The coffee grinder - Chapter Two

The next morning at breakfast, I decided to confront Tony, my sister's husband.
"So where exactly are you planning on taking me?"
He laughed nervously. "Well, Alice, unless you want to come to work with me, nowhere," he replied in his usual, jolly voice. "Pass the marmalade, would you? Katie, you're not taking Aunty Alice anywhere, are you?"
I have always resented the way he calls me "Aunty Alice". They have no children, so I don't know why he calls me that, unless it's just to make me feel old.
She gave him a quick, fierce look. "I'm not taking her anywhere. Unless you want to come to St. Clement's with me. My patients could look at you. You could volunteer for an autopsy," she smirked.
"I know you're trying to throw me out, because I heard you talking about it."
"Talking about what?”
“The place. The place where you said you were taking me.”
What nonsense," Tony said. "Why on earth would we do that?"
"Don't ask me. I heard you!"
I waved the coffee grinder in the air. Tony looked at me, and raised his eyebrows. "See you later, darling," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek, and a squeeze on her arm and a definite look. I was worried about that look. All morning, Katie was suspiciously jaunty. Since her moods ranged from aggressively bossy to energetically sadistic, any kind of cheeriness was worrying. But by mid morning, she had started whistling. I packed all my things, just in case she did try to eject me into the frozen meats at Sainsbury's. But by tea time, she seemed to have calmed. We went out together to do the weekly shop. On the way to sainsbury's she pulled over on the motorway, and took me completely by surprise. She was crying.

"I don't know what to do," she said. "I...he's just so horrible to me."
"What," I said. "Tony?"
"Yes fucking Tony."
"What has he done?" I asked.
"He's just. He's so demanding. He always wants everything to be so fucking perfect." She sniffed and wiped her red, blotched face.
I didn't know what to say. She kept crying. I leant over to give her a hug and that was the last thing i remembered.

5.
Something hurt. My eyes felt glued together, and something hurt in my arm. I opened my eyes there was a lime green blanket scratching my chin.
"...do you dear?"
A young man was staring at me.
"Gg?" I mumbled. My mouth felt gummy and dry.
"Is it two of these in the evenings?"
"What?" I said. Everything was too bright. And glowing. Not in a celestial way. I frowned.
"Two of these green ones?"
"What?"
"I'll just go and check with the ward sister," he sighed, and then swished the curtain shut behind him.

I sat up in bed. My head was splitting. It wasn't just the blanket. Everything was lime green. The floor, the walls, the plastic curtain in front of me, the thin, crispy overalls that I was wearing. I leant forward, and pulled the clipboard off the end of the bed.

Woodpecker Care Home
We love you to life.

Underneath was my name. Then a few details. Dioxathamine x 2 twice daily.
Salbutamen x 4 twice daily.
Thalium x 2 daily (evenings).
Whatever faults I might find in my sister, I had to admire her for this. I didn't feel like waiting around to find out what I was supposed to be dying of or recovering from. I stuck my head out of the curtain. Somewhere near me, someone was screaming for geraniums. I decided to make a run for it. I grabbed my bag (at least Katie had left that) I heard a crash and I was on the floor. It seemed I was still hooked up to several machines. I pulled a clutch of see through wires out of my arms, and two minutes later I bolted past reception and was walking down the street. I tugged my clothes on over the bizarre green overalls, and unsuccessfully tried to bite the wristband off. The rain and the fact that I had no money washed away the exhiliration away pretty quickly.
The town I found myself in was called Lower Staines. It was grey, industrial and was a showcase of fried chicken outlets, although none of them had anything for what I had in my purse: 13p and a dusty Smint. At the bottom of the hill, out of kilter with the rest of the town, a large, gothic building loomed in front of me. It looked something like a Victorian's gentleman's fantasy, stocked with vampires and monsters. In the drive there were crowds of girls, 4x4s, peroxide, tight lipped mothers, fathers in blazers, girls embracing each other giddily. In many ways, it looked even more frightening than the place I had just left.
Wintlesham Hall, school for girls, proclaimed the navy blue sign.
I walked inside.

6.

In the entrance hall, there were children milling around, hugging each other and making giddy noises, while porters were carrying great trunks around. There were also plates and plates of sandwiches laid out for arriving parents. I tucked into an egg sandwich.
"Are you a parent?"
"Excuse me?" I said. A young, briskly dressed woman had appeared out of nowhere. She was wearing a set of immaculate pearls and a lizardlike smile.
"Are you looking for Pitt or Walpole?"
"I'm, um, I'm looking for the chaplain actually," I stammered. Weren't priests legally obliged to take in waifs and strays?
As I walked along the corridor, behind the disconcertingly cheerful woman, I realised there was a flaw in my plan. There were hundreds of thousands of homeless people in the country. They couldn't all be sleeping on sofas in vicarages.
"Actually, we didn't think you were coming til tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I said.
"Yes. I'm sorry, I forgot your name. Miss Clear - clear?"
"Clearwater," I improvised.
"Well, you'd better be prepared. I mean," she laughed. "It's not quite as cushy as it looks, believe me,"
She left me on the step in front of the chaplaincy. "By the way," she said. "You're trailing something,"
I looked down. I seemed to have a drip coming out of my sleeve.
"Oh. Thanks," I smiled.
The door opened, and someone who could not possibly be the chaplain stood there. He looked more like some kind of fallen-from-grace tory. He looked like he slept in the car.
"Hello?" He beamed genially. To my great relief, I caught the distinct smell of drink off him.
"Hi. I'm, um, new," I said.
"Excellent. Come on in," he said. I sat down in the chaplaincy sitting room. He walked out, and walked straight back in again.
"Sorry. This must seem incredibly rude. What exactly are you here for?" he said.
"I was supposed to come tomorrow,"
"Oh right. Right. Right. The counsellor. Of course. Well, great. I should show you to your room."
He showed me to a room. It was small enough. But it was a room.
"You're in here. A bit...er, snug, I'm afraid. This corridor actually leads to the sixth form girls house, which I think is rather fun."
"Really?"
"Well. They can come for advice. And my flat's just down there. So it's just you and me. Well, actually my wife lives there as well. Although she's not here...at the moment." He drank down the rest of his glass. “Excellent. Goodnight."

7.

I have never seen a ghost, but that's not because I don't believe in them. I just take proper precautions to scare them more than they could scare me. On my first night at Wintlesham Hall, I put on the military uniform I had inherited from my great great great great grandmother. I attached the sabre to the sash, fitted the helmet and lay down on top of my bed. My plan was to historically disorientate any ghost, should it choose to visit me. I was going to outghost it.
I was just deciding whether I should improvise some facial hair when the Chaplain chose to come in.
"Blimey," he said apologetically. "What are you wearing?"
"My pyjamas," I said.
"Right."
"I actually just wondered if you'd like a drink."
"Do you usually knock on your students doors at one in the morning to ask them if they'd like a drink?"
"Well, no. I just thought I'd ask."
"Well. No, I don't. Thank you."
"Right."
"Goodnight."