Free Time to Say Goodbye by Katie Flynn Page B

really like a breath of fresh air, but not if it’s still cold.’
    Rita sighed. Imogen reflected that the other girl had always been short of patience, so it was no surprise when she answered rather brusquely. ‘One minute you say you’re weak as a kitten, and the next that you want to go outside for a bit,’ she said. ‘If you ask me, it’s far too cold, but it’s for Auntie to decide.’ And with that she shot out of the doorway and Imogen could hear her feet clattering down the stairs.
    Imogen huddled under the covers again. She knew really that it would take all her strength just to get down the stairs, and heaven knew how she would manage to get up them again. She was still languid, having to be coaxed to eat more than a few mouthfuls, crying if she was left alone for long yet finding conversation tiring. The doctor no longer visited, a sure sign that she was better, yet she had twice put off the chance of going downstairs. Today, however, she knew she really must make the effort. Auntie would not let her have a pen and a bottle of ink in the attic, and fair was fair; Auntie and Jill had a lot to do and she knew in her heart that she should write personally to her mother. Also, Auntie kept telling her that her appetite would return once she did something other than lie in her bed, and she supposed that the older woman was right.
    What I ought to do is practise when I’m here with no one watching, she decided. Yes, that’s a really good idea, because I know very well that if I’m all weak and wobbly when I do go downstairs Rita will have a go at me, and that will upset Jill and Auntie.
    Having decided, she swung her legs out of bed and stood up, reflecting that since she had been using the chamber pot whenever she needed it for some time now, she really should be able to walk across to the door, take down her dressing gown and put it on, push her feet into her slippers, descend the two long flights of stairs and go into the kitchen.
    She was wrapping her dressing gown round her and tying the cord when it occurred to her that perhaps Auntie would expect her to dress; certainly there was a small pile of her clothes on top of the chest of drawers. If I can dress myself and get down the stairs then Auntie will be really pleased, she told herself. I ought to do something to please her for a change; I’ve been awfully selfish when I think about it.
    Rather reluctantly, for it was cold in the attic, she took her dressing gown off again and pulled on her woolly vest and knickers, her thick blue jumper, a grey pleated skirt and grey knee socks. She had dressed sitting on the bed, but now she stood up and for a moment the room swung giddily around her. She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again to find the room stationary once more, and not giving herself time to think she headed for the door. Clutching the banister, she tiptoed down the stairs and went quietly into the kitchen.
    Jill was rolling out pastry and Auntie was stirring something in a pan over the heat. They both looked up and exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of her, downstairs after so long. Jill rushed to make her sit down in a chair close to the fire and Auntie pulled her saucepan off the flame and came over to give the newcomer a hug. ‘Well done, you good girl!’ she said approvingly. ‘Rita said you were going to come down for lunch and I meant to ask Jill to go up and give you a hand. We thought you’d come down in your dressing gown, didn’t we, Jill, but this is a great deal better.’
    Jill was beaming. She broke off a piece of pastry to hand to the invalid, which made Imogen laugh. It was so typical of Jill to want to express her pleasure by giving food, even though all she had was the raw topping for the pie she was making.
    ‘And how do you feel, my love, after your excursion?’ Auntie said anxiously as Imogen nibbled the uncooked pastry. ‘Do you realise this is the first time you’ve come downstairs for a whole month?