Kindness is its Own Reward

Pamela Prentice saw the elderly gentleman stagger and fall. He seemed to be stepping up the kerb and somehow toppled over his ankle twisting under him. He landed heavily bumping his head as he sprawled across the pavement. She stopped her car and ran over to where he lay dazed and bleeding from the head.

“Lie still” she ordered in her authoritative nurse’s voice.  

“I’ll be all right, I’ll be all right” he mumbled trying to get up.

“Please let be the judge of that” she said gently “I’m a trained nurse I can help you” and, ignoring his protestations, proceeded to examine him. He sensed from her actions and questions that she knew what she was about and relaxed a little letting her tend to him.

A woman came out of her house to offer help “I’ve called an ambulance” she said “but they said there’s a delay.”

Pamela looked resigned there was often a delay these days in getting to minor incidents. Ah well she thought I’d better take him myself. Between them the two women got the casualty into her car where he sat on the back seat looking bemused and forlorn holding a napkin to his bleeding head.

“If you just drop me off at home I’ll be Ok” he said “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Pamela looked at him though the rear view mirror “I believe you’ve broken your ankle young man” she said sounding school ma’am-ish “You’ll need professional attention for that.” And with that she drove him to the Accident and Emergency department of the local hospital.

Pamela had asked him his name and established that he lived alone during her examination so there was no one she could call for him. She booked him in then handed him over to a hospital porter who wheeled him away for treatment then she left to go shopping.

Peter Lovage received excellent treatment his broken ankle was put in a cast and, because he’d banged his head, he was kept in hospital overnight for observation. On his release he took a taxi home and with the help of the driver and his new crutches managed to get into his house without too much trouble. The hospital had informed the social services people who said they’d send someone round to assess his needs.

Pamela told her husband John about what had happened and how she was concerned for the eighty one year old gentleman. When she said she was going to pop around after work next day to see if he was all right John was not surprised. That was his Pamela a heart of gold always looking out for others. He knew better than to argue, she’d take no notice anyway.

And so it was Pamela knocked on Peter’s door and heard him call “Come in the door’s open.” He had looked surprised to see her “Oh it’s you I thought it was the social services lady. Well I’m glad you’ve called m’dear because I wanted to thank you for your help the other day. It was very kind of you.”

He had offered to pay her for the petrol used but she refused him briskly. “No thanks” she said “my mother always taught us that kindness should be its own reward.”

“Are you ok now?” she queried a look of concern on her face. He looked thin and frail with a sort of lost look about him “When did you last eat?”

He paused rubbing his chin as if trying to think of the answer to a difficult question “This morning, yes,  yes definitely, I made some toast....” his voice trailed off then he followed with “I’m fine, really I can manage.”

Pamela looked at him sternly “Well I’m going to make you a cup of tea while I’m here and see what else I can do.”

In the kitchen she found everything clean and well ordered like the rest of the small terraced house appeared to be. On opening the fridge though there wasn’t much in the way of food but she managed to make him a cheese omelette and opened a tin of peas to go with it taking it through on a tray along with a cup of tea for them both

“Right Peter you eat this now and we’ll have a cup of tea my friend.” Her tone told him it was better to obey than make a fuss. “You don’t seem to have much food in the house.”

“I was on my way to the shops when I fell” he said defensively “I don’t eat a great lot anyway.”

There and then Pamela took out a pen and her note book “Right” she said “I’ll get you something in what do you normally eat?”

He reeled off a short list and Pamela thought no wonder he looks so thin he’s not eating properly. After a few suggestions from her the list filled out a little and she went and got what she thought would last him for a week. On her return they chatted for a little while and that’s when Pamela first noticed the photograph in the silver frame on the mantelpiece. It was of a young pretty woman with flame red hair smiling broadly she was stood in a relaxed pose holding the hand of a little girl of about three. What aroused her curiosity was the narrow band of black ribbon tied around the top. Not wanting to pry she said nothing but Peter had noticed her looking.

Pamela called the following morning before her shift Peter was up and about and she could smell the bacon and toast he’d made for breakfast. He seemed much recovered in his spirits and insisted on making her coffee. “It’s proper coffee Pamela not that instant stuff.” He said as if to reassure her.

Pamela was pleased one of her little weaknesses was proper ground coffee and she’d skipped hers that morning in order to spend a bit more time with him “Oh well in that case certainly, no sugar or milk for me please.”

“That’s the way I drink it too” he beamed seeming pleased at her revelation.

Over the weeks of Peter’s recovery he and Pamela became good friends. She discovered he had a dry, wicked sense of humour and a keen wit, he always seemed to look for the good in people too and she liked that about him. They also shared a love of poetry though their tastes veried widely.

She found out that he had been an engineer and had worked all over the world. They both talked fondly of Singapore where Pamela had spent three years as a teenager due to her father’s work.

Peter could tell some funny stories too like the time when in a small town called Tampin in Malaysia he had been staying in a guest house and had indulged in rather too much whiskey. On returning to his room he had found a huge snake asleep on his bed. Annoyed he had grabbed the sleeping reptile behind its head and thrown it out of the window and watched as it slithered away into the shrubbery. When he told the hotel manager the next morning man went pale. Peter had thought because of its size it was a non-poisonous python but the manager told him what he had just described was a king cobra the world’s largest poisonous snake. The nearest serum he said was in Kuala Lumpur seventy five miles away.

When conversation turned to family matters Peter was reluctant to talk of any relatives he may have had and quickly changed the subject. Pamela was still fascinated by the photo on the mantelpiece but he never mentioned it and she sensed it was a bit of a taboo subject so, although intrigued, good manners prevented her from asking directly.

Over that summer Peter came to Pamela and John’s house for a barbeque and to Sunday lunch a few times he met their ten year old daughter Molly. He and Molly had hit it off straight away “It’s like having another granddad” she told her mother “and he’s so funny too always telling me silly jokes.”

One day whilst having tea at Peter’s house they had been talking of John and Molly who had been excited about a forthcoming sleep over at her cousin’s house. Pamela finally broached the subject of his family; did he have anyone at all like a distant cousin for instance? Had he ever been married?

Peter was quiet for a moment then got out of his chair and handed her the photo from the mantelpiece “We were married” he stated “She died.”

“Oh I’m sorry Peter and the little girl?”

He paused and took the picture from her looking at it wistfully  stroking it gently with the tips of his fingers as if caressing them both “She was my daughter.” He said his voice quiet, his eyes filled with sadness.

“Was?”

“She died too.”

Pamela wished now she hadn’t asked she could see he was hurting. “Sorry Peter....I didn't mean to intrude... was it an accident?”

“In a way” he paused “She was an Irish girl you see, from Londonderry. She went to visit her sister whilst I was away on a job, 1972 it was I asked her not to go as she was nearly eight months pregnant but she was a headstrong girl my Colleen.

He paused again as if struggling to find the right words finally he said simply “They were out shopping looking for a present for me.” Again he hesitated briefly shrugging his shoulders “There was a bomb.”

The words hit Pamela like a ton of bricks she felt sick in the pit of her stomach. He had stated ‘there was a bomb’ with no trace of self pity, no hatred of the people who had planted the device no hint of any emotion.

“Oh Peter I’m so sorry, Oh my god that’s awful and the little girl too...”

Peter placed his hand on her shoulder “It was all such a long time ago now my dear don’t upset yourself.”

Pamela wiped a tear from her eye “Your daughter, she looks so beautiful, what was she called?”

“Molly” he said quietly replacing the picture “She was called Molly too just like your little girl.”

Peter spared her the details of those terrible times. There had been a warning but they got the street name wrong and the bomb had gone off twenty minutes early as people were still being evacuated past the empty shop were the device lay hidden.

Heavily pregnant and hampered with shopping and a small child Colleen and Molly had been the last people struggling to clear the area. She was blown through a shop window and she and her unborn child died instantly her body had partially shielded Molly from the blast and was found among the rubble unconscious her left foot severed completely and blood seeping from her nose and ears looking like a beautiful broken doll.

They had tried so hard to save her Peter had sat by her bed for three days and nights in the intensive care ward praying for her holding her hand desperate for her to live. On the morning the fourth day she had opened her bright blue eyes and recognised her daddy. She couldn’t smile for the tube in her throat but her eyes smiled her joy at seeing him. He had told her he loved her and that he was asking god to make her better.

Shortly afterwards she had slipped into a coma and two hours later her brave spirit gave up the impossible struggle to stay in her shattered little body. She let out a last short sighing breath and passed away. Peter never prayed again.

It was winter time and Pamela was concerned for Peter he had a bad cold since Christmas which had turned into a nasty chest infection. He had taken the medicine she had got for him and the doctor had visited and had prescribed antibiotics. He had seemed to be rallying well but, as always, he looked so terribly frail.

Three days after the doctor had been she had found him dead in bed his heart had failed under the strain. He looked so at peace like a man who had finally got home to his loved ones after a long tiring journey.

Pamela and John had arranged his funeral and had been the only people to attend. Pamela had cried tears of genuine grief at his passing for she had grown to love the beautiful person he was. Molly was too distraught to attend and had stayed with her grandparents.

Two weeks later they received a call from a solicitor would they please come to the office for the reading of the will. Pamela had been surprised as she hadn’t known he even had will, they had never discussed anything to do with financial matters. She knew he owned his house but had assumed that the proceeds of the sale would go to the state seeing as he had no living relatives.

They came away from the lawyers feeling totally stunned and walked in silence to their car. “Good grief John” she had said at last, still unable to believe what the solicitor had told them.  “I had no idea. I mean seven other houses and three hundred and forty eight thousand pounds in cash?