Page 24 of Only for Christmas

Lucas looked to where she was pointing. A sodden towel was wrapped around the base of the sink. ‘Do you have any tools?’

‘Whatever’s in the cupboard.’ She shuffled into the hallway and opened a cupboard door. Inside he could see a nebuliser machine and boxes of unopened salbutamol. ‘This was my late husband’s,’ she said, handing him a worn leather toolbelt. ‘Threw most of his stuff out, nowhere to store it. But I kept this. No idea why. Sentiment, probably.’

Lucas took the toolbelt and crouched down to inspect the sink. ‘When did your husband die?’

‘Ten years ago. Heart failure.’

He glanced up. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘Me too. It’s no fun living like this,’ she said, coughing and banging her chest. ‘Pete had the right idea. Never got ill, was still working in the building trade at seventy, and then one day, gone. Just like that. No suffering, no lingering pain, just never woke up one day. I should be so lucky.’

Lucas used the wrench to loosen the bolts. ‘Are you finding life difficult, Mrs Kelsey?’

She gave him an incredulous glare. ‘No flies on you.’

He felt water dripping down his arm. ‘Do you have any family close by to support you?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I’m a doctor. I’m concerned about your welfare.’ He reached over for some toilet paper and placed it under the drip.

‘A doctor? Don’t get me started on doctors, waste of space the lot of them. You can never get hold of one, and when you do, they refuse to come out.’

He wiped his hands on the towel, removing a smudge of grease. ‘Have you tried arranging a home visit?’

‘Course I have, but do they come? No, they don’t. I’m not considered housebound. What do they think this here walking frame is for, eh? Drying me washing on? Daft buggers.’

Lucas cleaned the greasy pipes. ‘When was the last time you saw a doctor?’

‘No idea.’

‘Do you mind me asking what ailments you suffer from?’

‘I suffer from nosy-parkers like you sticking their nose into my business. Now, you able to fix that leak, or what?’

She was feisty, that was for sure. ‘Maybe.’

‘What do you mean, maybe? Either you can or you can’t. Which is it?’

He turned to face her. ‘If I help you, then you need to help me.’

‘How can I help you?’ She looked disgruntled.

‘By letting me fix a date to come back and give you a health check.’

‘Bugger off. I don’t need some American hack getting personal with me. You even properly trained?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I assure you, I’m fully qualified.’ He refitted the bolts. ‘Funnily enough, they have COPD in the States too. I’m guessing that’s what you have? Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease?’

‘Smartarse. You been looking through my stuff?’

‘No need, your symptoms are obvious. Do you have any electrical tape?’

‘This ain’t a hardware store.’ But she rummaged through the cupboard and handed him a roll of surgical tape. ‘This do?’

‘Perfect.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took the tape and he was shocked at how cold she was. ‘Emphysema?’

‘Something like that.’ She sounded sulky, her lips forming a pout.

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