by Tara Ford
Two air hostesses delivered a display of hand and arm movements, facing each other at opposite ends of the gangway. Studying the girl nearest to him, Jack admired her beauty. Her long, dark hair was swept up and back into a bun and she spoke through full, bright red lips that held a natural pout. Guessing she was of similar age to him, maybe slightly older than his 23 years, Jack studied her voluptuous figure as she moved her torso during the demonstration. Lustfully observing her curvaceous breasts, which were of ample size, Jack’s mind wandered for a moment. He hadn’t slept with a woman in over six months and it was starting to play on his mind.
The stewardesses completed their presentation and moved towards the back of the plane. Jack altered his brain waves and shifted in his seat uncomfortably – it was just as well that no one could read his mind.
The elderly lady next to him had been twittering away incessantly since Jack had taken his seat. There had been a short delay for some unknown reason before the crew closed the hatch and prepared for flight, hence Jack had been blessed with an extra 20 minutes of rampant babble from the moaning old hag. The old man to the right of her looked like he had been henpecked for many years – the furrows in his forehead could probably tell a story or two, thought Jack.
“I’m not sure we will ever be going back there again, Cyril,” said the little white-haired lady. “It was a disgrace!”
The bald man nodded in agreement, probably having learnt over the years to agree with everything she said. He seemed like the type of man who would rather go two rounds with Tyson than argue with his wretched, wrinkled wife.
“And that toilet, it was horrific Cyril. You were nearly sick, I heard you retching.”
Cyril nodded again and pursed his lips.
“We didn’t bring her up like that, so why has she turned into such a disgusting little madam? It doesn’t take much to keep a toilet clean, for goodness’ sake!”
Cyril shrugged his shoulders.
Jack questioned to himself whether the man could actually talk at all.
“When I asked her about it she said she hadn’t had the time to do any cleaning in the last week. The last week? There was more than a week’s worth of shit encrusted in that bowl, I can tell you!” the old woman complained as Cyril cringed with awkwardness. “I’ve a good mind to call her when we get home Cyril, what do you think?”
Jack concluded that Cyril must use his shoulders a lot to shrug his way through conversations.
“And those flea-ridden cats were everywhere, I counted 23 of them Cyril, how many did you count?”
He shook his head and looked at her with a glint of animosity in his old, blue eyes.
“There was as much cat poo scattered around as there were cats, it was filth Cyril, what’s wrong with her?”
Jack leant slightly towards the lady, intrigued about the cats and the ‘her’ she was ranting about. Assuming it was their daughter, he continued to listen in amusement. Watching from the corner of his eye, Jack noticed Cyril gazing straight ahead into nothingness.
“Why won’t she just come back home? She doesn’t need to stay out there anymore.”
Cyril shrugged again: he obviously didn’t want to have this conversation.
“Half of those poor cats had legs or eyes missing and chunks of fur falling off their bodies. It’s cruel to keep them alive isn’t it?”
“Umm,” muttered Cyril.
Jack smiled to himself. The man did have vocal chords after all!
“She can’t take any more strays in, it’s ridiculous!” The woman was getting quite agitated. “Cat breeder, my arse. More like feline zombie farm.” Her gravelly voice raised as she looked towards Jack, grinning a plastic smile at him. “Surely she’s not going to breed Cyclops, three-legged cats with selective fur patches?”
“Daphne, that poor lad doesn’t want to listen to this all the way to England.” Cyril had really stepped up to the mark. He’d spoken!
Looking towards them both, Jack smiled. “That’s fine mate, don’t worry about me.”
Daphne eyed Cyril distastefully and sucked her wrinkled cheeks in, pursing her lips in a frown.
The flight home took an hour and a half. Jack adjusted his army-issue watch to allow for the crossing of time zones – nearly there, he thought, feeling a rush of excitement shoot through his body. However, his trip had been an interesting one. He had learnt a great deal over the past 90 minutes, and he felt like he almost knew Cyril, Daphne and their daughter Trudie. He was almost sympathetic about the clowder of cats, the hovel Trudie lived in, her morbid fascination with death, the ex-husband who had left her for a homeless bisexual tramp, her own colourful past and the present poo pandemic in her small flat. The outcome looked grim for the future of German cats!
Jack was exhausted by the time they landed in Birmingham. Once through customs, he had to find a phone and call his dad. A text message delivered in the middle of the night, from his brother, had informed him that his mum was not well.
The queue to exit the plane was long and tedious. Jack pulled his rucksack from the overhead storage and stood in the aisle waiting with Cyril, as Daphne continued to moan on several new topics, namely the British queues, rude people and excessive hand luggage.
The airport was bustling like a smoked beehive. Elated to be back on English soil, Jack smiled at the thought of almost being home.
Initially he’d booked his flight back to Birmingham, planning to spend a night with a lady he had met some time ago. Unfortunately the brief relationship had petered out before it ever got going. Jack realised he had a close escape with that one, but Facebook had its uses, good and bad.
He could have changed his flight plans and gone straight back to Gatwick, which would have been closer to home, but decided against it, saving himself the hassle of changing flight details. The army had sent him out to Germany from Birmingham, so he saved himself any confusion by sticking to the way he knew. He quite liked the idea of travelling home on a train, taking in the English countryside and chilling out with a beer.
Jack now had four weeks’ leave to enjoy, and boy, was he going to enjoy it. The old cliché ‘wine, women and song’ sprang to his mind, although more appropriately for Jack it would be ‘beer, birds and bars’!
Jumping into the booth before anyone else could occupy it, Jack fed the payphone and dialled his home number.
“Hello?”
“Hello Pops! I’m in Birmingham, what’s up with Mum?”
“Jack, I was just about to call you. Thought you must have landed by now mate.” A pause. “Your mum is okay. I’m going back to the hospital to see her soon. I needed to talk to you first though. I was supposed to contact you through the airport to give you a message in case you hadn’t received the text but I’ve been caught up in all sorts of other things.”
“Why, what’s up Dad?”
“Well, for a start, there is someone that you know lost in Birmingham!” His dad’s voice increased in volume at the word ‘Birmingham’…
“Who?” Jack asked, trying to think of the possibilities.
“Your stupid brother, Aaron!”
“How’s he lost in Birmingham?”
“He got on the wrong bloody train coming home from Wales!”
Jack laughed out loud. “How the hell did he manage that? He’s gone completely in the wrong direction for a start – where is he, do you know?”
“He’s waiting for you at Birmingham New Street. Can you get over there and pick him up on your way back? Sorry mate, I know it’s a bloody nuisance.”
“Yeah, sure Dad. What an idiot he is, eh?”
“Yep, you said it! Look, he hasn’t got any money for a ticket home, so can you get him one and we’ll sort it out when you get back?”
“No worries Dad. Can you ring him and tell him I’m coming to get him? I ain’t got any credit on my phone yet.”
“Sure I will son.”
Grant was so proud of his firstborn son. A soldier in the army, Jack had finally made somethin
g of himself and he had enjoyed every minute of it. Based in Germany for the next two years whilst he continued his advanced training, he had also taken advantage of the numerous courses on offer. He had achieved many things in the last two years with the army, utmost respect being number one on the list.
“Okay Dad, I’ll go now and get him. Don’t know what time we’ll be back. I’ll text you later when I’ve got credit.”
“Thanks Jack, look forward to seeing you mate.”
“Auf wiedersehen, Dad.”
The train station connected directly with the airport via monorail. Jack’s new mission was to find out where New Street was and get there. He liked taking on missions; they were what he had joined the army for.
Over an hour later, he was on the train to New Street, and looking at his watch, he noted that the time was 6.45pm. The journey to New Street was only 15 minutes, so he would be there by seven o’clock. What would he do if he couldn’t find Aaron? Jack had topped up the credit on his phone with a debit card, which was so much easier to do in England, but Aaron’s mobile must have been turned off because it rang once and then went to a recorded voicemail message.
Right, if I was Aaron where would I go? thought Jack as he arrived in the New Street concourse. Worrying whether he would find his little stick insect of a brother, he paced around, scanning the terrain like a soldier on a missing persons operation. It was possible that it could be like looking for a needle in a haystack as Aaron would not be the most obvious one in a crowd, in fact he would be the very least conspicuous.
Operation Stick Insect, search and rescue mission – Private Frey reporting for duty, Sir!’
Jack’s tall, muscular physique stood out amongst the crowds of travellers scurrying around like ants on a hot summer afternoon, trying to get to the right platforms. Stepping onto an escalator, he travelled to the upper floor and was amazed to see a small city of shops and cafes. He paused as he stepped from the escalator and moved over to one side to prevent a pile-up.
Where the hell am I going to start looking for Aaron? he wondered as he felt himself getting annoyed. Scooting around the centre without entering a single shop, he suspected Aaron would not be enjoying a Saturday evening shopping spree during his unexpected visit.
Satisfied that Aaron wasn’t on the retail floor, Jack returned to the main station below. It was more likely that he would find Aaron cowering in some corner somewhere.
Straining his eyes as they constantly darted around from person to person, desperately seeking the familiar figure of his little brother, he wondered if he should just stand in the middle of the largest part of the concourse and shout as loud as his sergeant did on parade duty. Maybe not.
As he surveyed every area in view he saw a figure standing in a phone booth over the other side of the station.
Was it Aaron?
Stepping toward the booth without taking his eyes off the male figure propped up inside, he accidentally bumped into passers-by, but Jack remained homed-in on his target.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Jack as he tapped the teenager on the back. Operation Stick Insect, mission accomplished, Sir!
Aaron turned quickly with the earpiece still held to the side of his face. His eyes lit up in recognition as he spoke to the receiver.
“Jack’s here now. Tell Dad not to worry. Can you send him a message, Joe?” Aaron paused and listened to the phone, while he stared at his soldier brother, with the widest grin of teeth he could muster. “Yeah, see you later.” Replacing the handset, he turned round and took a flying leap out of the booth to land on Jack’s already turned back.
“I’ve been waiting for you for ages!” Aaron screeched as he flung his arms around his hero’s shoulders. It’s cool to hug your brother in public, just not your aunt, he thought, hugging Jack for what seemed like a long time. Aaron was relieved and very emotional to have been rescued, and also to see Jack after such a long time.
“You bloody idiot! How did you manage to get the wrong train?” Jack laughed as he hugged his little brother back, making sure not to crack any of the stick insect’s ribs.
Deciding that they were both hungry, Jack and Aaron headed out of the station to find a local Indian restaurant. Aaron was starving. He hadn’t eaten since his Aunt Josie’s special fried breakfast with pine nuts, and he’d saved the little money he had left, in case it was needed to make a phone call in a kiosk.
The alarm on Aaron’s mobile had indeed sounded at the correct time of three hours later, as he sat in the station waiting for a Mission Impossible army-style rescue, but the last heave of battery power required to sound the alarm had rendered it dead and useless.
A short walk from the station the duo found an Indian restaurant, thanks to the directions of three jaunty men who they passed. The town was lively, as the hour of ‘nightlife’ had begun and already the pubs were overflowing with groups of young people who were hoping for a good time.
Jack and Aaron were fortunate enough to get a table for two by the window of the delicious-smelling restaurant. They ordered a large set meal for two, a beer and a Coke.
Aaron was warm and happy. He felt safe now his big brother had found him.
“As long as we’re back by about ten, we’ll be able to get the train home,” said Jack confidently. Leaning back in the chair, he stretched his arms above his head, hoping his over-filled stomach would ache a little less. Two additional pints of beer had made him feel very weary, and along with his bloated tummy, he was now ready for a sleep on the train. Looking at his watch, he said, “Come on mate, hurry up, we’ve only got 15 minutes.”
Aaron shovelled down the last few mouthfuls and felt exactly the same as Jack, except he had not had any of that ‘disgusting beer stuff’.
“Two tickets to Portsmouth please, one way,” Jack called through the perforated hole in the glass screen.
“Next train leaves at eight minutes past ten, platform 1A. Four changes, arriving in Portsmouth at 6.22. That’ll be 146 pounds please.”
“Six twenty-two? What? In the morning?” said Jack as he stared in amazement at the man in the ticket box. “Have you got any direct trains?”
“No mate, last direct one was ten past nine. It’s Easter you know.”
“Great!” said Jack, as he turned to look at his brother standing behind him.
Aaron stood with his hands in his pockets raising his eyebrows and shoulders in unison, looking pretty vacant.
Reluctantly, Jack paid the fare, knowing they had a long night ahead of them and an eight-hour journey. The most annoying thing was the changing of trains, not just once, but four times.
“I’d better send Dad a text to let him know we won’t be home till the morning!” said Jack as they sat down in the first train of the night.
Aaron nodded sheepishly and worried whether their long journey was entirely his fault... and it was.
Alex
The situation was worse than I initially thought, yet I was still not overly worried or scared. Should I be? I wondered as I lay in the lonely, cube-like room.
It had been a tediously long day. I slept for brief moments, answered random questions from several doctors, had tests, then extra tests and yet more tests. There were regular observations and the inevitable commode moments, but always remembering to pull down my underwear first.
Trying to entertain myself, I had spent the rest of my time watching the sun’s rays trying to creep in through the opaque glass, casting patterned shadows across the walls and slowly moving around the room as the hours drifted by.
“Have you been abroad lately Alex?” asked Dr Theresa Pond from the doorway.
“No,” I replied, knowing they didn’t have a clue what was wrong with me.
She smiled, and then left. She would be back soon enough with another random question.
They had spent so much time and effort pursuing numerous ridiculous enquiries. I was aware that three doctors were outside the room sat at a desk, poring over medical record
s. I expected they had the medical dictionaries out too, trying to come up with a diagnosis. The trio had all been in to see me, one at a time initially, and then all three at once.
“Have you been scuba-diving at all in the last few months?” Dr Pond was peeping round the door again.
“No. Never,” I replied.
They were clutching at straws, trawling through every possibility in the book. It didn’t look very professional. The doctor disappeared again, and seconds later the handsome, tanned and seemingly very caring senior male doctor came back in. I guessed he was senior to the other two because he didn’t ask silly questions. He just came in and spoke about the serious bits.
“We have some concerns about your condition Alex,” he said gently. “I’m going to be honest with you. We are worried that the paralysis will spread to your diaphragm and cause you to stop breathing.”
My eyes widened in horror. Was I going to die?
“We have arranged a ventilator to be on standby.”
The doctor looked genuinely troubled, which made me start to feel more uneasy. Maybe I wasn’t indestructible after all.
“There’s a condition called Guillain–Barré syndrome that we are looking at in your case, but you don’t quite tick all the boxes for symptoms.” He sat down at the end of my bed, looking pensive.
Hoping and praying that he was not going to examine my legs and feet (even if I was going to die), I pulled my body upwards and away. He was far too handsome to be gawking at my legs! However serious this was, I still had my dignity and didn’t want to die of embarrassment. A constant practical joker, I never could take anything seriously, but actually this was starting to strip me of humour and my optimistic outlook on life.
“Your rapid state of paralysis could be linked to an aggressive form of GBS, which is why we have concerns about your breathing. We’ll monitor your condition closely in case you start to struggle.” Looking at me intently, he appeared to be expecting some sort of reaction, but I was void of any emotion and lay motionless, staring in his direction. “Alex, we are going to get you over to the specialist neurological unit for an MRI scan today. They may also decide that you need to have a lumbar puncture.”
