Peter. A Story
The hospital window was open. The nurse had flung it wide that morning. The air was fresh, the curtains stirred in the light breeze, the lush greenery outside was easy on the eye, and the summer heat was still a long way off.
Peter had his appendix removed. They said it was a difficult operationbarely made it in timebut Peter wasnt the sort to get scared.
Not afraid of injections then? the nurse teased early that morning, snapping the air out of a syringe.
Peter just turned onto his side. He wasnt allowed to get up yet.
Is that supposed to frighten me?
Theyd wheeled him in from a street corner. He wasnt homeless, but was from an orphanage. He and the boys were coming back from the market, where they’d tried to earn a bit illegally, when the pain struck.
He felt guiltyhe got Len and little Sam in trouble. Now thered be a right mess back at the home. Even yesterday, just after surgery, Mrs Kirklandthe deputy headhad dashed in, full of concern. Peter still felt groggy from the anaesthetic, remembered her stern face leaning over him, but not much else.
Why couldnt the pain have started on the orphanage grounds? He was nearly home then But it happened there instead.
He blamed the apricots. Someone at the market gave them a crate of bruised fruit, but it was sweet as honey. They couldn’t resistate too many, really.
Oi, hero! How are you feeling? The old doctor with hairy arms checked his stitches. Well, the worst is done. Youve nothing to worry about now.
I wasnt worried anyway.
Oh? Brave lad, then? Alright, brave man, the doctor turned serious. No eating for now. No treats from anyone either. Stick it out a bittonight well get you some jelly.
Peter just nodded out of politeness. He knew anywayno one would bring him holiday treats. Right now, everyone at the orphanage was cross with himfor sneaking off, for causing trouble with the staff. Theyd gone out through a hole in the fence to the market, and of all times, he had to fall ill on the way back.
Still, the doctor was right. Peter was brave. Life had made him that way. His mum had him, perhaps by chance. Probably hadnt the money to do otherwise. Peter was ten, but could think about it evenlylike all the other orphans did.
Hed never resented his mother, oddly. If anything, he was thankful. At least shed let him be borneven though she left him straight away.
He spent his first years at a babys home, then was moved to a childrens home in Wolverhampton, then out near Cambridge. For as long as he could remember, hed been fighting for his place.
He could recall fights in the dining hall over food. It was peaceful enough, but the cooks and the head took most of the food home for themselves, even loaded it into cars.
And it wasnt just food they fought foreverything, really. Peter grew strong. He got by with his fists. Hed even broken his arm a few times. The hairdresser, who came to shave their hair, once nearly cried looking at the scars on his head.
What was there to cry about? Peter hadnt criedever.
And now they thought they could frighten him with a scar on his stomach or a few jabs
What a laugh.
Peter saw adults as cold and calculating. He wasn’t soft or a sweet little child, not someone youd want to love. He was rough, a little angry, blunt, and strong-willed.
Mind yourself, Warner! If youre up to something, its straight to the secure room with you! Mrs Kirkland warned him often.
He never arguedbut he didnt plan to obey all the time, either. Hed had his own code for ages.
There was only one adult in the world whom he remembered with warmth. He didnt know how other children remembered their mothers, talking to them in their heads, but hed often speak in his mind to this woman whod briefly appeared in his life.
He was six when she came to work at the childrens home near Wolverhampton. He couldnt remember what she did. Just her gentle smile, blue eyes, warm hands and the scent of her. He remembered her tucking him on her knee and whispering in his ear:
Youve got to be strong, Petey. Eat well, look after yourself, and listen properly. It wont be easy, but youll get through. Do your best, wont you?
And then shed sing him a song.
Little kitten, little soul, soft grey tail and paws of snow, hush now, hush now. Soft white paws, little black ears, hush now, hush now
Even though Peter felt grown up, hed often remember that simple song when things were especially tough. Hed close his eyes, hum it, recall those warm hands, and things felt easier.
That woman vanished one day, leaving him only the lullaby and those memories. No one else ever rocked him or sang him to sleep. Hed forgotten her name too, and in his thoughts called her Mumthough deep down he knew shed just been a temporary carer. Still, it felt good to pretend.
The nurse closed the window and began making up the bed opposite. Peter was gladit was dull lying there alone.
Soon, a trolley wheeled in with a crowd of adults in white coats bustling around it. Peter could only just see, but managed to make out a thin, sharp-nosed boy on the bed, a drip hanging over him. Soon, only the nurse and a man in a white coat remained.
No one said very much. A word here or there.
Hell sleep, the nurse said.
Good, thank you.
Call if you need anything
I will.
She left, the man sat with his head bowed, unmoving. The boy slept.
The ward was stifling, but the man stayed in his jacket and coat. Peter thought he might actually be dozing.
His own back was stiff from lying. He rolled over; the bed creaked. The man turned. Deep lines between his brows, bags under his eyes. But a kind look.
Alright, mate, he whispered, as if hed only then noticed Peter.
Alright, Peter replied.
The man, waking properly, glanced at his son, then gently lifted a chair and came to sit by Peter.
You been operated on, then?
Yeah, had my appendix out.
Thats good. Still not allowed up?
Not yet.
Can I get you anything?
Im not allowed. Cant eat till evening. Whats wrong with him? Peter nodded at the boy.
With him? The man frowned, looking back. Something different. Mind if I sit here? I could help if you need it. And if someone comes for you, Ill make myself scarce.
Dont mind, Peter shook his headwhat right had he to object?
The man moved his chair, glanced over.
Hes Samuel. Eleven. And you?
Peter. Im ten.
Thanks, Peter, the man said, and Peter didnt even really understand what he was being thanked for.
The next day, people barely left the ward. Morning saw drips set up for Samuel, the doctor visited several times. His father stayed the night there, sometimes speaking softly to his son. Samuel moved his hands and head, but his eyes remained closed. He just seemed to sleep.
Then an elderly couple arrived, followed by a tall woman with curly hair and a faint bump in her noseSamuels mother. Her eyes were red from crying. They walked her in and sat her by her son, and she gently stroked him, whispering.
Can we move the other boy? Samuels father asked, nodding Peters way, concerned for his wife.
Yes, well move him today, the doctor said, finally remembering Peter, and approached his bed.
How are you, son? Any pain?
A bit.
That night had been badhis stitches ached, he was wary of turning, the catheter irritated him. He never got supper, eithertheyd either forgotten or deemed it too early to eat.
Time to get up now. You can try standing. Well move you next door. Come on, mate, get yourself going. The nurse will take out the catheter soon.
Peter couldnt wait to stand, but the nurse took ages. People bustled in and out of the room.
That day, Peter really understoodSamuel must be dying. He never woke, just lay there, with everyone around him tense, subdued, resigned.
By lunchtime, only Samuels cousin, a young woman, stayed with him. Peter felt awkward, and when the nurse came to remove his catheter, Peter hinted he was embarrassed, but she just snapped,
No ones looking at you! Dont be silly. Ill be quick.
She was, but Peter just lay there, relishing being free. He was utterly naked and had no idea where his clothes were. The girl, focused on Samuel, barely glanced his way, just moistened his lips and straightened the already neat sheets. Peter regretted not asking the nurse about his clothes.
No ones bothered about you! shed said, and it was true.
Still, after an hour, he decided to sit up. He rolled over, wrapped in the sheets, and got up.
The girl turned, Need a hand?
No, but his head spun fiercely. He lay back down. A minute later, he tried again.
Do you know where they put my clothes? he asked her.
She didnt, but said shed find out, adding, Just watch Samuel for me, okay?
Peter tried standing, wrapped in a sheet, but his legs shook. He didnt think itd be this hard just walking across the room.
At last, they brought him some hospital clothesnothing of his own, of course.
Ill turn my back; dont worry, the woman said.
He sat on the bed and pulled on too-large trousers, using the drawstring to tie them upa skill hed learned. The legs needed turning up, but bending over was too much. Stepping on the hemlines, he shuffled, until the girl noticed.
Wait a sec! These are huge! Let me roll them up for you. She crouched to help, did it so carefully and for so long that Peter grew dizzy.
Im going to faint
She caught him, sat him down. Blimey, youre really poorly still. Have you eaten? Whats your name?
Peter.
Im Lizzie. Peter, you need your mum here really. Should we call her, if youve a phone at home?
No mum.
Oh. Well, your dad, or Who do you live with?
Im alright. Im better now. Just want to use the loo.
He made it there and caught a glimpse in the mirrorsunken eyes, pale lips. Just the blackness of his eyes burned. One carer once told him his surnameWarnerprobably came from raven because of his eyes, and the other kids called him Raven too. He liked that.
He splashed his face with cold waterfelt better. Maybe thanks to Lizzie, he got some jelly.
If youre up and about, get yourself to the canteen for food, some cleaner joked.
Get realhe nearly collapsed just now, Lizzie protested. Ill get his jelly. He cant have anything else yet.
Peter felt restless, started pacing the ward. Glanced at Samuela lovely looking boy, almost girlish. Like his mum, with those curls, only very thin.
Is he dying? No ones more blunt than an orphan.
Lizzie flinched.
We dont know. But yes, Sams very ill. Four operationshis parents are worn out. Im his aunt, his dads sister. But sometimes miracles happen, eh?
I dont know, Peter sat back on his bed.
He thought about Samuel. That boy had a life like in the moviesmum, dad, grandparents, family Everything youd want, yet lay here dying.
Lifes harsh
Peter wasnt moved that night. Samuel’s father returned, more family commotion; Peter overheard them talkingno one had come to see him at all.
Peter, the doctor said youre from the childrens home? Samuels dad asked.
Yeah.
Shouldnt you be moved to another room? Sams in a bad way He sighed.
No, Im fine here. Can I stay?
The next four days were all the same. Peter developed a fever and was eventually shifted to a room full of old men. He was bored stiff and often drifted back to sit by Samuelno one bothered to move him out.
His discharge was delayed by the fever.
During that time, Samuels fatherhis name was David Gordonfound out nearly everything about Peter, by asking around or just listening. He brought Peter some of Samuels spare clothesPeter was used to second-hand, took them, then glanced at Samuel.
Are these his?
Yes.
What if he doesnt die?
David looked at him in surprise. In their family, they never said that worddie. They all expected it, but could never say it out loud about their only child. It would be too awful.
Only once had Samuels cousin, Sophie, shouted in distress when hed told her theyd done everything possible for Samuel.
Why! Why did we do everything right, and hes dying anyway? Why should that make it easier?
When someone close is fading, so does your own strength. Davids wife was barely holding on. She wouldnt want to live without her son. They injected her with tranquillisers, but it only helped so much.
What if he doesnt die? Peter asked again.
David wanted to be honestnot just with the boy, but himself.
Im afraid not. He cant pull through, Peter. Hes dying. It took a real effort to say.
Does dying hurt? Peter hugged Samuels shirt and looked on with pity, frowning.
David saw it. The boy felt sorry for him, cared deeply. After all the days together, he understood. Orphans know fear.
Itll be quicker than falling asleep. And were doing all we can to spare him pain. Thats why were here.
But he moves a bit.
Yes, so we talk to him. Hope he can hear. But its hard to say.
Samuels family were always by his side, but one evening David stepped out, leaving Peter beside Samuel. He lingered, then returned to the door.
Peter sat holding Samuels hand.
and I dont know where my mum is. She could be gone, maybe. Well, she left me, and I dont mind her for that. If she came back, Id forgive her. Wouldnt you believe it? You should And you shouldnt die, you know. Your mum is crushed about you. Your dads grand. If I had a dad like him, I wouldnt die, ever. And Ill give back these clothes. Honest, why would I wreck them? I get given loads anyway. Onlydont die. Stay alive. Trytry as hard as you can
David made a noiseit caught in his throat. Peter jumped.
He does hear. He squeezed my hand. Honest, you dont believe me?
I do, Peter, I do. I think he does hear.
David and all the family waited for the end. Their Sam, their only talented, handsome, brilliant hopenow at deaths door. His illness was diagnosed at eightmuscular dystrophy, then his heart, lungs, intestines, everything They went for treatment to London and Manchester, saw all the best consultantstheyd kept him going until eleven. Sam had become used to his illness, accepted it without complaining.
Davids wife, Sonia, shouldered most of the struggle. She spent nights with Sam in hospitals, went from clinic to clinic, and prayed. David was there too, but, being a man, was expected to be strong.
Her strength failed her only recently, when all was clearSamuel was dying. And so she was now on sedatives.
Keep talking to him, Peter. Talk. I really think it helps.
For David, listening to Peter was strange relief. Standing outside the ward while the boy told Samuel about his life, he felt some sense of calm.
you know, when this brute, Spider, broke my arm, everything went black for a moment. You dont believe me? Well, it dida blackout. I came to, looked at my arm, it was bent back here. And he just stood there, waiting to see if Id cry. I stood, shook myself off, showed him my arm, and said, What you looking at, you muppet? Finish it off, if you can. I felt sick, but I wasnt going to cry. Not for his sake.
He ran off to the matron, blubbing.
You seemy arm got better. And youll be fine too. A breaks worse than your illness. So come on, mate, time to get well.
Samuel died that night. Peter didnt notice, and no one told him. He waited for the morning rounds, went for breakfast, then popped into the next ward.
A new boy was unpacking things at the bed Peter once had.
Wheres? Peter nodded at the freshly made bed that Samuel had lain on.
No idea. No one was here, the new lad said.
Peter ran to the nurses station but she wasnt there. He dashed into the staffroom, looked for his doctor, asked someone else,
Samuel! Wheres Samuel? Has he been moved? Where?
Samuel? The young doctor frowned. Oh you see, he was very ill
He died? blurted Peter.
The doctor nodded, Yes, Im afraid so. It happens.
Peter backed toward the door, fury boiling up towards the hospital, the doctors, all the staff.
Cowards! They didnt save him!
But how could he show his anger?
In the corridor, a cleaner was washing the floor and Peter kicked over the bucket, water splashing everywhere. The cleaner howled, doctors rushed out, the nurse appeared.
Everyone was shouting at him, but he kicked open the ward door, sat on his bed and covered his ears.
A whole hospitalso many doctorsand yet theyd done nothing for his friend. Absolutely nothing.
Why Samuel, whod never even woken, became his friend, Peter couldnt say. But he was his friend. Peter had told him everythingthe story of his mum, the lady whod sung him to sleep, all his fights and scrapes.
One night, when Peter was still in the ward, he dreamt Samuel was sitting up, looking a little sad. Peter rushed to him, tried to help him up, but Samuel just wanted to sit a while. In a quiet, almost girlish voice, he started talking about himself.
Peter couldnt remember what exactly he saidbut he remembered the voice. He listened and listened, and suddenly Samuel looked at the window, stood and started climbing onto the windowsill. In his sleep, Peter was terrified hed fallso much so he woke with a start.
The black branches swayed outside, the moon shone. Samuel tossed and turned, while his exhausted father slept.
Peter crept over and sat on Samuels bed, took his thin hand and began to softly sing the only lullaby ever sung to him:
Little kitten, little soul, soft grey tail and snowy toes hush now, hush now. White paws, black ears, hush now, hush now
From that moment, Peter often spoke to Samuel in his mind. Samuel would tell him about his lifeholidays at the seaside, the grandmother and grandfather, and that his granddad was a general, of course. Samuel talked about school, his room where he had everything, and his mum who woke him each morning.
Peter imagined Samuels family life as something from TVsometimes his ideas were wildly off, as hed never actually lived in a home or seen inside a familys house.
He pictured all the beds lined up in the lounge for the whole family. Everyone had their own little wardrobe in the hallway. Thursdays were fish days. Tea in the mornings was poured from a ladle by mum.
—
Strangely, when his son died, David felt a kind of relief. Not because he didnt love his son, not because he was a bad father. On the contrary. Because Sam had already lefthed been in that weak coma so long, only the machines keeping him from pain. And now it was over.
Now there was the task of accepting the loss, of helping Sonia do the same, of carrying on.
More and more his thoughts turned to Peter.
It was clear now wasnt the time to talk about adoptionSonia wouldnt understand. How could anyone replace Samuel? Of course not. Samuels portrait surrounded by flowers sat in their living room; Sonia sat by it for hours, lighting candles, visiting church and the cemetery every day. Theyd never have children againa complicated pregnancy years before meant that.
And Peter would never have a mother or father
He wasnt like Samuelhe was coarse, rough around the edges, black-eyed. But David had heard him speakhis heart was bright, unspoiled.
Son, I went to the hospital. Peters out nowhe was kept in longer, but hes gone home.
Why did you go? Sonia asked quietly.
Me? Oh, just got Samuels records. And Peter, apparently, made a bit of a scene when he found Samuel gone. Had a go at everyone.
Foolish boy, Sonia sighed.
Quite.
Dont worry about me. Ill come to terms with things, bit by bit. Focus on work.
Alright.
Justplease, dont mention that boy anymore.
David didnt. But at the weekend, he went to the childrens home anyway. Something drew him there. Hed heard storiesno real order to the place. But they wouldnt let him see Peter and eyed him suspiciously. The headteacher was cold, despite his explanations.
But it made David only more determined. He remembered an old schoolmate, Tessa Simmonds, now working with an adoption support service.
He found her address and went to visit. They talked for ages. Tessa understood, offered sympathy, promised to find out everything about Peter. But she insisted that above all, Sonias agreement and Peters willingness were essentialnothing was possible without that.
Still, David visited social services and got their adoption list. The staff, unexpectedly, were open and supportive, promising to arrange a meeting with Peter.
He didnt tell Sonia any of thisbut he told his in-laws. His sister-in-law, Lizzie, was optimisticshed liked Peter at the hospital and offered to talk with Sonia too.
But as soon as the topic came up, Sonia cried.
He wont replace Samuel. Why cant you understand?
Nobody said he would, Sonia. But the boys an orphan and were were lost too. Hes nothing like Sam. But if youd heard him with Samuelyoud know how much Sam meant to him. If only you could see how much that boy gave mehow strong he is, what hope he spread. Please, just meet him.
Dont push me
That was the first sign of compromise.
On their first meeting, Peter was nervous: didnt meet their eyes, clenched his fingers so tight they went white. He didnt even take Davids hand when offered.
Tessa was there, but stayed back, not interfering. David saw how hard it was for him. The boy blanched. In hospital, he was so different.
David ached to hug him, to reassure him. But he just chattered about nothing to fill the silence.
Peter was so tense, so anxious that they let him leave before their time was up.
So much for being fearless!
He seems to understand, and doesnt even want to come to us, does he? David asked, worried, as they drove home.
Youve got it wrong, Tessa answered. He wants nothing more than for things to work out, for you to take him in. Hell try so hard to deserve it, but hes terrified hell fail.
Are we that scary? Sonia wondered.
Youre real parentsones hes never had. He doesnt know how to act with you, hes afraid to get it wrong. Now he only dreams about you, Tessa replied.
They decided Peter would visit them. He hadnt committed yet, and Sonia was full of doubts.
When David brought him home, they sat with tea. Peters palms were clammy, he stared at his cup, terrified to drop it or even look up at the lovely kitchen. It wasnt like anything hed imagined. It felt too tight, the adults far too close.
He was especially scared of Sonia.
When David dropped his spoon, Peter jumped and muttered, Bloody hell.
David grinned, Bloody useless, thats me! Here, Peter, why arent you eating? Get stuck in.
Peter put a bit of potato in his mouth but chewed awkwardly, sitting there, tongue-tied.
Mate, come ontake it easy!
Peter, want to see Samuels room? Sonia piped up.
Peter came aliveeyes gleamingand nodded.
He stepped into Samuels room and saw the big photograph over the bed. Samuel looked different from how hed appeared in hospitalopen, smiling, so alive and strong. It was wonderful to see his friend like that, as if Samuel was saying, Go on, Im here with you.
Hey! Sam! Hello! Peter went to the frame, touched it. He looks fatter here.
Yes, he wasnt always so thin, Sonia said, unable to finish the explanation.
You mean, right before he died? Peter asked bluntly, stroking the frame.
Shall I show you aroundhow he lived? Sonia asked, misunderstanding.
She handed Peter an album. He sat and flicked through it, Sonia, initially hesitant, eventually joined him on the sofa.
Is that him? Tiny thereis that Sam?
In spite of herself, Sonia sat beside him, answering his questions, looking at the pictures shed thought shed never be able to bear again.
Hes funny here cool brilliant Peter commented.
He was genuinely interested, asking all about Samuel.
Then, grabbing a seaside photo, Peter gasped.
Oh! The sea! He told me you went to the sea!
Sonia shook her head in sorrow.
He told you? But he couldnt talk for ages, Peter.
Peter met her eyes, realised hed gone too far with his stories, became embarrassed but stubbornly insisted,
He did, to me.
Sonia let it be. She felt herself growing peaceful, as if this innocent boy was taking away the weight of her grief. She thought, perhaps, it would be easier to heal with him around.
She took a deep breath and asked,
Peter, if we wanted to adopt you, would you agree?
He tensed, flicked through the album in silence.
Im not sure. Sam was good. Im not. I dont really know how to
Sonia impulsively hugged him tight.
Thats alright. We wouldnt bring you in to replace Sambut as his friend.
Peter stiffenedapart from fighting, itd been years since anyone touched him. He noticed Sonias scent, the warmth of her body and her hands.
Trying to escape the embrace, he kept flicking the album, but she didnt let go, gently rocking him.
Peter never cried. Not ever.
But now, a lump rose in his throat, and tears suddenly slid down his face. He sniffled.
Are you crying? Petey, are you? Oh, there there, dont cry or Ill start too! Come on, be strongyoure a man now, you hear me? Youve got to be strong! She wiped his tears.
Hed heard these words before.
The window was open. The air was clear, the curtains billowed out, the green leaves outside soothed the eyes, and from his frame, Samuels kind face watched over him.
And Peter, as if small again, quietly asked, Do you, by any chance, know a song? Little kitten, little soul, soft grey tail hush now, hush now?
I think I do. Its a lullaby, isnt it? Want me to learn it?
Peter sniffed and nodded. He wanted nothing more.
***Sonia pulled him closer, resting her cheek against his hair. Lets sing together, all three of us, she whispered.
He closed his eyes, and somewhere in the stillnessbeyond the walls, past the sorrowa gentle voice seemed to join them, warm, bright, familiar. The breeze through the window was as soft as a lullaby, carrying their voices out across the green, across everything that had gone before.
Peter leaned into her, the last shiver of loneliness melting away. He could almost feel Samuel at his side, smiling with both sadness and hope.
Hush now, hush now Sonia began in a trembling tune, and Peter, voice rough and earnest, joined in. Their voices mingled, halting, uncertain at first, but growing stronger line by line.
In that quiet room, with the summer air drifting through, the three of themone by memory, two by couragebuilt something new. A song for what was lost, and for what might still be found. A song for the brave, for the lonely, for those learning, at last, how to be held.
