From a Safe Distance

by Bishop, Julia

  She had given her watch and bag to Max. She took off her shoes and lay on the bed. They adjusted her position. Before long she was gliding into the narrow tunnel and she experienced a momentary claustrophobia, which she had to fight rationally. She found it helped if she closed her eyes and imagined she was lying in a field with open sky above her, rather in than a tube whose wall was only two or three inches from her nose.

  ‘Don’t move now. Stay absolutely still,’ came a voice over the microphone.

  Now the giant’s heartbeat stepped up to a bang, bang, bang, then a bidoon, bidoon, bidoon, followed by a series of other loud sequences, sometimes scratchy, not always in bass. These unpredictable sounds became her whole existence for a long period; she had been told it could take up to an hour and a half. The feeling of powerlessness washed away all other thoughts, which could not co-exist with the demands on her ears. She felt as though she had turned into a subterranean rock at the mercy of erosion. Eventually, the rhythmic sounds reduced in intensity. She felt cold. The microphone crackled: ‘All done now, Mrs Greenwood.’

  The bed moved silently out of the tunnel and the heartbeat faded back to a muffled hum-thump, with a top note that sounded like a distant, automated forge.

  ‘You’ll get the results within a week,’ said one of the assistants. ‘If you’d like to make an appointment with your GP.’

  ‘The news is mixed,’ said Dr Conway.

  ‘Please tell us, doctor,’ Max had come in with her and held her hand while the doctor spoke.

  ‘You have a brain tumour, Mrs Greenwood.’

  She coughed. ‘I … I had a feeling it might be that.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stop the welling up of emotion and at the same time absorb the information which was now horribly real, no longer an abstraction.

  ‘But you said the news was mixed,’ said Max.’What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there is some good news.’ Dr Conway sat back and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. ‘Firstly, there do not appear to be any tumours elsewhere in your body; secondly the growth is not too large. It’s large enough to cause problems, yes, but … And thirdly, its location is such that removal should not be too difficult.’ He smiled professionally. ‘Do you have any questions?’

  Helen screwed up her courage. ‘Well, yes actually. Will there be any … after effects? I mean, will there be any … damage?’

  ‘It’s unlikely as we seem to have caught it in time.’

  ‘Is it cancerous?’

  ‘Most tumours like this are benign, but there is a possibility, yes. It looks as if it might be what they call “encapsulated”, in other words kept separate from other brain tissues. But they will have to do a biopsy to be able to tell anything else for sure.’

  ‘Will I have the kind of surgery where I’m awake and can talk to you?’

  ‘Not on this occasion, no.’

  ‘One more thing: how long will it be before I can have the operation? You see, my daughter’s graduation is coming up soon.’

  ‘And we’ve got a holiday booked for August, too,’ added Max, squeezing Helen’s hand. She smiled at him. He felt he needed to give Helen something.

  ‘I should think we’re talking … two weeks’ time? I’ll arrange for you to have your pre-op assessment next week. Wednesday suit you?’

  ‘Fine. So we can carry on with our plans then?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. You can spend your holiday relaxing and convalescing. Where are you going?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t say at the moment,’ said Max. ‘I’m not giving everything away. It was meant to be a surprise.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see you when you’ve had the biopsy. And Helen, don’t forget that support is available.’

  Max pushes open the door to the lecture theatre and tries to switch on the lights. Only one will come on: his spotlight on the platform. He becomes aware that the students are sitting there in the dark, waiting patiently.

  “We thought you weren’t coming back again, Dr Greenwood,” says one voice. Strangely, however, the atmosphere doesn’t feel at all hostile. Max steps into the circle of light. This time, the faces are not illuminated when they speak.

  “I needed to think,” he replies, placing one hand on each side of the lectern.

  “What did you need to think about?” This is a different voice.

  “Does anyone believe in God?”

  Nobody speaks; now he might as well be addressing an empty room.

  “Does anyone believe in death?”

  “Sir.” It is a girl’s voice. “What do you mean by believe? It’s just something that happens, a natural conclusion.”

  “What I mean is, is death the end?”

  “Why are you asking us these questions?” says another, deeper voice, more curious than anything else. “Do you think we have prepared for this?”

  Max remembered Bella saying once that Vee didn’t believe in God. At least, not the kind of God who would allow evil and suffering to flourish in the world as they have always done. Religious faith was something he’d practically ignored, claiming the typically British “CofE” label when necessary on forms, as if to put him in a kind of safe place, just in case people were right all along. But he knew he was avoiding the issue, hedging his bets. Now seemed as good a time as any to examine his beliefs once and for all.

  He did not need to look far; he had to agree with Vee. Devastation, degradation, illness and cruelty would not be allowed to happen on such a scale if God loved the world, and as for the “cop out” that He gave us free will, it could surely have been curtailed in some way by a being with such power, omniscience and supposed benevolence. Max was certainly not going to expound some theory about mankind, but he did believe humans were meant to help each other, and other creatures, especially if there was no higher power. Oh, he knew this to be a centuries-old, well-worn path, but he felt he had to focus on these things at this point in his life. He could not avoid thinking about the possibility of Helen’s death, or incapacity.

  The idea was sobering. If he carried his argument through, there was nothing afterwards. And if he believed that, why couldn’t he accept that the world would just go on as if she hadn’t happened? That must be the ultimate cruelty. We would all like to believe that something of us remains, that we have some personal impact, or that our souls watch over our loved ones. But how will we know if there is a resurrection until it’s too late? He also had to ask himself if he was becoming depressed, with all this introspection on mortality. Perhaps, but he wanted to put it down to apprehension. In fact it was more likely to be terror.

  Max drove Helen to her preoperative assessment that Wednesday. Everything was fine: blood pressure, weight, ECG reading and blood test. She told the doctor of the operations she’d had up to now: appendectomy aged fifteen, then the resetting of a compound fracture of her lower leg when she was a student and so on. The detailed examination and conversation lasted about two hours and she emerged exhausted. She slept part of the way home in the car. She had the biopsy to face the next day.

  While he thought Helen was still asleep, driving on through the countryside, Max felt that Vee was there with him again; this time it was not jealousy that emanated from her but a feeling of peace. He couldn’t explain why Vee came to him, or how he knew she was there.

  He recalled what she’d written, about her attitude to mental illness while she was young, how it had changed and then how she was derided by people who still held the same views she had been forced to abandon. Perhaps they too, he and Helen, were being punished for assuming they would never become ill. But by whom? An angry, vengeful God? He was back in the theological debate. But whatever people believed, health is a more delicate thing than most imagine, especially when viewed by the young.

  His thoughts turned to another patient. He would call her Miss X. She was mildly depressed and anxious and looking for stability. Somehow she obtained his home phone number and called several times. Despite being in her twenties, she obviou
sly had a crush on him, and kept repeating that she “needed” him. All Max could do was reassure her, change his number and go ex-directory. That was years ago. Everybody in his line of work had to be ex-directory these days. More to the point, was he needed now? He knew he needed Helen, but he was completely retired now, so he wasn’t needed by anyone at work. He was, however, facing challenges over which he had limited control, for himself and his dear Helen. She needed him; his anxiety centred on whether he was strong enough to support her.

  ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ said Max, turning into their road. ‘Here we are, darling. You go up and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’

  It was only five o’clock but it felt like midnight. She didn’t remember anything until she woke up in the early hours needing some painkillers, still fully dressed apart from her shoes, and lying on top of the bed. Max was in bed beside her, sound asleep. In the dim light, she noticed how his relaxed face was beginning to show his age.

  On the day of the operation, he helped her get dressed and into the car; she didn’t care that she couldn’t have breakfast. The next thing she knew, she was on a hospital trolley, with corridor lights flashing, passing overhead. It was very quiet to begin with in the theatre. Dr Conway had told her what the biopsy had revealed: it was malignant. It had to come out. A gowned figure looked at her as if from a great height.

  ‘Hello, Helen. I’m Mr McDonald. I’ll be performing your operation. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Oh, a fellow Scot!’ She remembered Vee’s description of anaesthesia. The oxygen mask, the cold trickle making her aware of her vein …

  She wondered what the flashing lights were overhead. Then she realised that it was all over and she was being taken along the corridor again. She closed her eyes. She seemed to be wearing a hat … The trolley rumbled as it turned a corner into a small ward. Shoes squeaked on the floor. She was moved on to the cold sheets of a bed and attached to monitors. The nurse busied herself with the equipment. Helen tried to speak but could not utter a sound to begin with. The hat throbbed when she coughed. Then:

  ‘Has it gone, Mum?’ Her voice sounded strange and she had a sore throat.

  ‘Has wha … Oh!’ said the young Asian nurse. ‘Yes, it’s gone. Now get some rest, Mrs Greenwood, and I’ll be back in a little while.’ Helen realised that her mother wasn’t there. Then gradually, as her thoughts began to clear even more, she recalled the recent events at Squaremile.

  ‘Hello, my brave, beautiful lady.’ Max was sitting by the bed now and he spoke softly. ‘How are you feeling?’

  She reached out and looked at his watch. Several hours had passed unnoticed! She croaked: ‘OK I think. Got a terrible headache, but it’s different. What does my hat look like?’

  Max laughed lightly. ‘Want some water?’ He poured half a cup from the plastic jug. ‘Nurse, I think my wife needs some pain relief please.’

  The nurse spoke quietly. ‘She can use the PCA, Mr Greenwood.’ She came over to them from another patient who was asleep. ‘I’ll show you what to do. See this? You just press that and it delivers some morphine.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ Max had forgotten about PCAs, he said. Helen pressed the button and felt suddenly lighter and more hopeful. She smiled at Max. ‘Have you told the girls?’

  ‘Yes, my love. They were quite worried, but I told them they couldn’t visit until I had made sure that you were up to it.’

  ‘I feel fine! How long am I meant to stay here?’ She felt her bandage. Max could tell that she was far from fine.

  ‘Until they’re satisfied you can manage and you’ve healed a bit. They’ll have to do some tests, but Mr Mc Donald reckons you should make a full recovery. I spoke to him while you were asleep, but he’ll come and talk to you tomorrow, I expect. You’ll be a bit bruised.’ He stroked her hand. ‘I’ve missed you, Helen. We’ve all been praying for you.’

  ‘Praying?’

  ‘Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean. Hoping strongly, willing everything to be alright.’ He smiled. ‘But I’ve got a confession to make – or is that the wrong word to use?!’

  Helen groaned. ‘Enough already. Well? What have, or haven’t, you done?’

  ‘I told Grace and Anna about the tumour the night after we’d been told. I couldn’t really leave it til now, could I? It would have been too much all at once.’

  ‘It’s OK, Max.’ She must have drifted off to sleep again to Max’s voice and the sounds of the ward, because when she next opened her eyes, Grace and Anna were sitting by the bed with their father. Max had given the girls the OK. They had spent the night in a local hotel, at his expense. Their faces lit up when they saw that Helen knew them.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Anna. ‘You know I’m going to be staying with Dad for a few days?’

  Not to be left out, Grace took her mother’s hand. ‘Hey! And you’d better be coming to my graduation!’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart! I want to know when I’m getting out of here!’

  ‘Helen,’ said Max, trying to calm her. ‘There’s someone else here who’d like to see you. Come on girls, let’s leave them to it.’

  Helen lay back on a sun lounger in shorts and the vest Anna had bought her for her birthday. As Max put a glass of orange juice on the table beside her, the paperback she had been reading slipped to the floor.

  ‘I could get used to this, Max! Thank you darling. Have you got the sun cream?’ They had a villa on the Côte d’Azur for three weeks. Max sat on the other lounger, feeling very lazy, but he didn’t see why he should feel guilty. He had managed to finish writing up the details of the Squaremile showdown before they left. These notes, intended originally to help him with regard to Vee’s inquest, had almost developed into his own novel. He would let Helen read them sometime.

  He felt warm and comfortable – and relieved: Helen’s follow-up scan had shown the absence of cancer. When the bandages came off, she had a shaved area on the left side. Helen had joked that they were trying to match his hairstyle. She said she was just relieved to be rid of the thing, with all its unpleasant effects, and that she only had a grain-sized headache now, as opposed to a football.

  Helen had been so happy she’d cried when her mum came to see her on the ward. It was quite a journey from Edinburgh for an elderly lady, but she had been worried when Max got in touch. While her mother was stroking Helen’s face, Max had noticed the same expression of warmth in her eyes as he had seen many times in Helen’s. It was one of the special things which had first attracted him to her. He did not stand around after that to hear what was said, but his mother-in-law stayed with Max and Anna for a few days, until after Helen was allowed home.

  All they could hear now were the relentless cicadas. Then Helen’s mobile rang. She felt in her bag. ‘Damn! I meant to switch that thing off and leave the world behind … Hello, Anna! What’s the matter?’

  Almost immediately, Helen stood up and walked over to the other end of the verandah, and was looking out to sea with her back to Max. As the conversation progressed, he could tell the news was not good. The tone of her voice suggested both surprise and anxiety, and his curiosity was mounting. She came back towards him. ‘I’ll tell your dad, yes. He’s fine, taking it easy for once. Have you heard from Grace, by the way? Oh, that’s good. We did enjoy her special day. I know, shame there were only two tickets. But it’ll be your turn soon! Right. Good. Thanks Anna. Bye.’

  She closed the phone. ‘Well, Grace is OK, anyway. She deserves a holiday after all her hard work. She arrived safely in Lausanne last night, with Dan. She’s wanted to go back to Switzerland for ages – .’

  ‘– Yes, yes, I know, but come on! What was the rest of it about?’

  Helen sighed and sat down. ‘It seems we can’t get away from the Centre, even in the south of France! Squaremile has made the national news, Max. Dick Montgomery’s body was found in his office and, in the euphemistic phrase they use, the police are “not looking for anyone else”. He hanged himself, Max.’ She
picked up her glass and took a mouthful. ‘And there’s more. Not only is Sandra out of a job, she’s been arrested! Someone went to the press with a story of neglected residents and “irregularities” in the way staff were treated at Squaremile.’

  Max whispered, ‘Yes!’ in triumph, and then asked, ‘Do we know who told the papers?’

  ‘You and I both have our suspicions on that one, but we may never know for sure. But it looks as if I’ll have to find another job when we get back, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘So much for going back part-time in Sycamore. It’s a shame, because I’m only ten years off retirement. Perhaps you’ll have ageism to combat next!’

  ‘Oh, no, no, I’ve fought all the battles I intend to, thank you very much. I want a quiet life now.’

  ‘Are you saying,’ said Helen in mock indignation, ‘that you wouldn’t take up the cudgels on my behalf?’

  ‘Only if absolutely necessary – and if you didn’t give me any peace!’

  They laughed and Helen tried to tickle his chest, where the little curl of grey hair was, right in the middle. They stood up and walked arm in arm across the wooden boards to the rail. Helen looked glamorous in her sunglasses as they counted the distant boats under a cloudless sky.

  ‘I wonder what Jim’s made of the headlines,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t believe it. And just think, it’s nearly a whole year since his sister died.’

  Max took a mouthful of his drink. ‘Poor Monty, though, eh? I feel sorry for him in spite of what he represented.’

  ‘Yes, I heard his wife died back in November, so the trouble at work must’ve been the last straw.

  ‘Sounds like it. But to psychoanalyse Monty would have been interesting. I don’t think he knew half of what was going on at the Centre, but he obviously believed in it. The ship that could never sink.’

  They went back to the loungers.

  ‘Hey, let’s forget about home now. This holiday is my present to you, so we’ll do whatever you want, bearing in mind that you’re meant to be taking it easy.’