Talking to Addison

by Jenny Colgan

  Ping! Candice lit up her amazing smile again.

  ‘So, Holly – you’ve got a funny story to tell of how Addison, here, came to be in this state, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes I have, Candice,’ I said dutifully.

  ‘Would you like to share it with the viewers?’

  ‘Well, we were … I was trying to kiss him on the top of a wall, and he fell over and hit his head,’ I muttered.

  ‘Oh! That is just so heart-warming,’ said Candice. ‘Even in the midst of human wreckage, there is romance.’

  She turned back to me. ‘Well, here on Babbleon TV, we thought that, since this started with a kiss, perhaps another kiss could wake the Sleeping Beauty …’

  This made no sense to me whatsoever.

  ‘So, why don’t we all wish for a little bit of that Christmas magic for Holly right now … Go on, Holly, give him a kiss – you never know!’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a particularly helpful course of treatment,’ said Dr Hitler, watching critically from the sidelines.

  ‘For all our viewers … just to try and get a little bit of Christmas magic into all our hearts.’

  ‘Whaat?’

  The room was completely silent as everyone stared at me. Feeling like one of those poor deer who have the option of tearing off their own legs or dying in a trap, I slowly turned towards Addison.

  Even in this, my darkest hour, I was still conscious of how my bottom might appear directly facing camera, and inched my way sideways towards his face. His stupidly immobile, beautiful face.

  ‘What if …’ I was thinking to myself. ‘What if it did …? Not that it could, but, what if …?’

  I whispered to the next bed: ‘God, if you felt like doing any miracling, this would be a very good time.’

  God snored back at me. For some weird reason I heard Enya music in my head. I hate Enya.

  The ward was holding its breath. Slowly I leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips for the very first time. It was almost as if there was nothing there at all. Actually, it was like kissing a fish.

  The silence held. I drew back. Addison didn’t move. Not a nerve, not a flicker. Goddammit. Goddammit. Candice came up to the bed and sat beside me.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘Are you crying?’

  Witch. Of course, if you ever want to make somebody cry, those are the only two sentences you need to use. She laid a supposedly comforting arm on me and, with the other, indicated for the cameraman to rush over and stick his camera in my face, which he did.

  ‘And we’ll be back with more tragic and heart-warming stories from the ward that time forgot after this break,’ she managed to say whilst still patting me on the arm. ‘Cut!’

  Josh and Stephen comforted me as Candice whisked round the beds of those patients who weren’t too old or ugly to be on TV, and the band set up.

  ‘But why did you think that would work?’ said Sophie.

  ‘Oh, shut up, Sophie,’ I said, more vehemently than I intended.

  ‘Ooh, temper! Better watch out, or no fifty thousand pounds for you.’

  Even Josh looked a bit surprised at that one.

  Chali was removing her silver top to reveal a minuscule silver bra underneath.

  ‘Ah, appropriate,’ I said, sniffing, when she rushed up to me.

  ‘I think we’re just about ready,’ she said. ‘Would you like to meet Mr Big?’

  ‘Oh my God, I thought that was a Muppet,’ I said, as a tiny skinny creature entirely covered in hair came bouncing up.

  ‘Hey – touching scene, man,’ squeaked Mr Big.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I do everything for my public.’

  ‘I’ve given the list of songs to Roger,’ Chali said. ‘But I don’t think he’s read it.’

  Roger was in fact lighting a cigarette for Candice. Really, we should have clubbed together to buy Dr Hitler a skateboard so she could speed from crisis to crisis even quicker. And a foghorn, so she wouldn’t have to wear her voice out. Roger got up on the bed with his megaphone again.

  ‘Right, everyone, well done. Little treat for you now; we’ve got some friends in who are going to do some lovely carol singing.’

  The Spangles had lined themselves up against the back wall. Mr Big’s guitar was larger than he was. The drummers seemed to have one very long eyebrow between the four of them. Chali was already contorting herself into deeply erotic poses. Anything less like a bunch of carol singers but still in human form was difficult to imagine.

  ‘So, if you would like to clap as much as you can and perhaps sing along … who knows what miracles might happen here? Music is good for coma patients, so the louder you sing, the better their chances are!’

  Everyone arranged themselves into optimum carol-singing position. Except Josh and I: we put our hands over our ears.

  There was an expectant hush. Chali raised her lovely arms above her head and, as she brought them down, there was a huge crash of drums.

  ‘O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM!’ she screeched. ‘HOW ILL WE SEE YOU LIE! AMONG YOUR DEAD AND BLOODSOAKED STREETS, THE CORPSES PILING HIGH!’

  People looked a bit stunned, then started to shuffle uneasily.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Josh. ‘This is going to be even worse than I thought.’

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘YET IN THE DARK STREETS SHINING AN EVERLASTING LIGHT / THE POWER OF ROCK RULES ALL THE WORLD / AND ROCKS WITH YOU TONIGHT!!’

  BOOM! Mr Big launched into a massive squealing guitar solo that threatened to break the windows. He thrust his pelvis forward and placed his foot on one of the amps. Some of his sweat broke free and dowsed the nurses. I saw Stephen lick a bit.

  ‘OH MORNING STARS TOGETHER PROCLAIM THE LORDS OF SOUND! / THE KIDS ON THE STREET GIVE HAIL TO THE BEAT AND LET THIS ROCK GO WILD! / KNEEL AT THE ALTAR OF HEAVY NOISE AND GIVE THE LORD HIS PRAYERS! / THAT YOU WILL DIE WITH A GUITAR IN YOUR HAND AND THE BLOOD OF A VIRGIN SLAYER!’

  Roger and Candice were looking stunned and whispering feverishly to each other. All the relatives were becoming distinctly upset and querulous. Interestingly, Dr Hitler was tapping her feet and nodding her head almost imperceptibly. Chali took a quick breath and launched back in:

  ‘HOW NOISILY, HOW NOISILY …’

  ‘OK, OK!’ Roger started shouting through his megaphone. ‘That is quite enough.’

  Of course, nobody could hear him. The drummers went into a prolonged drumming competition. More and more hospital staff were poking their heads round the doors.

  ‘THE LORDS OF ROCK KICK ARSE!’

  ‘Stop this!’ screamed Roger.

  ‘WE HATE THE PIGS WHO STOP OUR GIGS / JUST FOR SAYING THE WORD “MOTHERFUCKER”!’

  ‘Yay!’ said some of the nurses.

  ‘MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFU–’

  The music suddenly came to an abrupt screeching halt. Roger stood there with the cables in his hand.

  ‘I think that’s quite enough of that, don’t you?’ he shouted, visibly trembling.

  ‘No!’ shouted the nurses and Dr Hitler.

  ‘Cut! I said Cut!’

  ‘More!’ shouted Stephen, and the drummers started to play a low, insistent beat that was soon joined by slow handclaps and whistles from members of staff. The drummers played faster and louder and the stamping grew more pronounced.

  ‘STOP IT!’ Roger was shouting through his megaphone. ‘STOP IT IMMEDIATELY! AND CUT THOSE BLOODY CAMERAS.’

  ‘Get me out of the building,’ hissed Candice from behind us. ‘I asked those tight bastards for security. “I’m a target,” I said. But did they believe me?’

  ‘MR BIG! MR BIG! MR BIG!’ the room was now chanting. Chali was wrestling with Roger to try and plug the amplifiers back in. The noise level was unbelievable. Then suddenly, cutting right across the top of it, there was an ungodly scream.

  Twelve

  Instantly, there was silence. My first thought was that a c
ombination of Chali, her silver-foil bikini and her wrestling with Roger over the plug socket had caused some ghastly accident. But it soon became clear this wasn’t the case; she was staring around as confusedly as we were. It wasn’t Candice, because she was still screaming into her mobile phone about helicopters and riot gear. Dr Hitler had reached out when the scream came and managed to grab one of the gnome army. She hadn’t let go. I looked slowly around the room. By the first bed, Carl’s mother was gesticulating and shaking.

  We moved towards her.

  ‘He opened his eyes!’ she said. ‘He opened his eyes!’

  A very perplexed-looking teenager was taking in the world around him.

  ‘Is it Christmas?’ he was saying groggily. ‘Have I been out until Christmas?’

  ‘No, no, it’s only June,’ a nurse reassured him.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ he said.

  ‘Of course, you missed last Christmas …’ the nurse added.

  Candice raced towards the scene at the speed of light.

  ‘Did you get that?’ she screeched at the cameramen. They nodded. ‘Right. Fine. We can dub some real carol music over it later.’

  She sat down beside Carl and switched on her beaming smile like headlights.

  ‘So, viewers, we have indeed witnessed a miracle here. Through the healing power of music – and who knows what little sprinkle of Babbleon TV magic – Carl here has been returned to us! So, Carl, how do you feel?’

  ‘Ehm … Terrible … like, you know, really bad, yes,’ said Carl.

  ‘Shit,’ I said, slumping next to Addison. ‘Shit shit shit shit shit.’

  ‘Holly, don’t worry,’ soothed Josh.

  ‘How can I not worry? That was our last hope.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. No hope is the last hope. And, anyway, Sophie hasn’t handed over the money yet.’

  I shrugged.

  ‘I don’t see what good that’s going to do.’

  ‘There might be new treatments, new ways …’

  ‘We might as well just face facts, Josh. He was mine, and now he’s gone. Could you leave me alone for a bit, please?’

  ‘OK then.’ He got up and started to walk away.

  ‘Ehm … I didn’t mean for you to actually go.’

  ‘Oh, no, of course you didn’t. Hang on.’

  He sat back down beside me and put his arm around me in a comforting way. Sophie was remonstrating with Roger and Candice, who looked to be giving in.

  ‘OK, everyone,’ said Roger finally through his megaphone. He seemed to have aged about ten years. Of course, all the staff were still around Carl’s bed, but he waited until they turned back to him. ‘We will now have a short presentation of a cheque to the high-dependency unit of St Hugh’s from Sophie Masterton-Willis LLB.’

  ‘Do you want some background music?’ shouted one of the Spangles, to some guffawing.

  Smiling graciously, Sophie snatched Candice’s microphone and walked dead centre into the middle of the ward. The cameraman trained his camera on her alone.

  ‘Thank you all so much for coming,’ she said. ‘Under this government, hospitals have been sadly neglected. That is why the private sector, as well as the charity of good people like myself, is needed to bolster up the whole sorry structure – which, of course, we all hope will eventually lead to an entirely private system that can remove this wretched burden from humble taxpayers.’

  Josh nudged me. There, hanging back at the entrance to the ward, was Kate, looking uncharacteristically shifty.

  ‘She came!’ said Josh. ‘Shame she missed the best bit!’

  Kate appeared to be beckoning some people up the stairs, putting a finger to her lips.

  ‘And that is why I, Sophie Masterton-Willis LLB, have decided to donate to St Hugh’s the sum of –’ Sophie held up the enormous cheque – ‘fifty thousand pounds!’ She raised her arms triumphantly, waiting for the round of applause.

  Quick as a flash Kate entered with, as I counted, one two three four five six Jameses. They lined up behind Sophie, in full view of the camera.

  ‘Now!’ shouted Kate.

  Six Jameses lowered their expensive Savile Row trousers and Calvin Klein boxer shorts, revealing six skinny white British arses to the camera, and waggling them about vigorously.

  Instantly, there was a storm of applause. Sophie smiled graciously and bowed towards the camera. The Jameses waggled their arses even more fervently.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Kate. ‘You all keep your jobs.’

  As the applause continued, Sophie’s smile began to waver. When it sank in that the eyes of the crowd weren’t exactly on her, the grin disappeared altogether and she slowly looked round.

  She went dangerously pale.

  ‘Can we stop now?’ one of the Jameses was saying. ‘All the blood is rushing to my head.’

  ‘You … you …’ Sophie said to Kate. Then her face twisted. ‘But … but why?’

  Kate stood up straight and trembled. The camera swivelled so it was trained on both of them. Kate took a deep breath, paused, and then opened her mouth.

  ‘Well, Sophie, one reason …’ she said in a wobbly voice, ‘is because you’re a big evil fascist.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Sophie.

  ‘And the other is … that you’re stealing the man I’m in love with and being horrible to him!’ Kate’s voice went very high at this and finished off in a bit of a squeak.

  There was a gasp from the crowd. I glanced at Josh. His face was a picture of confusion as he tried to work out who she meant.

  ‘What?’ said Sophie. But it was too late. Kate was striding across the ward to Josh. He looked at her for a few seconds.

  ‘What … what, me?’ he asked in disbelief.

  ‘Why do you think I live in your shitty, awful flat, you moron?’ said Kate, biting her lip.

  ‘I quite like it,’ said Josh.

  ‘Do you quite like me?’ asked Kate quietly.

  ‘Cor! Yeah!’ said Josh.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ said Sophie. ‘I was going to marry him, you idiot. Perfect constituency wife he’d have made. Scones for the village fair and everything.’

  ‘Well you can’t,’ said Kate, kissing him.

  ‘This is definitely my week,’ said Josh, kissing her back.

  Sophie paused and looked around her.

  ‘Well, fuck you all very much,’ she said. And she ripped up the enormous cheque, leaving it in pieces on the floor, then stomped out of the ward.

  ‘Oh my God! The money!’ shouted Josh. Everyone looked horrified. Then one of the Jameses picked up a piece of the cheque.

  ‘Fifty thou? Was that all?’ he chuckled. ‘God, that wouldn’t even make a dent in our bonuses, would it, boys?’

  ‘Not likely!’ They started pulling out their cheque books.

  ‘Well, I’m giving ten.’

  ‘You limpdick! I’m giving fifteen!’

  ‘You utter homosexual! I’m giving twenty!’

  ‘Just a thought,’ said Dr Hitler, ‘but does anyone mind if I give the patients their anti-dying medication now?’

  An hour later, things were getting back to relative normality, although no one had taken the Christmas tree down.

  The camera crew had left with Candice, utterly jubilant, clutching Roger’s arm and whispering, ‘BAFTA, darling, no doubt about it at all.’

  I apologized to Chali that she didn’t get to play more of her songs, but she brushed it off, saying that Dr Hitler had asked them to play the doctors’ summer do, and that they were definitely on their way this time.

  Kate and Josh had disappeared somewhere, so I didn’t want to turn up at home too quickly.

  There was lots of fuss at Carl’s end of the hall, which meant that God and Addison and I were left to our own devices, but I didn’t think I had many more devices to give. I simply sat there, staring out of the window, humming a made-up song to myself, trying to ignore my rising panic.

  At about four o’clock, Finn popped his
head round the curtain.

  ‘Did I miss it all?’ he said.

  I nodded.

  ‘Kate made me promise to come, but I really, honestly wanted to stay out of the way of the mooning.’

  ‘Why? Have you got a mutant arse?’

  ‘No! I think I’ve got quite a nice arse.’

  ‘Turn around,’ I ordered. He did so. He did, in fact, have a lovely arse.

  ‘I just don’t like shoving it in people’s faces, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t like getting your arse out on national television?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You are weird.’

  He looked at Addison.

  ‘So, no change then.’

  I shook my head. ‘Oh, Finn. Why the hell couldn’t you be a medical doctor? Why the hell couldn’t you have trained to sort this out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’d change it if I could, I promise you.’

  I sniffed.

  ‘Would you … I mean, would you like to go for a drink or something?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I sniffed.

  ‘No, of course not. OK. Maybe I should go.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Holl.’

  ‘Everyone’s sorry,’ I said. ‘Nobody helps.’

  Home was empty. I made myself five jam sandwiches and sat by myself on the fire escape eating them slowly. I felt completely wrung out, and toyed with the idea of sleeping in – after all, I’d probably lost my job. But when it came to it, I couldn’t.

  The next morning Chali was waiting by the door of That Special Someone beaming broadly as I wheeled up.

  ‘What are you doing here at this time?’ I asked incredulously – it was only twenty-five minutes after the shop was due to open.

  ‘Ding dong!’ she shouted. ‘The witch is dead!’

  ‘Which witch?’ I asked.

  ‘The wicked witch! Ding! Dong! The wicked witch is dead!’

  Chali took my bike off me and proudly led it into the shop.

  ‘Wake up, you sleepyhead! Rub your eyes, get out of bed!’

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘I get it!’

  ‘Ding! Dong!…’

  ‘I get it. What happened?’