“It’s not his fault,” cuts in Grace, before Critchley spontaneously combusts. “He’s right. Colin’s condition would have made it hard to judge his level of consciousness and sometimes, as in this case, ECT can make things worse, not better.”
McLoughlin’s baleful gaze falls now on her, still sitting on the bed, still clutching Colin’s hand. “And what would you know about it, young woman. Are you a doctor?”
“No, but I have had ECT several times, so I have first hand experience of how things work. I was lucky, I came round immediately with no major ill effects, but I understand how difficult it can be to estimate depth of consciousness without wiring someone up to an EEG machine. Brains are dodgy delicate instruments, Mr McLoughlin. They don’t like to be tinkered with, and if they are unhappy with what you’re doing to them, they will let you know in no uncertain terms. I’m sure even in your long and illustrious career you’ve had cause to seek further reassurance.”
McLoughlin rumbles deep in his throat, a harrumph wobbling the lower of his three chins. Guilty as charged.
“It would be nice, though,” Grace says, smiling sweetly, “if you would ask Colin how he’s feeling. He is still in the room you know. Or had you forgotten?”
McLoughlin gives her a last hard look before turning his attention to Colin. “Apologies, Captain McLeod. How are you feeling?”
“All things considered, nae sa bad,” Colin says. “Go’ a wee bit of a headache, and I feel as weak as a new born rabbit, but I could murder a bacon butty. I feel like I haven’t eaten in months.” He frowns up at the ruddy faced man staring down at him. “Who are ye again?”
Grace sniggers and squeezes Colin’s hand. “Shhhh. Don’t be cheeky.”
McLoughlin slams Colin’s folder down on the bedside table, turns to the last clean page and scribbles on it, signing off with a flourish. He thrusts the folder back into Critchley’s hands, sees the red letters stamped on the front, and snatches it back.
“Won’t be needing those either.”
A few strokes of his pen and the letters are crossed out and the crossing out initialled. He slaps the folder against Critchley’s chest.
“He’s fine! Give the man a bacon sandwich. He looks like he needs feeding up.”
“Yes sir.”
“Who’s next?”
The party bumble out of the room, Doctor Critchley trailing behind, his face carrying the expression of a man who has narrowly escaped a bomb blast.
Grace and Colin are left alone, staring after them. Before they can get intimate again, Simon Gibbs edges back into the room.
“What just happened?” asks Colin, still bemused.
“This young lady just saved your life,” says Gibbs. “Feel free to thank her properly after I’ve gone.” He winks, smiles, and leaves to find Colin’s bacon sandwich.
Chapter 42
Four weeks go by. Colin has lost the feeding tube and is eating a proper if light diet, supplemented by little treats Grace manages to sneak to him, and has gained sufficient weight that Grace can no longer feel his ribs through his shirt.
Instead, a band of muscle is developing, a result of his hard work with his physical therapist. The cannulas used for delivering antibiotics and painkilling medications into the backs of his hands have been removed, and the bruises faded.
He still has days, particularly after a gruesome physical therapy session or following an invasive examination by one of the doctors, when he withdraws to his private internal garden to find some peace and quiet, but they are growing fewer and Grace doesn’t have far to go to bring him back, although quite often they will stay … if only to spend some time together away from a dreich and dreary afternoon.
She’s expected today and so knows Colin will be washed and shaved and ready to greet her, although when he sees what she has done, it may very well wipe the smile from his face and invoke a spell of scowling and swearing and sulking.
Steeling herself, she pushes open the door to his room and peers around it.
“Hey sweetie!”
Colin glances over his shoulder to see her sidling through the door, letting it fall closed behind her.
“Hey yerself.”
When she has still not given him her now customary welcome kiss, he breaks off from the jigsaw he has spread out on the table by the window and pulls on the big wheels of his chair, turning himself around. She is still standing at the door, handbag clutched in both hands, looking nervous.
“Ye coming in or no?” he asks.
“In a sec. How are you today?”
His eyes narrow with suspicion. “Fine.”
“Busy?”
“Thought I might head out later and sample the hedonistic fleshpots of Banchory, but at the moment I’m pretty much unoccupied.” He gives the wheels a turn, moving forward a couple of feet. “Fit’s gain oan?”
“Nothing.”
“Where’s ma kiss?”
She pecks him on the cheek.
He looks disappointed. “That it?”
“You’ll get a proper one in a minute.” She clears her throat. “Now, I want you to promise not to be angry with me.”
He tilts his head back, looking down his nose at her. “Oh aye. Fit ye din this time?”
“Promise.”
Another turn of the wheels, another foot forward. “Not til ye tell me fit yer up ta.”
She widens the gap again, drops her bag onto his bed, shrugs out of her coat. “Are you up to … another visitor?”
“That would depend on who it is. If it’s the wee quine from the paper with the big titties, then aye–”
“Sorry. No tits.” Grace pulls open the door and motions for the man standing outside to come in. When he sees who it is, Colin’s mouth drops open and he looks as if he’s been slapped in the face with a wet turbot.
Lucas McLeod gives his brother a nervous little wave. “Hey Col. How’re ya doin’?”
“I think I can find my own way out,” says Lucas McLeod, looking up and down the corridor. “Although–”
“Down there, through the double doors, turn right,” says Grace. “It is a bit of a maze until you get used to it.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you for coming, Lucas. I know it wasn’t a pleasant experience for you. Colin didn’t say as much, but I think he really appreciated your effort … as do I.”
“Aye.” Lucas looks at his shoes. “I’m glad I came. It’s been nowhere as bad as I thought it would be. I’d let my imagination take over. I thought he’d be more … broken.”
“You should have seen him four months ago. He looked like death on a cracker. He’s coming along much better now.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to everyone, but especially thanks to himself. He had to take the first step himself, no pun intended. Once he did–” She smiles. “It’s not been plain sailing by any means, but he’s making progress. Slow and steady wins the race.”
“Aye.” Lucas McLeod shifts from foot to foot. “Do you think he’ll let me come again? Bring him some magazines or books or something?”
“As long as it’s not porn. Don’t want to get him too excited.”
Lucas laughs. It’s the first time Grace has seen him smile properly, and he looks even more like his brother.
“Maybe they’ll let me take him out,” he says. “To the fitba perhaps?”
“I think he will be more than delighted to see you again, and going out would be a wonderful thing. Contact with, and encouragement from family, is very important in the recovery process, in connecting with normal life again. I know that sounds trite, like I’m quoting from an information brochure, but it’s absolutely true.”
“Aye. I can see. Thank you for all you’ve done for him, Miss Dove.”
“Call me Grace, please.”
“Aye, Grace. You are practically family after all. Well, cheerio, Grace. Keep in touch.” He puts out his hand for her to shake. Instead, she pecks a kiss to his cheek.
“I wil
l.”
She sees him on his way and returns to Colin’s room.
“Can I have ma kiss now?”
Colin’s face is pale and drawn. He’s had a nasty shock and looks as if he is about to buckle under the strain of holding the emotion in. Grace kisses him, deep and intense and reassuring.
“Thanks,” he says, “I needed that.”
He puts his hands around her waist, pulls her close and rests his head between her breasts.
“Are you angry with me for bringing Lucas?” Grace asks, kissing and stroking his hair.
“No. I–”
Colin breaks away from her, turns his chair and pushes himself over to the window. Grace gives him the moment he needs, before draping her arms around his neck and nuzzling the soft spot behind his ear.
He sniffs and wipes a hand over his eyes, clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is thick and wet.
“All these years I’ve been hating Lucas,” he says. “I’ve been stuck on what he was like when he was younger; the firstborn, Dad’s golden boy, spoiled rotten, a bully. Only three years older than me, but he made my life a misery. Always the best at everything, taking all the glory, making sure I always knew I was second best. He was the heir and I was the spare. That’s why I left home at seventeen and joined the Army, to git away, to be ma ain man. That’s why we’ve hardly spoken to each other in mair’n twenty years. Last time was at Da’s funeral, six years ago, and that was only because we had to, for Ma’s sake.”
“If you felt that way about him, why did you nominate him as next of kin?”
“Didn’t have a choice. There was naeb’dy else. I couldn’t ask Ma, she wouldn’t understand. She’d see it as putting a jinx on, like taking responsibility would make something happen, ye ken?”
“I think so.”
He pats his lap and Grace sits, arms around his neck, his hands at her waist.
“Lucas is my only other living blood relative,” he says, drawing in a breath and exhaling out a deep juddering sigh. “Seeing him again out of the blue like that, it was a shock, but I think we might have reconnected. He’s different, changed, matured into a pretty decent bloke. I always thought he didn’t give a fuck about me being … like this, but you were right, he did. Did ye ken he’s been ringing up every other week to check on me?”
“Yes. He told me.”
“And the reason he wouldn’t come was because he was too scared to, no because he didn’t care?”
“I told you that.”
“Aye, ye did, and I didn’t believe you. I should have known you wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Nobody has ever lied to you, Colin. They may have told some harsh home truths that you didn’t like, but nobody lied. Everyone only ever had your best interests at heart. The only one who had any doubts was you.”
“Aye. I can see that now.” He takes her hands from his neck, clasps them between his own. “Thank you, for believing in me, for giving my life…and my brother, back to me.”
Chapter 43
Their visits to the imaginary gardens and the peace and quiet of the private cemetery grow less frequent as they find comfort and pleasure in each other’s physical company.
Grace’s trips out to Pelham at least three times a week. On several occasions she is accompanied by Lucas McLeod, and she delights in seeing Colin and his brother slowly reconstructing their fractured relationship, laughing and joking together, prattling on about the football or some item they have seen on the news, both adopting an impenetrable teuchter drawl so thick she could stand on it.
On those occasions she sits on Colin’s bed and either watches television or reads a magazine, or if they choose to have coffee and cake in the restaurant, she takes refuge in a story on her Kindle and lets them get on with it, always keeping one eye and one ear open for signs of disquiet, discomfort or distress from which Colin might need to be rescued.
These too are few and far between.
Under supervision of the nursing staff, Grace learns how to use the hoist and how to help Colin in and out of his wheelchair to sit in a chair, or get in and out of bed.
She is allowed to sit in when he has his physical or hydro therapy, sending waves of encouragement from the sidelines, and becomes a familiar figure around the complex as she pushes him around the gardens or up and down the driveway. She learns quickly, soon able to take care of his needs, although on Colin’s instructions she is not yet permitted to tend to certain aspects of his intimate care.
“It’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before,” she whispers in Colin’s ear. “You’ve got nothing to be shy of.”
He blushes, harrumphs and wheels himself to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
“You know, if you ever want to stay overnight,” Simon Gibbs says as he straightens the sheets on Colin’s rumpled bed. “Just let me know and I’ll clear it for you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. We do it all the time. Some guys even have their kids stay. We have family rooms especially for the purpose.”
Grace smiles warmly at him. “This really is an amazing place, and you Simon are an amazing man.”
She presses a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling a flush of heat race across his face, and smiles inwardly. How easily it seems she can make a grown man blush.
“Elephant?”
“Nah. Hippo.”
“What about a dragon?”
“More like a whale.”
Grace flips herself onto her front, tired of cloud watching. She has something important she needs to talk to Colin about and a school of fluffy white cloud dolphins swimming through the cobalt sky over the immaculate lawn of their fantasy garden are too distracting.
She nips the head off a daisy and plucks off the petals. He loves me, he loves me not.
“I think it’s time,” she says.
Colin drapes his arm over his eyes, blocking out the sky. “Ye said ye weren’t gain ta push it.”
“I’m not pushing. I’m just stating a fact.”
Silence.
“He’s brilliant, and once you get to know him, you’ll like him. He’s been really good for me. He’ll help you, but he won’t do anything unless you ask him.”
Silence.
“Do you want me to get in touch with him? Arrange an appointment.”
“Can’t it wait a bit longer?”
Grace moves his arm and looks into his eyes. “You’re ready now, you know you are. Put it off and you might miss the boat. You need to do it now. Strike while the iron is hot.”
“Ye sure?”
“Positive.”
“Can I sleep on it?”
“One night. That’s all. We’ll do it first thing in the morning.”
“Will you be there to hold my hand?”
“Do you need me to?”
“Please.”
She kisses the tip of his nose. “Good job I brought my overnight bag then.”
Simon Gibbs makes his last call of the evening before he goes off duty, and after a warning knock, pops his head around the door of room 28.
“Captain McLeod? Anything you need before I go home, sir,” he calls out.
No reply.
He pushes the door open and eases his way into the room to see Grace and Colin lying together on the bed. They look like they are asleep in each others arms, but Gibbs is already used to Grace’s strange ways and knows what’s going on and where they really are. He knows their bodies are here, but they aren’t in them.
“Doesn’t look like you need anything from me,” he says, putting the keys to Colin’s drugs cabinet back in his pocket. He unfolds a lightweight blanket from the bottom of the bed and drapes it over them.
“Sweet dreams,” he says, and leaves them to whatever they are doing together in their shared fantasy world.
Ten o’clock next morning and Colin and Grace are enjoying coffee and rowies in Pelham Chase’s volunteer staffed snack bar. Grace has her mobile phone clamped to her ear. On the fourth r
ing, it is answered.
“Malcolm Pettit.”
“Hey Mal, it’s Grace,” she says, brightly.
“Hey, Grace. How are you?”
“I’m absolutely fine, thanks. Listen, have you got a minute?”
“For you? Sure. What’s up?”
“I have someone here who would like to speak to you.”
She passes the phone to Colin. He takes it, holds it to his chest while he clears his throat, sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“Hello. Dr Pettit?” he says. “Grace might have mentioned me. My name is Colin McLeod.”
Grace smiles, filled with pride at the massive step Colin has just taken.
Grace turns from the rain lashed window as Colin wheels himself out of the private consulting room and into the corridor. He’s been in there for over an hour and a half, and he looks shattered.
“How was it?” she asks, keen to hear news of his first session with Malcolm Pettit.
“You were right,” Colin says. “He seems like a grand bloke. I got the sense he really cared.”
“He does. You look tired.”
“I am. It was … stressful, but in a good way.” He smiles weakly. “I fancy a cup of tea and a slice of cake. Would you care to accompany me to the tea room, Miss Dove?”
“It would be my pleasure, Captain McLeod. Let me speak to Mal first. I want to thank him for coming.”
Over tea and ginger cake Grace and Colin talk about his session in more detail, the questions asked, the answers given, Colin’s overall impressions.
In The Garden Of Stones Page 30