11th June 1995
Post date: 08-Sep-2015 09:30:56
Transcript
I must be going soft in the head! The Fazakerley woman – or “Bernie” as she likes to be called – is now staying in my guest room. I don’t know what prompted me to invite her, but once I’d said it, I couldn’t very well back down. I suppose I didn’t want to appear less generous than Peter Johns, who offered her a place in their little two-bedroomed terraced. After all – this house is wasted on just me. But, fancy letting the Fazakerley woman come to stay!
Actually, she didn’t seem quite as bad today. The bang on her head must have done her some good. I was there, waiting by her bed, when she came round this morning. She couldn’t remember what had happened until I told her about the fire. She immediately wanted to talk about what she’d found in Khalifa’s thesis and it was as much as I could do to stop her walking out right away in her hospital gown! We eventually managed to get her discharge properly and dressed in her own clothes – which were in a bit of a mess what with her having bled all over them and with the smoke and everything. She got a bit of a shock when I told her that she couldn’t go back to her house and get changed. And I suppose that’s what started me on the train of thought that led to inviting her home with me. I could see she didn’t like the idea of moving into a hotel.
Anyway, we spent the rest of the morning sorting out the computer files. Johns looked most incredibly relieved when Bernie walked in. I suppose his wife must have been worrying about her, but I also think he was glad not to have to keep trying to work out what Khalifa’s thesis was all about! We had lunch in the canteen and then Bernie seemed to be flagging, so I offered to take her to her new lodgings. We sat in the car, neither of us knowing where exactly we were going, and then I don’t know what got into me: I suddenly found myself inviting her to stay.
For a minute, I thought she was going to turn down the offer and I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, disappointed or relieved! But, after a few moments’ hesitation, she said “yes” and was almost gracious in accepting the invitation.
So now I’m stuck with her. I’d better get Johns or someone to sort out a flat or something for her to move into PDQ before we come to blows over something.
There was one funny thing. She spotted the house name on the gatepost and commented on it. I was surprised that she knew how to pronounce “Llanwrda” – it usually flummoxes people seeing so many consonants together – and she told me she had a Welsh grandmother. Who would have thought that the two of us had anything at all in common!