“Come on mum, lets get you back inside.”
She nodded and he pushed her in ahead of him. The warmth wrapped around him like a sweaty blanket.
The two boys were asleep in their cots by the sofa. The lemon leaf, or whatever it was called, seemed to have done its job. The colour was back in their cheeks and when he touched their foreheads they felt less clammy.
Aaron was right, they had been lucky this time (and maybe not everyone had) but eventually someone would come down with something more serious and they would end up dead. It might be him, or worse still, Mary or one of the boys. He sat down in the armchair by the cots. He didn’t feel much like sleeping anymore. It wasn’t that he didn’t think that they could succeed without him but that he felt sure they would if he was with them. He was out of practice but some things you never forgot.
Then he looked at his boys, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days, and he didn’t know if he could leave them. It might take months to travel to London and back, they might start walking and talking without him there to see it.
Something crashed to the floor and he jumped. He realised he must have fallen asleep or at least into a daze. His mum was in the kitchen staring down at a saucepan that had fallen on the floor. He stood up, yawned and walked over.
“Are you alright mum?” he said.
“My hand,” she said, more confused than upset. He looked at her hand and wrist, they were wet and already starting to turn red. He realised the pan must have been full of boiling water.
“Shit,” he said to himself. He touched her shoulder. “Wait here mum.
He walked into the bedroom where he found Mary face down on the bed. It was dark and relatively cool. He walked over to the bed and put a hand on her shoulder, waking her as gently as he could but still making her jump.
“What is it?” she said. “Are the boys okay?”
She was on her feet and walking towards the door in a panic. “The boys are fine,” he said. She turned back to him looking relieved. “Better than fine actually. They’re both asleep.”
“What is it then?” she said.
He explained about his mum and the boiling water and told Mary that he was going to take her over to the Hospital so she needed to watch the boys. They left the bedroom together and found his mum standing in the kitchen looking at her hand.
“My hand hurts Ben,” she said.
“I know mum,” he said and took her by the other arm. “I’m going to take you to the hospital, come on.”
5
The hospital was a gloomy place. It was newer than the Village Hall and the Market but it looked old and worn out. Something about the closeness of death and suffering seemed to wear the shine off. As he walked through the door, guiding his mum by her good hand, Ben thought he’d had entirely too many occasions to visit the place since it was built.
The people who worked at the hospital didn’t have a uniform so it was impossible for him to tell whether the people rushing around were nurses or patients. A young girl with dirty messy hair and red rings around her eyes approached them. She had blood down the front of her top.
“Can I help?” she said. She spoke quickly as if she was running out of time.
“Are you a nurse?” said Ben. He didn’t like to admit it but she looked too young to be a nurse.
“I’m a trainee,” she said. “What’s the problem?”
He thought her bedside manner could do with some work but the air was filled with the sounds of dirty coughs and cries of pain. She was probably rushed off her feet. “My mum’s burnt herself,” he said.
“Oh I’m alright,” said his mum. She looked around the building as if she thought she might recognise it but wasn’t quite sure. “It’s just a little splash.”
“Is there a nurse I can talk to?” said Ben, trying his best not to sound rude. “Is nurse Mabik here?”
“She’s busy,” said the girl. “If it’s just a burn keep it in cold water.”
Ben wanted to tell her that it wasn’t just a burn, that it wasn’t just absent mindedness. He wanted to tell her that he was afraid his mum was losing her mind and he didn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes she was okay and he could pretend there was nothing wrong (because what else could he do?) but those times were becoming less frequent.
“Do you have any ointment,” he said. “It’s quite a bad burn.”
The girl looked at him as if she was deciding whether it would be quicker to get the ointment or argue him out of it and send him on his way. She sighed. “Wait here.”
She disappeared through the first door on the corridor they were facing and he turned to look at his mum. She looked quite vacant and he knew that she wouldn’t be good for a conversation. She was cradling her burnt hand but her face gave no sign that it was hurting.
A loud coughing and heavy footsteps from behind caused him to turn around. An old man supported by two young girls had come in. It took Ben a moment to realise that he recognised the man.
“Frank?” he said.
The old man looked up. He was as thin as a rumour, his skin hung from his naked face like damp tissue.
Ben left his mother and went over to Frank, taking an arm from one of the girls that he recognised as his grand daughter. Up close he could see how pale the old man was and he looked as if he hadn’t eaten a good meal in months.
“Ben?” he said. His voice came out as a weak whistle, as if he had a hole in his throat.
“What happened?” he said.
Frank shook his head. “This damn cold, I can’t shift it.”
A nurse, a real nurse this time, came running down the corridor and took Frank from his other grand daughter. “Can you help me get him to a bed?” she said to Ben.
He looked at his mum and then turned to the grand daughters who were standing primly with their hands laced in front of them. They looked all of eleven but he knew they were closer to sixteen. “Can you stay with my mum?” he said. “I’ll only be a minute”
They nodded together and he was reminded of the way the twins sometimes mirrored each others movements.
“Come on then,” said the nurse.
Together they lifted Frank on their shoulders and carried him along the corridor. Ben could see the black curtain at the end of it and remembered his last visit there, to see Cora. They turned off before they reached the curtain, the nurse kicked open the door, and carried him into a room.
The air was moist with the heat and the coughs of the twenty men and women laying in the beds. There were no curtains to protect their identity. Ben saw that they were all old, some as old as Ben.
“There’s a bed at the end,” said the nurse.
“Is this all from the cold?” he said as they shuffled past the beds.
“More like the flu,” said the nurse. Ben could hear her straining under the weight of the old man. “It hits the old people hardest.” She sighed. “There’s nothing we can do except make sure they’re getting plenty to drink and that they’re comfortable.”
Together they lifted Frank into the bed. He seemed to weigh next to nothing. He was a shadow of the jolly fat man with his long white beard that Ben had once known.
A coughing fit took hold of Frank and they helped him to sit up. To Ben it sounded like he was going to lose a lung. When it had passed they helped him back down and the nurse pulled the cover up to his chin. He had started to shiver.
“Can you wait here with him a minute?” said the nurse.
“I should get back to my mum,” he said.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said and didn’t wait for an answer. Ben watched her run down the corridor between the beds and then turned back to Frank.
Frank had closed his eyes. Ben watched his chest rise and fall. His breathing sounded ragged and painful. Then suddenly his eyes popped open. “Is that you Ben?”