Roses Aren't Everything: Chapter 10: Dormancy
...Crossing the lobby, which smelled of disinfectant and orange air freshener, they waited while a guard unlocked the glass doors leading into the hospital wing. Ingrid forced herself to walk erect, even though the atmosphere of the place made her feel claustrophobic and depressed. Upstairs, a young Indian nurse was tapping on a computer keyboard. She looked up as they approached and smiled...
Ingrid and members of her family pay a difficult hospital visit.
Leanne Hunt continues her novel concerning a woman's struggle to come to terms with her real identity, set in a South Africa undertgoing dramatic social change.
On Sunday, Caroline and Debbie informed Ingrid that neither of them would be going to the youth camp after all. Caroline wanted to attend Fiona's sleepover and Debbie could think of nothing else but riding Pepper on Amy's aunt's farm. Feeling as if they were letting the youth leader down, Ingrid cornered him after the service at church to offer their apologies.
Gavin was a tall, considerate young man of about nineteen. He listened earnestly to her explanation before shaking his head regretfully. He looked genuinely disappointed. "It's a real pity," he admitted. "We've already assigned the girls to teams for the outreach into Swaziland and they're going to miss an exciting programme. But I appreciate that your family has issues at the moment which you have to deal with."
His words momentarily stunned Ingrid. Issues? Was he referring to Tracey and the baby or Warren's breakdown? What were people at the church saying? She felt a prickling at the back of her head. "Actually," she told him, "it's got nothing to do with the family. Caroline and Debbie made their decisions on the basis of what their school friends are doing during the holidays."
He was appropriately contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was presumptuous of me to think …"
Instinctively, Ingrid put her hand out to reassure him. It's all right, Gavin. Perhaps I'm just oversensitive. I can't help feeling as if people are talking behind my back."
His wide hazel eyes regarded her steadily. "You could talk it over with my mother, if you like. It might help."
For a young man not yet in his twenties, Ingrid reflected, he was remarkably mature. His mother was probably exactly the right person to talk to. Katie - or Beaver, as she was affectionately known,thanks to a pantomime in which she'd once performed -was a qualified crisis counsellor. She worked for the church on a voluntary basis and had an office alongside that of the minister. Well known for her discretion, she would undoubtedly give sound advice.
"Thank you, Gavin," said Ingrid. "I hadn't thought of that. I may very well do what you suggest." Little did he know that his own compassionate manner had already done wonders. All at once, Ingrid was sorry that Caroline and Debbie would not be going with him on the youth camp. He was someone authentic whom they could look up to for support in the absence of their father.
The following Saturday, Alice announced that they would all be going to visit Warren together. Ingrid protested that it wouldn't be wise for Tracey and Luke to go, but her mother-in-law insisted. They went in two cars; Ingrid driving the Polo with the girls, and Vernon driving the Peugeot with Alice, Tracey and Luke. The trip was long and made more difficult by the potholed surface of the road and the number of timber trucks speeding towards the coast. With the summer sun blazing down, wilting the mealies in the fields, they all perspired uncomfortably and Vernon was so dizzy that he had to lie down on a bench under a grove of plane trees when they arrived.
It was agreed that Ingrid should go in first with Caroline and Debbie. The girls didn't particularly like these visits, especially after being accosted on a previous occasion by a strange-looking man with an umbrella. He had clutched Caroline's arm and demanded that she hand over her raincoat. The incident had unnerved Debbie so much that she now scrutinised every passer-by with suspicion.
Crossing the lobby, which smelled of disinfectant and orange air freshener, they waited while a guard unlocked the glass doors leading into the hospital wing. Ingrid forced herself to walk erect, even though the atmosphere of the place made her feel claustrophobic and depressed. Upstairs, a young Indian nurse was tapping on a computer keyboard. She looked up as they approached and smiled.
"Hello! Can I help you ladies?"
"Hi," said Ingrid. "We're here to visit Warren Steele. Will I find him in the lounge, do you think?"
The nurse considered, then shook her head. "No, Ma'am. I think you'll find him in his room. He came through to the lounge yesterday, but this morning he seems a little … err ... tired."
Registering a twinge of apprehension, Ingrid asked, "Is it still the room in the corner? Number 26?"
"Room 26, yes." The nurse stood up briskly. "I'll take you to him. Yesterday he had one of his episodes and the doctor had to sedate him quite heavily. I'm sorry, but you may not find him very responsive today." On reaching Room 26, she bobbed courteously and withdrew to the nurses' station.
With Debbie gripping her hand tightly, Ingrid opened the door. The room was tiled and fitted with blinds at the window, so that their footsteps echoed hollowly in the small space. There was a bed against the wall but it was empty. Warren was slumped in an armchair at the foot of the bed, away from the window. He was fully dressed but apparently asleep. In his right hand, he held the reel of fly-tying cotton which Ingrid had given him several weeks earlier.
"Warren?" she asked cautiously. His face turned slowly towards them. When his eyelids lifted, she couldn't tell if he recognised them or not. The gaze with which he viewed them was vacant, like that of a doll.
**
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