Free Isobel on the Way to the Corner Shop by Amy Witting

might be the place for you.’
    There were limits to passivity even for a parcel. Was nobody going to ask for her consent to this arrangement? No use protesting, since in reality she had no choice, but it would have been nice to be asked.
    Matron said, ‘Are there no beds at the Clinic?’
    ‘No. It is outpatients only.’ His tone suggested that Matron must know that very well. ‘In any case, I cannot take the responsibility of moving her before Doctor Stannard sees her on Thursday.’
    ‘I have to go home some time,’ said Isobel. ‘I have to give up my room and pack my things.’
    ‘Can’t you get a friend to do that for you?’
    It was Return to Sender again. No religion, no knickers, no next of kin, no friends.
    She shook her head.
    Doctor Hansen was looking at Matron.
    ‘I’ll get Mrs Mills to talk to her.’ He turned to Isobel. ‘Mrs Mills is our social worker. She’ll find a volunteer to look after you. One of our wonderful Pink Ladies. Till Thursday then, Matron. And I shall be wanting to talk about a special diet for her.’
    Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Matron.
    Isobel was beginning to be fond of Doctor Hansen.
    ‘The best you can do for yourself now,’ he said, ‘is keep quiet, keep warm, eat your food and keep up your spirits. Mrs Mills will be along to see you later. Oh, and a nurse will be along with some tissues. Make sure that you cover your mouth when you cough. That’s about it, I think.’
    Isobel nodded and lay back, hoping that there would be no further demands on her attention.
    The next visitor was a nurse carrying towels, a box of tissues and a small lidded pan of white enamel. She was wearing a face mask above which she winked at Isobel.
    ‘Matron’s orders,’ she said in a tone that dismissed them with amused contempt.
    She put the tissues and the pan on the bedside table.
    ‘Cover up each cough and sneeze. Place all used tissues in the receptacle provided. You’re allowed to get up to go to the loo and to have a shower if you feel up to it. If you don’t feel up to it, you can ask for a bed bath, but I wouldn’t if I were you. See how you feel tomorrow, anyhow. I’ll just get your pulse and your temperature and you can settle down till dinner time. You’ve had enough for one day, you poor kid.’
    Isobel, sucking obediently at the thermometer and extending her wrist on request, was quite of the same opinion.
    She dozed until dinner time. The dinner trolley was wheeled in by another young orderly, less forthcoming than Eric.
    ‘Doctor says if you can’t manage anything else, eat the icecream. But he wants you to eat the lot.’
    She nibbled some ham. It wasn’t so much that she wasn’t hungry. The effort of chewing was just too much. The icecream was a commercial paper tub with a wooden paddle for a spoon. That must be part of the special diet.
    To her horror, she began to cry. About the icecream, not about having tuberculosis. It was the small things that affected her most, the humiliation of being helped out of her sweater, the tenderness in Eric’s voice and now a tub of icecream. She would be humiliated enough if anyone saw her crying. What she needed was a visit from Matron. That would be bracing. She mopped her eyes and blew her nose on a tissue, which she put into the enamel pan. Then she finished the icecream. If anyone brought me a toothbrush, I’d break my heart.
    There was salt on the tray. She shook some of it into a tissue, thinking she could scrub her teeth with salt on a finger—better than nothing.
    However, she didn’t get her teeth cleaned that night. As soon as the young man had taken away the tray, she fell asleep and slept seriously until morning.
    *
    The hospital woke early. Isobel woke to the sound of trolleys rolling over linoleum and the morning light which came through the large window.
    She enquired of her body how it felt. The headache was gone and so were the other pains, even the dagger under the shoulderblade. She was weak, but