"Oh, err, Mrs Maxfield, I'm really sorry" Gee garbled nervously. She turned, her lined and grey face looked like it had once been beautiful, but now you could only tell this behind the shadows cast by worry, despair and resignation.
"Is she okay?" In a tired monotone.
"She... Well, she..." He had no idea how to say it. As if reading his mind, her next comment was:
"Just tell me. Whatever it is, I've dealt with much worse." He could see the pain flash in her face, like a flash flood of agony at some far away memory. She hid it well, but not quite well enough. Gerard couldn't understand the pain she was hiding – not yet. Maybe not ever.
"She's cut her arms and shoulders. I, I need to clean them up" She pointed towards the kitchen.
"Antiseptic wipes in the cupboard under the sink. First aid box above the fridge. Can you do it? She won't let me."
"Yes, I'm sorry"
"What for? Hardly your fault she is bipolar."
"Even so..."
"Listen here" She said, something he couldn't determine burning in her eyes. "No matter what – rain or shine, happy or sad – I would not swap her for the whole world. Now please, go and help my daughter, and save your pity for when it is really necessary."
He turned away to the kitchen to get the things, and when he looked back, Helena's mother was still there, scrutinising him with an ice blue steel glare. When he had the things, he practically sprinted to the stairs, and was beginning to descend – when he though he heard a quiet sob coming from her direction. A need to go back to her, to help her, comfort her crossed his mind – but he thought the better of it. It would do more damage to her pride, for her to know he heard her cry, than he could fix.
Some people never would accept help.
