Page 85 of Little Wing
Sophia had tuned in to Nell. ‘Flora talked about her sister – about your mum Wendy – in the fondest of terms. Zany, madcap, daft – those were the words she used and she obviously adored her.’
‘So was it cancer then?’
‘No duck, not cancer.’
‘Then how did she die? Will you tell me?’
‘It was an accident.’ Sophia took a moment. ‘It was because of the pneumonia, pet.’
‘Pneumonia?’ Nell thought about this. ‘Isn’t that treatable?’
‘Yes.’
‘But?’
‘She didn’t know. Knowing Flora she’d’ve passed it off as a tiresome bout of flu and told herself to get on with it.’ Sophia’s face was striated with pain and regret.
‘I should’ve looked in on her. To this day – to my dying day – I’ll regret that. I failed her – and you. You see, I’d sometimes pass the Luskentyre road, sometimes I’d be along it, with a patient to see, even passing right by the White Cottage, on my rounds and I’d always say to myself oh, I’ll pop in and see Flora soon. But you were by then twenty months old and the pair of you were doing so well – there was no urgency, really, no need.’
Nell nodded. ‘That’s good though – that Flora and I were getting on with life just fine.’
‘I found her,’ Sophia said and she started to dab frantically at her eyes. ‘I found her. I was passing – on my way back from the Macleans, actually, as Mr Maclean had a boil to lance. They’d get them, the fishermen – from their thick waterproofs rubbing against their necks. All that oily salt, all that wet and wind.’
And oh! Sophia could have talked about the Macleans for hours – each one of them – and theirs was a family of seven. And then she could go on and tell Nell all about the various health conditions pertaining to the different trades of the islanders. She could even tell her about the poachers who’d steal to her house in the godforsaken hours because they had a cleek speared into their backside. But Nell was holding her breath, her eyes wide and waiting. Sophia knew she had started a story that she would have to finish, for Flora’s sake as much as Nell’s.
‘Well, after the Macleans I thought I’d just pop in on Flora and the little’un. I remember being pleased that I had time that day. There was nobody at the cottage – back door was open and all the signs of life were there – washing-up, toys on the floor, a bowl of potatoes on the table, the cat. I don’t know why I expected you both to be in the house because Flora spent most of the day in the studio or walking. So I called out Flora! I called out Flora! Little Wing! Guess who’s come to tea!
I thought you must be napping.
I thought Flora must be deep into her painting.
It was dead quiet.
It was dead quiet.
She was on the floor of her studio, pet. She was on the floor like she was having forty winks. And you were there with your toy tea set, offering her a little tin cup of tea. You had the jug there, the sugar bowl, plates – all neatly around her. And you were sitting by her, by your mammy, sayingwake up, Mamma, cuppa tea.’
Nell reached for Nurse Keaton’s hand and held it tightly as they stared at fat raindrops suddenly blotching against the windscreen.
‘I’m sorry, pet. I’m sorry, Nell.’
‘It’s not your fault!’
‘I wish I’d known. I could have done something. I wish there was something I could have done.’
‘It’s not your fault, Nurse Keaton. It’s awful.’
‘She’d hit her head – we reckon she’d been standing on a bucket balanced on a chair trying to paint the ceiling. She’d sketched out a design in pencil up there. All her trademark swirls and curls. She shouldn’t have been up there – but how was she to know? Weakened by what she thought was the flu, being in that position trying to paint the ceiling, lungs tight with pneumonia. It’s thought she passed out and fell. A possible blood clot. I’m sorry, pet, I’m sorry.’
Sophia started to cry, low deep sobs. Nell held her hand in both of hers.
‘And there you were, making her a cup of tea,’ Sophia wept. ‘With your little runny nose and tear-stained face.Wake up, Mamma, cuppa tea.’
‘How long had she been there?’
‘She was cold. But not—’ Sophia looked at Nell. ‘She looked asleep, pet.’
Nell shuddered. ‘Bless her,’ she said and she was thinking of her little self as much as Flora. ‘Where is she buried?’
