Dear God Read online

  He suddenly thought, maybe they’re trying to make out I’m a bit crazy. I’d better get a paper and find out who it is. They’re not going to catch me like that. He had worked himself up into a temper now and set off in something of a rage. He put on his new yellow cap as he went out and left the cat in the sitting room. Dimly he realised that with the new entrance and exit arrangements for the cat he would have to clear up the kitchen and put the food away. Bloody animal.

  In the newsagent’s he bought the nearest paper to hand, which dealt with some juicy scandal on the front page. “You live next door to Mrs. Brenner, don’t you?” said the newsagent.

  “Yes, why?” said William, still in a belligerent mood.

  “Poor lady’s in St Anne’s Hospital,” said the man. “Not doing too well. Had a nasty fall.”

  William thought for a second or two. Mrs Brenner needs further TLC floated across his mind. “St. Anne’s you say?”

  “Yes.”

  Back in the house he went to see his new possession. He sat on it, felt all the instrumentation, longed to take it out. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow. When was the last time he had looked forward to tomorrow?

  The evening passed well enough. Jimmy expressed amazement at his cream trousers, his jacket and yellow baseball cap. They had a couple of pints to celebrate his smart appearance. Then another two to make sure they knew what was what, as Jimmy put it, and a further three or four just to round things off. By the time he got back home William was well away. He went into the sitting room and collapsed on to the sofa. “Must do something about the garden,” he announced to an uninterested cat. “Must make a shopping list. Have you had another bloody sausage?” Then he fell asleep and did not wake up until half-past nine the next morning.

  When he woke up he rolled off the sofa and shook his head to clear it, which it didn’t do. In the kitchen, he was amazed to see the red buggy and no sign of his table but gradually his memory came back. He found some food and milk for the cat, who was by now a fixture, it seemed. He had some toast and an assortment of pills, as he didn’t remember having had any for a while. He had a drink.

  Right. Now for it. He unplugged the machine and folded the wire back into the slot at the back. He decided to go out the back way, so opened the door, sat on the buggy and switched it on. He put it into gear and the machine moved forward, through the doorway. Oh, the joy of movement! Wonderful feeling. Then he hit the table.

  He managed to stop. Now what? He got off and moved the table and considered the situation. It was raining. He was going to get very, very wet. Oh no he wasn’t. He remembered the umbrella. He studied the buggy. There were two spring slots on the side, intended to carry walking sticks. If he could twist one of them to hold the umbrella upright, he would be fine. He went back into the house and fetched the umbrella. After a few minutes, struggling, he had got the umbrella upright and held firmly. He opened it up. It was large, he had to admit, but it would shield him well from the rain. It was not centrally placed above the driving seat but a foot or two to the right, of course, but it was big enough to shelter him adequately. He also put on his baseball cap. He put a couple of bottles of beer into the small container at the front.

  It was then that he had his idea. If he were to go to St. Anne’s, which was only about a mile away, he could visit Mrs. Brenner. She might not be too pleased to see him, or he to see her, but there again, he would have done his best. And – here was the really, really splendid thing – he could take the cat with him. If he could get the cat into the carrying basket and close it, and put the cloth over it, and if it would fit into the big basket at the back of the buggy, then he would be well sorted! She would really like that, he thought.

  This he managed to do. The cat squawked a fair bit when he closed the front up but when he put the cloth over it, it went quiet. It slotted into the basket at the back of the machine perfectly. With great pride and a degree of panache he set off.

  He didn’t go on the pavement. He felt he was better off on the actual road and the drivers of the other cars on the road, seeing a bright red machine apparently topped by a large multi-coloured mushroom, were keen to give him a wide berth. The cat was silent and William, although he had not had a shower, nor even a wash, felt smart and well-dressed in his new cream trousers and yellow baseball cap.

  “We’ll call at the supermarket on the way back,” he said over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER 5

  Arriving at the hospital William was unable to find a parking space. Angrily he drove round and round until, eventually, he slotted into a space marked ‘Senior Consultant’. Then there was the question of whether to leave the umbrella up on the motorised scooter, an invitation to thieves, or to protect himself by removing it from the machine and using it against the rain. It was difficult to remove but he at last did so and he set off for the main entrance, taking with him a bottle of beer in his trouser pocket and the cat basket, still covered by the carrying cloth. In the other hand he carried the still-open umbrella, which had the effect of making it impossible to see where he was going. He caused a certain amount of justifiable annoyance amongst the many visitors to the hospital as he bumped into them, prodding them with the spokes of his gaudy protector. Once in the entrance hall, he was then faced with a problem he hadn’t thought of. Which ward was she in?

  Some people were sitting at a table near the back wall of the hall. They looked rather bored and he decided to enlist their help as it might cheer them up a bit if he gave them something to do.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, in a tone which implied that they had done something untoward with the lady.

  “Where is who?” asked one of them, in surprise at the apparition before him.

  “Mrs. Brenner, of course.”

  “What is she in the hospital for?” This from another gentleman, also somewhat bemused.

  “Because she’s ill, of course,” snapped William, waving the umbrella wildly. The baseball cap was slipping sideways but he did not have a free hand to regulate it. “She’s got a bruise on her head,” he added, remembering her appearance when he last saw her. “I think God did it, but it was probably a mistake,” he added, uncomfortably.

  They went into an uneasy huddle. “Could she be in Acute Admissions?” one of them suggested..

  “Try Acute Admissions,” they said, anxious, as he had mentioned God, for him to go away. “Up those stairs there, second floor, Springfield Ward.”

  “Right ho,” said William. He spied a sign saying ‘Lifts’.

  “I think you might be more comfortable if you put the umbrella down,” said the first man, kindly.

  “I didn’t come here to be comfortable,” said William, and made for the lifts. In the lift he did not have a free hand to press the button for the second floor and he went up to the sixth floor, then came down to the fifth, then the third and was just able to persuade a tall official-looking gentleman that he wanted Acute Admissions. He seemed to agree that it was quite likely that William wanted Acute Admissions, and he bundled him out on the second floor, much to the relief of the group of trapped travellers in the lift, who had little room, confined as they were by William and his still-open umbrella.

  On the second floor William found Springfield Ward and made his grand entrance. He was enjoying himself now. Everyone seemed to be against him but he was overcoming all obstacles. A nurse, scarcely believing what she was seeing, stopped in front of him.

  “Hands,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Hands. You should wash your hands.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you just should. Health and Safety. Stop infection.”

  “I haven’t got any infection,” he said angrily. “I just want to see Mrs. Brenner.”

  “And you must put that umbrella down. It’s dangerous and it’s not raining in here.”

  “I like it up,” he said, suddenly angry again. “Where does it say I can’t have my umbrella up? It’s ready f
or when I go outside.”

  The nurse was now irritated and wanting to be well away from this nuisance of a visitor.

  “Mrs. Brenner’s in the side room,” she said. “Don’t disturb her too much. She needs rest and quiet.” He had struck lucky. She was here, in the side room.

  He went in. Mrs. Brenner was sitting up in bed, propped up by two big pillows, gazing mournfully into space.

  “William Penfold!” she exclaimed in utter astonishment. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to see how you are,” he said. “After you got whacked on the head,” he added.

  “I didn’t get whacked,” she said. “I fell down in the kitchen. Tripped over the cat.”

  “Well, whatever,” he said. “I’ve brought you something.”

  She stared at him. Never in her life could she have imagined her next door neighbour in such an outfit, nor indeed could she ever have imagined him making any sort of journey to see her. And what was he doing with a large umbrella and carrying something in his hand. What on earth was it?

  He put the cat basket on the bed and placed the umbrella, still open, on the floor. He lifted the cloth on the basket and declared, with great pride, “Here’s your cat come to see you.”

  “Oh my God,” said Mrs. Brenner. “Oh my God, it’s Sandy, it’s my cat. I’ve been so worried, oh, dear oh dear, I’m all overcome.” She was talking and crying and shaking her hands about.

  The cat began to yowl in a determined sort of way and William let down the front of the basket. It sprang out of its shelter and allowed Mrs. Brenner to stroke it. But when the door opened and the nurse came in bearing some medication and a blood pressure gadget it made a leap for the curtains and shot up them, swearing and yowling.

  “See what you’ve done,” said William angrily, as the nurse tried to get round the upturned umbrella on the floor. “You’ve upset it,” he said.

  Mrs. Brenner was crying and calling, “Sandy, Sandy, come down, good puss.”

  “Here,” he said, “have a drink.” He took the beer out of his pocket and placed it on her bedside table. “There, do you good. Don’t worry over your cat, I’m looking after it.”

  The nurse was bewildered, caught between an open umbrella on the floor, a patient who was being offered beer by a weird man in a yellow baseball cap plus a terrified cat howling on the top of the curtain, and she dropped her little pot of medications. Pills rolled on the floor. “Don’t drink that beer,” she said, from beneath the umbrella, as she sought to pick up the errant tablets.

  “Why shouldn’t she?” inquired William angrily. “Too many people interfering with what people want to do.”

  “Nurse! Whatever are you doing?” The voice came from Authority, who had just entered the room to see what all the uproar was about. Authority was represented by the figure of a Sister; behind her came a doctor in a white coat who was carrying a sheaf of papers.

  “Shut the door quick,” said the nurse, “There’s a cat in here.”

  “That’s my Sandy,” said Mrs. Brenner. “My friend Mr. Penfold brought him in to see me. He’s very upset. With all this shouting. The cat, I mean. Very upset. Can’t you get him down?”

  William heard the reference to ‘my friend Mr. Penfold’ and was impressed. He had opened the bottle of beer that Mrs. Brenner had been ordered not to drink and was happily drinking it himself.

  “I’ll get it down,” he said. He dragged the only chair towards the window and, perilously, stood on it to reach up to the still-howling animal. As this was a man who had found it difficult to climb up a normal set of stairs only a day ago, standing on a chair reaching outwards and upwards proved to be an impossible task. Feeling himself slide unstoppably off the chair he grabbed the curtains and the whole lot, curtains, cat, chair and man, came tumbling down in a confused heap onto the floor.

  Sister, nurse, patient and doctor viewed the shambolic muddle of the side room with varying degrees of amazement and bewilderment.

  “Is Sandy alright?” shouted Mrs. Brenner.

  “Nurse, pick up those pills and close that umbrella,” ordered the Sister.

  “That gentleman may have hurt himself.” This came from the doctor.

  “I should think he probably has,” said the Sister, in a tone which implied that that was her fervent wish.

  A bright yellow baseball cap surfaced first, then an arm, the fingers of which clutched the neck of a struggling cat. Eventually William emerged from the pile of curtains, with a certain amount of controlled dignity, holding the cat in his arms. “Those curtains are dangerous. You should bloody well get them fixed.”

  He placed the cat in the carrying basket on the bed, snapped the front bars closed, slipped the covering cloth over it, gathered up his umbrella, still open as the nurse had not managed to close it, and turned to go.

  “Been very nice to see you, Mrs. B. The cat’s alright with me. He likes sausages. Excuse me,” he said, making his way through the medical trio barring his way to the door.

  “Don’t you dare come back in here with that animal.” Sister had found her voice.

  “If Mrs. Brenner wants me to I shall certainly bring it back,” he declared. “You can’t interfere with Mrs. Brenner’s human rights.”

  “No, you can’t,” said Mrs Brenner, from the bed.

  He could still hear them arguing about Mrs. Brenner’s human rights as he turned towards the lift. The idea obviously appealed to her. Apart from her right to receive a visit from her cat she was also demanding new curtains. It was strange, he thought. Until now it not have occurred to him that Mrs. Brenner had any human rights, still less that he would have cared about defending them!

  Eventually, he made it to the space where he had parked the motor scooter, which now had a large notice affixed to it, advising him not to park in this bay again and informing him of the hospital’s policy on non-payment of parking fees. This he took off and placed on a Lexus in the next bay. It took some time to re-attach the umbrella to the buggy and even more time to find how to put the machine into reverse, as this was not a manoeuvre he had been called on to perform before. He managed it at length, only giving the Lexus a minor scrape in a couple of places as he did so, and set off homewards.

  “Think we’ll give the supermarket a miss,” he said over his shoulder. “Try it tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Once home, he put the motor scooter into the kitchen, having first removed the umbrella, and let a relieved cat out of the basket at the back. To his surprise, he found that he had acquired some post, which lay on the mat in the hall. Taking a bottle of beer with him, he and the cat went into the front room to read his letters, seated together on the sofa.

  The first letter was from his credit card company, which informed him that he owed £4,097 in total, or a minimum payment of £125, payable by the 3rd of next month.

  “Well, they haven’t lost any time, have they, Ginger? Or is your name Sandy?” He stared at the sheet of paper in disbelief. “What the hell do we do now then?” He tried to think of any way he could raise that sort of money; theft seemed the most likely but he didn’t know anywhere he could steal it from. He had a sudden brainwave. He would have to declare himself bankrupt. That was it. Then they couldn’t touch him. Problem solved. But that meant he would lose his possessions, wouldn’t it? The scooter, the computer, all his possessions and possibly the house. He had no idea if he owned the house or not. It was all very bewildering and he became very angry about it all.

  He took another swig of the bottle and opened the second letter. It was from the Social Services people, the ones who came to sort out his money and laundry and medications and so on. They were going to come Wednesday. Today was Monday. At least he thought it was, but he could be wrong of course. No-one told him anything these days.

  He thought about this. It was going to pose problems. He would have to put the motor scooter in the garden and bring the table inside. But what if it was raining? You couldn’t leave the scoot
er out in the rain for hours on end, just because of them. Anger began to build up inside him. Interference again. He’d a good mind to tell them not to come. Could he do that, though? How could he explain where he’d got the scooter from?

  He tried hard to remember where they took him to get the money out but it was no use. Some building society or other. Or bank. He couldn’t afford to turn them away. He’d have to put the scooter in the garden and hope that they didn’t see it.

  The anger continued to build up inside him. All this interference. He’d go and do some shopping; he felt he needed action. Angrily he put on his new cap and went to collect the scooter. The cat had disappeared, presumably out of the toilet window. He manoeuvred the scooter out of the kitchen, locked the back door and set off. He still had a fair bit of money; he thought he would go to the bigger supermarket, where he could take the scooter inside. This time he didn’t take the umbrella, which might have been awkward. The journey was uneventful and he was only hooted at twice.

  The trouble started at the supermarket itself. He had amassed quite a large amount of shopping, putting it in the baskets at the front and back of his vehicle, from various aisles, before he was confronted by an irate manager.

  “You can’t bring that scooter in here,” he roared, flailing his arms about in an effort to stop William, who was examining an artichoke with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “I already have,” said William. “I’ve seen other people in here on scooters.”

  “No you haven’t,” said the manager, “what you’ve seen is someone using our own Disability Assistance Vehicle – you can’t bring in your own scooter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you just can’t, that’s why not. We’d have too many, and people would have accidents.”

  “How do you know people would have accidents?”

  “They just would. Wait a minute – haven’t I seen you in here before?” The manager’s voice was rising as a dawning suspicion grew on him that he remembered something about a previous encounter involving tomatoes and a can of soup – a suspected shoplifting episode. The Social Services had become involved, he recalled, and it had all been noisy and unpleasant. And unproductive. They’d all shouted abuse at one another, or at least he and the man had, and he’d had to back down, although he was sure that something fishy had happened but he’d had to let the man go.