by Tara Ford
Although I was battered, bruised and bleeding, the proverbial train that had morphed back to a bus had morphed again to a small car.
“I think we’ll get those covered over, Alex,” said the nurse as she cleaned the wounds on my face and arm. “I’ll dress them for tonight until they stop weeping.”
“Okay, thank you. Sorry that you’ve now got more work to do looking after me,” I apologised rather sheepishly.
“Oh don’t worry about it,” she replied, busily covering me in patches of lint. “I bet your boys felt terrible about it.”
“Hmm, they did.”
“A report has been made about the poor state of the wheelchair, so I’m sure immediate action will be taken.”
“Oh that’s good,” I replied a little sheepishly, knowing it wasn’t entirely the chair’s fault as it had an accomplice in the form of Jack.
By the time Nurse Clair had finished wrapping me up I looked like a partly embalmed Egyptian mummy with a few missing patches. I lay on the comfortable bed, gazing out of the window, and wondered if Jack and Aaron had made it home safely on the bus. With the track record of the Frey family just recently it wouldn’t surprise me if they got lost or were hit by a passing rhinoceros, or they might even have hijacked a carnival lorry loaded with Hawaiian dancers to get home. Surely the last three or four days were all a bad dream – or had it all really happened?
Grant
“Stop panicking Dad, she’ll be fine. Mum needs you there after what happened to her today,” sighed Jack as he paced up and down the dining room. “I didn’t know you wanted to tell her everything, did I? You should have told her last night.”
“No, I know you didn’t know. It just looks bad doesn’t it?” huffed Grant as he sorted through the unlabelled tins, becoming more frustrated. “I don’t know why we’re bloody well keeping these stupid things anyway,” he cursed as a tin and its secret contents went rolling along the worktop and stopped abruptly at the kettle.
“Dad, will you chill out? I’ll sort out some tea for everyone. Stop getting so stressed. Go to the hospital,” said Jack, growing more exasperated. “I’ll go to the chippie again if I have to.”
“I can’t let you keep having chippie meals, what’s in the freezer?”
Searching through the iced trays, Grant decided that the better option was in fact to go to the chip shop.
“Everything in here would take too long to cook. I haven’t got time and I’m sure you don’t want to bother with it all,” he grumbled as he slammed the freezer door shut. The vibration sent the mystery tin on the last leg of its journey, away from the kettle and towards the edge of the worktop where it commenced a freefall just as Grant managed to catch it. “Huh, nearly had that on my toes too,” he smirked.
“Go on Dad, we’ll get tea sorted, stop fretting about it. Go!” said Jack in a slightly raised voice, as he pointed in the direction of the front door. “We’ll have bloody sandwiches if we’re desperate, don’t worry about it. I found some stale bread in the cupboard earlier.” He laughed. “And there’s a small chunk of cheese in the fridge so I could make a round of cheese and salad cream sandwiches for everyone.”
Grinning to himself, Grant imagined how surprised the kids would be to find they didn’t have salmon paste on their bread.
There were an awful lot of good points to Alex but she did have some failings. She could bake beautiful cakes but she couldn’t cook a dinner to any culinary standard, and everyone in the house had to endure salmon paste on four days out of five each week for their packed lunches. On that respite fifth day, they’d all get a treat like crab pâté. Alex’s lunchboxes were a standing joke in the household, and one she’d tried to change several times, but to no avail. Each time she replaced the contents of their sandwiches for something far less seaworthy, they gradually reverted back to familiar fishy delights after just a week or two.
“It’s quick and easy just to slap some paste on the bread – get over it!” she would shout in her defence.
The evening had grown chilly after such a warm spring day. As the light faded, Grant drove through the bank holiday traffic in his automatic pilot gear. Thoughts raced through his head about Alex and her illness and the whole weekend of calamities. He found it hard to comprehend that so many things could go wrong in just three and a half days. Don’t bad things happen in three days, or is it in threes? He couldn’t remember what the saying was but he was sure they had been given more than their fair share of bad luck. Maybe it’s that bad things come in multiples of three. Oh dear, that wouldn’t be good. How many strokes of bad luck had there been? Does that count for a group of people collectively or is that per person? Shaking his head at his ridiculous train of thought, Grant came to and pulled out of autopilot gear.
Nursing her blue thumb, Emma had decided to stay at home for the evening. She’d had a stressful day, her thumb was sore and her grandma hadn’t let her ease up on peeling the potatoes for dinner. She was somewhat disappointed that she’d not gained a little more sympathy from her grandparents as she told her story to them. Guessing that they were more worried about her mum than they were about her own bulbous thumb, Emma decided not to mention it again and instead spent the day frowning and sulking.
Fearing that he would have to see Alex on his own, Grant had pleaded with the boys for one of them to visit their mum with him. That way the wrath would be lessened by the presence of one of the children. Alex didn’t believe in arguing in front of them.
“You haven’t been to see your mum yet. You should come and see her tonight,” beseeched Grant as Joe sulked guiltily.
“I can’t, I don’t like the hospital Dad. I don’t want to see Mum in a hospital. I’ll wait till she comes home. I was going to play football tonight at the pitches anyway,” replied Joe, staring down at his footie-socked feet.
Speckles of pity peppered Grant’s mind – he knew Joe couldn’t cope with the thought of his mum being in hospital (or anyone else for that matter), and what Joe couldn’t see, didn’t exist. It was probably better for him that he didn’t go to visit her. The aftermath could be harder to deal with.
The heavy evening traffic slowed to a halt as Grant tried to bypass the town centre on the main road leading up to the General Hospital. Holiday caravans headed home after a sweltering Easter weekend and the bargain-hunters travelled along smugly with boots full of half-price, half-melted chocolate eggs.
Switching the radio channel over, Grant listened to the local event listings for the centenary remembrance and memorial ceremonies. The momentous commemorative anniversary activities were in abundance across the entire country, it seemed. Switching back to the classical channel, he rolled his eyes and tutted at the hype. The continuous build-up over the last few weeks and the relentless advertising, reporting and promotional media had been a bugbear to his ears and to think that he was going to be immersed in the thick of it himself tomorrow, made him cringe. Shaking his head from side to side, Grant briefly held a slight, although guilty, grudge towards Alex, realising that she would escape the whole thing while resting in her refuge. It was a very selfish thought, but one he couldn’t help but feel.
As the traffic started to disperse, Grant puzzled over the oddity that was traffic jams. People got caught up in them all over the country every minute of the day, yet when they came to the end of the jam, well, there wasn’t one. He could never figure out how the flow of traffic could resume to a steady passage at some given point, without a trace of the reason behind the build-up in the first place.
Heading out of the town, Grant made his way nervously towards the hospital.
Tucking the car park ticket into his jeans pocket, Grant stopped at the display board in the foyer and studied the lists detailing each level of the hospital. Hoping that Jack had given him the right information about Alex’s whereabouts, Grant headed towards the lifts.
Earlier the boys had to track down their mum after they arrived at the MAU and were told she’d been moved up to level E. As he ascended in the lift,
Grant could hear Alex’s voice in his head, telling him off for being so irresponsible and impulsive. At the first level an elderly lady hobbled in and smiled at him.
“Going down?” she cheeped.
“No, up – level E,” Grant replied politely.
“Never mind,” she chirped, flapping her arms up and sighing.
Pressing the ground floor button, the frail woman stood back and crossed her arms across her small handbag, staring ahead into the middle distance. As the lift reached level E, an automated female voice announced the arrival and the doors smoothly parted. Stepping out, Grant looked along the corridor for a sign that would indicate the direction in which he needed to go.
“Yes, just through that door on the left,” said a nurse, trying to point with her hands full of sheets of paper.
Hesitantly Grant entered Alex’s new room. Surprised by the pleasant surroundings, the large windows and the mod cons, he stepped towards his sleeping wife. Feeling guilty and melancholy, Grant sat down next to the bed and held her soft hand. Her partly bandaged face and arm reminded him of her dreadful misadventure during the day. Gently squeezing her small fingers, he comprehended that she was and had been in a much worse place than he. His irrational, overbearing fear and guilt had consumed him to the point of ignorance. The prickling sensation at the back of his eyes returned, but Grant blinked the pain away. What a bloody mess this has all been, he thought, just at the moment that his beautiful wife opened her eyes.
“Grant – oh.” Pulling her hand from his, Alex raised it to the side of her face and touched the cloth covering her wounds. Stiffness had crept in to join the stinging grazes on her face and her arm.
“Babe, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you everything last night, but what with Emma and her thumb, there just didn’t seem to be an appropriate moment.”
Alex stared silently at him as she continued to hold her sore face.
“I know you’re really mad at me for being so bloody stupid. I know I shouldn’t have done the things I did. I’m truly sorry, you really don’t need this,” he pleaded wholeheartedly.
“I’m tired, come back tomorrow. Have you brought some things for me?”
Oh shit! “Oh no. I’ve left the bag at home. I’ll go back now and get it,” he stuttered.
“Don’t bother, I’m really tired Grant. I just want to go to sleep and the visiting times here are only until eight o’clock. I can continue to live like a filthy tramp and I’m sure no one really has bothered texting me, so I don’t need my phone just to feel alive and have a friendly chat with someone. Just bring the stuff tomorrow, I don’t care,” slurred Alex as she looked away and gazed out of the window, her deliberate sarcasm cutting Grant like a knife.
“I’m so sorry darling. I know you hate me...” Grant paused, hoping for some response, but none came. “Are you getting any better?”
“A bit.” She shrugged, wincing from the burning sensation in her face.
“Sleep if you want to, I’ll just stay here until they kick me out.”
“Go home. The kids probably need you there. You must have things to sort out. I’d imagine the place must be a mess. I’ll be fine. I’m not in the mood to have visitors,” she continued coldly.
Shocked by her cruel and calculated distance, Grant reached for her hand again.
“Please go, I want to sleep.” Turning her body sideways in the bed, Alex pulled her legs over and faced the window, giving an obvious signal that Grant should leave her alone. Motionless and speechless, he sat quietly, staring across the bed, unsure whether to sit it out or leave.
“I’ll go and get a coffee. I’ll be back soon,” Grant whispered softly as he rose and left the room.
At the reception counter, a nurse sat behind the desk, filling in forms.
“Alex Frey, is she okay? I mean, how is she doing apart from the accident? She’s nodded off so I just wanted to know how she is,” Grant spluttered.
“She’s doing great, considering her awful accident today,” said the busy nurse with a beaming smile.
Draining the last dregs of sweet coffee from the cardboard cup, Grant stubbed out the cigarette under his sore foot, walked back through the foyer and returned to Alex’s room with a slight limp.
The lights had dimmed and she remained in the same position as she’d been in when he left her. Halting at the door, Grant hesitated – should he go or stay? Creeping inside, he approached the end of the bed and could clearly see that she was asleep. The clock on the wall was ticking away the visiting hours and Grant reluctantly decided to leave.
“Have you got a piece of paper and a pen I could use?” he asked, leaning on the reception desk. “My wife has fallen asleep so I’d like to leave her a message.”
“Yes sure, I’ll just find you a pen. Here, take some sticky notes,” said the nurse, cheerfully.
Dear Alex, I returned to find you asleep. I’ll come back tomorrow night after I’ve seen your mum and dad. Wish me luck for tomorrow, ha ha. Don’t worry, we’ll get everything sorted out at home and you’ll be back there soon enough. Love you with all my heart, and I’m so sorry for being an idiot.
Grant xxx
The evening traffic had died down to a dribble of stragglers as Grant drifted along the bypass in another daydream. Surprised by Alex’s reaction to his visit, he felt empty and lonely. He much preferred the other side of her character, the bossy, dominant, angry Alex. Detesting ignorance and silence, Grant wished there had been a war of words, rather than the aloofness he’d just received.
At the junction Grant turned right, absentmindedly, instead of going straight ahead and onwards to home. Deciding to go and have a drink in the pub, he realised he didn’t want to go home early, get the third degree from the kids and have to explain that their mum had given him the cold-shoulder treatment. Just one drink in neutral surroundings would make him feel so much better and he needed something potent as he thought about tomorrow’s schedule.
The King’s Arms was a lively place even on this bank holiday Monday evening. Situated just outside the town’s perimeter the quaint old public house had a long history. A well-established, family-run business, both the bar and the inbuilt restaurant managed a roaring trade. Many commuters used the restaurant facilities whilst staying in one of the bed and breakfast hotels further up the road, and among the local residents and general passers-by (such as Grant), the King’s Arms was a well-known landmark.
Leaning on the bar and clinging onto a whiskey and lemonade, Grant surveyed the tables around the dimly lit room. Groups of people sat talking in twos, threes, and on some tables more. Some people milled around waiting for a table in the busy restaurant. Others leaned over the bar, seated or standing, drinking and talking. Dotted around sparingly were the people, like Grant, who sat or stood drinking quietly on their own, watching and listening.
As the last droplet was teased and sucked from the glass, the urge to have one more was overwhelming. Would he get away with another? Would he still be able to legally drive his car home? Unsure whether another whiskey would take him over the limit or not, Grant beckoned one of the barmaids over. The thought of tomorrow had made the decision for him. Maybe he should leave the car in the pub’s large car park and get a taxi home to be on the safe side – he could always pick it up in the morning. Safe in the knowledge that he could have another drink and not worry about driving home, Grant ordered a second spirit and savoured every drop.
Then a third...
As the blonde barmaid took the ten-pound note from his hand, Grant sipped his fourth tipple. Two ladies stood next to him in the queue at the bar, chatting and giggling as the pub heaved with activity and merriment.
Woozy and dull, Grant listened to the women’s conversation about work and their colleagues in the office, with a smirk on his face. As his alcohol-induced confidence grew he watched intently as the lady stood closest to him ordered two vodka and Cokes. The taller of the two, who was standing on the other side, noticed that Grant was lounging on the bar
with his head propped up on his hand, listening to their conversation. Smiling at him, she nudged her friend’s elbow and diverted her gaze quickly to the bar counter, coyly. Touched by her bashfulness, he smiled as she raised her head and glanced from the corner of her eye towards him. Laughing to himself, Grant shivered from the fuel of the alcohol and the thrill of excitement that sped through his stomach.
“Hi,” mouthed the tall, slim and incredibly attractive woman in Grant’s direction.
Turning sharply, Grant looked over his shoulder to see who she was talking to. Realising that the ‘hi’ had been directed towards him, he nodded and smiled.
“Let me get these,” said Grant softly as the barmaid brought the drinks to the counter.
“No, you don’t have to do that,” exclaimed the woman next to him.
“No, please let me, I don’t often buy fine young ladies like you two, a drink. I would love to,” he slurred, pulling the wallet from his pocket. “No strings. Please enjoy.”
The two women thanked him graciously and giggled bashfully. Did I really just do that? Grant thought as he began to swagger on the bar stool.
“Could you get me another please?” asked Grant, just before the barmaid went to walk away. Downing the fourth drink quickly, he smiled to his new acquaintances, winked at the taller girl and watched the barmaid pull his fifth whiskey and lemonade. His head felt fuzzy and his chin was numb, but it felt really good. Grant didn’t have a care in the world and the flashing imagery in his mind’s eye made him chortle inwardly. What a wacky weekend he’d just had. How funny it was. Visions of PC Oakes on her knees in the dining room sent Grant’s head spinning in merriment. The thought of the bed sheets laid out on his lawn, full of kitchen equipment and washed tins, made him silently roar with laughter in his mind.
“Are you okay?” The husky voice of the tall beauty interrupted Grant’s thoughts. Guessing she was of similar age to him, Grant looked up and noted that she’d moved closer by switching sides with her friend.