by Erin Green
‘Grace, it’s Esmé, can you hear me?’
‘She’s not deaf,’ laughed Asa, standing at the end of the bed.
Grace gave a weak smile.
‘Shall we sit you up a little, give you a better view,’ said the kindly nurse, supporting the frail body and raising her a little. ‘There, is that better?’
Esmé smiled appreciatively.
‘Here’s a chair, sit closer to her,’ prompted Asa, placing Esmé nearer the head of the bed.
‘Grace, how are you?’
The gentle blue eyes simply stared at the younger face. A tiny flicker of light danced on the watery surface.
‘Just talk to her,’ urged Asa, bringing a second chair into place.
‘About what?’
‘Anything.’
‘Grace, I’ve phoned your son, David, he’s on his way,’ said Esmé, feeling conscious that everyone was listening to her. ‘And I was reading a recipe for a banana loaf while I was waiting…. Don’t tell the nurses but I’ve ripped it from the magazine and we’ll make it once you get back home.’
Asa smiled.
“What?’ mouthed Esmé, her brow furrowed.
‘Carry on.’
Grace lay listening, her eyes fixed on Esmé.
‘Anyway, I promise we’ll keep an eye on the house while you’re in here, so don’t worry,’ added Esmé, wishing that Asa would stop smirking at her. ‘Russ has been to check that you locked the back door. Dam’s not at home tonight – he’s gone to his parents’ for dinner. You always say, what again? whenever I say that line but it’s true, he goes there a lot. He lives with them more then he lives with us, that’s what we reckon over our cuppas.’
Asa laughed.
‘Honestly, Grace says that every time I mention Dam.’
‘What about me?’
‘Oh you, you’re a tortured soul,’ gushed Esmé.
‘Am I?’
‘Oh yeah, Grace reckons there’s another side to you that you hide from the rest of us… although I keep telling her there isn’t, she won’t have it. She reckons she’s met you in a previous life.’
‘Really.’ Asa stared at the old lady, his eyes taking in her pale features.
‘Yep, I swear.’
‘And you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yep, you.’
‘She thinks I’m naïve and don’t know what’s good for me in this world.’
‘Touché, see someone else thinks the same,’ laughed Asa, standing up to walk round the bed.
‘I think she sees us as the entertainment next door, our comings and goings are more interesting than the tv,’ laughed Esmé.
‘Possibly, in the case of—’ Asa stopped and coughed.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Asa busied himself reading Grace’s bed charts.
‘In the case of who?’
‘Is that the time? I need to get back. The nurses may ask you to leave in a while but I’ll see you back at the house, bye.’
Esmé watched as Asa hot footed it along the ward and exited, before she resumed her watch over Grace.
What was it he’d said? ‘Possibly in the case of…’ Dam? Russ? Jonah?
What’s the big secret and why hadn’t anyone included her?
Chapter Thirty-seven
Day 26: Show others you care
‘Asa, thank you for coming with me, I’m sure Grace will appreciate another visitor given that her son David can’t come during the day time,’ said Esmé, standing in the hospital lift with Asa.
‘Sure, though the other ladies might be unsettled given my appearance.’ The lift doors opened and Asa walked out.
‘Asa, this is the wrong floor,’ said Esmé, as she snatched at his arm.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘This isn’t the floor for Grace’s ward.’
‘I know… this is where I work. I thought you’d like to see.’
Esmé stepped from the lift just as the doors slid closed. Once through a set of double doors her mouth fell wide open. She stared around at the youngsters perched on top of their beds watching tv or playing games on the floor.
‘You work here?’
Asa beamed a cheesy grin.
‘Great, isn’t it?’
‘Asa, they’re children.’
‘No shit, Sherlock!’
Esmé stared around the ward, the children were aged from about twelve to early adulthood, all in various fashions and all wearing navy or crimson beanies.
‘Asa, I thought you were a porter.’ She scurried alongside him.
‘Did you now? Whatever gave you that idea?’ said Asa, waving to various children along the ward as he walked.
‘I assumed that with the…’ Esmé pointed to his face.
‘My tattoo?’
‘Yes, your tattoo…’
‘I can’t have a proper job?’
‘Sorry,’ she whispered in embarrassment.
‘Soooo small minded…’
Asa left her and began chatting to the nearest young man, who was seated on his bed with his blankets pulled across his legs and a woollen beanie covering his scalp. Esmé watched as they playfully fist bumped before Asa perched casually on the edge of his bed.
What was wrong with them all? They were just children and yet they all looked so poorly.
She stared around the ward at their physical weakness, sallow complexions and for some, their lack of hair. Then it hit her – many of them were wearing her beanie hats.
She nipped across to Asa, as if he hadn’t noticed their head gear.
‘Asa, these are my beanie hats!’
‘You’re quick today! Hey Stig, this one is on fire,’ joked Asa to the young lad. Esmé watched as the teenager laughed politely. ‘Stig, this is Esmé. Esmé, this is Stig… and yeah, she sewed your beanie hat.’
‘Hello, Stig, nice to meet you,’ blushed Esmé, trying hard not to stare at the young man’s frailty.
‘Sup!’
‘Sorry?’
Asa laughed.
‘She doesn’t do cool talk, dude – try old lady chat,’ joked Asa.
‘Hello, nice to meet and greet you,’ said Stig in a posh voice, thrusting a delicate hand in Esmé’s direction. Her hand wrapped around his, and she could feel the delicate bone structure, just like that of a tiny bird she’d rescued as a child. ‘Testicular cancer is my bitch and she’s winning.’
Esmé was helpless, speechless and stared between the two males.
‘I’m dying by the way, in case you were wondering.’
Her eyes bulged with tears, her stomach clenched with nerves and she lost the ability to speak.
‘Ha ha, it works every time, doesn’t it, Asa?’
‘Sure does, kiddo, sure does. Come on, Esmé, spit it out,’ said Asa, beckoning her nearer.
‘When?’ blurted Esmé.
‘My sell by date was smudged during production so I’m not too sure, but it’ll be a damn sight sooner than yours, I know that,’ answered the young lad in a chirpy tone.
‘It’s not a game of Top Trumps, you know,’ said Esmé, disconcerted by such flippant remarks.
‘It is around here!’ hissed Stig, as Asa belly laughed at the end of the bed.
‘Asa!’
‘He’s right, the rules in this ward are different to those in any other ward… literally anything goes with these kids,’ hissed Asa, through his laughter. ‘Stop being so uptight, pull up a chair and chill out.’
Esmé wanted to rant, rage and rebuff everything Stig had just said. But looking around her everyone did seem relaxed, quiet and yet, busy. Busy with computer games, board games, chatting between beds – Esmé sensed that the only person looking uncomfortable was her.
‘Anywhere?’
‘Anywhere.’ The two males stared at her as she self-consciously nipped to the nearest table, grabbed a hard back chair and carried it as if walking into assembly in primary school, before settling beside Stig’s bed.
‘OK?’ asked Asa.
‘Do you like the beanie?’ she asked.
‘You the gal that made them?’
Esmé beamed with pride. Never before had she made something so simple and yet, so fitting.
‘I love it. Asa brought them in a few days ago,’ he added.
‘Have you taken it off yet?’ jeered Asa, elbowing the lad’s blanketed legs.
‘Nah!’ The teenager turned round and called along the ward. ‘Oy Jonty! This here gal made the beanies… cool or what?’
Esmé blushed under the scrutiny of a second youth, lying in bed playing a computer game. She watched as Jonty paused his game, searched in his locker and brought out a crimson beanie, which he swiftly plopped on to his head, covering his baldness.
‘Cheers, lady… Stig, my man, we’re looking good!’
‘See what a few hours spent creating ‘stuff’ can do?’ whispered Asa to Esmé.
Esmé nodded, as the lump in her throat grew with pride.
‘And the others?’
‘I gave them out to others on various wards.’
‘There are more wards… like this?’
Asa slowly nodded.
‘Kids?’
He widened his eyes to answer.
‘Really? And they’re all… seriously ill?’ Esmé whispered the final section of her remark.
Asa nodded.
‘You don’t have to whisper, lady, there’s a big possibility you’ll eat more birthday cake than I will,’ said Stig, as casually as if they were chatting about the weather.
Esmé looked dolefully around at the handful of faces, all different and yet, all similar.
‘Cancer, mainly,’ said Asa, following her eyes. Esmé returned her saddened gaze back to him.
‘She’s going to cry, isn’t she?’ said Stig, turning to Asa.
‘Probably, she’s a wuss at home.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Did I mention what she did to the tarantula?’
‘Is this the one?’ asked Stig, his face beamed with life.
‘This is she.’
‘I’m not the wuss, I have a phobia,’ she said.
Asa rolled himself from the bed and stretched.
‘Come on, visit over. We need to head off to see your pal, Grace, before visiting hours finish… catch you later, Stig.’
Esmé watched as the two performed a complicated sequence of fist bumping, hand shaking bromance style farewell.
‘See ya, spider-girl,’ called Stig, as Esmé and Asa bade goodbye to the other patients.
‘Bye,’ waved Esmé to a sea of smiley faces.
As they exited the double doors Esmé couldn’t hold back any longer, and let tears cascade down her cheeks.
‘We’ll take the lift up to ward seventeen and then… hey what’s…?’
‘Is this what you do? Look after children that are…’
‘Dying? Why does that surprise you?’
Esmé stood in amazement and stared at his blurred features, her head slowly shaking from side to side.
‘I thought you were a porter.’
Asa smiled.
‘Seriously I did, every time they said ‘he works at the hospital’ – they made it sound like a services provider, that kind of stuff… not this.’
‘Well, this is what I do… I’m a palliative care nurse. I thought you did quite well, back there, he’s good at giving the verbal flack.’
‘Lord no, I wanted to cry the whole time. I was trying so hard not to stare. How can they be so cheerful when… when…? Are they all going to die?’
Asa shrugged.
‘Most… but it’s amazing how they cope and live.’
‘Live?’ interrupted Esmé, wiping her face to clear the second flush of tears. ‘Live?’
‘Yeah, live, this is what they have… there’s no second chances, they can hardly put life on hold while they focus on getting better for the glory days ahead… this…’ he waved his hand around the clinical corridor, ‘is their life, at the moment.’ Asa pressed the lift call button.
‘That’s so sad. I can now see why you do what you do.’
‘Exactly! There’s no biding my time, no waiting for a better time to come along – I do it, I live as if tomorrow wasn’t mine.’
Esmé watched as a spark of energy lit up his face.
‘I imagine you’re great at your job,’ she said.
‘I’m bloody fantastic at my job. I’m me and I do what it takes to make these kids smile.’
The lift doors slid wide open.
‘Asa?’
‘What?’
‘Sorry for calling you an arse… you’re far from it,’ said Esmé, fighting the urge to giggle.
‘Believe me, I can be an arse but a great one, with a great job.’
‘You must have met some very special people?’ They entered the lift, and Esmé pressed the button for the ground floor.
‘For sure, and they don’t waste their time unlike some I could mention.’
‘Oy! Stop having a pop at me. I don’t waste my life.’
‘What’s your plan for this weekend then?’
‘Hmmm.’ Esmé wished she could list a host of activities to fill the forty-eight hour window. Sadly, nothing came to mind.
‘Point proven – you’ll wait for others to invite you out or invite themselves around and then you’ll have plans.’
‘You’ve a bloody cheek.’
‘That’s because I’m an arse.’
Asa gave a wry smile and walked from the lift.
‘You think you’re so bloody funny… and you’re not!’ snapped Esmé following, irritated that yet again he’d hit the bull’s eye.
‘Those kids would switch places with you in a heartbeat… so stop wasting time and live a little.’
‘I will.’
‘So, what are you doing tomorrow?’ asked Asa, striding towards Grace’s corridor.
‘Nothing. Why?’
*
Esmé struggled through the door of St Giles charity shop with two bin liners.
‘Hi… I’d like to donate these please,’ was all she could manage having carried the bulging bags from the bus stop to the High Street. She’d felt awful entering apartment number nine knowing that Andrew was on a day shift, but while she had a key and some belongings surely it was for the best that she cleared her wardrobe in the least painful manner.
She’d given a huge sigh of relief as she’d emptied those final shelves. It felt cathartic. Old life, old clothes and old dreams being stuffed into black bags ready for a new beginning.
‘Oh, thank you, young lady… everyone loves a bargain in here,’ said the chirpy lady who welcomed her donation with open arms.
‘Could you tell Mrs West that Esmé dropped by?’
‘Of course, she’s in later, I’ll mention it… a friend of Maxine’s, were you?’
Esmé’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Yes,’ she said, proudly. ‘I was a school friend of Maxine’s.’
‘Lovely young woman, she was…’
Esmé smiled. Maybe one day I’ll be remembered as fondly.
*
She hoped she was doing the right thing. Why wait around wasting time – do something, live a little as Asa would say, thought Esmé. Though would it be classed as interfering?
Esmé had asked herself that question repeatedly from the moment she’d left the house, throughout her twenty minute bus ride, a ten minute walk and now, on entering the concrete block of flats.
What if Rita thought she was being nosey? But shouldn’t she offer help if it was needed?
She pressed the call button and waited for the lift to descend. On arrival, the metal door swept aside to reveal a mirrored box with a hand rail and a corner full of pooling urine.
‘Stairs it is!’ announced Esmé briskly to an empty lobby. ‘Only fourteen floors – it’ll do wonders for my thighs.’
She crossed the lobby and entered the stairwell: an endless spiral of concrete steps and a plastic rail gr
eeted her.
How does anyone live comfortably in such horrid surroundings?
Finally, after much huffing and puffing, she reached the fourteenth floor. She stopped to shake her legs and ease the burning sensation which was spreading from her groin to her knee caps and catch her breath. Sweat trickled down the centre of her back and soaked into her cotton shirt.
Esmé peered at the slip of paper – flat number thirty-two. She quickly rapped on the solid wooden door, uncomfortable in the dimly lit communal landing.
‘Hello,’ she said meekly, not wanting to overwhelm Rita before she’d had her say. ‘I wanted a quick chat.’
‘Esmé! What a lovely surprise!’
Esmé sighed at her genuine reaction.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure, though ignore the mess…’
A sea of coloured plastic filled every inch of the carpet from the hallway into the lounge: cars, scooters, plastic wipe clean mats, wellingtons, a ride on and push along motorbike, stack and storage boxes. Everywhere Esmé looked her eyes viewed plastic.
‘Eyo!’ called Toby from the pile of Lego positioned in the middle of the lounge floor.
‘Hello soldier, how are we?’
‘Plane!’ shouted Toby, holding aloft two long bricks joined in a cross shape.
‘Good boy, aeroplane.’
‘Tea or coffee?’ asked Rita, as she collected empty mugs from the mantelpiece.
‘Whatever you’re making, with two sugars and milk for me.’
Rita disappeared through the nearest doorway. Esmé moved a pile of folded washing on the armchair and perched on the cushion edge. She’d have felt better sitting back but she didn’t want to disturb Rita’s system and there was no other empty surface on which to place the washing.
Esmé fixed a smile to her face as she stared around the lounge. Every surface was chock-a-block with stuff – they’d obviously outgrown this flat a long time ago. The mantelpiece was an array of everyday essentials, cotton buds, Calpol, electricity cards, keys, matches, mobile phone and not the usual decorative space for displaying things of beauty.
A thick layer of dust smeared the tv, and sticky paw prints were dotted across the plasma screen.
When was the last time she vacuumed in here?
