Before I Saw You(7)

‘One day your misery will be the death of you. Now, hurry up before they run out of chocolate brownies.’

Despite Mr Peterson’s complaining, Alfie noticed he’d already got his slippers on ready for their walk.

‘Hurry up! That’s rich coming from you. Don’t forget you’re the one without a leg, son. I move at lightning speed compared to you.’

‘Are you two ever nice to each other?’ Sharon’s voice cut across the squabbling.

‘Pipe down, Sharon,’ Mr Peterson quipped. ‘Or I won’t buy you that hot chocolate you’ve been moaning at me to get you for the past hour.’

The bickering never stopped. Alfie sometimes wondered if, without it, everyone would be forced to remember they were stuck in a hospital ward fighting their own pain without the comfort of their families around them.

‘You’re worse than my Ruby and she’s just turned six! You should be ashamed of yourselves,’ Jackie called out from across the ward, her words still slightly mumbled from the stroke. Jackie was the only resident on the ward who had children, and Alfie loved how even just the mention of her daughter would seem to momentarily ease some of her suffering. ‘But while you’re there, Alfie … I’d kill for a cinnamon bun.’

‘Jesus, it’s not a delivery service,’ Mr P muttered.

‘You know if you don’t ply them with sugar they’re even worse!’ Alfie smiled at his friend, who had hooked his arm through his. He was a stubborn, strong-willed man, but at ninety-two years old Mr Peterson’s physique was understandably frail.

Their regular walk to Costa was an excuse to get away from the ward and escape some of the cabin fever that tended to set in. Alfie knew he needed to keep practising his walking and Mr Peterson was a sucker for a hot chocolate, so it suited both parties perfectly.

‘I had an interesting chat with Mother A this morning.’ Alfie tried to sound casual, knowing any hint of gossip would hook his friend in immediately.

‘Oh, yeah?’ The old man’s eyes lit up.

‘Turns out I’m getting a new neighbour. A silent one.’

‘You what?’ Mr Peterson’s face crumpled in confusion.

‘There’s someone moving into the bed next to me. Apparently she hasn’t spoken in weeks, refuses to, and has done ever since they admitted her. Nurse Angles says she’s pretty traumatized.’ Alfie shrugged, still puzzled by the silent determination of this patient.

‘I reckon she must be badly hurt.’

‘Sure seems that way, doesn’t it.’ Silence hung heavily between them as each focused intently on his slow shuffling steps.

‘Well, give it a week or so, these things always pass. And if not, then maybe she can teach you a thing or two about being quiet. Give us all some peace for a bit.’ The old man laughed loudly at his own humour.

‘Or … most likely, I’ll get her to cave, and in no time we’ll both be spending our days irritating you.’ Alfie nudged his friend gently in the ribs, grateful for the lightness returning to their conversation.

Mr Peterson rolled his eyes. ‘Good God, in that case I pray the lady never speaks again!’





7


Alice





When Alice had first been told she’d be moving wards, part of her was relieved. It meant progress was being made. She was no longer deemed in a critical condition and she was finally on the road back to her old life again. Although her skin grafts had started to heal, the burnt flesh beneath them slowly recovering, she still hadn’t spoken a word. What was there to say? All anyone wanted to hear from her was that she was ‘doing OK’. That she was ‘feeling much better, thanks’. Yet all you needed to do was take one look at her to know that was a lie. Not that she’d actually taken one look at herself since the accident. She had point blank refused to open her eyes when the doctors had encouraged her to look at her reflection. All she had to do was glance down at the congealed skin on her arms to get an idea of the damage done to her face. She didn’t need a mirror to know that she was significantly damaged goods.

And still the over-friendly, over-emotional and incessantly positive nurses carried on with their ‘weren’t you lucky’ bullshit.

‘Weren’t you lucky it only really affected one side of you, Alice.’

‘It’s lucky you were rescued when you were, or the damage might have spread to your right side too.’

Oh, wonderful, she would have been completely fucked up then. How lucky she felt that she was only disfigured down one side of her body.

Lucky, lucky fucking Alice.

‘Good morning, Alice. How are you?’ the doctor said flatly. Why people continued to ask her these questions baffled her. Silence continued to be her only answer yet they still kept trying.

‘I’ve been looking at your notes and I’m happy with your progress. The grafts are healing well and all the vital signs are looking stable.’ The doctor looked up from his clipboard and smiled. His weak attempt at positivity somehow felt more awkward than encouraging. ‘The next thing we need to do is build up your strength and mobility. You’ve been lying down for quite some time and we need to prevent any further muscle waste. That’s why we want you to move to the Moira Gladstone ward. It’s a rehabilitation facility based in this hospital. It’s one of the best in the country. You’ll have a physio plan put in place, they’ll continue to monitor the wounds, and when we know the extent of the scarring we can discuss other options.’