Bia's War

Published by Joanna
Larum
at Smashwords

Chapter One

The old lady walked slowly but
with a sense of purpose, almost feeling her way along the bay
windows which jutted out onto the pavement in this street of
terraced houses. In her long white nightdress she appeared ghostly
in the dim light cast by the street lamps, especially as the slight
mist which had fallen as dark came to the town was enveloping the
lights and reducing their power. The sky was equally hazy, although
dark, and no light came from the moon or stars to lighten the
scene.

The policeman noticed the old
woman as he rounded the corner from the main road where the street
lights were brighter and, at first, could have taken her for a
ghost, before he mentally shook himself and realised she was an old
lady of flesh and blood. Feeling rather foolish over his initial
reaction to her, he strode along the street towards her to find out
why she was outside on such a cold night and so late, wearing only
bed clothes and with nothing on her feet.

“Where are you off to at this
time of night?” he asked, his voice louder than he had intended,
with the vestiges of his original fear still in his mind. But the
old lady ignored him and continued feeling her way along the
street, muttering under her breath and with the same sense of
purpose he had noticed the minute he had turned the corner into
Queen Street. It was as though she couldn’t see or hear him.

“Hang on; I said ‘Where are you
going?’ ” he repeated and then he took hold of her arm to halt her
because she still wasn’t acknowledging him. She stood still,
arrested by his hand, but she still didn’t look at him, staring
into the distance and muttering louder than before. He could
distinguish the name ‘Simon’ in her mutterings now and he grabbed
this straw.

“Are you looking for someone?”
he asked. “Someone called Simon? Tell me who he is and I’ll help
you find him. What’s your name? Is Simon a relative of yours?”

The old lady still didn’t answer
him, but remained halted by his hand, muttering under her breath
and lifting her feet as though she thought she was still walking.
The constable felt helpless and inadequate in the face of her
non-verbal rebellion and could almost hear the duty sergeant
sneering at his lack of success with a helpless old lady. He
decided action was better than words and pulled gently on her arm
to turn her round so that they were facing the right way to walk to
the police station on Middlesbrough Road. He had a moment’s fear
that she would refuse to move for him, but she turned as he wished
and made no demur when he slipped off his regulation cape and
draped it around her shoulders to keep her warm. He could do
nothing about her bare feet, but he had at least tried to do his
best for her. He continued to talk to her as they moved slowly
along, hoping that she would perhaps respond if he asked the right
question or said the right word.

“Where do you live, love? Is it
near here or have you walked a long way tonight? Will there be
anyone at home who could be worrying about you? Do you think they
might be out looking for you now and we might bump into them?
They’ll be relieved to see you, I would think, if they’ve spent
time looking for you. Are you going to tell me your name, now that
we are friends and you’re wearing my cape?”

She didn’t answer any of his
questions. She still muttered under her breath and over and over
again he caught the name ‘Simon’ but he got no response when he
asked who Simon was. He was relieved to see the Police Station in
the distance when they turned off Albion Street into Middlesbrough
Road, even though he was dreading what sarcastic comments the
sergeant would make when he entered the station accompanied by a
half-naked old lady.

His dread was unfounded because
he could hear raised voices as he and the old lady pushed their way
through the outer office door. Opening the inner door revealed the
source of the noise. A couple were at the sergeant’s desk and the
woman of the pair was pounding on the desk with her fist to add
emphasis to the points she was trying to put across. It was the
first time the constable had ever seen the sergeant lost for words
and a jaundiced eye might have noticed that the sergeant looked
almost frightened.

“My mother is very well looked
after, I’ll have you know. It’s just that she occasionally forgets
who she is and where she is. It’s not the first time that she’s
opened the door and let herself out, but she’s always done it in
daylight before and people who know her have brought her back. Why
aren’t you getting off your fat backside and going to look for her,
instead of making insinuations about decent, hard-working
people?”

The sergeant couldn’t look the
woman in the face, but raising his eyes to avoid her had let him
see the constable and his companion as they stood just inside the
door.

“I think this must be your
mother now, with one of my constables.” he shouted above the
woman’s continued verbal attack. The woman stopped shouting
immediately and whirled round to face the newly-entered pair. One
glance at her face almost made him feel sorry for the sergeant, and
that was a first.

“Mam!” The woman cried, rushing
to take the old lady from the policeman’s arm. “Where have you
been? Why did you go out in the middle of the night with no coat or
anything on your feet? Oh what’s happened to you?”

“Meet Mr and Mrs Wilson,
Constable Wood. You seem to have rescued Mrs Wilson’s mother for
us. Where did you find her?” the sergeant asked, giving Constable
Wood one of his famous stern glances. Wood knew that he had to be
correct, concise and professional in his reply, otherwise the
sergeant would be giving him the worst duties over the next few
weeks.

“Found the lady wandering along
Queen Street, sir, the section nearest to Normanby Road. She was
unable to answer any questions, so I wrapped her up in my cape and
brought her straight here, hoping her relatives would have
contacted you or that you would know who she was. She was talking
about Simon, sir, about the only thing that I could understand of
what she said. Is Simon a relative of yours, madam?” he asked,
turning to Mrs Wilson who was emptying a coat and shoes out of a
bag she was carrying.

“Never heard of him.” Mrs Wilson
snapped, dropping the constable’s cape onto the nearest chair and
wrapping her mother in her own coat. She forced the old lady onto
the chair on top of the constable’s cape and crouched down to push
shoes onto her mother’s feet. Standing up, she grabbed her mother’s
hand and began dragging her towards the door. With a curt ‘thank
you’ which was aimed at Wood she exited, leaving her husband to
follow. He gave the two policemen a rueful smile and then followed
his wife out of the police station.

“Phew!” Sergeant Adams grunted.
“Thank God you came in when you did, Wood. I was beginning to think
I was going to have the delightful Mrs Wilson here for the rest of
my shift. Not a pleasant thought!”

Wood screwed up his courage to
ask the question which had been bothering him since he had entered
the station.

“Do you know the Wilsons, Sir?
Cos I thought that poor old lady didn’t seem to recognise her own
daughter.”

“Oh Mrs Wilson is her daughter,
don’t you worry. That ‘poor old lady’ is Abia Lymer and Mrs Wilson
was Abia Lymer as well, before she married Jack Wilson, although
what possessed him to take Bia on is beyond my understanding.
Still, there’s no accounting for taste, is there? But I’m glad you
brought her back when you did, cos five minutes of Bia Wilson in a
temper is enough for me.”

“What’s wrong with Mrs Lymer?”
Wood asked.

“Oh she goes gaga now and then.
It’s her age, I suppose and possibly it’s a defence mechanism from
living with Bia Wilson. I might try it, next time I have to deal
with her! The old lady’s gone missing a few times now, but it has
always been during the day before. People have found her all over
the town, but she seems to usually make her way towards the docks.
Strangely enough, the Wilsons live on Queen Street, near where you
found Mrs Lymer. They have the corner shop where Queen Street
crosses King Street so Mrs Lymer was perhaps trying to get home
this time. Don’t worry about her, lad, Bia takes good care of her
mother, it’s just well-hidden under that sharp front she has. Go
and get yourself a hot drink in the canteen and then you can write
the report up. You needn’t go back out tonight.”

Wood was taken aback. It was the
first time the sergeant had been pleasant to him since he had moved
to the area, so he moved hastily before the sergeant had time to
change his mind and revert to his normal character. Once Wood had
left the front office, Sergeant Allen sat back down behind the desk
and considered the events of the last hour. He would keep an eye
out for Mrs Lymer’s name coming up in the duty log again; it
wouldn’t do any harm to check and it could do a lot of harm if he
didn’t.

Back in Queen Street, the little
cream van pulled up outside the corner shop and disgorged its
occupants onto the pavement. Jack opened the side door of the house
with his Yale key and they all trooped inside. Bia took her mother
straight up the stairs and into old Mrs Lymer’s bedroom. She
bustled about, getting Mrs Lymer tucked up in bed and cuddling the
hot water bottle to alleviate the cold she must be feeling.

“I’ll go and get you a hot drink
now and then you can go back to sleep. Let’s hope you haven’t
caught cold going outside in your nightie at this time of the year.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Mam; I really don’t,
wandering around the town in your nightie. What would me Dad have
said, eh? He’d have said I wasn’t looking after you properly.
That’s what he would have said and me doing my best for you. I just
don’t know what else I can do. Mind you, it amazes me that you can
walk when you go on these night-time jaunts of yours, but
ordinarily, you can’t take even one step when you are in your right
mind. It would save my legs if I didn’t have to gallop up and down
those stairs, bringing your meals and everything. Still, I suppose
it could be worse. You might be wetting the bed all the time, like
Mrs Outhwaite’s husband. I wouldn’t like to be doing the
clearing-up after him.”

She turned to leave the room,
but stopped when her mother spoke directly to her for the first
time.“I don’t know who you are, pet, but you really look after me
well. Thank you.”

“That’s ok. You don’t have to
thank me.” Was all Bia managed to say in reply.

Back downstairs in the kitchen,
Bia was grateful that Jack had thought to fill the kettle and set
it to boil while she had been upstairs with her mother.

“Is she ok?” he asked.

“I think so. We won’t be able to
tell if the cold has done her any harm, not yet for a while anyway,
but she still doesn’t know who she is. She’s just told me she
doesn’t know who I am but that I look after her well. She should
have said that to David Allen when he was accusing me of negligence
at the station.”

“Don’t get in a flap, Bia. He
wasn’t accusing you of negligence. He knows as well as the rest of
the town that you’ve looked after your mother since Sam died and
that she keeps losing her memory as well. Ten years ago, she would
have been asking him if he enjoyed going to the Grammar School, she
was always interested in how he was doing. Tonight, she didn’t know
who he was and he knew that. Stop worriting and get this tea down
you and then you get back to bed. It’s going to be a busy day
tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to the funeral
tomorrow, not after this with Mam tonight.” Bia answered
immediately. “I can’t leave her when she’s got the wanderlust on
her; she might end up at the police station again.”

“I’ve thought about that and I
reckon our Vickie can look after her Nana while we’re at the
funeral tomorrow.” Jack had his answer ready because he’d been
prepared for this. “You know the lass enjoys being with her and
it’ll keep her out of the way of young Keith while he’s working in
the shop. Otherwise, she would be spending all day standing in the
shop and making eyes at him, stopping him from serving
customers.”