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Without even thinking, I open the door. At first glance, the kitchen is empty but there is a strange sound, like someone about to sneeze. It comes from inside the house. Leaving my suitcase outside I walk through the kitchen and into the hallway.
The floor is covered in shattered glass and water, or tea, or some kind of liquid. There’s an upturned little console table and in the middle of all this, Hedge lies on the floor, one hand on the leg of the table. He must have fallen and been trying to get up by pulling on the console. Or he was trying to make noise when he heard me knocking on the door.
He’s trembling and his clothes are wet; the short, wheezing gasps I heard earlier are coming from him.
“Here, let me help you.” I place a hand under his shoulders, making sure to support his neck, which had been broken before. “Careful, let me lift you or you’ll cut yourself. There’s glass everywhere.”
He lets me lift him up but when I try to set him on his feet, he’s too unstable. And his entire body is shivering. He must have fallen quite a while ago.
Where the hell is Elodie?
“Are you alone?”
“Doris…” He wheezes. “In a hurry… I said go…”
“Would you like me to take you to the bathroom so you can change out of your wet clothes?” I ask him.
He nods, although it’s almost impossible to tell because he’s shaking all over. I cast my mind back to when she had told me what the nurse told her. That elderly people are too fragile, and any small accident can throw their bodies into shock.
So, I carry him in my arms and take him to the downstairs bathroom. Last time I was here, when I came for dinner with Hedge, this looked like any other bathroom. It didn’t have a disabled-friendly walk-in bath with an integrated seat.
It gives me an idea. A hot bath would help with the shivering. I use my foot to push open the little door to the assistive bath and place him on the seat as carefully as I can. “Do you mind if I help you?”
He doesn’t seem to object, so I kneel on the floor and remove his pyjamas. Then I turn on the taps until the small bath fills up with warm water. I let him soak in the warmth while I look for towels and clean clothes.
Hedge is surprisingly docile while I dry him and dress him and carry him to his usual winged armchair in the kitchen. “Would you like a hot drink?” I ask while frantically trying to remember what Elodie had told me about his last fall. All I can dredge up is something about sweet tea. So, I make a mug of PG tips and stir in two spoons of honey.
Gradually, he begins to look more alert. At least the shivering has stopped but he hasn’t spoken a single word.
“Hedge?” I ask gently. “Where’s Elodie?”
He glances up at me and his eyes suddenly lock on mine.
“Hedge?” I prompt him again when he’s still staring at me.
“You look so much like ’er,” he says, and his voice has gone whisper soft.
“I do?”
“The same hair.” His gaze moves to the top of my head then back to my face. “And her eyes. She ’ad the best eyes. ’Emingway eyes. Blue on the outside, green in the middle.”
This throws me completely, I thought he’d been talking about Elodie.
“Who do you mean?” Could he be talking about my sister?
Hedge is still watching my face, as if he’s looking at a long-lost treasure. His eyes shine with moisture.
What the…
Big, fat tears slide down his craggy face.
“Hedge?” I ask as gently as I can.
“It was ’er shortened my name to ’edge. She said I ’ad to ’ave a name that stars wi’ an Aitch like all the Hemingways.” He wipes at his tears with a bony hand. “Uh, Helen, beautiful Helen.” He weeps.
My mind is completely upside down. On autopilot I reach for a box of tissues, then make more tea, and this time I make myself a mug too. With honey for the shock.
When Hedge has calmed down, I ask, “What happened?”
