Barefoot and Lost

by Brian Francis Cox

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I asked for water and the lady has given us lemonade free, it must be my charm.’ We sit on the bench drinking our pints, Michael hasn’t even said thank you, and I wouldn’t care if I never spoke to him again. We travel the rest of our journey in silence only saying goodbye when he turned up the Ridgeway.

  ‘Hello, I’m home’, Jet leaps out of his basket, Connie is cooking Alan is sitting in Reg’s chair.

  ‘Oh Phillip, thank God you are home.’ I look around there is no sign of June or Reg,

  ‘What’s wrong, where is everybody?’

  ‘Phillip; Reg has had a stroke and is seriously ill in hospital, June is with him.’

  ‘A stroke, what’s that, is he going to die?’

  ‘A blood clot on the brain, I don’t know how he is, and the ambulance took him to hospital at lunch time. June has asked me to stay overnight to look after things here; we can only hope he will pull through.’

  ‘My Gran had a blood clot in her heart and she died, I don’t want Reg to die, why wouldn’t he go to hospital. He was just like Gran, she wouldn’t go either, stupid bugger.’

  ‘Phillip I know how you must feel but don’t use that sort of language in front of Alan.’

  ‘Oh shut up Connie, you can’t protect Alan all his life, he has to grow up sometime; bloody, bugger, shit, there, he has learnt two more words.’ Storming out of the room, slamming the door, before it closes behind me I see the shocked look on Connie’s face and the grin on Alan’s. On my way to my room, in the hall I pass my bike and get the idea to go to the hospital, I’m not sure where it is but, after a couple of wrong turns, I ask a man walking a dog, he points me in the right direction.

  At the reception the lady behind the counter seems not to notice me and prefers to look in a filing cabinet. ‘Excuse me,’ she continues to look in the cabinet ‘EXCUSE ME,’

  ‘No need to shout, this is a hospital you know, can I help you?’

  ‘My Dad is here, he has had a stroke, and I need to see him.’

  ‘What is his name, when was he brought in?’

  ‘This afternoon, his name is Reginald Milligan.’ She runs her finger down a register,

  ‘Ah yes, he is in the trauma unit but I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him, no visitors are allowed in there.’

  ‘My Mum is here, can I go to her?’

  ‘Second floor, turn right at the top of the stairs, at the end of the corridor is a visitor’s room; your Mum is probably there.’ After taking the stairs two at a time I can see June, sitting by herself, her head in her hands.

  ‘June it’s me, how is Reg?’

  ‘Oh Phillip you are an angel, how thoughtful of you to come, I really need some support right now.’

  ‘How is he?’ looking at her watch June replies,

  ‘Just over an hour ago they told me he was holding his own, the Sister said, at this stage its touch and go, so we just have to wait, and hope Reg is strong enough to pull through.’

  With a faint squeak the door opens, a short, fat, middle aged man wearing a white coat enters, ‘Mrs. Milligan, I’m Doctor Lombard, about your husband Reginald.’

  ‘Yes Doctor, is Reg going to be alright?’

  ‘It’s early days to know just how Reg will be, it is almost certain there is some damage, the next forty eight hours is critical; we are keeping him under sedation to give him a better chance to overcome the effects of a cerebral haemorrhage.’

  ‘When you say damage, what sort of damage?’

  ‘There could be paralysis, or a speech defect, that sort of thing. They could be very slight and, in those cases, quite often correct themselves. My concern is you Mrs. Milligan, there is nothing you can do here, you would be far better off if you were to go home, try to rest and be strong for Reg when he comes around and needs your support.’

  ‘Come on Mum, lets go home, I’ll give you a ride on my cross bar.’ June takes my hand giving it a squeeze; hand in hand we walk out into the cool night air.

  ‘Do you mind if I don’t sit on your cross bar, can we just walk instead?’

  Starting back to school today, I have been looking forward to seeing Michael to see if he is over his sulk, but within ten minutes we were arguing again, this time he has taken a huff because I didn’t spend time with him over the weekend, I told him I thought we weren’t talking after our disagreement at the pub, now we really are not talking but I expect we will get over it.

  The last three days have been hectic, I have been helping Connie, who doesn’t appear to be very well organized, she gets flustered quickly and then everything starts to go wrong, she then is very quick to blame others, Gran just did it and never complained; I really miss her. June has spent all day, everyday at the hospital, not that she can do anything, but I think she wants to be nearby if Reg needs her.

  Saturday night was the last performance of the Opera and by lunchtime yesterday they had all packed and gone. The house is silent again, no more bursts of song, ‘I am the very model of a modern Major-General’ echoing from the bathrooms. I never did get to see them perform, June couldn’t go, Connie wouldn’t go because it would have meant that Alan would have got to bed too late, and I couldn’t go on my own. I wanted to ask Pop and Tess but Friday is a bad day for them. June said it would be inappropriate to be enjoying ourselves when Reg is so ill in hospital. I can’t see how Reg, will be affected if we went but, never mind; I expect there will be other times.

  It is just over three weeks since Reg had his stroke; June has cancelled the contract with the White Rock Theatre. Connie has gone to work for the guest house in Havelock Road that has taken on the contract. June is now spending all day at the hospital, supposedly in her previous roll as a Red Cross volunteer, helping out on the wards, but, of course, this keeps her close to Reg.

  She is hoping he is coming home next week but she is worried how she will cope because Reg is not able to walk, he is in a wheelchair. The stroke has left him paralyzed on his right side, which is unfortunate because this was his good side, his speech is also affected, when you ask him a question you can tell he understands, his eyes tell you so, but when he answers only gibberish comes out, his words are all jumbled. Sometimes he bursts into laughter for no reason and then seems to look around to see who laughed.

  I helped June dismantle their bed, from their bedroom on the fourth floor, then reassemble it in the living room at ground level. There is no toilet on this floor, it would be impossible to install one so she has bought a commode, which she has placed behind the door, with one of those folding screens around it.

  Our routine has been having breakfast together; I go to school and have my dinner there. When I get home around four thirty, I take Jet for a walk, make a cup of tea, and usually have a piece of toast while I do my home work. June gets home at six; she makes tea, usually a sandwich. Weekdays I walk down to Pop’s, June goes back to the hospital, we both get home around nine, we go to bed, and next day we start all over again. I’m spending more time with Pop and Tess than I am with June, she seems so preoccupied with being with Reg she doesn’t have time for me. I am worried that when Reg does come home, the only time she will have for me is when I’m helping her look after Reg.

  I don’t think I’m being selfish, but I’m worried that Miss Peabody will come and take me and send me to a home somewhere. Last week I tried to speak to June about my fears, she got quite angry, telling me not to be so selfish and consider other people for a change. ‘How can you think of yourself when poor Reg could be dying, would you feel different if he were your real father?’ I didn’t know what to say, I’d like to think she didn’t mean it that it was only the stress that made her say those things, so I said nothing and went to my room and wrote to Awful, kidding myself that I was only writing to tell him about Reg.

  I told Pop, how worried I am, I keep no secrets from him, knowing that; if I am wrong he will correct me and advise me. He thought for a long time, at first it seemed that he hadn’t hea
rd me. ‘Phil, I’m not about to advise you but I will tell you how I see the situation.

  June is under stress, most of it she has brought upon herself because she is a very determined and stubborn woman. That is not criticism, but her qualities are working against her, she believes she can do it all by herself, but of course she can’t, and won’t be told, she will have to find out for herself and, in the meantime her world is falling apart around her.’

  ‘Do you think I’m right and that horrible woman will send me away?’

  ‘As I said, I’m not advising you; think about it, she has given up her livelihood, by shutting down the house, there is no money coming in, how long can you survive as a family without income? Not long I’d wager. She is trying to turn the house, which is entirely unsuitable, into a convalescent home. When the woman from the council comes to assess the situation regarding you, she will decide that the environment is unsuitable for the raising of a young person.

  ‘I knew it, they will send me away.’

  ‘Phil, we can’t be sure, we have to persuade June to listen to sense.’

  ‘How can I do that, she won’t listen to me?’

  ‘She might, if you spoke some words of wisdom.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to tell her, anyway she won’t listen.’

  ‘She would, if I advised you on what to say; I have a better idea, why not write her a letter, her curiosity will make her read it.’

  ‘What, a note or a proper letter?’

  ‘A proper letter delivered by the postman. When she sees that you have gone to all that trouble to speak to her she is bound to read it.’ Pop goes to his writing desk, and returns with a writing pad and a pencil and sets them in front of me.

  ‘What shall I write?’

  ‘No Phil, you are going to write the letter in your own words, all I’m going to do is give you the words of wisdom.’ So I begin,

  Sunday 7th May 1947

  Dear June

  I have tried to speak to you but all you do is to tell me I’m selfish, that is not true, that is why I’m writing, so you will listen to what I have to say.

  I’m very worried that Miss Peabody will come and take me away because you are not looking after me. We are not like a family should be, I spend too much time on my own, in a house that is not a home anymore, it is just an empty building with 3 people in two rooms. When Reg comes home you think you will be able to do the things for him that it takes a whole hospital to do. You can’t, or you will get ill trying. Then what if you are in hospital, who will look after Reg, and me?

  I think that you should put Reg in a convolesent home, where he will be looked after properly until he gets better. I think you should then open up the house and get guests to stay so you can earn some money. I know you can’t do it on your own but you could get Connie or someone else to help you and I would help as well, we could then be a family again.

  I love you, please don’t let me go back to a home; please think about what I have said.

  Love from

  Phillip xx

  PS If Reg could speak he would not want you to kill yourself looking after him.

  ‘That should get her to take notice Phil, as I said before, you have a way with words, aim to be a journalist, don’t be persuaded to be anything else.’

  ‘Okay I’ll try; do you have an envelope I can borrow?’

  ‘Well hardly borrow, yes and what about a stamp do you have money for the stamp?’

  ‘Yes, I will post it on my way home from school tomorrow.’

  Yesterday and today I have watched the legs of the postman through the top of the kitchen window as he walks along the pavement, once again he walks on past, having nothing for us. I don’t want to be here when June gets my letter, in fact I’m wishing that I had never sent it and am toying with the idea, that when it does arrive, of rushing up to the letter box and taking it before June sees it.

  School was particularly horrible today, first thing, walking back from the bike shed, Michael and I had a row. It started with me telling him to shut up about his dad, that he was boring and a pain in the neck. He retaliated by trying to hit me, I blocked his punch and hit him; I was seen by the teacher on playground duty. Michael played all innocent, ‘He just hit me sir; no I don’t know why,’ the creep, that’s it he can go to hell, I would sooner have no friends than a creep like him. I was given detention at lunch, having to do lines, and then our form teacher has given me extra homework. As I was leaving school to come home I could see Michael with some boys from his class, he pointed at me, and they all laughed, some friend.

  Pushing open the front door I am surprised to see letters laying on the door mat, mine, and two others in brown envelopes. I put mine in my pocket, one of the others is a bill, but the other one is an OHMS letter, addressed to Mrs. Elizabeth House and stamped private and confidential, I turn it over in my hand, should I open it? I’d better not, best wait to see what June says. I have placed the letters on the dresser, propped up like mine from Rachel; I have decided to put mine there as well. The time is dragging, the curiosity is killing me what can that be, for Gran, after all she has been dead for ten months? Come on June hurry up.

  Eventually, June is coming down the steps, ‘Hello June, there are some letters on the dresser.’

  ‘What, another delivery, they must have gone back to two a day, like they did before the war.’

  ‘There is one addressed to Gran.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ June lifts the letters, shuffles through them then opens the bill. ‘Oh hell I forgot to pay that, I hate getting red reminders.’

  ‘The one for Gran, you see it is addressed to her, are you going to open it?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I should, it is marked Private, and perhaps I should give it to my solicitor and let him deal with it.’

  ‘It might be nothing important; I think we should take a look first.’

  ‘You’re right it could be a reminder to return a library book.’ June slits the envelope very carefully with Reg’s knife, inside is one sheet of white paper, ‘Oh my God Phillip, your Uncle Ron is dead.’ She hands me the letter, I read: Dear Madam. Please be advised, it is with regret we have to inform you that your son, Marine 543980, died from the result of his wounds, at the Military hospital in Bergen op Zoom, The Netherlands. His personal effects will be passed on to you in due course. Please confirm that this is your current address by telephoning the number and extension at the top of this letter. Handing the letter back to June I don’t know how I feel, I’m not sad, I hardly knew Uncle Ron but the times I did do things with him we usually laughed a lot. He was good fun and always joking.

  ‘So I really am an orphan now.’

  ‘Looks that way Phillip, I’m so sorry, I’ll telephone that Major tomorrow and tell him about your Gran; what is this one, not more bad news I hope.’ Using Reg’s knife she carefully opens it, I get up and leave the room. ‘I’m just going to the toilet.’

  Half an hour has passed and still no word from June, I’m wondering why I haven’t heard from her, she can’t be angry or she would have been up here banging on my door. Cautiously, I open the kitchen door; June is sitting in Reg’s chair, her head in her hands, and my letter on her lap.

  She has been crying, she turns her head to the door, dabs her eyes with a clenched handkerchief. I’m not sure what to do, I just stand looking at her, June gets up, comes to me, puts her arms around me and starts to sob, I can feel her tears on my forehead. Through her sobbing she says, ‘Oh Phillip what am I going to do?’

  ‘I think we should talk about it.’

  ‘You’re right, let me have a bath and tidy myself up; I’ll cook us some scrambled egg and then we can sit and talk about what options we have.’ We talked for hours, not only about our problem but about June’s life, how she had been a very young nurse in France, where she had lived as a child. She met Reg when he was wounded, eventually coming to England where they got married. I asked her did she speak French she told me fluently, like a nati
ve.

  ‘June, if you speak such good French, why weren’t you used as a spy in France?’

  ‘Phillip you ask the most unusual questions; as a matter of fact I volunteered, but they turned me down as I was too old, so I became an ambulance driver, not quite the same excitement or risks, but still a worthwhile job don’t you think?’

  ‘I would like to be a spy, but Pop says I should become a journalist.’

  ‘I think he is right; let us go over our plan. One: I leave Reg in hospital until I can get him into a convalescent home. Two: I put this place up for sale and find a smaller more suitable house, a bungalow preferably. Three: We carry on as we are, but you spend more time at Sam’s. Four: I spend more time with you, and Five: When all that is done we become a fully blown family again.’

  ‘What about like Pop said about getting guests to stay again, and then selling the house as a going business?’

  ‘I don’t think that is viable, it would take too long to get established and I don’t think we have time, anyway, I couldn’t leave Reg in a home indefinitely. It would be a big risk investing in here and then not being able to sell, no, that option is out; agreed?’

  ‘Agreed, shall we shake on it; June, you didn’t mind me writing to you, did you?’

  ‘No, it was what I needed, a sledge hammer to knock some sense into me, once again you did the right thing. By the way you spelt convalescent wrong, you left out an A and a C and added an O, it’s a French word, I should know, most important if you want to be a journalist you need to get your spelling correct; agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’ We shake hands which develop into a hug and a kiss.