A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon [86]
Jamie moved into the chair beside his father’s bed and as he sat down he remembered who David Symmonds was. And what Katie had said in her phone message. And the image came to mind of his mother sprinting through the waiting area, out of the hospital and into the passenger seat of a little red sports car, the door slamming, the engine being gunned and the pair of them vanishing in a cloud of exhaust.
So when his father said, “Actually, it wasn’t an accident,” Jamie thought his father was referring to the affair and came close to saying something very stupid indeed.
“I have cancer,” said his father.
“I’m sorry?” said Jamie because he really didn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“Or at least I did,” said his father.
“Cancer?” asked Jamie.
“Dr. Barghoutian said it was eczema,” continued his father. “But I wasn’t sure.”
Who was Dr. Barghoutian?
“So I cut it off,” said his father.
“With a chisel?” Jamie realized that Katie had been right. About everything. There was something seriously wrong with his father.
“No, with a pair of scissors.” His father seemed unfazed by what he was saying. “It seemed to make sense at the time.” His father paused. “In fact, to be honest, I didn’t manage to cut it off completely. Much more difficult than I’d imagined. Thought for a while they were going to stitch the damn thing back on. But it’s better to chuck it away and let the wound granulate from the bottom up, apparently. This nice young lady doctor explained. Indian, I think.” He paused again. “Probably best not to tell your mother.”
“OK,” said Jamie, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to.
“So,” said his father, “how are you?”
“I’m fine,” said Jamie.
They sat in silence for a few moments.
Then his father said, “I’ve been having a spot of bother recently.”
“Katie told me,” said Jamie.
“It’s all sorted out now, though.” His father’s eyes were starting to close. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a little nap. It’s been a tiring day.”
Jamie had a moment of panic when he thought his father might be dying unexpectedly in front of him. He had never seen someone dying and wasn’t sure of the signs. But when he examined his father’s face it looked exactly as it did when he was dozing on the sofa at home.
Within seconds his father was snoring.
Jamie took hold of his father’s hand. It seemed like the right thing to do. Then it felt like rather an odd thing to do, so he let it go again.
A woman was groaning in a nearby cubicle, as if she was in labor. Though surely that would happen somewhere else, wouldn’t it?
Which part of his body had his father tried to cut off?
Did it matter? There wasn’t going to be an answer to that question, which made it seem normal.
Jesus. It was his father who had done this. The alphabeticizer of books and winder-up of clocks.
Perhaps it was the beginning of dementia.
Jamie hoped to God his mother hadn’t done a runner. Or he and Katie might be left looking after their father as he began his slow descent toward a horrid little residential home somewhere.
It was an uncharitable thought.
He was trying very hard to give up uncharitable thoughts.
Perhaps that was what he needed. Something to come along and smash his life to pieces. Go back to the village. Look after his father. Learn to be properly human again. A sort of spiritual thing.
His mother reappeared with a swish of curtain. “Sorry about that. I just caught him as he was leaving. Someone from work. David. He gave me a lift.”
“Dad’s asleep,” said Jamie, though that was pretty obvious from the snoring.
Were she and that man having sex? It was a day of revelations.
His mother sat down.
Jamie took a deep breath. “Dad said he had cancer.”
“Oh, yes, that,” said his mother.
“So he didn’t have cancer?”
“Not according to Dr. Barghoutian.”
“Right.”
Jamie wanted to tell her about the scissors. But when he formed the sentence in his head it seemed too bizarre to say out loud. A sick daydream he would regret sharing quite so eagerly.
His mother said, “I’m sorry, I should