Calling All Services (Calling All... Book 1) Read online

  “Well? What was that all about?” Grant asked tetchily.

  “Go home and get some proper sleep. Come back later and I might know a bit more by then.” I wasn’t sure I would. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

  There really wasn’t anything he could do but sit around waiting for the next visit from a nurse or doctor. “Tell the kids not to worry. Jack will be home later today, his flight lands in Birmingham at about five, that’ll cheer them up.”

  My head was spinning with one of those mental to-do lists. My brain was always overflowing with lists of tasks, most of which never got done. “Can you phone Aaron too, just to let him know I’m here?”

  Grant nodded in a defeatist way, he was so tired and ragged. Leaning over the bed he kissed me tenderly on the lips. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Grant, can you bring back my handbag, some clean underwear and toiletries please?”

  “I’ll get Emma to sort it out. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  Blowing a kiss to me, he turned to leave. Watching him walk out of the door I felt slightly relieved, firstly that he was going home to get some sleep, secondly that the kids wouldn’t be left alone, and thirdly that I only had to worry about myself now.

  The kids were old enough to be left alone but I wouldn’t have trusted them not to get into huge squabbles or fights over the most trivial things, like who should clean up the breadcrumbs on the kitchen worktop or who should open the living room curtains. I also didn’t like the thought of them sitting at home worrying about me and not knowing what was going on.

  The rest of the morning was spent having more observations, being pulled around by various consultants (who were all scratching their heads in puzzlement at my symptoms), blood tests and assistance with the commode.

  My legs were completely paralysed by now and couldn’t hold me up. They had seriously failed my dignity.

  Two nurses arrived for hoisting-onto-the-commode duty each time I called: the young robe nurse, who I was now familiar with, and a very butch-looking woman with a dark moustache and rippling muscular forearms, who grunted and snorted profusely each time she lifted me. Okay, I suppose I was more than slightly overweight but she didn’t need to make it that obvious.

  Halfway through the morning, once again, I pressed the buzzer and waited a few minutes for a nurse to arrive.

  “Could I use the commode, please?”

  I hated this so much. I was usually such an independent (although very shy) person, but now my modesty was hanging out of the window for all to see and independence had marched off and left the building! A moment later the two nurses arrived, ready for action.

  “Right Alex, are you ready?” the young one asked.

  They both put an arm under my armpits (at least I’d shaved them) as I perched on the edge of the bed.

  “Yes,” I replied, struggling to stand, with the nurses’ help.

  At the very moment that my backside left the bed a sudden bubbling, squeaky noise expelled slowly and loudly from deep underneath my pink gown.

  I had blown off under the pressure of the lift!

  “Oh my Goodness, I’m so sorry!” I cried.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, we’re used to it,” said the young nurse.

  Well, she might’ve been used to patients trumping all over the place but I wasn’t! My face burned with embarrassment as the aroma drifted upwards, heading straight for everyone’s noses with a vengeance. Feeling so ashamed, I knew these unfortunate ladies were sharing the same horrifying experience as me. Their attempts to smile were feeble as they now inhaled what could only be described as the stench of six-day-old, over-stewed cabbage soup!

  The nurses quickly plonked me down onto the mobile toilet, appearing to be desperately holding their breaths.

  “Okay Alex, gives us a call when you’re ready,” gulped the young nurse as they left the room hurriedly and shut the door behind them with a bang.

  I couldn’t understand why or how I had been capable of producing such a highly toxic vapour and had to resign myself to the fact that it must be the medication.

  Suddenly realising that I’d forgotten to prepare my underwear for the throne, I sat staring at the wall, trying to work out how I was going to pull them down now.

  I couldn’t stand up.

  Somehow I was going to have to rock from side to side and get them down that way.

  It took 20 minutes to gradually inch my underwear down from one side to another, repeating the process until they were clear of the pan.

  Relief!

  It had taken a lot longer to use the commode this time due to the gradual gusset-lowering exercise, and I suspected that the nurses would think it had something to do with the ghastly gas expulsion which still clung to the walls.

  The rest of the day ticked by very slowly, and in between the many visitors popping in to examine me like I was some sort of guinea pig with a mystery illness, I continued to drift in and out of troubled sleep.

  The rash was steadily creeping up and over my body. Completely paralysed from the waist down, the feeling of flu had progressed to the point of feeling like I’d just been hit by a bus.

  Strangely, I was not scared.

  Grant

  It was a gloriously fresh April morning. The sun had shed its winter blues and glowed boastfully as it took its place in the sky. It was going to be an unusually warm day for the time of year.

  Walking out of the hospital’s main entrance, Grant heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t like hospitals but then he supposed nobody did much, especially if they were a patient.

  The air was cool but the birds were already up, enjoying the rarely seen sunshine and singing in the ornamental trees that lined the pathway to the car park.

  The grand General Hospital stood high in the cut of a hill, overlooking a quiet town below. It was Saturday morning. Soon the weekend shoppers would be getting ready for their weekly ritual of hunting down the best deals in town, and this week would be no exception as the traders dropped their prices of Easter eggs to shift the loads. Grant could never understand why anyone would want to spend all day trudging around the shops to see what bargains they could win for themselves. Alex had the same opinion.

  Approaching the ticket machine, Grant reached into his pocket for loose change. Retrieving the ticket from his jacket pocket, he inserted it into the slot. The LCD screen hesitated before revealing the shocking news: £11.00.

  “Effing joke!” he exclaimed as he returned the change to his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  The machine hastily gulped down Grant’s debit card and a minute later coughed up a receipt and returned his exit token for the barriers. “Bloody extortionate prices,” he grumbled out loud.

  There were three cars in the large, newly built parking bays. Grant wondered how long they had been there and how much their parking charges would be. Striding towards his metallic silver Mercedes he admired her beauty in the crisp light of the new day. He loved his new car as much as he loved football. Alex always joked that she was never quite sure where she appeared on his list of affections for cars, football and breasts, but deep down she knew that she was the greatest love of his life. He’d never been an emotionally expressive type and tried to keep his feelings in close quarters, guarded by a male ego but Alex had broken down those barriers and often humoured his vain attempts to rebuild them and play the cool ‘Macho-Man’.

  Fumbling around for his keys, he unlocked the door, climbed into the car and inhaled the familiar smell of the interior which both comforted and reminded him of home.

  Setting off on the twenty-minute journey to the other side of town, Grant fell deep into thought, driving on automatic pilot. There were so many phone calls to make – should he go home, sleep first and do all the calls later, or get it all over and done with before falling into bed? He couldn’t be bothered to spend the next two hours telling everyone the same thing over and over again. Maybe he could send a multiple text message to all concerned; that w
ould be the easiest thing to do. Was that the right thing to do though? Grant accepted that it wasn’t. He couldn’t send a text to the boys to tell them their mum was in hospital, and he would never hear the end of it if he sent a text to Alex’s mum rather than speak to her in person. She’d be on the phone immediately, redialling constantly until someone gave in and answered it. She would then want a minute-by-minute account of the events leading up to Alex’s hospitalisation. She would want to know everything that had taken place in hospital so far, what the doctors had said, what the nurses had said, the diagnosis, prognosis and the happily ever after!

  No. He decided he would go home and sleep first.

  Rolling down Pinewood Avenue, Grant listened to the whisper of the engine, purring like a contented cat on a lap. He’d made a wise choice, buying his new car. It was luxurious comfort at its best, pleasing to the eye and a proud statement of his success in life.

  Making a note of the fact that he had driven home again without realising, Grant vowed that he would pay more attention in the future and not rely on his subconscious mind to get him home, like a homing pigeon.

  The avenue was lined with cherry blossom trees in shades of pink, cream and white announcing the picturesque season of spring. Summer was hiding just around the corner, waiting for the trees to shed their bloom in the breeze and the birds to start their collection of nesting materials.

  It was just before nine o’clock as Grant unlocked the front door of their large four-bedroom, semi-detached house. The ochre-coloured stone, lavish Edwardian decor and five sizeable, shuttered sash windows peered out to the front. A small porch took centre stage on the brindle block-paved drive, showing off a colourful display as the sunlight pierced through the two stained glass panels framing the heavy, Jacobean oak-panelled door.

  They had lived in the house for almost 14 years, a legacy from Grant’s parents. When he lost both his mum and dad in a tragic car crash almost 17 years ago, he and his sister Josie were left a large sum of money from the sale of their parents’ un-mortgaged cottage in Wales. Grant and Josie had made a conscious decision to sell all the other valuable assets and investments, thus freeing themselves of any financial commitments in the future. This arrangement had suited them both.

  Grant had managed to afford a substantial deposit on his new home with the help of the sale of his previous house and a percentage of his inheritance. Alex’s shop had swallowed a considerable amount of the remaining savings but had ensured that her lifelong dream of owning a convenience store would be a more secure financial investment. Grant felt safe in the knowledge that Alex had done very well in the management and success of her beloved shop. She had a vast and recurring customer base which had built over the years, thus providing both Grant and Alex with a comfortable existence, alongside his career.

  Walking through to the kitchen, Grant noted the peaceful calm in the house. The kids must still be in bed, he thought. Not unusual for teenagers hitting the heights of hormonal pandemonium, as Alex always said. Grant smiled to himself. They didn’t usually surface until midday at the weekends. Even then they were completely vacant creatures from outer space until they had slurped and spluttered their way through at least one bowl of cereal and four slices of almost-toasted bread. Only then did they become anything like socially interactive human beings of planet earth.

  Flicking the kettle on, Grant reached for his pint mug – he needed an abundance of tea. The long, restless night had taken its toll on him. He hoped and prayed that his poor beloved wife was getting a little sleep now.

  As soon as the tea was made he tiptoed through to the living room, kicking his shoes off and pulling the lever of the sofa leg rest as he sat down and sighed. He desperately wanted to finish his tea at least, before the vacant adolescents awoke from their lair and descended upon him, uttering a cereal-deprived language of their own. He knew they would have lots of questions.

  Picking up the remote, he flicked the television on – he could always sleep better with it on in the background. Alex would often come in and turn it off if Grant had fallen asleep in the afternoon, and he would then wake up straight away and say, “I was watching that!” Alex would roll her eyes upwards and tut as she left the room.

  Momentarily Grant felt a knot in his stomach as he recalled the events of the last 12 hours. What was wrong with her? Would she be okay? How long would she be in hospital for? It suddenly occurred to him how worried he had been all night, and still was. His macho image was crumbling and he felt incredibly shattered, both emotionally and physically.

  “Dad! Dad, wake up!”

  Grant opened his eyes. The TV was twittering quietly in the background, and a cold mug of tea sat on the side table. Looking up through a hazy blur, he saw Emma.

  “Urgh, you’ve been dribbling, Dad,” she shrieked, staring at the drool in horror. Rubbing his eyes and wiping his chin, Grant’s sleepy mind wandered and a flashback made him smile as he recalled his dribble adventures of the past…

  One evening in particular had stood out from the rest because Grant had returned home that night in quite a flustered state.

  Sitting next to a large, beastly-looking woman on the train for the whole journey home, Grant had taken a seat first, before the woman came along and plonked herself next to him. She filled the seat entirely with her excessive, overhanging body parts. Grant had already got himself settled and comfortable with his newspaper folded on his lap. He had the crossword page open, a pen poised in his hand and his elbows propped up on both armrests. He was content. Then the large woman turned her bulldog-like head and looked at him disapprovingly as she made a deep puffing noise and slowly pushed her elbow onto Grant’s, knocking his off the rest. Smiling to herself, she then had two armrests to spread herself out on.

  Feeling very annoyed, Grant had stubbornly replaced his elbow and pushed her heavy limbs off the rest. Their piercing eyes met, like gunfighters enacting a duel at dawn. Looking away, she repeated the action, more aggressively this time, and shoved his arm off again. Grant had felt infuriated at this point. He would have moved his arm in the first place if she had said “Excuse me, please.”

  The elbow war had continued until, with a look of disgust, the portly lady huffed and puffed and resorted to placing both her arms on her lap, which appeared to be as large as a satellite dish, whilst mumbling under her breath about how rude he had been.

  A couple of hours later the two armrest enemies had woken from their slumbers and adjusted themselves, ready to disembark. Wiping the corner of his mouth, Grant realised that he’d been dribbling again. It then dawned on him that he had just lifted his head from the dragon-like woman’s shoulder. During the journey his head had rolled over and at the very moment of his realisation, she turned her head and looked down at her sticky, damp shoulder in sick horror.

  Eyes widening with fear, Grant tentatively looked towards the woman’s warm, moist patch.

  Gasping and gulping, she reeled from the sight, crying out, “Oh my God!”

  The lump of lard then burst into tears as Grant panicked and hurriedly got up and left the carriage, muttering under his breath how sorry he was. Embarrassment raged through him as he scurried down the carriage, hearing the woman crying out, “Oi, you!” in the distance.

  Within seconds the train had arrived at the platform, just in time before the heavy woman came stomping through the carriages like a charging elephant, shouting and waving her thickset arms around. Leaping onto the platform almost before the London Express had come to a halt, Grant ran out of the station faster than a wildebeest bolting from a pride of lions.

  Grant now recalled Alex’s words of wisdom. She had always said that he should have stopped and apologised to the woman properly. In hindsight, maybe he should have offered to buy the woman a new dress, or more suitably, a durable, water-proof, cotton-canvas tent?

  The incident had been so funny in Alex’s eyes that she hadn’t been able to contain herself from bouts of laughter during the rest of that evening.<
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  On the other hand, Grant was plagued with worry that he may encounter the human-whale again.

  Or worse still, a policeman might knock at the door to question him and then arrest him on a charge of ‘damp assault’ (if there was such a thing).

  Fortunately, neither of these ever happened…

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Emma sat down, put her arm around Grant’s waist, checked for wet patches and then rested her head on his chest. “Is Mum still in the hospital?” she asked as she looked up at him with big brown eyes.

  “Yeah, she is, Em.” Grant lifted himself up, put his arm around her and kissed the top of her tatty chestnut-coloured hair. Emma would need comforting, he thought; she would be lost without her mum around. Such a caring, kind and sweet-natured girl, the only trait which failed her was an extremely naive and gullible side to her personality.

  Grant often preyed on her innocence to his own amusement.

  It was a month away from Emma’s 15th birthday and everyone knew it emphatically. She often held court and told everyone that once she was 15, she was almost an adult and should be treated like one, and her dad should not ‘pick on her’ anymore.

  Growing up with three brothers and a dad, all of whom tormented and teased her, Emma’s dizzy disposition was usually the topic of many jokes and comments whenever the boys were with Grant. She didn’t mind really; she quite liked being the youngest member of the family and getting all the attention.

  “When is Mum coming home?”

  “I don’t know, Em. Do you want to go back with me later to see her?”

  “What time are we going?” Sitting up straight as if ready to go, her tiny figure poised at the edge of the seat.

  “I haven’t had any sleep all night. I need to get a few hours first, and then we’ll go.”