Jay, Lizzie and the Tale of the Stairs

  Chapter 30

  The Last of St Mary’s

  The doubt came again.

  That gnawing, nagging doubt.

  What would I find left of Mum when I got to St Mary’s hospital? I remembered the last visit and wanted her to be better.

  I wanted that more than anything. More than Ernie home or Rosie released.

  Does that seem selfish?

  I don’t care. I miss my Mum.

  So it was the same dreary journey to the hospital. I watched the waiters and shop assistants and chefs; the bankers; the pub landlords and butchers; the taxi drivers, the bus drivers and teachers. I watched them all from the safety of my Dad’s van. They were holding their coats closed against an autumn wind getting stronger and stronger. Hair was thrown about and out of hair bands and from underneath hats. Scarves unravelled. For everybody the route home was made faster and faster.

  Before the rain came.

  And it did come. Lightly at first, spitting down the windows of the van. Then it got harder, running down our backs as we sprinted for the hospital doors. The toes of one of my socks was suddenly damp and I realised there was a hole in my shoe.

  All this and I hate hospitals.

  I hate hospitals because the D Word lurks along corridors, lurks in rooms alive with pipes and the bleep of machines and the ghostly white of doctors and nurses. In fact, all these trained staff and expensive equipment and still the D Word sneaks up to take people away. For the first time my ‘special powers’ allowed me to ‘feel’ other things. I could ‘feel’ the strained emotions of the people still moving along the corridors and rooms of St Mary’s.

  The people that had passed over but found it hard to let go.

  There were loads of them, wandering, grey, transparent shapes crying and moaning, all looking for help. For reasons why they were still where they were. I didn't like it one bit. Maybe that’s why I never liked hospitals in the first place. I ignored them but they still sensed me and came my way. So I made the decision to huddle up inside my hoodie and I kept my eyes firmly on the floor.

  Apart from this it seemed like nothing had changed since the last time I visited Mum. The smokers still gathered outside, the injured still hobbled by and the flowers were still on display outside the hospital shop. Still there were sad faces; the staircase; the clean smells and Karen the plump nurse.

  “Hello trouble,” she said, as she always did when I came to see Mum.

  “Hello.”

  “She’s expecting you,” Karen said to Dad with a smile.

  When we entered Waltham Ward I looked cautiously for Mum. When I saw her sat up in bed I looked for the old man. This was the old man who stared at me constantly whenever I was visiting Mum. Right now he was sat up, like Mum, smiling at me as I entered. He was dressed in blue piranhas, had thin and sharp features and a final wisp of grey hair stuck up and to one side.

  He smiled on and on. Showing no teeth at all.

  Madness. It seemed that everyone was smiling when there was nothing really to smile about.

  I kept my distance and edged my way towards Mum. All the time I thought I recognised something familiar about the old man. You know, that something other than the way he looked. His personality or whatever.

  That something beneath.

  Curiously he seemed pleased to see me.

  Mum was too.

  I was glad to see that Mum’s hair had grown a little and that her arms were covered. I was glad that she had put a tiny bit of weight on and, most important of all, that she was still smiling.

  “Hello you,” she said, then sat up further and gave me a much stronger cuddle than last time. She also smelt like my Mum used too.

  Relief like a warm shower.

  Although Mum was still very weak the ‘cat’ did seem to be back in her ‘cats’ eyes’. She asked me about school and stuff like that. She seemed disappointed when I said that Kyle didn’t come round anymore.

  “That’s a shame,” she said in a voice low and cracked. “What about Bethany?”

  I said that she stayed away too.

  “What have you done to upset them all?”

  “Nothing.”

  Mum seemed to think about this a little and I wondered if Mum even remembered what Beth looked like. I mean, it had been ages since she had seen her. But Mum liked Bethany. I think it was because of where she lived and the way she looked and sounded. You know, posh.

  Mum coughed weakly. Then, as sure as kittens is kittens, she said, “That’s a shame too. I liked Bethany. Oh well. Never mind.”

  In a way Mum was right. I felt lonely. Not just lonely for company but I was carrying this secret – this massive secret – that I couldn’t share with anyone here in my time.

  It was a huge burden.

  We carried on making small talk. Just for a second I thought about telling Mum about Lizzie and 1946. Crazy, I know, but it almost came out. Mum was like me. She’d understand and maybe even want to meet Lizzie. Even her parents. That sounded too much like marriage and it was at that point that I decided against telling Mum. If I told Mum about travelling through time I would have to tell her everything. And that included telling her about the Raynors’ ‘special powers.’ And my own. That would have sounded just too mad. They’d lock me up behind rusty doors, I was sure.

  So I didn’t say anything.

  I just talked about football and what I was doing over half-term, which wasn’t much. I kept glancing towards the smiling old man in the bed opposite.

  He was more interested than ever.

  Dad had gone to talk to Karen the nurse. I chanced another sly look towards the grinning old man, then Dad started to make his way back. He noticed that I was looking in his direction so he motioned to me to come over with a flap of his hand.

  “Mum, Dad wants me a minute.”

  “OK darling.”

  I smiled. That sounded familiar. Then I walked quickly over to Dad, my trainers squeaking then squelching on the tiled floor, keeping as far away from the old man as possible.

  Dad gently took my arm.

  “Jay, me and Karen would like a talk with you. OK?”

  “Yeah. Course.”

  “In the nurses’ office. Alright?”

  “Yep.”

  So Dad led the way in through an open door and into a small room. I suddenly felt worried. Dad hadn’t sounded right. His voice had sounded shaky and fragile. Like it was about to break.

  I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all.

  The room had a couple of computers on desks that were shoved against three walls. On these desks were lots of bits of paper, some loose, some stapled or held together by paper clips. The walls were also dotted with bits of paper. Notices. Reminders. Pushed back from the desks were two swivel chairs but scattered about the room were some wooden ones and in one sat Karen the nurse.

  Karen was smiling. But it wasn’t a happy smile, a welcoming smile or a ‘good to see you’ smile. It wasn’t a crazy smile or a cheery smile or a smile of delight. I’d seen this kind of smile on the faces of lots of people. Almost all of them here at St Mary’s.

  It was a sympathetic smile.

  A smile of pity.

  I liked this less and less and my heart was banging to get out again. Karen motioned for me to sit next to her and she collected up some magazines from the chair that she wanted me to sit on. She placed the magazines on a nearby desk. I still remember the top one. It was Country Life. Why I remember this, I just can’t tell you, because I don’t know.

  Strange some of the silly things that you remember.

  That I knew something was coming is not what I mean. I didn’t know exactly what was going to be said. My ‘special powers’ aren’t that good. But all the signs pointed to bad news. The room was heavy with it, like boiling clouds before a summer storm. All I could do was sit on the soft seat of the wooden chair, the one next to Karen the nurse. The one that she had gently patted.

  So I sat. Sat and stared at the cover of Country
Life which was just away a bit, on the desk where Karen had carefully placed it, and wondered what was going to be said. I heard Dad close the door of the room and pull up a chair close by.

  It was Karen who spoke first.

  “Jay, me and your Dad,” she said softly beside me, “me and your Dad have had a chat and we both think you should know something about your Mum.”

  A pause. I could hear Dad’s breathing.

  “Well, there’s no easy way to say this Jay, so I’ll say it. Me and your Dad want you to know that your Mum…well… your Mum is… is dying.”

  There it was. Out at last. The dreaded D Word.

  All I saw was Country Life.

  There were fidgety, shuffling noises from Dad and I knew that they were both exchanging glances. I didn’t look up from the cover of Country Life.

  When Dad spoke his voice was shaky and still fragile. “Jay? Do you understand? You Mum…is going…is going to die.”

  There it was again.

  More time passed then Karen spoke. “I know this must be hard for you Jay, but is there anything you’d like to say?”

  There was nothing to be said. The words your Mum is dying hadn’t yet sunk in. It was like I had a deflector shield around me, like the space ships in sci-fi films, and the words your Mum is dying were just bounced away.

  “Jay?” said Dad again.

  I shook my head at Country Life.

  “No!” I said clearly. “No, I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “There’s something else,” continued Karen. “Your Dad also wanted you to know that your Mum is coming home soon. In fact she’s going to be home with you the day after tomorrow.”

  A bit of good news, but it felt like an hour’s sunshine in a winter of rain. Then a question – an important question – popped into my head like money into a slot machine.

  “How long…” I said, fumbling with the words, “…how long... has she…got…?”

  “Two weeks,” replied the nurse.

  Two weeks.

  I kept my eyes on Country Life like I expected it to move. I didn’t want to look at Karen and I definitely didn’t want to look at Dad. He would have red rimmed eyes from crying. I could tell.

  After a while I said, “Is that everything?”

  “Yes. Yes it is,” said Karen.

  “Then can I go back to my Mum?”

  “Yes. Yes of course.”

  “After all, we haven’t got long left.”

  So I got up, opened the door of the little room and said goodbye to a part of my life I left in there amongst the paper clips, notices and odds bits of furniture. I went and sat beside my Mum who smiled a weak smile. I looked for the mad old man and he was still smiling too.

  Still all these smiles with all this bad news. How can they keep smiling knowing what they know?

  Then I got it. Got it like I had been run over by a high-speed train.

  Death is scary, but - what's the word? - it's…it's inevitable. That's it! It's inevitable. You can't stop it. It's a part of life. You've just got to accept it and roll with it.

  Simple really.

  So I smiled.

  Yep. I smiled right back.