“Mrs. Robins again, is it?” said Jeanette, “The one in Silver Ward?”
“How did you guess? Does she give all the nurses the runaround or does she save it all for me?”
“She’s just as bad with me. If it’s not her teeth it’s her glasses and if it’s not her glasses it’s her knitting.”
“She accused me of nicking her denture tablets. Can you believe it! Why the heck would I want the silly old bat’s denture tablets?”
“Here, have a cup of tea. It’s fresh made and there’s some chocolate digestives in the tin.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. Thanks, Jeanette. Though a couple of gin and tonics would be even better. Gaw, I tell you what, I’m getting too old for night shifts.”
“Get over! You’re younger than I am. What are you, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four. But if I keep working nights, I doubt I’ll make it to twenty-five.”
“There you are, then. I’ll be twenty-seven in March.”
“No! You don’t look it!”
“Flatterer.”
“No, really you don’t, Jeanette. But then, you’ve got the figure. That makes all the difference. I’ve always been fat, I have.”
“Plump. Not fat.”
“Come on, I’ve got the sort of body-mass index we are supposed to warn patients about. I’ve tried diets but I can never keep on them somehow. You know how some people say that men like women with a bit of meat on them. Well, let me tell you, it ain’t true. I scare men off. They’re afraid of having a snog with me in case I roll over and flatten them.”
Jennie snorted. “Oh, Gloria! You’ve made me spit my tea all over the floor. You do make me laugh sometimes.”
“Yeah well, if you don’t laugh you’ll only cry. Crikey!”
“What?”
“Jeepers bleeding Creepers!”
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Look out there.”
“Where?”
“Out the window.”
“The… God! Look at that.”
The two women stood transfixed. When they had come on duty earlier in the evening there had been a cold wind and occasional flurries of fine sleet. But now the wind seemed to have calmed and the sleet had been replaced by snow. Huge, feathery flakes of snow. Illuminated by the light from the window, the snow looked like goose feathers drifting through the darkness.
“Oh hell,” said Gloria, “I hope it doesn’t stick. I mean, if it keeps on like this, I won’t be able to get home tomorrow. That’s the last thing I want. To be stuck in this damned hospital. Snowed up with Mrs Robins and her bleedin’ dentures.”
“They’ll have snow ploughs out I should think,” said Jeanette, “They’ll get it cleared.”
Just then, Derek Smithson, one of the orderlies, walked past. Gloria had a bit of a soft spot for Derek. He was about the same age as her, slim, dark-haired, square-chinned and always cheerful. He also seemed to like Gloria. If only the right circumstances arose, Gloria wondered whether they might get a bit beyond the ‘liking’ stage. Or was that just an idle dream?
“Hey, you two!” said Derek, “You seen that snow? Come on, let’s build a snowman!”
Gloria laughed. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Jeanette?”
“I’m on duty. Besides which, why would I want to go and look at some snow? I can see if through the window.”
“It’s purple!”
“What?”
“The snow. If you look close, it sort of shimmers. You know, like an oyster shell or something. Mother-of-pearl. Like an opal.”
“Pull the other one,” said Gloria, “It’s got bells on.”
“No, honest. I stuck my hand out through a window. Go and have a look if you don’t believe me.”
When Derek had gone, Gloria put her shoes back on, smoothed out her uniform, washed her hands and sighed. Night shifts really were getting her down. She could hardly face the thought of going back on the wards.
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” said Jeanette.
“Who?”
“Derek.”
“What about? The snow shimmering like an oyster shell, you mean? ’Course not. He was trying to pull a fast one. Trying to make fools of us.”
Jeanette smiled. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Oh, my God!”
“What is it now?”
“Look at them. Down in the car park.”
Jeanette was staring through the window. Gloria came across to see what she was looking at. Down below, in a circle of light cast by one of the car park lamps, Derek and a couple of other orderlies were having a snowball fight.
“Silly buggers,” said Gloria, “If they get caught there’ll be hell to pay. Can’t be hygienic, can it? Snow, I mean. Picks up pollution and stuff.”
Jeanette smiled again. “I don’t think it’s that much of a risk. Besides, it’s just a bit of fun.”
When Jeanette walked off down to Whiston Ward where she was on duty that night, Gloria stayed a moment longer by the window. When you looked at the snow in a certain way, it did seem to look sort of shiny. Like sunlight on a soap bubble. But no, that was just a trick of the light. An optical illusion. She gritted her teeth and told herself to get back to business. Even if that business involved dealing with that old bat, Mrs Robins and her bloody stupid dentures.
*
It was still snowing when Gloria came off duty. Normally it was just a ten minute walk from the hospital to her mum’s house which was where she lived. But the snow had settled really thick and it was still falling. Jeanette said the roads were blocked and there was no sign that the snow ploughs had been out. Jeanette lived ten miles out of town and she relied on her car to get her to and from work. “I’ll just have to stay here until it gets better, I suppose.”
“You can come home with me,” Gloria suggested, “Mum’s got a spare bedroom. She’d be happy to let you stay until the snow clears.”
“Thanks Gloria, but I reckon I’ll just wait until the ploughs get out. They’re sure to be here soon. Hospitals are always a priority.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
It was not yet fully light outside. Gloria didn’t fancy going outside with the snow lying so thick everywhere. It’s not as though she’d brought Wellington boots to work with her. She had reasonably good walking shoes but they sure as heck weren’t snow-proof.
“Oh well, maybe I’ll hang on a bit too,” she said, “At least get a bit of breakfast inside me.”
“The canteen isn’t half bad for breakfast,” Jeanette said, “as long as you stick to bacon and eggs. I wouldn’t got for anything too exotic. Like kippers.”
Before she went for breakfast, Gloria phoned home. She’d better tell mum she was going to be late. The phone rang and rang but nobody answered.
Derek the orderly joined them in the canteen. He looked awful. Pale. His eyes looked sore. He couldn’t face a full breakfast, he said. He just drank coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
“Maybe you caught a cold,” said Gloria, “I warned you not to go out in the snow, didn’t I?”
“You can’t catch a cold from snow,” Derek said, “You’re a nurse, you should know that.”
“Maybe you’ve been incubating the flu,” suggested Jeanette .
“Maybe,” said Derek. Then suddenly he stared straight into Gloria’s eyes and he said, “I bloody hate you, you fat bastard.”
Gloria blushed. Tears sprang into her eyes. Derek was always playing tricks on her. Just for fun. But saying something like that wasn’t funny. Not funny at all. Besides which, he had looked so serious when he’d said it.
Gloria stood. “Well,” she said, “No good putting it off any longer, is there? I better be getting along now, I suppose.”
“Oh, God! Gloria!” Now Derek was crying. He was crying like a child. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me. For God’s sake, what’s happening to me?”
And the next moment,
Gloria was hugging him while Derek carried on crying. Gloria didn’t understand what was going on. Did Derek do drugs? He didn’t seem the sort. But he was behaving so strangely, she could think of no other explanation.
It was a miserable walk home. The snow was higher than the edges of her shoes. Her feet was freezing cold and wet by the time she got to her mum’s house. She let herself into the house and called out. “Mum! I’m home.” There was no answer. She looked in the front room. A cloth was over the budgie’s cage which was odd because mum always took it off first thing in the morning. Then she looked in the middle room. Cold and empty. There was nobody in the kitchen either. Where had mum gone? She surely can’t have gone out shopping in this weather!
Gloria went upstairs. She knocked on mum’s bedroom door. There was no answer. So she knocked on her brother’s bedroom door. “Ben! Ben! Are you awake?” Her brother was a notorious late sleeper. She called him the night-owl. Sometimes he’d stay up until two or three o’clock in the morning working away at his computer. But then the next day you wouldn’t seem him until the afternoon.
“Ben! Get up, can’t you! I want to talk to you.”
She rapped on his door and waited. There was no reply. So she opened the door, slowly. She peeked into his room. The curtains were drawn and the room was in darkness. She felt for the light switch on the wall and flicked it on.
At first it looked like a heap of blankets on the bed. She went into the room for a closer look. It was Ben. He’d wrapped himself up inside the blankets. His tousled fair hair was poking out through one end.
“Ben, what the hell has been going on around…”
There was something wrong. Something seriously wrong. Ben was wheezing like an old man with pleurisy. His eyes swivelled up in his head as though trying and failing to focus on Gloria. There was vomit dribbling from his mouth. Gloria saw there was vomit on the mattress too. She began to panic. Something was seriously, seriously wrong and she didn’t know what it was.
Then she noticed his eyes. They had the same sore, red-rimmed appearance as Derek’s eyes. “For God’s sake,” she told herself, “he’s just sick. Your brother’s sick. You’re a nurse. You should know what to do next.”
But she didn’t. She didn’t have a clue what to do next.
Keith
If it hadn’t been for the hotdog everything might have turned out differently. Keith had gone for a pub lunch with Andy from Accounts. Keith hardly ever ate pub lunches. He generally grabbed a sandwich from the baker’s shop on the High Street. But Andy was celebrating because he’d got a promotion though Keith couldn’t figure out what sort of promotion that could be when there were only two people, only Andy and Mr Dimkiss, in the Accounts Department of Smedlington’s Office Supplies, and Mr Dimkiss wasn’t leaving so it wasn’t as though there was any other position to be promoted to.
But anyway, Andy was in a good mood so he invited Keith out for lunch. And that’s when Keith had the hotdog. The Sailor’s Arms wasn’t exactly what you’d call a gourmet’s paradise. It served fish fingers with beans, stale-looking meat pies or hotdogs. Keith thought the hotdogs were the safest option. He soon discovered he was wrong.
By two o’clock that afternoon, his stomach was feeling queasy. By three o’clock he was running a fever and suffering from a bout of mild diarrhoea. By half-past three he felt like death warmed up after spending five minutes throwing up in the toilet. Ten minutes later, the boss, Tommy Smedlington, sent him home. Keith lived alone in a little flat right over the Stony Cove Laundromat on Western Avenue. He was slightly delirious as he went up the stairs; the rose-patterned wallpaper seemed to have faces that glowered at him and bared their teeth. He got into bed and drew the curtains. And, apart from a few visits to the toilet and to the kitchen to get some water to drink, he stayed in bed for the next two days.
He was awakened by the sound of breaking glass. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and glanced at the luminous dial of his bedside clock. It said 2:36. He didn’t know whether it was 2:36 in the morning or 2:36 in the afternoon. The room was very dark but the curtains were very heavy. He went over to the curtains and pulled them apart. It was pitch black outside. 2:36 in the morning, then. At least, the nausea had gone. Actually, he realised, he was quite hungry. He looked at the date on his clock. It said Sunday the 12th. Wait a minute. He’d had the hotdog on Friday. He must have been in bed ever since.
Something was going on in the street below. Someone was smashing the laundromat window. He could see two shadowy figures. One of them had a bar or something and was whacking it against the glass. They must be trying to steal the money, thought Keith. Well, they’d hardly be trying to steal the washing machines, would they.
He realised he had to do something. He went over to his jacket, which was lying on the floor and took his phone from an inside pocket. He had to ring the police. He dialled the emergency number: 999. And waited. He was pretty sure that you wouldn’t have to wait long when you dialled 999. He went back to the window again. One of the shadowy figures was dragging something through the broken window. It looked like a body.
Still nobody was answering the phone. What the hell! The emergency services were supposed to answer right away. That was the whole point. Oh, what was that? There was a click on the line. Then a voice. A recorded message: “Thank you for calling. Please stay on the line. Our phones are all busy at the moment. Somebody will be with you as soon as an operative is free.” And then some music. Vivaldi or something. What the hell! Keith couldn’t believe it. There was an armed gang below and for all he knew someone had just been murdered and they were telling him to hang on until someone was free to answer!
But nobody did answer. He hung on for more than ten minutes during which time the recorded message was repeated several times. Then they cut him off. The music ended and all he could hear was silence.
The people downstairs had gone by that time. Keith didn’t think they’d be going anywhere fast, though, certainly not speeding away in a getaway car, on account of the snow.
The snow. He’d been so hyped up about the break-in that he had barely even noticed the snow. The streets were covered in it. And snow was still falling.
Keith went back to bed. He pulled the covers over his head. He wasn’t feeling so good any more. He drifted off to sleep again. It was another twelve hours before he woke. When he went downstairs the first thing he noticed was the smashed window of the laundromat. The second thing he noticed was the dead body of Sam Spivens who owned the laundromat. He was lying in the snow just a few yards away. At first Keith had thought it was a showroom dummy lying in the snow, it looked so unreal. But he had wiped away a layer of snow from the face and that’s when he saw that it was undoubtedly old Sam. A strange thought went through Keith’s head. He didn’t think: who killed Sam? Or: why did they kill Sam? What he thought was: why was Sam in the laundromat at 2:36 on a Sunday morning? It didn’t make sense.
When Keith went walking through town that afternoon, he quickly realised that it wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense. The gang of kids throwing bricks at an old woman didn’t make sense. The teenage boy sitting in a doorway eating a dead cat didn’t make sense. The young woman, walking naked through the snow snarling like a dog didn’t make sense.
Keith was scared. So scared that he couldn’t face going back home to his flat. He’d missed a day and the world had gone mad. He had to find someone sane. Someone he could talk to. Someone who could make sense of it all. The most level-headed person he knew was his friend, Helen. They’d known one another since school and Helen had helped to pull him through bad times before. When he’d split up with his girlfriend, Helen had taken him out to the pub and got him plastered. When he’d had a row with his boss in the supermarket where he worked and he’d been sure he was going to get the sack, Helen convinced him to apologise and, amazingly, he got a pay rise. If anyone could help Keith get through tough times, it would be Helen. Her flat was only five minutes away, so that’s where Keith went.
>
Helen
Someone was knocking on the door to her flat. Helen had been reading a book at the time. A Georgette Heyer. It took her into a different world where people didn’t have to worry about mundane things like getting the leak in the sink fixed and paying off credit card bills. It had snowed all the previous day and the snow was still falling. She’d tried phoning the dog grooming studio where she worked to say she wouldn’t be coming in but there was no answer. Probably Trish Evans, who owned the place, hadn’t been able to get in either. In any case, surely they wouldn’t be getting any customers today. You’d have to be nuts to fight your way through a blizzard just to get your dog washed and groomed. So she’d turned up the central heating, slumped in an armchair and was fully immersed in the life of a country parson’s daughter and the dashing Mr. Beaumaris when the knocking at the door of her flat brought her sharply back to reality.
Helen put the book down on the floor, open to the page she’d been reading so that she would be able to go back into that enchanting world just as soon as she’d dealt with her unexpected visitor. She went to the door and opened it as far as the security chain would permit. She glanced through the gap. There was no one there. For a moment, she thought it must be kids playing a prank. She was about to shut the door when she heard the groaning. That made her want to shut the door even faster. It could be a drunk. Or someone out of their head on drugs. Except whoever was there was groaning her name – “He…len, He…len.”
It sounded like Donald’s voice. What was he up to? Was he trying to scare her?
“Donnie, are you out there?”
“Let me in.”
Against her better judgement, she unhooked the security chain and opened the door a bit wider. She was ready to shut it again in an instant if she found there was someone playing a practical joke. But it wasn’t a joke. It really was Donald. He was on the floor in the corridor, sitting there with his back against the wall.
“Donnie. Are you all right?”
“Not sure.”
The Exodus Plague | Book 2 | Imprisoned Page 3
