Before I Saw You

by Emily Houghton

  ‘Good morning, my Mother Angel, how are you today?’

  For the first time in a long time Alfie actually enjoyed waking up early. You couldn’t help but want to absorb every moment you could with Nurse Angles; she was one of those shiny people you only really found once in a lifetime.

  ‘Good morning, my love. Same old same old for me. Hank took me to the cinema last night – apparently I was asleep twenty minutes in! No clue what the film was about but it was a wonderful sleep, I can tell you that for sure.’

  Hank was the love of Nurse Angles’ life. Childhood sweethearts, married at eighteen and with four lovely children. She adored him with every piece of her being, which also meant she moaned about him every waking hour.

  ‘He really must love you to put up with your snoring on date night! Also, when are you going to introduce us? I need him to teach me how to find a woman like you.’

  She gave him an affectionate slap on the wrist. ‘Trust me, honey, finding them is the easy part. It’s trying to keep them that’s the hard work!’

  ‘Amen, Nurse!’ Sharon shouted from her bed. She was a recent divorcee and even more recent feminist.

  Nurse Angles laughed a deep and chesty laugh. ‘Anyway, let’s see how we’re doing today.’ She glanced down at his bandaged stump.

  ‘Really? Again?’ Alfie knew he was being petulant, but quite frankly he wasn’t in the mood to have his wound pulled and poked at today.

  ‘Oh, so you want the swelling to come back, do you? You want the scar to burst and that thing to get infected again? Don’t make me call orthopaedics and have you transferred back again. You don’t think I’ll do it, but I will!’

  Alfie may not have been in the mood for his checks, but Nurse Angles was clearly not in the mood for his answering back. He’d been moved on to the Moira Gladstone rehabilitation ward after completing his stints in intensive care and orthopaedics. Alfie had been around the block a bit and he knew this was the best place he could ever hope to end up. There was no way he was going to risk being moved again.

  ‘Sorry. Be my guest. I just don’t like looking at it, that’s all.’

  ‘I know, baby, but I’ll be quick.’ She gently started to unwrap him. His skin lit up with sensations. It didn’t hurt as such, although sometimes he wondered whether he’d experienced so much agonizing pain in the days after the accident that his threshold was much higher now. It was a bizarre feeling, like red-hot pins and needles coursing up and down his body. He flinched a little and Nurse Angles rested her hand on his. ‘I know it’s annoying, but this little bit of fuss far outweighs the risk of losing you. Not going to let that happen on my watch.’

  He knew she was right and so he lay back and closed his eyes. No matter how much time passed, seeing the wound still sent ripples through his body. He’d take all the pain in the world over looking at his scars. Those thick white lines that represented everything he’d lost and would never be able to get back.

  ‘Right, all done. Now, are you ready to storm that runway in physio this afternoon?’ Nurse Angles had finished the wound checks as quickly and as painlessly as she’d promised.

  ‘Oh, you bet, Mother A. Today’s the day I nail it.’

  She gave him another of her gentle slaps and continued going through her routine assessment. Vital signs checked, measurements noted, and most crucially of all, pillow fluffed.

  ‘Now, Alfie, I need to ask you a favour.’

  There was a slight change in her voice.

  ‘Of course, what is it?’

  She sat most of herself down on the edge of his bed. ‘There’s going to be someone new moving in next door to you soon.’

  Alfie’s heart leapt.

  ‘Before you go and get too excited, I need to warn you she’s severely traumatized and hasn’t spoken a word since she was admitted to the hospital.’

  Alfie’s heart sank.

  ‘How long has she been here?’ He couldn’t imagine being silent for even an afternoon.

  ‘A few weeks now.’ Nurse Angles inched herself a little closer to him. ‘Look, Alfie. I know you’ll want to talk to her and try to become her friend, but please, I’m asking you to just leave it be for a while. Let her settle in. Give her some space until she’s ready to start talking, OK, honey?’

  Alfie was still perplexed by the idea that someone could be silent for so long. He was intrigued to witness how that could even happen.

  ‘Alfie?’

  ‘Sorry, of course. I won’t say a word.’

  ‘There’s a good boy.’ She patted the space on the bed where his left leg used to be, an unintentional reminder of what he lacked, and heaved herself out of his cubicle.

  Alfie wondered how on earth this person had survived so long without talking. Surely that was an exaggeration? No one in their right mind could possibly volunteer to be quiet for weeks on end. Throughout his life, numerous people had challenged Alfie to be silent. Once, in high school, he’d gone as far as to raise £3,000 to do a sponsored forty-eight-hour silence. He barely lasted the morning, but people were so proud of him for trying that they donated anyway. Alfie lived for conversation. He thrived off connection. In fact, one of the only things that got him through his days was annoying Mr Peterson or catching up on the gossip with Sharon. Conversations were the fabric of his existence on the ward, and without them Alfie could only imagine what a lonely place it would be.

  She won’t last long.

  How could she? He knew how adamant Nurse Angles was about this, but Alfie couldn’t help his sneaking suspicion that the moment this mystery patient got sucked into the goings on here, she wouldn’t be able to resist joining in. That was the beauty of the Moira Gladstone ward. It wasn’t like the ICU or A&E. People weren’t in and out through a revolving door. They stayed. They recuperated. They became family. It was only a matter of time before his new neighbour would follow suit.

  5

  Alice

  One thing Alice had managed to achieve during her time in the ICU was to piece together an idea of what on earth had happened to her. It had taken a while for her to sieve through the haze of her memory, move aside the broken debris of heat, smoke and screaming, and remember her movements that day.

  She’d worked late the night before so hadn’t made her Pilates class first thing. She remembered that had annoyed her; missing even one was the start of a downward spiral of complacency. Two double espressos and a quick shower later, she was out of the door and on her way just before 6 a.m.

  Alice had worked long enough and hard enough to have earned herself a very comfortable salary and a very senior role in financial consultancy. She’d been fortunate enough, therefore, to have a choice when it came to buying her flat. She’d forced herself to look in the suburbs first, at the beautiful homes people had poured their creativity and love into. She went through the motions of requesting properties with manicured gardens that drank in the sunshine and provided a green sanctuary in the concrete jungle of London. She insisted on extra bedrooms for future guests and potential offspring. And then she caught herself using the word ‘offspring’ instead of ‘children’ and dropped the pretence. Alice prided herself on being one very independent, very single and very cynical human being. She was never one to believe in something she couldn’t see with her own eyes, measure with a stick, or at the very least read in a textbook. Alice was not the person to engage in a deep spiritual conversation; she quite frankly didn’t give a shit about your hopes and dreams, and she certainly didn’t rely on anyone for anything. All Alice Gunnersley needed was convenience and solitude. And so came the purchase of a penthouse flat in Greenwich. She didn’t have neighbours; she had views of the river and just enough of the park to convince herself she was surrounded by nature. Best of all, she could see her office from her flat, which always brought her a perverse sense of calm.

  The day of the accident had been an especially stressful one at work. There was a big report that needed to be finalized before the end of the week, a report that if
successful would cement Alice in the minds of the board when it came to identifying future partner talent. Unfortunately, standing between her and writing the extremely important report were endless meetings, project reviews and financial budgeting tasks, plus an hour-long catch-up with her boss. Alice often wondered why Henry insisted on having these meetings every month, considering they had the exact same conversation every time.

  ‘Alice, you are no doubt a phenomenal asset to this company. I’ve never met anyone with a work ethic and ability to deliver like yours. But you know that’s not all we value here at the firm. If you want to make it all the way to the top seat, you have to start taking people with you.’

  Taking people with you.

  Another stupid HR phrase, she thought. What does that even really mean, Henry? She wanted to bite back, but instead she took a deep breath and smiled.

  ‘I do take people with me, Henry. Look at the stats. I’ve promoted five members of my team this year alone and have the highest staff retention of anyone on the floor.’

  ‘I know.’ He shook his head in exasperation.

  Alice knew she wasn’t exactly easy to manage, but she also knew you couldn’t argue with facts. So facts she always gave him.

  ‘But that’s not the point.’

  ‘Well, Henry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got a hell of a lot to do today, so I’d be grateful if you could get to your point quite quickly …’

  She knew her comments wouldn’t surprise him. They’d worked together for over ten years now, and Alice’s ruthless commitment to her job had remained very much the same.

  ‘The point is, there’s more to life than this office. I just worry sometimes that you don’t see that. You’re here all hours of the day and night, and I’m not sure it’s particularly healthy. Plus, you rarely attend social events here, and I hardly ever see you interact with anyone other than to talk about deadlines.’

  Alice frowned. Was he having some sort of emotional breakdown on her? She began to laugh.

  ‘I see what this is. It’s some new HR policy about employee health and wellbeing, isn’t it? Look, you don’t have to worry about me at all. I sleep, I eat, and I have some friends I see from time to time. Plus, I do talk to people here.’

  His eyebrow shot up. ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘I talk to Lyla.’

  ‘She’s your PA. You have to talk to her.’

  ‘Fine. I talk to Arnold.’

  Ha. She’d got him with this one.

  ‘Arnold? Who the hell is Arnold?’ His eyes narrowed. He always squinted when he was thinking. It was a habit Alice couldn’t stand.

  Suddenly the penny dropped. ‘Oh Jesus, Alice. Not the old guy on reception?’

  ‘The very same one.’ She smiled smugly.

  Henry rolled his eyes; she could tell his frustration was hitting new limits. ‘Right. Well, if you’re really telling me that you have deep and meaningful conversations with Arnold, then who am I to judge.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Alice stood up. ‘Are we done?’

  Henry shrugged his shoulders; the man had all but given up. ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Thanks, Henry.’ She didn’t even bother to look at him as she left the room.

  How odd, she thought. Why on earth was he so concerned about what she did with her life outside work all of a sudden? Surely all he cared about was getting the best possible value for money out of her. And so what if Arnold wasn’t exactly a friend – as her role got progressively bigger, he was the person she’d found herself seeing more than any other human being in her life. For five days a week, Arnold Frank Bertram manned the reception desk during the night shift at Alice’s office. It was common for Alice to be the only remaining employee in the building after 9 p.m., meaning she and Arnold were the only breathing souls in the entire forty-floor office tower. Every night when she finally found the discipline to tear herself away and leave for home, there he’d be, waiting patiently at the front desk, eyes fixed on the door to the street. As soon as he saw Alice, his face would break into a smile.

  ‘Another late one tonight, Miss? Not worth doing if it’s not done properly, ain’t that right?’

  For a long time, Alice would simply placate the man with a smile. It was a genuine, grateful smile but nothing more. She could sense he was the talking type, in a wonderful, grandfatherly story-telling kind of way, but at 11 p.m. on a Wednesday night with a 7 a.m. start the next day, Alice would challenge anyone to be up for a chat. A smile would have to do.

  But as time passed and her late nights often turned into early mornings, Alice found it harder and harder to ignore the old man and his continuous attempts at conversation. During one particularly hellish week when Alice had decided, at the godforsaken hour of 2 a.m., that she needed some fresh air, Arnold had been waiting for her on her return with a cup of hot chocolate.

  ‘Got to keep your sugar levels up, Miss.’ He smiled and nodded.

  ‘Thank you.’ She didn’t have any energy to protest and simply took the gift, realizing she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He held his hands up. ‘You can get them in tomorrow night.’ He winked and then returned dutifully to his desk.

  And so the strange nightly ritual began: alternating hot chocolate purchases and snippets of conversation with Arnold had become a standing agenda item in Alice’s working day.

  The night of the fire was no different. Although, for some reason, it seemed the sugar rush hadn’t done much to energize her. Alice had been working on the report since 10 p.m. but something wasn’t quite sitting right with the tone of it. She distinctly remembered closing her eyes in the hope that a quick power nap would be all that was needed to restart her brain. She drained the dregs of her hot chocolate and laid her head on the desk.

  The authorities had later informed her that while she was sleeping, between two and three that morning, an air conditioning unit on the floor above had caught fire and ripped the top of the building to pieces.

  ‘You were lucky, Miss,’ the police officer said, after his fruitless attempts to gather as much information as he could from her for his report. Even though she was getting stronger physically, her recollections were still based on other people’s versions of events. A patchwork quilt of stories she’d been forced to adopt as her own.

  If this life was lucky, she dreaded to think of the alternatives.

  ‘You have a very diligent receptionist. That man would have all but dragged you out himself if the fire rescue teams hadn’t arrived when they did. The poor guy was distraught.’

  Arnold.

  ‘He saved your life, Miss Gunnersley.’ The second officer looked imploringly at her; his desperation for just a hint of emotion or response was blatant. She gave him nothing but a nod.

  ‘All right, well, we will send you the full report when we’ve written it up. If you do have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.’

  Apparently Arnold really had been a friend. In fact, he’d overnight turned out to be one of the most significant people in Alice’s life. He had saved her.

  Now she wondered if it would have been better to have let the fire take all of her instead.

  6

  Alfie

  ‘Mr P, you know what time it is!’ Alfie heaved himself up and reached for his crutches.

  The old man frowned. ‘Jesus, it’s worse than being on a Butlin’s holiday with the number of activities you all have planned. I’m not one of your bloody school kids, you know.’

  In his old life, before the accident, Alfie had been a Sports Therapy and Physical Activity Educator at a high school in south London. Essentially he was your run-of-the-mill PE teacher, but apparently that was a shameful word to use – politics had firmly infiltrated the education system and titles soon became a reflection of self-worth and ego. Alfie didn’t care. He didn’t need prestige or glory; he simply loved every second of his job. In fact, one of the hardest things about being on the ward was how much he mi
ssed being surrounded by his pupils. Sure, he cursed them continuously every moment he spent with them, but he wouldn’t change them for the world.

  ‘One day your misery will be the death of you. Now, hurry up before they run out of chocolate brownies.’

  Despite Mr Peterson’s complaining, Alfie noticed he’d already got his slippers on ready for their walk.

  ‘Hurry up! That’s rich coming from you. Don’t forget you’re the one without a leg, son. I move at lightning speed compared to you.’

  ‘Are you two ever nice to each other?’ Sharon’s voice cut across the squabbling.

  ‘Pipe down, Sharon,’ Mr Peterson quipped. ‘Or I won’t buy you that hot chocolate you’ve been moaning at me to get you for the past hour.’

  The bickering never stopped. Alfie sometimes wondered if, without it, everyone would be forced to remember they were stuck in a hospital ward fighting their own pain without the comfort of their families around them.

  ‘You’re worse than my Ruby and she’s just turned six! You should be ashamed of yourselves,’ Jackie called out from across the ward, her words still slightly mumbled from the stroke. Jackie was the only resident on the ward who had children, and Alfie loved how even just the mention of her daughter would seem to momentarily ease some of her suffering. ‘But while you’re there, Alfie … I’d kill for a cinnamon bun.’

  ‘Jesus, it’s not a delivery service,’ Mr P muttered.