I helped Beulah to the toilet where she retched but nothing came up. I sat her on the wooden seat where she hunched over, barely able to hold her head above her shoulders.
“You belong in a hospital,” I said.
She shook her head pressing her lips together. “No way,” she gasped.
“What if something happens? I won"t be able to help you.”
She looked around then up at me. “It"s not a bad toilet to die in,” she said. “I"ve been in far worse. I"ve seen people die in filthier places.” She held her hands up. “Help me back…please.”
I carried her back to the cot, laying her down gently then went and made a cup of tea with lemon and a liberal dose of honey. She had three blankets and a duvet and still she shivered, teeth chattering like ice cubes jangling in a tall glass.
“Was your father arrested
