‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 28

Gradually, the story of Arthur’s time in hospital came out, in bits and pieces, as we were making cups of tea or gathering up armfuls of laundry.

Arthur moved back home, after a fashion, to collect his mail and have his own space from time to time. But most days, we were together. I knew that Arthur might have forgotten a great deal about his life before his heart attack, and that he might feel confused or emotional. I was prepared for that.

So I was a bit taken aback by his calm silence and sheer agreeableness. I expected that cardiac convalescents were supposed to be tetchy, variable as the shade by aspens made but no, Arthur was the soul of peaceful gratitude.

“I went to heaven, you know, when I was asleep in the hospital. I just floated away – I could see them all around the bed, working so hard on my body, and I wasn’t there.” Sipping tea, Arthur shook his head, mildly incredulous. “I was watching the whole performance, somewhere up near the light fittings, probably. I could see the nurses’ pins in their hair… Lilian met me when I arrived in this place filled with white light. She looked radiant, so bright, filled with joy. She showed me where she was living, and how she was still around to help, often, and that there was nothing to feel sorry about. She says she visits, and helps to make sure things work out. She likes to remind me to water the plants, because she can hear them screaming when they get thirsty, she says.”

I was surprised, but his explanation answered a few of my own questions. “Yes, I can see that meeting Lilian again would make everything brighter.”

“Yes…” Lost in his memories, he abruptly resumed, “But you see, she also showed me that we visit Heaven all the time, in our dreams. She showed me how light moves, so powerfully. When we are happy, we light up with the same kind of light. Such colours! Everything is very intense, so bright. She knows how hard it was for us both, all those years. She also said,” he paused, almost embarrassed, “She said we can make heaven here, too, and that she wants us to be happy.”

“That feels about right,” I answered, though my words came out muffled. Impulsively, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Arthur, I was wondering… I was hoping that maybe we might…get married some time. Would you like that?”

The silence stretched for so long that I was unsure whether he had heard. When he finally looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears. “I thought you might not want to. I thought that perhaps… you would feel…”  In answer, I just gripped his fingers tight.

We have our family now. We see Jamie often. He comes up to visit when he can. Jamie’s habit of ignoring playground jibes seems to have rubbed off on Elaine. Though she remains hesitant, she can hold her own in a playground spat. She is also helping the school to set up a playground buddying scheme so that bullying gets spotted early and is reported to the school.

We have been down to visit Vivienne. I wish you could have seen her face when Arthur said, “I’d like you to meet my wife.” She is very ill now, though. The years of alcohol abuse and not eating properly have caught up with her. Though we help her when we can, we don’t feel guilty about leaving her. We just do what we can, and frankly, Vivienne has had to grow up a bit. It is an enormous weight off Arthur’s shoulders and I can see him looking younger every day, without that to worry about.

We are keeping both of our houses, just for now. There’s no hurry to sell up.

***

THE END

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 27

Elaine was home when we got back, and thoughtfully met us at the door. Seeing her wide smile, I wanted to sweep her into a hug and ask her how the day had gone, but before I could, she was taking bags from me and diligently placing them out of the way.

“Come in, Mum!” She smiled shyly at Arthur as he nodded, suddenly self-conscious at our impromptu welcoming committee.

Though Arthur stood quiet, his eyes gradually warmed to the scene. Clearly, he was pleased to be away from the pale walls and sluggish warmth of the hospital. He shrugged his shoulders tiredly as I carefully took his coat and slung it over the bannister. “Let’s have a nice cup of tea, shall we?” Arthur nodded slightly, gratefully, and followed me through to the back of the house as if suddenly afraid he might get lost, detached.

We were all feeling emotional, I think, when James suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Dad!” He tried not to sound too excitable. “How are you, Dad? What are you doing home?” His face registered open astonishment, delight and worry all at once.

“They’ve let me out, at last,” Arthur replied, clearly equally amazed to see his son. It was just as well he was standing near the kitchen units, or the shock might have tipped him off his feet, but he managed to shake his son’s hand, pull him into an embrace and kiss his cheeks fondly.

“It’s lovely to see you, James, Lovely.”

“You too, Dad.”

“How – I mean, why are you here?”

“Well, Marian asked me to come down for a few days, just to help out.” James winked at Elaine who smiled broadly at him and was laughing quietly into her hands.

“So!” Arthur nodded, “We’re all together, are we?” He looked speculatively at Elaine grinning, at James hovering, ever so slightly furtive, and at me, pouring boiling water into a teapot.

“Yes, my darling. We didn’t plan it quite that way, though. Elaine, do you want to tell me what happened today?” I smoothly took the focus away from Arthur so that he could relax a bit, and Elaine launched happily into her story.

“Well, you see, Mum, when we got to school, Jamie was playing the fool, running about and yelling a bit, drawing attention to himself, I think. We were mucking about, when Susan walked past.” Elaine burst out laughing, and could hardly speak for giggles. “When she saw us, she slowed right down, and I could see she was just dying to -”

“She was being totally nosy,” said James, “desperate to know who I was, and what I was doing there, all the usual stuff. But of course I just smiled. Elaine called out, “Hello, Susan!” and carried on walking past. You should have seen her face!”

“And all through class today, they kept away from me, and then, after lunch, Susan comes right out and asks, ‘Who was that boy?’ and I just said, really casual, you know, ‘Oh, just a friend.’ I could tell she was desperate for details, and annoyed that I would not tell her, but why should I? She is just a nosy cow. Oh, and you should have seen her face when Jamie was waiting for me after school! He just gave me a great big hug, like he had so been missing me, and he took my bag and we walked home together really slowly.”

“Thank you, Jamie,” I said, knowing he would have enjoyed his part. “As tomorrow is Friday, I was wondering… When are you thinking of heading back to Uni?”

“Well, I should really get back, so maybe I could go to the station after Elaine’s at school on Monday. Would that be okay?”

“That would be just – just perfect, James, thank you so much.” I turned to face the counter so that he would not see how relieved I was. Knocking open cupboards and banging drawers – noisy displacement activity – I hoped no-one noticed my eyes misting over with tears, again.

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 26

After almost three weeks, and despite occasional setbacks, I knew that Arthur would soon be leaving hospital and I was excited at the prospect. Set against the receding danger of any relapse, the benefits of being in his personal space, where he could rest, eat good food and take gentle exercise, looked increasingly attractive. I had visited almost every day, and despite the familiarity of our routines, it was tiring to sit with polite, stilted formality, careful of every word. I wanted to kick back and relax, sing, smile and see Arthur laughing again.

That afternoon, I arrived at the ward earlier than usual, to find Arthur fully dressed and waiting expectantly by his bed, his hair combed neatly and his jacket flung over the neatly folded sheets.

“Hoping to leave today, then?” I asked, smiling broadly.

“Yes, I think so,” he mumbled.

“Has the doctor been in to see you?”

“Not yet. Been waiting a while.”

“I’ll just go and check.” I scurried back along the corridor. “Excuse me, is Mr. Thompson leaving today?”

“Yes, That’s right. But Dr Semple is running a little late.”

“How long has he been waiting?”

“A couple of hours, maybe?”

I glanced at my watch, which showed 2.15. “I have to be away by four. Is there any chance of that?”

“I should think so,” she considered, “It shouldn’t be long.” .

I fetched us tea which Arthur sipped placidly but without enjoyment. We went for a short walk, he glanced at an old crossword, gazed out of the window. He was jumpy, perhaps dreading to hear, “I’m sorry, it’s too late to go home today, it’ll have to be tomorrow.” Eventually, a thin, tired-looking young man hove in view, almost running along the corridor. He introduced himself with the minimum of formalities.

“Mr. Thompson? Sorry to keep you waiting. There are just a few papers for you to sign…” Dry Semple pulled sheets out of a manila folder and laid them out over the bed. Arthur penned his signatures with a brave flourish, though his hands wobbled and his fingers slipped around the unfamiliar, slick barrel of the pen. Released at last, he offered a formal handshake, murmuring a few words of thanks.

I was waiting with his coat slung over my arm. We walked slowly down the ward, past the desk and to the lifts, then along the gloomy main corridor and out into bright sunlight. He wobbled a couple of times, dizzy after spending so long lying in bed, but we took our time. I knew he was happy to be outside at last. I hugged him gently as two single tears rolled over his cheeks. Carefully, we drove home.

***

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‘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.

***

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‘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.

***

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‘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?

***

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‘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.

***

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‘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.

***

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‘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.

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‘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.

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