Dreams to Sell (30 page)

As Roz shook her head, Chrissie flung her arms around her and for some moments they stood, holding each other, before they separated, tears not far away as they ran for their trams.

When Roz came home in her lunch break, it was to tell her mother that she'd got through to the hospital and been given an appointment with a doctor at two o'clock the following day. Afterwards, they would be able to visit Dougal. That was good news, wasn't it?

‘Don't know about that,' Flo answered. ‘I was hoping to see him today.'

‘He's having tests today – we wouldn't have been able to see him anyway.'

‘Tests?' Flo sighed. ‘Oh, well, thanks for phoning, anyway. Now, sit down and have some soup – it's only tinned, but it'll do you good.'

Eyeing her mother cautiously, Roz sat down at the table. ‘You're not feeling too bad, Ma, are you?'

‘I've decided to try not to worry too much, because I don't think you're right about Dougal, Roz. He's got a problem, or they wouldn't have sent him home, but it's not what you say. Not nerves or anything. You'll see when we get to the hospital.'

‘Ma, I have to tell you …' Roz was looking down at her bowl of soup. ‘The hospital outside Glasgow is a military one.'

‘So? It would be, eh?' Flo served herself soup and offered Roz some bread. ‘Dougal's a soldier, that's where he'd be.'

‘But it has a specialist ward for nervous cases, Ma. And that's where Dougal is. They told me on the phone.'

Flo laid down her spoon, her face losing colour. ‘They told you?'

‘They just said which ward he was in, after they'd given me instructions to find the hospital.'

‘That was all?'

‘They wouldn't tell me any more over the phone, would they? It'll be the doctor who'll give us information.'

‘That's set me back, that has,' Flo murmured, lowering her eyes. ‘I don't feel like eating now.'

‘Oh, Ma, that's ridiculous!' cried Roz. ‘What good is it going to do Dougal if you don't eat?'

‘I'll have it later. But you finish yours, and then we can have some tea.'

‘Promise me you'll try to be positive about this, Ma. Look on the bright side. Dougal's home and whatever's wrong, he'll be in good hands. Try to think of that.'

‘I am thinking of it and I'm thanking God he's home, but I canna stop worrying.'

As Flo took out her cigarettes with shaking fingers, her tragic eyes fastened on Roz's face. ‘I canna stop thinking that he's going to be like me, go through what I've been through, and it's what I've always dreaded, Roz, that one o' you would end up like me.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And seemingly, he's the one, eh? My Dougal – so strong … who'd have thought it? But he'll be in the black night, Roz, just like me, and there's nothing we can do!'

‘Ma, you're better now,' Roz said uneasily. ‘Dougal will get better, too.'

‘Will he? We don't know what'll happen to him. Who says I'm better, anyway?' Flo sat back as though suddenly exhausted. ‘That night is always there, Roz, somewhere. I never know if it'll find me again.'

Roz, used as she was to comforting her mother, cheering her, encouraging her, was now at a loss to find anything to say. Reaching out, she pressed Flo's hand. ‘Let's see how Dougal is tomorrow,' she whispered. ‘Maybe he'll be better than we think.'

The following morning, they had finished breakfast, which for Flo consisted of a cup of tea and a cigarette, and Chrissie had just left for work, when a knock sounded at the door and Roz went over. It was Evan.

He was wearing a raincoat over his suit, a trilby hat covered his black hair, and he was carrying a briefcase – clearly on his way to work.

‘Roz, I came to ask after Dougal.' He swept off his hat, his look anxious. ‘Chrissie told Bob about him last night and we were so sorry to hear he was in hospital. Is there anything we can do?'

‘Come in a minute, Evan, Ma will be pleased to see you. No, there's nothing you can do, thanks all the same.'

Flo, tidying away the dishes, gave a surprised smile at the sight of Evan.

‘Oh, Evan, have you come to ask after Dougal? We're going to see him this afternoon – he's in hospital near Glasgow.'

‘We've to see the doctor first,' Roz put in. ‘Won't know what the situation is till then.'

‘But he hasn't been wounded? That's something, anyway.'

Flo set her lips. ‘Aye, it's something.'

‘I just wish there was something I could do,' Evan said earnestly. ‘Do you think Bob and I could visit him some time? Which hospital is he in?'

‘Rookwood Military,' Roz told him. ‘Why, I'm sure you could visit him, but we'll ask today about the times.'

‘And if he wants any magazines, or anything, could you let us know? And tell him we're thinking of him?' Evan paused for a moment. ‘Such a grand lad – we hope everything will be OK.'

Thanking him again, Roz went with him to the door, where he put on his hat and looked down at her, his eyes so sympathetic, she had to look away.

‘We'll be in touch, Roz. I'm glad you're able to go with your mother today. She's not looking well – not surprising, of course.'

‘I'll look after her.'

He hesitated, touching his hat. ‘Goodbye, then, and good luck with the visit. Let us know how things go.'

‘I will. Goodbye, Evan. Thanks for calling.'

She watched him hurry away down the stairs before returning to the flat, where her mother gave her a weary smile.

‘Very thoughtful, Evan. Nice of him and Bob to want to see Dougal.'

‘Just hope they can. But now, though, we'd better get to the station. If we make an early start we can have something to eat at the railway buffet in Glasgow before we find the bus to Rookwood.'

‘I've got some cakes for Dougal, but I don't care about eating.'

Roz sighed. ‘See how you feel when we get there. Come on, I want us to give ourselves plenty of time.'

In the event, Flo did manage a cheese roll and tea at the Central Station buffet, while Roz had scrambled egg on toast and coffee, after which they felt fortified enough to find the bus to the hospital, following the instructions given on the telephone.

‘Somewhere out beyond Bearsden,' Roz remarked. ‘Seemingly, the bus passes the hospital gates, so it couldn't be more convenient.'

To this, Flo made no comment. Nor did she take any interest in the route the bus followed, though when they reached the outskirts of the city, the scenery became pleasant, with golf courses, open spaces and an air of well-being.

‘Rather different from some of the rest of Glasgow,' Roz commented, hoping to get a word out of her mother, but it was only when the conductor called out ‘Rookwood Hospital!' that Flo seemed to come alive and scramble hastily out of the bus, while Roz hurried to catch her.

‘Name and business?' asked the soldier who'd appeared from the guardhouse near a pair of locked gates.

‘Mrs Rainey and Miss Rainey to see Colonel Marsh,' said Roz.

He checked his list and nodded. ‘Colonel Marsh, that's correct. Go through the gates, up the drive to the hospital and speak to Reception, OK?'

‘Fine, thanks.' Roz took her mother's arm as the gates were opened and they made their way up a short drive to a large, stone building, which might once have been a private house but now seemed very much an institution.

‘Here we are,' said Roz when they'd entered the massive front door and found themselves in a long hall smelling of floor polish, carbolic and the pungent smell of rather old chrysanthemums on the receptionist's desk. ‘I'll speak to the lady at Reception, Ma. You wait here.'

‘I'll speak to her,' said Flo.

As they were a little early, the receptionist, a kindly-faced woman of thirty-five or so, gave them instructions for finding Colonel Marsh's waiting room, which was on the third floor; they could take the lift or the stairs.

‘The lift,' chose Flo, and when they were travelling together up to the third floor, Roz pressed her mother's arm.

‘Not long to go now, Ma.'

‘Aye, if he's on time. These doctors are never on time.'

But Colonel Marsh, a tall, angular man in his forties, wearing a white coat over his khaki uniform, was surprisingly on time, and courteously showed them to chairs in his consulting room before taking his own seat at his desk. His light hair was cropped short, his narrow blue eyes keen, and it seemed to Roz that here was a man they could trust to be frank. Whatever had to be told of Dougal, he would tell it.

‘Mrs Rainey,' he began, ‘I'm glad to meet you.' He looked at Roz. ‘And this is …?'

‘I'm Dougal Rainey's sister,' Roz said quickly. ‘Is it all right if I'm with my mother?'

‘Certainly. I want to meet Private Rainey's family.' He gave a brief smile that included them both. ‘Now, you'll be anxious to hear how he is and why he's been brought from Korea to this hospital. Feel free to ask me any questions later, but first I'll put you in the picture about what's been happening to him, and will explain something of how we intend to help him.'

‘Thank you,' said Roz, as Flo, her eyes riveted on the doctor, made no reply, and after a moment or two, the colonel began.

‘Before I say anything else,' he said quietly, ‘I must tell you that until his illness, Dougal had always been considered an excellent soldier. He was, in fact, due to be promoted, and his commanding officer in his report to me speaks very highly of him.'

The colonel took up an envelope which he passed to Flo. ‘This is a letter he's written to you, Mrs Rainey, so that you can read for yourself how well your son was doing.'

‘Thank you,' Flo whispered. ‘That's good to know.'

‘You'll be wondering what went wrong,' the colonel continued. ‘Well, it happens to many good soldiers through no fault of their own, but after a long period of warfare sometimes they are overcome by what we once called shell shock, but now tend to call stress, or battle fatigue. From what he's told me, I believe that Dougal's problem has its seeds in early battles, when he saw comrades cut down or captured. It's clear he couldn't forget what he saw and that he began to feel guilty he'd survived. That's a quite common reaction.'

Colonel Marsh, twirling a pencil, paused a moment, then went on: ‘Seems that he managed to keep going, but it began to be noticed that a change had come over him. He didn't refuse to work or fight, but everything he did was done, as you might say, in slow motion. It was as though he was clogged down with heavy weights, and could only move at a certain pace – which of course no sergeant was going to accept. He was disciplined, his chance of promotion was lost, and no one knew what to make of it. Finally, he was sent to the medical officer, who diagnosed battle fatigue.

‘This can take several forms – sometimes loss of memory, or physical troubles with eyesight or hearing. Or, as in Dougal's case, depression.'

‘Depression?' cried Flo. ‘Oh, no, not Dougal! No, no, it canna be!'

Looking at her in some surprise, the colonel said gently, ‘It's all right, Mrs Rainey, we're going to treat it. We'll do all we can, I promise you.'

‘Oh, no, no,' Flo only wailed. ‘Oh, I was so dreading – I was so hoping—'

‘Colonel, my mother's better now, but she has suffered from depression herself,' Roz said, leaning forward. ‘That's why she's so upset about Dougal.'

‘I had no knowledge of your illness, Mrs Rainey,' the colonel said gravely. ‘I'm very sorry to hear of it, and I do appreciate that it must be very difficult for you to accept your son has it too, but I've every hope that he will be completely restored to health. Please believe that.'

‘I don't see what you can do,' Flo muttered. ‘I had treatment, but if I'm better, I got better myself. How do we know that'll happen to Dougal?'

‘Much depends on the patient, you're right about that, but all approaches are different. My own for Dougal is psychotherapy.'

‘Psychotherapy?' Roz repeated. ‘Can you tell us what that is, exactly?'

‘Certainly. It involves dialogue with the patient, talking with him and encouraging him to talk himself, to explore his own fears, to look into his own mind. This takes time, which means that the patient might need a fairly long stay in hospital before he can become an outpatient, depending on his response.'

The colonel gave an encouraging smile. ‘As I say, I've every confidence that Dougal, who is usually from all accounts a well-balanced, practical young man, will respond very well. Please have every hope that he will soon be well again.'

‘Thank you,' Roz said quickly. ‘You've been very helpful.'

She glanced at Flo, who nodded. ‘Aye, very helpful,' she said after a pause. ‘But when can we see Dougal?'

The colonel rose. ‘You're very welcome to see him now.'

Escorting them to the door, he shook their hands and smiled again. ‘I know it's useless to tell you not to worry, but please try to be positive, think of how Dougal was and how he will be again. Now, I'll just ring for one of the nursing assistants to take you to his ward.'

Thanking the colonel again, they turned to follow the young woman who had arrived to take them to Dougal and, as they were taken up in the lift to a corridor of several doors, all they could think of was how he would be. How would they find him? Their Dougal?

‘Here he is!' cried their guide, opening a door. ‘He's in a two-bedded ward, but his roommate's with one of the doctors, so you'll be able to have a nice wee chat. Dougal, you've got visitors!'

Eagerly, fearfully, they entered the ward.

At first sight, as he rose from a chair by his bed, he didn't look any different. Still the same Dougal, even in hospital-blue clothes, his short fair hair neatly parted, his face tanned and healthy-looking. But it only took a moment for Roz to recognize, with a sinking heart, that the face he turned to them might seem tanned and healthy but was in fact like her mother's when she was ill. Shuttered, expressionless, the eyes without light. Oh, God, how much would Flo see? What would she do?