The Laying on of Hands - Alan Bennett [43]
‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said Hartley, who had hoped it would be all over by now.
‘And how’ve you been keeping?’ said Jean, brightly.
‘Champion,’ said Uncle Ernest. ‘Is that one of them new watches?’ He took Mark’s wrist.
‘He had to save up for it,’ said Jean. ‘You had to save up for it, didn’t you, Mark?’
Mark nodded.
‘He didn’t,’ said the little girl.
‘I never had a watch till I was 21,’ said the old man. ‘Of course, they’re 21 at 18 now, aren’t they?’
Denis pressed the button for the lift.
‘We’d better get along to the ward if he’s that critical,’ said Jean.
‘I’ve had the receiver in my hand to give you a ring once or twice,’ said Hartley as they waited for the lift, ‘then a client’s come in.’
‘I was thinking of going to Barnard Castle next week,’ said Ernest.
‘Whatever for?’ said Jean, kissing him goodbye.
‘I’ve never been.’ He shook Denis’s hand. The lift doors closed. Hartley and his family walked ahead of Midgley down the long corridor.
‘I’ll give you such a clatter when I get you home, young lady,’ Jean was saying. ‘He did save up.’
‘Only a week,’ said the child.
‘When we get there,’ said Hartley, ‘we want to go in in twos. All together would be too much of a strain.’
‘What’s he doing going to Barnard Castle?’ said Jean.
‘He can’t be short of money taking himself off to Barnard Castle.’
Midgley caught them up.
‘You’d no need all to come,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let Joyce bring ours.’
‘They wanted to come,’ said Jean. ‘Our Mark did especially, didn’t you Mark?’
‘It’s more handy for us, anyway,’ said Hartley. ‘What did we do before the M62?’
Mark was disappointed. The old man was quite plainly breathing. He could quite easily have been asleep. He wasn’t even white.
‘He’s not my uncle, is he, Dad?’
‘He’s my uncle. He’s your great-uncle.’
Hartley was looking at the screen.
‘You see this screen, Mark? It’s monitoring his heartbeats.’
Mark didn’t look, but said wearily, ‘I know, Dad.’
‘I was only telling you.’
Hartley touched the screen where the beep was flickering.
‘You want to learn, don’t you?’ his father said as they came out.
‘Dad.’ The boy stopped. ‘We made one of those at school.’
Jean now led little Elizabeth in. (‘Bless her,’ said Aunty Kitty.)
They stood hand in hand by the bedside, and Jean bent down and kissed him.
‘Do you want me to kiss him?’ said the child.
‘No. I don’t think so, love,’ and she rubbed her lips with her hanky where they had touched him.
‘Are you crying, Mam?’ said the child.
‘Yes.’
The little girl looked up at her.
‘There aren’t any tears.’
‘You can cry without tears,’ said her mother, looking at the monitor. ‘You can cry more without tears.’
‘I can’t,’ said the child. ‘How do you do it, Mam?’
‘It comes when you’re grown up.’
‘I want to be able to do it now.’
‘Listen, I’ll give you such a smack in a minute,’ said her mother. ‘He’s dying.’
Elizabeth began to cry.
‘There, love.’ Her mother hugged her. ‘He doesn’t feel it.’
‘I’m not crying because of him,’ said the child. ‘I’m crying because of you.’
‘I wouldn’t have another Cortina,’ said Hartley. ‘I used to swear by Cortinas. No longer.’
Midgley was watching an Indian man and his son sat in the corner. The father’s face ran with tears as he hugged the child to him so that he seemed in danger of smothering the boy.
‘You still got the VW?’
Midgley nodded.
‘I think I might go in for a Peugeot,’ said Hartley. ‘A 604. Buy British.’ There was a pause, and he added:
‘He was a nice old chap.’
Jean and Elizabeth returned and Mark, who had been in the corridor, came in to ask how long they were stopping.
Hartley looked at Jean.
‘I think we ought to wait just a bit, don’t you, darling?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jean. ‘Just in case.’
Aunty Kitty came in. ‘I’ve just had one coffee and a wagon wheel and it was 45p. And it’s all supposed to be voluntary.’
‘There isn’t a disco, is there?’ said Mark.
‘Disco?’ said Jean. ‘Disco? This is a hospital.’
‘Well. Leisure facilities. Facilities for visitors. Killing time.’
‘Listen,’ Jean hissed. ‘Your Uncle Denis’s father is dying