The Stone Woman
Helen Frederickson was brought in by ambulance, having been picked up off the street. Shed collapsed into filthy, icy slush, utterly unable to get up. The men carefully lifted Helens limp body into the vehicle and drove her to Admissions.
She was an imposing womanbroad-shouldered, solid, in a trouser suit, heels no less, with a touch of makeup accentuating her round eyes and full lips. Heavy earrings swung from her earlobes, and a large leather handbag sat on her knees as she rode into the hospital, most determinedly sitting upright in a wheelchair. Lying down was out of the question. When shed begun to come around, shed told off the ambulance driver for reeking of cigarettes, chastised the paramedic for being too slow, and told the student trainee, a pimply young lad, that if he so much as touched her again, hed regret it.
Well, I wasnt that keen anyway! he muttered, sulking.
You mind your manners, young man! Just try it and see who comes out on top! Helen replied, steadying herself on the chairs arms as she settled herself, her posture and bearing like an ill-tempered owl. She drew her handbag close under her chin, hunched her shoulders, and gave the hospital a steely, appraising once-over, her brows drawn together on her faceso sharply hewn it might have been carved from granite. Her skin, crisscrossed by thread veins, was slathered in foundation, now blotched and patchy thanks to the sweat brought on by her recent injection, making every wrinkle stand vividly pronounced.
Right, lets move along. I cant wait here; theres a draft, she announced brusquely, nodding toward the crowded corridor.
The woman at reception peered at the new arrivalswaddled in a full-length, luxurious fur coatsnatched the notes from the paramedics hands, and declared Helen Frederickson was now entirely their responsibility; the ambulance team could go.
Hypertensive crisis, lost consciousness on the street… Did not hit her head… Blood pressure now… the trainee in blue uniform rattled off.
Alright, Charlie-love, off you pop! Were stretched for space as it is! a nurse said, and patted the lads arm. He looked very like herprobably her son, Helen mused absently.
Its only right, helping relatives get settled in, Helen thought to herself.
Her head throbbed. Her hands kept falling limp into her lap, the expensive handbag trying to slide off onto the floorand Helen dreaded not having the strength to pick it up again. She didnt feel strong enough for anything, even talking was a chore. Her tongue felt swollen, it stuck to the roof of her mouth; she was parched with thirst.
Could I have a glass of water, please, she said into the noisy airno one in particular, loudly and as clearly as she could.
Nobody heard. The hallway swarmed with people; relatives fussed over sick trolleys, consoled, pleaded, nudged those lapsing into dazed silence. Behind her, doctors hurried past, threading between the metallic obstacles, fixing stethoscopes around their necks, scribbling notes, dispatching patients to examination rooms before bellowing instructions from within. Nurses bustled about their jobsimportant, busy, but in a way that had nothing to do with Helen Frederickson.
Wheres Barnes? Whos Barnes? called one nurse eventuallyHelen, in her head, nicknamed them all.
Im here, called Helen, then louder, Im here!
Right, heres a sample pot, toilets to the left, then off for bloods. And you can take off that hat, you knowyoure not off to the Arctic!
Helen had forgotten she was still sweltering beneath a great shaggy fur hat, reminiscent of that famous one from The Snow Queen. No wonder sweat ran down her brow, her scalp burning up.
Helen reluctantly tugged off her headgear, hunting for a place to stuff it away so it wouldnt get lost, finally jamming it into her already-bulging Italian leather bagstuffed full of work files. She had planned a brief stay: feel better, get discharged. Helen Frederickson-Barnesdirector of a major firmdidnt have time to languish in hospital. She had double-glazed windows and a mountain of work!
The nurse plopped the sample pot into Helens lap.
Helen Frederickson-Barnes. A large woman, in every sense. Shed always been so: a big baby, a hefty toddler, a strapping girl and a formidable woman. My, shes a big one… her mums friends would say as she lugged Helen to the clinic. Look at the size of those feet! the shoe shop staff would sigh when Helen outgrew another pair.
Next to Helen, her mother looked like Thumbelinaslight and delicate. Helens size came courtesy of her giant of a father. Hed passed away with cancer when Helen was just eight.
Helen was always self-conscious. At nursery she lumbered among smaller children, already an outsider, considered odd. School wasnt much better. Only in sports did Helen ever feel herself; fate brought her there after her mums brief romance with a coach. To keep Helen occupied in the evenings, she was signed up for athletics. Discus, shot-putHelen excelled. She got injured a few times, her shoulder ached from the cold, but she was proud of her success. Later, she foolishly mistook a mans curiosity for love, made mistakes, grew up, buried her mother, and built herself into a woman people silently marvelled at.
Helen began her career in housing management, running repairs, managing crews. She retrained, rode the crest of the Thatcher years: firms and little businesses popping up everywhere. Helen and her team took on odd jobs at construction sites. Her size meant she was often mistaken for a man; when people realised, theyd laugh but always had her back. She was firm, sometimes severe, never one for company or tea-breaks. But she belonged.
Helen Frederickson remained gruff and stone-faced.
Stone Woman, people whispered behind her back.
Then the companyher companywas born: Windows To The World. Helen became the window boss, learned every trick of the trade, and quickly earned respect.
She ruled her staff as a force of naturenot one for tea and biscuits, but loyal to a fault. She sent them to the doctor when needed, recommended restaurants for celebrations, chastised late workers, organised check-ups, bought Christmas gifts but never dressed up for the childrenshe knew, at her stature, it would only look absurd.
She knew everything, right down to the pregnancy test her secretary, Victoria, hadnt even bought yet. Helen already planned out Victorias medical care before the girl knew herself.
Helen understood family conflicts, childrens exam results, distant relatives dropping by from Leedsshed sort groceries for them, pull strings at universities for others. She managed it all. Life taught her not only to defend herself, but others too: the vulnerable, the outcast, chance survivors like herself.
She had no close friends. It was simpler that way. No risk of betrayal, no whispered jibes about that big lummox.
Helenthe Stone Womandidnt mince words, but always aimed for the greater good. If she sacked someone, shed find alternatives; if they refused, at least her conscience was clear.
A tyrant? Not really. More like a train thundering toward a better future. Heaven help anyone in her wayshed roll right over you, not even a whistle. Because this train also carried a small carriage: her son, Sam. For him, she strived…
Few could withstand her intensity, most stayed. Amidst the ever-present threat of redundancy and competition from young upstarts, Helen gathered around her a circle of loyal, steadfast peoplethe core who could be relied upon now she was in hospital. May they hold the fort!
Helen lost her cool a couple of times. Like now, she flung the sample pot on the floor. Hypertensive crisis, I need a bed! Cant you read?
Calm down, darling! piped up a rough-looking man with a bandaged head, leaping off his bench and snatching the pot. Want me to do it for you? Ha! Swap you for your hat, though, I dont work for free… Always had a thing for big women!
Help yourself! she barked, shoving herself and her wheelchair away, the arms of the chair scraping new marks into the freshly painted wall.
Miss! Dont damage our walls, we only finished decorating!.. Whose is this? Where is she going? a staff member in a name badge grumbled.
I belong to myself. Im off. Whats this places address? Helen grunted, heaving to her feet. Ill call a cab. Wheres my phone…
Where do you think youre going? Wait for the doctor! Rest a bit, then youll feel better, the same staffer replied in a gentler tone.
Helen was on her mobile. Sam? Fiona, get me my son, she snapped into the receiver. Yes, now. Im in hospital; Ive got important meetings tomorrow. Tell Sam I need him.
She didnt bark orders, though she could bring the house down if need be. Instead, she explained swiftly and simplyso the listener knew it was graveand then told them what she needed.
Her daughter-in-law, Fiona, shuffled to the bathroom, knocked. Sam, her son, yelled from inside, What is it?
Your mums on the phone. Shes in hospital.
Alright, hang onIll be out in ten! he shouted, then ran the shower again.
Did he hear her? Of course. But if mums calling, shes alivenothing urgent. She can wait.
But Sam had waited all his lifefor his mum to come home to him.
Business, work, dealsthats what Helens days were made of. Her double-glazing firm gave them a better flat. She replaced all Sams windows at school, helped friends and relatives with home improvements. Helen ruled her domainorganising, negotiating, controlling, dismissing. But one little fishSammy, as the others sometimes called himalways seemed to be in a different pond.
She never shouted, never smacked, just checked homework with a brief nod or a pointed pencil correction. To perfection, she would say. Then the briefest explanation why effort mattered.
She never told him she loved him, not once. Never a bedtime whisper, never an I love you just because youre my son. Not a word.
She doesnt love me, Sam eventually decidedby nineteen he had it figured out. Sure, thanks to her, hed got into university, avoided a job, passed his examsbut what of it? That was her duty, to make a man of him. He never asked to be born; she decided, so it was on her. And as for hospitaljust another drama, nothing more…
Helen heard Fiona say Sam would call back in ten minutes.
And whats the matter, Helen? Fiona asked gently. Can I help?
Helen didnt answer, just ended the call. Now, if anyone in hospital asked whose she was, she could truthfully say, No ones. My own. Her son would ring in his own time, Fiona would chew her gum and worry about being burdened with an ailing, immobile mother-in-law. No ties. That was for the best.
Helen tried to stand again, bracing against the wall. The chair slipped; her legs buckled. She crumpled to the tiles. The precious handbag tipped open, spilling its contents; her fur hat slid under her cheek like a soft, protective cushion.
Bloody hell! hollered the rough sleeper, rushing to help lift her. In doing so, he deftly pocketed her purse and slipped off her amber ring.
The man reminded Helen of someonesomething about him… but she couldnt place it.
She felt nothing, breathing ragged, her head bowed to one side, through her ears the endless refrain: Stand to the right, stand to the right…
Usually, Helen travelled to the office by carnot driving herself; she hated the concentration required. She preferred to work, read, or just gaze out the window. Her driver, Ron Graves, arrived prompt at seven-thirty, opened her door, straightened her coat, then leapt into his seat, classical music on, out onto the motorway. This was routine for years. Ron was gratefulhis life was made easier by Helens influence: medicine for his chronically ill wife, holiday deals, the pick of the weekly shop, three bonuses a year. She could ring him in the middle of the night needing a dash to Manchester or Newcastle; within the hour, Ron would get her to the airport. Helen would apologise, contract or not, it seemed only mannerly.
But that morning, Ron was stuck outside Helens blockhis rear bumper mashed in by a reversing dustcart.
Helen, shall I call you a cab? This is a right mess! Ron lamented.
No, Ill take the Tube, Helen replied, adjusting her hat, though she already felt unwell. Did the crash scare her? Yesbut not much. She was stone, above such bothermoney could sort anything. Sort it out. Bring me the bill; the car needs fixing.
And she struck out in a cloud of ginger-grey fur. Passers-by stepped aside, giving way to her imposing presenceshe looked like something out of a film about giants.
The Tube was stifling, crowds swirled back and forth, occasionally seizing up and then shifting again. Stand to the right… Helen recalled, as she moved from Earls Court to the new branch line. All pressed on with their days.
Now, however, her day was ending. After the turmoil of casualty, the checks, the injections, the sensors, theyd finally wheeled her to a ward, heaved her onto a bed, covered her over. Through it all, Helen could still hear, Stand to the right… and she held on, held on…
The ward was dark, redolent of perfumes, medicines, oddly enough, vanilla rusks and buckwheatHelen liked those but rarely ate them.
Third floorno view of the busy main road, lit up like a festive string of fairy lights.
She remembered once buying such a string in Hamleys for Sam. Hed been at after-school care, sitting alone, the supervisor already donning her coat. Well, Sam, your mums come for you! And you were worried! the woman trilled in her creamy, trained voice.
Sam quickly dabbed his eyes, wriggled into his overalls. They were bright red, reflective stripeshe liked them but acted indifferent, just to spite his mum. He always wanted to get back at herfor everything. Other children had doting mums, cheerful in wool skirts and worn boots, crouching down, hugging their kids, smiling kindly, popping hats on and buttoning them up.
Helen hovered, granite-like, waiting for Sam to dress himself. She neither hurried, nor helpedjust waited.
Whats in the box? Sam eventually asked as they trudged along.
Oh, its beautiful, darling! Its a fairy light garland for the tree. Itll be wonderful! Helens face lit up unexpectedlySam was startled to see his mother so animated, so almost normal…
All the way home, Sam imagined their scrappy plastic tree twinkling, glass baubles catching the light. Hed show off to his mates at school…
But when they tried the lights, they didnt work. The granite liedno magic. Helen, seeing Sams disappointment, quietly packed them away.
Lets have tea. Ive laundry to iron anyway, she said, and that was that.
A few days later, she brought the lights home, now mended by her old workmen friends. But by then, flu had kept Sam off school, so his moment to boast never happened.
Now, someoneinvisible, mightyhad strung fairy lights over the streets, plugging them into human hearts, setting them blinking. Yet Helen was like a blown bulbshe needed fixing.
A nurse, small and trim in rose-pink scrubs, paused beside Helens bed. Keep your eyes shut, Ill wipe your mascara off. Dont open them or itll sting. There, thats it, she murmured, dabbing gently with a cold, damp wad of cotton.
Helen went strangely still, the sensation unexpectedly pleasantcool wadding gliding over her inflamed cheeks, the nurses gentle murmur soothing
She thought of her mumlong gone, buried in the ground. Helen had visited her grave that September, paid a pair of workmen to repaint the fence, right the tilting headstone. Scattered forget-me-not seedswhether too late or not she couldnt say.
Shall we cover them up? Otherwise the pigeons will scoff the lot! the men asked, angling for more pay. The big woman in her full-length coat ignored them, then nodded stiffly, handed over more notes, and walked away, not waiting for them to cart in their soil. Whether the flowers would bloom by springeven spring itselfseemed too far off.
When Helen was ill as a child, her mum would wipe her face with a soft, frosty towel, smelling of cleanliness and cold outdoors.
No need, reallytheres no need. Ill see to myself… Helen muttered, turning aside in awkward embarrassment.
Hush, you need rest, you need your strength. Honestly… The nurse continued, gentle as before, even fixing Helen’s disarrayed hair.
Ill pay youmy purse… Helen reached towards the bag on her bedside table. My pursegone… nowhere
Helen broke off with a choking sob.
It was only the second time shed been robbed in her life. Once, riding the escalator on the Tube, some man kept bumping her from behinda drunk or perhaps just weary. Helen didnt bother turning. Then, on leaving the station, buying a paper, she saw her bags side split openpurse, Sams photo, a lucky farthing, her shopping listall taken.
Shed wept then, on a park benchthis large, broad-shouldered woman, bawling like a child.
Such a shame… she whispered, wiping her eyes. It wasn’t the money. The bagshed only just bought it, her first expensive one, proud to carry into meetings. The purse matched, navy blue calfskin leather. Walking through her office holding that bag, Helen felt proud, elated. Now it was ruinedand a scar would remain, on the bag and her soul.
Now, againher valuables gone. She suspected it was the same man from earlier.
I dont care about your moneystay put, Ill fetch the BP monitor. The nurse left and returned. The cuff squeezed her arm. In the background, other patients groaned and murmured, while Helen drifted into a deep, sticky sleepwarm and soft as melted fudge.
… Emerging from the shower, Sam had completely forgotten about his mother. Fiona called her a couple of times, but Helen didnt answer.
Somethings up, Sam. We should check, Fiona fretted.
Mum has everything covered. She probably has her own ventilator reserved, if it comes to it. Leave it, Fi.
He brushed past her, absorbed in the bright football match flickering on their massive flat-screenmums present, he reminded himself, knocking back lager, munching peanuts.
Fiona, rubbing her shoulder, phoned her mother-in-law again.
Relations between them had always been odd. Not unfriendly, but never warm.
Helen hadnt the time for cosiness, nor the knack. She showed her care with deeds: new windows, bathroom refurbishments, a car for Sam, gym membership for Fi (she had back trouble), gourmet food, pure cotton linens. Helen didnt force thingsjust invited Fiona out, bought what was needed, the best.
Fiona had been overwhelmed at first, wanting to pay her back. In time, she just tucked money away, intending to return it all someday.
That was Helens way. She loved by doing, not saying. She loved Sam the same: presents, afterschool clubs, room renovations, rollerblades, music gear, holidays on the coast (though not togetherHelen visited as business allowed). When Sams school needed its pool repaired, Helen leveraged her trades contacts, hired workers herself, even wielding tools alongside themthe blokes admired her grit. Thats just what Helen did: she loved Sam fiercely, and he pushed her away, resented her. Was she buying his affection? Noshe simply wanted him to have everything she never had.
When Sam announced his engagement, Helen was a bit lostit seemed only yesterday shed bought him toy cars, and now it was a wedding. The newlyweds chose their own way, but Helen footed the bill for a stylish restaurant. Fionas gown too: her choice of style and fit, but only from proper shops.
Fiona did her best to bond, but Helen wasnt having itshe was too much the stone woman, the boss. Life was business, meetings, deadlines, orders, emergencies, legal wranglesa cart-horse, once yoked, pressed on and on.
…Fiona rang once more. This time, someone answeredit wasnt Helen. Fiona took notes. She was told to visit tomorrow, during visiting hours.
Shes exhausted, Mrs Frederickson, absolutely done in. Bring her something comfortable to wear, and a cardiganits chilly on the ward
Fiona listened, thanked the voice, said goodbye.
Sam was sprawled on the sofa, gaming on his laptop.
Fiona thought about telling him something but decided against it. She quietly gathered her things, took the keys to Helens flat, and left.
… Helen woke early. In neighbouring beds, shapes stirred; crockery rattled; someone sneezed.
Ladies, which of you is Barnes? You?
Helen sat up, tried to tie her hair but couldnt muster the strength. Yes, Im Barnes.
She sat in her blouse and trousers. Coat and hat lay folded in a bag on the floor, heels tucked under the bed.
The undone blouse gaped a bit, showing lacy lingerie. Helen only bought herself lovely underwear, soft and prettythough choice was limited in her size, so sometimes she ordered from abroad.
A neighbouring patient eyed her curiously, and Helen pulled her blanket up.
Lets have your arm, Mrs Barnes. Time for your bloods, said a nurse, expertly sliding the needle inHelen barely felt it. Her phone went off, again and again.
Sorry, work call, Helen murmured, stepping out into the corridor.
The calls were relentlessqueries, quotes, orders, proposalsas if she werent in hospital at all. At last she snapped: she was ill; call the deputy. The call ended with a curse.
Helen saggedshoulders drooping, her proud carriage gone. She seemed shrunken, as if all her imperious bearing had been kneaded away.
She was given the standard issue nightie and dressing gown. In the mirror, she tried to laugh: streaks of leftover makeup smeared under her eyes, her hair wild and greasy.
Turned out in her fall, shed broken three nails; now they caught painfully on her clothes.
Back in your bed, pleaserounds soon. And breakfast, someone said. It was the same nurse from last nightshed changed into her going-home clothes. Your daughter called; shell visit today. Fiona. Dont fret, youll mend. For now, rest up.
Shes not my daughter, my daughter-in-law. Doubt shell… Helen started, standing huge above the nurse.
Shell come, she promised. Helen, do you not remember me? the nurse asked softly. Its Cathy Pearson. We were in hospital together, years ago, after… after your… Did you keep the baby?
Helen flinched as if struck, crumpling into the nearest chair. Cathy was the only one, apart from the doctors, who knew what Helen had intended all those years agoa pregnancy, then a bitter ending, a man taking advantage, then abandoning her when hed been satisfied his curiosity. Helen sorted it as she always didalone. Cathy was the one who comforted her, who told her she was beautiful and brave, even with cruel people all about.
Cathy… I didnt recognise you at all… Youre working here? Good for you! Thats what you wanted, right? Helen smiled.
Yes. And your son? Im so pleased for you. Cathy sat beside her. Ive got two girls nowchatterboxes, noisy grandkids everywhere. Husband?
She stopped, realising shed gone too far.
No husband, never was, never mind… Sam is all I have. I thought, hed grow up and protect me… but I see now he has no need for me. Ive always protected myself…
Cathy was about to comfort her, but the doctors were arriving for the ward round. Helen lay down, Cathy went home. She needed some sleep.
Breakfast was soon over. Helen gradually adapted, surveying her surroundings. Her fellow patients were of a similar age, quietnot much conversation, except for one, Jean, by the window, who was forever nibbling something.
Rusks? Helen guessed. You like vanilla rusks, but munching like that isnt good for you! Better have some tea or water!
Nerves, sorrymy husbands on another floor, had a stroke… I cant stop chewing. But teadont worry
But you must! Is there anywhere to get tea? Helen headed to the canteen, cutting easily through the rooms attention, tired yet dignified, her eyes not missing the scruffy linoleum or ancient kitchen kit. And, inevitably, she appraised the windowsgood, solid, but in need of adjustment. She had a man for that.
She glided back with a mug of sweet, steaming tea.
Here you are, Jeanno idea how you like it, but you simply must drink!
Jean nodded gratefully, sipping.
Youre so kind, Jean said, glancing at the door. Theres a young woman waving at you…
Helen looked up. There was Fiona, hugging bags, awkward in a blue disposable gown and green hospital shoe covers.
Hello! Ive been calling and callingI didnt want to shout. Im here for Mrs Frederickson, Fiona dumped the bags by the door; Jean smiled and turned away, resuming her rusk.
Fiona, you shouldnt have, Helen protested.
Oh yesmake room. Fiona started unpacking. Pyjamas, dressing gown, cardigan, toiletries. Your favourite goodies, tea, coffee from your shops. Didnt lug the bedding, only so many arms.
Helen towered above her, the top of her dishevelled crest trembling. Helens chest shook too, beneath the standard-issue robe.
Oh Helen, honestly… Fiona hesitated, then, Right, you get changed, Ill find the doctor.
She whisked out. Helen stood, staring at the bed, the bags, and the dressing gown.
Her life was coming back together, as if the pieces shed always forced herself to cross barefoot were finally joining up instead of piercing her soles.
Helen had always kept her distance, even from her daughter-in-lawbut Fiona was here, seeing to her. Was it the money? Who knows. All the same, it was good to have a visitor.
Sam rang a couple of times later, but Helen didnt take the calls. She didnt know yet what to say.
Fiona returned, twirling her wedding ring. For the time being, shed keep quiet about wanting a divorcenot now, not yet.
That night Helen lay facing the wall and cried, unsure why.
Next day, her purse and ring were returned.
That man in A&E robbed you, but here you are, explained staff members.
What happened to him? Helen asked.
He died. Heart gave out. Nicholas Burgess, to be precise.
Helen nodded slowly. Now she remembered exactly who he was. Nicholas, best in athletics club, nearly made champion. He used to stroke her back, tell her she was beautiful. He lied, she believed. He was dead now. Helen was alive.
And no, she wasnt made of stone, but fleshshe just hadnt breathed freely in years.
But now, things would change. She had Cathy, Jean, Fionathe foolish, naive girl who loved more for ither work, her little troubles only she could untangle. She had a grandson now, a pearl yet unborn, whose scan photo Helen had seen.
You know, Fiona, dont expect anything from himstill, say you love him anyway. I never did. I was ashamed, and now I regret it. A woman needs to love someone or she turns to stone.
Fiona nodded. No, Helen wasnt stonehearted at allshe was kind, vulnerable, tall, and broad, but very fragile. Once, she was born into the world and with a deep, bass wail, greeted life.
