He leaned back on his pillows, tired out from the effort of talking. Raymond fetched me a plastic seat, then another for himself.
‘How are you feeling, then, Mr Thom?’ Raymond asked him. ‘Did you have a good night?’
‘Call me Sammy, son – there’s no need to stand on ceremony. I’m doing fine, thanks; I’ll be right as rain in no time. You and your wife here saved my life, though, no two ways about it.’
I felt Raymond shift in his chair, and I leaned forward.
‘Mr Thom,’ I said.
He raised his eyebrows, then waggled them at me in quite a disconcerting way. ‘Sammy,’ I said, correcting myself, and he nodded at me.
‘I’m afraid I have to clarify a couple of factual inaccuracies,’ I said. ‘Firstly, we did not save your life. Credit for that must go to the Ambulance Service, whose staff, although somewhat brusque, did what was necessary to stabilize your condition whilst they brought you here. The medical team at the hospital, including the anaesthetist and the orthopaedic surgeon who operated on your hip, alongside the many other healthcare professionals who have carried out your post-operative care – it is they who saved you, if anyone did. Raymond and I merely summoned assistance and kept you company until such time as the National Health Service took responsibility.’
‘Aye, God bless the NHS, right enough,’ said Raymond, interrupting rudely. I gave him one of my sternest looks.
‘Furthermore,’ I continued, ‘I should clarify post haste that Raymond and myself are merely co-workers. We are most certainly not married to one another.’ I stared hard at Sammy, making sure that he was in no doubt. Sammy looked at Raymond. Raymond looked at Sammy. There was a silence which, to me, seemed slightly awkward. Raymond sat forward in his chair.
‘So, eh, where do you live then, Sammy? What were you up to the other day when you had your accident?’ he asked.
Sammy smiled at him.
‘I’m local, son – born and bred,’ he said. ‘I always get my bits and pieces from the shops on a Friday. I’d been feeling a bit funny that morning, right enough, but I thought it was just my angina. Never expected to find myself in here!’
He took a toffee from a large bag on his lap, then offered them to us. Raymond took one; I declined. The thought of malleable confectionery, warmed to body temperature on Sammy’s groin (albeit encased in flannel pyjamas and a blanket) was repellent.
Both Sammy and Raymond were audible masticators. While they chomped, I looked at my hands, noticing that they looked raw, almost burnt, but glad of the fact that the alcohol rub had removed the germs and bacteria which lurked everywhere in the hospital. And, presumably, on me.
‘What about you two – did you have far to come today?’ Sammy asked. ‘Separately, I mean,’ he added quickly, looking at me.
‘I live on the South Side,’ Raymond said, ‘and Eleanor’s … you’re in the West End, aren’t you?’ I nodded, not wishing to disclose my place of residence any more precisely. Sammy asked about work, and I let Raymond tell him, being content to observe. Sammy looked rather vulnerable, as people are wont to do when they are wearing pyjamas in public, but he was younger than I’d originally thought – not more than seventy, I’d guess – with remarkably dark blue eyes.
‘I don’t know anything about graphic design,’ Sammy said. ‘It sounds very fancy. I was a postman all my days. I got out at the right time, though; I can live on my pension, so long as I’m careful. It’s all changed now – I’m glad I’m not there any more. All the messing about they’ve done with it. In my day, it was a proper public service …’
Raymond was nodding. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Remember when you used to get your post before you left the house in the morning, and there was a lunchtime delivery too? It comes in the middle of the afternoon now, if it comes at all …’
I have to admit, I was finding the post office chat somewhat tedious.
‘How long are you likely to be in here, Sammy?’ I said. ‘I only ask because the chances of contracting a post-operative infection are significantly increased for longer-stay patients – gastroenteritis, Staphylococcus aureus, Clostridium difficile—’
Raymond interrupted me again. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and I bet the food’s rank as well, eh, Sammy?’
Sammy laughed. ‘You’re not wrong there, son,’ he said. ‘You want to see what they served up for lunch today. Supposed to be Irish stew … looked more like Pedigree Chum. Smelled like it too.’
Raymond smiled. ‘Can we get you anything, Sammy? We could nip to the shop downstairs, or else pop back later in the week, bring stuff in, if you need it?’
Raymond looked at me for confirmation and I nodded. I had no reason to dismiss the suggestion. It was actually quite a pleasant feeling, thinking that I might be able to help an elderly person who was suffering due to inadequate nutrition. I started to think about what to bring him, types of food that could be transported without mishap. I wondered if Sammy might enjoy some cold pasta and pesto; I could make a double portion for supper one evening and bring the leftovers to him the next day in a Tupperware tub. I did not own any Tupperware, having had no need of it until this point. I could go to a department store to purchase some. That seemed to be the sort of thing that a woman of my age and social circumstances might do. Exciting!
‘Ach, son, that’s awful kind of you,’ Sammy said, deflating my sense of purpose somewhat, ‘but there’s really no need. The family are in here every day, twice a day.’ He said this last part with evident pride. ‘I can’t even finish half the stuff they bring. There’s just so much of it! I end up having to give most of it away,’ he said, indicating the other men on the ward with an imperious wave of his hand.
‘What constitutes your family?’ I asked, slightly surprised by this revelation. ‘I had assumed you were single and childless, like us.’
Raymond shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘I’m a widower, Eleanor,’ Sammy said. ‘Jean died five years ago – cancer. Took her quick, in the end.’ He paused and sat up straighter. ‘I’ve two sons and a daughter. Keith’s my eldest, married with two wee ones. They’re cheeky monkeys, those boys,’ he said, his eyes crinkling. ‘Gary’s my other son; Gary and Michelle – they’re not married, but they live together. That seems to be the way of it these days. And Laura, my youngest … well, God knows about Laura. Divorced twice by the age of thirty-five, can you believe it? She’s got her own wee business, a nice house and a car … she just can’t seem to find a good man. Or when she does find one, she can’t hang on to him.’
I found this interesting. ‘I’d counsel your daughter not to worry,’ I said, with confidence. ‘In my recent experience, the perfect man appears when you’re least expecting it. Fate throws him into your path, and then providence ensures that you will end up together.’ Raymond made a strange sound, something between a cough and a sneeze.
Sammy smiled kindly at me. ‘Is that right? Well, you can tell her yourself, hen,’ he said. ‘They’ll all be here soon.’
A nurse walked past as he said this and had clearly overheard. She was grossly overweight and was wearing rather attractive white plastic clogs teamed with striking black-and-yellow-striped socks – her feet looked like big fat wasps. I made a mental note to ask her where she’d purchased them before we left.
‘There’s a maximum of three visitors to a bed,’ she said, ‘and we’re strictly enforcing that rule today, I’m afraid.’ She didn’t look afraid. Raymond stood up.
‘We’ll go, and let your family visit, Sammy,’ he said. I stood up too; it seemed appropriate.