Lucy Lockhart: The Awakening

by Bryce THOMAS

  It was going to be fun, after all. Perhaps, like getting a ride in a shopping trolley, the wheelchair was just for children. So without any persuasion, she withheld any objections and sat obediently in the wheelchair at the side of her bed quietly awaiting the services of a porter. She wasn’t sure if she had to tip him, but being a thirteen year old, as she was being told she was, she thought the porter would be happy with a sweet, girlie smile.

  She sat patiently awaiting the services of the porter, and chatted with her new found mother, who, after telling Lucy the news of her discharge, had disappeared and arrived back at the hospital so quickly that Lucy wasn’t sure if she had hired a helicopter rather than actually driving home and back. But then, she wasn’t entirely sure where home was, having lost her memory and all. Their home could have been next to the hospital campus for all she knew. However, her mother had arrived back in the ward with some degree of expedience that for the moment simply beggared belief. It turned out, much later of course, that Mrs. Lockhart had, since the very first day that Lucy had been admitted to the hospital, kept her daughter’s clothes, washed, fabric softened, ironed and packed away in a suitcase in the back of her Ford Escort, ready to be called upon at the slightest opportunity. She presented the crisply ironed, sweet smelling clothes, which she swore were Lucy’s very own, (surprisingly they fitted perfectly), and suddenly, resembling Nurse Lever, she couldn’t stop talking.

  Eventually, Lucy’s patience was amply rewarded as the porter returned to do his task. He was really quite dishy. He can’t have been much more than twenty, clean shaven, with neatly trimmed shortish blond hair and lapis lazuli eyes. Though how she knew about the azure blue mineral she wasn’t quite sure. But, getting back to the wheelchair obsession, the whole thing was looking better and better. He smiled, as he approached, with teeth that were as perfect as a film star’s. In fact, everything up till now had been so unbelievable that Lucy wasn’t sure if all this fussing hadn’t been laid on, film stars and celebrities included, just as a welcome home celebration. Well, it doesn’t hurt to let the mind wander a little, especially when it is so drained of content.

  ‘Right, young lady, let’s get you on your way,’ he said as he went to the back of the wheelchair. Two strong hands took a hold of the handles and, with a nod to Mrs. Lockhart and a final ‘okay?’ to Lucy, without another word, they all made their way to the door.

  It was a whole new world to Lucy. She didn’t recognise anything. After all, she had been unconscious when she had been admitted to the hospital. They turned left down a long corridor of double doors, and each intermediate section seemed to have its own set of side doors leading off to goodness knows where. Overhead, there were signs indicating which ward certain doors accessed. Other doors remained totally unmarked and anonymous. Some doors were open and Lucy could see right inside as nurses and other staff busily went about their business. A couple of doctors, one male, and one female, and wearing identity tags, walked by and smiled at her and then the wheelchair swung to the right along an equally long corridor, almost identical to the one they had just left, except this one was busy. That is to say, the people in it were busy.

  It was a clever bit of manoeuvring that kept Lucy’s wheelchair off toes and heels as she speeded along. It wasn’t until then that she realized that the porter, all porters in fact if she thought about it seriously, must have undergone rigorous training in wheelchair propelling and guidance techniques. Several faces looked down at her, not so much with a look of concern, but more one of inquisitiveness as if her passing presence somehow disturbed them in their discussions or encroached on their aura. Another group stood huddled around a woman, whose lapel tag, Lucy was to discover only moments later, explained that she was yet another doctor. She, however, unlike any other doctors Lucy had seen lately was not calm and self confident. She was shaking her head and lifting her arms in some sort of expletive way at the two oriental people directly in front of her, who, in return, seemed to be obliged to reciprocate by gesticulating and shouting noisily.

  The incident seemed to be drawing in spectators faster than a raiding party of wasps to a picnic hamper. The porter approached, and since there was absolutely no way, even with his navigational skills, of getting past the mêlée, he stopped the wheelchair and, with a nod to Lucy’s mother that indicated he had promoted her to stand-in porter, silently went forward to the gathering, leaving her in charge of the wheelchair. When he spoke to the doctor, she glanced sideways at him and smiled.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Lucy heard her say. ‘We have a bit of a language problem, that’s all. Nothing for you to worry about.’ With that the porter nodded and returned to the back of the wheelchair. Several more people came along the corridor from the opposite direction and squeezed around the edge of the crowd, then stopped, pressing themselves to the side of the corridor for Lucy and her porter to pass. Obviously, although interested, as their swivelling heads seemed to indicate, they were unable to spare the time to spectate.

  ‘But I don’t understand you,’ the doctor was saying slowly and loudly as if shouting would make her vocabulary more easily understood.

  The crowd suddenly and quite miraculously melted around the wheelchair as it began to pass through the knot of bodies, like a hot knife through butter. Lucy listened as she travelled by. The fact that the oriental couple were clearly agitated needed no explanation. They waved their arms and, going a purplish shade of red in the face, they both mouthed words slowly back at the doctor as if that, in turn, would make their vocabulary more easily understood. It was clear, however, that there was a total breakdown in communication. Neither understood the other.

  ‘They are asking if their daughter has had any treatment,’ Lucy stated blandly. ‘Apparently she is allergic to penicillin and they need to tell you.’

  The porter stopped and looked at the doctor for some kind of acknowledgement.

  ‘Now don’t be silly, darling,’ Mrs. Lockhart stated firmly. ‘This is not the proper time to play your pretending games.’ With pursed lips and a definite look of disdain, she shook her head, while at the same time tapping the porter on the shoulder and indicating with a cursory wave of her hand that he should keep on ploughing forward.

  ‘What?’ the female doctor said, first hearing the tinkle of a child’s voice and then swinging her head sideways to look down at the contents of the wheelchair.

  ‘Their daughter was admitted this morning. She was in a road accident, like me I believe,’ Lucy explained, now almost through to the other side of the crowd.

  The porter stopped again.

  ‘Lucy!’ Mrs. Lockhart whispered angrily as she bent over her daughter, trying to form a barrier between Lucy and the doctor. She had gone a bright shade of pink and quite clearly was wishing that this day had started at least half an hour earlier. That way they would have been well on their way home by now. ‘You really must stop this!’

  What Lucy said next, no one understood. ‘Wo shi yukuai zhu.’ (I would be happy to help.)

  Except the oriental couple. They smiled at her with relief and said something equally gobbledy gookish back to Lucy. ‘Wo di nu bei dai laiu? Ta you min.’ (Has our daughter had treatment yet? She has an allergy.) Then they nodded and grinned at the doctor. The crowd seemed to be getting bigger. Eyes followed the participants of the conversation like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. Anticipating another response from the young girl their eyes swung to Lucy for the next serve.

  ‘They are Chinese,’ Lucy stated. ‘They just need to make sure that you know about their daughter’s allergy.’

  ‘You don’t know Chinese,’ Mrs. Lockhart growled firmly, still trying to form a barrier between the wheelchair and the doctor. ‘You only pretend to speak foreign languages when you go on with your mumbo jumbo! And anyway, I thought you’d grown out of that, years ago!’ She bent over and looked Lucy straight in the eye. ‘Now, I know you’ve not been well, but this has to stop immediately.’ She wagged her finger authoritatively. ‘Do you hear me? Imm
ediately!’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s Mandarin.’ ‘Mandarin? Oh for goodness sake Lucy! Your brain’s turned to fruit now! The sooner we’re out of here the better.’ She shook her head in dismay. ‘Now for the last time, Lucy…’ She straightened up and looked the porter directly in the eye with that certain look on her face and a tilt of her head, a silent signal that, if Lucy could have read it, clearly told him to move on or else.

  The Chinese couple watched with their mouths slightly open. Then the male one spoke again. ‘Penicillin!’ he nodded and added, ‘Ging su! Na shi bu. Nuhai jie!’ (Penicillin! That’s right. The girl understands!)

  ‘Right,’ the doctor stated, taking back control of the situation. The oriental couple were clearly able to communicate to some degree with this child and she wasn’t going to lose the initiative. She pointed at the Chinese man and woman and then at Lucy’s porter. ‘You. Follow me,’ she commanded. At that moment, any army general would have been quite proud of her. Without looking back even once to see if those commanded were following her, she marched off through the main doors to the room marked Ward 12 leaving the crowd chattering loudly and wildly behind in the corridor and with her followers struggling a little to keep up with her. She led them through a second door where the reception desk stood manned by a single nurse. There, she turned and looked down at Lucy. ‘You’re the girl who’s had amnesia, aren’t you?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said looking up at the doctor cautiously.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about you.’ She looked at Lucy’s mother. ‘She seems to be getting better.’

  ‘Well, not real…’ Mrs. Lockhart began to say.

  ‘I think we ought to get Doctor Murray to have a word with her before she goes.’

  ‘But she’s nev…’

  ‘And in the meantime, she can stay and keep me company.’ She looked at Mrs. Lockhart sternly. ‘Now this is really important. You understand? It’s important if it is helping your daughter and it’s important if it is helping another patient.’

  Mrs. Lockhart nodded. ‘But all I wanted to say is that

  Lucy doesn’t speak Chinese!’

  ‘Mandarin,’ Lucy explained again.

  ‘Well whatever!’ She put her hand on her hip and sighed. ‘Look Doctor.’ She looked at the doctor’s identity tag. ‘Doctor Ellis,’ she began again, only this time speaking slowly as if talking to a child. ‘We live in the middle of town. We are working class people. And she goes to an inner city school. They have a job teaching the kids English there for Christ’s sake! Do you really, honestly and truly believe my daughter is capable of not only picking up a few words of not just any foreign language, but Chinese of all things, and is speaking it fluently enough to have a conversation? The schools around here just don’t teach that sort of stuff! The whole thing is ridiculous.’ She threw her arms up in despair.

  ‘Well, she strikes me as a clever young lady,’ the doctor replied to the helpful supporting nod of the porter. The Chinese couple just stood and listened, seemingly without any comprehension, this time their eyes following the conversation from one side of the court to the other.

  ‘But it just cannot be, I’m telling you!’

  ‘And I’m telling you that she knew enough about this couple’s business to convince me she can understand what they are saying.’ Doctor Ellis turned to the nurse at the reception counter. ‘Page Doctor Murray for me.’ She was turning back to Lucy’s mother when she had a second thought. ‘And ask admin if we have any nursing staff who understand Mandarin will you?’

  The nurse nodded and went about her task.

  ‘Oh,’ the doctor called after her. ‘By the way, has the young Chinese patient had any antibiotics yet?’

  ‘No, Doctor,’ came the reply. ‘I was due to take the drugs trolley round when you came in.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘You seem to be a girl of many talents,’ Doctor Murray said, smiling. He had answered his pager and, having had a brief synopsis of the saga of the hospital corridor, arrived at the casualty ward at only slightly less than warp speed. He might have been there even faster if he hadn’t been in the lavatory at the time. He arrived walking brusquely, casting the swing doors aside with both arms as he marched towards the desk with a definite sense of purpose. For a long minute he stood with his back to Lucy and her mother, nodding and giving out quiet sounds of understanding as he listened to what Doctor Ellis had to say. He seemed in no hurry to address them; more, it seemed, he was taking his time, as if recovering from his sprint. Eventually, however, he turned and wandered casually over to Lucy, who by now, had been approached by the Chinese couple and was apparently chatting with them in unbroken Mandarin. It seemed that, with Lucy’s help, Doctor Ellis had been able to placate the visitors, and was able to reassure them that all due precautions and procedures had been put in place. Mrs. Lockhart, on the other hand had been given a strong cup of tea from a nearby vending machine along with a couple of paracetamol tablets from the drugs trolley.

  ‘Mr. and Mrs. Li are grateful for the treatment their daughter has received,’ Lucy explained. ‘It is their first time in Britain. They brought their daughter with them as an interpreter.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He smiled. ‘And I take it your mother didn’t realize that you can speak Chinese?’

  ‘Seems not.’

  ‘So, do you remember anything about where you learnt it?’

  Lucy thought for a moment before pursing her lips and shaking her head. ‘I’ve no idea!’

  ‘Well I’m glad you were here.’ He put his hand on Lucy’s arm. ‘We are going to have to see you regularly to monitor what is going on in your head,’ he said sympathetically. He thought for a moment and then turned to Mrs. Lockhart who by now had given up protesting Lucy’s innocence of the crime of secretly liaising with foreigners. ‘Mrs. Lockhart,’ he said, taking her to one side, ‘I have a small cottage in the country. My daughter is about the same age as Lucy. Perhaps you and your daughter would like to visit?’

  ‘Oh, I’ really don’t think…’

  ‘A weekend in the country?’ he said with a broad smile. ‘How about that then? It’s a bank holiday on Monday so it would make quite a pleasant weekend.’

  ‘Oh, well, I don’t know.’ She was shaking her head warily, looking down at his knees and trying to avoid direct eye contact. ‘We don’t know anything about the countryside. We’re townspeople you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, but just consider it part of her therapy, hey? It can only do you both good. I’ve been watching you and you’ve been through hell for the past five or more weeks. You deserve a break, and I think it could possibly help Lucy immensely.’

  The mere thought that he had been watching her in any way, professional or otherwise made her feel positively uneasy. She had a nerve in her left leg that had a tendency to twitch if she was at all nervous or afraid. Her leg began to wobble. Gripping firmly onto the handle of Lucy’s wheelchair, and desperately wishing the day really had started at least half an hour earlier, she swallowed loudly and said, ‘Look, Doctor Murray, I don’t know what is going on here, but I can’t deny the fact that Lucy needs something. I just don’t know that it is a weekend in the country. She hates the countryside.’

  Doctor Murray soldiered on. ‘And she needs to build up her strength.’

  ‘Oh, I… I don’t know.’ She placed her paper cup on the desk and considered the proposal, looking at Lucy for support. If anybody could convince the doctor that Lucy hated the countryside, it would be Lucy herself. She was a townie through and through. Kicking a ball about in the park was as near to countryside Lucy ever wanted to go. ‘What do you think Lucy?’ She asked, knowing that Lucy’s word would be final and they could then proceed to get out of the hospital as fast as they could.

  Looking at Lucy, however, for some reason made her leg, the one that had only just steadied itself by pressing firmly against the side of the wheelchair, begin to wobble again. Contrary to what she was expecting, she s
aw a spark of excitement light her daughter’s eyes.

  ‘I do have an ulterior motive, Mrs. Lockhart,’ Doctor Murray persisted. ‘I really would like to spend some time studying your daughter’s problem away from the hospital, where I’ll have a bit more time and no distractions.’

  Mrs. Lockhart was hardly reassured. Ulterior motives were not usually so easily divulged. ‘Well, I don’t know what to say really,’ she said, still looking at Lucy for support.

  Lucy thought that the doctor was giving her mother a peculiar look. Despite the fact that only a few hours ago, Lucy wouldn’t have recognised her mother in a competition with only two contestants, (Lucy being one of them), she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy.

  ‘Just say yes,’ Doctor Murray prompted. He rubbed his chin for a moment and then added, ‘Besides, it will be an adventure.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Home to Lucy was – or used to be – a small stone built terraced house in Penfold Street, about ten minutes walk from the centre of the post-industrial town of Wieldworth.

  Prior to Lucy’s accident, Mrs. Lockhart worked on the checkouts at the local supermarket. Recently, she had been granted leave because of the special circumstances. Normally, if Lucy came home from school while her mother was still at work, then one or more of the other occupants of the house, would be there to see to her. One resident, considered the head of the household, was Lucy’s grandfather and second in command was her grandmother. Gran stayed at home and kept the place shipshape, while Grandad worked as a labourer at a local builder’s merchants and was remarkable fit for his age. They were not a wealthy family.

  Trips to the countryside in her mother’s seven year old Ford Escort were few and far between, but when they did happen they comprised of a drive through country lanes, which Lucy actually found boring after an hour or so; or a sixty mile trip to the seaside where Lucy thought that walking on the beach or wading in cold sea water was as exciting as being licked by a rabid goat. And lying on a towel in the sun seemed to be even more counter productive than washing the dog. In fact, seaside towns and country walks or anything further removed from the local playing fields and their goal posts had never really triggered Lucy’s excitement gene. She had never been easy to please that way. It wasn’t that she was not doing well at school, where she showed well above average proficiency in mathematics and English, but she never missed an opportunity to trounce the boys at football in the school yard during breaks and PE. There was really only one other person who could match her skills with the ball and his name was David Stoddard, and it seemed that after Lucy’s return to school, they would be able to continue their spirited rivalry.