Fran Macilvey

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 25

Later that evening I called James on his mobile, making sure the living-room door was closed so there was no chance of Elaine overhearing our conversation.

“James?” I queried quietly, “Hello? It’s not too late to call, is it? Can I ask a favour?”

“Of course, Marian, what’s up?”

“It’s just Elaine. That is –” I felt my throat closing over the confession that Elaine was being bullied at school. I forced the words out, “I just discovered that Elaine is having problems, being teased at school. Could you…help, maybe?”

“Like, come up, and hang around the school gates for a few days, you mean?  I’m sure I could. I’ll bring some work with me.”

I felt such relief and gratitude at not having to spell it out. “Yes, that is what I sort of had in mind, actually. Do you think…?”

“I’ve only got one more lecture this week, tomorrow afternoon at two, so now would be a good time. I’ll get the bus up afterwards, okay?”

“Oh, that would be so –” lovely, marvellous, kind I started to say, when James interrupted, “The least I can do. See you soon,” and hung up. I held the receiver for a long time, listening to the silence and wiping away tears.

James called again the next day to say he was a bit delayed and would be catching the five-fifteen bus, so I went to meet him when it got in at around seven. He looked tired, but when he saw me his face lit up. He hugged me without a trace of self-consciousness.

“So, what time does Elaine get out of school?”

“Well, most days about four. She used to take her time, but now she rushes home.” I tried not to think about what that meant, and to focus on what we could do to help her.

“I could walk to school with her, why not?”

“I’m sure she’d love that.”

Elaine was just setting the table for supper when we arrived home. Seeing James, her smile shone, and she immediately added another place for him. “What are you doing here?” she grinned.

“I just fancied a change, that’s all”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m Zoella…” Elaine was cheerfully dismissive and relaxed, more like her old self.

“Okay, well, I came to see you. Came to act the part of the boyfriend for a few days, show those kids at school a thing or two.”

“Muuumm!” she wailed, meaning, how could you tell him… but James winked conspiratorially and chatted amiably to lighten the mood, then went up to his room: which had become ‘His room’ and already, it  felt as if he belonged.

Bright and early the next morning, I waved goodbye to Elaine and Jamie as they set off for school, Jamie fitting easily into his role of handsome sidekick. With a casual wave, he loped after Elaine as she took the lead, then slowed to allow him to take her arm. I could see them joking together as they rounded the corner of the street.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 24

Arthur’s condition improved. He slept less, his memories resurfaced and there was a gentle lightness in his movements that recalled his cheerful self, returning after a long hibernation. But he was not eating enough, and losing weight from his already lean frame. From being unsure, I began to hope and expect his release soon.

After two weeks of being around the house, James had reluctantly gone back to Uni. He had not told his dad anything about Vivienne’s illness, a decision that secretly delighted me. As James stood on the threshold, nervously fingering his satchel, even Elaine looked wistful, and when the door closed behind him and the sound of his footsteps receded on the pathway, she said, “It’s going to be awfully quiet without Jamie, isn’t it, Mum?”

As Elaine grew older, she moved slowly apart from me, occasionally returning for familiar cuddles and hugs, but gradually moving into her own orbit with increasing confidence. She would always confide in me, though. Whether it was boy trouble, what her teachers were like, or what was happening in the classrooms. So when she came abruptly into the hall after school a couple of days later, dropped her bag to the floor and looked sullen, I had to ask, “What’s the matter, love?” and she was suddenly at my side, hugging me and sniffing sadly into my jumper.

“Is it the teachers?” She shook her head. “The homework? Your friends?” The tiniest nod, and suddenly she was telling me, “Susan just walked past me today, and she and… Sam just laughed at me. It’s because they call me…”

“What? What do they call you?” I was smiling, in an attempt to show that names don’t matter so much, and bullies dislike being laughed at.

“They call me stupid… Silly Elaine, she’s a pain…” The sing-song in her voice was pitiful.

“How long have they been teasing you?” I asked, faintly incredulous that third-year pupils could  be so infantile, and wondering what on earth had made quiet, obliging Elaine the object of anyone’s derision.

“I answered a question in class. The teacher asked us…” her voice quavered, and I could see her wishing she had stayed silent. “I really like maths. The other kids, in break time, they say I’m stupid… and tubby, and…”

Oddly, I was not surprised at Elaine’s confession. Despite being tall and thin, for many years Elaine has clutched at a fear that she might become overweight. She also seems to go out of her way to be accommodating at school, rarely taking the initiative in games or in class. Her school reports mention her being a bit reticent, and I could see how that might happen.

“They can hardly call you stupid if you answered a question.” Elaine just shook her head, believing that I simply did not understand, but I did. I knew that kids were sometimes cruel for no particular reason and enjoyed laughing at other people. Reasons rarely came into it.

“We’ll think of something, I promise, love. Maybe try to steer clear of them just now, eh? Take your bike to school so that you can come home quickly?” She looked rather dubious, but the next morning she carefully retrieved her bike from the back porch, fetched her bike chain and obediently put on her helmet, all of which made my heart ache with love. She was so willing to trust me, and yet I knew so little of the school dynamics. Would she just be giving the kids more ammunition?

She came hobbling home in the late afternoon, obviously upset. Her bike’s front tire had been sliced open. “They just cut it, Mum.” I bent to examine the tear, which was long, deep and deliberate. All business, I immediately took Elaine and her bike to the bike co-op for a new tire. Wondering what I could do, apart from phoning the head teacher and making a complaint, my only thought was maybe asking James if he could help.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 23

Our slightly abrupt politeness – “Oh! Excuse me, sorry!”- gave way to more relaxed ease, while I reined in my habitual displays of affection. Though to me, in small gestures and standing in certain light, James was oddly recognizable, I had to remind myself constantly that he was still a stranger. He might glance quizzically in my direction, or stand over one hip while expounding on a topic, then ask, “How did you know what I was going to say?” and I would smile, “Well, because your dad….” until it became something of a joke between us.

Together we visited Arthur in the hospital, while Elaine preferred to keep her distance, burying herself in homework or staying out more often with friends. Whole days, she hardly came home and I missed the easy togetherness we had enjoyed. One afternoon, late into the second week of Arthur’s stay at the hospital, as James and I were sitting quietly at his bedside, Arthur sat up, snapped open his eyes, frowned and barked, “Where am I?” He looked sharply at us, before his gaze slackened and he fell back sluggishly on the pillows banked up high behind his head. I leaned in, clasped his thin hand and whispered, “It’s okay darling, we are here with you,” but he shook my hand away crossly.

James said, “Dad,” attempting to explain, “Hello, it’s Jamie.”

“Who are you?” The words stopped us dead, as a chill of anxiety curled around my chest, but James kept his voice neutral and calm.

“I’m James, your son, and this is Marian, your neighbour.”

“Oh. Thank you.” His last words faded to a mumble as Arthur drifted off to sleep again. James and I tiptoed silently to the nurses’ station.

“Ah, has Mr. Thompson been…medicated, at all?” I tried.

“No, nothing unusual, why?” queried the nurse, busy checking something on a clipboard and absent-mindedly tucking a curl behind her ear.

“He seems confused today, that’s all”

“Let’s check, shall we?” We trooped rather self-consciously back to his bedside where the nurse looked through his charts, took his pulse, peered over him and frowned.

“He does seem dozier than usual…” she said, “I’ll get the duty doctor to take a look at him.” Ten minutes after she paged, a hurrying woman was skirting round the bed, checking vital signs.

“Yes, um,” She muttered, flipping up the bed charts…

“Mr. Thompson is due to be released soon?” She raised a questioning gaze.

“Is he well enough to go home? He didn’t seem to recognize us, just now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was frowning and asking us who we were. He seemed angry.”

“Cardiac patients often have trauma to deal with afterwards, but he seems all right just now. I’ll make a note to review his medication…” She looked thoughtful as she scribbled notes on the clipboard.

My mind was spinning, but Jamie seemed quite relaxed, and offered to fetch two cups of tea from the canteen. Yes, I agreed vaguely. As he wandered away, I sat thoughtful.

Would Arthur be better at home? I cast my gaze over him, noting that he had grown thinner, almost gaunt. He seemed to spend a lot of time sleeping. Given the chance, Arthur would probably recover more quickly in familiar surroundings. Doubt quivered around the edges of easy reassurances about that, and I was wary. Yet, while he waited here, his recovery seemed to slip.

When James and I went in the next day, the doctor on duty summoned us into the room at the top of the ward. “Mr. Thompson is scheduled to leave hospital in about, um, perhaps a week… Assuming his condition continues to improve. We have adjusted his medication.  Unfortunately, there seems to have been a small setback. Mr. Thompson has had a small seizure, a TIA, which confuses the picture, somewhat. We hope that matters resolve today, but these things can be unpredictable.”

With a polite nod, we returned to Arthur’s bedside. A warm cup of tea with a straw in it was perched optimistically on the bedside cabinet.  Arthur was sitting up in bed, gazing out the window. A jolt of pure delight coursed through me. “Hello, Arthur, how are you today?” I asked.

“I’m fine, thank you…ah, Mary.” He recognized James coming up behind me, and grinned.

“Hi, Dad?” James tried to keep his voice level, but he was excited. He leant in and gave his dad a kiss, brushing a pale, gaunt cheek with his lips. “It’s lovely to see you,” he whispered. Arthur nodded in reply, smiling and pleased to recognize his boy. “Ah, yes, come and sit here beside me,” he said confidingly, “Come and sit…”

So I slipped away to the canteen. From a seat in the window I could look out at clumps of flowers blowing frantically in spring breezes, the stems of daffodils and tulips carelessly left to bend and droop. Hospitals are supposed to enliven, repair and restore, but so often they become refuges for those with no-where to go. Arthur could be discharged soon, but would he want to be looked after?

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 22

Elaine, James and I ate supper in peaceful silence, she occasionally glancing speculatively at our guest. “Will you be staying?” she asked. Normally, this would have earned a rebuke from me, but the gleam in Elaine’s eye was teasing and light.

“I’m not sure,” began James cautiously.

“Elaine, I think you should…” I interrupted heavily.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” James said, quite easy with my daughter’s probing; so, shooting her a warning glance, I ate quietly.

“I would rather you just treated me like anyone else.” James coughed and blinked. “I would prefer it.”

Elaine said, “Okay then, bro”, grinning broadly. “How come you’re here, anyway?”

“Well…” James waited. I put my hand over his sleeve.

“It’s okay, James, you don’t have to tell us.”

“But I want to,” he explained with quiet emphasis. “Now that I’m here, and now I know that Dad is –”

So like Arthur. I ached for the familiar words and cadences. Elaine was about to offer another of her not-so-amusing comments, when I flashed her a look.

“Mum and Dad have never really got on. They fight. And Dad, well, he just seems to let Mum get away with it. She hits him.” He flushed, whether in anger or embarrassment I didn’t know.

“He can’t stand up to her, feels guilty, maybe. But she is cruel, you know? Never lets him explain, or make it up to her. She remembers… Doesn’t want anyone to forget.”

We sat dumbly, all thoughts of eating forgotten.

“Anyway, Mum has just been diagnosed – cirrhosis – last week. I came up to tell Dad, but now he is in the hospital and, well…”

“What about your studies? Has the University given you leave?”

James nodded shortly, adopting the same silent, tucked in posture that Arthur used when he felt ashamed.

“Yes, I have a couple of weeks and then I really should be getting back. Stuff to get on with.”

“Well, until you decide, you can stay here.” I wanted to reassure him, but was wary of being too familiar. He didn’t need me to feel sorry for him, so I simply smiled and left the offer open.

“And now,” I said, in an effort to lighten the mood, “I’m going through to veg out and watch TV. Would you like a cup of tea?”

James turned his face up to me. “Would you mind if I went up to my room?”

“Of course not! How thoughtless of me. You must be tired. Come through.” He glanced up, gratitude shining in his eyes, a smile gently rounding his cheeks and I thought how lovely it was to have him staying.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 21

“Hello, Marian,” said Julia, a nurse who was becoming familiar with my routines. “He’s doing well today. We don’t usually allow two visitors at once, but I’ll see if it’s all right.” She tiptoed quietly ahead of me and came up nodding gently, “Yes, that’s fine…” She indicated a second chair by Arthur’s bed, and it was only then I realized a young man was sitting opposite with his head bent forward, the back of his neck exposed. He looked collapsed in on himself, but perhaps he was only resting. I went up and put my arm out over his shoulder.

“Hello,” I whispered, looking down at the seated figure. He startled awake, his eyes widening. I recognized his features, unmistakably those of his father, pale and angular. A face with the same dark eyes, a familiar, startled grin…

“James.”

“Yes,” he coughed. “Ah, yes, I’m James, Jamie.” he stumbled, caught out.

“Your father has talked about you often.” I soothed. As I sat, I let the silence hold us both.

We blurted together, “Your father–” “Dad–”

“I was trying – trying to telephone. I had something I needed to tell him, but there was no reply. The voicemail was full and I knew something was wrong. I just knew. I got the bus up. He wasn’t home, so eventually I started knocking on doors. A neighbour opposite told me that he’d been taken to hospital. I’ve been here a couple of hours…”

“Well, it is wonderful to meet you at last.” I considered. “If you need a place to stay for a while, I live next door to your dad…” I let the suggestion rest.

“You wouldn’t mind?” The tilt of his voice, the way it floated and then broke on the last syllable, threatened tears. I patted his knee.

“I would be delighted.” So easily, we fell into each other’s company, and by the time we left the hospital, it almost felt as if I’d known him for years. I could anticipate his moves, which surprised him, and delighted me.

“Could I stay, maybe, until I know more about….?”

“Yes, of course.” Perhaps I was too willing, too eager to please. But this young man had come a long way, and it would be foolish to be stand-offish.

“You can have the spare room. Look, we’d better get a move on, because Elaine – my daughter – will be home soon. Her father – my husband – was killed – two years ago.”

That hit me with a pang. Time was passing, life was moving on without my husband and my feelings could go either way. Grief, to be leaving him behind, relief to be living past the nightmare of loss, happiness to find something new to think about, new people to love. Mixed up emotions, threatening to paralyse or break out when I least expected.

The car skidded as my thoughts galloped away, and I had to slow, stop by the side of the road – quick! – before my vision was blinded by useless tears, by shaking anger and sorrow. Quick! I pulled up behind a wide delivery van, turned off the ignition and sat gazing sightlessly out of the window as a huge pain in my stomach threatened. I forgot the boy sitting quietly at my side, and tears just appeared from no-where and coursed down my cheeks as I clutched my sides, rocking painfully back and forth. God, it was so embarrassing, but I could not stop the tremors of emotion, the clench of my throat.

James handed me a handkerchief from his pocket, which I blew into gratefully. Crumpled cloth hankies, warm and slightly stained, always feel reassuring. Knowing that James understood, I stopped crying as suddenly as I had started. Calm again, I wiped my face, cleaned the salt from my glasses, and signalled to re-join the traffic.

In the companionable silence that followed, I recalled that James had something to tell his dad.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 20

As I drove home I could see children and their parents laughing, holding hands, shuffling along on the pavements and waiting patiently to cross busy roads trimmed with dozens of lights. Young women queued at bus-stops for trips into town. It was Saturday, the weekend, a night for partying. It felt strange to notice other people smiling.

The breakfast dishes were still piled in the sink; and the milk carton left standing on the table reminded me that the whole day had passed in a blur. It would probably be nine o’clock before Alison dropped Elaine home and I felt a small prickle of anxiety. If I wasn’t careful, my daughter would be grown up and away before I knew it. Every day she was more independent, less willing to wait.

Gazing out of the kitchen window into the deep blue shadows broken with smearing orange street lights, I understood how fortunate I was to be living with my darling daughter in my own home, still enjoying good health and able to laugh.

I slipped out to the back garden, to stare at the darkening sky and feel the earth under my feet. As I tripped giddily over tussocks of grass, I heard blackbirds murmuring in the bushes, and saw Sylvester flitting uneasily around stalks near the fence. As he came up, I stroked his back and he arched affectionately around my ankles. “Come in, boy” I murmured, “There’s a tin for you somewhere…”

Companionably we went back to the house. I felt intensely grateful for his eyes following me around the kitchen, his patient purring and his grateful snatching of meaty chunks from the saucer. I gave him more than usual, all of which he swallowed greedily, before licking the saucer clean with his raspy tongue and chasing the dish over the kitchen tiles.

A car door slammed. Elaine was calling goodbye before I’d had a chance to get outside. I ran to the gate just in time to see Alison’s car pulling away from the pavement. I waved, not knowing whether she saw, and then she flashed her lights goodbye.

“How is Arthur, Mum?” Elaine was hoping I would not cry like I had last night.

“He’s much better, love. They moved him to another ward and he slept most of the afternoon. It was good to see him.” He smiled.

“Do you think he’ll be out of hospital soon?”

“Yes, perhaps in a week or two… He will get well as quickly as he can.”

“Good. So life can get back to normal again, hey? Mum, could we go skiing again tomorrow? Alison was wondering if you might like to come too, and then we could all go for lunch after, or something.” She looked at me with an unusual appeal in her face, so that I automatically answered, “Yes, of course I’ll come. I’d love to. I’ll text Alison to check that’s all right with her, though.”

“Cool.”

Children are so willing to overlook neglect, for our promise that we will make it up to them. Elaine might be growing up, but I still had to be there for her. As she spoke quietly into her mobile, I promised that things would return to something like normal. It was time to do Mummy things with her again. I set the table and made pasta Bolognese as Elaine chatted happily about ski jumps, chair lifts and wet gloves sticking to her hands. We turned in early. No telephone calls, no nightmares, no worrying any more. How would that help?

As Elaine clambered into her ski kit again the next morning and fetched her other pair of gloves, I took care brushing my hair and dressed smartly. Driving through quiet streets, it felt inexpressibly wonderful to be in the car with Alison, answering questions about the weather and chatting about how terrible the traffic was, or the road-works. We made it to the slopes early and, as the girls got themselves kitted up, we went to the warm café and ordered hot chocolate. We talked about hospital, heart attacks and trips in taxis and the words came easily. I felt no guilt, no abject grief.

We were home just after six. Beside me, Elaine was removing her ski jacket, scattering clothes and hot socks around the hall. As my heart beat wildly in my chest, I checked the three new messages but none was from the hospital, and why would they be? No-one knew me there. I wasn’t next of kin.

“Hello, could you put me through to Ward 3B please?” There was a long pause, then a distracted, “Can I help you?”

“I was telephoning to check, how is Arthur Thompson?”

“He’s fine. He was awake today, took some water, and is sleeping now. We are watching him, but he’s making good progress…” I didn’t hear much else, but after she had finished speaking, I blurted out a quick, “Oh, thank you so much!” before slamming down the receiver. Feeling ridiculously happy, I tripped up the stair and knocked at Elaine’s bedroom door. She looked tired and flushed, and asked, “What’s for tea?”

What is it with kids? Every day seems to revolve around cooking, eating, clearing away meals and dishes, before the next round of “Muuum, I’m hungry…!” But I hummed as I made a simple ham and onion omelette and set the table.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 19

Two hours later the telephone rang. It was Alison saying, “You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?”

“Yes, Elaine can stay with you for the day, and yes, pasta will be fine for tea. See you about seven?”

Hanging up the phone, a fresh wave of tiredness swept through me. A rest on the sofa would be good… When I woke I felt disorientated. Glancing at my watch, unbelievably it was only twelve o’clock and I was ravenously hungry. I felt my way to the kitchen and gulped peppermint tea, as well as pitta bread with hummus. An apple, a banana and a packet of crisps for added calories, and I felt suddenly greedy and wanted to cry.

Cautiously, I got to the car and turned on the radio. But the cheerful, nostalgic hits from 1976 and 1988 seemed to be all about boogie wonderland, so I clicked off the noise as I turned into the vast hospital car-park. Finding a space near the main entrance, I walked to Ward 15B, trying to resist the urge to break into a run. Skipping edgily past trolleys, walking sticks and slippered women shuffling ever-so-slowly, I got to where I thought I should be.

The bed beside which I had stood so penitently last night was empty, the sheets tucked neatly down, plastic curtain folded firmly out of the way. Somebody was speaking. I realized the voice was mine.

“Where is… Can… Excuse me…?” Back at the reception desk I stood, slightly mad, behind a queue of people.

“Can you tell me where Arthur Thompson is?” I managed.

“You were here yesterday, weren’t you? I’m sure he was transferred.” She flipped through a ring bound folder, consulted a screen.

“Yes, he’s been moved to the ground floor. Ward 3B. Just take the lift, dearie; you look as if you…”

Fleeing along the corridor, I stopped abruptly at the head of the stairwell. About the second step down, I remembered that stairs were much too slow. My feet did their best, one quavering step at a time. I followed signs over my head, arrows on the wall and lines on the floor. There, now, Ward 3B was right in front of me. I asked again at the desk. “Yes,” said a dark-haired nurse with an open, smiling face, “He is just along there, third bed on the right.”

As I was running with my walking stick, I slipped, righted myself, trying not to smile like an idiot. He was here, not dying.

“Arthur?” My voice erupted loudly into his bedside space, breathless with running and dread. “Arthur, Hello.” I tested the words gingerly as I saw the line of his body neatly tucked beneath the sheets, his head lying up on several pillows, lifting his face away. My arms I placed lightly on the curve of his body, watching the lift and fall of his chest.  I watched each sign of movement as a mother might watch for signs of life in a young baby. Each repeat was precious, a sign of continuance and bravery.

Consoled, I retrieved a splay-legged plastic seat from the end of the ward. Seated by his bed, I found the long fingers of his right hand and held them, carefully and lightly, then firmly. A cup of tea appeared at my elbow. I sat back for a change of position. At one point his breathing became very laboured and irregular and then gradually calmed again. I sat near, glancing outside when the sun occasionally threw a particularly bright beam of afternoon light towards us.

Murmured conversations drifted around the other beds; a loud repeated question, an answer thrown back reluctantly. At some point, Arthur turned his head and opened his eyes, anxious to see. His gaze met mine, and he smiled for a moment before his eyes closed and he slept again.

It was getting dark outside. The ward seemed to glow brighter and more intrusive, conversations sounded organized and purposeful as time drifted towards the evening meal. I closed my eyes, dozed and sent a prayer over my recumbent lover and then quietly stood, finally, easing out my aching arms and legs, releasing tension from my shoulders. I knew that there were things to be getting on with, beds to clear and tidy, routines for the hospital as well as at home, so I kissed Arthur firmly on the mouth, whispering, “I’ll be back to see you again, soon,” and began the long walk to the outside.

“Are you okay, dear? You’ve been sitting there an awful long time.”

“Thanks, I’m fine,” I answered politely. I gestured vaguely towards his bed. “Can you tell me whether…?”

“Well, we should see an improvement in the next few days, fingers crossed. Would you like me to see if I can track down the doctor on duty, see if he would have a word with you?”

“That would be lovely–” the wrong word, out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“Have a seat for a moment, I’ll see if I can page her for you…” and she moved away, bending her neck sideways to murmured conversation. “Mrs…?” A discreet cough jolted me out of my dreaming. “Anderson,” I answered automatically.

“And you are – a relative of Mr. Thompson?”

“Not actually. I’m his neighbour.” I looked up into an absurdly young face. She must have been about thirty, though if it hadn’t been for the exhausted pallor, the blue shadows beneath the eyes, I would have put her age nearer seventeen. She made an effort to listen, as I explained that Arthur had no relatives living nearby and that I was his friend.

“Well….” She was weighing up what she might tell me as she took a seat beside me, a gesture that reduced me to tears. She ignored me politely as I dashed them away.

“Mr. Thompson has already been very lucky. He had a cardiac arrest, as you know, but as he has got this far, his chances of a recovery are improving all the time. He is stable, which is hopeful. We are keeping him mildly sedated to minimize stress and are watching his progress.” She spoke so kindly, pausing so that I might hear what she was saying, before waiting for me to rise and steering me more purposefully towards the exit.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 18

Walking out of the front entrance, the light of the evening startled me. I breathed sharp, cool air deeply. Not stopping to lean on a wall, sag down onto my haunches, I finally found a taxi rank and queued, keeping my face blank. I watched others, some tottering with zimmer frames, some in pyjamas, arguing with their nearest and dearest or snatching a puff before shuffling painfully back inside. A pain stuck in the middle of my chest as I heaved myself into an empty cab.

As the taxi turned the corner and climbed the hill of our street, I was on the lookout for lights at the windows. A comforting glow reassured me that Elaine was home, watching television. Through the front door, I sank down on the bottom step of the stairs as she threw her arms around my neck and asked, “Is everything all right? You said we might have pizza tonight, so I looked in the freezer, but there’s only a very small one. Can we get a take away?”

“Yes, whatever you like, love.”

“Great! I’ll have extra ham and pineapple.”

“That’s fine.” Fetching my bank card, I telephoned Giuseppe’s. They were busy, but eventually, I placed the order, feeling as if I had climbed Mount Everest backwards, heavy, exhausted and with a headache from being up a mountain where the air was cold and thin. Shock. Waiting on the bottom stair for the front door bell, I lay my head over my crossed arms. The pizza would be here soon.

Elaine was looking at me, her head tilted sideways as if she was watching a small bird.

A surge of painful adrenalin hit me in the solar plexus and my hands shook wildly. I felt so angry. My hands started mechanically hitting, pummelling my knees before turning to the bannister, striking repeatedly, the staves of wood slapping pain into my palms. Elaine was looking to see what she could do to help. The sight of her worried face forced out the words I needed to explain. Each syllable rose over the ache in my throat. “Sorry, love, I’ve just come from the hospital. Been with Arthur, you know?” She nodded.

“Is he all right, Mum?”

“Yes, well, he – he had a heart attack.”

She’d walked away, but only to fetch a glass of water and bring it like a holy offering. I drank deeply. With exaggerated care, I placed the empty plastic cup to one side before starting to howl noisily, like an animal, relieved to be in my own house, not a flimsy flat with bad sound proofing. I wept and swore blindly, while Elaine watched and waited. When I caught a bit of breath, she threw her arms around me in another warm hug, bringing on a fresh bout of weeping. What a lovely child. I rested with my head in my arms.

A plate appeared beside me with two slices of pizza on it. Elaine must have put them there, so, crying and whimpering into spicy tomato sauce and bits of ham, I did my best with it. If I could have tasted it, I would have thought it a rare treat. Elaine’s thoughtfulness brought fresh tears to my eyes, so I rose and crept to the kitchen to put things into some kind of order. Order, the placing of objects and expectations, can be the start of something less painful, calm found in a pile of pieces. Elaine was reading a book, quietly eating, as I came up behind her and held her tightly.

“It’s been a strange day” I mumbled.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I’ve no idea, not a clue,” I answered with an attempt at lightness.

“I’m going skiing with Clare tomorrow, remember?”

Clutching the beginnings of normality, I asked, “Have you enough cash? Do you need some more?”

“No, I should be fine. I’ve got some saved up.”

“Okay, just ask if you need extra. Um, I’ll probably be at the hospital most of the day, but I can drop you off at Clare’s in the morning, if you like.”

“Yeah, that would be good. About nine o’clock?” she added, filling her mug with water from the tap.

We spent the rest of the evening watching television. Occasionally my eyes would swim with tears. Elaine watched me as much as the TV. Now and then, we would hug. After she had taken herself to bed, I rang the hospital. There a quiet voice calmly informed me that Mr. Thompson was doing as well as could be expected but they would be monitoring his condition closely overnight. I sat up late in bed, reading a book. Wilting on my pillows, I waited out the small hours. I must have dozed off, because when I woke, it was after eight and the room was light.

Had Elaine put the light off? The lamp was lying on the floor. I leapt out of bed. The bulb had smashed and there were shards of glass lying underneath the dented lampshade. Careful in my bare feet, I unplugged the flex, fetched a brush and pan from the kitchen, swept up and then vacuumed the carpet.

The sight of Elaine wearing her salopettes reminded me to hurry, a small line of normality which I clasped with manic enthusiasm. Desperate to feel normal, I threw a large jumper over yesterday’s clothes, which smelled of hospital…

Then oh, yes, Arthur. A fresh bout of tears filled my tired eyes. Propped up at the kitchen sink, I snatched a drink of water and a banana, gagging slightly on the taste, and checked that Elaine had her mobile phone, her gloves and money for a snack. We fussed a bit in the hall over details, while I stroked Elaine’s head fondly before she pulled apart. Grabbing keys, we ran up the path together and ten minutes later we arrived at Clare’s house, where she was waiting outside, twirling her skiing gloves.

“We should be back about lunchtime,” called Alison as the car revved up. I returned to a very quiet house, determined to eat breakfast, listen to the radio and forget, just for a minute or two. I managed to cram two slices of toast with peanut butter and swallow a scalding cup of tea. Then, almost running in my desperation, I sank gratefully into the hot shower as yesterday’s sorrow and my aching head started to clear. Showering off painful memories, I was suddenly aware that I was also washing away the last time Arthur had hugged me and kissed my lips, only yesterday. That made me weep some more, but at least I could rinse the ache of longing softly away with soap. He might never hold me again. Then something jolted me. Come on, girl, weeping may not be needed, after all. Pray! You prayed yesterday, didn’t you?

Prayer..? Seemed a tall order, as I stood naked with the water pelting down over my shoulders and my eyes tightly shut, pleading. But at last, from the idea that someone might be listening, a germ of calm grew, a breath, a moment of stillness.

“Dear God” said I, a lapsed atheist, “Please, help Arthur to get well. Not for my sake, but so that he may find peace and love. Please clothe Arthur in bright healing and fill him with joy. Amen.” It felt like a pretty good prayer, in the circumstances.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 17

As Arthur was pulled away through the wide doors of A & E, the dark clamour within the huge hall made me dizzy. Disorientated by the smells, I sank onto the nearest bench. Thankfully, in the wide, formal space, as well as rows of seats there was a café, a bookshop and a flower-stand selling hopeful blossoms. Just as others did, I found I could accustom myself to waiting. What were we waiting for? If it had not been for tall figures in hospital whites and green-suited technicians dashing about, the place could have been mistaken for an airport concourse.

I Approached the reception desk and asked, “Which ward for acute cardiac admissions?”

A young and overworked receptionist glanced up, answering automatically, “Ward 15B, along that way, through that door, along to the end, and then take the lifts to the first floor,” adding, “Ask at the front desk for new arrivals…” She made it sound so matter-of-fact that I was calmed. Hospitals do that, I suppose. They numb everyone, even the visitors.

Shock made me slow. If I had thought about it, I would have crumpled into a small heap and howled. Somehow I made myself walk calmly, wait while the elevator pinged open, then shut, then carried me silently up the height of a single flight of stairs and opened to let me out beside a large expanse of glass.

“I just came in with Arthur….” I lobbed the words at the first nurse I found, who seemed used to enquiries from traumatized visitors.

“Yes?” she replied pleasantly, “Arthur who?” and I could not remember…

“Arthur…” His name hung painfully alone until thankfully, she supplied the gap.

“There is an Arthur Thompson just being admitted in bay 12. He’s a bit poorly, I’m afraid. If you come with me, I’ll see if they can let you…” She walked ahead of me, her fair head bobbing slightly in time with her stride marked with rhythmic squeaks on the polished floor. She thoughtfully indicated that I might like to take a seat.

After about half an hour, she came back and said, “You can see him for a minute, but I’m afraid, well…” Debating how much she could tell me, she finally dug out a bit of hospital protocol.

“Are you a relative?”

“I’m Arthur’s neighbour. I’ve known him for…” how long had it been? “I’ve known him a while,” I decided. “He and I…” I left it at that, because my eyes were filling with tears.

“You can see him, but please, don’t stay long.”

As quietly as I could, I walked over to the bay she indicated, carefully lifted aside the curtain and let it drop behind me. I was standing at the foot of an enormous bed, on the wrong side, so felt my way gingerly around and then finally dared to look up. Arthur’s face had disappeared beneath a mask which was making rhythmic pulling noises, softly blowing air around his head. His neck and chest looked as I remembered them, but so still.

Under a loosely thrown sheet, I found his fingers, the back of his hand already fitted with nodules and lines for monitoring vital signs… that hand. I swayed, held my breath, desperate not to topple onto delicate contraptions, not to lean and puncture some life-support web.

“Arthur…” I whispered, already dreading the summons to leave. I remembered my courage and spoke with quiet urgency.

“Arthur, hello darling.”  I waited, hoping he could hear, or at least know something.

“I really love you, you know…” I whispered. More loudly I repeated, “I love you so much. I’m sorry I was cross with you. So sorry,” I smiled, because that is what we do when we apologise, isn’t it? I waited, just in case something of him might be watching, weighing whether to drift up through the ceiling and home to his wife.

Glancing at my watch, I saw with alarm that it was nearly six. I retrieved my phone to check for a signal. I had to phone Elaine. “Arthur, I have to go now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Gently I leaned over and kissed him, cheek and forehead, though they wouldn’t have approved, likely. A sick man needs more love than a well one, I thought defiantly.

I stopped at the desk on my way out. “Can I visit Mr. Thompson again? Visiting hours?”

A harassed nurse said, “Well, weekends are a bit more flexible, really, so long as there aren’t too many visitors. Are there likely to be, do you think?”

“No” I mumbled sadly.

“I’m sure that’ll be fine.” She offered a sympathetic smile before turning away.

***

Please share:

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 16

“Vivienne lied to me,” he said.

His voice was just the same, carried away from me by the upstart breeze as we stood in the garden. Maybe a bit less certain, a bit stumbling, but just as I remembered it, even so. I was listening intently, but would not meet his eyes and pulled my face aside as he spoke. Wanting to be up and doing, I was clumsily unfolding and hanging the laundry as he stood beside me, talking. Almost, I was thinking, Well, if he leaves me now, at least I will have hung up these clothes to dry on the first clear morning in months… He steadied me a couple of times as I rocked with the wind, with the weight of wet tops, with the whip of the line.

“Can’t we go and have a cup of tea, just …?”

Silence.

“I’ve been driving since six this morning… Vivienne lied to me, said she was dying. Cancer, she said, and looked thin enough for it. How could I know she wasn’t being truthful? I only found out because I went to the surgery myself for some routine check-ups, and was commiserating with the doctor about her illness… He was surprised – I remember exactly what he said – ‘For a woman her age, she’s in rude health, though she could knock off the booze a bit.’ Turns out she has a ‘drink problem’ and was just using me to pay for her habit. Keeping secrets…lies.”

There was a long pause. High above us the wind kept blowing.

“Please look at me, Marian.”

I couldn’t, not until he came and put his arms around me again, said, “Please,” and lifted my chin. When I looked, I saw only a tired, sad, truthful man.

“Okay,” I said, slowly. I dropped the damp clothes I had been shouldering and held out my arms. I didn’t want to let go as we kissed, at first carefully, gently, and then with more fullness. In full view of the birds, the neighbours and the hydrangea bushes, we kissed, remembering. As shirts flapped lazily and the light flitted, I thought my heart would burst with longing, for love of this man; this man, of all the men who could keep me company. Only his hands would do, only his gentleness.

At length we broke away, both tired, saddened and at peace. “Leave that lot, and come in” I said, staggering slightly as I pushed open the kitchen door. “Elaine is at school, she might be home soon. Half day Friday.”

I went to put the kettle on, when the phone rang again. “Busy, all of a sudden,” I muttered quizzically.

“Hello, Mum?” It was Elaine, saying she was visiting a friend.

“Yes, that’s fine, have fun, love…” My reply was easy, almost automatic. For many weeks now, Elaine had been staying with friends after school on Fridays. Overhearing me, Arthur made tea then sat quietly cradling his head in his hands with tiredness.

“Bog standard all right?” He asked. As if he had never left, he had found the cups and the milk and set it all out with a plate of biscuits. He was so used to doing everything, he hardly knew when to stop.

“Thanks” I said, as I sat beside him. I poured. I could not remember another time when, sitting down beside anyone, I had felt so comforted or so easily understood by anyone except Elaine. And Karl.

“I should start at the beginning…” Arthur’s voice shook slightly.

“You really don’t have to.” Sitting beside him was comfort enough.

“I would like you to understand.”

“It’s okay.”

“For so many years I had no-one to really talk to. I would love you to know.”

“Okay.” I felt tears and fought them away, as feelings of loss and pity overcame me. One tear escaped and slid down my cheek, thankfully on the other side, so Arthur would not see it. I licked it away, taking a sip from my mug as he carried on speaking.

“Vivienne – ” he said the name with obvious distaste. “She is very…plausible, you know? Anyway, the morning I left you…” there was a pause as he was wondering what to say, what to leave out. “I left you early because I did not want your daughter catching us together. I got home and there was this garbled message on the phone. Turns out Viv had been drinking, feeling sorry for herself. She made up this – excuse – to drag me back to see her. Said she had cancer and was dying and I owed it to her and our son to come down and look after her until she…well, until she died.”

“History repeating itself?”

“Perhaps she just knew that was my weakness. A woman in distress has always got past my reason. I feel a fool for going.”

“Well, at least you are home now. No harm done, I take it?”

“No, except to poor James. She leans on him so badly and is never especially grateful or kind to the boy. She seems to think that she can ask him to do anything. Once she even insisted that he take her to a bogus hospital appointment. She kept him waiting for a couple of hours at oncology outpatients. She just went to the café and read a book, then came staggering out looking sorry for herself. I was so angry with her when I found out, that I just threw all my stuff in the boot, took a detour to see James” – his voice shook – “and drove straight back.”

Feeling suddenly grateful and slightly ashamed, I leaned into him.

Well, I’m very glad. Would you like to, I dunno…” Abruptly, I was silenced. Arthur looked tired and sad.

“Why don’t we go round to yours and you can get yourself sorted? Elaine will probably be away most of the afternoon.”

“Would that be okay? I might be a while sorting out my mail and stuff, but I would appreciate the company.”

I gathered my keys and my coat, and then we walked together rather awkwardly down, round and up our paths to his front door. A grin split my face.

“What’s that for?

“For you, for coming home,” I sang.

Arthur fumbled for his keys, dropped them and bent to retrieve them from his front step. As he did, he toppled forward and hit his head, which clonked on the wooden door. He knelt, looked up and grimaced, tears glistening and falling over his cheeks. “Sorry, a bit of a pain…” he croaked, trying to rise to his feet.

“Are you all right?” an anxious feeling reared up, wondering what had happened.

“Tell you what, just you go in.” He pushed the front door ajar and I went ahead, stepping over papers and envelopes on the hall carpet. My eyes were taking a while to adjust in the gloom so I glanced back at the outside brightness and saw Arthur clutching at his chest, heaving a breath and trying to look as if nothing was wrong.

I scampered fearfully to the hall phone and rang 999. In a voice that was calm and not like mine at all, I asked for an ambulance, gave the address and confirmed it was a suspected cardiac arrest and an emergency. I went out to hold Arthur’s hand. Out on his pathway we waited, as the minutes passed until finally, an ambulance arrived and in a noise and a scuffle of bright lights, two strange men appeared asking questions. .

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Arthur…”

“This your wife?”

“No, sorry… Come with me?” He gripped my hand and obviously didn’t want to let go.

“Yes, I’ll come, but I’ll need my handbag…” As Arthur was wrapped up, fitted with an oxygen mask and lifted into the back of the ambulance, I flitted home, fumbled with the front door key and grabbed my bag, doing my best not to weave and fall in my panic.

I sat mute by the side of the gurney as we blue-lighted it through the streets. My eyes fixed on Arthur’s face, on the veins stranding loyally down his neck; on watching his chest rising and falling, his arms moving fretfully; I held his hand, whispered in his ear above the noise, and prayed. I prayed for a miracle because I loved him.

***

Please share: