fit and strong.’ She turned briefly to look up at the man in the white jacket. ‘Isn’t that right, Doctor?’
Despite the feeling of numbness throughout her body and limbs, Sunday was getting irritated that she couldn’t hear one single word they were saying. ‘What did you say ?’ she said, but she couldn’t hear her own voice either. ‘Why d’you have to whisper?’
The doctor and nurse exchanged an odd look.
Only then did Sunday realise that her head and ears were swathed in bandages.
‘Just try to lie still, Sunday.’
The man in the white jacket was using his lips in an exaggerated way to try to form the words.
‘You’ve got a lot of cuts and bruises, Sunday,’ he continued, using his own hands to illustrate what he meant. ‘And a nasty bang on the back of your head. A few days’ rest and you’ll be fine.’
As the nurse spoke, Sunday was very aware that she was using her tongue and teeth to spell out the words. And her lips were making the most extraordinary contortions. ‘It’s amazing how you survived at all, Sunday,’ she said, a broad sympathetic smile on her saintly face. ‘If it hadn’t been for that boyfriend of yours—’ She sighed deeply. ‘It’s too awful to think what might have happened.’
It was a good thing Sunday was unable to read the words being formed by the nurse’s lips.
At that moment, Sunday’s attention turned to the ward she had been taken to. Her eyes were still not focusing accurately, but through the cloud she could just see the rest of the patients in their beds, some of them with legs or arms suspended on pulleys, others heavily bandaged, and several of them with drip-feeds and oxygen masks. She was clearly in a casualty ward, although she was still too disoriented to know which hospital the ward was in. Distressingly, one or two beds were completely curtained off, and only then did memories of those last few terrible moments at the Bagwash start flooding through her brain: the droning sounds throbbing in the sky above, the silence, the rush of air, and the astonishing sensation of being caught in the middle of a gigantic explosion, followed by a complete blackout. From that moment on, however, she couldn’t remember a thing. Oh, if only Pearl were there to tell her.
At that moment, Sunday felt someone kissing her gently on the cheek. Although it was painful to turn her head, her spirits rose when she saw who was stooped over her. ‘Mum,’ she said, tearfully, without being able to hear the sound of her own voice.
‘Oh Sunday.’ Madge was gently stroking her daughter’s hand as she spoke. ‘My dear, dear baby. Our Lord has answered my prayers.’
Sunday had no idea what her mum was saying. All she knew was that tears were running down the poor woman’s cheeks.
‘We’ll have you home in no time,’ said Madge, holding Sunday’s hand with both her own, and finding it very difficult to be brave. And her face crumpled up in tears as her tongue and lips tried to form the words, ‘I love you so much, Sunday.’
Her mum’s odd behaviour was beginning to unnerve Sunday. ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying,’ she said, not realising that her own voice was raised. ‘Why can’t I hear you?’
Madge swung a quick glance to the doctor, hoping for some kind of help. But the doctor, aware that Sunday was watching everyone’s reactions, was careful not to indicate anything by his expression. However, the look in his eyes warned Madge to be cautious.
‘Where’s Pearl?’ Sunday asked, suddenly. ‘I want to see Pearl.’
Madge bit her lip anxiously, and squeezed her daughter’s hand tightly.
Sunday was panicking. Her whole body felt as though it was burning up. ‘What’s going on!’ She had no idea she was shouting out loud. ‘Why can’t I hear you?’ She was breathing faster and faster. ‘I want to see Pearl!’
Sunday’s shouts caused everyone in the ward to swing an anxious glance towards her bed. Madge leaned over, and tried
Despite the feeling of numbness throughout her body and limbs, Sunday was getting irritated that she couldn’t hear one single word they were saying. ‘What did you say ?’ she said, but she couldn’t hear her own voice either. ‘Why d’you have to whisper?’
The doctor and nurse exchanged an odd look.
Only then did Sunday realise that her head and ears were swathed in bandages.
‘Just try to lie still, Sunday.’
The man in the white jacket was using his lips in an exaggerated way to try to form the words.
‘You’ve got a lot of cuts and bruises, Sunday,’ he continued, using his own hands to illustrate what he meant. ‘And a nasty bang on the back of your head. A few days’ rest and you’ll be fine.’
As the nurse spoke, Sunday was very aware that she was using her tongue and teeth to spell out the words. And her lips were making the most extraordinary contortions. ‘It’s amazing how you survived at all, Sunday,’ she said, a broad sympathetic smile on her saintly face. ‘If it hadn’t been for that boyfriend of yours—’ She sighed deeply. ‘It’s too awful to think what might have happened.’
It was a good thing Sunday was unable to read the words being formed by the nurse’s lips.
At that moment, Sunday’s attention turned to the ward she had been taken to. Her eyes were still not focusing accurately, but through the cloud she could just see the rest of the patients in their beds, some of them with legs or arms suspended on pulleys, others heavily bandaged, and several of them with drip-feeds and oxygen masks. She was clearly in a casualty ward, although she was still too disoriented to know which hospital the ward was in. Distressingly, one or two beds were completely curtained off, and only then did memories of those last few terrible moments at the Bagwash start flooding through her brain: the droning sounds throbbing in the sky above, the silence, the rush of air, and the astonishing sensation of being caught in the middle of a gigantic explosion, followed by a complete blackout. From that moment on, however, she couldn’t remember a thing. Oh, if only Pearl were there to tell her.
At that moment, Sunday felt someone kissing her gently on the cheek. Although it was painful to turn her head, her spirits rose when she saw who was stooped over her. ‘Mum,’ she said, tearfully, without being able to hear the sound of her own voice.
‘Oh Sunday.’ Madge was gently stroking her daughter’s hand as she spoke. ‘My dear, dear baby. Our Lord has answered my prayers.’
Sunday had no idea what her mum was saying. All she knew was that tears were running down the poor woman’s cheeks.
‘We’ll have you home in no time,’ said Madge, holding Sunday’s hand with both her own, and finding it very difficult to be brave. And her face crumpled up in tears as her tongue and lips tried to form the words, ‘I love you so much, Sunday.’
Her mum’s odd behaviour was beginning to unnerve Sunday. ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying,’ she said, not realising that her own voice was raised. ‘Why can’t I hear you?’
Madge swung a quick glance to the doctor, hoping for some kind of help. But the doctor, aware that Sunday was watching everyone’s reactions, was careful not to indicate anything by his expression. However, the look in his eyes warned Madge to be cautious.
‘Where’s Pearl?’ Sunday asked, suddenly. ‘I want to see Pearl.’
Madge bit her lip anxiously, and squeezed her daughter’s hand tightly.
Sunday was panicking. Her whole body felt as though it was burning up. ‘What’s going on!’ She had no idea she was shouting out loud. ‘Why can’t I hear you?’ She was breathing faster and faster. ‘I want to see Pearl!’
Sunday’s shouts caused everyone in the ward to swing an anxious glance towards her bed. Madge leaned over, and tried
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