Winner

by Belle Brooks

  “Hey. I’m looking for someone.” I offer her a polite smile.

  “Patient’s name, please?”

  “Oh. No. It’s not a patient … It’s a staff member. A nurse, to be exact.”

  “Full name.” She doesn’t even afford me eye contact.

  “Lesley.”

  “Last name.”

  “No clue.”

  Taking her eyes from the computer screen has her shifting them in my direction. “Do you know what ward she works on?” Pink lipstick spots her front coffee-stained teeth.

  “Emergency department when I came in a couple of months ago. She’s about yay high …” Holding my hand level with my nipple, I attempt to give an accurate measurement.

  Thick overgrown eyebrows lift high on the information clerk’s forehead.

  “Look. She’s got blond hair. Tiny thing, and she never shuts up. Super chatty.”

  The attendant scrunches her face before smiling. “Lesley Carter. Sure. I’ll see if she’s on.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clicking the mouse over and over, she mumbles. I don’t understand a word of what she’s saying, though. “Second floor. She’s in paediatrics today. She’s a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, our Lesley. I’ll let the ward know you are here.”

  Holding my hand in the universal sign for stop, I swiftly bellow, “No.” It’s much louder than I intended. “Sorry, shit, sorry. No, it will be okay. I’ll go find her. It’s just … I have something I need to give her.”

  “Okay,” she mouths.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have a good day,” the attendant says dryly. Her focus shifts from me back to the computer monitor. I don’t get a chance to respond when she calls, “Next.”

  “Right. Yes,” I say, turning awkwardly and heading in the direction of the lifts.

  Ting!

  “Level two. Please stand clear of the opening doors.”

  The pre-programmed message I find surprisingly calming instructs.

  Stepping out from the lift, I immediately see a sign reading ‘Paediatrics’.

  Green, purple, blue, and pink handprints are plastered in stickers covering glass panels making up the inside of two blue doors. There’s a printed sign stuck on the glass between these handprints, and it says, ‘Please use the hand sanitiser located on the wall on your left before entering the paediatric unit. Hygiene is our policy.’ I follow this instruction before pushing open one of the blue doors and entering.

  A bustling nurses’ station is immediately in my line of sight, and without even having to search for the chatty nurse I’ve come to see, I find myself standing a metre away from her. She’s stopped, looking down at a folder in the middle of the corridor on the incorrect side of the desk.

  Taking two steps closer, I hear her mumbling away to herself. Lesley appears to be rather chipper, just as she’s been every time I’ve been in her presence—I think it’s just who she is. Another two steps has me close enough to reach out and tap her shoulder, but not close enough that I’m invading her personal space.

  “Six millilitres of Panadol, and flush the drip on bed seven. Bed eight is needing a pressure sore lanced … Great, this should smell good, not—”

  “Lancing? What is lancing?” I interrupt her solitary conversation, hoping not to startle her.

  Twisting on her heel, she continues with, “Well, it’s when you …” She halts and then smiles as our eyes connect. “Oh, if it isn’t Captain America.”

  “Captain America?”

  “Sure. You know, jumping off buildings, running towards cars engulfed with fire with a desire to put his body on the line for a cinematic explosion of epic proportions.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.

  “I’ve never jumped off a building. I’m not crazy.”

  She giggles.

  “What brings you to the paeds ward? Actually, let me guess.” Tapping a pen she’s holding in her hand against her chin, she flutters her eyelashes and sighs. “You are also Father of the Year, right?” The wiggling of her eyebrows following is completely unnecessary.

  Pointing my finger in her direction, I chuckle before firmly replying with a “No.”

  Her two hands plant on her chest with her pen still held between her fingers. “Damn. That would have been an amazing inclusion in your life’s novel.” She portrays what I believe is disappointment with a simple relaxation of her expression and closing of her eyes.

  “Women. Dramatic.”

  “Men. Annoying.” She giggles.

  “Whatever.”

  “So, Tank, what brings you to this ward then? Please don’t tell me you kidnap sick kids … Now this would be a twist nobody saw coming.”

  “Do you ever shut up?” I shake my head.

  “Sure. When I sleep or I’m thinking.” She places the pen into the folder.

  “No. You mutter when you’re thinking. I was witness to this about two minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” She throws her head back and then steps to the side, laying the folder down on the desk. “Well, what can I assist you with?”

  “I need to borrow a pen, and I need you to go over to those windows I can see just there.”

  She shifts her attention in the direction I point, then when her attention rebounds back to me, she shrugs and says, “Sure. Okay. Pen is inside the folder on the desk, and I’ll shimmy my way over to stare out the window for no apparent reason because this is not weird in the slightest … No, not at all.”

  “Good. Get to it.”

  Lesley slides her feet across the flooring. She is talented in moving backwards, so it seems. Eyeing me in the most peculiar way doesn’t do anything to prevent the smirk I know suddenly invades my face.

  “Go on now.”

  She shakes her head before turning to face away from me.

  There’s something about Lesley I find endearing, yet I can’t put my finger on it.

  There’s a light whistling sound coming from Lesley as I remove a cheque I’ve prewritten from my shorts pocket and add her last name to it. Carter. “Right! You can come back now,” I instruct, folding the cheque in half and holding it between my fingers, tucking it securely into my cupped palm.

  “Okay. This was so much fun. Believe it or not, though, I’m actually a real nurse, and I have work to do. Just leave your phone number inside my folder, since it’s obvious you want to date me, and if I get around to it, I might call you and continue this charade at another time.”

  “I—”

  “However, you’re not the type of guy I normally seek out. You see …” She leans in close and whispers, “I’m truly a sucker for those real arsehole types. You might have met a few. They screw you hard and are gone before you even wake up. If I’m really on my game, he’ll also steal from me before I’m awake and have any idea he did a runner.” She leans backwards and winks.

  “What?”

  Lesley laughs boldly. “I’m kidding. About the stealing from me. Not the arsehole bit, though. This is one hundred percent truthful.”

  “Stop. You’re confusing me. I’m not leaving you my number. I wanted to pay you for the lift home you gave me a couple of months ago. If I remember correctly, it was a twenty-three-dollar fare.”

  She arches her eyebrow.

  “If I remember correctly, I said I’d double it.”

  Her eyebrow returns to its relaxed positioning.

  “I needed your pen because I didn’t know your last name until I went to the information desk to locate you, and I needed to write your last name on the cheque. I also thought you could do with a break at the same time because you seemed swamped … hence the window view.” I open out my palm and shift the cheque until it sticks out between my pressed fingers.

  Her mouth draws slack. Her cheeks pink, and she shakes her head.

  “It’s okay, Lesley. It’s an easy mistake on your part, really. You see, you’re not my type either. I tend to go for women who want to drive a Porsche and travel around the world on my credit, even though I’ve not tw
o pennies to rub together. Nothing I ever do will be good enough for her, and once she realises I’m a complete good-for-nothing loser, she’ll end things before fucking my best mate. Now that’s a true story.”

  Lesley laughs so hard she crosses her legs at the knees. “I’m glad we sorted this out. Thank you for the cheque.” Lesley reaches out, sliding the thin paper from between my fingers. “You didn’t have to pay me, but it’s kind of you to do so.” Opening her uniform blouse slightly, she slides the folded paper down inside her bra. “I’m rich.” She laughs, tapping twice against her chest. “I’ll treat myself to something really nice, and I promise I won’t fuck your best friend.”

  “Good. Word of advice, if I may?”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “Don’t be reading cheques in public. Also, I’m not sure if you saw, but I did write my address on the back of it for you if you ever wanted to hang out … You know, as friends.”

  “Noted. Thank you.” She outstretches her arm, offering a handshake.

  I oblige.

  “Nice doing business with you.”

  “Take care, Lesley. I hope sailing the world is everything you dreamt of and more.” With this being my departing words, I swivel on my heel and rush towards the doors I’d not long entered through.

  “Holy shit.”

  It’s loud, way too loud. I guess she’s like Tessa and Roxie and doesn’t fucking listen to instructions.

  “Stop!” she shouts.

  I do, dead in my tracks, with my back turned and the doors not far from reach.

  “Why?”

  “Why does there have to be a reason for doing anything?” I say softly with my back as her view.

  It’s a soft touch to my shoulder. “You do realise there’s a four in front of the six and the three, right? And a lot of zeros after.”

  “You should take the time to read it in the written word. It’s on there. Took me ages to figure out how to write it, but I think it’s an impressive job.”

  They are soft sobs to start with, but they grow in intensity relatively quickly.

  Swiftly, I turn to face Lesley, whose hands shake excessively, as does the thin piece of paper she’s clutching tightly. Water springs from under her folded lashes, and her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. Enfolding my arms around her narrow physique, I pull her against my chest and softly say, “Breathe, you need to breathe. Slowly … deeply.”

  She does, and with each inhale and exhale she trembles less and less. It takes a while for her to calm, but I know she is when her head lessens the pressure being applied to my chest.

  “Go see the world. And when you get back, come tell me all about it, okay?”

  “You were the winner, weren’t you? It was you.” Her voice is barely audible.

  “Nobody runs toward a car spewing smoke and then catching fire without good reason. This needs to be our secret.” I take one last breath, one last whiff of the coconut scent of her shampoo. “I’m going to let you go now. I have to go.”

  “Okay.” Her voice cracks on the word as I allow my grip to decrease until my hands fall away and land at my sides.

  “You know what? If I were you right now, I’d blow off the smelly lancing thing and hightail it out of here.”

  She lets out a shaky giggle. “Thank you.”

  “Bye, Lesley.” I smile, turning sharply and marching towards the doors I’d hoped to have parted before she’d straightened out the cheque. A postcard in the mail would have sufficed in showing her gratitude. Bloody woman.

  The lift to the sixth floor seems to take forever and a day, and my stomach rolls with anticipation, or is it fear? I’m not sure, but, whatever this is, it’s pissing me off. I wish for this fish flip-flopping in my gut to cease immediately. I believe it won’t.

  The door is half ajar when I make my way toward it. Holding on to the wall about a metre away from my intended destination, I try to steady my rapid breathing. Hell, I’m now the one in the position of possibly hyperventilating, and I know I must get it together and fast. He’s waiting for me.

  “Mr Crossley, so nice to see you again.”

  Her voice is oddly high-pitched in nature, and every time I hear it, I picture silver blue eyes widening to the size of saucers as she sucks helium from out of a balloon. It’s amusing—well, it is for me. I know I’m grinning when Nurse Gretchen places her chilled hand onto my arm and says, “He’s ready to finally go home. You are here to collect Alan today, aren’t you?”

  It’s a simple nod in response, and with it I’m suddenly being led by this woman, who probably should have been a basketball player due to her height and build. She helps me take the final steps I couldn’t seem to take on my own.

  “Gretch, I need you to come to bed eight now.” It’s a desperate plea made by a flash of blue passing us in the doorway.

  Gretchen relaxes her hold on my arm, and with a worried gaze, she mumbles, “I’ll be right back.”

  Watching her scurry away does little to extinguish my anxiety, still I barge through the doorway with little more than a clearing of my throat.

  Alan’s back is my view as he sits facing the bay window overlooking the carpark. The maroon curtains that are normally closed are drawn wide, and the sun beams against the glass. My skin heats as I approach Alan. “Hey, mate. You ready to go?”

  Alan doesn’t shift to face me. Instead, he keeps his eyes firmly planted on the window pane.

  Squeezing his shoulder, I again say, “Hey, mate. You ready to go?”

  He shrugs, but still doesn’t afford me any attention.

  I stand watching a black SUV, which from this height appears to be matchbox-sized, loop the carpark at least five times before Alan finally says, “It’s just a leg, right? I still have another one.”

  Closing my eyes, I find myself trying to identify with the pain Alan must be feeling right now, but I can’t. After all, I still have two functioning and normal legs. He doesn’t.

  “Tank.”

  “Yeah, mate?”

  “Why didn’t they come? You know, to even check on me … Since it happened, that is.”

  Fuck, he’s broaching all the hard questions today. Taking a drawn-out breath, I can’t stop myself from releasing it with a sigh.

  “Well?”

  “You know what? Fuck them. Blood means shit, Alan. Your parents … mate, I’m not going to sugar-coat this for you—they are scum. You’re better off without them. Anyways, you’re not alone or homeless or uncared for, so let it go and—”

  Alan laughs. It’s one of those laughs starting from deep down in your stomach that travels until it explodes out of your mouth.

  I find myself chuckling alongside him. Why we are laughing? Well, I’ve no clue, but it seems to take the stale tension from the air and brings a lightness to the situation.

  With a wiping of his eyes against the upper sleeve of his T-shirt, Alan ceases his laughter and looks at me from over his shoulder before tilting his chin upwards to make eye contact. “Suck it up, princess. Right? That’s what you were going to say?” He grins.

  “Bloody oath, I was. Now stop being a Nancy and pull yourself together, will you? Don’t make me buy you a tutu and have you dance the Nutcracker one-legged. You’d look ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, I would.” He snickers.

  “Why are you sitting in this wheelchair, anyway?”

  “My new wheels, they tell me.”

  “Bullshit it is. You lost a leg, you didn’t break your back and stuff your spine. You’re walking out of here, kid. You didn’t just do all this physiotherapy to sit on your arse.”

  “I still can’t believe it’s gone. Fifteen and legless. Shit.” His head drops low.

  “Staph infections are the pits. You survived, kid. Plus, women totally dig a dude who needs nurturing and shit. Don’t stress about it.” Patting his shoulder twice, I lift my arm and peek at the watch wrapped around my wrist. Shit. Almost 1:00 p.m. Double shit, bloody Tessa is still waiting in the car.

&nbs
p; “We need to go. I’ve something I want you to see anyway.”

  “My bag is on the bed.” Alan sighs.

  “Well, get off your arse and get it. I’ll grab you some crutches.”

  The eye roll I’m gifted from Alan has me smirking. This kid is going to bloody make it in this world if it kills me.

  Chapter Seven

  Alan hobbles, but his never-say-die attitude in the wake of the many stares he’s receiving as we pass through the foyer of the hospital tells me this kid is going to be okay. A few small grunting sounds press past his lips when we make our way through the automatic doors and Alan sees his freedom from the hospital for the first time in more than two months.

  “It’s fucking bright,” he groans.

  “It’s called the sun. It’s supposed to be bright,” I tease.

  “Smartarse.”

  “Watch your mouth, boy. If I’m going to take on this guardian role and be responsible for you, you’re going to have to do as you’re told.” Not even I can keep a straight face saying this.

  Alan laughs. “So, what? I have to call you Dad now, too?”

  My shoulders shake from the strength of my own laughter as I breathe out, “No.”

  “Good. You’re twenty-six years old if I remember correctly?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Twenty-six with a fifteen-year-old son doesn’t look favourable for either of us. I mean, you would’ve been thirteen when you shot me from your ball sack.”

  “Ten, mate, and this is why the first thing we’ll be doing is getting your dumb arse back into school. And, Alan, I’m not joking about school—you’re going.” I saunter past him whilst shaking my head.

  “Fucking great.”

  “Come on, get a move on, will you?”

  “Coming, Master.”