Call Me Sister by Jane Yeadon Read Free Book Online

surface. I gradually picked up speed, hoping to reach the brothers before dark, but then suddenly I let my foot slip off the accelerator. When I put it back down, I was too heavy with it. The car roared and jerked forward. Not a good time to hit ice.
    As if bent on its own destination, the car glided out of control. Braking, I was quick to learn, made it worse. Now facing in the wrong direction, perilously close to a ditch and in a gathering gloom, I prayed for a return of nerve, a lighter foot and a biddable car. A traffic-free road would be an added blessing.
    At least I was lucky in that respect. The road stayed empty as, slowly and fearfully, I managed to get the car back on course. As for nerve, anxiety made me grip the steering wheel so hard I’d to practically unlock my hands from it when at last I arrived at the brothers’ house.
    It was just before dark and the long johns were still on the line. Freeze-framed, they looked as if to be worn they’d need to be jumped into.
    On that first visit, hens had been scratching in a netted-off area, complete with a snug-looking little house Jock said he’d made for them. Now they were, sensibly, inside it. I could hear them clucking and imagined they’d be a lot warmer under their felt roof than the Duthies with their corrugated iron one.
    I knew Jock was kind to animals. I remembered him talking fondly about them whilst Willie was getting his injection. He’d said, ‘When I was working I’d see lots of injured beasties and I’d take them home on this.’ He banged on the saddle of a classy-looking Raleigh propped inside the house’s lobby. ‘Then I’d try to mend them, mend them.’
    Remembering our conversation, I knocked on the door, and fearful I might stand on some ill animal, stepped with care inside.
    Jock met me with a pleased, ‘It’s the wee nursie. Come away. Come away!’ He had a habit of repeating the last words twice, then whistling to fill any conversational gaps. Maybe with him latterly working on his own it made him want to communicate for a bit of company, even if it was just with himself. Or maybe he was compensating for Willie. Not a man for either long speeches or much eye contact, he did manage a few ‘ayes,’ and lots of ‘uh-huhs’. The one word he did seem to enjoy saying was ‘cheerio’.
    Now I asked where he was, wondering if he’d fled at the sound of my voice.
    ‘He’s in bed, in bed, yes-yes,’ Jock nodded at a sagging chair beside the unlit fire. ‘He feels the cold, terrible, yes, terrible.’ Jock’s outdoor life having clearly inured him to a sub-zero temperature must have made him immune to an atmosphere where you could see your breath.
    I was sure Willie would be horrified, but I persevered. ‘Would he mind if I said hello to him?’
    ‘He’s asleep, asleep.’ Jock took off his woolly cap, scratched his bald head then, replacing it, continued, ‘Jee whiz – what a man to sleep, to sleep.’ He nodded at an ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Presented to Jock on his retirement, it had Tempus Fugit inscribed on it. As if flying-time didn’t apply to his brother, he declared, ‘He’s been like that for ages, ages!’
    ‘I’ll not disturb him, but maybe I’ll have a wee peek.’ I headed for a room adjoining the living room. ‘Where’s the light?’
    ‘Wait you! Wait you!’ Jock stepped before me and with infinite care switched it on. It flickered into a dismal light provided by a naked bulb. I shivered as the room temperature stopped me in my tracks. It was even colder than in the living room. A set of orange false teeth grinned up at me from the floor just as I saw a shape in the bed. It was under some flimsy-looking bedclothes and lay as still as the grave.

7
COLD COMFORT
    There’s one thing about an emergency. It removes the insignificant. My chilled feet were nothing compared to the cold lumps sticking out from the bottom of the bed. I quickly established that the cold extended to the rest of