The Sister(14)

She spoke for the first time since she’d mentioned Dr Robert. ‘Talk to me, B. Ryan, I don’t bite.’

Ryan found himself taken aback for the second time that morning. How could she know his first name began with a B? Her eyes led him to the bag; the nameplate on it said ‘B Ryan’. So that was how she did it! He smiled in recognition of the simple fact. She could be no more than fifteen, but she had the knowing smile of a woman. He looked away.

‘Vera, are you allergic to anything you know of that you might have come into contact with in the last few days, yesterday perhaps?’

She didn’t respond; instead, fiddled with something she held in her free hand.

He caught a glimpse of a shiny black object between her fingers. The quizzical look on his face, prompted her to tuck it away behind her back.

Although he was curious, he decided not to ask about it.

If he had, she’d have told him it was just a stone she’d found two days before on the beach.

‘I'd like to get you in for a blood test. The hospital will contact you with an appointment.’

‘She needs something doing – and now!’ Mrs Flynn exclaimed, louder than she’d intended. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes round with embarrassment.

Ryan turned to look at her. ‘What am I missing here?’

She didn’t reply.

He looked from one to the other for a clue, and noticed she’d shot her niece a sharp look. Vera glanced almost imperceptibly at the bed. He eyed the hollow caused by sagging springs.

‘Have you been sleeping well?’

Her aunt chimed in and answered for her, small round eyes rolling anticlockwise towards the ceiling. ‘That one hardly sleeps at all for nights on end. I’m telling you. You can hear her walking about, creaking open doors like a noisy ghost all night long. She isn’t asleep, and she isn’t awake either. When she does sleep, you can’t wake her up at all!’

Vera gazed steadily at Ryan; he pretended not to notice, but the heat under his collar gave him away. His discomfort made her smile.

‘Vera, when did you last get a good night’s sleep?’

She made brief eye contact, and then looked over to her aunt. ‘Last night, the night before...’

‘Since when?’ Mrs Flynn scoffed.

‘Since last night, and the night before!’

‘Wilful child, how dare you take that tone with me!’ She moved within striking distance, the back of her hand raised above her left shoulder.

Jumping between, arms outstretched, he kept them apart. ‘Let’s not be squabbling now,’ he said, holding his hand up to Mrs Flynn as if stopping traffic. ‘So, Vera, you would say you sleep all right?’

She hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, I would say so.’ She shot a defiant look at her aunt, knowing she’d say differently.

‘That bed looks uncomfortable, you might try turning the –’

‘Don’t you think we’ve tried that!’ she snapped. ‘The springs are poking... Soon they’ll poke through this side as well.’

The idea of having a new mattress delivered anonymously occurred to him, but he guessed they would know it was from him. When pride was one of the only possessions people had left, you couldn’t afford to hurt it.

‘How did you know about Dr Robert, Vera?’

She swivelled away from the window to face him square on, a faint comma of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, enigmatic, like the one in the painting of the Mona Lisa. A brief appreciation of Da Vinci’s talent crossed his mind. How do you capture something as transient as that in a painting?

Mrs Flynn’s face illuminated, and she glanced at Vera, a mixture of pride and awe. ‘She has the sight. I wasn’t sure before, but now I’m convinced of it. This morning before you even arrived, she taunted me about Dr Robert. I didn’t see how it could be true, but that smile of hers just confirmed it.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘A blood test indeed!’ she guffawed. Fixing him with a hard stare, she pushed her face to within inches from his. The smell of her breath stunned him as she rasped, ‘Buy me a chocolate teapot!’

He chose not to respond, and instead cleared his throat into his clenched fist.

‘I’m a doctor, but I’m hoping to become a psychiatrist. I'd love to understand a little bit better what you’re going through. Could you help me with that?’

Vera’s eyes softened; he saw a kind of fleeting sympathy there. A second later, it was gone. ‘Doctor, I don’t think I can do that, I believe it’s beyond your powers of comprehension.’

His voice was soft, but determined. ‘Try me.’

‘Dr Robert was riding to my house on a mare the colour of midnight, its mane tied off in black ribbons and bows. A storm rose from hell. The animal was uncontrollable, too fiery for him, unbroken. He fell from its back and lay in the mud. It was the same horse that dragged poor David Robert behind, the same one that led the funeral procession.’ Vera pointed to the painting. ‘Oh, I knew he was dead, but he didn’t die like that,’ she explained. ‘He woke up clutching his chest, his bulging eyes almost popping out of his head. Knowing it was the end, he grabbed for a note pad and scribbled and scrawled and didn’t finish it all. He tore the page from it – now you tell me – why would he do that, if he hadn’t finished?’