AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 12
“No, not like that.” Judith laughed. “It’s knit one, purl one, not knit for the whole row.”
Polly looked down at the knitting in her hand. “I thought you meant knit a row, then purl a row.”
She was only here as an extra pair of hands; knitting squares to make blankets for the homeless wasn’t exactly her thing. She preferred ringing around hostels until she actually found someone a home. She hated craft, but Judith was down a staff member and frankly, with a quiet afternoon ahead, it stopped her antennae trying to locate Solo.
It was Friday, and other than a quick, stilted discussion about the PTSD group, they’d managed to avoid each other for the past two days. There had been a lot of unwell people admitted, and Solo had also been on call to ED, so their paths had rarely crossed.
Trouble was, that antsy feeling inside her didn’t seem to be abating. Which was just not like her at all.
It was a great big blessing, Polly told herself, as she frowned at the offending bit of knitting, that Solo had been a scarce commodity on the ward.
Fuck it. How could it take this long to knit three rows?
From across the table Esme Yates let out a loud chortle. “Go, girl,” she hollered. “At this rate you’ll be finished by Christmas.” Esme was on the upward swing, which was better than having her shuffle around the ward gently sobbing.
Polly gave her a thumbs-up. “You know me, Esme, a whizz at this stuff.”
After Judith had “tinked” Polly’s row, and informed everyone that tink was knit spelled backwards—frankly, the only fact about knitting that could be construed as even vaguely interesting—Judith went to help Jenny Blaine with her felt teddy bear. Jenny had over-stuffed the poor thing until its button eyes had taken on a look of abject horror.
Polly tucked the knitting needle under her arm and smiled brightly at her table of three.
“So, who’s going home this weekend?”
“Me!” Esme said with glee.
“Not me.” Clarke looked at her balefully over the top of his painting.
“Oh, why not?” Polly asked.
“I went AWOL last night.”
Polly raised an eyebrow. “For how long?”
Clarke looked sheepish. “Got back at 6 a.m. Trouble is, freakin’ Leon spotted me climbing in the bathroom window, didn’t he?”
Polly smothered a smile. Clarke was nineteen, in for the second time after another drug-induced psychosis. He was a great kid from a messed-up background. Often enough, she wondered what her own fate would have been if she hadn’t landed the job at The Book Genie when she ran away from home at sixteen. If Rowena hadn’t become like a second mum to her, and Alice her best friend, would she have fared any better than Clarke?
“The rules are the rules, Clarke.” She had a real soft spot for the young ones who found themselves in here. “I’m sure Judith will let you use the craft room to do some painting over the weekend.”
No-one, least of all Clarke, had realised his artistic talent, until he’d started to use the art room on his previous admission. His colourful canvases were now hung around the ward, something he was rightly proud of. And this, at least, was legal, unlike his spray-paintings splashed on shops and hoardings.
“I’ve got a leave pass for a weekend at home,” Celine Taggert said quietly, head bent over her tapestry. “Trent’s picking me up at five o’clock.” Her face had taken on a worried frown. Celine had three small children at home, and with this last bout of post-natal depression was in here with her baby. But today she looked fresher and a bit brighter than she had for the past week. Her hair was washed and she’d put on a new outfit.
“It’s just a trial, Celine,” Judith said as she moved around to check everyone’s projects. Celine gave her a wobbly smile and Judith plopped down on the seat next to her. “Drop the perfect mum story you’re telling yourself,” Judith said kindly. “The kids and Trent will just be happy to have you home. Remember the daily plan we wrote up? Stick to that and it won’t feel so overwhelming.”
Judith squeezed Celine’s arm. Watching her, Polly knew she could never match Judith’s saintliness, or creativity, for that matter. She sighed and turned back to her task. If Judith wanted her to be a role model for crafting, she was going to be sadly disappointed. At least her effort would make everyone in the room feel like they were doing fantastically. If it improved anyone’s self-esteem, Polly guessed she could cope with another thirty minutes of knitting hell.
Until, that was, she looked up to see Solo strolling through the door of the room.
The knitting needle fell out of her grasp, the stitches sliding off and landing in a spaghetti heap of wool in her lap.
Clarke laughed, Esme cackled loudly, even Celine giggled.
“Bat shit hell,” Polly muttered under her breath.
“Hi Solo, what are you doing here?” Judith sprang up with a great big welcoming smile.
