The Last Winter of Dani Lancing: A Novel (25 page)

“Nurse! Nurse!” someone screams. Lights flare on and nurses run. There is pandemonium. It is time for Patty to go to work. She has her target in her sights. Nurse Lucy, who has texted her boyfriend forty-seven times in the last two hours and given at least two old women the wrong medicine. As Nurse Lucy rushes past Patty grabs at her.

“Nurse!” she barks.

“I can’t …”

“I need to go to the toilet.”

“You don’t need it; you got a thingy. You don’t need to get up.”

“My dear girl, I am Hilary Clifton-Hastings and I have been taking myself to the toilet for sixty years. Please remove this catheter.”

“I can’t.”

“I would appreciate being left with my dignity.” She almost shouts the word dignity and can feel all the other old dears in the ward nodding their agreement.

“Really I—”

“Please. Dignity.” Patty knew that would push the nurse’s buttons. It’s all about dignity these days—can’t keep old dears on their backs, drugged up, peeing and pooping with nothing to do until MRSA and bedsores get them.

“Honestly, it’s dead busy …”

“Then who is the senior consultant on call? I might well know them from the Rotary club?”

She sees Lucy stiffen. She hates to bully the girl but she has to get out of there.

“Okay.” Nurse Lucy pulls the bedclothes back and with a snap of surgical tape and a tug—she removes the catheter. “You’ll need a walking frame. Your legs’ll be a bit wobbly. Wait here.”

Patty watches Nurse Lucy grab a Zimmer frame from by the door. She wants to yell out, “I’m not old! I don’t need that,” but she thinks better of it. Better to play along and act like some frail old fool.

“Here ya go. Hold on to the bar and hoist your—”

Patty grabs the bar with disdain and pulls. Her legs give way, they’re jelly. She collapses back onto the bed.

“Marta!” Lucy calls out to a colleague.

“Christ,” thinks Patty. “I am an old fool. Jelly on a plate, jelly on a plate, wibble-wobble, wibble-wobble, old crone in a state.”

Patty needs both nurses to hold her up while she does the latest St. Vitus dance craze.

“Back to bed,” says Marta. “You need the catheter still.”

“No. I will use the toilet myself—like a normal person.” And Patty takes a step. She doesn’t tumble, the momentum takes all three women forward. She has to keep them going. Together the nurses and Patty weave drunkenly to the toilet, propelled by the sheer force of Patty’s will.

The nurses want to take her inside, but she refuses.

“My legs are fine now. Please let me do my business in privacy, I am not an animal.”

“Okay,” says Lucy and Marta walks off. “I’ll wait right here, and you must leave the door open in case I need to come in and help.”

“Of course, my dear,” Patty agrees through tight lips.

As soon as she is inside the lavatory, Patty curses the situation. She’s got herself free of the catheter but that won’t help if her damn legs won’t work or if the nurse hangs around all the time. She punches at her legs.

When she can’t punch anymore she leans over the sink and runs a basin of cold water to dunk her face in. The water feels good. She looks at herself in the mirror.

“Look at you—old, old woman. What a bloody mess,” she tells herself. “Christ. Did a mouse die in my mouth?” she thinks, running her tongue around her dry mouth. She hobbles back to the door and looks out. The younger nurse is still there, hovering, waiting for her.

“Clean teeth, I must clean my teeth!” And she exhales in the young woman’s face.

The nurse recoils. “Okay. Wait here. I’ll be back in a sec.” She trots off to find a toothbrush and toothpaste. Patty eyes the journey back to the bed and beyond, to the bed by the window and the mobile phone.

“I can do it.”

She pushes off with the frame and begins to walk, tottering and swaying like a marionette with half her strings cut. Jelly legs flying everywhere. Her eyes start to stream; she bites at her lip. She is falling to one side.

“Come on, you silly old cow.” She pulls up on the frame.
The distance is narrowing; she is almost there. She makes it to her bed and stops to rest. She listens hard: is someone coming? No. Geronimo! She is off again. Step after step, her legs almost useless, her arms trembling with the exertion. The phone, she can see the phone.

“Think about prison,” she hisses to herself as she crosses the final yards to the phone. She grabs at it and nearly tips over. The old woman next to her whimpers and turns over. The skeleton merely lies there. Patty flips the phone open, praying to a non-existent God for some battery power.

“Yes!” The time flickers at her. 12:57 a.m. She dials a number she has not called in many, many years, but will never forget. It rings.

“Come on come on come on come on come on come on come …”

“Hello?” His voice is sleepy.

The years stretch into eternity.

“Hello? Is somebody there?”

Patty finds she’s mute. She had no idea what a profound shock it would be to hear his voice again, really hear him, not just the constant echo of him in her head.

“Hello?” he repeats. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Jim,” she says in a voice that sounds a thousand years old.

There is silence, just his breath. Patty thinks she would have been happy to have listened to that breath for a year and a day, but her toothpaste will be here any moment.

“I’m in trouble. I need your help. Please go to my house; there is a spare key taped inside the blue recycling bin in the alley, to the left of the front door. I need you to go in and get me a change of clothes, including underwear and shoes. Bring them, in a bag, to the Royal. I’ll meet you by the toilets next to X-ray; remember
where they took your mum when she broke her hip. Meet me there at exactly three a.m. Don’t park in the car park, park in a side street. Then take me home. I’ll explain it all, I have to go now.”

She flips the phone closed and sets it back down on the cabinet. No one seems to have heard her. There is no alarm, no pointing finger, no searchlight. She spins the Zimmer round and heads off back to the toilets, faster than before. Her legs are hers again. As she gets to her own bed, the nurse returns.

“Oh. I thought you were going to wait for me in the loo,” she says, a little peeved.

Patty snatches the brush and paste from her and charges for the toilet, this time slamming the door and locking it. The nurse is shocked for a second and then runs to the toilet and bangs on the door.

“Let me in. Right this second, or I’ll call security to take the door off.”

“I will be out in one minute but I want some privacy,” Patty screams through the door. She angrily brushes her teeth until her gums bleed. Then she sits on the toilet seat and weeps.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Jim slides the key into the lock as if he owns the place and pushes the door open—he quickly steps inside. Behind him, Dani hesitates.

“Come in quick,” he hisses.

“Do you think it’s okay—can I come in?”

“You’re not a vampire. Get in quickly, we don’t want a nosy neighbor calling the police.”

“But …”

“Sorry.” He closes the door on her. He pulls a torch from his pocket—he flicks it on and the beam falls on a small mountain of pizza flyers and minicab cards, as well as three days’ worth of newspapers. Jim scoops them up as Dani walks through the door.

“That was rude,” she says, waving the torch away from her face.

“We looked suspicious and a bit crazy, plus we don’t have much time. We need to get your mum in less than an hour.”

“It was still rude to slam the door in my face.”

“I didn’t slam it. I closed it.”

“Thanks for the apology.” She walks off to explore downstairs.

Jim takes the pile of junk mail and newspapers into the lounge where he drops them on a small table. He shines the torch around the room, trying to keep the beam away from the windows. The room is almost bare. One chair and the small table.

“Nunnery chic,” Dani says walking in.

“She seems quite minimalist,” Jim agrees. “Not much to show for a lifetime,” he thinks.

“I’m going upstairs to find some of her clothes.”

“I can be fashion consultant.”

“No, you wait here—I’ll be quick.”

He walks upstairs, holding the light down to the floor. He has no idea where her bedroom is, so pushes randomly at a closed door and it slides open. He raises the torch and the light hits …

“God.” The air is knocked out of him. His hand shakes. The torchlight skitters across the wall.
The wall
—in all its glory, recreated just as it had been in their house all those years ago. Though now it’s even bigger, with more Post-it notes and more pictures. The day Dani arrived at Durham—so happy. Home at Christmas, her birthday … then those other pictures of her, his child defiled. Dead. So pale and yet beautiful. The same as she is now—the same as she is downstairs. Full of life. He feels sick, doubles over.

“Dad?” she calls.

“Dani, don’t come up here,” he shouts back, his stomach cramping. “Don’t come …”

“What are you going to do? Slam the door in my face again?” She floats through the door. “I can go anywhere. I’m the Ghost of—” She sees the photos, sees herself: her hands tied, her body bare, the bruises covering her arms and legs. Post-it notes scream “torture,” “multiple rape,” “feces and urine.” Around her the air seems to turn tar black.

“Dani …” Jim reaches out to her, he tries to scoop her into his arms—if only he could hug her—but she dissolves. The torch blinks out, there is only black—the shadows seem to suck all life from the air.

“Dani, Dani, please come back.” But there is nothing. The torch flickers once again—the beam catches her image one last time. Dead.

Jim takes a final look at the hateful wall. “Oh, Christ, Patty.” He walks backward out of the door, closing it gingerly, as if there’s an unexploded bomb inside. He pauses for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then slowly he moves to the next room, her bedroom.

Inside there is just an unmade bed, a tatty old wardrobe and a few boxes. The bed makes him feel sad. Sad and old. It all feels intrusive and voyeuristic, especially going through her clothes to put together a bag for her, but he does as she asked. He is also saddened by the fact that he recognizes every item of clothing. Hasn’t she shopped in twelve years? With the bag ready, he closes the door and goes back down.

Dani sits in the living room. He would have missed her but for the slightest sigh as he passed the doorway. He strains into the darkness and makes out her faint shape.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

“Not your fault. You did warn me.” She pauses. “Why don’t I remember?”

“Did seeing the pictures …?”

“No. Maybe. I can see flashes.”

“Faces?”

“I … yes.”

“Do you recognize them?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but it all seems too unclear. She closes it again.

“Can you describe them?”

“No. No, it’s all deformed, hazy—like I’m seeing everything underwater.”

“Maybe … maybe that’s best.”

She shakes her head slowly. “All I remember clearly is hearing your voice far-off, and then opening my eyes and I was me, but not myself anymore, not whole. I felt scared and so alone.”

“Never alone.”

“Really?” She shakes her head sadly. She feels alone so often.

“Let’s go and get your mum,” he says softly.

“Okay.”

He drives to the hospital. He remembers not to park in the hospital car park but doesn’t trust the side streets. Instead he pulls over on the main road close to a bus stop. There won’t be any buses tonight. The drive had been more than a little scary for him; Dani had loved it. From the moment she’d yelled “shotgun” to the final skid into the curb, it had been like a roller-coaster ride. He would not have gone out in those conditions for anyone else.

“I’ll go in alone.”

“Dad!”

“Wait at the car, please.” He turns on the radio for her and gets out into the icy wind. He walks toward the hospital slowly, a little like a penguin as the snow shifts under his feet. He feels guilty about asking Dani to stay in the car, but he doesn’t want her with him while he confronts Patty. He’s starting to get worried about why she’s in the hospital—in his mind he visualizes
the wall
once again. Is Patty still obsessed with finding Dani’s killer after more than twenty years? What might she have done? The snow begins to fall once more. He can’t move.

“Are you okay?” Dani calls from the car. Jim turns and waves to her, though he doesn’t trust his voice. “Shout if you need me,” his daughter calls out.

His mouth feels like black pepper has been ground into it as
he walks slowly inside. Right inside the door is a desk that, during the day, is manned by volunteers. Of course, at this time of the morning it’s empty. Lying on the top is a pile of maps with a handwritten sign saying:
PLEASE TAKE
. On the board behind the desk is a list of the departments and the buildings they occupy. Jim looks for the department of psychiatry. He’s relieved to see there’s no unit or secure ward listed. He remembers waking from the nightmare—how scared he was for her. Have faith, he thinks, and heads toward the X-ray department. He knows the way—he has been to this hospital many times over the years. His mother died here, he had his prostate poked here. Now what?