Goodnight Mister Tom (25 page)

‘Nurse,’ said the doctor, ignoring him. ‘Take him to Children’s.’

Tom stood up with Will still in his arms.

‘Dogs aren’t allowed,’ said the nurse, glancing down at Sammy who stood alertly by Tom’s side.

‘It’s all right,’ piped up the warden. ‘I’ll look after him.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Tom to the nurse.

‘I’m afraid that’s not allowed,’ she said.

‘I ent leavin’ the boy with a load of strangers.’

She gave a sigh.

‘You can come as far as the Ward but no further. You’ll have me for the high jump, you will.’ Tom observed her briefly. Here was this well-spoken skimp of a girl telling him what to do.

Will looked terrified when he handed him over to her.

‘I’ll take care of him,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll ask if you can see him in the morning.’

‘I’m stayin’ ’ere, Will,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in that big hallway where we was sittin’ jest now. I won’t be far away, boy.’

He watched her walk away with Will in her arms and then headed back towards the lobby.

‘I gave the receptionist the details,’ said the warden. ‘I have to make a police report nah.’

‘Where’s the baby?’ asked Tom.

‘One of the nurses took her orf to the morgue.’

He glanced at Tom who stood looking very stunned.

‘Wot you need is a nice strong cuppa char. A mate o’ mine’s got a post just rahnd the corner from ’ere. Comin’?’

Tom shook his head.

‘I promised the boy I’d stay here.’

‘’Ere, luv,’ he yelled at the bespectacled receptionist. She blinked in amazement at his familiarity. ‘We’re just going round to Alf’s. If there’s any changes wiv the boy let them know where Mr Oakley is.’ He smiled at Tom. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right. You only need stay for a few minutes.’

They crossed the hospital courtyard and out through the large gateway. Just outside the railings on the corner was a small hut with walls made of sandbags and a corrugated tin roof. A sign with ‘Warden’s Post’ written on it hung above it. Inside sat a balding middle-aged man with a thick black greying moustache.

‘’Allo, Sid!’ he exclaimed when he saw the Deptford warden. “Wot brings you ’ere. Not a bomb casualty, that’s for certain,’ and they chuckled. “Itler keeps threatenin’ to devastate us, don’t he, Sid,’ he continued. ‘But he can’t git near us. Not wiv ahr boys up there to protect us,’ he said, waving a patriotic finger up at the roof of the tiny hut.

Tom remembered David Hartridge. Was it only yesterday that the telegram had arrived? It seemed like a month had passed since then. He had been reported missing, believed dead. Poor Annie.

‘Come in and warm yerselves,’ said Alf. ‘I’ll restew me brew.’

Inside the hut was a makeshift brazier made out of a bucket with holes in it. The bucket had some kind of coke burning in it. It was stifling hot inside the hut. Tom squatted down on a tin drum while Sammy squeezed in between his legs.

‘You ain’t from rahnd ’ere,’ commented Alf.

‘No,’ said Tom. ‘No, I ent.’ And so the story of Will’s discovery was told yet again.

‘Wot you goin’ to do nah?’ asked Sid.

‘Take him back,’ remarked Tom. ‘To Little Weirwold.’

‘Don’t think you can do that. I think they’ll have to find ’is muvver first. Probably prison for her.’

‘And Will?’ asked Tom.

‘Ome. Children’s ’Ome, I s’pose.’

‘I’m takin’ him back,’ said Tom firmly.

The warden glanced at Alf. They knew better. Tom drank his tea and returned to the hospital. He tied Sammy to a railing at the side, opposite some tiny stone steps.

‘I’ll come and visit you soon, boy,’ he reassured him soothingly. ‘It’s only temporary, like.’

It was dawn by the time he had sat down in the lobby. Three ambulances had driven up with casualties and he had given the ambulance men and nurses a hand. A communal shelter had collapsed on fifty men, women and children. Tom helped load and unload the stretchers.

By the afternoon there was still no word of Will and no answer to his repeated questioning. He continued to sit patiently in the lobby.

At last a fair-haired nurse came up to him.

‘Are you Mr Tom?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, standing abruptly. ‘How is he? Can I see him?’

‘You’re not a relative, are you?’

‘No, but I’m pretty near, the boy lived with me, like. He ent got no father and his mother’s deserted him.’

‘A psychiatrist has been to see him, Mr Tom. He’s from a special Children’s Home and he’s agreed that it’s all right for you to see him.’

‘Sichitrus? ’Ow d’you mean?’

‘A man who cares for sick minds.’

‘Oh yes. I read about them somewhere,’ and he grunted. ‘Nothin’ sick about his mind, though.’

‘He’s under deep psychological shock,’ said the nurse. ‘He keeps suddenly screaming out for no apparent reason. We’ve had to keep sedating him.’

‘Sedatin’ him?’

‘Putting him to sleep.’

‘Why?’

‘To stop him from screaming.’

‘Mebbe he needs to.’

‘That’s as may be, Mr Tom, but we have to consider the other children in the ward.’

Tom nodded. The sooner Will could get out into some wide open fields the better.

‘When can I see him?’

‘Now. Follow me.’

They passed through the maze of corridors. Since Tom had helped with the emergency he had begun to learn his way around. Two nurses nodded and smiled to him. They thought he was a volunteer helper.

The fair-haired nurse pushed aside the swing doors into the Children’s Ward. Tom strode in and looked around. She pointed to a bed on his left. The first one by the door. Accessible. Easy to get to in an emergency, although why he felt that was important, he had no idea.

Will was propped up by pillows. His hair had been shorn off completely revealing an array of multi-coloured cuts and bruises around his bald skull. He was well-scrubbed and smelt strongly of disinfectant. Sitting in a voluminous white hospital nightshirt, he appeared quite shrunken.

‘Didn’t recognize you with yer army cut,’ said Tom.

Will smiled weakly. His teeth were still the same yellowy brown colour.

‘How you feelin’?’

‘Stiff.’

His lips were pale and cracked and it was obviously an effort to speak.

‘I gits nightmares,’ he whispered. ‘And when I wakes up they stick a needle in me and then I can’t move or speak.’ He fell back exhausted on to the pillows. ‘How long does I have to stay here?’ he croaked.

‘Not long, I shouldn’t think. You look well patched up.’ He felt Will’s thin fingers. They were cold. He gave them a blow and rubbed them between his hands. Picking up his haversack from the floor he slung it on to the bed. ‘Got a new pair of gloves fer them hands,’ he said. ‘Had a feelin’ you might be needin’ them. You’ll has to put on a bit more flesh though, else they’ll slide off.’

‘Where’s Sammy?’

‘Outside. Regulations. Not allowed in. Case he brings in germs, I s’pose.’ He glanced around the ward. ‘Though I reckon there’s more germs in this here hospital than most places,’ and he gave a gruff laugh.

Will leaned awkwardly on one elbow.

‘This bloke came to see me.’

‘Oh yes. Doctor, was ’e?’

‘I dunno. He said he was from a home and that I’d be goin’ there and I’d get better there.’ He clutched at Tom’s arm.

‘Can’t I come back with you?’

‘Course you can. Don’t know the law side, mind, but we’ll git round it some how.’

‘Mr Tom,’ interrupted the fair-haired nurse from behind him. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now.’

Will hung tightly to Tom’s sleeve.

‘Don’t go yet!’ he urged. ‘Stay a bit more.’

Tom sat closer to him on the bed.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Tom,’ said the nurse nervously. ‘But you must go now.’

‘The boy would like me to stay for a bit,’ he replied calmly.

‘I’m sorry, it’s against regulations.’

‘Whose regulations?’ Tom said turning to face her.

‘Now come on, Mr Tom, let’s not have any trouble.’

‘What’s going on, Nurse,’ boomed a loud noise at the end of the ward.

‘Nothing, Sister,’ said the nurse shakily.

The Sister, a middle-aged woman with a loud step walked firmly down the ward towards them.

‘Time to go!’ she said, in a no-nonsense manner.

Tom stood up and leaned over Will’s bed.

‘Afraid I’ll has to go but I’ll be in the hallway and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Will clung on to his arm with both hands now. He could barely sound the words. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t go!’

‘Please leave, sir,’ said the Sister sharply. ‘You’re only upsetting the boy.’

‘I think it’s your regulations what’s upsettin’ him, ma’am.’

He turned to Will.

‘Tomorrow’ll come awful quick,’ he added comfortingly.

The Sister stepped forward and firmly wrenched away Will’s hands from Tom’s arm.

‘Now go, sir! Immediately!’

Tom reluctantly began to depart. Will pushed himself up and tried to get out of bed.

‘Stay where you are. There’s a good boy,’ sing-songed the fair-haired nurse.

Will began to whimper and make grunting noises.

‘Go!’ shouted the Sister. ‘Nurse! Sedation!’

Tom walked dejectedly through the swing doors and listened helplessly to Will’s cries.

He stood for a moment and then turned to look in through the window. The two nurses were holding Will face down. Another nurse joined them and gave him an injection in his bottom. A few seconds later Will sank helplessly into the bed and the nurses let go of him.

‘Mr Tom, is it?’ said a quietly-spoken voice behind him. Tom jumped and turned sharply. A man in his thirties wearing a grey suit had been standing behind him. He must have a soft step, thought Tom who had heard no movement. The man was going bald and the hair that remained was of a thin texture. His skin was as white and shiny as that of a cloistered nun. He gave Tom a bland smile and held out his hand.

‘I’m Mr Stelton,’ he half-whispered. ‘I expect William has told you about me.’

Tom nodded.

The man observed Tom in a seemingly detached manner and then looked quickly away to gaze at a wall in the corridor. Neither of them spoke, and Tom had a feeling that the man had no intention of breaking the silence. He was leaving that to Tom. Tom was irritated by this, but he wanted to find out about Will.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He told me you want to put him in an home.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Stelton quietly. ‘Did he?’ and he gave another bland smile and gazed back at much the same place.

‘Wall interestin’, is it?’ inquired Tom.

‘You see yourself as a wall, do you?’ he commented, still staring at it.

‘Stop shilly-shallying and tell me about the boy.’

He turned and faced Tom briefly.

‘Of course,’ he said.

They found a few chairs in a corner and sat down. Tom couldn’t help observing the quiet manner in which Mr Stelton walked. It was a slow lope and his toes pointed slightly inwards. He sat next to Tom with his knees together and rubbed the tops of his thighs gently up and down as he spoke.

‘I believe in a more modern approach, Mr Tom,’ he said. ‘I don’t use drugs.’

‘Oakley,’ corrected Tom. ‘Mister Tom’s the boy’s name for me.’

‘Ah,’ he said and gave a significant nod. ‘You don’t wish me to call you by the boy’s own name.’

‘About those drugs,’ interrupted Tom, before Mr Stelton could gaze into space again. ‘I don’t use them either.’

‘Of course not,’ and he gave another bland smile.

Tom wondered why Mr Stelton spoke in such a subdued tone. Was he afraid of disturbing someone?

‘I deal with disturbed children,’ he went on quietly. ‘And I work in conjunction with a home. There, children are well cared for and are given lots of attention. We feel…’

‘We?’ inquired Tom.

‘Myself and the head of the school.’

‘Thought you said it were a home.’

‘It’s also a school. We feel,’ he continued, ‘that he would benefit from treatment there.’

‘What sort of treatment?’

‘Psychiatric treatment. Analysis. We want to encourage him to talk about his background and find out why he is the way he is.’

‘Thought that’s pretty obvious,’ said Tom. ‘The boy ent had a lot of lovin’!’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Stelton quietly.

Not another silence, thought Tom. The idea of Will spending time talking to a man who semi-spoke, semi-walked and gazed in the distance whenever one made eye-to-eye contact did not appeal to Tom. As far as he was concerned, it would be enough to drive the sanest person mad.

‘I’d like him back with me,’ said Tom firmly.

‘Ah,’ sighed Mr Stelton, taking several mental notes.

‘And you can ah till the cows come home. That’s what I want and that’s what the boy wants.’

This was followed by another silence while Mr Stelton rubbed his thighs gently up and down.

‘You’re not a relative,’ he softly intoned.

‘No,’ answered Tom. ‘But…’ He stopped.

‘Yes?’ said Mr Stelton looking vaguely interested for the first time.

‘I’m fond of the boy.’

‘You’re fond of the boy,’ and he gave a nod and turned to gaze away from Tom’s penetrating green eyes.

‘You could visit me,’ suggested Mr Stelton who was back to staring at the wall. ‘And William, while he’s at the home. I’m sure if you are…’ he paused, ‘if you mean what you say you’ll want the best for him. The staff at the home are younger than you and well trained.’ He stood up. ‘We’re picking him up the day after tomorrow. Monday. If you would like to come with us you are welcome. We’re not like a hospital. We encourage visitors. So long as they don’t disturb the children,’ he added.

He gave Tom another neutral smile, shook hands and padded quietly away down the corridor.

Tom began to walk dejectedly towards the lobby.

‘Give us a hand, will you?’ asked one of the nurses as he passed her.

A large elderly man with a mis-shapen leg needed to be lifted onto a stretcher which was fixed to a trolley. He helped lift him.

‘You Red Cross people are marvellous!’ she said, having recognized him as a helper from the shelter casualty emergency. ‘Are you here tonight as well?’ Tom nodded. Why not, he thought. It would stop him from thinking about Will. He ran down the corridor to give a hand with some newly arrived casualties and when at last the lobby was reasonably quiet, he stepped outside for some fresh air and paid a short visit to the railing where Sammy was attached. He untied him and they sat on the stone steps.