‘Oh, so you want the swelling to come back, do you? You want the scar to burst and that thing to get infected again? Don’t make me call orthopaedics and have you transferred back again. You don’t think I’ll do it, but I will!’
Alfie may not have been in the mood for his checks, but Nurse Angles was clearly not in the mood for his answering back. He’d been moved on to the Moira Gladstone rehabilitation ward after completing his stints in intensive care and orthopaedics. Alfie had been around the block a bit and he knew this was the best place he could ever hope to end up. There was no way he was going to risk being moved again.
‘Sorry. Be my guest. I just don’t like looking at it, that’s all.’
‘I know, baby, but I’ll be quick.’ She gently started to unwrap him. His skin lit up with sensations. It didn’t hurt as such, although sometimes he wondered whether he’d experienced so much agonizing pain in the days after the accident that his threshold was much higher now. It was a bizarre feeling, like red-hot pins and needles coursing up and down his body. He flinched a little and Nurse Angles rested her hand on his. ‘I know it’s annoying, but this little bit of fuss far outweighs the risk of losing you. Not going to let that happen on my watch.’
He knew she was right and so he lay back and closed his eyes. No matter how much time passed, seeing the wound still sent ripples through his body. He’d take all the pain in the world over looking at his scars. Those thick white linesthat represented everything he’d lost and would never be able to get back.
‘Right, all done. Now, are you ready to storm that runway in physio this afternoon?’ Nurse Angles had finished the wound checks as quickly and as painlessly as she’d promised.
‘Oh, you bet, Mother A. Today’s the day I nail it.’
She gave him another of her gentle slaps and continued going through her routine assessment. Vital signs checked, measurements noted, and most crucially of all, pillow fluffed.
‘Now, Alfie, I need to ask you a favour.’
There was a slight change in her voice.
‘Of course, what is it?’
She sat most of herself down on the edge of his bed. ‘There’s going to be someone new moving in next door to you soon.’
Alfie’s heart leapt.
‘Before you go and get too excited, I need to warn you she’s severely traumatized and hasn’t spoken a word since she was admitted to the hospital.’
Alfie’s heart sank.
‘How long has she been here?’ He couldn’t imagine being silent for even an afternoon.
‘A few weeks now.’ Nurse Angles inched herself a little closer to him. ‘Look, Alfie. I know you’ll want to talk to her and try to become her friend, but please, I’m asking you to just leave it be for a while. Let her settle in. Give her some space until she’s ready to start talking, OK, honey?’
Alfie was still perplexed by the idea that someone could be silent for so long. He was intrigued to witness how that could even happen.
‘Alfie?’
‘Sorry, of course. I won’t say a word.’
‘There’s a good boy.’ She patted the space on the bed where his left leg used to be, an unintentional reminder of what he lacked, and heaved herself out of his cubicle.
Alfie wondered how on earth this person had survived so long without talking. Surely that was an exaggeration? No one in their right mind could possibly volunteer to be quiet for weeks on end. Throughout his life, numerous people had challenged Alfie to be silent. Once, in high school, he’d gone as far as to raise £3,000 to do a sponsored forty-eight-hour silence. He barely lasted the morning, but people were so proud of him for trying that they donated anyway. Alfie lived for conversation. He thrived off connection. In fact, one of the only things that got him through his days was annoying Mr Peterson or catching up on the gossip with Sharon. Conversations were the fabric of his existence on the ward, and without them Alfie could only imagine what a lonely place it would be.
She won’t last long.
How could she? He knew how adamant Nurse Angles was about this, but Alfie couldn’t help his sneaking suspicion that the moment this mystery patient got sucked into the goings on here, she wouldn’t be able to resist joining in. That was the beauty of the Moira Gladstone ward. It wasn’t like the ICU or A&E. People weren’t in and out through a revolving door. They stayed. They recuperated. They became family. It was only a matter of time before his new neighbour would follow suit.
5
Alice
One thing Alice had managed to achieve during her time in the ICU was to piece together an idea of what on earth had happened to her. It had taken a while for her to sieve through the haze of her memory, move aside the broken debris of heat, smoke and screaming, and remember her movements that day.
She’d worked late the night before so hadn’t made her Pilates class first thing. She remembered that had annoyed her; missing even one was the start of a downward spiral of complacency. Two double espressos and a quick shower later, she was out of the door and on her way just before 6 a.m.
Alice had worked long enough and hard enough to have earned herself a very comfortable salary and a very senior role in financial consultancy. She’d been fortunate enough, therefore, to have a choice when it came to buying her flat. She’d forced herself to look in the suburbs first, at the beautiful homes people had poured their creativity and love into. She went through the motions of requesting properties with manicured gardens that drank in the sunshine and provided a green sanctuary in the concrete jungle of London. She insistedon extra bedrooms for future guests and potential offspring. And then she caught herself using the word ‘offspring’ instead of ‘children’ and dropped the pretence. Alice prided herself on being one very independent, very single and very cynical human being. She was never one to believe in something she couldn’t see with her own eyes, measure with a stick, or at the very least read in a textbook. Alice was not the person to engage in a deep spiritual conversation; she quite frankly didn’t give a shit about your hopes and dreams, and she certainly didn’t rely on anyone for anything. All Alice Gunnersley needed was convenience and solitude. And so came the purchase of a penthouse flat in Greenwich. She didn’t have neighbours; she had views of the river and just enough of the park to convince herself she was surrounded by nature. Best of all, she could see her office from her flat, which always brought her a perverse sense of calm.
The day of the accident had been an especially stressful one at work. There was a big report that needed to be finalized before the end of the week, a report that if successful would cement Alice in the minds of the board when it came to identifying future partner talent. Unfortunately, standing between her and writing the extremely important report were endless meetings, project reviews and financial budgeting tasks, plus an hour-long catch-up with her boss. Alice often wondered why Henry insisted on having these meetings every month, considering they had the exact same conversation every time.
