by Dawn French
So. Happy Birthday, and that’s it.
Bye then. J.
Cassie folds the pages and replaces them in the envelope. She sits and thinks, with Jamie’s words still in the air, and the sound of her mother’s breathing.
Never altering.
Twenty-Nine
Winnie
Thursday 10am
Winnie is about to carry out her regular checks on Silvia, making sure all the machines are functioning properly and she is as comfortable as she can be. Winnie twice washes her hands with the alcohol-based sanitizing gel from the dispenser on the wall, and as she gets a wake-up whiff from the nostril-singeing menthol assault of it, she has a passing shudder of horror at the certain knowledge that most of the visitors in this and every other ward won’t bother.
Winnie remembers the training film they were shown about MRSA, and the terrifying statistics she learned, like the fact that 53% of healthcare workers have traces of MRSA on their hands at any one time. A hospital is the ideal environment for the bacteria to flourish and for the transmission of infections because so many people are in direct contact, living and dying, side by side so closely. She discovered that there are 17 strains of MRSA, and many can kill you if your immunity is compromised and you are weak. Add the virulent and ugly C. Diff to the equation, and it pretty much transforms a hospital into a kind of luxury bug hotel.
The superbugs have checked in and they are getting stronger with every antibiotic encounter they have. They are partying in every room of the hotel, especially the communal areas. They are getting drunk at the bar, and having parties and weddings and weekend breaks, and conferences, and basically taking the piss. They don’t stay quiet in their rooms any more, they are out and bold and loud, and hitching a ride to anywhere on any dirty hand they can find.
Winnie is determined that she, at least, will not be a carrier. Not knowingly, at any rate. She knows how vulnerable her very poorly patients are, and she would do nothing to exacerbate their often tragic situations. Winnie is a person who, in a quite old-fashioned way, takes the most enormous pride in her work. She will always do the absolute best she can, and if washing your hands regularly to minimize the risk of infection is part of that best, then of course she will comply. It’s simple and easy. Why don’t others see it the same way?
Likewise, she would never enter a room without greeting her patient with a cheerful hello. It’s only right and decent to her. It’s good manners, and Winnie was brought up right. On top of which, she has plenty to tell Silvia today. Plenty. Because a miracle has happened since yesterday afternoon.
‘Marnin’ Silvia. It’s mi, Winnie, comin in to check you darlin. Jus so you know, it a blustery nasty day, an’ Deyvid Cyameroon still de prime minister. Lord help us all. He is hatin on the poor ol’ NHS. So. Ya nah miss nuttin, sista, in fact, ya might even be better off fas’ asleep! He he he. Now let’s have a lickle look at dis bag.’
Winnie deftly lifts the sheets where Silvia’s urine bag hangs, attached to the catheter. Even when her patient is unconscious like this, Winnie likes to be sensitive and subtle about it, so she folds the sheets back in such a way as to reveal as little as possible of Silvia. Discretion and dignity at all times are Winnie’s modus operandi.
‘Dere, let’s give you new bag. Shame de bag cyaan match your shoes, eh?! He he. Now den, dat should feel better.’
Winnie carefully replaces the old full yellow bulging plastic sack with a new empty fresh one, and she cleans all the connections to be sure. She then raises the top of Silvia’s bed a little bit higher, about 20º, so as to allow for good drainage of venous blood, and she makes a note that it’s time Silvia was turned to lie on her side for a while. She knows that if a coma patient is in one position too long, the lowest portions of the lungs become passively congested with blood, and the respiratory functions of the alveoli are then impaired. This then becomes frighteningly fertile ground for the development of numerous infections, but especially of bronchopneumonia.
Winnie can’t turn Silvia alone, so she will summon help in a minute, but meanwhile, she wants to tell Silvia what happened without anyone else in the room, so she proceeds with her regular checks of blood pressure and temperature, plus respiratory levels, while she relates her tale excitedly.
‘So, now, when mi see Mr Shute, sorry, “h’Edward”, leavin here in such a rush yesterday, mi notice ’im stress ’n’ vex. I arks ’im if he wan’ go getta caffee. ’Im say yes, so we go to de h’appalling café dungstairs and ’im get two cup overprice liberty-teykin muddy water call’ caffee. Serious, Silvia, dat caffee is made by a sadist, it so horrible. We both sippin it so polite, den I get it in mi throat where it burn up so, an’ mi start fi cough real bad. Den we both laffin at jus’ how rank it is. Laffin an’ coughin. So much dat mi snortin like a pig! It so funny, and h’Edward face light up so when ’im smile, don’t it? ’Im a lovely man, Silvia, in’t it? An’ ’im speak so high of you. ’Im say ’im sad de marriage broke up, but ’im h’understan you needin to move on, have new life. Dats good. For both. Yes? Mi can see ’im sad dat you sufferin now Silvia. ’Im have a good heart. An’ ’im pay de eighty thousand pongs it cost for di h’atrocious caffee, so mi know ’im generass.
‘H’anyway. We talkin an’ talking ’til mi jaw ache, mainly ’bout you an’ Cassie an’ Jamie, but h’eventually, mi tell ’im all about what bin goin on wid mi son Luke. It so pyainful for dat bwoy. Mi heart bleed, truly …’
All the time, Winnie is observing and checking Silvia. Checking her airways are clear and clean. Checking for skin integrity and muscle deterioration, checking for ulcers, checking her mouth for saliva. Gently, in rotation, she moves all Silvia’s joints to avoid stiffness, and all the time, she is noting the lack of response and she is documenting everything efficiently on the charts. She doesn’t want to miss a single trick or clue, and she is super diligent, even though she is talking all the time. Winnie is a supreme multitasker.
‘Him get beat up by dis group of mean gyals at school, long time now, but ’im only tell mi Tuesday eveling when ’im come home wid him head bruk open, and plenty scratches dung ’im beautiful lickle sad face. Mi could see where he bin bawlin. Lines o’ tears. Valleys dung ’im cheeks. Poor lickle mite. Scared ’im ’til he shiverin like a leaf. Dey mash ’im up really bad. Tek ’im book bag an’ ’im dinna money an’ ’im iPod ’im save up for wid ’im birtday money. Dem give ’im big bodderation fe nuttin! All becaa why? Becaa ’im so lickle an genkle? And black? And becaa dey can.
‘Mi tinkin it might be my fault, becaa mi teach ’im not to use ’im fist, to try an’ negotiate if dere is problems. But dese gyals is proper bullies dey don’t want talk, an’ of course, ’im feel worse becaa dem is gyal. He supposed to be de big man and bash dem up if dey treaten ’im, but ’im only nine years h’old and dey in senior school, an’ dey massive! Bully gyals. Wyait at de syame bustop, so dey got plenty chance to give ’im liks. Fe what?!
‘I seen dose gyals. Tree of dem. One is pyale an lang an maaga, one is slabba-slabba, fat as a wyale, an de las’ one is white trash wishin she a black sista wid corn row too tight an big ol’ ugly bangles an’ gold bling ev’ywhere. De parents should be h’ashame. Mebbe dem no know, but mebbe dem de syame. Whatever, mi cyaan have mi bwoy mess up like dis, look ’pon ’im all mash up. Dat fat one bash ’im in ’im teet an’ now the front one come loose. Dat sight mek mi vex an’ mi all ready fi go dung where she live. I know dat flat, an dat gyal, she dead! She mess wid my pickney, I mess wid her face, beccaa she need to know ’bout di truut when it come to bullying. You always gonna meet a bigga bully dan you one day, missy, an’ see me ya! Me a go box up your face so bad, you will ny’am ya own teet, truss mi. Mi a dweet! Serious. Mi a tersty fe her blood, mi dat vex. Mi could kill.
‘I was tinkin an dreamin of all de isms an schisms I would lay on dem nasty gyals when mi hear a lickle whimperin quiet noise. It Luke crying h’again, but dis time, it beccaa of me. Mi frightenin ’im wid all de cursin an’ shoutin, an’
stampin about. We no do dat in my family. I teach ’im not to. An’ now I am doin it bad. ’Im beg me not to go rung to dey flats. ’Im say it a go mek it worse an’ ’im have enough crosses. ’Im lickle tears reach into mi heart an’ I soften up an’ calm down. Mi cyaan bear it when ’im cry. Mi never could. Mi haffi comfort ’im, an’ ’im mek mi promise not to go dere, not to say anyting, an’ so dats what I do. H’eventually, h’after mi fix up his face wid TCP, ’im fall asleep on de sofa in front of de Simpsons, an’ mi let ’im stay home wid mi mudda yesterday.
‘So you see, Silvia, mi full of sufferation when mi see h’Edward here, an’ mi see dat similar sufferation in ’im face when he left, so dats why we have the caffee an’ dats why mi tell ’im all about Luke. An’ mi cyaan believe how much ’im lissen. Proper lissen. An’ alla de time mi see ’im tinkin and tinkin an’ arksin questions. H’Edward truly h’interested in what mi tell ’im an’ ’im a hatch a plan inna ’im brain to help. Mi cyaan believe ’im takin time to tink it troo. H’after all, dis nuttin to do wid ’im. It not ’im problem. Mi tell ’im so, but ’im h’insist ’im help. H’Edward say ’im know all about bullyin an’ how it leave you feelin bad ’bout plenty tings.
‘Mi not sure if ’im bullied at school or where, but ’im seem to feel de pain when ’im talk it over, ’im eyes look sad, so best not to intrude ’pon ’im personal ting an’ tings. Mebbe one day, dat might be possible, but not jus’ now. H’anyway, ’im say it all “outrageous” an’ fe to have “zero tolerance”. ’Im arks if de school do anyting to help? Well, mi say, some other tings happen in the pass wid Luke, not so bad as dis time, but de school not really respond, an’ Luke beg mi not to get h’involved fe fear it mek it worse, so really, we stuck wid it.
‘Bwoy! H’Edward get all heat up ’bout dis an’ ’im talk about “institutional racism” bein de “downfall of dis country” and “stealth evil” an’ how de police got de same, and so schools copy, an’ let dis level of crime creep up ’til it so normal an’ big an’ bad, we letting racist thugs kill h’innocent black boys jus’ walkin on the street, an’ dose wicked boys run free an’ laff bout it fe years. Boastin ’bout how good it feel to get rid of dat “pointless nigger” an’ how dey wish dey could do it one at a time ’til we all dead. Dis is what happen if no one stop dem. ’Im tink what happen to Luke “a race hate crime” an’ “intolerable”. You should see ’im face Silvia, ’im full o’ fury!
‘So, h’anyway, ’im say “Leave it to me”, and ’im tek mi phone number. When ’im leave, mi finish mi shift an’ go home, but allatime since mi talk an’ reason wid h’Edward, mi honestly feelin more … safe … jus to have ’im support feel good. Becaa ’im properly lissen. Lissen an’ care.’
Winnie opens the tub of cream on the shelf and, with skilful manoeuvring, starts to apply it to Silvia’s lips, and back and heels and, eventually, bottom. All the time, she is gauging the warmth and dryness of Silvia’s unresponsive body. It has, on rare occasions, been in an intimate moment like this, where she has a good deal of physical interaction with a patient, when virtually imperceptible but nevertheless present signs of response can occur.
A groan, a flickering eye, the wiggle of a finger.
Winnie has never failed to be excited when this happens even though she is well aware that it may ultimately signal very little. But then again … it may well be the tiny start of something seismic, and the thought of missing that is too awful.
Although Winnie is talking and what she is telling Silvia is urgent, she never for a second loses sight of her purpose in this room, and she is vigilant at all times. It’s with her innate and natural instinct and her eagle eye that Winnie notices the clamminess around Silvia’s neck and at the top of her back. She notes it and makes sure she washes and dries these areas with extra care.
‘So, mi at home cookin up dinna an’ checkin Luke getting ’im spellins done when h’Edward text mi an’ arks where mi live becaa ’im wan’ to show mi something h’important. Well, is no time at all before ’im knock ’pon mi door an’ ’im come in, jus’ in time to share mi Saturday soup. Usually mi mek it onna Saturday, but it Lukie’s all-time favourite, so mi mek it fi ’im yesterday to help soothe mi lickle man from his tribulations. H’Edward like it. ’Im nyam it quick an’ clean de bowl out, like ’im wan’ eat dat too!
‘So, den ’im give mi a letter to read, an’ ’im tell mi ’im compose it fe mi to write out in mi h’own handwritin’, sign an’ give to de school today. Mi have de h’original here in mi pocket. You wan’ mi to read it? OK …’
Winnie unfolds the sheet of A4, and reads it out.
Dear Headmaster,
I write to bring to your attention an alarming incident concerning my son, Luke Dixon, who attends the primary school. He was waiting innocently at the bus stop on Tuesday morning when three young women from your senior school harassed and then attacked him, causing him considerable bodily harm and emotional distress. I have had to keep him at home since then, due to his profound anguish after this appalling persecution. The behaviour of all three girls, representatives of your establishment, is not only sickening in its malevolence, but worryingly indicative of a serious disrespect for the bullying charter you surely must implement at your school. A charter which, incidentally, I would like to have the opportunity to view and share with other equally concerned parents, at your earliest convenience.
I am sure, in your capacity as supreme legislator at your school, you are aware of the law concerning hate crime. The law is indeed especially muscular concerning environments such as schools, where appreciating diversity is key. Should one’s establishment be deemed ‘institutionally racist’ for instance, I feel sure it would be appropriate to instigate an investigation involving all school personnel, and should the school be found guilty of, say, neglecting to counteract any bullying/racism/homophobia, that might well be interpreted as aggravating the offence – the sentence for which, I believe, if tried on indictment, could be 5–7 years. A sobering thought, and one I hope you might dwell upon, albeit briefly, before you dismiss any chance of your school being identified as such a repugnant bed of worms.
Might I remind you that a hate crime is any criminal offence motivated by hostility or prejudice based on the victim’s race, colour, religion, size, sexual orientation etc. Really, it is any incident that is perceived to be prejudiced by the victim or any other person. In this case, my small son is most definitely the victim, and I would be proud to step forward as ‘any other person’.
I am sure the elimination of harassment and hate crime is a priority under your jurisdiction and therefore you would be bound to extinguish any trace of a hostile environment. I hope I can count on your support, and I am more than willing to come and meet with you along with my representatives to those ends.
I intend to furnish the Office for Civil Rights, the Department of Education, and the National Union of Teachers with all above information, including the names and addresses of all three culprits, and of two further witnesses should they require.
I am convinced you will appreciate the sensitivity of such an issue for my dear son, and I trust whatever course of serious action you choose to implement, you would not in any way embarrass or compromise him. Such an outcome would only compound his troubles, and further victimize him.
I look forward to hearing your plan in the very near future, and I urge you to do the right thing, and declare war on hate crime in your institution. A man of your experience, stature and position should surely need very little persuasion in this particularly crucial endeavour.
With the greatest of respect and in full anticipation of a positive outcome.
Yours sincerely …
‘An’ den dere is de place fe mi to sign. Phew! What you tink bout dat letter?!! Eh?! H’Edward is very very clever. ’Im put dat headmasta inna h’impossible to get out of position. ’Im gotta dweet, int it? ’Im definitely gotta punish dem evil gyals. An’ jus’ in time, mi tink, becaa dey jus’ the type to keep on bullyin
’til one day somemoddy get kill. So mi tink dat H’Edward could be savin a life or two wid dis letter.
‘I write it out h’immediately an’ sign it. H’Edward is laffin alla de time, tellin mi ’im not really sure ’bout de law on hate crime, but ’im try to sound convincing so de headmasta sit up an lissen. He he he! We laffin togedda but mi see a lickle sparkle in ’im eye, an’ mi tink dis letter very h’important fe dat man to write. ’Im workin something out. Mi no know who might have bullied ’im in de pass, but something like dat gone on, an’ ’im putting it to res’ writin dat letter.
‘So, I tek it right up to the headmasta secretary an’ place it bang on ’er desk an’ mi look ’er in de eye an’ say calmly “Dis matters”. She nod, an’ mi gone. So Silvia, we wyait an’ we see, yes? We let time an’ nature tek it course. An’ we let God do ’im work. An’ wid h’any luck at all, dem tree h’ugly bitches drop dead in h’unbearable h’agony … wid dem h’eyeballs sting an’ dem hair on fire!! Ha ha! Now mi not so Christian, eh?! Ha ha!
‘No, but serious, mi grateful to you Silvia, becaa if you not in here, me nevva meet h’Edward and ’im nevva help to protec’ mi boy. It was a good sight to see dem sittin dere togedda las’ night talkin about dose nasty gyals. Luke able to speak ’bout ’im feelins more wid another man. An’ ’im see it not weak to feel terrible, an’ ’im see dat true strength is in de gentleness of a man, not de fists an’ fury. Yes. Yes Lord. Dat is truut.
‘So. OK. Now. Mi wan’ to get anudda nurse to help turn you a lickle bit, an mi can see you feelin a bit hot again Silvia, an’ ya temperature bit high fe me, so lissen darlin, mi gonna get de doctor in to have a lickle check on you. Don’t worry, Silvia, it probably nuttin. But we gotta be sure. Better safe than sorry. Yes. Better safe. You hold on dere darlin. Mi sort it …’
