The door to the church was locked. I banged on the door and thought I heard a “hello?” through the wood.
“It’s me, Kath,” I called out.
I waited, watching the traffic driving past and feeling exposed. My treatment should be finished. What if this Richard Newland kept tabs on his church? What if he drove by regularly noting the users? My guess would be he had the master key and the one I currently had in my possession was a duplicate. Maybe he’d been in the church when we weren’t here and already knew of the mess we’d made of his miraculous pod.
The door swung open and Dad greeted me with a grin. “You’ll never guess what I figured out.”
Well, if this wasn’t going to be another day for discoveries. I stood next to him as he locked the door again, staring not at the pod but the cross above. Jesus hung off the wood, eyes closed and an expression of suffering on his face. His arms stretched out, the pressure of his body pulling forward bringing the sinews out. Did he have a pod hidden away in that cave? I made a quick sign of the cross, thinking that was sacrilege of the highest order, and I needed everything in my favor, even the opinion of a god far above me.
Dad gave me a brief shoulder squashing hug and pulled me towards the machine. “Ready to guess what I found out today?”
I shrugged and gave him my best sarcastic look. “That the machine works with pixie dust?”
“Better.” His grin widened. “Check this out.” He went behind the machine and closed the panel.
“Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating.” The machine spoke!
I ran around to the other side of the pod and triggered the lid to open. As it opened I knelt down, resting my hands on the mattress. The foam grabbed onto me as I listened for more.
“Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 60% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging the system with nitrogen vapor. Nanoparticle density is 45% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative for necessary repairs.”
“See, I was right.” Dad had come around behind me. I glanced up at him. He looked proud. “I fixed the leak properly and installed a new valve. I’m not going to risk ferreting around inside searching for the proper one.”
“But she spoke!”
“Yes, well,” he came over a little sheepish, “that I discovered by accident. My valve fix was a little cumbersome, so I had to make sure the panel would close. When I did, the lady started up.”
I let out a small laugh.
“Scared the life out of me when she spoke. You could have warned me.”
“This is amazing.” I slipped off my shoes and climbed into the pod. “Do you suppose the scanner still works?”
“Since you’ve not told me anything, and the info I do have is second-hand off your mother, I wouldn’t have the first clue what the machine does or doesn’t do even when it is working.”
I rolled my eyes at Dad, making sure he noticed. “The machine scans you and then fixes you using those little nanoparticles. If there’s power I don’t see why it can’t scan people still. I wanted to know if the MRI and this thing matched up. Having the same results would be the final acknowledgment that the machine really worked.
Dad poked the mattress. “Fascinating,” he said as it swelled around his finger.
“You think that’s fascinating, watch this.” I reached up and put my hand on the panel.
The lid began slowly closing. I grinned at Dad until the lid clicked closed.
The machine started speaking, “Patient recognized. Scan initiating.”
Thank God. I snuggled into the mattress. The machine still worked, I couldn’t believe it. Should have got my father in on the fix days ago.
“Diagnosing.”
Would the pod match up with what the MRI saw?
“Two tumors found in the liver of 19mm and 10mm. Left and right lung now clear.”
One millimeter difference in the measurements, but otherwise identical to what that doctor told us at Clatterbridge. I felt the excitement building in me. If we could get some of that gas and refill the system the machine could finish the job it started. My thoughts were interrupted by the pod-voice.
“Three sessions of the four recommended have been completed. Sessions can be resumed after required maintenance.”
“End session?” the machine asked.
“Yes,” I said and the lid began opening.
I smiled as Dad’s face came into view.
“Speechless, Dad? Astounded? It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
Dad’s mouth worked, but no words came out. “We need to fix this miracle,” he finally said.
He took my hands and helped me out of the pod.
“Do you think I could have a go? I mean, I feel fine, but it would be good to have a body scan. At my age you can never be certain of anything.” A rose tint grew on his cheeks.
I glanced back at the pod. “Don’t see why not…”
“You don’t think it’ll mess up your sessions?” He placed his hand on the mattress, pulling away as it tried to grab on.
“Things are already messed up, Dad. Go for it.”
I sat on a pew as Dad took off his shoes and climbed carefully in.
“Don’t worry about the mattress. It’s like memory foam, kind of. It won’t swallow you or anything like that.”
Dad lay down. “You sure about that, I swear it’s trying to eat me.”
I laughed. “Stop being a baby and lie down.”
He settled down and stared at the lid. “What do I do, say close sesame or something?”
Shaking my head and trying not to laugh more, I pointed to the panel above him. ”Put your hand on that. It’ll close then.”
“Okay…” He reached up tentatively and spread his left hand on the smooth metal. The lid immediately began to close. Dad lay there, arms stiff at his sides, not far off a state of terror and I remembered all that medicine it pumped into me to calm me down. Would that still be working?
The lid clicked closed and as clearly as if I’d heard it inside the pod, the voice said, “Heartbeat and blood pressure raised. Antihypertensive being administered.”
That must have come from a different system to the nanoparticles. How many kinds of medicines did this thing have stored in it?
“Patient registered via DNA. Scan initiating.” *
Even out here, sat on a dusty pew the soft words of the woman relaxed me.
“Diagnosing.”
I suppose she’d find some arthritis. Dad was seventy-nine years old. Surely he’d have a couple of age-related issues to fix. The machine seemed to be taking ages. I sat waiting, picking my nails and tapping my foot.
Finally, the voice stated up again. “Tumor found in the prostate measuring 4mm.”
Oh my god. No, not my dad. I sat stiffly on the pew.
“Two sessions recommended. Sessions can begin after required maintenance. End session?”
Dad mustn’t have realized he needed to respond, and the voice spoke again.
“End session?”
This time I heard Dad say, “Yes.”
The lid popped open and slowly rose. Dad didn’t move, his face pale and slack. I guessed I probably looked similar.
“Oh, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
He sat up, the color already returning to his face. “It’s not that much of a surprise. I’m sure I read that any man who lives to one-hundred will have developed prostate cancer.”
“Don’t be so flip, Dad. This is too serious for jokes.”
“No it isn’t,” he said, his tone sharp. “It’s my body, I can joke about any problems I have if I choose to.”
“Okay, fine.”
“And 4mm is tiny. Even if this magic machine of yours never works again, I can get the doc to lop the thing out of me.” He held one of his hands up and held his thumb and finger slightly apart. “That’s all it is. Like one of those a petit pois peas your mother likes.”
/> The air in the church suddenly felt cloying, I had to get out. I thought for a second, I didn’t need to just get out. I needed ice cream. And not just ice cream, I needed a great big sundae with a mountain of whipped cream and hot fudge and caramel sauce.
“Come on, Dad. Want to drown your sorrows with me? We can be depressed cancer buddies.”
He looked sideways at me. “The pub?”
“No, silly. Much better than the pub. Ice cream.”
25
Visiting Wendy
As I walked up to Sally’s house and heard shrieks of laughter, I couldn’t help but think, just for one moment, that maybe Wendy had done the right thing putting Sally away. Then the betrayal of my thoughts took over. Sally was locked away, and it was all her sister’s fault.
The doorbell echoed through the house, and I stood back, enjoying the early morning sunshine on my face. The door opened and Peter and Lucy barreled out at me.
“Auntie Kathy!” Peter shrieked. Even Lucy let out a giggle. The pair of them clung to me like limpets. Behind them, Wendy waited just inside the house.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked.
I nodded. “Just need to manhandle these two in.” The three of us waddled inside the house. I shook them off onto the floor where they lay in a giggling heap for a second before jumping up and bolting out the backdoor and into the garden.
“Such a difference in them.” I had to say it. It was as if entirely different kids were in the house.
Wendy acknowledged my words with a slight smile. What if I’d given her ammunition against her sister: Even your best friend thinks you do a rubbish job raising your kids. Is that what she’d say to Sal?
“Would you like a drink? The kettle just boiled.”
I glanced at the door, before turning back to Wendy. “That would be lovely. Any news?”
“Nothing to get your hopes up yet.”
I followed Wendy to the kitchen and leaned against a countertop while she busied herself making tea.
“She’s still not allowed phone calls, but you can send a letter. I had the kids send in drawings.”
I was supposed to hate Wendy, like a mutual hate pact or something. Sally hated her, so I should hate her. But somehow I couldn’t help but warm to this silver-haired version of my best friend.
“Do you reckon they check the letters? You know, before they hand them over.”
Wendy shrugged. “Would make sense, I guess.” She gave the teapot a stir before deciding it ready. “Why, are you planning on writing something that might upset her?”
“No…” I thought of how insane the pod would sound on paper. “Just need to word things in a way that they let it through, that’s all.”
Wendy loaded up a tray and went through to the living room. She poured my tea and topped up the cup with a drop of milk. I didn’t even know Sally had china like this. Maybe Wendy brought her own from home? There was a couple who came to the husband’s chemo sessions at Clatterbridge with a thermos of tea, which wasn’t so unusual, but also their own china cups. Made me smile every time I saw them. It was a comfort thing, and maybe this was Wendy’s way of easing a difficult situation.
“I’ve been keeping Sally updated on the situation with the children. I go and drop the letters off by hand and according to the nurse they’ve been getting through.”
The hospital was nearly an hour’s drive away. That was some commitment, taking them by hand.
Wendy sipped at her tea and I realized just how polar this was to my typical visits to this house. Normally Sal and I used giant mugs, and ate sticky cakes and laughed constantly at each other’s silliness. It was all too serious for me. I finished my tea, said my thanks and went out to the garden to see the kids.
Peter and Lucy were playing on a trampoline I’d never seen before, the breathy squeaks of the springs in perfect sync with the kids’ shrieks and screams of laughter.
“See you guys later,” I called out and was rewarded with the pair of them shouting out goodbyes. Even Lucy was talking. Damn, this was going to be hard on them when Sally came back. I was sure they missed their mother, and I almost hated seeing them this happy. It kind of reinforced how bad a job of motherhood Sal was doing.
I got home and took a pad of paper from a cupboard. Staring at the blank page wasn’t making my thoughts any less confused. I got up and made a cup of tea – a proper cup of tea using the biggest mug in the cabinet. I raised the cup to Sal before taking the first sip. Where was she now? Locked up in her room? Wandering around a common area? I’d never been to a psych ward. Sal had never wanted to talk about her visits once she was home, so I only had movies and TV programs to base my ideas on. Were there metal grates separating the staff from the patients? Lots of locked doors and screwed-down chairs and tables?
Getting my thoughts in order finally, I started my letter.
Hey Sally,
It’s all gone to shit. Found out my dad’s got prostate cancer. It’s this tiny little tumor, really early stages. The docs should cut it out and hopefully that’ll be the end of it. The shittiest part is I can’t explain to you why this is so bad and why I’m not entirely happy that my lungs came up clear in the last scan. Yes, you read right. Plus, I’ve only got two tumors in my liver, and yet I’m not jumping for joy. There’s big things going on in my life and if I told anyone I’d end up in there with you in the next bed. Jesus. It’s all messed up.
I’ll tell you this. Got this new scanner. It’s so accurate that I’m afraid to let my mum go in it because I’m terrified of what they’ll find. Me, I’m a walking poster child for ignoring symptoms. I should be shouting at people to get the scan. The sooner you know, the better the chances, and yet it’s all bullshit.
Saw your kids today. Wendy’s doing a good job with them. They miss you so much, though. Get better for them and come home soon. Hell, I need you. You and me have some serious catching up to do and I need you here.
I’m not making any sense, so I’m going to stop while I’m way behind. Get better. I need you.
Kath xxx
That would have to do. I sealed it in an envelope, and decided I needed some time to clear my head. I’d hand deliver the letter like Wendy did. Maybe I could find out some information about Sal while I was there. Hell, I was practically family; I deserved to know how she was.
I dipped into the garage where Jimmy was working on a shelving project. “I’m going to drop this off for Sally.” I waved the letter in the air.
Jimmy grunted at me. He was obviously still miffed at me for letting my dad do the fix on the machine. Grow up, I thought, it’s not all about you.
“See you later,” I said when it was obvious he wasn’t going to talk to me.
I walked down the driveway and got in the car, hoping I’d find Jimmy at the window, knocking on the glass for me to open up and give him a kiss, but he stayed hidden in the garage. Jesus, life’s too short for this. But that didn’t stop me putting the car in gear and driving off.
26
Nanoparticle Miracles
I didn’t get to see Sally. No visits allowed, I was told. Can’t disclose information to a non-relative. We’ll see she gets the letter. I heard the nurse rip into the envelope as I left the reception area. Would my words pass and be handed on? I’d find out eventually, I hoped.
Jimmy called Bob on Sunday, told him we needed nitrogen vapor, and could he get some for us. Of course this started a big debate. Bob wouldn’t just supply it, he had to bring it and only he could handle the canister. Bob didn’t get an immediate answer. I made Jimmy hang up and convince me this wasn’t a stupid thing to do. Jimmy and I discussed the issue of Bob seeing the machine for near on an hour. We decided to allow him into the church, but it was going to be a cloak and dagger affair. We’d blindfold him and take him there.
I heard Bob before I saw him. His old red Fiesta came grumbling up the street. Nerves were getting to me, and I sat by the window, watching as Bob eased his car up onto the pavement in front of my
house. The Fiesta belched blue smoke out the exhaust as he turned her off.
Bob got out, lanky and disheveled in an ancient once-white t-shirt and possibly the same pair of jeans as last time. He opened the boot, put on a pair of thick gloves and lifted out a reasonably-sized grey metal canister. It must have been heavy, as he turned my way I watched his face scrunch up from the effort. The canister clanked as he placed it on the pavement.
Jimmy walked down the driveway to meet Bob. The two of them moved the canister into the boot of Jimmy’s car and then came inside.
“Hi, how are you?” Bob’s face was flushed from the exertion. “So, exactly what is the nitrogen vapor needed for?”
Jimmy glanced at me and indicated I should do the talking. Bob would see the machine soon enough, but it was still hard to give up its secrets to this relative stranger.
“We’ve got a machine, it has those nanoparticles inside it.” I checked with Jimmy, he gave me an encouraging look. “We’ll take you to it, but it’s all top secret. So you’ll have to be blindfolded.”
“Who invented the machine? Can’t be either of you or you wouldn’t have needed to come to me.”
“How very astute.”
“You said I had to go blindfolded? Real spy stuff going on. What are you afraid of?”
Did that really need to be said out loud? Did he really need me to explain my fears? Sometimes I wondered how smart people could be so stupid. I picked up a scarf from the sofa beside me. “Can you sit?”
Bob shifted from one foot to the other. “Seriously, blindfolded? I won’t look. I’ll keep my eyes closed. There’s no need for that.”
Jimmy stepped closer. “Look, without the blindfold you don’t get to see the machine. And believe me, this thing is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. You want to see it. Trust me.”
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