THE CURSE OF CANCER…

He stared at the crucifix on the wall; it reminded him to take Uncle Sebastian’s Magen David out of his pocket and place it around his neck. He had resumed wearing it when visiting the hospital, as he knew it pleased his mother. Below the crucifix was his mother’s name chalked on the small blackboard showing the ward’s bed positions. Over the last three years she had moved up to occupy pole position.

Sister O’Brien came into the ward office and, unusually, closed the door behind her. He wondered why, as she sat down with the habitual smoothing of her uniform.

“I wanted to see you, Ian, because I’m afraid your mother had a turn for the worse this morning. She’s quite poorly, and you don’t have to leave when you hear the bell at the end of visiting. You can stay as long as you like.”

He nodded slowly.

“Isn’t there any other family at all? Even back in Poland that we could try and contact?”

He shook his head.

“No.” He finally spoke. “There’s only me left.”

The floral curtains were drawn, completely screening his mother’s bed from the others in the ward. He knew that this wasn’t a good sign, but occasionally it had happened before over the last three years, after the numerous operations and setbacks. He was sure Sister would have said something if it was really bad.

They went through the curtains, and he bent down to kiss his mother. The Magen David around his neck brushed her cheek. Her gaunt pinched face was flushed, and she was breathing in short shallow gasps.

Sister took the chair from the head of the bed and placed it behind him before slipping back into the ward. He sat down and clasped his mother’s hand, its back bruised by the continuous punctures from intravenous drips.

Visiting was soon over. The supper trolley came and went. He sat there.

Sister O’Brien gently shook him. He had fallen asleep in the darkened ward.

“The next bed is empty. Why don’t you stretch out on it? I’ll draw the curtain back between the two beds so that you can still see your mum.”

She helped him unlace his shoes and climb onto the adjoining bed. He lay on his side exhausted.

“Goodnight Mum,” he whispered.

An extract from chapter forty two of – ‘ Go Swift and Far – a Tale of Bath’ The first book of The Westcott Chronicles