Читать книгу The Money Makers - Harry Bingham - Страница 37

‘Now try without the rails. Use your stick if you need to.’

The nurse was patient and kind. Helen Gradley let go of the wooden rail that ran along the wall towards the mirror and stepped forwards, her stick thrust in front of her, not for support so much as proof that the ground in front continued solid. One step. Two step. Three step. The nurse and Josephine counted them out as Helen watched her reflection grow larger.

‘Well done, Mum. You can do it. Four more steps.’

It was an encouragement too far. Helen leaned forwards, letting the point of her cane slide away from her. There was a moment of suspense as competing forces tussled for supremacy, then gravity played the ace of trumps and Helen Gradley and her stick fell crashing to the floor. She began to cry. A rising smell warned that her bladder control had come tumbling down as well.

‘Oh, dear,’ said the nurse. ‘Bumps-a-daisy. Best call it a day.’ To Josephine she added: ‘You often get incontinence with a stroke, I’m afraid. I’ll get some stuff to clean up.’

She left the room, briskly efficient. Josephine let her mum continue sitting, just rubbed the back of her neck for reassurance. Her mother’s recovery was proving painfully slow. No one at the physical therapy centre had suggested it directly, but Josie caught an undertone which hinted that Helen could be trying harder. She didn’t disagree. One of the doctors had proposed a further trial of antidepressants and Josephine had readily agreed.

She looked at her watch. Time to go, back to her job as secretary in a big London bank. Her employers were amazingly generous, giving her time off to be with her mum when she needed it, but there were limits. Josie picked up the cane from the floor and tossed it from hand to hand. Part of her handled it as it was meant to be handled: a cane, a mobility aid, a support for the weak. But part of her felt the stick as a man might feel it: a hockey stick, a baseball bat, a sword.