by Alan Bennett
‘Betty,’ said the young man. ‘Congratulations.
‘You’re an aunty. Aunty Betty. I won’t ask you to guess,’ he went on hurriedly. ‘It’s a girl. Susan’s over the moon. And I am.’
With each call his enthusiasm had definitely decreased. Midgley reflected that this baby was well on the way to being a bore and it was only a couple of hours old.
‘I’m just telephoning with the glad tidings. Bye, Aunty.’
The proud father put a new pile of coins on the box and Midgley was moved to intervene.
‘Could I just make one call?’
‘Won’t it wait,’ said the young man. ‘I was here first. I’m a father.’
‘I’m a son,’ said Midgley. ‘My father’s dying.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone,’ said the young man, stepping out of the helmet. ‘You should have spoken up. There’s a phone outside physio.’
Midgley listened to the phone ringing along the passage at his father’s brother’s house.
‘Uncle Ernest? It’s Denis. Dad’s been taken poorly.’
‘You mean Frank?’ said his uncle.
‘Yes. Dad. He’s had a stroke,’ said Midgley. ‘And a fall. And now he’s got pneumonia.’ Somehow he felt he ought to have selected two out of three, not laid everything on the line first go off.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said his uncle. ‘Our Frank.’
‘Can you ring round and tell anybody who might want to come. The doctor says he won’t last the night.’
‘From here? Me ring?’
It started pipping.
‘Yes. I’m in a box. There are people waiting.’
‘You never know,’ said the young man. ‘They can work miracles nowadays.’
* * *
‘This is what I’d call an industrial lift,’ said Uncle Ernest, tapping the wall with his strong boot. ‘It’s not an ordinary passenger lift, this. It’s as big as our sitting room.’
It stopped and a porter slid a trolley in beside Midgley. A woman looked up at him and smiled faintly.
‘Is it working?’ said the porter. The little head closed its eyes.
‘We’ve just had a nice jab and now we’re going for a ta ta.’
Behind a glass panel Midgley watched the concrete floors pass.
‘It’s very solidly constructed,’ said Uncle Ernest, looking at the floor. ‘These are overlapping steel plates. We can still do it when we try.’
‘Let the dog see the rabbit,’ said the porter as the lift stopped.
‘This is six,’ said Midgley.
‘Every floor looks the same to me,’ said his uncle.
‘Did you ring our Hartley?’ Hartley was Uncle Ernest’s son and a chartered accountant.
‘He’s coming as soon as he can get away.’
‘Was he tied up?’
He had been.
‘Secretary was it? Was he in a meeting? I’d like to know what they are, these meetings he’s always in, that he can’t speak to his father. “Excuse me, I have to speak to my father.” That’s no disgrace, is it? “I won’t be a moment, my dad’s on the line.” Who’s going to take offence at that? Who are they, in these meetings? Don’t they have fathers? I thought fathers were universal. Instead of which I have to make an appointment to see my own son. Sons, fathers, you shouldn’t need appointments. You should get straight through. You weren’t like that with your dad. Frank thought the world of you.’
They were going down the long corridor again.
‘I came on the diesel,’ said Uncle Ernest. He was lame in one leg.
‘I go all over. I went to York last week. Saw the railway museum. There’s stock in there I drove. Museum in my own lifetime. I’ll tell you one thing.’
They stopped.
‘What,’ said Midgley.
‘I wouldn’t like to have to polish this floor.’
They resumed.
‘You still schoolteaching?’
Midgley nodded.
‘Pleased your dad, did that. Though it won’t be much of a salary. You’d have been better off doing something in our Hartley’s line. He’s up there in the £30,000 bracket now. She was talking about a swimming pool.’
They stopped at the entrance to Intensive Care while his uncle stood, one arm stretched out to the wall, taking the weight off his leg.
‘Is your Aunty Kitty here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought she would be. Where no vultures fly.’
* * *
Aunty Kitty got up and did her ‘I am too upset to speak’ act. ‘Hello, Kitty,’ said Ernest.
‘I always thought I should be the first, Ernest.’
‘Well you still might be. He’s not dead yet.’
‘Go in, Ernest.’ She dabbed her nose. ‘Go in.’
Uncle Ernest stood by his brother’s bed. Then he sat down.
‘This is summat fresh for you, Frank,’ he said. ‘You were always such a bouncer.’ He stood up and leaned over the bed to look closer at the bleeps on the scanner. They were bouncing merrily. A nurse looked in.
‘You’re not to touch that.’
‘I was just interested.’
‘He’s very ill.’
She paused for a moment, came further into the room and looked at the scanner. She looked at Uncle Ernest (though not, he noticed, at Frank) and went out.
‘It’s all mechanised now,’ he said.
There was no sound in the room. The brothers had never had much to say to each other at the best of times. Without there being any animosity, they felt easier in the presence of a third party; alone they embarrassed each other. It was still the case, even though one of them was unconscious, and Uncle Ernest got up, thankful to be able to go.
‘Ta-ra then, butt,’ he said.
And waited.
He wanted to pat his brother’s hand.
‘I went to York last week,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t changed much. They haven’t spoiled it like they have Leeds. Though there’s one of these precinct things. It’s the first time I’ve been since we were lads. We went over on our bikes once.’ Instead of touching his brother’s hand he jogged his foot in farewell, just as the nurse was coming in.
‘He’s very ill,’ she said, smoothing the coverlet over his brother’s feet. ‘And this is delicate equipment.’
‘I went in,’ she said in the canteen later, ‘and there was one of them pulling a patient’s leg about. He had hold of his foot. It’s an uphill battle.’
* * *
Uncle Ernest’s son Hartley came with his wife Jean and their children, Mark (14) and Elizabeth (10). Hartley hated hospitals, hence his demand for full family back-up. He was actually surprised that Mark had condescended to come: a big 14, Mark had long since passed beyond parental control and only appeared with the family on state occasions. The truth was that Miss Pollock, who took him for Religious Knowledge and who was known to be fucking at least one of the sixth form, had pointed out only last week how rare were the opportunities these days of seeing a dead person, and thus of acquiring a real perspective on the human condition. Mark was hoping this visit might gain him some status in the eyes of Miss Pollock. Sensitive to the realities of birth and death, he hoped to be the next candidate for ‘bringing out’.
They were all going up in the lift.
‘Think on,’ said Hartley. ‘It’s quite likely your grandad’ll be here. I don’t want you asking for all sorts in front of him.’
‘No,’ said his wife. ‘We don’t want him saying you’re spoiled.’
‘Though you are spoiled,’ said Hartley.
‘Whose fault is that?’ said Jean.
The steel doors folded back to reveal Denis saying goodbye to Uncle Ernest.
‘Now then, Dad,’ said Hartley. ‘Hello, Denis. This is a bad do.’
Jean kissed the old man.
‘Give your grandad a kiss, Elizabeth.’
The child did so.
‘Come on, Mark.’
‘I don’t
kiss now,’ said the boy.
‘You kiss your grandad,’ said Hartley and the boy did so and a nurse, passing, looked.
‘How is he?’ said Hartley.
‘Dying,’ said his father. ‘Sinking fast.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said Hartley, who had hoped it would be all over by now.
‘And how’ve you been keeping?’ said Jean, brightly.
‘Champion,’ said Uncle Ernest. ‘Is that one of them new watches?’ He took Mark’s wrist.
‘He had to save up for it,’ said Jean. ‘You had to save up for it, didn’t you, Mark?’
Mark nodded.
‘He didn’t,’ said the little girl.
‘I never had a watch till I was 21,’ said the old man. ‘Of course, they’re 21 at 18 now, aren’t they?’
Denis pressed the button for the lift.
‘We’d better get along to the ward if he’s that critical,’ said Jean.
‘I’ve had the receiver in my hand to give you a ring once or twice,’ said Hartley as they waited for the lift, ‘then a client’s come in.’
‘I was thinking of going to Barnard Castle next week,’ said Ernest.
‘Whatever for?’ said Jean, kissing him goodbye.
‘I’ve never been.’ He shook Denis’s hand. The lift doors closed. Hartley and his family walked ahead of Midgley down the long corridor.
‘I’ll give you such a clatter when I get you home, young lady,’ Jean was saying. ‘He did save up.’
‘Only a week,’ said the child.
‘When we get there,’ said Hartley, ‘we want to go in in twos. All together would be too much of a strain.’
‘What’s he doing going to Barnard Castle?’ said Jean.
‘He can’t be short of money taking himself off to Barnard Castle.’
Midgley caught them up.
‘You’d no need all to come,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let Joyce bring ours.’
‘They wanted to come,’ said Jean. ‘Our Mark did especially, didn’t you Mark?’
‘It’s more handy for us, anyway,’ said Hartley. ‘What did we do before the M62?’
Mark was disappointed. The old man was quite plainly breathing. He could quite easily have been asleep. He wasn’t even white.
‘He’s not my uncle, is he, Dad?’
‘He’s my uncle. He’s your great-uncle.’
Hartley was looking at the screen.
‘You see this screen, Mark? It’s monitoring his heartbeats.’
Mark didn’t look, but said wearily, ‘I know, Dad.’
‘I was only telling you.’
Hartley touched the screen where the beep was flickering.
‘You want to learn, don’t you?’ his father said as they came out.
‘Dad.’ The boy stopped. ‘We made one of those at school.’
Jean now led little Elizabeth in. (‘Bless her,’ said Aunty Kitty.)
They stood hand in hand by the bedside, and Jean bent down and kissed him.
‘Do you want me to kiss him?’ said the child.
‘No. I don’t think so, love,’ and she rubbed her lips with her hanky where they had touched him.
‘Are you crying, Mam?’ said the child.
‘Yes.’
The little girl looked up at her.
‘There aren’t any tears.’
‘You can cry without tears,’ said her mother, looking at the monitor. ‘You can cry more without tears.’
‘I can’t,’ said the child. ‘How do you do it, Mam?’
‘It comes when you’re grown up.’
‘I want to be able to do it now.’
‘Listen, I’ll give you such a smack in a minute,’ said her mother. ‘He’s dying.’
Elizabeth began to cry.
‘There, love.’ Her mother hugged her. ‘He doesn’t feel it.’
‘I’m not crying because of him,’ said the child. ‘I’m crying because of you.’
‘I wouldn’t have another Cortina,’ said Hartley. ‘I used to swear by Cortinas. No longer.’
Midgley was watching an Indian man and his son sat in the corner. The father’s face ran with tears as he hugged the child to him so that he seemed in danger of smothering the boy.
‘You still got the VW?’
Midgley nodded.
‘I think I might go in for a Peugeot,’ said Hartley. ‘A 604. Buy British.’ There was a pause, and he added:
‘He was a nice old chap.’
Jean and Elizabeth returned and Mark, who had been in the corridor, came in to ask how long they were stopping.
Hartley looked at Jean.
‘I think we ought to wait just a bit, don’t you, darling?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jean. ‘Just in case.’
Aunty Kitty came in. ‘I’ve just had one coffee and a wagon wheel and it was 45p. And it’s all supposed to be voluntary.’
‘There isn’t a disco, is there?’ said Mark.
‘Disco?’ said Jean. ‘Disco? This is a hospital.’
‘Well. Leisure facilities. Facilities for visitors. Killing time.’
‘Listen,’ Jean hissed. ‘Your Uncle Denis’s father is dying and you talk about discos.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Midgley.
‘Here, go get yourself a coffee,’ said Hartley, giving him a pound. Aunty Kitty looked away.
* * *
Hartley and his family were going. They were congregated outside the lift.
‘You’ll wait, I expect,’ said Hartley.
‘Oh yes,’ said Midgley, ‘I want to be here.’
‘You want to make it plain at this stage you don’t want him resuscitating.’
‘That’s if he doesn’t want him resuscitating,’ said Jean. ‘You don’t know.’
‘I wouldn’t want my dad resuscitating,’ said Hartley.
‘Denis might, mightn’t you, Denis?’
‘No,’ said Midgley.
‘You often don’t get the choice,’ said Hartley. ‘They’ll resuscitate anybody given half a chance. Shove them on these life-support machines. It’s all to do with cost-effectiveness. They invest in this expensive equipment then they feel they have to use it.’ He pumped the lift button. ‘My guess is that it’ll be at four in the morning, the crucial time. That’s when life’s at its lowest ebb, the early hours.’
‘Miracles do happen, of course,’ said Jean. ‘I was reading about these out-of-body experiences. Have you read about them, Denis? It’s where very sick people float in the air above their own bodies. Personally,’ Jean kissed Midgley, ‘I think it won’t be long before science will be coming round to an after-life. Bye bye. I wish it had been on a happier occasion.’
Midgley went down the long corridor.
* * *
‘Money’s no good,’ said Aunty Kitty. ‘Look at President Kennedy. They’ve been a tragic family.’
The Indians slept, the little son laid with his head in the father’s lap.
An orderly came in and tidied the magazines, emptied the waste-bin and took away a vase of flowers.
‘Oxygen,’ he said as he went out.
‘The Collingwoods got back from Corfu,’ said Aunty Kitty. ‘They said they enjoyed it but they wouldn’t go a second time.’
It was after ten and Midgley had assumed she was going to stay the night when she suddenly got up.
‘If I go now I can get the twenty-to,’ she said. ‘I’ll just get back before they’re turning out. I never go upstairs. It’s just asking for it.’
‘I’ll walk down with you,’ said Midgley.
She tiptoed elaborately past the sleeping immigrants, favouring them with a benevolent smile.
‘They’ve got feelings the same as us,’ she whispered. ‘They’re fond of their families. More so, probably.’ They came out into the corridor. ‘But then they’re less advanced than we are.’
He phoned Joyce.
She and Colin were watching a programme about dolphins that had been introduced by the Duke of E
dinburgh. Her mother was asleep with her mouth open.
‘What’re you doing?’ asked Midgley.
‘Nothing. Colin’s watching a programme about dolphins. How is he?’
Midgley told her.
‘I’ve got to stay,’ he finished.
‘Why? You’ve done all that’s necessary. Nobody’s going to blame you.’
Midgley saw that somebody had written on the wall ‘Pray for me.’ A wag had added ‘OK.’
‘I must be here when he goes,’ said Midgley. ‘You can understand that.’
‘I understand you,’ she said. ‘It’s not love. It’s not affection.’ Colin looked up. ‘It’s yourself.’
She put the phone down.
‘Dad?’ said Colin.
She turned the television off. ‘He’s hanging on.’
‘Who?’
‘Your grandad.’ She got up. ‘Wake up Mother. Time for bed.’
* * *
Midgley went back and sat with his father. While he had been out the night nurse had come on. She was a plump girl, dark, less pert than the others, and, he thought, more human. Actually she was just dirty. The hair wasn’t gathered properly under her cap and there was a ladder in her stocking. She straightened the bedclothes, bending over the inert form so that her behind was inches from Midgley’s face. Midgley decided it wasn’t deliberate.
‘Am I in the way?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Why? Stop there.’
She looked at the television monitor for a minute or two, counting the jumps with her watch. Then she smiled and went out. Five minutes later she was back with a cup of tea.
‘No sugar,’ said Midgley.
‘May I?’ she said and put both lumps in her mouth.
‘Slack tonight,’ she said. ‘Still it just needs one drunken driver.’
Midgley closed his eyes.
‘I thought you were going to be a bit of company,’ she said. ‘You’re tired out.’ She fetched a pillow and they went out into the waiting room. The Indians had gone.
‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘I’ll wake you if anything happens.’
Around five an alarm went off, and there were two deaths in quick succession. Midgley slept on. At eight he woke.
‘You can’t lie down,’ said a voice. ‘You’re not supposed to lie down.’ It was a clean, fresh nurse.
Two women he had not seen before sat watching him.
‘The nurse said she’d wake me up.’