She Who Cares – Part Five

Welcome to the pentulimate installation of She Who Cares!

—

I make my way into Ella’s bedsit without uttering a word and collapse on her bed. I am exhausted. Chronic fatigue plus pain in my legs and hips and also brain fog plagues every inch of my body; a mixture of shock, grief, and my chronic illness rearing its ugly head yet again. I haven’t felt this way since just after Margaret’s passing, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. 

A few minutes later, I feel Ella curl around my body in an embrace, like warm water washing over me. It brings a kind of comfort I have rarely experienced before and never as an adult. I only have vague memories of affection from my mother; like an over-exposed photograph, I can’t make out most of the details. Ella’s weight on my body is soothing and my pain eases somewhat. I am lucky to have her in my life, grateful that fate has brought us together.

“Bad day at work?” she whispers in my ear, stroking my hair.

I let out a long cathartic sigh, “Cathy died.”

            “Oh… That’s terrible.”

            “I just can’t believe it.”

“But I mean…” Ella’s words trail off into stunted silence.

            “But?”

            “Well, clients die all the time, right? That’s kind of the point.”

            I squeeze my knees to try and halt the burning pain, but it is deep within and unreachable. “I guess. But no, this was a shock, in relative terms. Cathy had a bad hip and leg, but nothing drastic, nothing fatal.”

            “How do you think she died?”

            “I don’t know. I found her in bed, fast asleep, only not.”

            “Well, that’s something.”

“I guess we will have to wait for the autopsy.”

Ella’s body stiffens around mine and she yanks my hair slightly in surprise. “Autopsy? I didn’t know the elderly got autopsies.”

            “It depends. Cathy wasn’t expected to die. It was probably a heart attack or stroke, but her family might want a definitive answer. The police said—”

            “The police?”

            “They always come to a death. It’s standard practice, nothing to worry about.”

            “Oh. Well, what did they say?”

            “Just that they would talk to the family and then correspond with the boss. It’s nothing to do with me now. I will be assigned to a new client in Cathy’s place.”

            “Life goes on.”

“I suppose so.”

I can’t deny that Ella’s pragmatism annoys me, but I also know she is right. This is part of the job and Cathy was certainly not the first person I have known to die, not by a long shot. It is selfish to dwell, to make this about myself. Perhaps it was because I felt so unwell that I was projecting. I cared about Cathy, but she has passed, and it is out of my hands.

She places a hand on my cheek and kisses me on the lips, slow and firm. My worries melt away into our surroundings. I have spent so long on my own with no one to rely on, caring for everyone else but never myself. Now there is someone to care for me and it’s like a weight being lifted. I don’t know how I had ever survived without Ella.

            “I can tell how deeply you care, Violet. I have never seen such depths of your beautiful soul. You are glowing. I think sometimes we need to get close to death in order to truly feel alive.”

—

I hated going to the main office, but I had been summoned. I loathed the formality of it. The smell of surface cleaner, the reams of paperwork, the generic framed art and inspiration quote decals on the walls, the click-clack of keyboards and shrill ring of the telephone going off intermittently. It is a soulless corporate hellscape and my worst nightmare.

            I am signed into the building by a bored-looking gum-chewing receptionist who wears too much perfume and sit by a gurgling water cooler for my boss who turns up five minutes late. She offers a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes and reflexively outstretched hand. I could never do what she does, but I suppose someone must.

“Violet, sorry to keep you waiting.”

            “You wanted to see me?” I stand and offer a hand in return which she grasps hard for just a second.

            “Yes, yes. Come in,” she gestures to her office and we walk together in step. “Can I get you a cup of tea? Coffee? Water?”

            “No, thank you.” I don’t want to get too comfortable nor have anything stopping me from leaving as soon as possible. My boss is pleasant enough, but she cares more about clients for how much money they bring in rather than them as people, as individuals. Her job isn’t to care about the dying, but to keep the business alive. Cliental death is collateral damage to her, and she has possibly never even met Cathy nor many of the people in our care under this company. We walk to her office where I sit in a chair on the other side of her large and messy desk.

            “Okay, well I just wanted to check in on how you’re doing? Particularly after Cathy. The undertaker told me that you were rather upset.” She is very good at putting on a sympathetic face, but I never buy it. This is no doubt some HR-related obligation, so I don’t sign off with PTSD or something and sue the company for damages.

            “I was upset. It was a shock, that’s all. But I’m fine now.”

            “Yes, it came as a surprise, didn’t it? These things do happen, but it’s never easy.”

            I shrug, “I liked her.”

            She pulls at some paperwork on her desk and glances at it. “Well, if you were wondering, although not that it really matters, it looks as though she died from asphyxiation. The undertaker thinks she suffocated against her own pillow and died in her sleep. You told them you found her on her side?”

            “Yes. She rolled back when I tried to wake her.”

            She nods. “It’s definitely unusual and unlikely, but possible. We forget that clients are sometimes as fragile as newborn babies. They drown in shallow baths, choke on soft food, and suffocate under thin blankets or indeed pillows. There was nothing you could have done; she was long dead by the time you arrived. We didn’t have Cathy on our books for very long, but she was fond of you, I know that. Her family send their regards. The funeral is next Wednesday if you fancy it.”

            “Thank you. I will attend, of course.”

            “Well, I have just been on the phone to a potential new client who will be taking on her apartment. All being well, I will email you her details and the new schedule.”

            We stand up and I let her lead me towards the reception desk where I am signed out. It takes everything in me not to run without a goodbye, without looking back.

            “See you soon, Violet. Oh by the way, have you met our new staff member, Ella? You share some of the same clients, including Cathy. She was the last one who saw her alive, actually.”

            Why hadn’t Ella told me this? I tried to hide my surprise, “Oh, yeah. She shadowed me, remember?”

            My boss frowns and looks at the receptionist who begins tapping at her keyboard before giving a subtle shake of her head. My stomach drops.

“Did you? I don’t recall setting that up?” She types something onto her computer, confusion setting in her face.

            I hear the rising panic in my voice, “Oh well, I mean, our paths crossed at Corvid House. I noticed she had the company uniform on, and she told me she was new, so I explained how to do a thing or too. I don’t mean actually shadowing, obviously.”

            If my boss is suspicious, she doesn’t say anything. She stops tapping at her keyboard, apparently satisfied with this alibi. “Ah, I get you. Well, she’s nice. A little odd, but nice. Intense, I think is the word.”

            I nod, non-committedly. We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds which feel eternal.

            She looks at the clock above my head on the wall behind me. “I have another appointment, but it’s been great to see you, Violet. I only ever get great feedback about you, so you must be doing something right. Sorry again, about Cathy.”

            Nothing good ever comes from visiting the main office.

—

It is difficult to act like everything is normal with Ella because we haven’t been together long, haven’t figured out what is normal for us. Everything so far has been kisses and closeness like we can’t get enough of each other. I have simply existed in a haze of lust, and it has clouded my judgement. I have been too close-up to see things for how they really are. I want to still think that she is as good as I had first thought, but I know she has omitted the truth to me at least once. It wasn’t a lie, but it was close. I suppose I omit my own truths also.

            Inexperienced with relationships or any kind of intimacy, I don’t know how soon it is normal for that euphoric high to fade and give way to familiarity and a healthy dose of scepticism. Perhaps I have set my expectations too high. Ella isn’t perfect, but who is? Certainly not me. I don’t believe in absolutes. The notion that anyone could be an infallibly good person is a childish fairy tale, like believing in Father Christmas or the tooth fairy.

            Cathy’s apartment had been assigned to an octogenarian called Enid who had an oxygen tank and struggled with conversation due to breathing difficulties. She communicates with smiles, nods, and physical gestures such as holding out her cup for a drink or shooing me away when she wants to exercise her independence. Around the same time of meeting Enid, I also developed an issue with having shortness of breath, but I put this down to anxiety. Either way, it has left me exhausted, my chest constantly tight and lungs always burning.

            I don’t want to go back to my old ways. Ever since Cathy’s death, I have felt differently about matters. It has offered a new perspective. I also don’t want to do bad things now that I have Ella in my life. I don’t want my actions to taint hers by association. We both work and play together; our lives are totally intertwined. But now both of those things are more of a struggle than ever, and I don’t know how I can go on. Maybe I would simply drop dead one day from it all. I wondered what the autopsy would say, or whether I would remain as medically mysterious in death as I am in life.

            For transparency, I want Ella to admit that she is also caring for Enid. I tell her that I have seen her named assigned to Enid in the office, and that I am also caring for her. She is tying her hair up into a tight bun in front of a small before before her shift.

            “Are you seeing her tonight?”

            “Yeah. And some others.”

            “Of course.”

            “Do you like her? I mean, like how you liked Cathy?”

            “I barely know her, plus she isn’t exactly chatty.”

            Ella nods, before checking her appearance, scrubbing at her teeth with a finger. I can’t tell what she is thinking but she looks downcast. Something seems off. Perhaps she is just unenthusiastic about going to work, or tired, or something else.

            “Do you want me to leave?” I ask, “Sorry, I’m in your way, I should have realised. I can walk you to Corvid House on my way home?”

            Ella flinches and turns to me. I catch a wild spark in her eyes for a second before they turn to concern. Or was it concern?

“No, angel, you stay. Please, my home is your home. You need to rest. You said you were exhausted, right?”

            “Right. I do feel terrible.”

            She walks over to me and strokes my cheek before kissing me softly on the lips, “Exactly. So you rest, and I’ll see you when I get back.”

            “Ella, wait…”

            “Don’t move, I won’t be long.”

             I listen to her walk down the two flights of stairs and close the front door with a slam. Then I haul my aching body to the window and watch her walk down the street before turning off in the direction of Corvid House. Then I follow her.