by stewartgiles
FORTY NINE
CHRISTMAS PRESENTS
Saturday 24 December 2005
“Mr Lin,” the sombre voice on the telephone said, “I’m afraid I need you to come to the hospital.”
“Is something wrong with Vera Mae?” Lin asked.
There was a pause on the line.
“Please Mr Lin,” the voice continued, “I’ll explain everything when you get here.”
Lin put down the phone, finished his tea and picked up his car keys. He looked over at the small Christmas tree in the corner of the room. There were two presents underneath it. One was labelled’ Vera Mae’ and the other, ‘Chuck’. Lin picked them up, put them inside his coat and left the house.
Lin drove carefully to the hospital; the roads had been gritted but it had snowed heavily and it was beginning to lay again. As he drove, he wondered what was wrong with Vera Mae. She had been upbeat the last few times he had visited; her belly was getting big and there was a strong possibility of her being discharged early to have the baby. Lin parked the car as close to the entrance of the hospital as possible. He got out, locked the car and walked quickly to the front of the building. Once inside, he shook the snow off and approached the reception desk. Nurse Hagen was sitting there looking through some papers.
“I got a call to come here urgently,” Lin said, “what’s wrong?”
Nurse Hagen could barely look him in the eye.
“Good afternoon,” she said sympathetically, “I’ll let Doctor Bushell know you’re here, please have a seat.”
“What’s wrong?” Lin repeated.
“The doctor will explain everything,” she said, “please have a seat.”
When Lin saw the expression on Doctor Bushell’s face he knew at once that something terrible had happened.
“Can I see my wife?” he said.
“Please Mr Lin,” Doctor Bushell said, “come through to my office.”
He led Lin to an office just down the corridor from reception. The office was furnished very grandly; a huge mahogany desk dominated the room, bookshelves lined one wall and various species of fish were displayed in frames on the other walls. Doctor Bushell was obviously a keen fisherman.
“Please sit down Mr Lin,” Doctor Bushell beckoned to one of the leather chairs.
“Is Vera Mae alright?” Lin asked, “You’ve got me worried. Is there something wrong with the baby?”
“I’m afraid there was an incident on Wednesday night,” Doctor Bushell began, “after visiting time.”
“What happened?” Lin asked.
“Vera Mae attacked another patient; she stuck a fork in the woman’s arm.”
“Why did she do that?”
“We don’t know. We had to sedate her. I’m afraid we had to get an expert to reassess her and he came to the conclusion that she is by no means fit to look after a baby.”
Lin took out the Christmas presents.
“Can I see her?” he asked, “I’ve got gifts for her and the baby, they might cheer her up a bit.”
Doctor Bushell took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry Mr Lin,” he said, “I’m afraid your wife died two hours ago.”
Lin felt sick. He could hear his own heart beat; it was beating quickly.
“What do you mean she died?” Lin said eventually, “How could you let that happen?”
“She died of a Cyclic Antidepressant overdose,” Doctor Bushell said gravely.
“Overdose?” Lin repeated, “You mean she killed herself?”
“I’m afraid so. A fellow patient was not taking her medication; she’d saved up two weeks of pills and Vera Mae took the lot.”
“What about the baby?”
“There was nothing we could do Mr Lin, Vera Mae’s body simply shut down.”
Lin stood up.
“Can I see her,” he said.
“Of course,” Doctor Bushell replied, “she’s in her room, I’ll come with you.”
“What was the name of the expert?” Lin asked.
“Expert?” Doctor Bushell was confused.
“The one who decided Vera Mae was not fit to look after a baby?”
“Just a Psychology Professor from the University.”
“What was his name?”
“Professor Willow,” Doctor Bushell replied.