by Tara Ford
Mesmerised by the bright sunlight sparkling and bouncing off the miniature waves in Gilbert’s Lake, John stood perfectly still, hands in pockets, and listened to the people around him as the hot sun warmed his back. A smug look on his face suggested he thought that Dot, the nagging old hag, had finally got her comeuppance.
“Can you strap it to the side of the jetty, Grant? I’d better go and see if Dot’s okay,” said Charlie as he started to step away backwards, still steering the liner back to land.
“We’ll need to resume filming soon,” called Alan as Charlie headed for the back of the Transit.
Shoeless feet dangled out of the back of the van as Charlie walked around and spotted Dot sat under a tatty travel rug, shivering. Her sodden Hush Puppies glistened on the grass, seeping in the sunshine.
“Oh, glad you could bloody well make it round here, Charlie. I heard what you said and this was all Grant’s fault, stupid man,” said Dot grumpily. “If it wasn’t for Dan and Steve here, I’d still bloody well be in there. Grant did nothing but stand and watch!” In her eyes, Dan, Steve and the kiosk man were her heroes and they would be superstars forever.
“Err, he’s a bit shocked, my love. Are you all right though?”
“Oh yes, I’m just great. Shocked? He’s bloody drunk! Didn’t you smell the alcohol on his breath this morning?” Pulling herself up with one hand and gripping the blanket around her neck with the other, Dot stepped into her ruined shoes. “He can’t handle Alex being in hospital, he’s falling apart like before. I hope you hurry up with the filming, Charlie, I want to go home. I’m not going back round there. I’ll be an object of ridicule.”
Privately, Charlie agreed and then began to walk away.
“AND THIS HAD BETTER NOT BE IN THE FILM!” Dot cried as her hair dripped and her smudged lips remained smudged.
The rest of the morning’s filming was eventually a success. The onlookers gradually dispersed and went their own ways after enquiring about the old lady’s wellbeing, as did the caring canine clique.
Resuming the interview, Justin frantically adjusted his flattened hair first and then carefully placed his shades on the top.
Alan continued the wrestling match between holding his trousers and balancing the camera on a hefty shoulder.
Steve, Dan and John waited patiently for their turn to film the Titanic on the lake, and briefly interview Charlie.
The technical boys had plans for the grand opening of the museum, at seven o’clock that evening, which would be hosted by the Mayor and his good wife, John the curator and an ancestor of one of the passengers on the Titanic’s fatal journey. Their rolling video display in the museum’s Titanic department would show a selection of local events and interviews with people who had connections to the historic ship in one way or another. An empty stand at the museum awaited Charlie’s remarkable model. Once it had dried out thoroughly, it would be exhibited in a central position in front of the giant video display screen on the second floor of the new maritime museum.
If John had had his way, Charlie’s model would have been in the museum for the evening’s opening ceremony, but Charlie’s stubbornness had prevailed and he would be releasing it into the lake on the centenary. He was adamant that they would not get it until after the launch, but now that Alex had missed everything, he now wanted to do it all again for her benefit.
Keeping out of sight at the back of Steve’s van, Dot was waiting impatiently for the filming and interviews to finish when Grant peered around the side of the door.
“I’m really sorry Dot. I don’t know what happened there,” he mumbled guiltily.
Her smudged red mouth remained downturned in a sulk as she continued to shiver, resembling a drowned puppy wrapped in a survival blanket.
“I’ll take you home Dot, come on, you’ll catch a cold here.”
“I am not getting in the car with you. I’m not silly you know.” Dot stood up in her squelchy new shoes. “You’ve been drinking haven’t you? You couldn’t stand up straight on the jetty. I’m very disappointed in you, Grant. No, in fact I’m furious with you. Go away!”
“That was last night, and yeah I did go out for a couple.”
“More than a couple, I think. Why did you have to collect your car this morning? Where did you go last night?” The annoyance in Dot’s voice was becoming clearer and Grant felt the familiar bubbles of anger begin to balloon in his stomach.
“Look Dot, I’m not being funny but I don’t have to answer to you… or Evelyn for that matter. I’m sick of having to redeem myself to the two of you, for heaven’s sake.” Grant could hear himself blurting the words out, but couldn’t stop it. “I think I’d better go. If you don’t want a lift home Dot, again, I’m sorry.”
“Yes go, we’ll sort this mess out later.”
Without any goodbyes, Grant slinked off up the path. His hangover had been miraculously cured within seconds of Dot’s dramatic exit from the jetty earlier, but now a new one lurked in the depths of his mind.
Alex
Oh no, have I really just done that? What’s wrong with me? Why have I overreacted so badly? He didn’t deserve that... did he? Straining to hear the sound of Grant’s footsteps disappearing down the corridor, I lay motionless, eyes closed tightly, and then I really did fall asleep.
Waking from the first undisturbed night since I’d been in the hospital, I sat up, rather surprised that the nurses had not woken me to do observations. As my sleepy eyes focused, I remembered the new room with its beautiful views, and the short, bittersweet visit from Grant. Why I’d been so ignorant and standoffish I really didn’t know, after all it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d forgotten to tell me what had happened and probably feared my reaction as well. I picked up the note he’d left on the side cabinet and read it as a tear fell and landed on the paper.
Today was going to be a big day for my dad, and I sensed that Grant would be dreading it without me there to lighten up the whole affair and turn it into a laugh. And to top it all, he would be feeling even worse knowing that we had not really spoken to each other properly in a few days. Thoughts raced through my mind, and I suddenly recalled the accident yesterday with Jack and Aaron and reached up to touch my face which was partially covered in wads of bandage. What a mess everything was. Well, it could only get better, couldn’t it?
The tea trolley rattled around the ward and slowly made its merry way towards my room. “Morning. Tea, coffee, fruit juice?” called a surly, middle-aged woman.
“Tea please.” I smiled an exaggerated smile, hoping it might encourage the miserable lady to brighten up. At least she could walk on her own two feet, so what did she have to be unhappy about?
“Morning, how are you feeling today?” Jenny the day nurse hurried in, picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed and sifted through the papers. “Did you sleep better?”
“Yes, but nobody came to wake me up for obs,” I replied. “What’s happening with me today, do you know?”
“The doctor will be on the ward at about nine o’clock, you could talk to him then.” Jenny smiled. “How is the physio going now?”
“Okay, I haven’t really done very much of anything, but they did say they want me to stand up and weight-bear today,” I said as a rush of excitement pulsed through my veins. If I could progress with the physiotherapist and my temperature and blood pressure improved, then surely there was nothing keeping me in the hospital. It would just be a matter of time, patience and perseverance before I was completely recovered from this unknown illness. “When do you think I can go home?”
“Oh, I don’t know, ask the doctor when he comes,” she said as she started to peel away the bandages from my cheek. “That’s looking better. I’ll take them off, let it get some air and dry out.”
“Come on, you can do it, just one step.” The two therapists held me upright in a standing position as my legs wobbled and buckled underneath me. Determined to make progress, I screwed up my crusty, scabby face in concentration and willed
my right leg to move forwards, but it wouldn’t go.
“Alex, I’m going to let you go. Are you ready to stand by yourself?” The ginger-haired man nodded to his female colleague. “Are you ready?” Bracing myself to take the weight on my jelly legs, I felt like a wooden push-up puppet waiting for the thumb press from beneath.
“Yes. Ready,” I replied apprehensively as the pair gradually released their grip on my arms and began to move their hands away.
Feeling the sensation of weight-bearing again, my knees buckled slightly but held and locked at a slightly bent position as my ankles too became rigid. I was standing on my own, albeit in an awkward stance. I’d done it!
“Try to straighten your back Alex,” whispered the girl, as if she had just witnessed a miracle. Her supportive hands still hovered just under my opened arms. Another set of warm hands gently pushed from the top of my left shoulder and the small of my back as the red-headed man eased my back into a straightened position.
“Well done, you’re standing upright. We’re going to support you while you try and move your right leg forward now.”
Grinning like a toddler who had just received a Christmas present from Santa, I relaxed and calmed as the therapists supported my weight once again.
“Okay, are you ready?”
“Yes, ready,” I replied, willing my leg to move as they began to tilt me forward. The natural instinct of stepping forward to prevent myself toppling to the ground kicked in. My right leg flicked out with a jolt and haphazardly flopped back to the floor. I had taken a step, albeit a sloppy, uncontrolled one.
Tears stung my eyes and fell on grazed cheeks as the two therapists lowered me onto a chair. Four uncoordinated steps had taken their toll and I was tired out, but elated at the same time. I’d made progress and could walk... sort of.
After a discussion with the younger girl about self-help physiotherapy and how to use a walking frame effectively, they both left.
Well, that was it then – I just needed to see the doctor, who was late as usual, and then I could probably go home at some point today. I could borrow a walking frame and practise in the comfort of my own home. At least that way I would be able to sort out the trail of mess that I imagined I would find upon my return.
To my great disappointment, it turned out that I was not going home today. A top neurological specialist from somewhere in the south would be coming to assess me either this evening or early tomorrow, and knowing what a doctor’s timescale was like, I guessed it could be next week before the ‘top doc’ arrived. I felt miserable and hopeless again. The rest of the doctors still didn’t really know what was wrong with me and couldn’t understand the conflicting symptoms: the rash and the temporary disabling of my central nervous system. Basically I was a guinea pig for the top neuroscientists to try and work out, exchanging ideas and concocting elusive conclusions.
“We hope you will be able to go home tomorrow, after Mr Treese has assessed you,” said the doctor when he finally visited. “You have a physio plan in place I believe.”
“Yes I do.” I could now see the light shining brightly at the end of what had been a very long tunnel, as long as the ‘top man’ turned up when expected. The doctor kindly answered some of my questions as best he could, and explained why I felt like I was supplying the local blood donor clinic with enough blood to feed a vault of vampires for a month.
“Your white blood cells are very low, that’s why you’ve had so many tests. Some of them, like the HIV one, will take a few weeks to process but all the other related tests will be ready in a week to ten days.”
The glazed look of shock and horror on my face must have been enough for him to decide to move on to the next patient. As he started to walk out of the room, he turned and said, “Depending on the results, we may need to see you again, but if you don’t hear from us then all of the results will be sent to your own doctor.” He wished me well and left.
Stunned into a silent, dreamlike state, I stared intently through the window at the far-off sea. Blimey, that’s serious stuff – AIDS! I couldn’t have anything like that, could I? I tried to recall a time when I might have been vulnerable to any conditions that could have made me contract HIV, but couldn’t think of any. What about Grant? Had he been exposed to any possible situations? There were none that I knew of. What about situations I may not know about? Had he been involved in any clandestine affairs? How ridiculous – I now doubted my wonderful, loving and dedicated husband. Pull yourself together, Alex Frey. Everything will be fine. You can’t possibly have AIDS.
Stirring from an afternoon sleep, I opened one eye and peeped out from under the covers. A solitary, small white cloud slowly sailed past the window, useless in its endeavour to blot out the raging sun.
Euphoria bubbled in the pit of my stomach as I remembered the doctor’s words – I was going home tomorrow (if the doctor turned up on time). Soon I would sit in my garden again with the busy gnomes and a magazine, waiting for the true summer to arrive.
The aftermath of the kitchen fire had to be dealt with, but I knew that it was probably a blessing in disguise, and actually the wake-up call we needed to ensure that all the batteries were replaced in the smoke alarms – it was one of those jobs I had been meaning to do, it was on my ‘to do’ list but I’d never got around to doing it. Then the doctor’s other words sprang to my mind – HIV! I couldn’t possibly dwell on it. It would drive me insane. I would just have to wait for the results. The doctors were probably just being overcautious and testing me for every disease imaginable.
The clock on the far wall ticked around to 4.30pm. I had to get to the communal room to see the television. I’d given up trying to sign up for an account to the television console hanging above my head and the prices were ridiculous anyway. Nurse Jenny had informed me that there was a communal room just down the corridor and hardly anyone used it. Determination and a renewed vigour assisted my departure from the bed and into the wheelchair by the side of it. Wheeling myself out of the room, I headed for the TV area at the end of the ward, hoping to catch the local news that would be on at five o’clock.
“Are you okay?” called Nurse Trisha as I whizzed past her.
“Yes, I want to see the news on TV,” I replied, pushing the wheels as hard as I could.
Reaching the circular layout of chairs, I manoeuvred through a gap and parked in the middle of the empty communal area. Luckily the correct channel was on so I absentmindedly watched the last half of Inspector Morse.
Twenty-seven minutes into the local news programme, I hadn’t seen a flicker or a glimpse of anything pertaining to the Titanic or any historic local events. Deflated, I tapped my fingers on the armrest of the wheelchair.
“And finally, a host of events and centenary ceremonies took place today as the anniversary of the Titanic’s fatal maiden voyage was remembered throughout our region. Penny Scott has the full details.”
Bolting upright, senses on full alert, I listened and studied the television intently, waiting for a glimpse of my dad, my mum and Grant.
Hobbling in through the door, Grant appeared gaunt, weary and anxious. “Hello babe.” His quiet, husky voice barely broke the silence as I watched him approach. Smiling sweetly in atonement for the previous evening’s incident, I welcomed him with outstretched arms. I needed a cuddle desperately.
“Hello. I’m sorry—”
“No, I’m sorry Alex. I should have told you about the fire, it was important. I was looking for the right moment but we had to deal with Emma.” Grant sighed. “I had so much on my mind and ached from head to toe. I haven’t been coping very well without you babe.”
A rush of emotions – love, lust and tears – filled me as his big brown eyes stared into mine.
“I might be able to go home tomorrow, and then we can put all of this behind us.”
“That’s great news, we need you at home. Do you feel better?”
Pulling away from our embrace, I blinked away unshed tears. “Yes, I feel much better
and I can stand on my own now.” I smiled proudly. “How did it go today? I saw Dad and the boat on the TV but only saw you for about a second and I couldn’t see Mum at all. I thought they were going to film you both putting the boat in.”
“Ah, I need to tell you about that. It wasn’t such a good day. Things didn’t quite go to plan,” replied Grant uneasily.
“Why, what happened?”
“Your mum ended up in the lake and she is blaming me for it, but I don’t think it was my fault. She just slipped, but she won’t talk to me now and says I was drunk and—”
“Grant – Grant, slow down. Tell me everything from the start.” Holding onto his hand to reassure him that I wouldn’t be acting like I had the previous night, I asked, “Is Mum okay? I mean, has she hurt herself?” As Grant’s words sank in, I felt a looming sense of dread building again. “Oh my God, is she all right?”
“Yes, she’s not hurt, just a bit shaken up and very angry.”
“Why is she blaming you, how did it happen?” Visions of my mother floating around in the lake sent shivers through me. “When did it happen, before or after the filming?”
“During.”
“Oh no, I can see why she’s furious. Mum would have wanted to be the centre of attention, but not as the starring role in a David Attenborough Planet Earth documentary about the blue whale.” Mixed feelings and disbelief paved the way for watery eyes, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Don’t get upset babe, she’s okay. Your dad found it funny.”
“Yeah, I bet he did. Mum won’t ever see the funny side of it at all,” I said, wiping a stray salty droplet from my dried-up, crunchy cheek. “What a shambles it’s all been, Grant. Everything has gone wrong since I came into hospital.” I sighed, “So why is Mum blaming you for it?”