her from his pain and frustration.
How could you help a man who wouldn’t let you?
She would just have to get him out. At lunchtime she went into his room and suggested he join the other mobile patients in the ward at the long table in the day-room.
‘No, thank you. I’ll eat in here.’
‘Michael, I think——’
‘Clare, lay off! I don’t want to go out there and be jolly!’
‘I wasn’t suggesting you did,’ she said quietly. ‘I just thought some company might do you good.’
‘I don’t want their company,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m not interested in their curious sympathy or their damned haemorrhoids!’
She stood her ground. ‘How about eating with Barry Warner, then? He can’t get out and he’s very fed up.’
She saw a flicker of guilt. ‘How is he? I haven’t even asked.’
‘Oh, he’s making quite good progress physically, but he’s very uncomfortable and extremely introverted. He can’t hold a book, he says the telly’s awful——’
‘I have to agree with him,’ Michael said wryly. ‘OK, I’ll have lunch with Barry—this time.’
He wheeled round and worked his way up the ward to Barry’s door, knocking lightly before opening it and going in.
‘How’s the patient today?’ he said cheerfully.
‘Foul—bloody hell, what happened to you?’
Clare left him with his explanations, and asked the ward orderly to deliver their meals to Barry’s room. Some time later she heard laughter coming from the room, and sighed with relief. Perhaps now he would be all right.
But she was over-optimistic. By mid-afternoon he was back in his room, lying on his bed staring blankly out of the window.
She was off-duty at four, and went in to sit with him.
He glanced disinterestedly at her and then returned to his contemplation of the window.
‘Don’t you have something to do? Drugs to give, notes to write, rotas to juggle?’
‘I’m off-duty,’ she told him. ‘I thought you might appreciate a visitor.’
‘The only person I really want to see is Pop,’ he said bluntly, ‘and I just can’t face telling him——’
His voice cracked and he turned his head away.
‘Oh, darling,’ she murmured and took his hand. Itlay unresponsive in hers, and after a few seconds she squeezed it and let go, standing up.
‘Would you like me to tell him?’
He looked back at her, his eyes tortured. ‘Would you? It’s a lot to ask. I’d love to see him.’
‘I’ll bring him in tonight.’
‘Thanks.’
She bent her head to kiss him, but at the last second he turned away and her lips brushed his cheek.
She breathed in sharply, unbearably hurt. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said, as evenly as she could manage, and fled before she disgraced herself by bursting into tears.
Pop took it very well, considering. He sat in his chair in the garden, his gnarled hands knotted on the top of his cane, and stared into the distance for some minutes. Then with a heavy sigh, he turned to Clare.
‘I knew there was something wrong when he rang me. Something about his voice. That’s the thing about being blind, your ears take over. I didn’t like to ask—never do. The boy’ll tell me most things in good time, and if he doesn’t—well, I’ve learn to control my curiosity. But this …’ He shook his head sadly. ‘So how is he?’
‘Physically excellent. He’s made tremendous progress and is walking on a special inflated limb in the Physio department, and he’s learning to manage his crutches very well. He doesn’t seem to be in pain any more, but …’
Pop waited, giving her time.
‘He’s very withdrawn. I think he’s trying to protect me or something, but he won’t lean on me so I feel I can’t help him as much as I’d like. He needs you, Pop.’
He reached out a worn old hand and she took it,drawing comfort from the reassuring squeeze. ‘Needs you, too, but I doubt he’ll admit it yet. Give him time, Clare. He’s a proud man. He’ll come round.’ He levered himself
How could you help a man who wouldn’t let you?
She would just have to get him out. At lunchtime she went into his room and suggested he join the other mobile patients in the ward at the long table in the day-room.
‘No, thank you. I’ll eat in here.’
‘Michael, I think——’
‘Clare, lay off! I don’t want to go out there and be jolly!’
‘I wasn’t suggesting you did,’ she said quietly. ‘I just thought some company might do you good.’
‘I don’t want their company,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m not interested in their curious sympathy or their damned haemorrhoids!’
She stood her ground. ‘How about eating with Barry Warner, then? He can’t get out and he’s very fed up.’
She saw a flicker of guilt. ‘How is he? I haven’t even asked.’
‘Oh, he’s making quite good progress physically, but he’s very uncomfortable and extremely introverted. He can’t hold a book, he says the telly’s awful——’
‘I have to agree with him,’ Michael said wryly. ‘OK, I’ll have lunch with Barry—this time.’
He wheeled round and worked his way up the ward to Barry’s door, knocking lightly before opening it and going in.
‘How’s the patient today?’ he said cheerfully.
‘Foul—bloody hell, what happened to you?’
Clare left him with his explanations, and asked the ward orderly to deliver their meals to Barry’s room. Some time later she heard laughter coming from the room, and sighed with relief. Perhaps now he would be all right.
But she was over-optimistic. By mid-afternoon he was back in his room, lying on his bed staring blankly out of the window.
She was off-duty at four, and went in to sit with him.
He glanced disinterestedly at her and then returned to his contemplation of the window.
‘Don’t you have something to do? Drugs to give, notes to write, rotas to juggle?’
‘I’m off-duty,’ she told him. ‘I thought you might appreciate a visitor.’
‘The only person I really want to see is Pop,’ he said bluntly, ‘and I just can’t face telling him——’
His voice cracked and he turned his head away.
‘Oh, darling,’ she murmured and took his hand. Itlay unresponsive in hers, and after a few seconds she squeezed it and let go, standing up.
‘Would you like me to tell him?’
He looked back at her, his eyes tortured. ‘Would you? It’s a lot to ask. I’d love to see him.’
‘I’ll bring him in tonight.’
‘Thanks.’
She bent her head to kiss him, but at the last second he turned away and her lips brushed his cheek.
She breathed in sharply, unbearably hurt. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said, as evenly as she could manage, and fled before she disgraced herself by bursting into tears.
Pop took it very well, considering. He sat in his chair in the garden, his gnarled hands knotted on the top of his cane, and stared into the distance for some minutes. Then with a heavy sigh, he turned to Clare.
‘I knew there was something wrong when he rang me. Something about his voice. That’s the thing about being blind, your ears take over. I didn’t like to ask—never do. The boy’ll tell me most things in good time, and if he doesn’t—well, I’ve learn to control my curiosity. But this …’ He shook his head sadly. ‘So how is he?’
‘Physically excellent. He’s made tremendous progress and is walking on a special inflated limb in the Physio department, and he’s learning to manage his crutches very well. He doesn’t seem to be in pain any more, but …’
Pop waited, giving her time.
‘He’s very withdrawn. I think he’s trying to protect me or something, but he won’t lean on me so I feel I can’t help him as much as I’d like. He needs you, Pop.’
He reached out a worn old hand and she took it,drawing comfort from the reassuring squeeze. ‘Needs you, too, but I doubt he’ll admit it yet. Give him time, Clare. He’s a proud man. He’ll come round.’ He levered himself
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