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27
Rebecca
I paced around outside the entrance to the ward, trying to psych myself up. Already my whole body was on high alert, my senses heightened to within an inch of their lives, my brain frazzled. Everything jarred with me: the squeak of someone’s shoe on the shiny floor, the visitors arriving, talking in hushed voices, clutching bags of snacks and magazines. The nurses whizzing down the corridor holding ominous-looking silver petri dishes. The smell of disinfectant and the remnants of lunch – some kind of meat and mashed potato, I imagined.
I took a deep breath and wished I hadn’t because the smell was now lodged in my throat. I swigged wildly at my bottle of water. It had taken me about twenty minutes to get this far, in fact I’d stood outside the main entrance to the hospital for so long that a taxi driver had pulled up to ask if I needed a lift.
Two more senior-looking nurses walked past me talking about blood results and ECGs. I pulled my cardigan tightly around myself, trying to stay calm. Clive needed me, I told myself. He didn’t have any family, Jack had said, which had been the thing that had made me come. Imagine if I’d been like Clive, if I hadn’t had my nan and grandad to come and visit me when I was in hospital. Nothing bad was going to happen to me if I went inside the ward. And I wasn’t about to have a heart attack even if my pulse was so fast it felt like I might although, if I did, I was in the right place.
‘Rebecca?’
I jumped at the sound of my name. Jack was strolling up the corridor towards me, all relaxed, as though this wasn’t the absolute worst place on earth.
‘You came!’ he said, beaming at me. He pressed the button on the door to the ward so that it opened automatically. ‘After you,’ he added, ushering me through.
Shit. What now? I wasn’t ready for this, not yet.
‘Um, I’ll be there in a sec,’ I said, fishing about in my bag for my phone. ‘I just need to make a quick phone call and then I’ll be right with you.’
Jack looked at me strangely, moving away from the door so that it shut again. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘You look a bit clammy.’
I put my hand on my forehead. I did feel a bit feverish now he came to mention it. If I was ill, I definitely shouldn’t be going in, should I?
‘I’m fine,’ I said, smiling weakly. I was just making excuses now. ‘It’s just … hospitals aren’t exactly my favourite place.’
This was a massive understatement.
He frowned. ‘Oh, right.’
‘In fact, you could say I’ve got a pathological fear of them,’ I admitted.
Damn. I hadn’t meant to say all that. I’d not told anyone about my phobia (I supposed that’s what it was) for a long time. It hadn’t come up, and it wasn’t something I announced for the sake of it.
‘I see,’ said Jack, leaning against the wall. ‘Do you know why?’
I pressed myself against the window as two porters pushed a (thankfully empty) stretcher through the doors to the ward. There was something about the rattle of the wheels that sounded familiar. I’d been on one, apparently, when I was being transferred from one hospital to another, but I’d blocked all of that out. My memory seemed to come back in flashes, that was how it worked.
‘It’s a long story,’ I replied.
And one that I didn’t just like to throw at people. They never knew what to say, anyway, and then I felt bad for them, so I’d found it easiest not to bother.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Jack. ‘Shall I get you a coffee from downstairs or something?’
I shook my head. ‘Thanks, though.’
Jack nodded.
‘It’s just a feeling I have,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
If I tried to pinpoint the symptoms, they might look something like a panic attack: racing heart, sweating, tight chest.
Jack moved out of the way to let a pair of doctors pass. Their white coats sent shivers through me all over again.
‘Why don’t you try?’ he suggested. ‘It might help to talk about it.’
He looked so worried about me that I almost told him. Did he really want to know, or was he saying it to be polite?
‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ I said, deciding baring my soul to a relative stranger whilst blocking the only doorway to the ward probably wasn’t the best idea. ‘Let’s go in. It’s not really about me, is it? I’m here to see Clive.’
