After making a phone call, the woman at the information desk informed her that John Zetland was in the “Acute Intensive Care Unit,” which could be found by “following the blue line” running along the corridor wall. Marion followed the mysterious line upstairs and across floors (ignoring orange, green, and yellow lines), as carefully as Hansel and Gretel following bread crumbs through the forest. When she finally reached John’s ward, the door was locked shut and she had to press an intercom buzzer to be admitted. While waiting, her chest filled with an awful tingling sensation as she dreaded the news she was about to be told.
A male nurse came to fetch her, and she was taken to another small room to speak to a doctor. The doctor was Indian and very handsome. He sat leaning forwards with his forearms resting on his knees and an earnest expression on his flawless brown face. He referred to John by his first name and spoke about him with as much compassion as he might about his own brother. He told her that John had broken his hip while trying to move the tree, and the shock had given him a heart attack. But he was alive and it was a miracle that he had survived the operation. He said that her brother was a fighter, and that he was very lucky, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Before she was allowed to see John, she had to scrub her hands very carefully and put on a flimsy plastic apron. When she found him, he was wearing an oxygen mask and his eyes were closed. He looked pale and crumpled like an old shirt in need of pressing. She took hold of his hand and it felt very cold.
“Oh, John, I am so glad to see you, love! You won’t believe what it’s been like. I’ve been worried to death about you.”
John opened his eyes and looked at her warily as if he didn’t know who she was. The nurse gave him a little drink of water from a paper cup.
“Your husband is doing great, but he needs to rest,” said a thin nurse with spiky blond hair.
“He’s my brother, not my husband,” said Marion.
“Maybe if you come back in an hour or so, he’ll be able to chat with you.”
Marion had to scrub her hands and put on a fresh apron each time she went into the intensive care unit, then take it off again when she came out. When she returned to the ward later, John was sitting up in bed drinking tea.
“How are you feeling, love? I’ve been beside myself with worry.”
“Not so good—but they’re looking after me all right.”
“Well, that’s something. The nurses seem nice.”
“Marion, how long have I been here?”
“Since yesterday morning.”
He waited for a nurse to take away the tea things before beckoning her towards him.
His lips began to move, but his voice was so weak, she was unable to understand what he was trying to tell her.
“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t hear that.”
She leaned right over him. He smelled of disinfectant with a hint of bad breath.
“And the girls, are they all right?” As he spoke, a small amount of spittle dripped from his lips onto his chin. She felt she ought to wipe it away but could not bring herself to do so.
“What do you mean?”
“In the cellar.”
It shocked Marion to hear him mention them in public.
“Have you checked on them? They’ll need food and water.”
“But I haven’t been home.”
“Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve been here all the time, of course. Waiting for news about you.”
“But they can’t take care of themselves. They can’t move around.”
“Oh my goodness—John.” She leaned away from her brother.
What did he mean, they couldn’t move around? There was a clatter of metal trays as food was being served to the patients. The smell of mashed potatoes and boiled meat turned her stomach.
Then it occurred to her, they couldn’t do anything because he must keep them tied up. And without him, they couldn’t even feed themselves. An awful sick feeling surged through her body as suddenly the idea of those women trapped in the cellar of their home became very real to her. She glanced around the ward; a man and a teenage son were sitting next to the bed of an old woman. The woman’s face was so bloated, it hardly appeared human. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she seemed close to death. Her lifeless gaze fell on Marion. The man was holding the woman’s hand, while the boy lounged back in his chair, checking his mobile phone.
“You have to go home now, Marion.”
“I came in the ambulance with you, and I don’t have any money to get back.”
“Call Judith up and ask her to take you home. It’s about time she did someone else a favor.”
“But I don’t like bothering her. Anyway, I want to stay here with you,” Marion pleaded. The thought of going back to the house alone, to deal with them, made her bones cold with dread.
Straining to sit upright, John gripped the steel handles attached to the side of the bed, but he could hardly move more than a few inches. Exhausted by the effort, he slumped back into the pillow and lay there struggling to regain his breath.
“I could be in here for weeks and you can’t stay here all the time. You have to go home and make sure they get food and water.”
She turned her head away, unable to look at him.
“What do you mean? I can’t go down there—you told me I should never ever—”
“Marion,” he interrupted, “listen to me, you have to or they’ll be done for.”
“Oh God, John, please don’t make me. Please.” She put her hands over her face, unable to bear the look in his eyes.
“I need you to do this for me.”
She remembered her promise, that she would do anything to make her brother happy, just so long as he lived.
“A person can only last for three days without water. Three days at the most.” John shook his head. “It will be your fault, Marion. And there’s a little one now.”
“What?”
“One of the girls, Alla—she was expecting, the child arrived just before I came in here.”
Marion gasped. So it was true. She hadn’t imagined the cries after all. At that moment a nurse dressed in a strawberry-colored uniform came towards them, humming along with a tune on the radio. She looked so bright and happy. How could one be so cheerful surrounded by all this sickness and fear? wondered Marion.
“Haven’t you got your mobile?”
“I left it at home.”
“Then go to the nurses’ desk,” he whispered. “Ask them if they can let you use the phone to call Judith. Tell them the situation, Marion. They are used to this sort of thing.”
“I can’t phone Judith. She will be terribly angry about the tree. After all, she warned us—”
“Tell her we’ll buy her a new wall, and a new bloody house too if she wants it.”
“Could you give us a minute, Marion?” said the nurse. “I need to check John’s dressing.” Then she whisked the curtains around John’s bed.
Another nurse found Judith’s number in the phone book. She reluctantly agreed to come to the hospital after a lot of tearful begging from Marion. Marion then had to wait outside in the cold for nearly forty-five minutes before Judith’s yellow Citro?n appeared. Judith must have seen the damaged wall, yet couldn’t really get angry because of John being ill. Storing up her fury for a more suitable occasion, she drove Marion home in silence. The only time she opened her mouth was to scream “Fucking arsehole” at another driver who pulled out suddenly in front of her.
? ? ?
IT WAS AFTER 9 p.m. by the time Marion got back to the house.
She sat down in the kitchen for a very long time trying to steel herself for what she must do. Even looking at the cellar door made her sick with fear.