Unfortunately, just as Chattie was walking into the room, the balloon popped. Jonah woke up with a start and, not recognizing any of them, started raving incoherently about monsters coming to get him.
‘I’ll stay with him,’ said Sammy. ‘You take Chattie down to the canteen for an ice-cream.’
Chattie charmed everyone, her long blonde hair swinging as she skipped about the canteen talking to all the nurses. Then suddenly she clung to Harriet, her eyes filling with tears.
‘He’s not going to die, is he?’
‘Of course he isn’t,’ said Harriet, hugging her, but feeling inside a sickening lack of conviction.
‘I heard Mrs Bottomley telling Sammy it could go either way. What does that mean?’
‘Nothing really,’ said Harriet.
‘If he died he’d go to heaven wouldn’t he?’ said Chattie.
‘Of course he would,’ said Harriet, ‘but he’s not going to.’
‘Then I’ll never see him again,’ said Chattie, ‘because I’m so naughty, I’ll go straight to hell.’ She broke into noisy sobs.
Harriet cuddled her, trying to keep control of herself. ‘Darling, of course you’ll go to heaven.’
‘I don’t really believe in heaven anyway,’ sobbed Chattie. ‘I’ve been up in the sky in an aeroplane, and I didn’t see it.’
Harriet sat biting her nails watching two very young nurses fiddling with the Heath Robinson equipment constituting the drip. Bubbles were streaming down the tube, as they tapped away and the needle kept slipping out of the proper place. Jonah lay in a rare moment of consciousness, the tears pouring down his cheeks.
Harriet turned to the nurses, her control snapping. ‘Why the bloody hell,’ she snapped, ‘can’t one of you make it work?’
As a result, Dr Williams gave her a talking-to.
‘We’re going to give you a mogadon tonight,’ he said. ‘We know you feel responsible with both the parents away, but you must pull yourself together. You only upset him by screaming at the nurses; they’re doing their best.’
‘But why can’t he have proper pain killers and sedatives? If he felt you were doing something to make him better, I know he’d relax and stop fighting you.’
‘Jonah’s a very brave child, Miss Poole,’ said Dr Williams coldly. ‘It’s you who can’t take the pain, not him.’
‘He’s very very ill isn’t he?’ said Harriet. She had heard the nurses talking about the intensive care unit.
‘He’s certainly not a well child,’ said Dr Williams, ‘but where there’s life there’s hope.’
By midnight Jonah had gone into a coma. Harriet had pretended to take her mogadon, but had thrown it down the lavatory. She sat hour after hour fighting exhaustion and despair, listening to his heavy breathing, holding his hand and praying. Through the glass panel, she could see the black night nurse moving round the wards, adjusting blankets, checking pulses. In a minute she’d be coming into Harriet’s room to change the drip. This time tomorrow Cory would be here. How could she face him if anything happened to Jonah? She put her head in her hands and wept.
She must have fallen asleep. When she woke up it was nearly light. Jonah lay motionless in bed. For a terrifying moment, Harriet thought he was dead. She felt his forehead; it was cold; he was still breathing faintly.
Getting to her feet, she ran into the passage to the sister’s office.
‘Jonah, he’s breathing so quietly now,’ she stammered. ‘He looks so peaceful, as though he was d-dying.’
The black nurse got up and took Harriet’s arm. ‘I’ll come and see.’ She felt his pulse, and took his temperature. She turned to Harriet, a great white toothy smile splitting her face.
‘I think he’s over the crisis,’ she said. ‘He’s breathing quite normally and his pulse rate’s coming down.’
Harriet turned away, her shoulders shaking.
‘There, there,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea, then you can get some sleep.’
Harriet didn’t trust doctors and nurses; she knew they lied. For all she knew Jonah was still in danger. She sat by his bed until breakfast time, as plastic bag after plastic bag dripped into his arm, listening to the heavy breathing getting slower and more even, the restless movements growing quieter.
Sister Maddox came on at eight, looking as ice-cool and elegant as ever.
‘Good morning. How’s the patient?’ she said briskly. ‘I expect you had a nice sleep with that mogadon. I envy you. I didn’t get to bed till four o’clock.’
She picked up Jonah’s chart. His temperature and pulse ratings were right down.
‘Well, that is better,’ she said. ‘I hope you appreciate Dr Williams a bit more now.’
‘Jonah hasn’t come round yet,’ said Harriet sulkily. She knew she was being ungracious.
‘He’s getting a much-needed rest,’ said Sister Maddox. ‘I wouldn’t fuss him any more if I were you. I’d go and have some breakfast.’
Instead Harriet tried to concentrate on an old copy of Reader’s Digest. It pays to improve your ward power, she said to herself. She felt absolutely all in. She hardly recognized her grey face in the mirror. She wished she could wash her hair and have a bath before Cory came, but she was too scared to leave Jonah until she knew he was out of danger.
The specialist arrived at eleven and didn’t appear altogether happy. ‘He’s not out of the woods yet,’ he said. ‘Let me know when he regains consciousness.’
Back came the panic, the terrifying fears. Oh don’t let him die, prayed Harriet.
Quarter of an hour later came Dr Williams, even more unreceptive than usual, as Harriet bombarded him with questions about Jonah’s condition.
‘But he is going to get better, isn’t he?’ she said in desperation.
‘Really, Miss Poole,’ said Sister Maddox, ‘Dr Williams has got a hundred and one other people to look after.’
‘I’m sorry,’ insisted Harriet, ‘but Jonah’s father’s due after lunch and he’ll want to know exactly what the score is.’
‘Oh, he rang ten minutes ago,’ said Sister Maddox.
Harriet went white. ‘What did he say? Why didn’t you let me speak to him?’
‘You were in the loo or making a cup of coffee,’ said Sister Maddox. ‘I didn’t think it was that important.’
‘But you could have got me. You must have known I’d want to talk to him.’
‘And you must realize that Sister Maddox has better things to do than acting as a switchboard for all the patients’ relations. You must realize Jonah isn’t the only child in the hospital,’ snapped Dr Williams.
‘But he’s the only child here belonging to me,’ shouted Harriet.
‘Have I come to the right place,’ said a deep throbbing voice. They all turned round. There in the doorway making the perfect stage entrance smothered in a huge black fur hat stood Noel Balfour.
‘Oh yes, I have,’ she said seeing Jonah, and walked quickly towards the bed.
‘Oh my precious, precious darling,’ she said with a break in her voice.
And suddenly exactly on cue, Jonah stirred, sighed and opened his eyes, for a moment he looked at Noel incredulously.
‘Mummy,’ he croaked weakly.
Harriet felt once more the explosion of jealousy as Jonah’s pale face lit up.
‘Mummy, is it really you?’
‘Yes, it is, my darling. What a dreadful, dreadful time you’ve had.’ She brushed the dank blond hair back from his forehead.
‘My arm’s sore,’ muttered Jonah.
‘I know, darling,’ said Noel, ‘it’s that horrid drip, but it’s making you so much better every minute, so I know you’ll be brave about it. Because these kind nurses and doctors have been working so hard to make you well.’