A Place of Hope

by Anna Jacobs

  He was watching her, too. He waved at her every morning and smiled sometimes. But when the nurses came round, he slumped in his wheelchair and said very little. This puzzled Emily.

  Once they took the drip out, she asked what the tablet they gave her morning and evening was.

  ‘It’s necessary for your recovery. If you don’t take it, we’ll have to put the drip back.’

  Emily looked at the sister’s determined face and put the tablet in her mouth, swallowing some water but keeping the tablet in the side of her mouth.

  As soon as she was alone, she spat it out. As she did this, she looked up and saw the man raise one thumb to her, a signal that said he approved of what she was doing. Strange.

  She started feeling less dopey as the day passed, but was getting angry now. How dare they continue to sedate her like this?

  The following day she asked if anyone had seen her handbag.

  ‘I’ll release it to you tomorrow, if you maintain progress,’ Sister said.

  The following day Emily got it back, minus her purse and mobile phone, so asked about them.

  ‘Oh, your nephew took those, to keep them safe. Very wise, too.’

  So Emily asked George to return them and he refused point blank. She wanted to throw a tantrum – oh, she’d have loved to do that – but kept her emotions tightly bottled up. She wasn’t going to give them any excuse for assuming she was hysterical and sedating her more strongly.

  If it hadn’t been for Jackson, she didn’t know what she’d have done. He came and chatted to her, switched on the TV, and went through some gentle exercises with her several times a day.

  The man in the day room was now starting to get up and walk around, but only when the nurses weren’t in the vicinity. When he saw Emily watching him, he put one finger to his lips and she nodded to show she understood.

  One day Jackson brought a magazine for her to read, but that made her weep, because the words might have been gibberish, for all the black squiggles meant.

  He took Emily’s hand. ‘It’s normal to have trouble reading for a while after a coma. I did warn you just to let your eyes get used to looking at pictures. Why don’t you watch TV instead? Your nephew has paid for it for you.’

  Reluctantly. Only when she’d threatened to create a fuss. It was her money, not his.

  After George left her, she’d seen his reflection in the glass windows of the day room. He’d stopped to talk to Pauline in the corridor, then had gone into her office and they’d shut the door. Why? What had they been saying about her?

  She realized her mind had wandered off and turned back to Jackson. ‘Sorry. I was just remembering something.’

  ‘I was saying that your body is still recovering, which includes your eyesight and neural connections. Give it time. You’re doing really well, I promise you, unlike your poor roommate.’

  They wheeled the barely conscious woman away that very evening, murmuring about ‘intensive care’. But Emily had seen the look of death before. She wasn’t frightened of it, but she damned well wasn’t going down that track herself. She had a lot of things she wanted to do with her life now that she’d taken early retirement. She’d more than earned it.

  And why wouldn’t they let her go beyond this stretch of corridor in her short walks? She wanted to go and sit in the day room, at least, where she could talk to other patients. There weren’t many people in there, but the man who waved to her was about her age. He looked alert yet frustrated. He had the yellowing remains of bruises on his face and hands, so perhaps he too had been in an accident. It must have been a bad one if the bruises had lasted so long.

  She couldn’t understand the lack of people moving around till she realized this was a locked unit, with nurses keying in a code to get in and out. Patients weren’t allowed out on their own at all.

  Why not?

  Well, at least the fog in her brain had cleared now she’d stopped taking the tablets, though she still pretended to be a bit dopey, so as not to make them suspicious.

  It took her a few more days to realize there was something wrong about this unit. She didn’t say this to anyone. Until she was able to function independently, until she had more idea what was going on here, she felt safer keeping her thoughts to herself. She’d learned that sort of caution in a strange situation in her former job.

  The man in the day room must have felt the same. He pretended to be dopey whenever nurses were around, even Jackson, so Emily did the same.

  She was beginning to worry about her future. They were still refusing to give her a date to go home, not even a vague estimate.

  Something was very wrong here. And she was helpless to do anything about it.

  When Chad was feeling more himself – as normal as you could feel when you were unable to walk properly – a pair of young police officers came to interview him. They didn’t seem hopeful of finding out who he was, not unless someone came forward to report him missing. And they seemed only mildly surprised that he remembered nothing whatsoever about the incident.

  ‘I’ve seen it happen before,’ one said. ‘Just be glad you’re alive, sir. Some people are beaten to death.’

  ‘But why would anyone want to beat me so badly?’

  ‘We’ll try to find out, but it’s a bit difficult when you don’t remember anything about yourself, sir.’

  ‘You’re in good hands here,’ the other one said before they left.

  But was he?

  Whatever the sister in charge of this so-called rehabilitation unit said, he would not believe that he’d never walk more quickly than a shuffle again. He and Pauline had had quite an argument about that. In the end she said he was getting too agitated and she’d have to give him something to keep him calm. She produced some tablets. When he refused to take them, she said they’d put a drip in.

  He decided this was not the time to pick a fight and pretended to take the pills, holding them in his cheek and spitting them out the minute she left his room. It didn’t seem to occur to her that he might be disobeying her and two pills instead of one turned up again the following morning.

  This was clearly her kingdom and she felt herself to be in total control of it. Well, she wasn’t going to control him for a minute longer than necessary.

  Chad decided his first priority was to get better. If he hadn’t been a patient man before, he was now. It was no use trying to do anything until he could move about properly, after all.

  The sister scolded him for trying to exercise more. ‘It’s too risky, Chad. You must take things slowly and use the wheelchair most of the time.’

  Since he didn’t need much nursing now, they dumped him and that damned wheelchair in the day room in front of the television. They dumped other semi-comatose people there too for hours at a time.

  He tried getting into conversation with the others, but it wasn’t a very rewarding activity as some of them clearly had dementia.

  So he watched the newcomer in the room opposite. She was about his own age and looked more alert than most of the patients here. He could tell she was frustrated and she too had stopped taking the tablets – wise woman.

  Join the club, lady! I’m doing the same thing.

  He edged his wheelchair forward slightly so that he could see more of the inside of her room. It gave him something to watch other than the television. A real-life drama. That nephew of hers was a loud-mouthed boor. And why did he keep going to see Pauline in her office, with the door closed? They didn’t realize how clearly that was reflected in the big glass doors of the day room.

  When Jackson, by far the most communicative of the nurses, came to check on him, Chad asked what the newcomer’s name was.

  ‘She’s called Emily Mattison. Why?’

  ‘No real reason except I like to know people’s names. Sometimes I feel like a number here. No one should feel like a number.’ He bit back more hasty words and told himself to calm down.

  Jackson waited, not rushing him. ‘You holding together all right, Chad
?’

  ‘I’m feeling a lot better.’

  ‘Don’t let them know you’re not taking the pills. And try not to look too lively.’

  ‘Why the hell do they want to dope me?’

  Jackson shrugged. ‘Mine not to reason why, not if I value my job.’

  ‘Could you tell me more about the accident that put me in here?’ Chad looked down at his body. ‘I need to know the details.’

  Jackson sighed. ‘Are you sure? OK, I’ll go and ask Sister.’

  He came back a few minutes later. ‘She’ll see you in her office. I’ll just wheel you there.’

  ‘No. I’ll wheel myself.’ It was slower, but any exercise was helpful, he’d decided.

  Pauline was unsmiling, as usual. He rolled to a halt in front of her desk and she made no attempt to come out from behind it.

  ‘You wanted to know how you ended up here, Mr – er, Chad,’ she began. ‘According to the police report, you were attacked and beaten senseless. Left for dead, in fact. You now have post-traumatic amnesia as a result of the beating as well as the physical problems.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll gradually recover the full use of my legs.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking, Chad. The tests were very thorough. You’d be better facing facts. You won’t walk properly again, just shuffle along.’

  ‘So I’ll need to strengthen the upper part of my body, I presume. When are they moving me to a proper rehabilitation unit?’

  ‘They’ll be moving you to a care facility once a place becomes available. You’ll make friends there and be looked after. And of course you’ll get some physio to keep your body as healthy as possible. Unfortunately there isn’t anywhere permanent available for a few weeks, so you’ll have to stay here until then.’

  He didn’t protest. What good would that do with a woman like her?

  When Jackson escorted him back, Chad said quietly, ‘I shall walk properly again! But I won’t do that if I don’t exercise.’

  His nurse avoided looking at him. ‘Sister is very experienced in this area. But I’ll test your reflexes this afternoon, just to be sure.’

  His legs weren’t working as well as they should and even Jackson seemed convinced that he’d never walk freely again. So after that Chad kept quiet.

  He knew enough about sport and fitness to devise some exercises for himself – though he didn’t understand why he felt so sure of what he was doing. He checked out the CCTV cameras, but there didn’t seem to be any in this end area of the square of corridor, just near the reception desk and lifts. So he was able to exercise when he was on his own. And he did.

  He could see Emily in the room opposite watching him, her head on one side, so he put one finger to his lips and she nodded.

  The next day she stood up herself, watching what he was doing to strengthen his legs and imitating him.

  They heard voices and he moved quickly back into his wheelchair. Emily sank into the armchair beside her bed, slumping a little.

  They brought round some tea and biscuits then went away. He wouldn’t start exercising again until they’d cleared away the empty cups and plates.

  He pretended to watch the television, but had a lot to think about, so had no idea what programme was on. Why would anyone want to beat him up? Who was he? Had it just been a robbery? Or had someone wanted to hurt him, kill him even?

  Why, why, why?

  He continued to exercise and his legs began to improve. Strange, that, after what he’d been told.

  It was very strange that they were so lackadaisical here about actual rehabilitation. It was more like a storage facility for the elderly, and few relatives visited.

  Emily didn’t look to be either elderly or suffering from dementia, not with that alert expression. In other circumstances he’d have found her very attractive.

  He didn’t even know how old he was. His hair was silver, but he didn’t feel elderly and his body, as far as he could tell, was in fairly decent shape now that the bruises and swellings were mostly gone.

  Did you ever feel old? Who knew?

  He suddenly remembered someone telling him that as you grew older, people treated the age, not the individual. They were certainly doing that here. Now, who had told him that? And why had he remembered it when he couldn’t even remember who he was?

  He sighed. Until he could see his way more clearly, he would have to pretend to be docile, because he had nowhere else to go.

  But one day, he’d get out of their clutches, whatever it took. And he wasn’t going to wait too long to do it, either.

  Emily asked Jackson again if she could go and sit in the day room.

  ‘Sister doesn’t like people going anywhere on their own till they’re independently mobile.’

  ‘Then could I have a wheelchair like the man over there? I’d be all right in a wheelchair, surely? I’m not likely to fall out of one, am I?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘And I need access to a phone. How do I arrange that? I want to call my friend and neighbour, to ask her to bring me some more clothes. I’m surprised Rachel hasn’t called me.’

  He hesitated. ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘What? Why ever not?’

  ‘Sister thinks it upsets people till they’ve settled in.’

  She looked at him and he avoided her eyes, which Jackson only did when relaying instructions he didn’t approve of, or so she’d guessed.

  ‘Has Rachel already phoned?’

  ‘I can’t discuss that.’

  ‘She has, hasn’t she? And they won’t let her speak to me. Do you know why? She’s my closest friend, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Ask your nephew about it. Though I’ll deny telling you to do that.’

  So she asked George about Rachel. He smiled and said her neighbour was still away. ‘I’ll speak to her about getting in touch when she returns, but you should rely on family first, Auntie dear. They’re the only ones you can really trust.’

  ‘If so, why haven’t you brought my sister to see me?’

  ‘I will do once you’re stable.’

  ‘Then let me have my mobile phone so that I can phone people up to chat. I’m going mad from boredom.’

  ‘You need time to adjust to your . . . incapacity. It really isn’t a good idea yet to see or talk to other people.’

  ‘Incapacity? As I understand it, I hit my head and went into a coma. I came out of the coma and I’m feeling better by the day. I have slight post-traumatic amnesia, in that I don’t remember the accident itself, but apart from that, my mind is fine, thank you very much.’

  ‘You’re not as well as you think. But don’t worry. I’ll look after you, as I do my mother.’

  Over my dead body you will!

  No way was Emily letting George take over her life as he’d taken over her sister’s. And as soon as she could get to a lawyer, she was changing her will. George wasn’t going to benefit from her years of hard work, not after the way he was treating her now.

  Chad woke during the night to hear a muffled sound. He listened carefully. Someone was weeping.

  He got up and went to the door. The sound was coming from the direction of Emily’s room. There was no one around at this hour, so he’d go and see her. She’d been looking very depressed since her nephew’s visit.

  She had her face buried in the pillow, but her shoulders were shaking and she was weeping hard.

  He knelt by the bed, needing to steady himself on it.

  The movement made her raise her head and stare at him.

  ‘I heard you crying.’

  She wiped her eyes with the edge of the sheet and pulled herself into a sitting position. Tears were sparkling on her eyelashes and the pillow had a damp patch. ‘I can’t . . . bear it. I think I’m going mad, seeing conspiracies to keep me here. What’s going on?’

  He couldn’t help it. He sat on the bed and put his arm round her shoulders, ready to move away if she seemed to object.

  But she didn’t obj
ect. She buried her face in his chest and let him hold her close, seeming to need that human contact as much as he did.

  When her tears stopped, he said gently, ‘Hold on. We’ll get out of here somehow.’

  ‘How? We might not be called prisoners, but we are.’

  ‘I don’t know yet how we’ll escape, but with two of us watching for opportunities, we’ll manage it.’

  She smiled at him then. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you too. I need someone as much as you do.’ He stuck out one hand. ‘Partners in crime?’

  She shook it. ‘Jackson says you’ve got amnesia.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Must be terrible not knowing who you are.’

  ‘Not the best.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I’d better get back to bed. If they find us together, there’ll be the mother of all fusses.’

  At the door, he turned to smile. ‘How about a date tomorrow night?’

  Her smile was even brighter, lighting up her whole face. ‘You’re on.’

  The following morning Emily asked Jackson, ‘Could you please add some extra exercises to my routine? Perhaps there are some I can do safely on my own?’

  He looked at her, biting his lip. ‘Sister wants me to take things slowly. Your nephew has been reading up on comas, it seems, and is afraid of a relapse. He keeps questioning her about your treatment. She thinks he’s the sort to sue if there’s the slightest hint of trouble.’

  ‘My welfare has nothing whatsoever to do with George. Why will they not believe that? I’m in charge of my own life. Well, I will be once I recover.’

  Jackson shrugged. ‘I’m not the person in power here. Not for me to judge.’ He looked bitter as he said that.

  ‘But I’m feeling better every day, surely you can see that? You spend more time with me than anyone else here does.’

  ‘You’re definitely getting better.’

  ‘Jackson, I need to get away from here. She seems to be blocking my recovery.’

  He was still hesitating and avoiding her eyes, so she said very firmly, ‘I’m used to keeping myself fit. If you don’t give me more exercises, I’ll work some out for myself.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘Well, do this in secret, then. And don’t, for goodness’ sake, go anywhere near the reception area if you start walking about, which I’d recommend you to do. They’ve got CCTV there and she checks it regularly in case anything has happened during the night. Talk about a control freak.’