Bia's War

  Bia’s War

  Joanna Larum

  Published by Joanna Larum at Smashwords

  Copyright 2014 Joanna Larum

  SMASHWORDS EDITION,LICENSE NOTES

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  The old lady walked slowly but with a sense of purpose, almost feeling her way along the bay windows which jutted out onto the pavement in this street of terraced houses. In her long white nightdress she appeared ghostly in the dim light cast by the street lamps, especially as the slight mist which had fallen as dark came to the town was enveloping the lights and reducing their power. The sky was equally hazy, although dark, and no light came from the moon or stars to lighten the scene.

  The policeman noticed the old woman as he rounded the corner from the main road where the street lights were brighter and, at first, could have taken her for a ghost, before he mentally shook himself and realised she was an old lady of flesh and blood. Feeling rather foolish over his initial reaction to her, he strode along the street towards her to find out why she was outside on such a cold night and so late, wearing only bed clothes and with nothing on her feet.

  “Where are you off to at this time of night?” he asked, his voice louder than he had intended, with the vestiges of his original fear still in his mind. But the old lady ignored him and continued feeling her way along the street, muttering under her breath and with the same sense of purpose he had noticed the minute he had turned the corner into Queen Street. It was as though she couldn’t see or hear him.

  “Hang on; I said ‘Where are you going?’ ” he repeated and then he took hold of her arm to halt her because she still wasn’t acknowledging him. She stood still, arrested by his hand, but she still didn’t look at him, staring into the distance and muttering louder than before. He could distinguish the name ‘Simon’ in her mutterings now and he grabbed this straw.

  “Are you looking for someone?” he asked. “Someone called Simon? Tell me who he is and I’ll help you find him. What’s your name? Is Simon a relative of yours?”

  The old lady still didn’t answer him, but remained halted by his hand, muttering under her breath and lifting her feet as though she thought she was still walking. The constable felt helpless and inadequate in the face of her non-verbal rebellion and could almost hear the duty sergeant sneering at his lack of success with a helpless old lady. He decided action was better than words and pulled gently on her arm to turn her round so that they were facing the right way to walk to the police station on Middlesbrough Road. He had a moment’s fear that she would refuse to move for him, but she turned as he wished and made no demur when he slipped off his regulation cape and draped it around her shoulders to keep her warm. He could do nothing about her bare feet, but he had at least tried to do his best for her. He continued to talk to her as they moved slowly along, hoping that she would perhaps respond if he asked the right question or said the right word.

  “Where do you live, love? Is it near here or have you walked a long way tonight? Will there be anyone at home who could be worrying about you? Do you think they might be out looking for you now and we might bump into them? They’ll be relieved to see you, I would think, if they’ve spent time looking for you. Are you going to tell me your name, now that we are friends and you’re wearing my cape?”

  She didn’t answer any of his questions. She still muttered under her breath and over and over again he caught the name ‘Simon’ but he got no response when he asked who Simon was. He was relieved to see the Police Station in the distance when they turned off Albion Street into Middlesbrough Road, even though he was dreading what sarcastic comments the sergeant would make when he entered the station accompanied by a half-naked old lady.

  His dread was unfounded because he could hear raised voices as he and the old lady pushed their way through the outer office door. Opening the inner door revealed the source of the noise. A couple were at the sergeant’s desk and the woman of the pair was pounding on the desk with her fist to add emphasis to the points she was trying to put across. It was the first time the constable had ever seen the sergeant lost for words and a jaundiced eye might have noticed that the sergeant looked almost frightened.

  “My mother is very well looked after, I’ll have you know. It’s just that she occasionally forgets who she is and where she is. It’s not the first time that she’s opened the door and let herself out, but she’s always done it in daylight before and people who know her have brought her back. Why aren’t you getting off your fat backside and going to look for her, instead of making insinuations about decent, hard-working people?”

  The sergeant couldn’t look the woman in the face, but raising his eyes to avoid her had let him see the constable and his companion as they stood just inside the door.

  “I think this must be your mother now, with one of my constables.” he shouted above the woman’s continued verbal attack. The woman stopped shouting immediately and whirled round to face the newly-entered pair. One glance at her face almost made him feel sorry for the sergeant, and that was a first.

  “Mam!” The woman cried, rushing to take the old lady from the policeman’s arm. “Where have you been? Why did you go out in the middle of the night with no coat or anything on your feet? Oh what’s happened to you?”

  “Meet Mr and Mrs Wilson, Constable Wood. You seem to have rescued Mrs Wilson’s mother for us. Where did you find her?” the sergeant asked, giving Constable Wood one of his famous stern glances. Wood knew that he had to be correct, concise and professional in his reply, otherwise the sergeant would be giving him the worst duties over the next few weeks.

  “Found the lady wandering along Queen Street, sir, the section nearest to Normanby Road. She was unable to answer any questions, so I wrapped her up in my cape and brought her straight here, hoping her relatives would have contacted you or that you would know who she was. She was talking about Simon, sir, about the only thing that I could understand of what she said. Is Simon a relative of yours, madam?” he asked, turning to Mrs Wilson who was emptying a coat and shoes out of a bag she was carrying.

  “Never heard of him.” Mrs Wilson snapped, dropping the constable’s cape onto the nearest chair and wrapping her mother in her own coat. She forced the old lady onto the chair on top of the constable’s cape and crouched down to push shoes onto her mother’s feet. Standing up, she grabbed her mother’s hand and began dragging her towards the door. With a curt ‘thank you’ which was aimed at Wood she exited, leaving her husband to follow. He gave the two policemen a rueful smile and then followed his wife out of the police station.

  “Phew!” Sergeant Adams grunted. “Thank God you came in when you did, Wood. I was beginning to think I was going to have the delightful Mrs Wilson here for the rest of my shift. Not a pleasant thought!”

  Wood screwed up his courage to ask the question which had been bothering him since he had entered the station.

  “Do you know the Wilsons, Sir? Cos I thought that poor old lady didn’t seem to recognise her own daughter.”

  “Oh Mrs Wilson is her daughter, don’t you worry. That ‘poor old lady’ is Abia Lymer and Mrs Wilson was Abia Lymer as well, before she married Jack Wilson, although what possessed him to take Bia on is beyond my understanding. Still, there’s no accounting for taste, is there? But I’m glad you brought her back when you did, cos five minutes of Bia Wilson in a temper is enou
gh for me.”

  “What’s wrong with Mrs Lymer?” Wood asked.

  “Oh she goes gaga now and then. It’s her age, I suppose and possibly it’s a defence mechanism from living with Bia Wilson. I might try it, next time I have to deal with her! The old lady’s gone missing a few times now, but it has always been during the day before. People have found her all over the town, but she seems to usually make her way towards the docks. Strangely enough, the Wilsons live on Queen Street, near where you found Mrs Lymer. They have the corner shop where Queen Street crosses King Street so Mrs Lymer was perhaps trying to get home this time. Don’t worry about her, lad, Bia takes good care of her mother, it’s just well-hidden under that sharp front she has. Go and get yourself a hot drink in the canteen and then you can write the report up. You needn’t go back out tonight.”

  Wood was taken aback. It was the first time the sergeant had been pleasant to him since he had moved to the area, so he moved hastily before the sergeant had time to change his mind and revert to his normal character. Once Wood had left the front office, Sergeant Allen sat back down behind the desk and considered the events of the last hour. He would keep an eye out for Mrs Lymer’s name coming up in the duty log again; it wouldn’t do any harm to check and it could do a lot of harm if he didn’t.

  Back in Queen Street, the little cream van pulled up outside the corner shop and disgorged its occupants onto the pavement. Jack opened the side door of the house with his Yale key and they all trooped inside. Bia took her mother straight up the stairs and into old Mrs Lymer’s bedroom. She bustled about, getting Mrs Lymer tucked up in bed and cuddling the hot water bottle to alleviate the cold she must be feeling.

  “I’ll go and get you a hot drink now and then you can go back to sleep. Let’s hope you haven’t caught cold going outside in your nightie at this time of the year. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Mam; I really don’t, wandering around the town in your nightie. What would me Dad have said, eh? He’d have said I wasn’t looking after you properly. That’s what he would have said and me doing my best for you. I just don’t know what else I can do. Mind you, it amazes me that you can walk when you go on these night-time jaunts of yours, but ordinarily, you can’t take even one step when you are in your right mind. It would save my legs if I didn’t have to gallop up and down those stairs, bringing your meals and everything. Still, I suppose it could be worse. You might be wetting the bed all the time, like Mrs Outhwaite’s husband. I wouldn’t like to be doing the clearing-up after him.”

  She turned to leave the room, but stopped when her mother spoke directly to her for the first time.“I don’t know who you are, pet, but you really look after me well. Thank you.”

  “That’s ok. You don’t have to thank me.” Was all Bia managed to say in reply.

  Back downstairs in the kitchen, Bia was grateful that Jack had thought to fill the kettle and set it to boil while she had been upstairs with her mother.

  “Is she ok?” he asked.

  “I think so. We won’t be able to tell if the cold has done her any harm, not yet for a while anyway, but she still doesn’t know who she is. She’s just told me she doesn’t know who I am but that I look after her well. She should have said that to David Allen when he was accusing me of negligence at the station.”

  “Don’t get in a flap, Bia. He wasn’t accusing you of negligence. He knows as well as the rest of the town that you’ve looked after your mother since Sam died and that she keeps losing her memory as well. Ten years ago, she would have been asking him if he enjoyed going to the Grammar School, she was always interested in how he was doing. Tonight, she didn’t know who he was and he knew that. Stop worriting and get this tea down you and then you get back to bed. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going to the funeral tomorrow, not after this with Mam tonight.” Bia answered immediately. “I can’t leave her when she’s got the wanderlust on her; she might end up at the police station again.”

  “I’ve thought about that and I reckon our Vickie can look after her Nana while we’re at the funeral tomorrow.” Jack had his answer ready because he’d been prepared for this. “You know the lass enjoys being with her and it’ll keep her out of the way of young Keith while he’s working in the shop. Otherwise, she would be spending all day standing in the shop and making eyes at him, stopping him from serving customers.”

  “Well, we needn’t worry about that. Keith will be going back to university after Christmas and she’ll have a whole term to forget him in. I’ll take this drink up for Mam and then I’m going straight back to bed. Don’t be long down here, Jack.”

  “I won’t.” Jack answered. “I’m just going to check that the shop is okay and I’m going to put the latch down on the Yale lock on the side door. If your mother tries to get out that way again tonight she’ll not be able to open it. Good night, pet.”

  Bia made her way upstairs and put Nana Lymer’s cup of tea on the bedside table. It was wasted effort, because the old lady was now sound asleep and it seemed unlikely that she would wake again that night. Bia sighed heavily, wondering just how much longer she would be able to care for her mother. She couldn’t do a day’s work in the shop and then spend the night traipsing the streets looking for her, she was no spring chicken herself. At least she had Victoria, who would carry meals up to her Nana and she did seem to enjoy sitting with her Nana and talking to her, when the old lady was lucid. There was no point in worrying about it; that didn’t help anybody, she just had to get on with it and hope that a miracle happened and Nana became easier to care for, although there was only one way that it would get easier and Bia didn’t want to contemplate that.

  The next morning, Victoria was already up and dressed when Bia went downstairs to the kitchen and had even filled the kettle and was making herself toast.

  “It’s a good job that you are up early, young lady. I need you to sit with your nana so that she doesn’t wander again today.” Bia said. “Your Dad and I are going to Aunt Jessie’s funeral and we can’t leave her when she’s this muddled in her wits. You will have to sit with her to make sure she doesn’t try and get out again. We had a hell of a night last night with her. She got out about two o’clock in the morning and we searched for her for ages, but we had to go to the police station in the end. Luckily, a young constable had found her and he brought her to the station while we were there, so no harm done, but she was only wearing her nightie and she could end up with double pneumonia. You can watch her for me today?”

  “Course I will, Mam. I enjoy talking to Nana, she makes me laugh.”

  “Well, she might not make you laugh today. She didn’t know who she was last night and the policeman who found her could only get one word out of her and that was ‘Simon’.

  “Who’s Simon?” Victoria asked. “I’ve never heard of a Simon before.”

  “Neither have I.” Her mother answered, “But that was the only bit of sense that the constable could get out of her last night. He seemed to think she was looking for this Simon, whoever he is. I think it’s just another example of your Nana living in another world. One thing’s for sure; she certainly wasn’t on this planet last night.”

  “I’ll take her breakfast up and see what sort of a day she’s having today.”

  “Yes, you do that. That will mean that we can at least go to the funeral. Don’t take any nonsense from her while we’re out.” Bia watched her daughter carry the breakfast tray out of the kitchen and along the hall to the stairs. She was praying that her mother would be aware of her surroundings this morning, so that Vicky would be able to care for her while they were out at this funeral, but she wasn’t confident that it would be so.

  Vicky entered the bedroom and found her Nana Lymer sitting up in bed, wearing a pretty pink bed jacket, with her hair nicely brushed and a big smile in place on her face.

  “It’s my favourite granddaughter and bringing me breakfast in bed, I see. What have I done to deserve this special treatment?” Na
na said, as Vicky opened the door.

  “Mam and Dad are going to Aunt Jessie’s funeral today and Mam’s asked me to sit with you, so that she knows you’re safe while she’s out.” Vicky answered.

  “Does that mean I’ve done something to make her think I’m not safe, then? You’d better tell me, it’ll come better from you than your mother, if she’s in one of her ‘martyr moods’.”

  “You went out again last night, in your nightie and with nothing on your feet.” Vicky said. “Don’t you remember anything about it? That’s why Mam’s worried about you today and why I’m sitting with you, to make sure you don’t do it again. Evidently, a policeman found you and took you to the police station and Mam and Dad brought you home from there. Can’t you remember any of it?”

  Nana Lymer’s face was creased with worry.

  “I’m getting worse, aren’t I?” she said. “This is happening more and more often and I can’t remember any of it. What can I do to stop it? If I carry on like this then your mother won’t be able to look after me and I’ll have to go into a home and I don’t want to do that. How can I stop it?”

  Vicky took hold of Nana’s hand, distraught that she was causing her so much distress and wishing that she could do something to alleviate it. An idea formed in her mind and, although she was reluctant to force her Nana into doing something which could distress her further, it seemed as though a way out of this was possible. She gently stroked the frail hand she was holding, took a deep breath to steady herself and said,

  “The policeman who found you last night said you kept on saying the name ‘Simon’. He was under the impression that this Simon was important to you, but he couldn’t get you to tell him who Simon was. Do you know someone called Simon? Do you think you could have been looking for him?”

  The hand she was holding had jerked as Victoria spoke the name ‘Simon’ and Nana Lymer had dropped her gaze to the counterpane which her other hand was kneading as though it was a lump of dough.