Felburgh

by Ivan B

  Marjorie glanced at her pad.

  “And the bad points were: absolutely nowhere for older teenagers to meet except down at the pub, she admitted that there was a small sports centre, but pointed out that in the evenings it was almost entirely taken over by indoor bowls and badminton. Secondly, there is an almost total lack of affordable housing for first time buyers; I did mention the new housing estate and she said that the so-called two-bedroom starter homes cost 40% more than the national average due primarily to their location in Felburgh, but wages are not 40% higher. Thirdly, there was no village hall or community centre and no-body seemed bothered about it. Fourthly, the fact that all the shops close on a Wednesday afternoon - she asked me to name another seaside resort where this happened and I couldn’t. Fifthly, the lack of employment in the town itself: she estimates that over 70% of the male working population work outside Felburgh. In some respects she said that we should be viewed as an economic dormitory town to Felixstowe. And sixthly;” Marjorie paused as if choosing her words carefully. “Sixthly the church in general is too aloof from the town with the actual building looking more like an advert for Homes and Gardens and with the congregation largely drawn from those in the old town. I obviously asked her to unpack that a little more and she said that if you ignore the work by the vicar and a few old ladies then the church puts absolutely nothing into the community and then stands back and wonders why the community is not interested in it.”

  Marjorie put her little pad away.

  “And just what are we supposed to do about Wednesday afternoons?” said Cameron.

  Marjorie shot back.

  “We can’t tackle it all, but we should think about what we can do and not about what we can’t do.”

  For the first time Peter realized that there was real animosity between Cameron and Marjorie.

  “Children, children,” he said.

  There followed a lively discussion, which seemed to slowly drift towards the concept of a community and sports centre with some affordable housing on the old factory site. One of the major problems they could see was the fact that they might build affordable housing now, but in a few years’ prices would rise and it would cease to be affordable to the first time buyer. It was actually Cameron who proposed a radical solution.

  “I read an idea recently,” he said. “Where what happens is that the first time buyer only buys a percentage of the house, say 50% or as much as they can afford, and the builder owns the rest. When they eventually sell the house the individual gets 50% of the sale and the house goes back on the market. But here’s the trick; next time ‘round the purchaser may only take 30% of the house because prices have risen, but they still get a place on the property ladder and somewhere to live in the town.”

  The major stirred.

  “But that would mean an increasing investment from the builder.”

  “Nothing’s perfect,” said Cameron, “but it’s an idea we could work with.”

  They talked until just before ten o’ clock when they drifted away. As he left, the Major said ruefully.

  “Looks like I won’t be getting my funds for Africa.”

  Peter touched his arm.

  “Don’t worry too much about that, there are other funds to be tapped.”

  The Major looked surprised, but didn’t ask any questions. When they had all gone, except for Charmian the phone rang; it was Bronwyn with the message that Kimberley had slipped into a deep coma. Peter was unsure what to do, he wanted to go to the hospital, but he could not leave his dog all night. Charmian could see his dilemma.

  “I’ll look after Aquinas, and you go.”

  “Will you take him to yours?”

  “Good grief no! I had him there for twenty minutes this morning and I’ve been picking dog hairs off my velvet curtains ever since! I’ll sleep here.”

  Peter showed her the pull out settee in the sitting room and gave her his spare set of keys. He then drove to the hospital. When he arrived the picture was much the same as before, except that as he arrived on the ward a young doctor was leaving Kimberley’s room, as he passed Peter he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Peter sat with them for about half an hour, but then had to fulfill a call of nature. He went to the toilets at the end of the ward, but they were closed for cleaning, so he walked to the next set of toilets. On his way back he realized that he was passing the hospital chapel, so he went in and sat down. In reality he was in deep despair. The chapel was dark and there was just a spotlight highlighting a plain cross on the end wall. It all just boiled out of him and he almost shouted at the cross.

  “Look God I’ve been worried all day about my reputation. I don’t care about my reputation, but I do care about Kimberley. Don’t just observe, do something! For the sake of Sarah do something!” Peter then broke down in tears. After another fifteen minutes he composed himself and left. Peter didn’t know it, but he was not alone in the chapel; tucked away in a dark corner was Jasper who was wrestling with an entirely different problem. When Peter got back to Kimberley’s room he found Damian outside looking dazed. Peter thought the worst.

  “What’s happened?”

  Damian looked at Peter, but his eyes were unfocussed.

  “I’m not sure. This nurse turned up, I’ve not seen her before, but she was somehow,” he sought for the words, “somehow different. She came in and looked at Kimberley and then shot out. She came back five minutes later with a man in a suit; he looked at Kimberley and said, ‘we’ve got to take her now’. They removed her drips and pushed her away on her bed. The nurse told me to stay here.”

  Peter took Damian to the day room and got him a cup of coffee from the machine. They waited for a long forty-five minutes when the nurse in question walked in to the day room and sat down next to Damian. She was immaculate; the creases on her uniform were so sharp that she looked like a fashion model. Her name badge said she was ‘Pandita Jones Nursing Manager (Matron)’; the problem for Peter was that she looked as young to him as Kimberley.

  “Where’s Kimberley?” Damian asked anxiously.

  “She’s in the operating theatre.”

  She might as well have shot Damian. Pandita gave Damian a reassuring smile.

  “The gentleman who came in to see her is Mr. Patel our consultant neurosurgeon. He is of the opinion that the best thing for Kimberley is to have a small trepanning operation.”

  “What’s that?” asked Damian.

  Pandita shifted slightly to face Damian alone.

  “It means that they will bore a hole in her skull to release the pressure that is building up underneath.”

  “Does she need it? I mean no one has mentioned it before.”

  Pandita spoke softly, “It’s probably her only hope.”

  Damian buried his head in his hands.

  “Where do we go?” Peter inquired.

  “Stay here. The operation will last a couple of hours at least and then she will have to go to intensive care. We have two intensive care wards, one at each end of the hospital and I have no idea which one will have a bed free, so why not try and get some sleep here and I’ll wake you when there is some news.”

  Pandita moved across to the paneled wall of the day room and folded out a bed, complete with mattress. “I’m afraid there is only one bed so you will have to toss for it.”

  “That’s all right, “said Peter, “I’m used to sleeping on the floor, it’s better for my back.”

  Pandita fixed Peter with a medical stare.

  “Don’t go saying that to our orthopaedic surgeon will you?”

  Damian and disappeared towards the toilet leaving Peter alone with the Matron.

  “Just curious,” he said, “but is it usual for your consultant neurosurgeon to visit patients in the middle of the night?”

  Pandita giggled.

  “No. But when I saw Kimberley I realized that something was going on in her head that shouldn’t be, it’s a sort of nursing sixth sense. I went out into the corridor to page the duty doct
or and ran into Mr. Patel. Our corridor is the ‘dry’ route from his office to the car park and it is raining. As soon as I saw him I asked him to look at Kimberley and he agreed with me.”

  Peter persisted.

  “Does he always do what nurses ask?”

  She grinned.

  “Probably, he has a great respect for the nursing profession. But I knew he would do it for me, after all he is my brother-in-law.”

  “So now he’s doing an unscheduled operation?”

  Pandita shook her head.

  “No his registrar is doing the operation. He’s just finished a ten-hour stint and says that he is too tired to undertake safe surgery.” She paused and said very quietly, and with some concern, “in fact he is trying to find an intensive care bed. When Kimberley went into surgery there were no beds available.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows and Pandita continued, making sure that Damian was not returning.

  “It really is Kimberley’s only hope. Without the operation to relieve pressure she will almost certainly die.” She paused again. “To tell the truth we are not certain. We think there is a build-up of pressure inside the skull, but we don’t know. Both the MMI and scanner are down for their scheduled service and the latest skull x-ray is indistinct.”

  Peter considered what she was really trying to say.

  “What you mean is that she is dying anyway and she might as well die on the operating table as here, and that there is some chance the operation might be the right course of action?”

  Pandita nodded and said quietly.

  “We are doing our best you know, but we can’t always win. Medical science has only progressed so far and resurrection is not in our normal portfolio of care.”

  Peter nodded, his eyes filling with tears, “I know,” he said, “I know.”

  Damian returned and Pandita left. Damian flopped on the bed and Peter turned out the lights before lying on the floor. He was sure he wouldn’t sleep, but the next thing he knew was the lights going on and Pandita standing in the doorway with three cups of coffee. Damian swung himself upright and rubbed his eyes with his hands. They both gratefully received the cup of coffee. Damian looked at Pandita; he did not have to speak. Peter glanced at his watch, and then looked again; it was nearly seven o’ clock. They had slept for six hours. Pandita smiled and Peter’s hopes rose.

  “She’s out of the operating theatre and in intensive care. She did OK and the surgical registrar is very pleased with her.”

  “Six hours?” Queried Peter.

  Pandita looked a bit sheepish.

  “The operation took just over two hours, but there was no point in waking you until she was stable and in intensive care. In any case the anesthetist is bringing her out of sedation slowly. We don’t want her to have any sudden shocks.”

  “Which intensive care ward is she on.” Asked Damian.

  “She’s not. She’s in the St Cedd wing.”

  Peter thought for a moment and said, “Isn’t that the cancer treatment wing?”

  Damian said almost instantly, “Cancer?”

  Pandita put her hand on his arm.

  “Kimberley has not got cancer, it’s just that St Cedd wing has two intensive care beds of its own and one of them was free.”

  Damian relaxed. Pandita sat beside Damian.

  “When you see Kimberley she will be different from here. For a start she will be connected to a lot of equipment, when a patient is in intensive care we monitor just about everything. She will also be heavily bandaged around the head; we had to shave off her hair around the surgical intrusion.”

  She looked Damian in the eyes.

  “All this is quite normal. You’re job, as she comes ‘round, is to reassure her that she is in a safe place. Remember she will know nothing of coming here or the operation. You can expect her to be dazed and confused. She might have some memory loss, but her memory will probably come back over a day or two. You must help her, but not push her.”

  Damian nodded bleakly.

  “Will she be all right?”

  “No promises. She is very ill. But the surgeon thinks she’ll be OK and he’s not usually wrong.”

  Damian closed his eyes as if in meditation and then sprang to his feet saying he was going to stick his head under a tap. Peter looked at Pandita.

  “How ill is she?”

  “They had to resuscitate her twice in the operating theatre and she had an inter-cranial bleed. God willing she should be OK now, but she will not run a marathon for a long time.”

  Damian returned and Peter took him to the St Cedd wing; however the nurses would not let them in as the anesthetist and Medical Registrar were still with her. They were told to come back in half an hour, so Peter took Damian to the all-night restaurant and bought him breakfast. Damian turned his nose up at the breakfast, Peter pushed the plate back under his nose.

  “You’re not eating for you, you’re eating for her. If you are going to sit with her all day then you need some sustenance. You will not do her any good by passing out in front of her.”

  Damian tucked in and cleared the plate in no time. They returned to the St Cedd wing and the intensive care staff nurse stopped them just outside the ward.

  “Only one,” she said firmly, “only one at a time, otherwise you might get in our way if there’s an emergency.”

  Damian slipped into the ward.

  Peter looked at the nurse.

  “How is she?”

  “Stable, and if the monitors are to be believed slowly coming out of unconsciousness. Ask me again in four hours. The first four hours are usually critical in a case like this.”

  Peter left to drive home after stopping again at the chapel, this time to say a somewhat quieter prayer.

  Jo let herself in the Vicarage as usual and was somewhat nonplussed to find, once again, Charmian tucking in the breakfast. She looked like death warmed up. Charmian quickly explained that Peter had gone to the hospital and not returned.

  “Bad night?” queried Jo.

  “Bloody awful! First of all when I tried to sleep and left Aquinas in the hall he howled. So for peace and quiet I let him into the room to sleep. He promptly went to sleep on the rug and snored. Have you ever tried to get to sleep beside a snoring sheep dog? In the end I put him back in the hall and shut the door; he must have lain on the other side with his nose by the crack under the door, so I got the snoring routine again! I only got some peace when I put the rug against the crack in the door.”

  Jo grinned.

  “I think I’d better take him for a walk this morning.”

  She grabbed his lead and took him out leaving Charmian alone. Charmian finished her breakfast and picked up Peter’s bunch of keys. She tossed them from hand to hand. She was in a dilemma: she trusted Peter, but she owed it to the church, and to the children of the church, to be sure. She hated herself for this, but she went from room to room examining the house; she did not know what she was looking for, but just in case… When she reached the first floor she went into the main bedroom and had much the same experience as Jo had done; firstly thinking the worst and then realizing it was only motor-sport and home cinema. She worked her way around the rooms until she came to ‘Minty’s Room’ where she found the door locked. She paused, jangled the keys and then eventually tried them one by one until one fitted. She opened up the door and then stood transfixed. She was probably subconsciously looking for pornography and this room certainly did not contain that. Its contents, although unusual in a bachelor’s house, were definitely not connected with pornography in any way. She closed the door and re-locked it. She then went upstairs and walked into the attic. She was immediately confronted by a crowd of people staring at her, she involuntarily stepped back and looked round, only to see the rest of the crowd in front of her. She suddenly felt as if the walls were closing in on her and she panicked, running from the room and down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she sat down and leant against the wall just as Jo came through the front door. Jo
walked in and saw a deathly white Charmian sitting down and leaning against the wall and trembling.

  “Are you all right?” Jo asked.

  “Give me a minute.”

  But Charmian didn’t stop trembling so Jo sat down beside her.

  “I went in the attic,” Charmian gasped.

  “Mmm, been in there, good isn’t it” said Jo

  Charmian looked at her as if she were mad.

  “It’s the crowd effect. I can’t stand crowds, never could. I’m OK in an ordered environment or if I can hold on tightly to Angus, but crowds give me the heebie-jeebies. I once locked myself in the loo for two hours in Harrods because I could not cope.” She took a deep breath. “I walked into the attic and it was the sudden surprise, from an empty house into….”

  And she burst into tears. Jo reached out and put her arm around her. Charmian shifted her weight from the wall to Jo and buried her head into Jo’s shoulder. They were still sitting there like that ten minutes later when Peter walked in.

  On seeing Jo and Charmian in each other’s arms on the stairs Peter feared the worst.

  “Kimberley?” he said.

  Jo shook her head.

  “Something else.”

  Peter went to ask ‘what’ but a glance from Jo convinced him to leave them alone. He picked his way past them and climbed the stairs. Jo held Charmian for a few more minutes and then at some unseen command they both straightened up.

  “It’s not only the crowd scene is it?” Said Jo softly.

  Charmian looked at Jo.

  “Everyone has been so nice to me and it seems selfish, but I miss Angus.”