Matthew looked away, detaching himself from the unwelcome sensation of touch, Matthew pushed and pulled his arms as instructed. His strength didn’t look lacking to Debbie’s eyes, and the satisfactory outcome was confirmed by another affirmation of, “Good,” from Doctor Kay.
It was the doctor’s turn to display discomfort as he asked Matthew to remove his shoes and socks, but despite his having been on the streets for months, the effluvium proved less offensive than expected. Doctor Kay used the handle of his rubber mallet to scratch the soles of Matthew’s feet, his toes curling in response gained satisfied nods.
“I’ll arrange for a nurse to take some bloods. Once we’ve got the results back, we’ll know more about why he doesn’t appear to remember everything we’d like.” He smiled at Debbie, the high pitch of his voice still reverberating the room. “I’d like him to stay in…”
“NO!” Matthew yelled. “I’m fine.”
“Matthew! Don’t start being difficult again. I won’t have it, you hear?” the doctor yipped
Matthew sat back to appease the doctor, but the notion to run still flashed in his eyes.
“We need to do some tests. You may have had a bump to the head.”
“I haven’t,” Matthew spat.
“Or you might be diabetic, or there might be underlying problems.”
“I’m fine. I haven’t had a knock to the head. I’m not diabetic. I’m fine!”
The doctor sighed and flashed an anxious pout in Debbie’s direction. It was the first time he’d included her since they’d arrived.
“Can’t I just take him home? I’m sure that would be best,” Debbie’s eyes pleaded.
“I’m sorry. I can’t advise that, Mrs Morrissey.”
“But we’ve missed him so. I think getting back home might be the best thing for him.”
Doctor Kay patted his top lip covered by matted moustache. “I’m really worried about him, Mrs Morrissey. Why don’t I run a few tests and we’ll go from there?”
Debbie turned to her husband. “That would be okay, wouldn’t it Matt? Get the bloods taken. Make sure you’re okay before I take you home?”
“I’m fine!” he seethed. “…But okay. Run your tests.” He sunk back on the examination table and awaited his fate.
The doctor disappeared to find a nurse to bring him what he needed for taking samples of blood. The grim silence between the pair left in the room gnawed at Debbie’s heart as she fought not to cry.
When the doctor returned with the nurse and a stainless steel trolley laden with sharps boxes and kidney bowls and other packages, the room filled quickly.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside the room; perhaps go to the dayroom at the end of the corridor. I’ll come and get you when we’re done.”
Debbie glanced back at her husband as she left the room. He couldn’t care less that she’d gone.
Muddled emotions swirled inside her leaving her nauseous. It was great to have Matthew back. But now she was rushed headlong into desperate worry for his health. She was expecting too much. Just as she was preparing to give in to the risk that she might never see him again, here he was. And he was in one piece. Whatever was wrong with his mood could be put right, she was sure of it.
As they’d talked about for months, the stress of Abi’s illness whilst growing the business into the million pound success story it had become had pushed him over the edge. It wasn’t a weakness. He wasn’t a weak person. It just showed he’d taken his strength for granted for too long. They all had.
She would never take him for granted again. Although she hadn’t realised she ever had, she could see it now. Whilst she’d had the chance to spend time with Abi, he’d been forced away with work. And she’d had the opportunity for grief, and later for joy too when she’d made her miraculous recovery.
The assumption they were feeling the same thing had been a mistake. Not talking had been a mistake. And this was the result. Something about Christmas Day, maybe even how perfect it had been, had flicked a switch in Matthew’s brain and given it permission to feel all that he had missed. No wonder it overwhelmed him.
Shutting himself off was what he did. It wasn’t something Debbie had witnessed in eleven years together, but he had form. Her in-laws had known, and whilst she’d resented every word, they had been right. It wasn’t a bad thing. He’d recovered before and he’d do it again.
The doctors would know what to do. There’d be a plan. And she could make super-sure they did everything possible to help. This time next year it would all be behind them. Her own mother had a nervous breakdown when her father died ten years ago. And no-one could call her weak. Her dominance in the male-dominated area of law and its implementation in industry had been legendary—still was. Her embarrassment at not coping had surprised everyone.
It was a distant memory now, but maybe she was troubled still. A pang of guilt wounded Debbie realising she didn’t know. They didn’t talk either. A new blame was taking shape, and Debbie was becoming sure it was hers. “Stop it. You have to stay strong; for Matthew.”
In the spirit of doing the right thing, she was pained by more self-reproach that she’d been with Matthew for ages and hadn’t even let her family know. Part of her wanted to keep it to herself. Their almost-contempt in their certainty Matthew had not coped and it was ‘GCSE’s all over again riled her. Now they’d been proved correct, she didn’t want to hear the inevitable ‘I told you so’s’. But it was wrong not to have told them as soon as she’d known. They showed it in a different way but they were upset too.
The payphone in the corner beckoned. She could phone them right now and tell them all about it, keeping some of the details to herself for now. At least until the prognosis was clearer. Fumbling in her pockets for coins, she pulled four or five pound coins and fifty pence pieces from the depths of her jeans pocket; more than enough to phone home.
Mary picked up after three rings, but Debbie was unable to speak.
“Debbie! Where are you? We’ve been worried sick!”
There was no covering her emotion as planned. She could barely get the words out. “Sorry,” she began. “It’s Matthew…” Realising her dour tone would provoke severe anxiety, Debbie did her best to hurry. “The police came to get me…” she rasped. I’m making this worse, she tried to rush on. “He’s fine. A bit confused, but physically well…”
“Oh my god! Mandy! Alan! They’ve found Matthew!” And it was difficult not to grin in the face of their exuberant celebrations. The phone rattled as from the other end of the line they jumped around, screaming in delight.
“When’s he coming home? When can we see him?”
The positivity rubbed off on Debbie, freeing her constricted throat enough to talk more lucidly. “Like I say, physically he seems okay, but they just want to check he’s not malnourished, or had a bump to the head or something. They’ll probably keep him in tonight, just to run whatever tests they need.”
Pouncing like a hunter to a wounded prey, Mary barked, “Bump on the head? Why? What’s he saying?”
Playing it down, Debbie explained, “Well, that’s just it. He’s not really saying a lot. And he’s really edgy.” She didn’t say he couldn’t remember her. It made her too sad, and who knows, he might piece it all back together really quickly. She might return to a much warmer welcome.
The door swung open, and a nurse popped her head in. “We’ve finished with Matthew for now,” she didn’t pause in interrupting the phone call. “Sorry it took a while! Not very forthcoming veins.” She wandered off again before Debbie could finish up. She would have liked to ask a few questions.
“I’ll have to go now, Mary. The nurse has just come in. I’ll phone again when I know more.”
“Wait! When can we come and visit him…” Debbie heard as she was replacing the receiver. Ignoring her, she let the phone go click.
Hurrying after the nurse, she was shocked she was already out of sight when she stepped from the day room. Breat
hless, she craned to see in both directions. Giving up, there was no way to guess her route so she headed back down the ward to the little room where she’d left Matthew. Eyes narrowing, her racing heart dismayed her. Why was she being so negative?
When she pushed open the door, she hung her head before lifting her eyes to gaze upon her husband. With heart-stopping shock, she flinched at his absence. “Oh, Matthew! Where are you?”
Through the pane of glass in the door, the calm scene at the nurses station; files open with frowning faces poring over them, told her they were unaware of Matthew’s absence. With a sigh and a smile, she thought, unless he’s just gone to the toilet, or been taken for a scan or something. Shaking her head, she approached the nurses’ station.
Behind the desk, the car park was visible through a small square of window in the staffroom. Gazing out, waiting for one of the busy nurses to have time to attend her, she was about to speak as one looked up when what she saw through the glass turned her to jelly.
“Can I help you?”
Debbie didn’t answer. She didn’t have time.
“Sorry… Excuse me… Sorry,” Debbie scurried down the corridor. Where was the exit? Why was it so confusing? On instinct, she followed a gaggle of what appeared to be visitors on their way out. Her hunch proved correct. As she stood at the front of the hospital, there was no longer any sign of Matthew. “Shit!”
Hands in double salute shielded her eyes from the sun. Scrutinising the street in both directions, there was no sight of him. Coming so close only to lose him again was too cruel. Stepping into the road, she had to find him. She’d seen him a minute before, he can’t have gone far.
But of course he could have. Even though he’d been seen ambling slowly, that would have been so not arouse suspicion. Out of sight of the door, he could have hurried away in any direction. How on earth was she going to find him now?
The sob working its way from deep within wounded as it stretched Debbie’s insides, rising through her body to her throat. As it heaved upwards, Debbie’s face creased to squeeze it out.
Even as her desolation creaked into the air, her eyes focussed like hawks. With a sudden gasp, she sucked back her wail as luck leaned on her side. Squinting in the afternoon light, she stopped herself rushing to him when she saw Matthew not far away at all. She knew he might run if he saw her, but why? He was confused and distressed, she knew, but what could she do to help him? He needed to go back to hospital and get the medicine to make him right again.
Using passing cars as cover, Debbie ducked down lower than their rooflines. Matthew hadn’t seen her. Keeping a distance, but with him in sight, she allowed him to walk further away. She wanted to see where he was heading, and she didn’t know what she’d even say to him when she caught him.
He crossed this road and that, into shops and out. If anyone from the hospital came out to find him, they would stand no chance. The crowds of people rushing into Cabot Circus, shopping, or grabbing a bite to eat on their lunch break, stared at Matthew, his grubbiness marking him out as one of the homeless who hung around begging for money. Debbie wondered if he was going to approach the people crossing the street as had happened to her countless times.
She’d felt guilty and donated the pound for a cup of coffee on many occasions, but their brazen confidence; threatening almost, had made her avoid their attention. Now she watched to see if her husband was one of them.
Keeping his head down, his face was obscured by the tatty hood of his coat; where had he even found such an item? Debbie observed as he glanced in shops along the way. Was he remembering the numerous occasion’s they’d shopped in the expensive boutiques? Picking up a designer handbag at Michael Kors, browsing round Jack Wills and Ted Baker’s stores before lunching on the top floor of Harvey Nicks with its award winning food and views over the city?
If he was, then what he did next was even more bizarre. Pausing at a gourmet hot-dog and burger bar at the end of the line of expensive street food that was all the rage, he didn’t join the line and order. He plunged his hand into the bin at the end and grabbed two or three polystyrene containers.
Scurrying away, he plonked himself into a doorway of an office building and proceeded to scoop leftover sausage ends and cold fries into his mouth. As he scoffed the revolting leftovers, passers-by threw money near him, muttering about the poor man as they walked by.
But he wasn’t a poor man. He was likely the richest man in the street! Why was he doing this? What had happened to him?
Chapter Thirty-three
Debbie crossed the road towards the doorway, keeping Matthew firmly in her sight. When she reached him, he didn’t look up until she spoke.
“Why are you doing this? Eating out of bins! For pity’s sake, Matthew.”
“Go away.” His eyes diverted back to the cover of the raggedy hood. “Leave me alone.”
“Matthew,” she said softly. “I don’t know what’s happened to you… what you’ve been through, but it’s over now.” She sighed at her simplification. “It can be.”
Detecting no movement in response, Debbie had no choice but to continue her persuasion. “You’re not well, Matthew. The doctors at the hospital…” she didn’t get to finish the sentence when Matthew threw the boxes of food debris into the air in frustration. As they fluttered back to earth without a bump, Debbie wondered if he was amused or extremely disgruntled at their lack of drama.
“No!” he spat, aware the soft food trays may not have made the point sufficiently. “I’m not going back there!”
Debbie dropped to her haunches and instinctively placed her hand on Matthew’s arm. “Okay. Come back home with me. You’ll feel better there.”
“I don’t want to.”
Debbie scowled. “You’d rather stay on the streets and eat your dinner from bins than come home to your family?”
“Family! I haven’t got a family!”
This was harder than she thought. “Matthew. My love. You do. You have a family who love you very much.”
“Why are you doing this? Who sent you? How do you know my name?”
Debbie sighed. “I know everything about you, Matthew. I’m your wife.” Matthew snorted. “Born 31st July 1981 in Wexford Road, Bristol to Alan and Mary Morrissey… Sister, Mandy, born…” she had to think to remember, “born 8th January 1988…”
“Stop it! Stop it! Don’t you talk about them. You hear me? Don’t!”
Debbie had never seen this side to Matthew, but his reaction at mention of his blood family suggested these problems went deeper than she realised. “Would you like to see them? They’re all staying with me… us. In our lovely home. They can’t wait to see you. And Abi…”
“My mum and dad and sister are staying at our house. That’s what you’re saying?”
Debbie nodded. Matthew looked down at his hands, holding them out as though seeing them in a new light. Something she’d said had got through to him, she was sure. Holding out a hand, she stood, the blood rushing back into her legs giving her pins and needles. “Come on,” she invited.
To her immense delight and surprise, Matthew took her hand and allowed himself to be helped up. Striding hand in hand towards the nearby taxi rank, Debbie stopped at the first one and pushed Matthew inside. Leaping in herself, she closed the door before addressing the driver.
“Twelve, Clifton Down Road, please.”
The taxi-driver’s eyebrows raised as he nodded, “Posh,” he declared, pulling out into the line of traffic, then creasing his face as the whiff of his blatantly un-posh passenger reached his nostrils. Winding down the window, he drove off with a scowl etched on his face.
Matthew stared out of the window. The tall buildings drawing his eyes skywards. Bustling river-side bars and cafes took Debbie’s eye, remembering all the times they’d walked hand-in hand beside the water, enjoying some pre-show drinks or a bite of something delicious to eat.
It was a strange thing to hark back to because it had been the early days of Marsden-Morrisse
y’s success. And before Abi’s terrible diagnosis. It’s like she wanted to erase those two years and plonk the family into the scene that would have unfolded if the leukaemia had never happened.
Turning her head further towards the window, she hid a tear as it tracked down her cheek. They’d come through the other side until Matthew’s tangent from wellness took all her focus again. It had been hard. Desperately hard. Her throat thick with the pain of it all, a flood of salty orbs followed the route scouted by the first, she tasted their bitterness as they skirted her quivering lips.
At some point during the journey home, their hands had separated and Matthew sat, insular, as far from her as the confines of the back seat allowed. Debbie tried not to care. She was bringing Matthew home. Everything was going to be alright. She had to believe it, her very being depended on it.
The scenery opened to green fields, the river snaking its seventy-five mile length through the nineteen miles from source to sea as the crow flies, cutting its steep, rocky gorge that had delighted them as the view from the magnificent home.
Would Matthew find joy in it again, seeing it now, the bridge that he’d stared at for hours in wonder in his love affair with the great Isambard Kingdom Brunel, his hero and his inspiration? A glance across revealed needle-sharp eyes staring at the iron structure, but there was no joy there. It was unclear what he was feeling looking at Brunel’s masterpiece, but it certainly was not joy.
Debbie’s heart sank. Who was this stranger? Would he ever return to the Matthew she knew and adored? It had been hours. Not months, the little voice of reason raised its hand in Debbie’s head. Give him a chance!
With a smile, Debbie accepted she had to reign her expectations. Whatever he’d been through would take more than a drive through the city to overcome. She was in for the long haul, determined to help him become well again.
“Here we are!” she declared triumphantly as the taxi drew to a stop outside the wide driveway of twelve, Clifton Down Road. Its tower of stone bay windows looming above them, displaying a quiet confidence in the stunning scenery they knew they commanded.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 18