by Tara Ford
Reaching out with open arms, I embraced him as he towered over me. Standing at the bottom of the bed, Aaron grinned. “Hello darling, you’re back from your UK tour then?” I laughed, feeling quite proud of my quick wit, having just woken. I heaved myself up and turned to study Jack’s muscular physique, “Bloody hell, what has happened to you?” I said, noticing his eye.
Grabbing a chair and pulling it towards the bed, Jack began to explain how he’d acquired a brilliantly black and blue eye.
Approaching the other side of the bed, Aaron leaned over to kiss me as Jack continued his story.
Roaring laughter echoed through the ward as I attempted to hush the boys at the same time as trying to shush myself. Giggling and crying, I waved my hands at them both to stop.
“I can’t take any more, stop it both of you.” The two comedians were on form and bouncing off each other as they told me about their journey home. Detailing the lives and horrors of the elderly couple on the plane who went to visit their dreadful daughter, Jack was the star of our private show. Almost topping the number one act, Aaron explained his unpleasant bowel dilemma in the train station toilets and how he managed to jump on the wrong train.
This was what I had been missing. I’d hardly laughed all weekend. I had so desperately needed a cure and the boys were my tonic, my ticket to good health and the way home.
After the raucous, uncontrollable hilarity, I glanced through the door to the adjoining ward, wondering and worrying what the patients and nurses would be thinking about our unsophisticated behaviour. Realising my visitors looked like two overgrown delinquent teenagers to those who did not know them, I was perturbed momentarily that the impression we were giving to my new neighbours was far from welcoming. Jack’s black eye, cropped hair and tattooed arms only enhanced his already menacing, Herculean appearance, and as for dear Aaron, he was so shy, unassuming and profoundly pessimistic that he could be mistaken for a drug addict purely by his vacant expression. Why was I even worrying, for goodness’ sake? I reminded myself that I was in a hospital and no one else would care what I or my guests were doing. Hopefully it was a refreshing change to hear a bunch of nutters laughing their heads off.
Caring too much about what other people thought about anything and everything, I’d spent a lot of my life in quite a reserved fashion, and maybe it was time to change. Time to let the proverbial hair down that had always been kept tightly knotted on top of my head.
As quiet and calm was restored and we returned ourselves to well-adjusted dispositions, I sensed the atmosphere had changed and those heavy grey clouds were on the horizon again. Something wasn’t right. I always managed to sense when things were amiss. Behind Jack and Aaron’s façade was an underlying truth… None of my children or my husband were of any use in trying to cover up or hide something from me. Or was it that I had some sort of psychic ability and could weed out truth and discover lies?
“Is everything all right at home?” I quizzed. “How’s Emma’s thumb?”
“I couldn’t believe what she’d done, Mum. Dad told me last night. I haven’t seen her much today,” said Jack, looking to Aaron for some backup which would never be forthcoming due to Aaron’s lack of confidence. “What did Dad tell you last night when he was here?”
“Nothing. Why?” I asked curiously.
“Did he mention our little accident?”
“No, what little accident?” A sense of foreboding rose again. Glancing across to Aaron, who was perched on the end of the bed, I knew something was wrong as he stared at the floor with a vacuous expression.
“We’ve had a fire in the kitchen,” proclaimed Jack as quickly as his tongue would allow.
“What?” I probed, searching for answers on the faces of my two sons. “How big a fire? How the hell did it happen?”
Aaron wouldn’t look up. He couldn’t, he was too scared that he might give more away if I saw the fearful expression painted onto his cadaverous complexion.
“Mum, it’s quite bad,” drawled Jack as he too looked down to the floor.
“Why didn’t your dad tell me last night then?”
“Don’t know.” Jack shrugged guiltily. “It was Joe’s, Dad’s and my fault. We were playing the tea towel game. The toaster caught fire.”
Propped up straight with the pillows behind my back, I braced myself for the shocking details. I required every last minute detail, and Jack knew that I would. The laughter and banter of earlier had evaporated into ashen clouds of dubious mistrust.
“Are you telling me everything Jack?” My spiritual intellect was buzzing loudly. Aaron continued to sit tensely at the end of the bed with his head propped up in the palms of his hands, elbows resting on his legs. “Aaron, aren’t you going to say anything?”
My poor boys looked exasperated, and I tried not to vent my anger on them. Curbing the resentment that was building and directed towards Grant, I calmed down enough to reassure Jack and Aaron that I wouldn’t explode with outrage.
“Dad got arrested two nights ago as well,” squeaked Aaron nervously.
Rolling his eyes, Jack sighed, realising by my expression that I knew nothing of this either.
“Oh my God,” was all I could manage to say as thoughts raced through my mind. Why? Where? How? Burying my head in my hands, I suddenly became aware of my toes moving. It was as if they were cringing for me. Was I regaining movement? Could the paralysis be magically disappearing? Was I getting better? Or was it all my imagination working overtime as my desire to get home had just grown tenfold?
“Bloody hell, start at the beginning. I want to know what the hell is going on at home.” Glaring from one to the other, I waited for someone brave enough to reveal all.
Looking as if he wished he could shatter into a zillion pieces and disperse unnoticed into the atmosphere, Aaron remained silent as Jack took the brave steps to tell me exactly what was happening at number 23 Pinewood Avenue.
“I wish I could get out of here and get some fresh air. It looks so nice out there,” I said, breaking the icy atmosphere I’d created by my sheer disappointment and resentment that I’d been so unaware of the goings-on at home. Gesturing to the expansive windows and the sunlit views, I looked pitifully at Jack and Aaron.
“Mum, you can. There are wheelchairs down at the entrance, I think they cost a pound to hire, just like shopping trolleys,” answered Jack. “Shall I go and get one?”
“Yes please, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I go out and get some fresh air. I’ve been cooped up inside since Friday night.”
Jumping up, Jack nudged Aaron on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow.
“Come on, we’ll go and have a look if there are any left,” he said, pushing Aaron in front of him. “We’ll be back in a minute Mum,” Jack called over his shoulder as they left.
“Jack,” I shouted back, “will you ask one of the nurses if it’s okay for me to be taken out?”
Nodding his head, Jack raised his hand in acknowledgement and shunted Aaron along and out of sight.
Within ten minutes the boys returned with a rickety old wheelchair.
“Jack just got told off, Mum,” Aaron couldn’t wait to tell me.
“Why?”
“He told me to get in it,” he said, pointing to the chair. “Then he pushed me really fast along the corridor.” Aaron attempted to cover up a giggle – badly. “We nearly crashed into an old man on a stretcher and the porters told Jack to walk through the hospital sensibly or leave.”
Holding on to the handlebars of his new toy, Jack pulled a sad face and blinked exaggeratedly with his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes.
“You idiots, what if you’d been thrown out? I would have been sat waiting here all night.” Looking closely at the prehistoric artefact which was supposed to be a mobile chair, I said, “Oh dear. How am I supposed to get in it? It looks like something from the Victorian era.”
“It’ll be all right Mum. It was the last one there so I thought I’d grab it as you’re desperate to get out
side,” replied Jack sincerely, “and it is nice outside, really warm.”
“Did you ask the nurse?”
“No, we can do that on the way out. Don’t worry. Come on, climb over.”
The boys supported and lifted me across to the hard, tattered leather seat of the wheelchair. “Do you want a blanket?” asked Jack.
“I’d better had, I don’t want to get cold, or catch one either.” Wrapping the blanket from the bed around my shoulders, Jack grabbed another one to cover my legs. Grinning silently, Aaron looked pleased that I was mobile and on my way out of the hospital.
Two nurses hovered around the reception area chatting and gossiping as we approached the exit of the ward. They agreed that it was perfectly fine for me to go outside, in fact, they thoroughly recommended it.
“It’s gorgeous out there, it’ll do you good,” said the plump nurse leaning over the countertop. “Can you let us know when you’re back?”
I nodded as Jack carefully steered the wobbly wheelchair through one side of the double doors which Aaron held open.
As we arrived at the main entrance, I smelt the muggy sunburnt air and instantly warmed as the sun’s rays teased the blanket from my shoulders. A glorious appreciation for such a simplistic universal entity, I beheld the flaming star dazzling in the late afternoon sky. Balmy air caressed my face and the sultry sun washed over my tired, unwashed hair. It was positively wonderful to feel alive and be outdoors again, breathing fresh air deep into my lungs. Tears strained in my eyes but I blinked them away, not wanting to spoil the view or the spectacular sensations rushing through my veins. This was going to make me get better. I just knew it would.
The tree-lined pathway stretched further than I’d expected, but from a sitting position, everything looked bigger or further away. Dappled sunlight filtered through the ornamental trees and the light breeze served to create dancing patterns on the paved walkway.
“Where do you want to go Mum?”
Jack’s voice penetrated through my euphoria as I watched people rushing in and out of the main entrance. Visitors, patients, outpatients, families, proud new fathers and many other types of people walked, dashed and limped past my chair in one direction or another.
“What?” I asked in a warm, dazed and lazy voice.
“Where do you want to go, or do you just want to stay here for a while?” asked Jack.
Aaron’s eyes searched for a vacant bench at the sides of the pathway.
“Down there Mum, look, there’s a bench,” said Aaron excitedly. “Quick, before someone sits there.”
Turning sharply, Jack manoeuvred the chair round and quickly marched towards the bench, following behind Aaron. The speed that the boys walked emphasised the light breeze blowing warm air through my hair as it kissed my already flushed cheeks. The wheels of the chair bowed outwards and I gripped onto the armrests tightly as I undulated to the bench like a clown riding a wobbly-wheeled circus bike.
A quarter of an hour drifted by, many people drifted by, last winter’s withered leaves and litter drifted by in the breeze and my thoughts drifted by, undulating like the wheelchair, from bad to good to bad again. How could Grant have got into such a mess at home? How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t he said anything? Was he scared to? Was I so terrifying that he couldn’t bring himself to tell me? Yes, probably I was chillingly intimidating when things didn’t go my way. Perhaps I should re-evaluate my life, stop trying to be perfect in everything I do and stop expecting everyone else to be perfect too. Fury and pity battled in my mind while I watched Jack and Aaron having a quiet natter. The conversational atmosphere had become subdued since Jack had brought me up-to-date with the family’s activities.
“Shall we go for a walk?” I asked, trying to inject some merriness into my voice. The boys stopped their idle chit-chat instantly.
“Yeah Mum, where would you like to go?” asked Jack, looking relieved at my refreshed, cheery disposition.
“How about down that way?” I pointed towards the car parks in the distance. Aaron stood up, rubbed his hands together and beamed a smile of appeasement.
“Come on then,” chortled Aaron. “Who’s pushing?”
“Let Jack do it up that hill, then you can push me back into the hospital.” Fearing Aaron’s slight frame wouldn’t cope with pushing my extra weight up the small hill towards the car park, I preferred the robust figure of Jack.
“Madam, your wish is granted – we have lift-off, flight-wheelchair-wobble mission in progress,” laughed Jack as we headed off past Aaron, waving as we went.
The April afternoon was starting to chill so I wrapped the blanket tightly around my shoulders, and tucked the other one further under my legs. Then I held onto the armrests with a vice-like grip. “Compass bearings, Sarge? Which way? Enemies flanked to the left and right. Mission abort requested.”
“Shut up, you bloody idiot,” I laughed loudly.
“Which way, Sarge?” Jack asked again, picking up speed and leaving the tense atmosphere way behind us.
Skipping along beside us, Aaron had left his worry demon behind too, exposing his childish side.
“Target approaching, enemy borders in view. Permission to land, Sarge.”
“Slow down Jack, where are we going?” I shrieked, gripping the arms as I laughed out loud again, watching Aaron trotting alongside me.
“Mission accomplished,” shouted Jack as we conquered the small hill up to the car parks.
Surveying the area I realised there was nothing of interest around, unless I was interested in studying the underside of cars, which I certainly wasn’t.
“Okay, shall we head back to the hospital? I’ve had quite enough fun for one day and it’s getting colder.”
Turning around, we headed back down the slope as I recalled the odd looks we had from passers-by on the way up. Two adult men racing up a hill with a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair, wrapped in waffle blankets. It must have looked a very strange sight indeed.
It was inevitable…
Suddenly the wheelchair bumped awkwardly down a high curb.
Jack lost control of the wobbly heap of metal and the chair twisted over, enough for me to lose my grip on the armrests.
Thump!
My momentum carried the chair right over onto its side and straight down to the ground.
Reaching out desperately to stop myself from splaying out across the paving slabs, my arm caught underneath the chair as I landed on top of it. The padding of my arm between the chair and the ground saved me from hitting my head hard on the pavement, but the side of my face skidded across the ground, burning and grazing my cheek and temple.
Horrified, Aaron looked on like an Ice Age man frozen in time, as Jack managed to pick up his lost footing and bring himself to a standstill as the twisting chair left his hands.
Holding his arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross, Aaron desperately searched in the nanoseconds of disaster to catch someone – anyone – but he missed.
Bringing his arms in towards his face, he covered it in repulsion as he saw me lying in a crumpled heap, half-buried under the rickety wheelchair.
Blood oozing from my face.
“Oh my God, Mum, are you all right?” cried Jack, picking me up. “Grab the chair!” he shouted to Aaron, who was momentarily buried in his shell, wrestling with the worry demon that had caught up with him.
Aaron grabbed the chair and hoisted it upright as Jack lowered me back onto the seat. Scurrying around, Aaron collected the blankets and hurriedly wrapped me up until I looked like I was wearing a burka.
“Cover your face Mum, it’s cut and bleeding,” Aaron rambled in a panic as he quickly placed the gritty, dirty blanket across my face.
“Bloody hell Mum, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how that happened. Are you okay?” Jack looked almost tearful.
“Yes, I think so,” I muttered in a state of shock. My arm and the right side of my face throbbed and burned. No one had actually witnessed the catastrophic accident, l
uckily. “Don’t take me straight back to the ward, let’s find some toilets,” I said, shakily. I had to have a look at the damage before I went back to the ward. What the hell were the nurses going to say when they saw the state of me? I knew from the pain that I was probably going to look a mess.
Treading extremely cautiously, Jack tentatively pushed me back into the hospital.
Hiding under the blanket, I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Feeling (and probably looking) like a bunch of villains we searched the ground floor for some public toilets and eventually found them.
“How are you going to get in there Mum?” asked Aaron anxiously, looking up and down the corridor.
“Can you just push me in quickly? No one is around.” I looked from Aaron to Jack.
“I’ll take you in, I’m not bothered,” said Jack, eyeing his younger brother.
Minutes later, Jack and I returned to the corridor where Aaron had stood guard. “I couldn’t really see anything. Bloody mirrors were too high,” I grumbled to Aaron. There was no way I would let Jack pick me up in the toilets, lean me over the sink and hold onto me from behind while I examined my face in the mirror. The situation would have looked dreadful if someone had walked in, and it could have been very difficult to explain. “Let’s go back to the ward. You can leave me outside and go in and get a mirror from my handbag.”
“We can’t do that Mum they might think we’re stealing something. You’ll just have to go back and hope nobody sees you before you get to your room.” Jack had his sensible head on again. “They’ll see you later anyway. You will have to tell them Mum. What if you get an infection in it? I think you should let the nurses have a look at it. They can clean it up for you,” he said guiltily.
“Yes, okay let’s go.” I was now at the point of not caring. I’d be out of this bloody hospital soon enough anyway. I felt so much better... apart from my burning face. The fresh air had done me some good and the fall had probably given me an adrenalin rush, and that was always good for you, wasn’t it?