Chapter 10
The Albert Hospital was a blackened Victorian monstrosity. It stood alone at the head of the town, dwarfing the squat medieval cathedral. Eight stories high, the sheer facade had suffered attempts at ornamentation but the pilasters and banding on the brick were as effective as false eyelashes on an elephant. Maureen had been here many times, first on her regular visits to see Louisa, the psychiatrist to whom Angus had referred her, then one last time to see her school friend Benny after Liam broke his jaw.
Ducking across the busy slip road from the motorway, Maureen waited at the lights. The warm sun and the exhaust fumes formed a gritty haze over the road, catching on her chest. Above her, overlooking the road, wards ended in long balconies furnished with seats for the smokers who were too sick to get downstairs to a designated area.
The reception area was an open two-story space with a mezzanine and a newsagent's and flower stall near the door. She bought a bunch of big, tired daisies padded out with ferns, and followed the signs for Ward G. The lift doors slid back and Maureen stepped in. An elderly man in a felt cap and summer jacket was taking charge of the controls and asked her which floor, pressed the button with a flourish and smiled at her when the doors closed.
Down a number of corridors with polished lino floors and muted echoes, Maureen finally found Ward G. It consisted of a long room with ten beds on either side and three separate rooms for jumpy trauma victims. High windows trapped the warm, fetid air. At the head of the big room, just before the corridor entrance, a small room served as the nurses' station. A young male nurse with a naval beard was sitting at the desk looking depressed and tired. He didn't stand up but swiveled towards her on his chair and hung his head lethargically to the side when Maureen asked after Ella. Apparently, she had contusions to both eyes, a broken thigh and bruising to her arms. He pointed her through to one of the private rooms off the ward. "Her son's already here," he said.
Ella was propped up against some pillows but seemed to have slipped down the bed. Her eyes were a terrifying red mess of burst vessels, clashing with the blue irises. The left side of her face was black and green and her eyebrows were missing, making her forehead look bald and barren. The sheet, pulled up to her chin, had somehow slipped over her mouth. Under the blankets a small tent held it away from her legs. Her right hand lay on top of the covers, a clear plastic tube taped to the back, a small plaster cupping the flesh between her thumb and forefinger where the bandage had been.
In front of her sat a middle-aged man, dressed in blue slacks and a pale blue shirt. He turned to look at her and Maureen could see traces of Ella everywhere, in the thin lips, the gold-rimmed glasses and the small blue eyes, but Ella's son was not a bonny boy. His eyes were slightly splayed, not enough to constitute a squint but enough to be disconcerting. His chin was so weak it looked as if he was recoiling from the world in disgust. He was not pleased to meet Maureen. He looked her up and down, hiding his resentment behind heavy hooded eyes.
The atmosphere between mother and son was strained and shocked, as if Ella had just revealed the truth about crop circles and he had countered with pictures of Elvis working as an interpreter at the UN.
"Hiya, Ella," said Maureen, pretending not to notice the peculiar atmosphere. "We were all worried about ye at the market so I was sent up to see ye."
From her reclining position Ella nodded faintly, making the sheet slip off her mouth and shoulder. She was wearing a blue paper nightdress.
"I brought ye these flowers but I can see we've been outdone." Maureen gestured at the bedside cabinet and a big bunch of long-stem red roses hanging wildly out of a short vase. The man smiled a little, his lips sliding open over his teeth, his eyes remaining static as he wondered who the hell she was. Ella looked down at the tent blanket over her feet.
"How are ye feeling?" said Maureen.
Ella looked at Si for a moment and he leaned forward, giving her a light slap on her elbow. "You can speak," he said disdainfully. "Go on, answer her." His accent was middle class and he smiled an apology for his ignorant old mother at Maureen.
Maureen felt her gorge rise. "I'm Maureen from Paddy's," she said, and shoved out her hand.
He stood up and shook it. His palm was damp and she had the impression that he didn't want to shake hands or introduce himself but courtesy compelled him. "Si McGee," he said quickly. "She's been very quiet today. Maybe you should come back tomorrow."
Ella looked up at her with startled red eyes and Maureen pulled over a chair. "Aye, well, I'm here now." She set the chair upstream of Si and sat down. "What's the food like here?" she asked, for something to say.
Ella seemed to shrink under the sheet a little.
Maureen tried again. "What happened to get you in this state, then?"
Ella wasn't about to answer. Maureen turned to Si. "She fell over in the house," he said, annoyed that she was still here, "and hurt herself."
Maureen looked to Ella for confirmation but she wasn't talking. Behind the bloody eyes she looked absent and afraid. If Ella had fallen she would have had to land on both eyes and on the side of her head as well. Barring the possibility of a bizarre trampolining incident, Ella's injuries hadn't been caused by a fall. "Is she on medication? "
"Aye, painkillers," said Si, adding unnecessarily, "for the pain."
Maureen nodded as though she were a surgeon and understood. She turned back to Ella. "Can I bring ye anything up? D'ye want rollers for your hair or anything?"
Ella's eyes didn't move. She was staring over Maureen's shoulder at her son.
Maureen patted her hand and promised to come up again the next day. When she stood up and bent forward to move the chair back behind her, she could see the bottom half of Si's face. His mouth was a wizened line. She stood up quickly to catch him, but he anticipated her and took her hand in both of his, squeezing a little too hard as he pumped it and thanked her for coming. "I'll get you out," he said.
"No, it's all right," said Maureen. "I know the way."
"I'm leaving anyway." He stood up and smiled at her, trying to seem friendly. "I've got the car outside. I'll drive you home, if you like."
Maureen glanced at Ella but Ella was staring at her son. "Thanks, but I'm fine, someone's picking me up."
Si smiled with cold eyes. "It's no trouble," he said. "I'd like to."
"No, someone's picking me up."
In the lift Si kept catching her eye and trying to smile. "Where is it you stay?" he said, sliding along the metal wall towards her.
Maureen slid along the wall in the opposite direction, distancing herself. She didn't want to tell him anything about herself. "West End," she lied.
"That figures," he said. "Trendy wee thing like you."
Maureen looked him in the eye and thought what an arsehole he was. She didn't like creepy strangers trying to flirt with her. It felt like a grotesquely intimate intrusion.
"I bet you've got a lot of boyfriends."
She could happily have hit him then but the lift reached the ground floor and the doors opened. She stepped back to let him go first but Si misunderstood and, thinking she was flirting back, insisted that she go first.
"Is it a boyfriend who's picking you up?" he said, catching up with her at the door.
"It's my brother," she said firmly.
Despite her hearty protestations Si insisted on waiting with her outside the gates until Liam turned up in his Triumph Herald. "What an unusual car," he said, as Maureen walked away.
Chapter 11
Liam's triumph herald had a soft top, and a back end so rusted that it looked as if it might snap off in a brisk wind. It had been bought as camouflage during his days as a dealer because no one would suspect the driver of being anything but a mug. As Maureen brought the cigarette to her mouth, the wind blew live ash into her hair and she heard the tiny crackle of hairs burning, smelled a whiff of sulfur.