Losing Track Of Time

I knew this outing would do me good, if only I could stay awake long enough to enjoy it!

THIS coach trip will do you the world of good,” Mum said as she ushered me towards the front door. “Off you go.” “I’d rather go to bed,” I said, stifling a yawn. My feet felt like lead and my head as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. “I’m so tired! If you could just sit with Herbert for a while?”

“No. You won’t rest because you’ll be listening for his lordship. The coach leaves from the bus station in twenty minutes. A stroll round a castle and a walk in the grounds will do you more good than tossing and turning upstairs.”

“But you were looking forward to the outing!” I protested.

To no avail. Once Mum had an idea in her head there was no moving her.

“Well, I was going to go with Rose, but now she’s got flu I don’t fancy it. Besides, I’ve been before. Go – lose track of time for a while. Here, I’ve made you a packed lunch.”

I took the lunch bag and looked down at Herbert, my Labrador, standing at Mum’s side.

“He mustn’t pull on the lead,” I warned. “He’s only to go outside if he needs to, and then only on his lead. The thing is, he mustn’t jump in and out of the back door, but he’s too heavy for you to lift.”

“No, he’s not. I used to haul round sacks of spuds when I worked at the farm and I’m still strong.”

I wasn’t going to win this one. At least Mum wasn’t going on about me meeting “someone nice”. To be fair, she’d left it for two years after my divorce before the subject of “someone nice” came up, but it had appeared regularly in the six years since.

I appreciated what she was trying to do, but I was afraid today would be too much for her.

“What about lunch? How will you manage? And going to the loo?”

“It’s no different from looking after a poorly child,” Mum said. “I’ve looked after a fair amount of those in my time. Go!” She pushed me out through the front door.

I kneeled down and pushed open the letterbox.

“The phone number for the vet is on the fridge!”

We were a month into Herbert’s recovery after his knee operation and he was on strict rest and recuperation.

Cage rest, they’d advised. But Herbert had never been in a cage in his life except at the vet’s, and when I borrowed one I thought he was going to kill himself trying to fight his way out of it.

So I kept him on his lead and with me at all times. This was difficult, especially with a dog with only two speeds: breakneck, and “Was that black streak actually a dog?”

At night I slept on an inflatable mattress on the floor of the living-room, cordoned off in a corner by furniture and baby gates. Herbert had nothing to climb on and, even if he wanted to get on the inflatable mattress with me, there wasn’t room.

When I reached the bus station people were already boarding the coach. I almost left, but one of Mum’s friends saw me.

“How’s Herbert?” she called out.

Suddenly I was surrounded by people asking after my dog. No-one asked where my mum was, or her friend Rose, for that matter.

It was almost as if they were expecting me.

****

I didn’t nap on the coach. Mum’s mates took turns in sitting next to me “so I wouldn’t get lonely”. They oohed and aahed about Herbert’s operation.

“Never heard of such a thing,” they said. “And you’re all right, are you, sleeping on the floor? How do you get any work done?”

“I wait till he’s asleep,” I explained, not adding that it was a race against time to get anything done before a bird squawked outside or a dog barked in the distance and he sprang to his feet.

I texted Mum a couple of times. She texted back with a photo of Herbert sprawled out asleep at her feet.

He looked very peaceful and content. Maybe I really could enjoy a day out, away from all the worry.

I got Herbert when the last of my kids left home. He was my excuse for getting out and about in the fresh air and away from my desk. It had worked fine for the first 11 months, until Herbert started limping.

Now I was stuck at home, tethered during my waking hours to a dog who didn’t like being restrained.

I taught him some tricks and did as much as I could to keep him from getting bored,

but he had a lot of built-up energy and nowhere to spend it. My phone beeped.

Stop thinking about Herbert and just enjoy yourself.

We were almost there when I felt my eyes grow heavy. I couldn’t keep them open and the next thing I knew, the coach driver was shaking me gently by the shoulder.

“Sorry to wake you.” “I wasn’t asleep,” I protested.

“I’m not allowed to leave anyone on the coach,” he explained as I gathered up my stuff. “Do you need a hand?”

“Do I look as if I need help?” I said with an offended sniff.

“You look tired,” he replied with a kind smile. “Rain is forecast for this afternoon, so everyone’s going round the gardens first.”

My feet still felt like lead, but heavier lead now, and my head swam as we wandered round the beautiful gardens.

“Too many late nights,” someone said as I covered yet another yawn with my hand.

If only! By the time I’d pumped up my airbed, which I had to do every night as it seemed to have a slow puncture, carried Herbert outside for his final meander round the garden and put up the barricades, it was usually near midnight.

There followed an hour of tossing and turning trying to get comfortable before I finally fell asleep, only to be woken at the crack of dawn when Herbert shoved his face into mine.

He was always so pleased when I woke up. His life had to be so boring right now. No running, no jumping, no long walks, no ball or tugging games.

****

I found a quiet bench and ate my lunch. Mum had made me prawn sandwiches and put a mini chocolate roll and a bag of cheesy puffs in the bag, along with a bottle of water.

There was something comforting about having a packed lunch made by Mum.

It was quiet and shady in my part of the gardens. I rolled my jacket up as a pillow and was just about to doze off when I felt a hand on my arm.

“Sorry to wake you.” It was the coach driver again. “I couldn’t leave you here. It’s going to rain.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” I protested as I gathered up my bits and pieces and headed towards the castle.

Inside, we entered a bedroom which Henry VIII was supposed to have used. The room was dominated by a massive four-poster bed surrounded by heavy drapes.

“What a fantastic atmosphere,” someone said. “I wonder if it’s haunted.”

“We do have a resident ghost,” the tour guide told them.

“Now, that looks like a comfortable mattress,” someone else said.

Oh, it did. It looked big and soft and squishy. It was weeks since I’d slept in a proper bed, where you could stretch your arms and legs out and still not dangle off the edge.

“The views from this room are spectacular,” the guide went on and everyone rushed to the window.

I felt powerless to stop myself as I stepped over the red rope that surrounded the bed. The guide had explained at the very start of the tour that we must not, under any circumstances, go beyond the red ropes.

I sank down on the soft fat silk eiderdown and kicked my shoes under the bed. The pillows were so big and squishy. And I was so tired . . .

I adjusted the drapes around the bed a little to hide myself from view and slithered under the eiderdown.

It felt good, unbelievably so. I just wanted to close my eyes for a few minutes and enjoy the comfort, but I could feel myself already sinking into sleep and there was nothing I could do to stop drifting off.

****

The light had changed when I woke up later. For a moment I didn’t know where I was.

I opened my eyes to see the coach driver leaning over me.

“Sorry to wake you,” he whispered urgently. “But you have to come with me. Quick!”

“I wasn’t –” “Asleep, yes, I know.” He took my hand, pulled me out of the bed, then smoothed the eiderdown and smacked the pillows back into plumpness while I pushed my feet into my shoes.

“What’s going on?”

He led me out into the hall just in time to hear the tour guide enter the room we’d just left through another door.

“It was there, in the bed!” a woman shrieked. “It was horrible! I’ve never seen a ghost before.”

“It wasn’t a ghost,” the tour guide said. “The bed is still warm. Someone must have been taking a nap in the King’s bed!” She sounded so angry I half expected to be put in the stocks they had in the courtyard.

“This way,” the driver said. We went through a door marked Staff Only and down a staircase.

Outside, everywhere was wet and sparkly from the rain as we hurried towards the coach, where faces peered through the rainsoaked windows at us. I hurried to my seat. “Where were you? We thought we’d lost you,” someone said.

“She lost track of time,” the driver answered for me. “Everyone ready?”

I texted Mum, who replied with another photo of Herbert fast asleep.

When we arrived home everyone promised to meet up again in a fortnight for their next trip. I stayed seated for a moment with my eyes closed.

“I’m not asleep,” I said, smiling, when the driver came to see me.

“I can see that.” He grinned. “If you can get your mum to dog-sit again, do you fancy coming out some time?”

I stared at him.

“Are you serious?” “Very,” he said. “And I’d love to meet Herbert. From what your mum has said he sounds a real character.”

I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Mum. Not only had I slept in a bed that Henry VIII might have slept in, I seemed to have met the “someone nice” she was always hoping I’d meet.

Hold on! I stopped in my tracks, wondering if she had set me up.

But you know what? I didn’t mind a bit. n