The Laying on of Hands - Alan Bennett [49]
MIDGLEY WAS SITTING on the divan bed in Nurse Lightfoot’s room in the nurses’ quarters. The rooms were light and modern like the hospital. She was sitting by the electric fire with one bar on. There was a Snoopy poster on the wall.
‘People are funny about nurses,’ she said. ‘Men.’ She took a bite of her bun. They were muesli buns. ‘You say you’re a nurse and their whole attitude changes. Do you know what I mean?’
‘No,’ lied Midgley.
‘I notice it at parties particularly. They ask you what you do, you say you’re a nurse and next minute they’ve got you on the floor. Perfectly ordinary people turn into wild beasts.’ She switched another bar on.
‘I’ve given up saying I’m a nurse for that reason.’
‘What do you say you are?’ asked Midgley. He wondered whether he would be better placed if he went over to the fire or he got her to come over to the bed.
‘I say I’m a sales representative. I don’t mean you,’ she said. ‘You’re obviously not like that. Course you’ve got other things on your mind at the moment.’
‘Like what?’
‘Your dad.’
‘Oh yes.’
The duty nurse had been instructed to ring if there was any sign of a crisis.
‘He is lovely,’ she said, through mouthfuls of bun. ‘I do understand the way you feel about him.’
‘Do you?’ said Midgley. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Old people have their own particular attraction. He’s almost sexy.’
Midgley stood up suddenly.
She picked something out of her mouth.
‘Was your cake gritty?’
‘No,’ said Midgley, sitting down again.
‘Mine was. Mine was a bit gritty.’
‘It was probably meant to be gritty,’ said Midgley, looking at his watch.
‘No. It was more gritty than that.’
‘What would you say,’ asked Midgley, as he carefully examined a small stain on the bedcover, ‘what would you say if I asked you to go to bed.’
‘Now?’ she asked, extracting another piece of grit or grain.
‘If you like.’ He made it sound as if she had made the suggestion.
‘I can’t now.’ She gathered up the cups and plates.
‘Why not? You’re not on till seven.’
‘It’s Wednesday. I’m on early turn.’ She wondered if he was going to turn into a wild beast.
‘Tomorrow then?’
‘Tomorrow would be better. Though of course it all depends.’
‘What on?’
She was shocked.
‘Your father. He may not be here tomorrow.’
‘That’s true,’ said Midgley, getting up. He kissed her fairly formally.
‘Anyway,’ she smiled. ‘Fingers crossed.’
MIDGLEY SAT by his father’s bed and watched the dot skipping on the screen.
‘Hold on, Dad,’ he muttered. ‘Hold on.’
There was no change.
Before going down to sleep in the van he telephoned home. It was his son who answered. Joyce was upstairs with her mother.
‘Could you ask her to come to the phone, please,’ said Midgley. The ‘please’ was somehow insulting. He heard brief shouting.
‘She can’t,’ said Colin. ‘Gran’s in the bath. Mum can’t leave her. What do you want?’
‘You go up and watch her while I speak to your Mum.’
‘Dad.’ The boy’s voice was slow with weary outrage. ‘Dad. She’s in the bath. She’s no clothes on. I don’t want to see her.’
He heard more distant shouting.
‘Mum says if she can get a granny-sitter she may come over to see Grandad.’
‘Colin.’ Midgley was suddenly urgent. ‘Colin. Are you still there?’
‘Sure.’ (Midgley hated that.)
‘Tell her not to do that. Do you hear? Tell her there’s no need to come over. Go on, tell her.’
‘I’ll tell her when she comes down.’
‘No,’ said Midgley. ‘Now. I know you. Go up and tell her now.’
The phone was put down and he could hear Colin bellowing up the stairs. He came back.
‘I told her. Is that all?’
‘No,’ said Midgley. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something? How’s Grandad? Haven’t you forgotten that? Well it’s nice of you to ask, Colin. He’s about the same, Colin, thank you.’
‘How was your grandad?’ said Joyce, coming downstairs with a wet towel and a bundle of her mother’s underclothes.
‘About the same,’ said Colin.
‘And your dad?’
‘No change.’
THAT NIGHT MIDGLEY dreamed it was morning when the door opened