Can I Wait For You?
You know, if anyones road to happiness really went through their stomach, it was John Wilkinson’s and not just his, to be fair especially with his poor gut ravaged by ulcers.
John spent his days as manager in an office that seemed too tiny for such a huge man, always done up in a smart suit and a fresh, perfectly pressed shirt, courtesy of the dry cleaner, naturally, since he lived alone. He ran things, sweated in his wool blazer, tugged at a belt that sliced his belly, fiddled with his tie, barked orders, banged his fists on the desk, went crimson, scratched his chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard, signed endless papers, made calls, mumbled down the phone, listened, mumbled again, then found himself standing awkwardly on the offices grubby carpet in front of his own boss, and, unsurprisingly, ended most days fighting off another bout of stomach pain.
Trying to keep himself together, every six months John would check himself into the local hospital for a little maintenance, where hed gulp down all sorts of pills, endure dreadful tubes for the doctors to have a good giggle at his insides, then back to more pills, more grimacing, more grunt work. In hospital, he’d only eat bland, safe food. But evenings were the best, when friends dropped by for tea and long, philosophical chats about life and the universe, and hed sneak chocolates to the pretty nurses, who would blush and shy away, mortified by the attention.
Go on, take it! Dont tell me you dont like a bit of chocolate! John would protest, slightly wounded. Its not for anything odd I just like giving ladies a treat.
Eventually the nurses would give in, and later theyd sit together over a cuppa in their little staff room, chatting about love and poor, lonely John, wishing the best for him and feeling sorry he had no one.
Johns other bit of entertainment was bickering with the ward doctor Anna Fletcher who had a knack for catching John having a sneaky cigarette on the balcony.
You again?! How many times must I tell you, no smoking! Mr Wilkinson, Ill see you discharged tomorrow and you wont be coming back! Anna, tiny compared to Johns lumbering bulk, would scold, fists clenched and her stern jaw jutted, peering up at him with those sharp grey-green eyes.
Oh, give over, Dr Fletcher! I see you out here having a puff as well, so why cant I? Honestly, Id go outside if it wasnt chucking it down! Do you really want me to stand in the rain? John would bite back, taking a couple last drags and stubbing out his cigarette in a battered baked bean tin, full of butts, before striding off in his oversized, cherry red towelling robe a present from his sister, Lucy.
Anna might stand her ground, refusing to budge, so John would have to squeeze past her, just catching a whiff bleach, laundry powder, a waft of clean and a faint floral perfume.
This isnt a holiday camp, you know! Anna would grumble from behind as he left. Tomorrow youre out!
And shed stomp off, not quite sure why John got under her skin the way he did. Before John was admitted, shed had more than enough on her mind, things dark and murky, but now there was him too. John Wilkinson.
Let me through, will you? Ive got treatments to do! Go poison yourself if you must, you grumpy old dragon,” John would mutter, shuffling past. Once his big foot even clipped Annas own, who drew her blue rubber croc back, tucking it under. Sorry, John would mumble, sheepish.
Its nothing. Youll be done with your treatments soon, see if I care! Anna would spit out and storm off. Yet later, shed sneak onto the same balcony for a smoke of her own she could go outside, but it really was bucketing down.
Time to move on, start fresh, breathe again! Anna always pledged at such moments, flicking ash into the tin. What, you think I cant do it? shed say darkly to the poster of young doctors in white hats on the staffroom wall. Youre wrong. Ill sort my life. Ill be happy, Ill … There shed sigh, perch on an old rusty stool someone had nicked from the basement, and mentally go through her list of patients: Got to keep an eye on Collins, and Walkers not well lovely old gent, but its not looking good … and poor old Nicholson, brought in again yesterday. So shed stay another year or two, at least til her patients had seen things through. And until her sister, Emily, came home. But the patients never ran out, always another face, and out on the high street, theyd nod to Anna, thank or ignore her, some avoiding her eyes usually the families whod hoped for a miracle that never came.
Anna didnt begrudge them she was used to it, after all, she wasnt a box of sweets to be liked by all. Still, it stung a bit sometimes …
Finishing her smoke, shed fix her hair in the little staff mirror short, ashy-blonde, longer on one side in that trendy, uneven style, which either highlighted her delicate features and bright blue eyes or, she worried, made her look like a boy. She wore checked flannel shirts, jeans, a battered biker jacket, trainers, and her black beanie always the same one.
Get yourself a proper hat, Anna, they make lovely ones now! said Mrs Jones the warden, a plump, kindly storybook granny type. Honestly, you look like youre from a crime drama!
No, Mrs Jones. Its Emilys hat, Anna would reply shortly, stuffing it in her pocket by habit.
Oh, love, at least put it on a shelf to dry! Youll ruin it in your pocket, Mrs Jones would fuss, smoothing out the hat before laying it aside, and Anna would vanish, ghosting down corridors in her pale blue crocs.
God bless, love. Itll all work out, Mrs Jones would murmur after her, crossing herself and Annas hat, before returning to her crossword book.
Now, at the end of a long shift, Anna pulled on her beanie, zipped her jacket and headed for the door.
Anna, want a lift? said Dennis Powell, the local Don Juan, his hands lingering on her shoulders.
Give it a rest, Powell. Ill get home fine. Besides, theres your Gal the new girl from X-ray take her instead. See you, Ollie! she called to another doctor, grabbed her rucksack and jogged for the bus.
She needed to be home by ten, since Emily didnt have a key to the new flat Anna had changed the locks a month ago after a break-in. She worried her sister would turn up, sit outside and then disappear, never knowing Emily had even been there.
Rushing out, Anna shouldered her bag, splashed straight into a puddle in the dark trainers and socks soaked through.
Oh, for goodness sake … she muttered, seeing her bus just pulling away. With a sigh, she started walking, the cheerful cat-adorned travelcard cover (Emilys Easter present from WHSmith, lovingly wrapped in tissue) clutched in her pocket.
Back on your own, Dennis? Mrs Jones grinned as she passed him. Our Annas not an easy catch. You ought to find someone simpler.
What is this, Mrs Jones, knowing everyones business? Maybe my intentions are noble! Maybe Im in love, so what then?! Dennis grumbled, struggling to get his big arm into his coat blasted old injury.
Honestly! he cursed, just as Anna saw her bus leave. They all stick their noses in!
Calm down, Dennis. Annas been here ages, back from when Emily lived with her. Youll never understand her lets get your arm sorted. There! Now off you go, its late! Mrs Jones smoothed his collar, patted his shoulder. No private life, thats your problem!
Dennis shrugged, started to say something, then just waved it off and hurried to try to catch Anna at the stop but missed her. Oh well. He might as well take Gal instead.
Unlike the others, Mrs Jones wasnt in any rush home, happy to tinker about or join the girls for a chat over tea in the cramped, poky staffroom with its blue polka-dot curtains and bright hospital lights. Tonight Tamara and Linda were on duty, lazily picking over leftovers in their lunchboxes, yawning and staring at the clock.
Enjoy! Mrs Jones nodded, then picked back up their earlier thread. Dennis fairly moons about after Anna, you know. Shaved off his beard after she mentioned not liking them, now looks like a schoolboy! He brought her a chocolate, I saw it, but Anna turned it down. Shes too proud. Wouldve made a nice pair, though.
Linda closed her lunchbox, set out cups for tea and poured briskly, shrugging. Beards or none, Annas lost interest a long time ago. She doesnt really live, just waits … either lost in paperwork or checking her phone, then off for a smoke and a row with John. Hes a real charmer, isnt he? Flirts with all the young nurses, acts like he owns the place just because hes in a private room. Winds Anna up, too, and she lets it! Youd think he could have gone to a swanky clinic with all his money, but no, always here. Drink your tea, Mrs Jones …
I reckon he keeps coming back because of Anna, piped Tamara, sipping her tea.
Oh, come on! Mrs Jones waved her off.
I do! I can always tell these things, Tamara insisted, wincing slightly with a headache.
I mean, why wouldnt he fall for Anna? Shes lovely and clever and a brilliant doctor. But Annas not interested, cant let go, cant move on … My nan was like that during the war, waited for her husband who never came back. No grave, no closure. People asked her to marry again, to find love, but she couldnt. Broken heart … And Emily, bless her, broke everyones heart even Annas.
A cough in the corridor silenced them; Tamara checked but saw no one, shutting the door tight.
So whats the story with her sister? I missed it, on maternity, Tamara asked, rubbing her eyes.
Anna and Emily came here together after their parents died, Mrs Jones explained. Emilys ten years younger, if not more. Anna took the job at the hospital, rented a flat and Emily finished school a strange girl, nervous. She used to come by now and then, bright purple hair, nose ring, stood out a mile.
The others nodded you didnt forget Emily easily.
Long story short, Tamara, you went off to have your Leo, and Emily, instead of going to uni, vanished. Shed disappear before too, stress from losing their parents, but this time wasnt like the others. Anna searched everywhere clubs, hostels, police phoned, found her in a bad spot. Almost sectioned, but just laughed it off. Then, gone for good. Posters everywhere. No sign. After that, Anna just kind of dropped out of life.
Some people just wander, only think of themselves, dont care for family, murmured Linda. We had a boy next door go off, ended up begging for money maybe it was him, maybe not, but you send money rather than carry guilt … Anna should leave …
But she cant, can she? Rushes home every night in case Emily comes back! She changed the locks after the break-in, then worries Emily wont know, wont get in Could live closer to work, move on, but she cant let it go.”
They sat quietly, wrappers rustling.
Its family. She feels responsible, especially for her late parents sake. Terrible, really, Tamara drew out at last. Another cough in the hall, a distant door bang. The staffroom fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.
John Wilkinson lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
Its like pinning a butterfly. Anna ought to be out there, young and full of life, but shes anchored herself, chained down, stuck … he thought, recalling Annas huge, wounded eyes, her sharp cropped hair, her slight, fragile figure, her cold hands prodding his stomach, almost like she wanted it to hurt a bit. There was nothing womanising in his concern for her he just wanted to keep her safe from the world, for reasons he didnt quite understand.
And she smokes too much, far too much! he concluded.
That night John barely slept, ashamed of their spat on the balcony and his own childish taunts. Everything seemed off.
He was so used to being above it all offering a chocolate condescendingly, expecting thanks for spending a tenner here or there, always wanting the best, being waited on, expecting respect.
Sure, he knew private patients were a breed apart; Anna must know it too, yet she just gave him cold hands and stern glares.
John sat up, feet on the floor, groping for his slippers, then stood up.
Next door someone was groaning. John scratched his chin, then opened his door a crack and peered out, but not a nurse to be seen, so he shuffled into the next room another single elite room.
Um, sorry, can I come in? he called in, met by a hot, musty smell. Is this a bad time?
Standing awkwardly by the door, he heard the groaning again and decided to go in.
Shall I fetch a doctor? Whats wrong? Let me get the lights and air in here … he muttered, uncertainly.
People usually took care of John fluffed his pillows, brought him tea with extra sugar, adjusted the curtains, fetched his coat, everything.
Hed forgotten how to look after others since his parents died. Even the women whod lived with him here and there: he paid, they cared, and he basked in it.
John fumbled for the lamp.
Blue light washed over faded curtains, a cluttered table with a cold dinner, a dressing gown discarded on the floor. The patient on the bed was old and frail, his sunken face like a mask.
Water, please, over there … croaked the man, mouth gummy and toothless.
John fetched the glass empty so headed out to fill it and brought it back.
The old man struggled up to sit.
Here you are. Look, maybe I should call someone youre in a bad way, moaning so loud we all heard you … John said, flicking the light switch.
No, dont. Let the nurses sleep. I try to manage but … The man waved weakly, hands falling to his bony knees with a thud. Thank you. Forgive the trouble. My stomachs killing me, worse every day … Payback for a good youth, I suppose! What a time that was, eh? He grinned, no joy in it.
Oh, everyone has the time of their life when theyre young, John said, remembering wild times of his own in the 90s, suddenly wary of the feeling of footsteps behind him on a dark street. Let me open your window, its stuffy in here.
Sure. The old man half shrugged. But you know, its not true that everyones young years are happy. It looks that way, but … He winced, curled up sideways, bent over in pain, moaning like a wounded child.
John had never heard suffering like that before.
Ill fetch someone theyll help, thats what private cares for! John blurted, unable to bear these cries, ready to bolt for help.
Private, ha! the patient grinned. My son paid to put me in here, said Id be less bother for the others. Scraped together the money and left me. All the comforts, Dad, he said. Ill drop by when they discharge you. So I wait …
Thats rotten, your Mike, abandoning you! John whispered, fists clenched. He understood all too well.
Its life. Young people live, old ones … end. No sense perpetually looking after someone, you need a life yourself. You had your fun, eh? Good for you. The man managed a smile. Annas not here, is she? Gone home to wait for Emily … poor love …
Anyway … enough about me, or Anna. Ill find someone. You look dreadful! John said, suddenly terrified the old man whose name he didnt even know might die right here, with John as his last companion. It was a chilling thought.
Wandering the half-lit corridor, John found Tamara napping on the staffroom sofa, and lightly shook her shoulder.
Are you alright? she started, recognising John hed tried to charm her with chocolates before too.
Not me next door. Hes in a really bad way, John said, jerking his thumb at the private rooms.
Thank you. Please go back to your room, Tamara said briskly, darting off. Soon doors banged, and the tall, dishevelled duty doctor sprinted past.
John hung about, worried. Through the window, the city sparkled beneath the drizzle. He craved a hot, sweet cup of tea and a cinnamon bun just as his grandmother always made after his star astronomy club when he was a lad. Shed sit him down in her little kitchen and say, You must be starving, love, all that stargazing! And set a sticky bun and Grandpas old mug, heavy and painted with horses, in front of him. John deserved it. Hed been studying planets, after all.
He wished he could go back to that kitchen with its sticky tablecloth, plant on the windowsill, row of wooden spoons, and a magazine picture of a white sailing ship on the turquoise sea that Gran loved.
He finally dozed off just before dawn, sleep choppy and restless, with raised voices echoing beyond the walls.
By morning, the adjoining room was already being scrubbed, ready for a new arrival.
What happened to the old chap? My neighbour? John asked Tamara as she scrubbbed the floor, but she just shrugged. John understood. His stomach twisted; hed been the last person to speak to that man they hadnt even exchanged names. It was a miserable thought. Its always too late. No second tickets, only one-way.
He spun round to return to his room and ran straight into Anna Fletcher.
There she was, tiny as ever, hugging herself and sobbing quietly.
I should have checked in yesterday, but I was in a rush, you see? Had to be home by ten And he, Uncle Colin maybe he was waiting. I didnt even say goodbye … Anna sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, hair in that lopsided crop.
John suddenly wanted to scoop her up, hug her to his chest and comfort her. Offer her tea, and a warm bun, anything to chase away her pain.
“He doesnt mind,” John said gently. “He said you should live your own life. And…” He reached to console her but thought better of it.
Anna looked up at him, mascara streaking her huge blue eyes, chin trembling. Without a word, she barrelled past, accidentally elbowing Dennis and bolted outside, clutching a pack of cigarettes, out of breath. Stumbling around in the cold, she fumbled for her lighter, cursing softly.
Thats when John appeared, striking a match under her nose.
He stood there, stubborn, as Annas cigarette shook in her hand.
Weve been through this, she started, voice sharp and weary. You shouldnt be here. This balcony is staff only. What are we supposed to do install a lock? Bars?
Im not bothering you just lending a light. Ive every right to be here, John replied, carefully calm.
Really? And whys that?
Because your legal team didnt think up a sign for here. So unless you stick one up, Im within my rights. Sorry, but Ill stand here too. He leaned against the railings, opening his robe wide far too warm.
Look its snowing. When did that happen? John rambled, Nice little square out here. Someones made a snowman on that bench
Anna stood, listening to him babble, her cigarette already cold. She tossed it away.
Ive known him since Emily left since I started living alone. Colin used to play the violin in the park every Sunday. In his thick old scarf and hat always the hat.
Violin? Him? Wow. I pictured a saxophone John mused, offering her his own cigarette, which she wrinkled her nose at.
Scarf, yes. Chunky, itchy. Emily would have liked it … But shes gone. Colin was the last to see her. And now hes gone too, and Im still here.
Anna started to say more but Dennis barged in, calling her for rounds.
Whys the patient outside?! he yelped, but Anna dragged him off, leaving John on the balcony, watching the melting snowman collapse under its own weight.
Then, someone locked the balcony door, and there was John Wilkinson, alone in his red robe and stripy pyjamas, left outside as the world moved on…
