Chapter 12: Hospital

She drove him down to London, the boot full of bottled water and food donated by the group in Penrith. He'd waited in the passenger seat while it was loaded in, watching in the wing mirror as she threw herself into the lifting and carrying. Maybe soon he’d be able to help with stuff like this. Maybe… he held onto the positives.

His first glimpse of the camp seemed to bite deep. Ruth came here all the time, and it was always on TV, but this was the first time he’d seen it in real life. Stressed volunteers running to unload the car, the slick operation which saw everything stacked in neat piles beneath tarpaulins, a fence of waste timber forming a wall for security. The line of people, wrapped in jumpers and coats and ragged, filthy blankets, queuing for food and water. Wide-eyed children, some with grubby teddies clutched tight, staring vacantly into space. Seeing it he understood the effect it had on Ruth, the way she was always on edge when he saw her, the emotions bubbling under the surface. He could almost feel it in the air.

Tom opened the car door and slowly manoeuvred himself down, although in many ways he’d rather have hidden in the car, distracting himself with his phone. The ground was rough, dirty snow turned icy, rutted by vehicles. Perhaps best not to try to walk too far. He sat down on a nearby crate, well aware of people staring. He smiled at a particularly small girl, trying to ignore the bitterness in his throat. She clutched her doll tighter and pressed against the side of a car, almost out of sight.

Slowly, cautiously, a couple of little boys crept up, hovering a few metres away and whispering, and he gave them a minute before saying anything.

“Going to introduce yourselves, then?”

They jumped, creeping forward a few more steps. “Ethan.”

“Steven but you can call me Steve. What's wrong with your leg?”

“A car accident,” he told them. “It was a long time ago. But now I’m on the way to the hospital to have it fixed.”

“Oh! Can you just afford it now then?”

He shrugged. “I could walk on it quite well until recently, but now I can’t, so I have to have an operation.”

“Oh.” Steve stared. “That sounds rubbish.”

“Yeah, it is a bit.” He wondered how they’d deal with a broken bone here. There were charities who would help, but few of them, especially as they were still struggling with the new legislation. Waits would be longer than they should be, and that would mean complications.

He glanced at the little girl again, seeing she'd moved a few steps closer, before looking back at the boys. “Who's the young lady over there?”

They glanced round, and Ethan shrugged.

“Just Hope.”

“Has she got a grown-up around?”

Ethan glanced at Steve “Think she's got a dad. Grown-ups are always busy though, we tend to look out for each other.”

“That's very good of you. I just noticed her looking a bit lonely.”

“Is she?”

“Well, I don't know, it's just a guess.”

“Oh.” Ethan scuffed a foot against the ground then nudged Steve. "Go get her."

“Why me.”

“You're nearer.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“You do it.”

Tom shook his head and waited until Ethan backed down and went to get her.

They returned a minute later, Hope trailing behind, doll almost concealing her face. She didn’t have a coat, just a too-big jumper and a blanket trailing round her shoulders. Her trainers had once been pink but were now caked in mud, and she hobbled slightly as though they pinched. Perhaps he could stop at a shop on the way to the hospital. But how would he know what size to get?

“Hi Hope. How are you?”

She drew back further behind Ethan, until he turned and grabbed her arms and pulled her in front of him. Tom frowned at him briefly, before prodding at the mud with a crutch.

“Not much good for snowball fights anymore is it? What do you like to do here while the grown-ups are busy?”

They looked at each other. “Mike has a football,” said Ethan. “We play sometimes, especially when the cars aren’t here so we have space. Or we play hide and seek.”

“Or we go to the edge of the camp and find things for the campfire,” added Steve.

“The grown-ups come too though,” pointed out Ethan. “We used to play fishing too, but the grown-ups say we can’t go near the river now.”

He nodded. “That’s right. So you don’t get ill.”

Hope nodded into her doll’s hair. “Like daddy.”

That was the moment he really understood. A humanitarian disaster, yes. A tragedy. Hope’s innocent words told him that she didn’t know yet, it wasn’t a tragedy for her yet. But it could be, soon, and for others like her it already was.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked them, resorting to his well-practised collection of questions-for-engaging-with-small-children. He just didn’t know how to talk to them, not now he knew how close they were to bereavement, and not without bringing up their surroundings, which he didn’t know if he should or not. He stuck to treating them as much like normal kids as he could.

“I want to fly an aeroplane,” said Steve, glancing up. The clouds were too thick to see anything overhead.

“I was going to be a policeman and keep people safe,” said Ethan, “but maybe I can’t now.”

“And you?” Tom nodded to the little girl, who’d lowered her doll enough that her face was visible

Hope stood on one leg. “A ballerina. Or a singer.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Ethan. Tom gave him a look.

“I’m not silly.” She took a step away from the boys. “What do you do?”

“I’m a priest. I look after people and talk to them about God.”

Ethan frowned and kicked at the ground. “Mummy says there isn’t a God.”

“Yes there is,” argued Hope. “Grammy and Gramps said so.”

“Mummy says it’s only for stupid people.”

Steve kicked his ankle and jerked his head in Tom’s direction.

“Some people don’t think so,” said Tom, “but I believe there is and that’s what gets me through when things are difficult.”

Ethan shrugged and looked at Steve, kicking at the other boy’s ankle. “Let’s go find Megan.” He was already backing away.

“Who’s Megan?” asked Tom.

“The lady,” Hope told him. “Like a teacher but not.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Nice to see you. Keep up the dancing.”

She twirled, before glancing around for the boys, who were already leaving. “Bye.”

He watched them go, slipping through the flow of adults to a big marquee, where a woman greeted them and adjusted Hope’s blanket around her shoulders. At least someone cared, thought Tom from a distance - he was just a stranger, but they had others who looked out for them properly. As properly as anyone could in the circumstances. He watched the lady - Megan - from a distance, the way she settled Hope with another child at a table an crouched between them. If it weren’t for his knee he’d go closer, but then again they weren’t here to be gawped at.

Ruth reappeared at the entrance to the store tent, stopping to talk to another volunteer. He set his crutches under his arms and pulled himself up. A pathetic contribution compared to Ruth’s – just talking to a few children, not making a real difference, but at least it had taken his mind off things, and was better than ignoring them. He stared out of the window in silence as Ruth backed out.

“It’s a sad world, isn’t it?” Ruth’s voice was tired. “The little girl you were talking to… she doesn’t have a mother. Her father’s ill, not responding to best efforts. They don’t think he’ll last until evening. That’ll leave her alone, though a lot of the parents share out caring for the children, and there are some volunteers who kind of... coordinate it. Run a bit of a school. Try to find foster placements.”

“She mentioned grandparents…”

“If they’re still around, they’re not here. Colin, the guy I was talking to at the end there, told me. We’ll keep an eye out for her, of course, as we do for all of those lone children.”

Tom looked at his hands. “I had no idea. She seemed so… normal. Like a normal kid of… what is she, three?”

“Three or four, probably.”

“This operation… it could get the supplies to treat all the cholera patients. How many vaccines could it buy?”

“None, because that’s not how insurance works.” She glanced at him, hands on the wheel. “You told me that when I objected to getting the vaccine myself – which, incidentally, I have booked for later today, on an emergency clause. Archiepiscopal health insurance, it’s embarrassingly thorough. Anyway, once you go down the ‘what is more worthwhile’ route, where do you stop? If we get funds, what is more important, vaccinations or water purification tablets? Treating the sick or preventing sickness? Feeding people or keeping them warm? It’s an impossible conundrum.”

“What do you do?”

“In general, let the giver choose. We don’t get much anyway, only really contributions from the volunteers themselves, in which case it’s usually for a specific piece of equipment. Sam, who’s in charge of the operation at this station, she bought most of the wind turbines and the battery with her own money. We clubbed together for the rest, once the power supply started stuttering – the makers gave us a discount. We have a few running costs, for the portaloos, which are mostly sponsored by individuals. But we can’t really push for donations, we’re stretching the law enough by asking for food.”

He shook his head. “And they’re blaming immigrants for bringing diseases across the channel…”

She stared out of the windscreen, watching fresh snowflakes land and be swept aside by the wiper blades. “Try not to dwell too much. Look for positives and focus on getting well quickly. The camps are horrific, but nobody’s alone and the community is wonderful, or at least as good as we can hope for. Things will get better in the end.”

He looked out of the window until they pulled into the hospital car park. That would be more believable if he hadn’t seen how it affected her, how down she always was at the end of a day in the camp, the emotions that seethed beneath the surface. “Don’t give up,” he said quietly. “Whatever happens, don’t give up.”

“I certainly don’t intend to.”

“I mean… if everything goes wrong.” Dammit, he wanted to be able to protect her. The hospital loomed ahead, foreboding concrete. He’d been enough times, that didn’t make it less terrifying. It would be fine, it would be fine… what if it wasn’t?

She met his eyes, and there was understanding there. “I won’t.”

He nodded. “Good. And let me know when there are more developments on the legal side. It’s a long wait…”

She blinked and nodded. “Of course.” She paused. “I got permission from Richard, by the way. Would you still like me to anoint you?”

He nodded. “Yes. If you would. I didn’t want to ask.”

She dug in her bag, propping the book open on her lap and holding the oil stock in her left hand. “I can do without so much of my ministry, but… not this, now.”

It had been a while since she’d used the prayers, and he could see her resisting tears as she set a hand on his head to pray and then anoint him. He'd felt guilty about her having to ask permission for his sake, but he needed it, hadn't been able to bring himself to ask anyone else.

She took his bag, walking slowly as he crossed the seemingly infinite expanse of salted tarmac. You could tell how long a car had been parked by the thickness of the dusting on its bonnet and roof. Stepping inside, Ruth wiped her feet thoroughly on the mat, then brushed snow from her coat and his. She accompanied him to the desk to check in, and he knew that there would be no backing out now. Tomorrow afternoon, he would be in theatre once again. Hopefully the outcome would be better this time.

She was right about the prayer book – he’d put it in after their conversation despite his usual preference for the Daily Prayer app. Hardback, thick cream-coloured pages, ribbons fraying at the ends. He used the empty time to plait the ends and knot them tightly. In a world which felt too close to his fourteen-year-old experience, Evening Prayer was an anchor to his new life, keeping him in the present and in the awareness of eternity. “He has filled the hungry with good things.” A promise which seemed impossible, contradictory in the face of Tom’s experiences today. A promise they needed.

The lights in the ward dimmed. He stared up at the ceiling, at Mick’s face floating there. Mick, who had died alone, lost in an imaginary world within his brain, lost in the haze of drugs. If he’d had a community like that, maybe he wouldn’t have done it. If he’d had others with him, caring, instead of being alone.

Despite the strange environment, Tom slept. To wake in the morning as the ward was already alive, as the first patient was being prepared for theatre. Breakfast was brought out for those convalescing. Tom felt the pangs of hunger and tried to push them down. At least he was hungry for a reason.

And then at long last, mid-afternoon, they came, and he was being wheeled to theatre, needles inserted, and he was back in Manchester with his arm in a cast, numb pain cloaked by a mist of morphine, whispered voices all around. Helpless once again, drifting into empty silence. Was this how Mick felt as he drifted out at the end? But Tom had doctors and nurse and a trained anaesthetist and this was for a purpose. Mick hadn’t had anyone on hand to wake him up. It would be so easy to not wake up…

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

Words gradually began to seep into Tom’s consciousness. A good reader, well-practised. Familiar.

“Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me…”

He blinked, a face swimming in and out of focus above him.

“Hayfever. Ants.”

She stared and then laughed. “It’s sweet, though, if you aren’t too pedantic.”

“Who’s pedantic?”

“Welcome back.”

His eyesight wasn’t getting clearer. He was missing something… glasses. He wasn’t wearing glasses or contacts. He tried to turn his head to look for them, but his body was heavy.

“Relax. It’s fine. Everything went well.”

“Glasses…”

“You don’t want to see me, honest, I’m something of a mess.”

“Why the funeral psalm?”

“Sorry, bit morbid for post operation? It was in my head. Hope’s father died yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh.”

His leg ached softly in a cocoon of bandages, a cage keeping the blankets off.

“But you don’t need that kind of news now. I should be positive, you’ll be up and moving soon.”

“A sheltered existence is barely worth the trouble. How’s Hope?”

“Shocked. She knows too much of death, though, they all do. It’s part of life there. Some of the other parents have taken her in. She isn’t the only orphan.”

“No relatives anywhere?” He needed to get moving again, so he could go back. He could see her, grubby doll clutched to her face.

“We don’t have resources for a search. We posted on social media – we always do, when someone dies, looking for relatives to inform. Doesn’t get much reach, though. At least in this case we have a surname.”

They sat in silence.

“What time is it?” he asked in the end.

“Ten past two.”

“I think I woke up before now…”

“The nurse said you ate something this morning.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

“You’re full of drugs.”

Did Mick feel like this? When he lay in his squat, surrounded by filth and empty packets? Had he lost entire days to a haze of uncertainty?

“That’s two instances of the Daily Office missed, then…”

She snorted. “How dare you be insufficiently conscious to say Evening and Morning Prayer! Consider yourself duly chastised… honestly, exceptional circumstances.”

He smirked, not up to a laugh. “I’ll take that as absolution. Seriously, can I have my glasses?”

She rummaged somewhere to the right of his head. He stayed perfectly still as she lowered them onto his face. The world was back in focus. There was a grubby smear on her face where she’d washed in a hurry – no doubt she’d been in the camp again this morning.

“What’s happened in the world? While I’ve been out?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Well, I’m worrying now anyway.” He half turned his head on the pillow to look in her direction.

She looked past him. “Cholera confirmed. Government discussing tightening of borders to reduce the risk of diseases being brought in. Lots of ‘Brexit was supposed to fix this’ protests.”

“People wash in and maybe drink from the same rivers that people shit in. How it that immigrants?”

“You know our government.”

“We get a general election in… soon, right?”

“There’s no opposition. Labour are still ripping themselves apart over the whole EU thing – and everything else. If they got their act together, they could walk it, but they won’t will they? Not with the Lib Dems and the Greens getting so much popularity. You’d think this crisis would help, but it actually means they’re all bickering about the best solution and whether immigration is an issue or not.”

“Best solution… make sure people have places to live and food to eat. And preferably don’t go bankrupt over medical care.”

“They’re accusing each other’s promises of being unrealistic, still. I know, it would help a lot if they actually worried about getting the situation sorted not about insulting each other.”

“We managed it once. Not perfectly, but better than this.”

She shook her head. “Politics. Essentially, it still looks the same – you’re not missing anything by being here.”

“I look forward to getting back out into it…”

“I’m sure you do.” She fidgeted. “I should tell you. I’m in front of the magistrate on Friday.”

He blinked hard. “That’s soon. They’ve only just told you?”

She hesitated.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve been protecting me, of course. Well, I’m glad you’ve told me now. It’s the worst timing – a few days later and I’d be able to get out…”

“I’m glad it isn’t a few days later, then. I’d rather know you were down here, recovering well.”

“I hate leaving you alone.”

“I won’t be. I have Anna.”

He was too dizzy to think straight. “You’re still planning on pleading guilty?”

“Yeah.”

He went to hospital and when he came out his world was changed. That was how it worked.

She sighed. “Stop worrying about me. You’re the one who’s just had an operation, let’s worry about you for a bit.”

“I don’t like worrying about me.”

“We all have to do things we don’t like.”

He stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t like this. I don’t feel like I’m here properly.”

“It’ll wear off. Get some rest.”

“Boring.” Rest was tempting, though. He was tired, his thoughts a confusing muddle such that it wasn’t worth sorting through them. Dumb to be tired, having spent so little time conscious in the past twenty-four hours.

“Let me read to you, or something.”

“Did everything go okay? The operation?”

“Oh, yes. You’ll be up and moving again soon. They said they want you walking in the next couple of days, you have physio on Thursday, it's very positive.”

Like the accident never happened, they’d said. “What will you read?” He let his eyes defocus. “Can you take… glasses off?”

Cool fingers brushed his temples, and everything was a blur again. “What would you like? I have e-books on my tablet if you want anything fun.”

“Not insisting on scripture?”

“Ha ha.” A pause, while she presumably found her phone. “Right, what do we have… The House on Pooh Corner? Complete Works of St John of the Cross? Barchester Chronicles? I don't really have anything new...”

“Fifty Shades?”

“There are limits.”

“It’s a classic.”

“No.”

“Okay… I’m kidding.”

She laughed gently. “I know.”

“Yeah… you choose.”

If she did end up choosing something, he didn’t know. He was already asleep.

© 2021 E G Ferguson