‘I know that look, boy.’ Mr Peterson prodded him in the arm. ‘You’re going soft on her, aren’t you?’
‘No’ – although Alfie’s voice was less than convincing – ‘but let’s just say if I had a mum like that, I think I’d have a few issues too. I reckon there’s more to her than we think …’
‘Hmmmm. Whatever you say, kid. Seems to me she’s more trouble than she’s worth, but hey, who am I to judge?’ He held his hands up in acceptance.
‘You, Mr P, are a grumpy old man who is rubbish at crosswords, that’s who!’ Alfie laughed and thrust the puzzle book under his friend’s nose. ‘Five across is HUMOROUS and twelve down is DISCOMBOBULATE,’ he declared smugly.
‘I’ll discombobulate you in a minute …’
*
Luckily for Alfie, the afternoon came around quickly. It was Sunday, and Sundays were Alfie’s favourite day. They had been since the dawn of time because Sundays meant one thing and one thing only … Jane Mack’s roast dinner. A meal that was cooked to absolute perfection and seasoned with more love than one person should be capable of holding. He’d witnessed old men tear up at the taste of his mum’s potatoes. He’d seen raging children silenced by a lick of her gravy. The family would swear that just a morsel of her chicken could cure any illness. Now, Alfie could practically taste his mother’s desperation for a cure for his disability rubbed into its skin.
Pre hospital life, Alfie would show up at his parents’ house without fail at 3 p.m. He would be able to smell the garlic and onion from the driveway, and his stomach would be screaming as he knocked on the door. His mum knew there was a strict fifteen-minute window in which the food needed to be plated up, or she would risk facing an onslaught of whining and grumbling.
That first Sunday when she turned up with a silver tray packed with her finest roast dinner, Alfie couldn’t help but cry. He loved his mum so deeply that it sometimes took his breath away. In the whirlwind of operations, tests, technical terminology and limb loss, all Alfie had wanted was the comfort of home. His wonderful mother, without even needing to be asked, gave it to him quite literally on a silver (foil) platter.
At first Alfie assumed this was a one-off treat. A gift to remind him of how loved he was, and how life on the ward could still feel like home. It was only after the fourth weekend in a row of roast dinners that he realized this was going to become a regular feature. Like clockwork, at 3 p.m. Jane Mack would show up with piles of delicious treats. As is customary for mothers to do, she always made too much and soon, along with the mountains of food came extra plates and cutlery.
‘Do us a favour, would you, Alfie, and see if anyone else would like a plate? We really have got too much for the three of us.’
Alfie would look at his dad, who’d simply roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders. There was no use fighting her, especially when food was involved, so off Alfie would go, asking the other patients whether they’d like any food; it was always a resounding yes. Every week, the moment the smell of gravy wafted through from reception the energy in the room would lift. It was that same unique fervour that bubbled up at Christmas. Excitement and anticipation. And it was all thanks to his parents. He knew then that every bit of goodness he had inside him came from them.
This week was no different. Hidden behind platters of food, his mum and dad bustled into the ward to raucous cheers. Commotion ensued, with spoonfuls of food being dished out here, there and everywhere. It was only when everyone was in that wonderful contented silence of eating that his mum noticed the curtains drawn around the cubicle next to him.
‘Do you have a new neighbour, Alf?’ She was already reaching for a spare plate to pile high with food.
‘Yeah, but we’ve been told to steer clear. She’s not one for talking.’ He tried to keep his voice as low as possible.
‘Hmmm. Talking, maybe not, but eating is a different matter entirely.’
Alfie knew it was pointless trying to stop her. He watched as his mum knocked on the curtain. When she realized that rapping on cloth was a fruitless exercise, she plucked up the courage to speak.
‘Excuse me, dear. I don’t want to disturb you, but I’ve got a plate of Sunday roast here if you’d like it?’
Nothing.
‘I could always leave it with the nurses for them to bring over?’
Silence.
‘No? Are you sure, sweetheart? It’s my special chicken!’
Not even the whisper of a breath.
Dejected, Alfie watched his mum turn back to face him. He was about to open his mouth to reassure her when, as if by magic …
‘No, I’m OK but … thank you for asking.’
15
Alice
It took her a moment to register the words as they came out of her mouth. How unsettling it was to talk again! Everything felt alien: the vibration in her throat, the movement of her jaw, and most of all the sound of her voice. Any softness had gone. It was scratchy and harsh, as though her vocal cords were clawing at one another in protest. She didn’t know whether it was the dire interaction with her own mother that had made her nostalgic, or whether it was the delicious smell of roast chicken, but she couldn’t help but be moved by the kind lady and her offer of food.
Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, there was a memory of what family was. It was faded and worn out from being neglected for so long that sometimes Alice forgot it even existed, but in that moment it sprang back to life in full colour. She remembered how it felt to be part of something. A protected tribe. Then she remembered the woman who had stood before her only hours earlier, and she was reminded why she hid the memory in the back of the cupboard. Out of sight and out of mind.
After it happened she couldn’t help resenting those who still had a ‘stable’, ‘normal’ family. When she would leave school and see the children running into their parents’ arms, she couldn’t keep the acidic envy from bubbling up inside her stomach. They looked picture perfect. Puzzle pieces fitting together so seamlessly that she wanted to rip them apart and break them, so they didn’t go together any longer. She wanted to take one for herself and never give it back. Where did she fit in now? All the pieces had been lost or destroyed or forgotten.
As she grew up, the anger subsided. It took too much energy to hold on to it and so slowly but surely, she let it go. As long as she didn’t have to be involved with her own family, other people’s no longer bothered her. In fact, they intrigued her. It was like a riddle she needed to analyse and solve. She’d firmly convinced herself that she didn’t need a family to be happy. Why did she need family when she had Sarah?
The image of her best and only friend flashed up in her mind.
Alice knew it was stupid not to give the hospital Sarah’s mobile number, but the thought of facing Sarah looking like this, with her life in pieces and her independence gone, was too painful. Alice had planned to have absolutely no visitors during her time at St Francis’s; in her mind it would be far easier to deal with this alone. She’d been forced to give a next of kin, but had conveniently only provided an old landline for Sarah, who was living halfway around the world in Australia with her husband Raph.
Every morning the nurses would ask her if there was anyone else they could call. They would enquire about other family members, even work colleagues. Alice refused. No need to bother anyone else. Although as the days passed, she did wonder if Sarah was getting concerned. They’d usually text back and forth every few days, her friend often sending through pictures of implausibly beautiful beaches to make Alice jealous. Where was her phone anyway? Before the accident she’d never been without it; in fact, Sarah used to joke that Alice’s iPhone was the only real relationship she’d had in her adult life.
She racked her brain, trying to remember if any of the doctors or fire officers had mentioned its whereabouts. Suddenly she felt lost without it – what if someone had been trying to get hold of her?
Don’t be silly, Alice. They don’t tend to make severely burnt employees w
ork while in hospital.
Without the focus of a project or two hundred emails to sift through, her rest was quickly becoming restlessness.
Then it struck her cold in the chest. Would she ever be able to go back to work?
Right now she could barely get herself up and out of bed without the help of other people. Would she ever get the full movement back in her left side? What if she couldn’t use her hands properly again? Her fingers twitched, longing to feel the keys of her computer keyboard moving furiously underneath their tips. Would she be able to muster the confidence needed to walk into a boardroom of thirty disinterested men and grab their attention in less than a minute? God, how good it felt to be totally in control and in command. She dared to look down at her broken body, raising her hand in front of her face, wiggling her fingers in the hope that the skin wouldn’t twinge in agony. But it did. It always did.
16
Alfie
What a turn of events! In the last twenty-four hours Alfie had got more insight into his silent neighbour than he could have ever hoped for. Sure, the meeting with her mother wasn’t a pleasant experience to witness, but she’d spoken! She’d actually spoken to him. Well, technically to his mum, but still it was progress. Alfie knew he had to seize the opportunity and strike while the iron was hot. This was a tricky situation to navigate, but if anyone could do it, Alfie was confident it would be him.
The next morning, as soon as he clocked Nurse Angles with her short dark curls and unapologetically large frame enter the ward, he was up on his crutches and hobbling towards her. He’d been awake before the crack of dawn after another night of particularly vivid flashbacks had left him unable to settle.
‘Alfie, honey, what the hell are you doing up? It’s not even 6 a.m.’
‘I know. Bad dreams again, I couldn’t sleep.’
She gave him a knowing look he wanted to avoid.
‘Are you speaking to the doctors about these properly, Alfie?’
There was no point getting into it right now. The dreams would come again, meaning there would be plenty of time to discuss them in the future.
‘Yes, of course I am. Anyway, listen, you’ll never guess who spoke to us yesterday?’ He didn’t even give her the chance to think. ‘Alice! The lady in bed thirteen!’
‘Really?’
She couldn’t keep the surprise from her face.
‘Really really.’ Alfie was so proud of himself his chest felt fit to burst.
‘Well, that is good news.’ Her voice was measured, almost flat.
‘Good news? It’s amazing news! This is a woman who hasn’t spoken in weeks!’
Why was she looking at him like that? Why wasn’t she exploding with excitement? Surely this was what the whole nursing staff had wanted?
‘Alfie, I know that look in your eyes. Of course it’s great that she’s started to speak, and over time, little by little, I’m sure she’ll say more. But don’t go obsessing over this, OK? You can’t force it. Let her be, honey. Please, we spoke about this, remember?’
Alfie dropped his gaze to the floor. His shoulders slumped as all of the enthusiasm fell out of him. His childish excitement now felt a little embarrassing.
‘I know. I just thought it was good progress.’
What was he expecting, a gold star?
‘It is good progress, of course it is!’ She placed her hand on his shoulder, delicately steering him back to bed. ‘But like I said, it’s up to her to make the progress. We just have to be there when she’s ready. Plus, you need to focus on looking after yourself. Try and get a bit more sleep, will you?’
With the wind firmly knocked out of his sails, the exhaustion from his sleepless night hit him hard. He climbed back into bed and allowed his mind to drift aimlessly.
‘Pssst. Alfie.’ He heard a whisper close to his ear. ‘Alfie, wake up!’ Ruby’s high-pitched voice screeched in his ears.
‘Yes, Ruby? You’d better have a good reason for waking me up, young lady!’
‘You’re going on a walk. Mr Peterson told me to come and tell you,’ she said decidedly.
‘Now, Ruby, that’s not what I said, was it?’ The grumbling tones of Mr Peterson grew louder as he walked towards Alfie. ‘I told you to tell him to get his lazy arse up and out of bed.’
Ruby giggled. ‘But Mum says I can’t swear, Mr P!’
‘Because swearing is for naughty children and grumpy old men!’ Jackie called out.
‘Ach, you people are too soft on children these days. Anyway, you coming, boy?’ His old friend was standing over him now and Alfie knew there was no other answer than yes.
‘Fine, but give me a second. I may be younger than you but I’m still a little rusty.’
Soon they were ambling along the corridors. Sharon had unceremoniously invited herself yet again, and Alfie knew that could only mean one thing. She wanted gossip.
‘So, how are your attempts at befriending the silent one going then, Alfie?’ He knew everyone found it hilarious that he was trying to speak to his neighbour, especially Sharon.
‘Well, she’s actually speaking now, so it’s obviously doing something, isn’t it!’ he replied smugly.
‘I’d hardly call it speaking. She’s said, what … less than ten words?’
‘To be honest, Sharon, if I had the choice I’d probably say less than five to that annoying git.’ Mr Peterson jabbed Alfie with his elbow. Alfie knew he found Sharon’s incessant questioning mildly frustrating too.
‘Look, I’m not trying to put a downer on anything. I just wonder how long it’s going to take for her to act like a normal human being, and for everything to go back to how it was.’
‘You mean for you to get all the attention again?’ Mr Peterson winked at Alfie. By God, this man was a professional pot stirrer.
Sharon whipped her head round and shrieked, ‘How dare you!’
‘You know I’m only kidding.’ A knowing look passed between the two men. ‘Anyway, I reckon Alfie can get her dancing down the corridors in the next two weeks.’
‘Hmmm.’ Sharon folded her arms unforgivingly. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘I’m not playing this game with either of you. She’s a person, not a toy. I said I’d help Nurse Angles with making her feel more comfortable, and that’s it.’
‘Ooooh, look who’s getting all high and mighty.’ Sharon let out a piercing cackle. ‘Don’t worry, Alf, I wasn’t asking you to lower yourself to our standards. Now, do you want a hot chocolate or not?’
17
Alice
The fact that her neighbour had not even attempted a hello the next day was not just a massive relief but also quite a surprise. Alice had been certain that he would be jumping at the chance to try to get her to speak again, but no. For the entire day her neighbour stayed clear of her, spending most of his time up and about with the other patients. Normally Alice didn’t mind listening to the comings and goings of people on the ward; as long as they left her alone it didn’t matter too much. But today she felt a pang of separation. Maybe the thoughts of Sarah yesterday were making her nostalgic, or maybe the physio session she had coming up in a few days was making her more emotional than usual. Whatever it was, Alice craved to be anywhere in the world but in this depressing hospital bed on her own.
If she were to die tomorrow, who on earth would be sad that she was gone? Of course there was Sarah, but she’d upped and left her two years ago to move to Australia. Technically she had a new life with Raph. Maybe her mother, but only because Alice wouldn’t have died quite in line with her expectations. Arnold? Lyla? She was pushing it now. Could she really call them friends?
The thoughts consumed her afternoon, eroding the time with their cruelty. Heaviness grew in her chest, and she willed sleep to come and relieve her of the day.
She’d barely closed her eyes before his dreaming woke her again that night. Alice hadn’t got used to the nightmares and it was always a chilling moment to hear a grown man moaning, even if it was in his sleep
.
‘Ross, I need you to wake up. Please.’
Alice was so tempted to try and wake him. Surely it would be better to stop the pain? Plus, she wasn’t quite sure how long she could stand listening to it. On the other hand, she worried waking someone in the midst of a flashback like that could turn out to have significant consequences. So she lay there and waited.
‘Someone help me. God help me.’
Please wake up, she begged. He was thrashing around so violently Alice wondered if he was at risk of throwing himself out of bed. She hoped not, because there was no way in hell she’d be helping him up.
‘HELP ME, GODDAMMIT. PLEASE!’
She couldn’t bear it any longer. The last cry was so loud Alice reached for her pillow to cover her ears. Luckily it was also the scream that woke him up. She could hear the subtle change between dream state and reality in his voice.
‘Goddammit, Alfie. Get a grip.’
His heavy breathing was punctuated by small groans.
Then came a quiet shuffling of footsteps and whispers.
‘It’s all right, nurse, I’ll go.’
Soon the outline of the old man across the way came into view.
‘Alfie, son.’ The gentle voice of Mr Peterson cut through the silence.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘Don’t be an idiot. You think I can sleep with Sharon snoring next to me? I just came over to see if you wanted anything – I’m going to get one of those piss-poor cups of tea from the machine.’
‘No, I’m all right, thanks. I’m just going to try and get my head down again.’
‘Right you are. Goodnight, son.’
As the footsteps of Mr Peterson slowly faded, Alice was struck with a memory of Arnold; another old soul whose stiff upper lip couldn’t keep his kindness away. A pang of longing hit her; Arnold had saved her life and she hadn’t even thanked him. Maybe she could call him on reception one day and check in to see how he was?
Before I Saw You Page 6