Live the Dream

Beside the bed, her supper plate lay untouched: two small, plain biscuits, and a dainty wedge of cheese with the knife lying beside it; all exactly as it was when brought up by Edna. Untouched, unwanted.

The empty tumbler was on its side, half drunk, half spilled. As he carefully uprighted it, the dregs ran down his wrist. He wiped it away, but the stale milk remained, sticky and uncomfortable. It occurred to him it might well contain something medicinal, but it was spilled now, and anyway, she was sound asleep.

‘Good night, my love.’ Leaning over, he whispered assurances with the softest of kisses before, collecting the supper plate, he left the room as softly as he had arrived.

Once outside on the landing, he made his way to the bathroom; a large converted bedroom with high ceilings and stripped wooden floor, it always struck him as strangely cold and bleak.

Setting the supper plate on the cupboard, he went to the basin where he splashed a handful of cold water over his wrist, then another over his face. After hours of talking business he was wearied. The shock of cold water felt refreshingly good.

When, eyes half closed, he turned to find the towel, she was suddenly on him like a fiend.

‘YOU’VE BEEN WITH HER!’ Shrieking like a demented soul she grabbed the cheese knife; lashing out, wanting to hurt him, needing to maim him, just as she felt maimed. ‘You don’t want me any more. I’m no good to you … don’t lie to me!’ With one swipe of the knife she caught him down the cheekbone. When the blood spurted out she lunged at him again, but this time he caught her arm to fend her off.

‘Sylvia! Drop the knife! Sylvia, please!’

‘Let me go, you bastard … I HATE YOU!’ There was no stopping her now. Raising her arm she brought it down, the small curved blade targeting his face. He ducked, grabbed her by the waist and, drawing her towards him, pinned her arms by her sides. ‘It’s all right, Sylvia,’ he gasped, ‘… it’s all right. There is no one else in my life but you.’ He struggled to regain his breath, to ignore the blood he could feel oozing down his face.

Her dark eyes calmer now, she looked up. ‘Promise me?’

He nodded, his forced smile seeming to settle her fears. ‘I promise.’

When she began sobbing, he gently took away the knife and, at that moment, something made him glance towards the door. Shocked to see Georgina leaning against the door-jamb, he asked harshly, ‘How long have you been there?’

Smiling triumphantly, she replied, ‘Long enough.’ In fact she had witnessed the whole thing.

‘Did you wake her?’ Suspicion trembled in his voice.

‘Shame on you, Luke.’ Her small, mean mouth opened in disbelief. ‘Do you really believe I would do such a thing?’

His voice hardened. ‘I know you would … if it suited your purpose.’

Just then, a plump woman of homely face and grey hair appeared.

‘Is Mrs Hammond all right, sir?’ She was obviously distressed.

Relieved to see her, Luke reassured her. ‘Yes, Edna, she’s all right.’

Clinging to him, Sylvia looked up at her husband. ‘I’m tired,’ she said wearily. ‘Can I go back to my bed now?’

Kissing her tenderly on the forehead, Luke nodded. ‘Come on … I’ll take you back.’

As he moved forward, she saw the blood trickling from his cheekbone. A look of astonishment came over her features. ‘Your face is cut!’ Horrified, she reeled from him. ‘I want Edna.’ Her voice rising to a shriek, she demanded, ‘Edna! I need you to take me back. Please, Edna …’

Like a frightened child she entreated the older woman, and the older woman loved her as she would her own flesh and blood. ‘You must calm yourself, my dear,’ she said soothingly. ‘O’ course I’ll take you back.’ She shifted an inquisitive gaze to Luke. ‘If it’s all right with Mr Hammond, that is?’

Luke gave the nod she needed, and now, as Sylvia went to her with open arms, Edna quickly but gently led Sylvia back to the safety of her bed.

Reaching out for the towel, Luke dipped a corner into the wash-bowl and dabbed at the blood trickling from his wounds, but all the while his wary eyes were fixed on Georgina. ‘If I thought you’d woken her,’ he warned, shaking his head, ‘I would have to think twice about banning you from this house.’

‘You couldn’t do that! I’m her sister.’

‘And I’m her husband – so I could, and I would. My only concern is for Sylvia.’ His voice thickened. ‘My God! If I knew you’d deliberately upset her …’

Afraid now, she stepped forward. ‘I didn’t. I love her!’ There was a measure of sincerity in her voice. ‘I would never hurt her … you must know that.’

Using what she considered to be her best card, she taunted, ‘If you thought me capable of hurting her, you would never trust me to stay with her on a Tuesday.’

Taken aback, Luke spoke firmly. ‘And you think it would bother me if I didn’t have my Tuesday freedom, do you?’

‘I know how much you treasure your Tuesdays, that’s all,’ she retaliated. ‘Or am I wrong?’

‘No, you’re not wrong.’ Once more wiping the towel over the wound on his cheekbone, he reminded her, ‘However much I treasure my little freedom, Sylvia will always be my first concern.’

A moment passed while Georgina silently considered his answer. She knew that, in spite of the way things were, he was speaking the truth, and to her mind it was a shocking waste of a man’s devotion. Deep down she resented the love he felt for her sister. ‘On these Tuesdays, when I come over to take care of her, where do you go?’

‘That’s my business.’ He gave her a warning glance. ‘We’ve had this conversation once too often, Georgina. Make this the last time, will you?’

Not being a woman who gave in easily, she persisted, ‘I know you don’t go to the factory.’

Angry and worried, he demanded, ‘And how could you possibly know that?’

‘Ah! I have my ways and means,’ she said with a sly little grin. ‘But don’t worry. I won’t give your secret away.’

‘Do what you think fit,’ he advised casually. ‘It makes no difference to me.’

She took a step closer. ‘I really am curious. What do you do? Where do you go?’

Throwing the towel into the washbasin he told her, ‘That’s enough talk for now!’

‘All right. Like you say, it’s none of my business.’ She wisely backed off. When he had that look about him she knew it was impossible to get answers so, instead of riling him, she changed tack. ‘I meant what I said, though. I do love Sylvia and, whatever you might think, I would never hurt her.’

Luke nodded. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m inclined to believe you.’

He knew there had always been a measure of love between the two sisters, but: ‘All the same, I wish I could be certain of you.’

‘Oh, but you can!’ Tears swam in her dark eyes. ‘You really can.’

He nodded, but made no move towards her. One thing he had learned about her was that she could turn on the tears at will.

She bowed her head. ‘I know there are times when you don’t trust me, but it’s just that … I’m saddened by what’s happened to her, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sometimes, it cripples me …’ she tapped her chest, ‘… inside here.’

He understood how that felt, and deep down, where the pain lived, he felt a kind of sympathy with her. ‘Oh, look, I’m sorry if sometimes I seem unfeeling.’ Ashamed, he reminded himself of the hours he and Georgina had spent together at the hospital, not knowing whether Sylvia would live or die. It had been the worst time of his life and she had been there for him when he needed her. ‘But she’s so precious to me. I can’t risk her being damaged again … not by anyone!’

Unmoved, she gave another glimpse of her cruel nature in her comment: ‘What about Arnold Stratton?’

He gave her a withering look. ‘I don’t want to hear that name.’

‘Will you tell me something?’ There was a look in her eye that disturbed his peace of mind.