Charlie, are you out of your mind? You think Im inviting you to live with me for a few quid? Sorry, love, thats all there is.
Charlie stared out of the dustcovered windows of his hospital wing, the view opening onto the hospitals inner courtyard. It was a tidy little green with kiosks and flowerbeds, but hardly anyone lingered there.
Winter had settled over the town, and the patients rarely ventured out for walks. Charlie sat alone in his bay. A week earlier his neighbour, Tommy Harper, had been discharged and gone home, leaving Charlie feeling oddly bereft.
Tommy was the sort of chap who could fill a room with jokes and a thousand halftold stories, performing each one with the flair of a seasoned actor he was, after all, studying drama on his third year at the local theatre college. Boredom was simply not an option when Tommy was around. Every day his mum would pop in with fresh scones, fruit, and sweets, which Tommy generously shared with Charlie.
Since Tommys departure, the cosy atmosphere of the ward seemed to have evaporated, and Charlie felt lonelier than ever, as if hed become invisible.
His melancholy was interrupted by a nurse pushing the door open. He frowned even deeper: the cheerful, sprightly Emily who usually gave his injections had been replaced by a perpetually sour, eternally dissatisfied MrsMargaret Blythe.
In the two months Charlie had been under the hospitals roof, MrsBlythe had never once cracked a smile. Her voice matched her expression: sharp, gruff, and entirely uninviting.
Enough with the theatrics, get back in bed! she barked, brandishing a syringe already filled with medication.
Dejected, Charlie sighed, turned his chair, and shuffled back to his bed. MrsBlythe deftly helped him lie flat and then, with equal efficiency, rolled him onto his stomach.
Strip off your trousers, she commanded. Charlie obeyed, feeling nothing at all. The injection was administered with the precision of a clockmaker, and for that, he silently thanked her.
Just how old do you think she is? Charlie wondered, watching the nurse hunt for a vein in his gaunt arm. Probably retired by now. Little pension, has to keep working, hence the perpetual grouch.
MrsBlythe finally slipped a fine needle into the palest blue thread of his vein, making him wince just a fraction.
Right, thats it, she said. Did the doctor come today?
No, not yet, Charlie shook his head. Maybe later.
Dont sit by the window itll draught you, and youll be as dry as a bone, she warned, heading for the door.
He wanted to snap back at her, but the nurses words, harsh as they were, carried a thread of care. It was a care he hadnt known in a long while.
Charlie was an orphan. His parents had perished when he was four, a house fire in a small Yorkshire village claimed them all except him. A searing burn on his shoulder and wrist bore testimony to the night his mother, with her last ounce of strength, hurled him through a shattered window onto the snowcovered street, saving his life just before the roof collapsed in flames.
Hed been placed in a childrens home ever after. Relatives existed, but none rushed to shelter him. From his mother he inherited a soft, dreamy temperament, bright green eyes and a love of poetry; from his father, height, a lanky gait, and a knack for numbers. Memories of his parents were fragmentary, like flickering scenes from an old film: a village fair with his mum waving a bright flag, perched on his dads shoulders feeling the warm summer breeze on his cheeks.
He also remembered a big ginger cat, called either Morris or Whiskers the details were hazy. Apart from that, nothing remained; the family photo album had gone up in flames.
No one visited him in the hospital there was simply no one left. When Charlie turned eighteen, the state allocated him a bright, airy room in a council flat on the fourth floor. He liked living alone, though occasional pangs of sadness would hit him hard enough to bring tears. Over time he grew accustomed to solitude and even discovered its perks.
Yet his orphanage upbringing still haunted him: watching families with children on playgrounds, in supermarkets, or strolling down the high street filled him with a bitter, uncheerful ache.
After school he tried to get into university but fell short on points, so he enrolled at a technical college. He liked the courses and the trade hed chosen, but he never clicked with his classmates. Quiet and withdrawn, he wasnt anyones priority, and he preferred books and scientific journals to noisy student parties and video games. Their conversations, when they occurred, revolved solely around coursework. The same went for the girls his modesty made him invisible amidst more assertive, chatty rivals.
At eighteen and a half he still looked no older than sixteen. Hed earned the nickname the white raven among his peers, a title that didnt bother him a bit.
Two months earlier, racing to a lecture on an icy pavement, he slipped in a subway tunnel, breaking both legs. The fractures were nasty, healing slowly and painfully, but the last few weeks had shown improvement.
He hoped to be discharged soon, yet the thought of returning to his flat, which had no lift or wheelchair access, filled him with dread. Hed still be confined to a wheelchair for a while.
After lunch, DrRoger Sinclair, a trauma surgeon, entered the bay. After examining Charlies legs and the Xrays, he announced:
Alright, Charlie, good news your bones are finally knitting together as they should. In a few weeks youll be on crutches. Theres no point staying here much longer; youll continue treatment as an outpatient. In about an hour youll get your discharge papers. Anyone waiting for you?
Charlie nodded silently.
Great. Ill call Margaret; shell help you pack. Take care, and try not to end up back here, the doctor said with a wink.
Will do, Charlie muttered.
The doctor left, and Charlie began to work out his next steps when MrsBlythe reentered.
What are you doing sitting there? Youre being discharged, she said, handing him a backpack that had been tucked under the bed. Pack up, love. Poppy will be in to change your sheets.
Charlie shunted his belongings into the bag, noticing the nurses sharp gaze.
Why did you lie to the doctor? she asked, tilting her head slightly.
What are you on about? Charlie replied, feigning innocence.
Dont pull the wool over my eyes, Charlie. I know no ones coming for you. How will you get home?
Ill figure something out, he growled.
Youll be on crutches for at least another fortnight. How do you plan to survive?
Im not a child, he snapped.
Suddenly MrsBlythe perched on the edge of his bed and peered into his face.
Charlie, it may not be my business, but with injuries like yours youll need help. You cant manage alone. Dont take offence; Im speaking the truth, she said softly.
Ill manage on my own.
You wont. Ive been in nursing for more than a year. What are you arguing about, like a child? she retorted, irritation flashing in her eyes.
What does that have to do with me? he asked.
It has everything to do with the fact that youre staying with me for now. I live alone; my husband passed years ago, and Ive never had children.
Charlie stared, stunned. Living with a stranger? Hed long since stopped counting on anyone but himself.
Whats the problem? MrsBlythe pressed, frowning.
Its awkward, and Charlie trailed off.
Stop pretending, Charlie. Its uncomfortable living in an wheelchair by yourself in a house without a lift or ramp. So, whatll it be youll come to my place?
He hesitated. On one hand, moving into a strangers home felt bizarre; on the other, MrsBlythe wasnt entirely unknown to him. Over the months shed looked after him in her own way: Dont forget your vitamins today, Close the window, its getting chilly, Have a cheese snack calcium, dear. Her voice had become the only one he heard in that ward.
Im in, he finally said, but I dont have any money my stipend wont arrive for a while.
MrsBlythe, hands on her hips, stared at him with a mixture of surprise and irritation, then snapped, Charlie, are you out of your mind? You think Im offering you a roof for free? I feel sorry for you, thats all.
I was just, Charlie began, cutting himself off, I didnt mean to offend.
Im not offended. Lets get you to the sisters ward until my shift ends, then well sort it out, she ordered.
MrsBlythe lived in a tidy little cottage with narrow windows. Inside it had two snug rooms, one of which Charlie now called his own.
The first few days he was painfully shy, rarely leaving his room, and constantly apologising for any inconvenience.
Seeing this, the elderly nurse said bluntly, Stop being shy. Ask for what you need youre not a guest.
In truth, Charlie loved it: snow drifts piling outside, the cheerful crackle of the log fire, the smell of homecooked stew all reminded him of the house hed lost and a happier childhood.
Days passed. He kept his wheelchair a while longer, then his crutches. It was time to return to the city.
After a routine visit to the community clinic, Charlie, leaning slightly on his crutches, walked beside MrsBlythe, chatting about the weeks ahead.
Youll have exams soon, credits to collect. Youve lost so much time a nightmare. And you dont want to go back to college?
You might as well stay, Margaret replied. Your technical college isnt going anywhere. Get moving now, as the doctor ordered lighten the load on those legs!
Over the following weeks they grew close. Charlie found himself increasingly reluctant to leave the cosy cottage and the endlessly kind woman who had become, for an orphan, a second mother. He didnt have the courage to admit this, not even to himself.
The next morning, as he rummaged for his phone charger, he froze. At the doorway stood MrsBlythe, tears glistening. Impulsively, Charlie crossed the threshold and pulled her into a tight embrace.
Will you stay, Charlie? she whispered through sobs, How will I live without you?
And he stayed.
Years later, at Charlies wedding, Margaret took a place of honour at the head table, her smile finally soft. A year after that, she cradled her greatgranddaughter in the maternity ward, a baby christened after her Lily Margaret.
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