Chapter 25 Dangerously Healthy by Malcolm Birkenshaw

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Chapter 25.

I dropped Mother outside the entrance to Father's yellow brick
ward; that part of a yellow brick wing of a yellow brick hospital.
`I'll be back in a minute. Might as well pick up my prescription
from the infirmary next door.'

When I returned they were talking at a table, obliquely facing
each other since Mother was keeping one eye on what else was
happening about her. `I've got three good sons,' Father reflected,
his elbow in a puddle of tea.

`You've got two sons, not three,' both eyes threatened to
pierce him, Peter now being a non-person for not dropping a girl
whom she had tried to have banned. `Move your arm, Edward, you've
spilt something on the Formica.'

`Yes, Mother. Two sons,' he yielded, gazing into the distance,
his present predicament being the outcome of her attacking him with
a poker for standing up for Peter. `You know, Mother, love's a funny
thing.'

`What's he going on about?' she turned, wrong-footed, realising
that I was back.

Perhaps Father had not noticed my return for he continued.
`Are you managing all right at home?'

`Of course I am, Edward. Just get yourself better. I'll come by
train next week,' she struggled whilst replacing the top of her
thermos, its thread becoming crossed as a consequence of her
discomfort. `Are you ready?' she demanded, wanting to get me away
from her predicament.

`Yes,' I gave Father a kiss, started to walk, then cast a final
look from the doorway. He was back in his world, oblivious to those
all around, some sitting, waiting for their next meal, others
sleeping away that part of their lives before sleep becomes life.

`It's fortunate, about you discovering that you're able to come
by train next week,' I said, closing my jacket against the fresh air
outside. `Unfortunately I won't be able to bring you, I'll be
looking after the children,' I started the car, my mind drifting.
What had Ransley said, “Meet you in the usual place”? Damn him,
I'll check Lena's speedometer every morning, then see how far she
has travelled the previous night.

`Are you listening to what I'm saying?' Mother poked my
shoulder.

`Mmm,' I nodded, pretending to concentrate on the traffic
ahead. I'll be able to read her mileometer whilst she's still in the
bathroom, getting ready for school.

Fallen leaves swirled in the slipstream of my car, spinning
orange amongst the autumn sunshine before tumbling back onto the
road for the next vehicle to hurl about. `Drop me here, drop me
here.'

`Here?'

`Here, here. That's what I said.'

`It's no trouble, leaving you at your.....'

`There's somebody in the village I promised I'd see.'

`Cheerio, then. I'll cycle up to see you next week when I'm no
longer looking full time after Claire and John.'

Each morning I put operation Bearded Nonentity into effect
whilst Lena was, as usual, busy in the bathroom. I intended to use
the distances she travelled to enable me to draw circles of
probability on a map and deduct the kind of places they might be
going to.

Some nights she claimed to be going to Leeds, other times to
Cawood, Selby, York, or even further afield, yet the mileage she
covered was always the same. I could never have anticipated that she
would be so stupid, so predictable, leaving me with just one simple
circle to draw through the precise place of her nightly destination.
Do nothing to alert their suspicions, don't frighten them off, I
decided. They think themselves so clever, more intelligent than
anyone else, they're bound to make a mistake sooner rather than
later, so don't give them cause for suspicion, at least not until I
can prove exactly what they are up to.

`Did you see Father?' I asked Mother, the following week.

`Yes. He's terribly fit. I carried a full flask of tea, all the
way there and, would you believe it, he drank the lot, and even ate
both buns that I bought.'

`He doesn't like bought cakes.'

`Doesn't he? Like them or not, he finished them. Anyway, I'm
not wasting money heating up my oven just to bake him two buns.'

I switched topics. `Was the train journey all right?'

`When the train found the right platform it was,' she waved a
timetable. `I knew they were wrong, so I stuck to my guns, and
managed to catch the London train - it misses out those awful
stations where the workers get on.'

`London?' I grinned. `I bet you were dressed for a garden
party, big hat and all.'

`Don't be so ridiculous. Why shouldn't I catch it? It has to
stop at Wakefield for bankers and business men who work in the
city,' she raised her accent an octave. `The guard didn't even ask
to see my ticket. Besides, I've been invited to Canada, so I won't
be seeing your father for a month.'

Canada! What's getting off trains in Wakefield got to do with
Canada? she left me unable to believe that having got hold of his
money she was now intending to clear off for a transatlantic
holiday. But eventually I believed her so, petrol or not, I'll take
him out in my car, he's not going to be left all on his own for a
month.

On Monday I returned. `Can I take my father for a drive?' I
asked an auxiliary nurse.

`Should be all right,' she dodged the decision. `Best ask him,
that coloured fellow, in the white coat.'

`Sure, man. We'll give you a hand. Tea's at five, so try get
him back before then if you can.'

Father remained limp, docile, yet eyes ever watchful as I
talked to the nurses whilst they pushed him into his clothes. `Here
you are, Ted,' they lifted him feet-first into my car.

`Mind your head, man.'

`See you at tea time,' they waved, a nurse with jet black hair
being particularly friendly.

He might have been put away amongst the senile but I'm sure
that a flash of his eyes was sufficient for me to realise that he
had detected flirtatious motivations behind the smile which she had
flashed in my direction.

We cruised slowly to the gates. `What would you like to do?' I
asked, looking left and right, fearful that his answer might be that
he wanted to go home.

`Anywhere,' he surprised me.

`How about Newmillerdam?' I said, grabbing the first loose
thought in my mind, having been caught with my fears down.

`Is it far?'

`I've taken you there before.'

He turned his head, stared through his window, looking at ease
with the world. Does this really mean he's content to go wherever
the car takes him? That's unusual, he's normally anxious, not
wishing to risk the chance of being back late, nor to inconvenience
the nurses. Had hospital now displaced the house he once built?

No, I was swiftly aware that he knew the difference. `Is
Mother managing, looking after the house by herself?' he said, as
though where we were going was of secondary importance.

`Yes, she's managing. We're already there, this is
Newmillerdam, don't you remember? Would you like an ice cream?' I
changed the subject, wishing to avoid having to explain why she was
not here.

He gave a strange nod.

But to which question? I wondered. `An ice cream?'

Another nod, an uncomfortable nod, as though he wanted the
toilet.

`It's over there. Can you manage?'

He shook his head, whispering, `No,' slowly, quietly.

`I don't think I can carry you.' I joked, but too late, his
trousers were wet.

`What about your car, Martin?'

`The car doesn't matter. It's your day out, would you like to
feed the ducks?'

`Yes,' he replied, embarrassingly quiet.

`Right, then. I'll get the ice creams and if you don't want
one it won't matter, they'll welcome soggy cones.'

But he was busy watching as children came, ducks quacked,
wanting more, and children left. The ice cream van remained tilted,
lonely, two wheels on one pavement, business slack, my order
startling the man in his white half jacket out of his sport's page.
For him the season was over, the dew days now gone, spiders' webs
having been wetted away last week by a different rain. `I cycled
along here to London.'

`Oh, yes, I saw the pictures you showed me. Did you raise much
money?' his eyes pools of understanding, no longer on fire.

`Yes, quite a lot. Would you like another ice cream,... or a
cup of tea, or packet of crisps?'

`Have you any biscuits?' he apologised.

`We've fed them to the ducks. But I'll get some more.'

`Doesn't matter.'

`It's no problem, there's a shop back there.'

`Don't bother, crisps will do.'

A comb of cool air passed over the dam, its waters shivering,
catching a chill under the darkening sky, then autumn had gone and
the air became still. `Do you want to go back to......?' do I call
it home, hospital, or what? - I know Father frets nowadays if he
thinks there is chance of him being late, `.... go back for tea?'

He remained silent, as though not wishing to reply, happy
watching the stillness which had glassed back over the water, the
ducks poddling next to his door waiting for something extra to eat.

`Ready for another ice cream?' I was floundering, having too
little to say, even the trees remaining silent and rook-less.

He shook his head.

`We used to come along here, in your wagon, when you were
building in Sheffield,' I tried again. This time memories were
evoked and he smiled, remaining content as time continued to slip
past. `You'll be late, if we don't set off soon. Do you want to
leave now, I'll bring you again on Friday,' I pressed, concerned
that he would be bound to become worried.

`No,' he replied, in another low whisper. He wanted to stay.

`Just a bit longer, then,' I said, ever more anxious about the
guilt he would feel if we returned late. `Claire and John will be
home soon,' I dipped into memories familiar for something different
to say.

`Oh, Claire and John. Don't keep them waiting,' he strained to
pull himself upright, shuffling as I fastened his seat belt. They
mattered a lot, must not be left waiting, empty houses and other
horrors engraved in his childhood: yet one final pause as he took
another look at the waters and trees, a convoy of ducks now
scuttling back into the reeds as today's ceiling of clouds began to
press down, their grey turning black as though starting to fume,
leaving us the only animals in sight, yet his anxiety subsided
again. Strange, it was as though he was wanting to eke out the day,
not the usual rush to return for his tea.

`Hello, is that you, Martin?' It was my brother, William, next
morning, on the telephone, `Father died last night.'

Read the following chapters that tell of how Martin "cured" his M.S. and climbed mountains by the following year.

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