Face (8 page)

When the nurses had left and Martin was in his pyjamas again and back in bed, he began once more to reflect on his situation. The bathing wasn't as painful as he had thought it would be, but his body did feel as if it had undergone a change. He turned his head to the left as far as it would go, and then to the right. He bent his head down as far as it would go and then up and back as far as it would go. He put his left hand in front of his face and slowly made a fist. As his finger tips pushed against his palm, it felt as if the tender skin would crack. Although he didn't have the strength to form a firm fist, he was pleased that he could at least now make a weak one. He then repeated the action with his right hand.

There was a knock on the door. Martin quickly put his hands down. No one had knocked on the door before. His first thought was that the police had come
for the real questioning. He said nothing. The door handle turned slowly and to his surprise Natalie's face appeared at the edge of the door. ‘Hello, can we come in?' She seemed nervous.

‘Yeah, come in. Who's we?'

Natalie entered, followed by Mark and then Matthew. ‘It's me' … ‘And me.'

Martin sprang to life. There was much to talk about and he was glad to be speaking to people of his own age, better still his best friends. But the atmosphere was tense. It was his friends: they were nervous. Natalie perched on the edge of the bed, and the two boys took the seats.

‘So, how's the outside world?' Martin enquired.

‘The same,' Matthew replied. ‘How come you ain't got a telly?'

‘I dunno, I haven't really thought about television.'

‘And radio?' Natalie asked.

‘I haven't listened to radio either. Have you ever listened to hospital radio? It's bad for your health.'

They all laughed at Martin's joke. Then there was an uncomfortable pause.

‘So, you don't even know what's happened to West Ham?' Natalie asked.

‘No. What's happened?'

‘Nothing,' she smiled, ‘they haven't played.'

Martin noticed that none of the three had looked him in the face while he was looking at them, but the
moment his eyes were off them, he could feel them staring. The talk was trivial until Mark brought up the subject of the press. ‘Have you seen the Newham Echo?'

‘No.'

‘We're in it, guy, and it don't look good.'

‘What does it say? Martin asked.

‘It says stuff about the crash,' Mark replied. ‘It says DRUG DEALER KILLED IN CAR CRASH. It named us, made me and you sound like druggies.'

‘I don't want to say this but I got to,' Matthew interrupted. ‘I told you, I said you were mad to get in that car.'

Voices started to be raised until Natalie calmed everyone down. ‘Look, newspapers always make things sound bad. Have you got any good music?' Natalie looked towards the Walkman as she asked.

‘I haven't really listened to any,' Martin replied, ‘but I'm sure it's just my old stuff. Do me a favour and bring me some rap music in.'

Natalie smiled. ‘No problem.'

They had now been in the room for nearly half an hour and no one had said anything about Martin's face until Martin himself asked Mark about his injuries. ‘So, what happened to you, then?'

Mark lifted up his shirt to show that his lower torso was wrapped in a large bandage and his right wrist was bandaged. ‘A couple of broken ribs and a fractured
wrist – I was in the Henniker Ward for a couple of days. What about you, guy?'

‘Well, what can I say? No broken bones, no fractures, a few cuts and bruises on my body and I am still here. I'm sorry, Mark, man, it was my fault. I shouldn't have told you to get into that car.'

‘Forget it, man, things happen. How were you to know things would end up like this?'

‘But I should have been able to see that those two were nutters and that that car was nicked. It's my fault.' Martin held his head down as he spoke.

Silence fell in the room. No one knew how to respond. Matthew felt he had to. ‘It's no one's fault. Are you in a lot of pain?'

‘Yeah but I got used to it now. It feels pretty normal after a while.'

‘Do you know when you'll be out?' Mark asked.

‘No, but I know I'll be out – soon.'

Martin desperately wanted to ask his friends about his face. But he didn't want to sound too serious.

‘Do you think you could handle a friend as ugly as me?'

There was another uncomfortable silence before Natalie spoke.

‘Don't say that, Martin, you'll soon be better.'

‘I won't get much better,' Martin replied. ‘So,' he continued, looking at Matthew, ‘is there such a thing as the Gang of Three without me?'

Matthew replied quietly, ‘As far as I'm concerned, you're still my mate.'

Mark quickly changed the conversation and began to ask Martin how the hospital staff were treating him. But the conversation seemed staged and artificial, and soon it was time for visitors to go. Almost as if planned, Mark and Matthew left, leaving Natalie alone with Martin. Natalie stood close to Martin. Martin held his hand out to her. She looked at it before gently taking hold of it. She felt the rough jagged skin of his hand and he felt the smooth, silk-like texture of hers. For a moment they looked at each other in silence. Martin's eyes were fixed upon Natalie's but Natalie found it difficult: her eyes shifted to the left, then onto Martin, then to the right, then back onto Martin.

‘Ain't you going to give us a kiss then?' Martin asked.

Natalie stood expressionless. She didn't speak, and Martin could see that she had no idea how to reply.

‘I'm only joking,' Martin said, letting go of her hand.

‘I'd better go now,' Natalie said. ‘I'll get you some rap tapes tomorrow.' And she went.

Martin was left not knowing what to think. These were his closest friends and they had found it so difficult facing him. He felt a kind of anger towards them but then he thought of how he would have reacted if
he had been in their position. He convinced himself that he would have reacted much better. He also tried to convince himself that he would have kissed Natalie if the roles were reversed but in truth he wasn't sure. Then, without warning, more negative thoughts flooded into his mind.
Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is a punishment from God. Maybe I should have believed in God more. Maybe no one will like me.
Thoughts like this tormented him until they became like another voice in his head.
I shouldn't be the leader of the gang, I have brought pain and unhappiness to my friends and my parents. Maybe I should have died.
He began to shake, he felt like running anywhere to escape himself. At the point when the voice seemed so loud that he felt his head was going to burst, he pressed the red emergency button by his bed. A nurse he didn't know ran into the room.

‘What's the matter? she said.

‘I want to see Alan, the Scottish man, the counsellor,' Martin said, speaking quickly. ‘And I want a mirror.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I'm not sure if I can give you a mirror without authorisation. Let me get Mr Green.'

The nurse left the room walking as fast as she could without running.

When she returned, she was panting as if she had run miles. ‘Mr Green will be with you in five minutes, OK?'

‘OK,' Martin replied. ‘I'm all right now. I just want to be left alone until he comes.'

‘Are you sure you're all right?' said the nurse.

‘Yes, I'm all right,' Martin shouted. ‘I just wanna see Alan and I just wanna see me.'

The nurse left.

In less than five minutes Alan arrived. He still seemed to be wearing a smile. ‘What can I do for you, mate?' he said sitting at Martin's bedside.

Martin replied, ‘I'm just fed up, man. I just had a visit from my best friends and my girlfriend and they all acted like they hardly knew me.'

Alan's voice became lower but the smile was still there. ‘This is to be expected, Martin. The first thing you have to do is to come to terms with the way you are. Once you've done that you have solved many of your problems. As far as your friends are concerned, well, they have to figure out their own problems. They have to come to terms with themselves. They also have to think about how they see you, and sometimes, Martin, you may find that you will have to help them. They don't mean to be nasty, they just don't know how to deal with the situation.'

Martin reached out to take the mirror that Alan was holding in his hand. ‘Can I keep this mirror in here?' Martin asked.

‘Are you sure you want to? It may not be such a good idea.'

Martin raised his voice slightly, his tone assertive. ‘I want to, I know what I want. You said I've got to
come to terms with the way I look, so I am. I want to see me, and I want to see me when I like, OK?'

Passing Martin the mirror Alan said quietly, ‘All right, just don't torture yourself. You're still the same guy. And remember that I am one member of staff you can get any time. The nurses can even ring me at home, so use me if you need me.'

Martin felt much better after the conversation with Alan. He realised that nothing was solved, but he needed to sound off to someone and that was what Alan was there for. Soon Alan was saying goodbye, leaving Martin to sleep with the mirror leaning against the fruit bowl. Martin had decided that he wanted to see himself when he woke up.

Every day for the next week Martin woke up looking at himself. It was an unusual way of doing things. For a while it worried Alan and his parents but Martin would not let the mirror leave his room. He watched every inch of his face as it healed. He noted that it didn't take very long for the bruises on his legs to disappear. He was fascinated by the stitches on the two larger cuts. He dreaded the day when they would have to be removed but when he asked when that would be, he was told that the stitches would simply dissolve, and so they did. Every day bits of stitching just disappeared until there was nothing left.

Martin began to move around his small room. He was determined to be independent, and that meant being able to wash himself. And being able to wash himself meant walking out of his room and through the ward to the shower. For his first venture out he chose a Sunday morning when the ward was at its quietest. With his towel in hand he stood by the door
taking deep breaths. He opened the door slowly, stepped through and turned back to close it. Then he turned to see the ward. Most people were asleep, some were reading newspapers and a couple just seemed to be looking and thinking. Those who looked at Martin just looked away. Martin was relieved.
Of course
, he thought,
why should they find me so odd, they are all burns victims themselves, I am on a Burns Unit
. Now it was him doing all the staring. As he walked down the ward he began to look at other people's injuries. A few people didn't look like they had injuries at all but Martin knew that these people probably had burns on their bodies. For Martin this was a liberating moment. Anyone who noticed Martin didn't give him a second look and by the time he'd reached the end of the ward he wanted to walk back just for the fun of it. Soon Martin was showering or going for walks on the ward anytime he felt like it. Being seen by other people got easier each time.

Martin's parents still visited him every day and every couple of days Natalie, Matthew and Mark would visit. The visits by his friends were the most difficult. Matthew and Mark always had very little to say; they never spoke about the events surrounding the crash now unless they were quoting newspapers. Although Natalie was polite and helpful, Martin spent very little time alone with her.

As the days went by Martin began to feel more at home in his room. The football posters and creature comforts had helped and he was beginning to develop a real appreciation of rap music. Natalie brought him new tapes with every visit and Martin's headphones were now usually found on his head. The front of his hair was beginning to grow back and with the help of the hospital's visiting barber, he had the rest of his hair cut short so that the new growth would not be so obvious. His face was not really healing but settling down. The extremely red parts and the extremely white parts were trying to find their natural colour but the damage to the contours of his face stayed the same. One of his mother's main concerns had gone: he was now eating anything that was put in front of him.

On the morning of Martin's sixteenth day in hospital Dr Owens and Nurse Ling entered the room just as he was finishing his breakfast. Martin had picked up a new skill. He knew the hospital staff so well that he could tell what mode they were in by the looks on their faces and the way they entered the room. He could tell routine visits from progress reports, or
how are you doing
visits from
we need to talk
visits. He could see this was a
we need to talk
visit. Dr Owens sat on the seat in front of Martin. Martin sat up in his bed.

‘Hello.'

‘Hello, Martin,' Dr Owens replied. ‘How are you today?'

‘I'm OK, Doctor.'

‘Martin, I need to talk to you about where we go from here. As you can see, the injuries to your face are not disappearing but you are feeling less discomfort now, aren't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘The swelling around your lips and eyes has gone down considerably and you are beginning to have more control over your facial muscles now.'

‘That's right.' Martin knew what was coming.

‘Well, I think it's time for us to consider a bit of physical reconstruction, or plastic surgery.'

‘Will you really use plastic?'

‘No, we never really use plastic and anyway in your case physical reconstruction is probably too strong a term. Because you have no problems with your bones, all I shall be trying to do is to give your face a smoother look. I think we can get rid of some of those rough edges. Now let me tell you how I plan to do this. I want to use an autograft – that means a skin graft taken from another part of your body and grafted on to your face.'