her fault. He’d sat on the bed looking dreadful, wanting to talk, and Katie had stuck her head round the door and she’d been swept up in all the arrangements and hadn’t gone back to ask what was troubling him.

“I’ll be down again in a few minutes,” she said, and headed upstairs, smiling politely at Ed and Alan and Barbara as she went past the living-room door.

They hadn’t got their tea, had they.

Oh well, she had more important things to do.

When she reached the bedroom George was putting his socks on. She sat down beside him. “I’m sorry, George.”

“What for?”

“For rushing off this morning.”

“You had things to do,” said George.

“How are you feeling now?”

“A lot better,” said George.

He certainly seemed all right. Perhaps Ray had got things out of proportion. “Your arm.”

“Oh yes.” George lifted his arm. There was a large gash on his wrist. “I must have caught it on that barbed-wire fence.”

At first glance it looked like a bite. Surely the dog hadn’t attacked him? “Let me sort that out before you get blood on your clothes.”

She went into the bathroom and fetched the little green first-aid box and patched him up while he sat patiently on the bed. She wished she could do more of this kind of thing. Helping in a practical way.

She stuck down a second strip of plaster to hold the little bandage in place. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” George put his hand in hers.

She held it. “I’m sorry I’ve been so useless.”

“Have you?” asked George.

“I know you’ve not been feeling well,” said Jean. “And I know…sometimes I don’t take enough notice. And that’s not right. I just…I find it hard.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” said George.

“What do you mean?” asked Jean.

“I mean you don’t have to worry about me anymore today,” said George. “I’m feeling much happier now.”

“I’m glad,” said Jean.

And it was true. He did seem very relaxed, more relaxed than she’d seen him looking for a while. “But if something starts to worry you, you will let me know, won’t you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I mean it,” said Jean. “Just say the word and I’ll put down whatever I’m doing. Honestly.”

“Thank you,” said George.

They sat for a few moments, then a phone started ringing.

“That’s not our phone, is it?” asked George.

It wasn’t. “Hang on.” Jean got to her feet and stepped into the corridor. The noise was coming from a mobile phone lying on the windowsill.

She picked it up and pressed the little green button and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Jamie?” said a man’s voice. “Sorry. I think I dialed a wrong number.”

“Ray?” said Jean.

“Jean?” said Ray.

“Yes,” said Jean. “Is that Ray?”

“Where are you?” asked Ray.

“On the landing,” said Jean, who was a little puzzled by this.

“I was trying to ring Jamie,” said Ray.

“He’s not here,” said Jean, who always found mobile phones slightly disconcerting.

“Sorry about that,” said Ray and rang off.

She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes and they would have to leave. She’d better get George ready then round up the troops.

She put the phone back down and opened the wardrobe in the corridor to fish out her scarf and very nearly had a heart attack when she saw Sarah looking back at her from between the coats.

“Hide-and-seek,” said Sarah.