Love Patterns

by Michael B. Malone

  Kirsty, still in hospital, was frantic with worry, although David assured her that U.S. military hospitals were superbly equipped and were staffed by expert doctors. Even with massive doses of antibiotics, the infection in Alan’s thigh continued to spread and the wound got ugly suppurating constantly, and the doctors began to despair.

  David developed breastfed jaundice. The paediatrician reassured Kirsty that the condition was common in new-born babies because their livers hadn’t fully developed their function. David appeared healthy and lively and the only symptom Kirsty noticed was that his skin developed a golden yellow tinge, but she still worried. The nurses tested him regularly. As the bile pigment level in his blood continued to rise, he was transferred to the special care baby unit. The sight of her son lying naked in a cot under an ultra violet lamp with his eyes covered by a shield, looking so small and alone with his tiny chest pumping valiantly struck at Kirsty’s heart. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to protect him and she felt so helpless. Alan’s father reassured her that the staff knew their jobs and wouldn’t let anything happen to the baby. She stayed with David and prolonged his feeding times as long as she could, but still she felt that he was being torn from her when the nurse insisted he be placed back in his cot. Despite more than twenty-four hours of ultra violet treatment, David’s bile level continued to rise. Despite the reassurances of the doctor, Kirsty had to fight hard to suppress her panic. The tests of David’s blood became more frequent, the nurse jabbing his foot with a sharp blade to get a drop of blood. She tried to get comfort from Alan’s faint presence inside her, but it was so faint now, as if he was fading away, as if he was dying. She was near to despair at the thought of losing both her men. She cried when there was no one around.

  Chapter 48

  Alan’s deteriorating condition so worried the doctors that they were concerned they wouldn’t be able to save his life, let alone his leg. He was transported by helicopter to the U.S. hospital ship “Mercy” which was cruising in the gulf with its sister ship “Comfort”. Both ships were the size of aircraft carriers and were floating hospitals with a thousand beds in each and the latest in equipment, prepared for all the casualties which had failed to materialize. Alan was examined, and the specialists decided on a drastic course of action while he was still strong enough to suffer it. Since there was obviously some virulence inside the wound, and resistant to antibiotics, they would reopen the wound, find the sources of infection and remove them. The operation was performed that evening.

  They cut parts of the outer muscle, peeled it back so that the wound was open for inspection, then painstakingly dealt with each centre of infection, removing healthy tissue as well, if it proved necessary, ensuring that every source of trouble had been removed. Only then did they join the muscles back together and close the wound. Alan continued to grow weaker.

  After four days, as the pigment level continued to rise, the doctor became concerned and Kirsty was told that David must be bottle fed only. Kirsty felt that there must be something wrong with her as a mother. She felt guilty. David’s bile pigment level at once fell dramatically; his colour returned to normal, and after six days Kirsty was told that she could resume breast feeding. She wondered what all the fuss had been about and why they couldn’t have decided on this sooner. They were both discharged from hospital and she returned home. After a few days, the visits from friends and relatives all avid to see the new baby tailed off, and she settled into a routine, of looking after David, helped by a doting Claire, and keeping up with her university studies. She worried. She could hardly feel Alan at all now. Why had she had no letter from him when his parent’s, had one? Why had he not enclosed a note for her? Maybe he knew what she had done to him? Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with her? She hugged David, seeing part of Alan in him, and torturing herself that this might be all she would ever have of him now. A hard knot of despair began to grow in her stomach.

  Alan’s condition see-sawed for a week then he began to stabilize and under massive doses of the latest antibiotics, started slowly to recover. Over the next four weeks, the scar tissue changed to a healthy pink, his fever abated, and he began to regain his strength, hobbling around and exercising his leg, under the direction of a physiotherapist. He was able to write to his parents and to Kirsty, recounting what had happened to him, and promising that it would not be long until he was home. After four weeks the “Mercy” started to prepare to return to America. Alan gave the doctors his heartfelt thanks for their efforts on his behalf, before he left by helicopter, along with the recovering service patients remaining. They stopped at an airbase near Jubail, where the others left to catch their planes back to the U.S. then the helicopter carried on to Dhahran where Alan was helped into the waiting area of the hospital.

  Under the care of an English consultant, Mr. Greenfield, he gradually gained strength. He was amused by the behaviour of some of the younger nurses and might have taken advantage of the opportunities offered if Kirsty had not been the focus of his yearning. They appeared at his bedside on the flimsiest pretexts; the tops of their uniforms carelessly left unbuttoned so that when they stooped down near him very little was left to his imagination. Their skirts always seemed to ride up to the top of their thighs when they sat on his bed to chat and he couldn’t believe his pillows had to be fluffed up quite so often, with a soft bust pressed into his cheek. He bore these trials stoically.

  After numerous attempts. and booking a three-minute slot on the busy telephone system three days in advance, and which he only got so quickly because he accepted a time after midnight, Alan managed to get through to Kirsty’s house. The insistent ringing of the phone woke Claire. She looked at her clock, groaned and pulled her duvet over her head. She suddenly sat bolt upright thinking.

  “It might be about Kirsty.” She dashed into the hall and lifted the phone.

  “Hello!” She gasped. She heard the babble of a foreign language, then Alan’s voice.

  “Hello is that Kirsty?”

  “No, it’s Claire,” she cried. “How are you Alan?”

  “Nearly recovered. Is Kirsty there?”

  “Sorry Alan she’s in Edinburgh.”

  “How is she?”

  “They’re …” she stopped. It wasn’t her place to tell him about David. “She’s fine.”

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” Claire assured him. “Did you get our letters? We sent them three weeks ago to the hospital ship.” She paused, then asked, “Alan?”

  “Yes Claire.”

  “I’m really sorry about the letter I sent you.” She explained the circumstances while Alan listened quietly. “I thought that I’d killed you. You must hate me.”

  “I could never hate you Claire.”

  She felt her hidden love stir and stifled a sob. “When do you think you will be back?”

  “A week or two,” he answered. “It depends when I get discharged and get a plane.”

  “I hope you will be back in time for the wedding.”

  “What wedding?”

  She heard the alarm in his voice. “Mine, I’m marrying Frank in three weeks.”

  “Oh! That’s great.”

  She felt the relief in his voice and suppressed a giggle, “Alan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry about the bad feeling, it was because I loved you.”

  “I know, I felt very close to you.”

  “Kirsty told me about you meeting before, I wish I’d known sooner.” She heard him sigh. “Alan?”

  “Yes Claire?”

  “I would be very proud to have you for my brother-in law.” There was silence then she heard him again, sounding choked.

  “Thanks Claire, that means a lot to me.”

  She heard the pips starting.

  Alan finished in a rush. “Tell her I love her, and I’ll see her soon.” The phone went dead.

  Alan tried to arrange another call but gave up when he realized that he would be home befor
e he got another one organized. He wondered what Claire had meant when she said, “They.” He’d sensed the concealment in her voice. His mind circled round all sorts of possibilities. He found none of them reassuring.

  Claire banging the front door as she left for work, woke Kirsty. As she stretched luxuriously, she thought, ‘Soon I’ll be able to turn and snuggle into Alan’s arms.’ Claire had told her of the phone call. The letter she’d got three months before through Andrew, still worried her though, as had Dot’s description of Alan’s state of mind. She felt apprehensive. How would he react when he found out what she’d done to him? Even if he didn’t know she’d have to tell him. She couldn’t keep, secrets from him, well not serious ones. She heard the clang of the letter box and somehow, she knew there was a letter from Alan. She jumped up and hurtled to the front door, where a thick, envelope lay on the doormat. She grabbed it and rushed back to her bedroom, tore open the envelope and began to read.

  A wave of relief passed over her. It was the Alan she remembered, and as she read, she could feel his presence and hear his voice. The feeling that had been absent before had returned in full measure, and as he expressed his feelings for her in different ways, she smiled joyfully, knowing that it wouldn’t be long now before she was in his arms again. He told her about waking and feeling her calling for him. She remembered when David was being born, how she’d cried to Alan from the depths of her soul. David woke and cried to be fed, so she reread the letter while feeding him.

  Later after getting David back to sleep, she phoned Isobel who had also received a letter. They spent a pleasant ten minutes discussing Alan and when he might return.

  She decided to have a bath, undressed and anxiously examined herself in the mirror. Her figure was almost back to normal. She remembered the feeling of Alan’s hands touching and stroking her and shivered deliciously in anticipation. Lying in the bath. She imagined Alan knocking at the door and what she would say and do. She visualized them making love, her holding him, refusing to let him go. The water cooled, so regretfully she stopped daydreaming and quickly washed, dried and dressed. She decided to reply to Alan’s letter right away and spent most of the afternoon writing a long, long letter to him relating everything that had happened since his departure.

  When Claire arrived home that evening, Kirsty read extracts from the letter aloud to her.

  Alan began to walk without hobbling. Fretting to get back to Kirsty, he asked Mr. Greenfield if he could see the British consul to arrange for a flight home when he was discharged and was told that he could go home the next day, if he continued with his exercises and didn’t play any rugby for a while.

  “I’ll contact The British consul,” he promised.

  Two days later, an official from the British consulate arrived with Alan’s passport and the information that he was in the process of arranging a trip back to the U.K. for him in a Royal Air Force plane.

  “You will be notified, and transport will be arranged to the airfield,” he promised. After inquiring about Alan’s health, he thanked him for his briefing about Basra and the attitude of the Arabs there which he said had been most helpful. “Is there anything you need?” he inquired.

  Alan grinned. “I could do with a haircut.”

  “I’ll arrange it,” the official promised, adding. “We have to look after the hero of Basra.” Alan was mystified.

  The next day a small Saudi man with a thin moustache, who Alan thought would be ideal for the part of a villain in a movie, turned up with a suitcase, and as Alan sat in a chair, cut his hair in the style that he wanted. The barber then carefully swept up the clippings with a dustpan and brush from his suitcase and left, refusing payment. Alan decided to shave off his moustache which he’d never liked. Looking in a mirror afterwards, he thought that Kirsty might recognize him now, and went on to reflect on what Claire had meant, when she had said, “They.”

  Three days later. When he was starting to get impatient, the message he’d been waiting for came through. An R.A.F transport plane would be leaving the following day, and a car would be arriving to pick him up in the morning. Alan was in a frenzy of excitement, in just over a day he would be with Kirsty again. Dreaming, he took out the little plastic packet holding her lock of hair and sat for a long time feeling its texture and looking at its colour.

  “Tomorrow,” he told himself. That evening he visited the specialists who’d helped him, particularly Mr. Greenfield and thanked them, said goodbye to the nurses many of whom seemed sad and gave him a hug.

  He was given a folder of medical notes to take back to his doctor in case any complications should arise. That night he dreamed of Kirsty. He woke early the next morning, had a quick breakfast, stuffed his belongings into his kitbag, and departed to the main hall to wait for his transport.

  Kirsty, back at university, found it hard going, having to nip out of lectures when David started crying to be changed. She fed him during lectures and although she’d been embarrassed at first, the rest of the students, male and female were very helpful and considerate and now hardly seemed to notice.

  One day she came home wheeling David in his buggy to be met by Claire at the door who grinned.

  “There’s a letter from Alan on the mantelpiece.”

  Kirsty dashed into the lounge, grabbed the letter, then ran into her bedroom, leaving Claire in charge of the baby. The letter was from a different address and Alan made no mention of receiving her own letter, so she assumed it was still in transit somewhere. She read and reread the letter, almost feeling his voice reading it to her. Alan told her he was recovering quickly and managing quite long walks, assuring her it was the longing to get back to her, that was helping him to recover so speedily, and he hoped to be back, holding her in his arms soon.

  The car eventually arrived, driven by a young corporal who opened the door for Alan and chatted about the war. When he discovered that Alan had been a hostage in Iraq, he wanted to know about his experiences. Alan described his stay in the marshes and the fighting in Basra.

  “Did you meet the Brit who was one of the leaders of the rebellion?” the corporal asked. “I read about him in the English newspapers.”

  Alan had to admit that he’d never met him. After about a four-hour drive over desert roads, they came to a huge tented town. The driver stopped in front of a large tent, jumped out, opened the car door and ushered Alan inside. A sergeant took his details and examined his passport. He was told he could wait in the officer’s mess, then he’d be picked up and taken to Riyadh Airfield about a half hour’s drive away by bus. The corporal took Alan to the officers’ mess, where he was introduced to the duty adjutant who despite looking disparagingly at his ragged clothing, took Alan to the bar and bought him a drink. As Alan sipped the cold beer, the first alcohol he’d had in nearly a year, the officer asked what he was doing in Iraq. When Alan told him, he’d been a hostage for the last six months, the officer’s attitude changed and when Alan mentioned that he’d been involved in the fighting in Basra, the man’s eyes widened, and he became almost deferential. The duty officer arrived and escorted him to a waiting bus almost filled with members of the various services. They set off. When the bus approached the airfield, it was boarded by civilian police who examined their documents and checked their names from a list. They were then driven straight to the waiting jet and climbed aboard. Alan found a window seat where he watched several buses stopping to deposit passengers until the plane was full. The doors were closed, the engines started, they taxied onto the tarmac and then with a great revving of the engines they started along the runway and they were airborne. The captain informed them via the intercom that they would be arriving at R.A.F. Lyneham at five p.m. British time, and some other technical information about what height they would be cruising at and the expected temperature in Britain.

  Alan was still tired like many of the others on the plane, for he saw them tipping their seats back, but he was still too excited to sleep. Towards the end of the journey a steward came
to tell him that the plane would be touching down in forty minutes and offered him a coffee and a sandwich. He looked out of the window and felt his heart lurch at the sheer greenness of the countryside below. Even inside the plane, he imagined that he could feel the dampness of the air. They landed and taxied to the reception area. Once they had passed through customs, they were met by Air Force staff who directed them to buses. Alan and others going North, were taken to a bus earmarked to connect with a transport plane to R.A.F. Turnhouse near Edinburgh which had been delayed for them. During the two-hour flight, on the smaller jet, Alan found out that the plane was to carry on to Leuchars Air Force Base near St. Andrews, and asked the steward if it would be possible for him to continue to Leuchars as he wanted to get to Dundee. The steward consulted with the cabin staff and it was soon arranged. Forty minutes after the stop at Edinburgh, the plane touched down at Leuchars base where Alan was surprised to be greeted by the station commander who saluted him, showed him unusual deference, and offered him a staff car to take Alan to Dundee. The car was driven by a young corporal who updated Alan on the local news as they travelled through Fife.

  As the car crossed the Tay Road Bridge Alan peered through the gloom at the approaching skyline of Dundee with growing excitement. He picked out Dundee Law and the row of four tower blocks near it. His excitement increased when the car got into the city and he recognized old haunts. He started counting the minutes until he would see Kirsty again. He asked the driver to let him out at the bottom of Kirsty’s road. The driver stopped the car, jumped out to open the door and saluted as Alan climbed out, carrying his kitbag. As the car sped off, Alan looked after it in puzzlement for a moment, then set off to Kirsty’s house. At the gate he hesitated for a moment took a deep breath, then filled with rising agitation, limped down the path and rang the bell.