She poured out a glass of water from the jug on the nightstand and removed the small bottle from her apron that the doctor had given as medicine. There was a small pipette in the lid for administering dosage and she raised it to her face to inspect the contents. When she removed the lid the smell of urine filled the room, making me heave.
“What is that?” I asked, bringing my hand to my nose.
“Ammonia,” she said, squeezing the contents of the pipette into the glass destined for her sick brother.
“NO!” I shouted, startling everyone and using all my energy to propel myself up from the bed. “You can’t give him that.”
Everyone turned to look at me as though I’d lost my mind, but I knew I was right about this. I’d only ever heard of ammonia being toxic and dangerous and used in cleaning chemicals. I could think of no scenario where poisoning the boy would be in any way beneficial to his health. I looked at Gwyn hoping he understood the pleading in my eyes to mean I knew something that they didn’t and that this would be a bad idea.
“I, er, I think Tom, er, might be right,” he stuttered, shifting his gaze between me and Nellie, trying to read my mind and defend my outburst while having no clue what was causing my alarm.
“Whyever not?” Mrs Hopkin asked, wondering why I would stand in the way of her child receiving his medication.
“The doctor is wrong,” I pleaded. “It won’t help. It will make him worse.”
I had no idea how I could make them listen to me, but I knew that I had to, somehow.
“Well, I think the doctor would know more than you, don’t you?”
Mrs Hopkin, her voice stern, was visibly upset with my outburst and her face was reddening at an alarming rate, while Nellie stood frozen, unsure of whether to continue or hear me out.
“My friend,” I said, making something up on the spot. “He had the same condition. They gave him ammonia, too. It stripped the lining right out of his throat. He never talked again and spent the rest of his life in constant pain.”
I had no idea if anything I was describing was near to what the actual effects of the substance were but I knew I needed to be shocking enough that they would pay attention to my words so that they would reconsider giving it to Howell.
“He’s right,” Gwyn said. He looked unsure but played along. “Mair uses it for cleaning. It took the pattern right off the pots.”
I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not but his siding with me was seemingly having the desired effect. Mrs Hopkin sat with her mouth wide open and Nan looked horrified by my tale. Nellie, who was still holding the pipette over the glass, had now been put in the most difficult of conditions between heeding my words against or giving her brother what she considered might be life-saving medicine.
“Plus, the man was obviously drunk,” Gwyn chimed in, as if needing to hammer the point across. “Who knows if he even picked out the right bottle? It doesn’t seem like the right thing to give a small boy, does it?”
Mrs Hopkin looked mortified and I wondered if perhaps we’d overdone it a little. Without a word she rose to her feet and took the mixture from her daughter’s hands. Rather than giving Howell the concoction herself, as I thought she might, she instead moved to the window, opened it and poured the liquid out onto the ground below.
“I’m trusting you, Thomas,” she said, an outstretched finger pointed just an inch from my face. “Don’t make me regret it.”
The sounds of the farm waking up and coming to life as the sun rose over the valley roused me from a light sleep that I didn’t remember falling into. The candle on the nightstand had long since melted to a stub, its light now replaced with beams of sunlight pouring in through the small window beside my bed, and a faint smell of ginger filled the air, emanating from the pots that had been left around Howell’s bed all night.
The noise of me shuffling my pillow as I tried to get comfortable roused the attention of Mrs Hopkin, who turned her attention away from her son momentarily. Dark circles had formed under her eyes and she’d removed her mop-hat, letting her hair fall messily around her shoulders. I’d never seen her look so distraught. She hadn’t moved an inch and neither had Nellie, who slept behind her on Teddy’s bed, propped up against the wall.
“How is he doing?” I whispered, pulling myself upright.
“He’s still sleeping,” she said. She kept her back to me as she spoke but the sadness in her voice was unmistakable.
“Did Gwyn go home?” I asked, realising he was nowhere to be seen.
“He went downstairs with Nan. They’re keeping busy.”
I felt obliged to make small talk though her tone made it obvious she had no desire to speak, so I left her in peace and stared out over the yard, hoping the new dawn brought with it an easier day.
Teddy and Mr Hopkin were in the yard below collecting pails. The noise of the tins clattering filled the silence left by our lack of conversation and caused Nellie to stir. Startled, she immediately went to her brother to check on him. His breathing was still raspy but his chest appeared to be rising and falling at a greater volume than it had been when I’d fallen asleep and she seemed relieved by his progress.
“I’ve watched him all night,” Mrs Hopkin said. She remained still and expressionless as she spoke, as though afraid that any slight change in her demeanour might affect his progress. “I’ve begged and pleaded with God to keep him safe.”
“Come,” Nellie said. “You need to eat something. Go downstairs. I can take over from here.”
She attempted to bring her mother to her feet but Mrs Hopkin was not for moving and instead clasped hold of her son’s hand again, causing him to stir.
“Howell?” she cried out, lurching forward and leaning over him.