The Stranger Came (50 page)

Why?
Why
was
she
so
angry?
Because
she
hadn't
asked
the
nurse's
name?
It
was
herself
she
was
angry
with.
Reluctantly,
she
came
fully
awake.
No,
it
was
the
woman
doctor's
name.
Not
that
it
mattered.
Still
she
had
been
kind
and
for
no
reason.
Walking
the
corridor
from
one
end
to
the
other,
the
ward
with
the
poor
bandaged
head
on
the
pillow,
alone
while
outside,
the
paths
in
the
pale
sunlight,
busy
with
people.

She
started
up
and
without
any
willing
or
sense
of transition
was
on
her
feet.
It
was
dark
outside
and
fat
raindrops
splashed
in
eye
shapes
on
the
glass.
She
had
missed
the
visiting
hour.
Her
legs
began
to
tremble
and,
afraid
of
falling,
she
let
herself
down
on
to
the
edge
of
the
bed.
Slumped,
she
stared
at
the
institutional
darkness
of
carpet,
tasting
with
a
swollen
tongue
the
sourness
of
drug
sleep
on
her
teeth.

A
bustle
of
voices
and
the
trolley
’
s
squeaking
bore
in
on
her
slowly.
She
had
just
turned
her
head
to
listen
when
the
door
opened
and
they
were
there
with
the
evening
meal.
'This
is
hurry
up
night,'
the
girl
said.
'Visitors'll
be
here
soon.’

Later
there
was
a
row
for
not
eating,
only
stirring
the
food
on
her
plate.
She
had
managed
to
force
down
no
more
than
a
mouthful
or
two.

'It's
all
I
can
manage.
I
would
be
sick.’

'That's
just
being
silly.’
The
nurse,
a
different
one
from
earlier,
heavily
built
with
wide
hips
and
a
roll
of
puppy
fat
under
her
chin,
spoke
as
if
to
rebuke
a
child.
'Wasting
good
food.
I've
told
you
before.’

'I
wasn't
“being
silly”,'
Lucy
said.
Indignant,
she
made
it
sound
as
if
she
was
quoting
the
girl
and
the
last
word
came
out
as
'sully'
in
imitation
of
the
broad
local
accent.
Hearing
it,
she
was
ashamed
of
herself,
would
have
liked
to
offer
the
girl
an
apology,
only
there
were
no
easy
words,
for
if
it
was
an
insult
and
felt
as
such
by
both
of
them
yet
what
lay
behind
it
was
complicated
not
simple.

The
nurse
held
out
the
tray,
scowling
down
at
the
evidence
of
delinquency.
'You're
supposed
to
eat.’

'Yes
.’

'Right.
If
you
didn't
eat,
you'd
have
to
be
made
to
eat.’

'But
I
do.
It's
just
that
I
was
sleeping.
It's
hard
to
have an
appetite,
sleeping
so
much
.
Usually
I
eat.’

The
nurse
let
her
finish.
'I
didn't
mean
to
frighten
you,'
she
said.
Lucy
shook
her
head.
The
girl
took
the
tray
to
the
door
and
put
it
on
the
trolley.
'They
put
tubes
into
your
nose,'
she
said.
'You'd
think
you
wouldn't
be
able
to
breathe.’

Getting
dressed
was
a
slow
business,
but
she
was
determined
not
to
go
to
the
visiting-room
in
a
dressing
gown.
She
didn't
want
Maitland
to
see
her
like
that
anymore.
It
was
important
he
knew
she
was
getting
better.
She
rested
for
a
moment
before
pulling
on
her
skirt.
It
was
true
she
had
lost
weight;
the
skirt
hung
slack
on
her
hips.
What
the
girl
had
said
was
nonsense,
something
she
had
gawped
at
on
television.
Suffragettes
being
force fed.
Nothing
to
do
with
what
could
happen
to
anyone
in
this
brightly
lit
place.
It
was
frightening,
though.
There
was
something
there
to
be
afraid
of,
for
if
someone
in
authority
told
her
to
do
it,
that
girl
would
feed
the
tube
down
your
throat
and
hold
you
clown;
do
it
cheerfully
to
someone
who
had
mocked
her
accent.
Not
that
anything
like
that
could
happen
here,
not
here.
An
ignorant
girl
blethering nonsense.
They
made
you
feel
like
a
child.
Here
it
was
hard
not
to
be
afraid.

She
was
almost
the
first
into
the
visitors'
room.
The Lewisman
was
already
there,
sitting
on
the
bench
against
the
left-hand
wall
with
his
arms
spread
out
along
the
back
of
it.
He's
settled
for
the
Crucifixion
then,
Lucy
thought.
She
smiled
at
him
and
he
returned
her
look
out
of
eyes
so
dark
they
seemed
to
have
no
pupils.
His
face
was
without
expression,
but
each
time
she
risked
a
glance
the
dark
unblinking
stare
was
fixed
on
her.
It
was
a
relief
when
people
coming
in
screened
her
from
him.
After
the
early
arrivals,
the
room
filled
quickly.
First
every
seat
was
taken
and
then
people
stood
putting
their
faces
close
and
crying
out
fragments
of
noise
like
gulls.
It
was
too
dark
to
go
into
the
grounds
and
smoking
wasn't
allowed
in
the
corridors.
She
was
reminded
of
the
platform
at
a
railway
station
where
leave-takings
dragged
until
you
ran
out
of
things
to
say
and
understood
how
someone
just
because
of
that
might
be
longing
for
the
journey
to
begin,
or
watched
as
the
ship
slipped
away
from
you
out
on
to
the
river,
getting
smaller,
still
waving
though
there
was
no
chance
any
longer
of
being
picked
out
from
among
the
crowd.