Never Too Late To Change - 9. Cold

Hazel Thompson had another client to add to her already full roster. She was limited now to fifteen minutes per home visit, but she still struggled to fit everyone in at an acceptable time. Nobody wanted their breakfast at eleven, or their tea and evening pills at three in the afternoon either. As she drove along the road to her first visit of the day, she realised she was passing Eric Whitehouse's cottage. Her new client, an elderly woman, was the only person who lived out that way. Hazel slowed down as she approached the cottage. Then on a spur of the moment decision, she pulled up on the pavement close by. It wouldn't matter if she arrived a couple of minutes late, seven was early enough for most retired people.

Hazel sometimes wondered how the old man was getting on without help. He wasn't that physically restricted, otherwise he would have been kept on the roster. It was more his loneliness. The fact that if she didn't visit him, he could've gone several days without somebody speaking to him. She still had his phone number somewhere. During her morning break, she'd give him a ring. Surprise him. … Sitting there wasn't getting the show on the road. Hazel gathered herself, put the car into gear, and set off again.

In the morning, Eric lay in bed, feeling poorly, and sorry for himself. He was thirsty, and stupid with a bugger of a feverish cold. Typical. So he hadn't slept it off. A sigh turned into a cough. What was he going to do about food? He'd run out of almost everything. Not that he was feeling particularly hungry, despite not eating much the day before.

He wasn't even sure he'd be able to get downstairs. Another trip to the bathroom had shown him that he was still unsteady on his feet. Thankfully, he'd managed not to trip on the mat this time. His home help had rescued him when he'd last been this bad. Even with Andy around, Eric still missed Hazel. He'd always known which days to expect her – it unsettled him, not knowing when Andy was next going to be available.

So, how was he going to get downstairs? Everything he needed was there – kettle, phone, telly, even his sodding pills. He was desperate for a cuppa. Maybe he could get down the stairs on his backside, one step at a time. He'd have trouble pulling himself back upright again though, even with something to hang onto.

Eric tried to summon up the energy to get out of bed again and get dressed, but failed. The bed was still warmer than the rest of cottage, and he didn't feel as though he'd be leaving it anytime soon. The tea would have to wait for a bit.

As he continued to huddle under the bedclothes, Eric heard voices coming from outside, through the bedroom window. He recognised them. How many times had they caused trouble before? Too many – he'd lost count long ago. Always the same group of teenage lads, baiting him with their hateful, taunting yobbery. Paedo. Fag. There they were again, shouting their mindless obscenities. Sticks and stones … ? Words did hurt, and they made him feel unsafe. Eric snorted in disgust, then started coughing again.

The last time he'd dared confront the teenagers, he'd been on the point of calling the police. He'd just gone inside to use the phone, when they suddenly decided to clear off. He'd been scared and then furious when he'd seen the vandalism – the graffiti, and the mess. Another time, they formed a circle with him in the middle, jeering and swearing at him. He'd been saved by his home help, who had fearlessly stormed in, and given each of them a piece of her mind. Not that the police would've done anything apart from give him advice if he had called them. Bloody useless. Maybe when the garden had been cleaned up, they'd find somewhere else to go.

Then he heard another, adult voice, raised in anger. As he listened, he recognised that one as well, but in a good way. It was Andy's. What was he doing there? The young man had been due yesterday. Good on him, though. Maybe that would give the bastards something to think about.

Wondering about Andy's sudden arrival, set his mind running in another direction. Had he locked the front door? He'd been so distracted the previous afternoon, he couldn't remember whether he had or not. The noise outside had died down – Eric could still hear voices, but they weren't shouting anymore. He hadn't given Andy a front door key – he didn't know him well enough yet for that sort of thing. And anyway, he didn't have one spare. … Should he …

Eric dozed off again despite what was going on outside.

Although Andy didn't get any response from his shouting, somehow he felt sure that Eric was inside. He tried the door handle and the front door opened straight away.

Hmm … he'd better talk to the old man about security, and sooner rather than later. Particularly with those bloody kids about.

As he stepped inside, he called out loudly. “Eric? It's Andy.”

Andy did a cursory check of the downstairs rooms to make sure that the old man wasn't lying injured somewhere. Then he went to the bottom of the stairs and called again, louder this time.

“Eric? It's Andy. Can I come up?”

He heard coughing coming from the bedroom. He took that as a 'yes'.

God, it was cold, and the damp was almost palpable.

Andy went to turn the central heating on before he went upstairs. He turned it up high. Even if it was only on for an hour or two, it would get the worst of the chill off. That ancient, portable radiant heater looked a real fire hazard. He'd have to ask Eric about getting a replacement, something safer and more efficient.

He ran up the stairs, two at a time, then knocked on the bedroom door before going in. If anything, it was colder still in the bedroom. Eric was lying in bed, looking distinctly the worse for wear. Andy sat close by on the edge of the mattress, and looked at him sympathetically.

“Morning, Eric. You not feeling too good?”

He got a croak in reply. The younger man smiled at Eric, and tried again. “What d'you think's the matter then?”

“Bad night. … I'm feeling like shit.” The old man tried to sit up more. Andy reached behind Eric to rescue the pillow and helped him get more comfortable.

Eric looked grey, tired. His eyes were dulled, and it seemed as though he'd shrunk into himself. He coughed again and sniffled.

“Got a bloody awful cold. … Sweated like a pig … woke up in the middle of the night, soaked through.”

That sort of explained the curious mess of clothes on the floor, and the open drawers. Andy had wondered about them, and the fact Eric was wearing a pullover in bed.

“I'm chilled to the bone, bloody frozen. … I'm dying for a cuppa. … Didn't know whether I could get down the stairs. …” Andy saw the glint of tears in Eric's eyes. “Couldn't phone or anything.” A gulp, almost a sob, interrupted what the old man was saying. It was followed by a bout of coughing.

Andy easily imagined Eric's distress, his fear, loneliness. Being ill, and so isolated. And those effing, bloody kids. Andy shook his head briefly. He would have to get him to agree to some changes – Eric needed to be able to contact someone, him, for god's sake, when next he was sick.

Andy leant over and smoothed back Eric's greying hair from his forehead, then he gave him a brief but affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You're gonna be OK – I'm here now.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Eric's face. “That's my first kiss from a man. Ever …”

He could still feel it. Andy's lips briefly caressing his skin. The soft scrape of his beard. Tender, concerned. Caring. Was this what he'd been missing all his life? He felt as though he'd just been let into a secret. Finally.

Andy watched the surprise and wonder drift across Eric's face. No words. He just raised his eyebrows, and smiled at the old man, who was still a little dazed. Absolutely not best practice, but something that was very much needed, he thought.

After a moment, Andy decided a change of mood was in order. “OK, you. What d'you feel like doing? Do you want to stay in bed, or shall I help you get downstairs? I've turned the heating on high, so hopefully it'll have warmed up reasonably soon.”

Andy suddenly remembered the night-time sweats, and how cold Eric currently was. A bath would be a quick way of warming him up.

“Or how about a good, hot bath? I could make sure you're OK, and I can change the bedlinen while you're having a soak.”

A bath? Eric didn't know the last time he'd had a bath. The thought of soaking away his aches and pains in hot water was irresistible. And he wouldn't have to worry about getting out again, either.

“Ooh … a bath, please. … You'll have to put the immersion heater on first. … It'll take an hour or so to heat the water up.” Eric had another coughing fit. Andy could see he was pinched with cold.

“OK.” Andy hurried to the bathroom to get the water heater going. As he came back into the bedroom, he put his hand on the radiator to test the heat. It was still stone cold.

Eric watched him. “That one don't work. Nor the one in the bathroom.”

Andy swore under his breath. Adam had better get results from buttonholing the cottage's owner, otherwise he'd be using rather less diplomatic routes.

“Right … Let's get you dressed and downstairs. I'll get you some breakfast while we're waiting for the water.”

Eric's answering cackle quickly dissolved into coughs. “There's nothing for … breakfast. You know I can't afford … to stock up with stuff. … I used the last of the bread yesterday.”

Which had come about because he'd fucked up. Andy kicked himself yet again for the previous day's neglect. Oh well. He was doing the best he could to make up for it now.

Andy smiled at his client. “You must have some tea left? And there's still water on tap?”

Eric grinned briefly and nodded.

Between them, Eric got dressed. Then Andy concentrated on clearing the remaining clothes up off the floor. Everything put away, he headed out of the bedroom. Eric was loitering at the top of the stairs, obviously unwilling to go down them on his own.

He looked embarrassed. “I'm not that steady on my feet today.”

Andy thought briefly about carrying him down, but dismissed that in favour of something he'd done for his gran when she was still alive.

“I'll be on the step ahead of you. If you feel unsteady, rest your hands on my back until you feel better. We'll take it at your speed. OK?”

Andy was gathering his belongings again in preparation for a quick trip to the supermarket. Eric's breakfast wasn't going to appear any other way.

“Right, Eric. You've got your tea, the water heater's on. What else? You warm enough?”

Eric was sitting in his chair, his hands wrapped round a mug of tea that was balanced on his lap. He should've put it on the table next to him, but he wanted the warmth of the mug close by. The living room still wasn't that warm, though the radiators were gradually making a difference. Andy must've turned the central heating controller up high. It would cost a fortune no doubt, but that was what the winter fuel payment was for, he supposed.

He nodded in reply, then looked up and smiled at Andy. Just having the young man there made him feel better. He'd got himself into a right state earlier. Hmm … Maybe he'd have to think about that? Perhaps Andy could suggest things which might help in the future.

Then Eric remembered he had something to give to Andy, and he scrabbled around one-handedly to find it. Finally, he produced a crumpled piece of paper from down the side of his chair.

“Here's my shopping list. Wrote it yesterday, of course.” He handed it over to Andy with a slight smile.

The young man's eyes widened. “Eric … Fuck. I'm sorry. That's why I came over this morning – to apologise. Yesterday was entirely my fault. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“Andy, there's nothing to worry about. I'm just glad you came when you did.” Eric blew his nose to disguise any emotions that might have been on display otherwise.

Andy smiled, and gently ruffled Eric's hair on his way out. “I'll see you later. Shouldn't be too long.”

Now on his own, Eric's mind kept on returning to the kiss, giving him action replays from various angles. He could almost imagine that the feeling, the imprint, was still there. He touched his cheek, expecting to find what? A mark? Some sort of lasting scar?

Would he ever have another one? He knew Andy shouldn't have given it him because he was Andy's client. Perhaps the young man would also become a friend? Did friends kiss each other? Eric tried to think of what he'd watched on the telly. There wasn't any point of expecting a kiss from anybody else. Part of him felt sad. Something so simple, yet so amazing. But it was better to have been kissed once, than continuing through his life without knowing what he was missing. Hnh … Or so he'd have to keep on repeating to himself. Why did he have to discover kissing now?

Eric sighed. His tea was still there, and he took a drink of it before it got too cold. He was very thirsty – not surprising really, given how much he'd sweated during the night. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long before he had some food to go with it. He got up and shuffled into the kitchen to see whether Andy had made a pot. He had just sat down with his refilled mug, when the phone started ringing. Muttering under his breath, Eric struggled back up and went to answer it.

“Hello?”

Hello. Mr Whitehouse? It's Hazel. Hazel Thompson.

His home-help? Eric hardly knew what to say. “Err … Hello.” Then he coughed again.

I passed your cottage earlier, so I was wondering how you were. You sound as though you've caught a cold?

“Yes. Since yesterday.”

Oh, dear. Otherwise, you're OK? You got someone to help you?

“Yes, from a local charity.” Eric wanted to tell her about Andy, but couldn't find the words at such short notice. “They're very good. The young man is helpful and pleasant.”

I'm glad. I don't like to think of you all on your own. You ready for Christmas? Not long now, is it?

Eric didn't know how to reply. Christmas was nothing special, as far as he was concerned.

“Err …”

Anyway, that's my break over. Look after yourself, won't you? I'll phone again sometime.

“Bye, Hazel. Thanks for calling.”

My pleasure.

Eric put the phone down. There was another person who cared.