Ghosted by Jenn Ashworth

Author:Jenn Ashworth [Ashworth, Jenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
Published: 2021-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

He was in an assessment unit, waiting for a place on the ward. The nurse drew the curtain back, where my father, who had become a crumpled little man I didn’t know, wearing a hospital gown that didn’t fit him properly, cowered in the bed and Olena, her back ramrod straight and her coat bundled up on her lap and crumpled between her fists, sat waiting.

‘We’ll have to wait for the scan results,’ the nurse was saying. ‘He’s already been for his CT so the doctor will come and talk to you soon.’

‘Is he . . .?’

‘You can talk to him,’ she said brightly. ‘He knows you’re here.’

The curtain fell behind her and she swished away.

‘Olena,’ I began. She stood up and gestured towards the chair.

‘You sit. I will leave now. You want to check my handbag for missing items?’

‘Please . . .’

I don’t know what I was asking for. My father was – as she had put it – crook-sided. I can’t think of a better way of putting it. His clothes were in a carrier bag at the end of the bed. I glanced at him. His eyes were open but he seemed more interested in the pattern on the curtains – rows of repeating, falling leaves – than he was in me or his own condition.

‘You all right, Dad?’ I said. ‘I’ve come from work.’

I sounded like an idiot, I know. Olena wasn’t helping. Standing there, grasping the handles of her handbag as if it was a weapon.

‘He made himself wet,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll take his clothes away with me. Get them washed.’

‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said.

‘So I’ll stay? You want me to stay?’

She was wearing her work clothes, and no makeup. Her eyelashes were wet and were standing in little triangle points around her lids.

‘I had a bit of a scare,’ she said. ‘I thought he was . . .’

‘I’m glad you were there,’ I said. ‘Did they tell you how long the doctor is going to be?’

She shook her head. ‘Hours. Days. I don’t know. What passes for a health service in this country defies my understanding, I’ll tell you that.’

I didn’t sit, and neither did she. We stood there for a while, at my father’s bedside. As he exhaled, he softly groaned, but I don’t think he was in any pain.

‘Well . . .?’ she zipped up her handbag.

‘Yes. Will you stay?’

She had practically forced me to ask her. If that was the extent of her revenge, I thought, well, I could take it.

‘You can bring in another chair,’ she replied. ‘There’s a row of them over there,’ she motioned beyond the curtain. ‘We’ll wait for the doctor. Make sure he’s not of the Harold Shipman type. I gather that is of the utmost importance to you.’

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