“For Christ’s sake.”

The cry roused me from my sleep with a start, quickly I sit up and blearily look around the room.

“Bloody hell, who put that there?”

“Hells?”  I ask, blinking sleep out of my eyes as I tried to find her in the room.  “What are you doing here?”  There were no plans that I was aware of.

Rubbing my face vigourously, I try to wake up.  “What are you doing here?”  I ask the seemingly empty room hoping that I wasn’t talking to myself.  If I was going mad at least I wasn’t going to be lonely… I think.  I’d imagine that hallucination Helena is more persistent then living Helena, which means I am in trouble.

“What am I doing here?”  She whined from somewhere to my right, turning around I managed to catch her hobbling towards my lounge, her face drawn in pain.  “The question is what are you doing here Bells?”

Perplexed I looked at her for a moment, “I live here?”  I tentatively said.

“When did you get that bloody triffod in your hall?”  Helena bit out, her accent thick and laced with pain.

“Triffod?”  What is she talking about now?  Maybe I am still going crazy, but at least I am making hallucination Helena crazy with me too, which is a stark relief.

“That bloody man eating plant in the hall.”

I laugh out loud at her pout, “you bought that for me Hell.” I remind her, shifting over on the lounge she she can collapse beside me.

“I’m going to assume that you didn’t come here to take on my plant.”

“God no,”  she sighs, leaning against me.  For a moment it sent me back in time, she sat like this for hours after her father died.  Not wanting to be held, but wanting to be close to me, or her mother, touching but not being touched.

Those days I never felt more useless, but that was nothing compared to how she felt apart at the funeral – or at my 2nd diagnosis.

“Why are you here?”  I ask again, hoping to get an answer this time.  For someone who loves spontinaity, I really detest not being kept in the loop.

“And I ask you again Bells, what are you doing here?”

Why is she playing the game, it’s not funny and as much as I know her foot may be hurting, being treated like a child all the time is not only frustrating, it’s fucking demoralising.

“The joke is tired Helena.”  I bit out, trying to reign in my temper.  The look on Helena’s face told me that she clearly saw, or heard my frustration.

“Bette, I’m not joking.  There was somewhere you were meant to be.”

I fall back into my chair, surprised.  What could I be forgetting, the only thing that was happening today was,  “Fuck, Daddy.”

Helena nodded, looking relieved at the sudden return of my memory.

“I got a call from Kit about half and hour ago saying that you hadn’t showed up to pick up your father and he was waiting impatiently for a ride.”

I nod, finally understanding what she was saying.  Slowly, I pulled my still tired off the lounge and fumbled trying to slip my feet into the shoes by the lounge.

“It’s okay,”  Helena cajoles, gently pulling me back onto the lounge.  “Kit is on her way, and I was sent to make sure you’re okay.”  Carefully, she felt my forehead for a moment.  “No temperature.”  She needlessly announced, “thank God.  Now, why don’t you lit back down for awhile and I will wake you when Kit comes home.”

The suggestion is too tempting to ignore.  While I settle myself back onto the lounge, Helena returns with a blanket.  Efficiently she shakes it over me and tuck it neatly under my body.  “Sleep well Bells.”  I hear her whispers before depositing a kiss on my forehead.

“Love you,”  I slur, before welcoming the blessed land of nod.