My Neighbours Are Stealing My Mail

by Ian Edwards

  ‘Where are your notes?’ James asked. ‘What are you going to say?’

  Alan tapped his head. ‘It’s all up there.’

  *

  A few minutes later Nurse Hazel Brown started her shift on Shipman ward. She read the handover notes thoroughly and then checked on both patients. Satisfied that there was nothing to unduly concern her (aside from the injuries and lack of consciousness) she returned to the nurse’s station, turned on the hospital radio station and settled down to do some paperwork.

  In the Accident and Emergency Department an irate cyclist complained to Terri on reception that he had been driven off the road by a lunatic driving a pink car. He was sent to the waiting area while Terri informed the triage nurse who queried a head injury. Taking advantage of a lull in patients coming in she switched the hospital radio station on and went to get herself a coffee.

  *

  ‘…And that was ‘Killing me softly’ by the Fugees, especially for Debbie Flanagan on ICU.’

  Alan dropped the card into the wastepaper bin and took another from the pile in front of him. ‘This next one is a favourite of mine and it’s for Damian Puddle who’s on the urology ward. Hope you’re feeling better soon Damian and here’s Guns and Roses with ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.’ He pushed a button on the console, waited for the song to begin and then took the headphones off.

  ‘Do people actually call this work?’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘Just playing music and reading notes.’

  James looked up from the playlist. ‘And they only do a couple of hours a day.’

  ‘What’s next?’

  James handed the playlist over. ‘Heaven 17.’

  Alan scanned the sheet of paper. ‘Excellent, there’s some really good stuff here. Well done mate.’

  James grinned. ‘Thanks. I…’

  A knock on the door interrupted James’s account of how he managed to whittle his final choice down from his original two hundred songs.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Alan asked.

  James pushed his chair back and went over to the door. He peered through the little glass panel. ‘It’s a woman, shall I let her in?’

  Alan spun his chair round so that he was facing the door. ‘Go on then.’

  James opened the door and held it open. The woman stepped through.

  Alan and James looked at the small woman with the pixie haircut dressed in a nurse’s uniform.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve come up from Jakes Ward with these.’ She handed Alan several sheets of paper which had been rolled into a tube.

  ‘Thank you…’ he said, puzzled.

  ‘They’re some dedications for you. From the ward,’ she explained.

  ‘OK, I’ll read them out after the next song.’

  ‘And matron said can you stop playing sad songs. Songs about death and songs about dying. She says it’s inappropriate.’

  Alan and James exchanged looks.

  ‘We’re not,’ James told her.

  She put her finger in the air. ‘What’s this one?’

  ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s door,’ Alan said, paused. ‘Aahh,’ he said at last.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ James reassured her. ‘The next one’s a really upbeat song about love.’

  ‘So you see, nothing to worry about,’ Alan said and began to usher her towards the door.

  ‘I’ll tell matron that there’s nothing to worry about then,’ she said as Alan eased her out of the door.

  ‘That’s right. Nothing to worry about. It’s all upbeat from now on,’ he said, shutting the door behind her. ‘What’s next?’ He asked, sitting back down in his chair.

  ‘This one,’ James slid a sheet of paper over to him. ‘In five, four…’

  Alan shook his head, glared at James and read. ‘This next one’s for Vera on Jakes Ward. It’s The Cutting Crew with “I just died in your arms.’

  As the opening few bars started playing he looked at James.

  ‘Pillock!’

  *

  On Shipman Ward, Hazel checked over both her Patient’s charts. She recorded her observations. No change since her last check. She paused for a moment and looked again at Sarah’s chart. She had been admitted unconscious through A&E the previous evening and due to the sedation had not yet regained consciousness. Hazel knew if there were no signs of improvement by morning there was the possibility of significant neurological damage.

  Leaning over the bed she thumbed a button on a wall mounted box and the sound of the Eddie Cochran singing ‘Three Steps To Heaven’ filled the ward.

  ‘Let’s finish the night with some music,’ she said to the prone figures laying in front of her. ‘I’m not quite sure about the song though.’ she added.

  *

  ‘That was The Thompson Twins with…’ Alan gave James a frosty look ‘Doctor Doctor.’ He looked at another of the cards on the desk. ‘And that was for Trevor Anderson and his long suffering wife in…’ He paused for a moment and frowned. He slipped the card over to James, shrugged and pointed at the card. Sighing, he continued. ‘So Mr and Mrs Anderson hope you’re feeling better soon.’

  James scribbled something on the card and passed it back. ‘Ahh, sorry about that…That song was actually for Trevor Anderson who’s currently suffering with MRSA …’ James sniggered.

  As ‘King of Pain.’ played out across the hospital Alan turned to James.

  ‘How many do you have left?’

  ‘Just two and then we’re done.’ He looked at the clock. ‘And we’ll come in nicely on time.’

  Alan doubted their ability to wrap it up on time will help with the dressing down they would get for their choice of songs. A couple of sharp raps on the door startled him from his chair.

  James got up and looked out of the small window. ‘It’s that nurse again.’

  ‘Just ignore her. Maybe she’ll go away.’

  ‘She’s seen me looking at her though.’

  Alan sighed. ‘Pretend you can’t see her.’

  ‘That won’t work.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve just waved to her.’

  Alan closed his eyes and shook his head. He heard the door open and opened his eyes.

  ‘Hello again,’ James said.

  ‘Nurse Nightingale, what news from the front?’ Alan asked and smiled.

  The nurse frowned at Alan, said. ‘Matron says that if you don’t stop playing songs about death and dying she’s going to come up here and make sure you play something appropriate.’

  ‘Look,’ James said, sitting on the edge of the desk so as to look the pixie nurse in the eye. ‘I’m sure matron is very good at what she does, and she saves hundreds of lives a week. But this…’ He gestured at the desk. ‘Is what we do. We’re DJs.’

  She looked at Alan who nodded at James. ‘What he says.’

  Nurse pixie harrumphed, turned on her heels and left the room.

  Alan laughed. ‘Can you believe that? I bet even North Korean DJs have more creative control than us.’

  James slid another card across the desk. ‘Time for another.’

  Alan pushed the card back and grinned. ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve got an idea for this one.’ He leaned closer to the mic. ‘Time for a special song for a special person. This one’s for the matron on Jakes Ward. You’re doing a great job and this is our way of saying thank you…This is Led Zeppelin with Stairway to Heaven.’

  ‘What are we going to do if the matron does come up here?’ James asked.

  ‘We’ll tell her that we wouldn’t tell her how to treat patients so she shouldn’t come up to our place of work and tell us what music to play.’

  James nodded in agreement.

  ‘Anyway, what can she do?’ Aren’t matrons all…’ Alan paused. ‘You know….Matronly?’

  James stared blankly back at him.

  ‘They’re all starch and bosom.’

  ‘Oh that,’ James said. ‘I see.’ Although he didn’t.

  Alan continued. ‘So she’s hardl
y likely to be in a position to order us around.’

  At that moment two large bangs resonated around the room. They both looked at the door.

  ‘Was that someone knocking on the door?’ Alan asked, one eye on the door the other on his friend.

  ‘It sounded more like a ram raid,’ James said edging a little further away the door.

  The door slowly opened and a woman stepped into the room. She was at least six feet tall and almost as broad. The massive woman stepped into the room and looked at Alan and James.

  ‘Hello boys,’ she said. Her accent a mix of South London and Caribbean.

  Alan and James took a couple of involuntary steps back until they were almost pressed against the wall.

  ‘Hello,’ James said while Alan nodded and slipped behind his friend.

  ‘There appears to be some confusion over my message.’

  ‘Your message?’ James queried.

  ‘Yes. My message.’

  ‘Are you the matron?’ Alan asked from behind James.

  ‘Of course I am.’ She studied the two of them. ‘Why? Were you expecting Hattie Jacques?’

  Alan laughed. ‘No, of course not. I errr…’

  ‘Is that your name?’ James pointed at the name badge pinned to her chest.

  She looked down at her chest and frowned. ‘Yes of course, what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ James blurted out. ‘It’s a lovely name. Petal Golightly.’

  Alan stifled a laugh.

  ‘Is there something wrong with him?’ She asked.

  James nodded. ‘Plenty.’

  Petal rubbed her forehead. She could feel the start of a headache coming on. ‘Right you two. You’ve been depressing my patients all evening with your morbid music. It’s time you played something to cheer people up.’

  Alan stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry but only we decide what goes on our set list.’

  Petal glared at them.

  ‘Anyway,’ Alan continued. ‘This is our last song. We haven’t got anything else.’

  ‘You happen to be in luck.’ Petal took a CD out of her pocket. ‘I had this in my car.’ She handed the CD to Alan. ‘You can play it. Now.’

  ‘I can’t play this.’ Alan handed the CD to James. ‘It’s just wrong.’

  Petal smiled. ‘Consider it an encore.’

  Alan sat at the desk and spoke into the mic. ‘It’s our last song tonight and this is a big favourite of ours.’ He looked over at Petal who gave him a big smile. ‘It’s Justin Timberlake with Can’t Stop The Feeling.’

  *

  Up on the Shipman Ward the song came to an end and the DJ began to thank the listeners, those offering dedications, and of course the patients.

  It was six words, six simple words that Sarah had heard many times before. Six words that made a difference.

  ‘My name is Alan Rose. Goodnight.’

  Sarah blinked several times before slowly opening her eyes.

  Sarah tried to speak but her throat was parched. After a few seconds she tried again. One solitary word passed her lips…’Alan…’

  Chapter 35

  Alan picked the last two cherries out of the plastic tub and popped them in his mouth. He looked at over at Harry who was immersed in a newspaper, so he discreetly spat the stones into his hand and dropped them back into the tub.

  When they arrived at the ward twenty minutes earlier, the nurse had told them that Sarah had regained consciousness the previous evening and was no longer on the critical list. The nurse also told them that Sarah was very weak and would need a lot of sleep. To emphasise this point Sarah had slept solidly through their visit.

  Alan sighed. ‘Can’t we just wake her up, have a chat and then go?’

  ‘The nurse did say she would need a lot of rest so it’s probably best not to wake her,’ Harry said, putting his newspaper down.

  Alan put the plastic tub on the bedside table and sighed again.

  ‘You keep on like that and you’re going to get wind erosion of the teeth,’ Harry pointed out.

  Alan leaned over and peered at Sarah. ‘The sooner she wakes up the sooner we can find out what happened to her.’

  A breeze blew over the bed, rustling the newspaper.

  Frankie stood at the foot of Sarah’s bed, holding his hands out. ‘What’s going on here? I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens.’

  Alan pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ve just remembered I have to make a call,’ he said to Harry. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.’

  Frankie followed Alan out of the ward and into the corridor. ‘Well..?’ he said.

  Alan leaned against the wall, holding his phone as though making a call. ‘We don’t know what happened to her. I got a call yesterday morning from Rosie who said Sarah had been admitted the previous evening unconscious…’

  ‘Is that why she wasn’t at the gig?’ Frankie interrupted.

  Alan shrugged. ‘No idea. The last time I spoke to her was the other day when she phoned…You were there.’

  Frankie nodded.

  Alan continued. ‘The nurse told us she had woken up last night, but she’s been asleep since we got here.’

  ‘Have you tried to wake her up?’

  Alan shook his head. ‘The nurse said to let her rest.’

  Frankie shuffled over to the doors, looking back into the ward. ‘So, she doesn’t know about the other night?’

  ‘No. So, it’s not all bad news.’

  ‘Swings and roundabouts.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get back to Sarah,’ Alan said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

  *

  Alan and Frankie stepped back into the ward. Harry looked in their direction and smiled. It was only as they got a clear view that they saw Sarah awake and sitting up in bed.

  Harry beamed at Alan. ‘She’s awake.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Hodges,’ Alan said. ‘Who needs years of medical training with you around?’ He slipped round the side of the bed and dropped into a vacant chair. ‘How are you doing Sarah?’ He asked, using a tone of sincerity that even he didn’t know he possessed.

  Sarah smiled weakly. ‘OK,’ she croaked.

  Harry passed Alan a cup of water with a straw sticking out the top. ‘Try this.’

  Alan sucked on the straw, offering the cup back to Harry.

  ‘It’s for Sarah,’ Harry said sternly.

  ‘Oh, right, sorry.’ Alan offered the cup to Sarah, who lifted one plastered arm. Alan motioned for Sarah to take the water with her other arm, but it lay limply at her side, a cannula fixed to the back of her hand.

  Harry sighed. ‘Let me do it.’ He shuffled round the bed, took the cup from Alan and held it up to Sarah, who took a few sips from the straw.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘We got you some cherries too,’ Alan told her, taking the plastic tub from the bedside table.

  ‘Cherries.’ Sarah repeated.

  ‘Cherries?’ Frankie said, shaking his head

  ‘The shop had run out of grapes,’ Harry admitted.

  Alan peered into the plastic tub which now only contained a pile of soggy cherry stones. ‘Don’t worry about the cherries,’ he said, placing the empty tub under the bed.

  ‘I have some toffees,’ Harry announced, rummaging through his carrier bag.

  ‘Honestly Harry, I’m fine.’ Sarah said hoarsely.

  ‘It’s no trouble. I know there’s a bag in here somewhere…’ Harry pulled out what looked like one of Old Man Ernie’s Shoes followed by a tatty paper bag. ‘Here they are.’

  ‘Toffos?’ Frankie asked leaning forward to get a better view of Harry’s paper bag.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No thanks…just some more water please.’

  Alan snatched the bag from Harry. ‘I’ll have one.’ He pulled out a sweet and studied it closely while Harry again helped Sarah sip some water.

  Frankie watc
hed as Alan put the toffee in his mouth and attempted to chew. ‘When I was a kid, toffees were considered a luxury. You could chew on a toffee all day.’

  Alan grimaced, spitting the sweet into his hand. ‘What kind of evil was that? Tastes like Satan’s ball sack.’ Unimpressed, he dropped the toffee into the empty cherry pot.

  ‘So, Sarah, can you tell us what happened?’ Harry asked.

  She fidgeted in the bed and pulled herself up into a more comfortable position. ‘I’ll try. But please bear with me. I’m not sure I really understand what happened myself.’

  ‘Take your time,’ Harry said.

  ‘Well,’ she began. ‘There’s been some issues with the development of the Merton Palace Theatre…’

  At the mention of the theatre, Frankie sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned in to hear more.

  Alan, Harry and Frankie sat quietly and listened attentively as Sarah recounted the problems with the theatre development.

  ‘It’s vandals,’ Alan said at last. Harry nodded in agreement.

  Sarah paused for another drink. ‘That’s what I said, but then the other night…’

  ‘What happened Sarah?’ Harry asked gently.

  ‘The project manager, Mr Hander, asked me to go back to the theatre so he could show me first-hand the problems they were having.’

  ‘Is that why you couldn’t come to the gig?’ Alan asked.

  Sarah nodded. ‘How did that go?’

  Alan and Harry exchanged guilty looks. ‘It was fine,’ Alan said.

  Frankie laughed. Alan ignored him.

  ‘So, the theatre,’ Harry said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘There’s something strange going on at the theatre.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Frankie exclaimed. ‘I told you something was a bit off.’

  ‘No, you di…’ Alan stopped himself mid-sentence and glared at Frankie.

  ‘Sorry Alan, were you going to say something?’ Harry asked.

  ‘No sorry, carry on.’ Alan gestured for Sarah to continue.

  He ignored Frankie, who added; ‘You wouldn’t listen to me, you kept changing the subject.’

  ‘Anyway…’ Sarah continued. ‘They showed me the cellar. It’s really strange down there, proper creepy and…’ Sarah paused, looking for the right words.