THE LAST RAY
Everyone at the hospital took notice of the head of the therapeutic department: the men watched her with interest, women eyed her with undisguised envy. The white coat suited her slender figure, and her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence. She always pinned her hair into a neat roll at the back, and the starched white nurses cap perched atop her head, making her appear taller. Whether it was the lifts in her shoes or simply the grace of her stride, the soft tap of her heels was never a bother. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, yet no one in the hospital could say for certain how old she was. The stern and unwavering Matron Evelyn Blackmore was respected and somewhat feared by staff and patients alike.
Both male patients and colleagues tried to win her favour; there were invitations to dances, boxes of sweets, and bouquets of daffodils and sweet peas. However, one look from her sharp grey eyes would freeze them in their tracks, leaving the boldest tongue-tied. Rumours about Evelyn were rife: some said she had suffered a heartbreak, that her husband perished in a shipwreck off the North Sea, or perhaps in the Falklands. Others whispered she had lost a child. No one really knew what was fact and what had been embroidered by idle gossip.
All that was certain amongst the hospital staff was that she lived alone in a modest cottage. She kept everyone at arms length, never forming close friendships. Yet, she was neither spiteful nor sharp-tongued.
Long ago, Evelyn had fallen desperately in love with a fellow medical student, the handsome Rupert Blackmore. She could hardly breathe without him. But Rupert, constantly surrounded by adoring women, felt stifled by her steadfast devotion. He left, choosing another over her.
Since then, Evelyn had barred her heart to all. Perhaps she still loved Rupert, or perhaps she simply dreaded betrayal anew.
She paused by the nurses station.
Vera, could you hand me Mr. Tolstoys file from ward five? Ill prepare his discharge notes for tomorrow.
Clutching the folder to her chest, she returned to her office.
Well, the gentlemans on the mend. From here, its up to his will to recover and his own resources how soon well see one another again, she mused, filling out the discharge form on her computerlisting the examinations, treatments, and lab results.
Only half an hour of the workday remained. Evelyn stepped from her office, locked the door, and hesitated. At the end of the corridor stood a woman murmuring into her mobile, her back turned to the window. A snippet of the hushed conversation drifted to Evelyns ears.
No, he isnt dead. Alive as ever. Dont be cross. I told him… Well, what could I do? Surely he must have guessed? Well discuss it tonight.
With that, the woman pocketed her phone and scurried off towards the staircase, eyes lowered.
Evelyn entered ward five. Normally she might chide the men for sneaking out to smoke, but today she saw the tense figure of a man by the window, his shoulders rigid with distress, and held her tongue.
Mr. Carter, tomorrow you… she began, but when he turned, pain etching his face, she faltered and stopped short.
Whats wrong? Evelyn sat at the edge of his bed, not wishing to loom over him. Are you feeling poorly? Wheres the pain?
I… could I not go yet? Ive nowhere else… nowhere to go… he forced out, his voice fractured.
His place is taken his wifes brought someone else in. Said straight out: Its over. I belong to another now, and to him Ill be true. And dear old Carter is shown the door pardon me with a good swift kick! piped up a silver-haired gent from the corner.
Is it true? Evelyn asked softly.
So, that woman shed overheard by the windowshed hoped hed die in hospital, but as he hadnt, she declared his place, and perhaps his life, forfeit before hed even returned home.
Mr. CarterJohn Carterwas a large man in his early fifties, cropped hair greying, his eyes clouded with sadness. He lay turned away to the window, jaw clenched.
Evelyn gazed out with him. It was late April. Buds on the bare trees in the hospital grounds strained to burst with fresh green. The sky, though, was a cold, dull grey that promised snow. There was no sun today.
Nowhere to go at all? Friends, children? she asked, her tone gentle.
They have families of their own. I could stay a day or two, perhaps, but beyond thatnot at my age, drifting from one sofa to the next. I knew she had someone else. I thought shed lose interest…
Mr. Carter, a few more days wont do you any good, and we simply need the beds for others. Evelyn hesitated. I tell you what. I have an old cottage out in the country, about fifty miles from here. The roads good, the house sturdy, though itll need a bit of elbow grease. No ones stayed there in ages. Ill bring you the keys in the morning and instructions for getting there you can have the place as long as you need.
Without giving him time to protest, she was gone.
Well, I never! called the man from the corner. Stern as she is, shes pure good at heart. Youd be a fool to refuse, Johnyour wandering cat of a missus isnt worth a fingernail of hers.
The wild cherry blossom was spent and scattered now; the brisk winds gave way to bright, warm days. One Sunday morning, Evelyn set out in her little blue Austin to check in on her former patient.
She was struck by how the house had changed. The window frames were freshly painted a bright blue; the roof was mended, and a new step gleamed where the old one had been broken. John, in T-shirt, jeans, and barefoot, stood at the door. The pasty, defeated man she remembered was gone. His shoulders were broad, his face sun-browned, his arms strong again. He looked well and content.
Good afternoon, just thought Id checkhope you havent had any trouble out here? she said, leaning on the car door.
No one to trouble me. Just three old dears who are delighted for the company. The weekenders keep to themselves, John replied, amazement lingering in his eyes.
Fresh air agrees with you. What about work? she remained by the car, unsure of her welcome.
Work? Well, that was never much. Armys all I knew, and once I left I found I could do little else. I worked as a security guard for a bit. Nothing to regretmy pensions quite enough.
Go on, show me how youve settled in, she said finally, and shut the car door.
Lord, forgive meIm an idiot, John clapped his hand to his forehead. Got so flustered, I forgot my manners. Please, come in.
Evelyn paused at the parlour door. Rag rugs, bright with old patterns, covered the scrubbed wooden floor. Sunlight patterned the room through the lace curtains. On the windowsill, two pots of red geraniums bloomed, and the old mantel clock ticked steadily.
Val from the far end of the village gave me those. Its cosier with them, dont you think? John explained, catching her gaze on the flowers.
Whats that lovely smell? Evelyn turned her head, catching the warm aroma.
I made a lamb stew and boiled some potatoes on the stove. Will you stay and share it? he bustled suddenly, for the very first time seeing a smilehowever slightsoften her face. Took time to get the knack, you know; never lived in a village before. At first it either burned or was half raw, he laughed from the kitchen.
Evelyn suddenly longed to stretch, to lift her arms as she did when she was a child, and feel her spine crackle. The atmosphere, the homey scent, summoned memories of her mother and grandmother… Shed not stepped foot here since her mothers death. She couldnt bring herself to, but couldnt sell the house eitherit had been her grandparents, then her mothers, who spent each summer here, only returning to the city for winter. Now they were all gone.
Evelyn remembered how theyd load the car with jars of pickled cucumbers, preserves, and mushrooms to bring back to town, feasting all winter and recalling summer. Her mother… how long ago that seemed.
How long may I… stay on here? Johns voice interrupted her memories. Please, dont stand on ceremony.
As long as you wish. I haven’t been here in nearly ten years. Too painful. If you dont mind, Ill visit sometimes. The house is as warm and welcoming as when my mother kept it. I dont have the heart or hands for the garden and the house anymore, Evelyn admitted, eyes cast down. John was tactful and didnt reply.
I brought you supplies as well, she suddenly remembered and dashed outside.
John let out a breath. He had never seen her without the white coat and cap. The simple blue dress she wore made her look younger, and a few strands slipped from her usual tidy roll. She seemed softer, more approachable. Looking at his own handsnow rough and scratched from village choreshe suddenly felt his age.
She left as the evening shadows gathered, leaving a faint scent of her perfume behind in the house. Whatever John touched seemed imbued with it. The feeling troubled and thrilled himhe hadnt felt anything like it in years. He never would have, had fate not intervened the way it did. Now, he was even grateful to his wandering wife. He slept little that night, turning over and over as his mind spun with hope and longing.
Evelyn visited again two months later, bringing more supplies and a brand new fishing rod. John had mended the dilapidated fence and proudly recounted how women from neighbouring villages now sought him out to fix doors, mend roofs, fix creaky gatespaying him with eggs, milk, and cream.
The once-forlorn cottage now stood tall, as if puffing out its chest: Look at me, I have my master once again!
Ill pickle cucumbers for you this winter, John boasted, and Evelyn was truly glad to see how trim and healthy hed grown. He looked at her shyly, and she found herself blushing in return.
The sun drifted down behind the far woods, sparking everything into amber.
Give me a moment, John said suddenly and hurried out.
Evelyn wandered about the house. It smelled different now, lived ina mans aftershave mixed in with lavender and clean woodand she realised John was taking a while. She stepped onto the porch, looked up and down the lane, then into the garden, where she found him sitting on the earth, back propped against the fence.
John! she rushed over, dropping to her knees.
She found his pulsestrong but unevenran to the car for her bag, doubled back for a glass of water, dashing between house and garden, her summer dress swirling about her legs. A good injection would help, she thought, pressing a pill into his mouth and handing him water.
After a quarter of an hour, John managed to get to his feet, and with her help, sat on the bed inside.
I overheated in the sun, thats all, he shrugged apologetically. Wanted to pick you some cucumbers for the road. Will you… will you stay? he said, for the first time dropping formality for warmth.
Evelyn stood before him, weighing her answer. John bent his head to her lap and groaned softly.
Happiness is a funny thing. You seek for it, call for it, hope you havent lost your way or sent it down the wrong road. You grow used to living alone, safe from betrayals, sure no loss can touch you anymore. Then in a twist, your path crosses anothers, and from there, you journey forward together.
And love? It comes in many guises. In youth, it is wild and consuming, desperate to possess. But with age, it shiftsbecoming gentle and quiet, like the last ray of a setting sun.
