We all got shunted off to Sick Bay, even Barclay. Apparently, there’s something in the Geneva Convention or the Human Rights Thingy about leaving people lying around bleeding. I was going to require some convincing.
I got shoved into the scanner thing and, as I knew she would, Nurse Hunter took one look at the printout and went out. I sighed and tried one-handed to unlace my boots. Hunter came back and helped. I sat in the stupid white gown and waited for the storm to break. They were bringing someone into the next cubicle. It struck me that directly or indirectly, I was responsible for everyone currently in Sick Bay. That had to be some sort of record. Hunter finished putting the Flexi Glove on my hand. It began to cool and gently flex and the pain retreated.
Helen bustled in. ‘OK, Max. I want to listen to your chest.’ I did a bit of breathing; in and out – the traditional way. ‘And hold it please. And out again.’ I leaned forward and she tapped my back a lot. I breathed in and out again. I coughed a bit. Then I coughed a bit more.
‘Can you lie down, please? Knees up.’
‘Is this legal?’
She just looked, so I did it.
‘I’m impressed, Helen. This is just the sort of thing real doctors do.’
She ignored me, stripping off her gloves. ‘Hunter, could you organise some tea, please?’
It got very quiet in the cubicle after Hunter had gone. Helen sighed heavily. ‘You’re really not fit to be allowed out on your own, are you?’
‘So, what’s the damage?’
‘How do you want it? From head to toe? Alphabetically? Chronologically?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Well, your feet are holding up well.’
‘Glad to hear it. I’ll be on my way then.’
‘So tell me what’s been happening here.’
‘Exactly what your scan tells you.’
‘No, I want to hear it from you and you will remain here until I do.’
So I trotted it all out again. Hunter brought in some tea. Helen handed her the chart and she disappeared again.
Helen lit a cigarette and took her usual place at the window. ‘OK, you are malnourished. You will eat at least four meals a day. You will eat portions of fruit and vegetables at every meal. You will drink plenty of fluids. You will not drink alcohol. I’m prescribing more antibiotics for the infection and you will complete the course. You are anaemic. You will eat iron-rich foods. I’ll give Mrs Mack a list. You will go to bed for eight hours a day, even if you don’t sleep. You may read, but no TV, holos, or computers. You will take one week’s sick leave during which you will not work – at all. You will take a little gentle exercise in the grounds every day. You will not ride. You will not run.’
I looked at the cubicle floor.
‘You will not argue or you will spend the next seven days here in Sick Bay. I will release you under your own recognisance if you agree to the above. Either way, Max, you will comply.’
‘Bloody hell, I knew it. You’re Borg, aren’t you?’
Silence.
‘OK. Sleep, read, eat, shit, got it.’
‘Are you going to tell him?’
And that, as they say, was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. I honestly didn’t know. ‘Probably not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want to. Because it’s my problem. Because either it will hurt him badly, or he won’t care at all, which will hurt me. Because I don’t want to add to his total of dead children. Choose any or all.’
‘I understand your motives, but he has a right to know.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘How would you feel if it was the other way around?’
‘He need never know.’
‘Losing a child is nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘I only knew I was pregnant for about twenty minutes and he never knew at all. I don’t think it qualifies.’ Even to me that sounded hollow.
‘What if he finds out?’
‘How can he?’ I looked at her hard.
‘Think this over very carefully, Max. It’s not just you who’s involved here.’
She stood up and then hesitated. I waited. She was hopeless at this sort of thing. Without looking at me, she said awkwardly, ‘Thanks for bringing him back.’
‘You’re welcome, Helen,’
She changed the subject. ‘Your clothes are here. We’ll wash them if you like and you can go back in a dressing gown.’
‘No thanks. This is literally all I have in the world.’
‘Mrs Partridge and I saved some of your stuff. She’ll be along to see you later. So what’s it to be; your custody or mine?’
‘Mine,’ I said, and reached for my clothes.
Back in my old room I put the Horse on the empty shelf and the photo next to the bed. I was home again. I was back where I belonged. Around me I could hear St Mary’s getting on with the day. Doors opened and closed; people called out to each other. The floorboards in my room creaked as the radiator warmed up. I sniffed – they’d had curry for lunch. This time last week, being back at St Mary’s was all I had wanted. A lot had happened in the last week. Why wasn’t I happier?