In The Garden Of Stones (37 page)

Their
light-hearted bickering continues back and forth, and Gibbs looks
on in bewilderment, his eyes flicking between the two
participants.

“
Okay, you win,” says Grace, her hands on her hips,
fingertips almost touching, emphasising her narrowness. “This time
you stay in the chair. But next time–”

Her eye
is caught by a nurse crossing the lawn towards them, a tray in his
hand. “Looks like we’ve got a visitor.”

“
Ah,” says Gibbs, turning to see. “Room service.” He takes
the tray from the nurse. “Thanks Terry. I’ll take it from
here.”

“
What’s that?” asks Grace, when Terry has gone.

“
Colin’s lunch,” says Gibbs.

On the
tray are two oversized opaque syringes and a pair of purple nitrile
gloves. Gibbs points to one container.

“
This one is a perfectly balanced meal in liquid form – just
the right amount of protein, carbohydrates, a little fat, vitamins
and minerals,” he says. “And this … ” He indicates the other. “… is
just plain water.”

Grace
wrinkles her nose. “Looks disgusting, and not very
appetising.”

“
It’s what’s keeping him alive, Grace. Will you hold the
tray while I get it ready?”

She
takes the tray while Gibbs puts on the gloves and prepares the
syringe to administer Colin his vital nutrition via his
naso-gastric tube.

“
And you think this is better than steak and chips,” she
says to Colin. “What am I going to do when it’s my birthday next
month? Liquidise a piece of cake and shove it up your
tube?”

“
A birthday? How old will you be?”

“
A gentleman wouldn’t even ask the question–”

“
Judging by the wrinkles, I reckon about …
thirty-nine.”

“
You can be an obnoxious dick when you want, you know that
don’t you?”

He winks
at her. “Admit it, you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

No she
wouldn’t, but doesn’t say so.

“
Ready,” says Gibbs, the syringe now connected to the valve
contraption on the end of the naso-gastric tube. He depresses the
plunger slowly and evenly. “Usually takes about five minutes to get
it all in. Bottoms up.”

“
What does it taste like?” Grace asks, four minutes into the
operation. “Not as bad as it looks I hope, because it looks foul.
No food should be…beige.”

Colin
opens his mouth to speak, but Gibbs gets there first.

“
He can’t taste anything. It goes straight into his stomach,
bypassing his mouth and the taste buds on his tongue.”

“
That’s what you think,” says Colin. “Slow down will ye. Yer
gain ta fast. Ye’ll give me bloody reflux…again.”

Grace
gives Colin an earnest look. “Well then, your choice,” she says.
“This muck .. .or a big, fat, bloody steak. What’s it to
be?”

“
We’re done,” says Gibbs, and disengages the feeding syringe
from the tube. “Should see him through until tea time. I’ll just
give him some water. Don’t want him getting dehydrated.”

“
Doesn’t stop ma mouth feeling like a dog’s blanket though,”
says Colin, “do ye think I could wet my whistle with a drop of that
ginger beer instead?”

Grace
smiles at him. “Of course you can.”

“
I want to taste it. I want to … don’t laugh. I want to feel
the bubbles on ma tongue.”

“
Then you shall. I’m sure Simon can find one of those cups
with a spout on, can’t you Simon? Like the one Granny used when she
had her stroke?”

Gibbs
has the water syringe in his hand ready to attach it to the tube’s
valve. “Sorry … what?”

“
A cup with a spout. Can you find one?”

“
What for?”

“
So that Colin can have a drink of ginger beer.”

“
Ginger beer? I don’t think he should –”

“
Why not? A little taste won’t do him any harm will
it?”

“
He could have trouble swallowing. He might
choke.”

She
turns back to Colin. “Do you have trouble swallowing?”

A
shrug.

And back
to Gibbs. “There you go then. Simon, your finest spouted mug if you
please.”

Gibbs
places the syringe of water back on the tray, snaps off his gloves
and takes the tray from her.

“
Erm … yes … sure. Back in a mo.”

They
watch him stride across the lawn and go back inside, returning
moments later with a white plastic beaker, one half of its lid
shaped to form an integral drinking tube.

“
This what you want?”

“
Ideal.”

Grace
takes the beaker from him, half fills it with the fiery ginger
flavoured liquid and replaces the cap. She offers the tube to
Colin’s lips and then remembers what happened to her when she took
the water too fast when she came round in HDU, how sick she felt
when the cold liquid hit her empty stomach.

Colin’s
stomach isn’t empty, but an unexpected inrush of bright orange
fizzy sugar water might have the same effect and she doesn’t want
him to throw up the nutritional supplement. She suspects it might
be much like a baby throwing up a part digested milk feed –
cloying, malodorous and very unpleasant for everyone
concerned.

“
Just let a few drops fall on your tongue to warn your
stomach it’s coming, and then take a few gentle sips,” she says.
“Don’t guzzle or you’ll be sick.”

If she
had chanced to look over her shoulder at the observing Gibbs, she
would have seen his mouth fall open as he sees first Colin’s loose
lips close around the spout, and then his throat move as he
swallows his first tentative drops of the tangy fluid.

When
Colin has had enough and Grace removes the tube, half the liquid is
gone.

She
tenderly wipes Colin’s mouth with a tissue. “There you go. That was
nice wasn’t it? And no trouble swallowing. Feeling okay? Not
sick.”

“
No.”

She
leans close to whisper in his ear. “So how about a little taste of
the cake to go with it? Want to risk it?”

“
Why not?”

“
Why not indeed? Who doesn’t like cupcakes? Help yourself,
Simon. There’s one for you too.”

She
takes a cake from the picnic hamper, releases it from its
protective package and dips her little finger into the yellow
frosting, picking up a small blob.

“
Open wide.”

She
eases the sweet teaser between Colin’s lips and into his mouth,
while Gibbs, desperate to intervene yet frozen by astonishment
simply stares as, with the tiniest of movements, Colin sucks the
confectionery from Grace’s finger.

“
More,” he says.

She
places another blob of frosting in his mouth. “A sweet reminder of
what you’re missing. Again?”

“
Please.”

Three
more times she repeats the action, creating a substantial dent in
the golden butter cream.

A shrill
electronic peeping emanates from Gibbs’ breast pocket. Captivated
by Grace and Colin’s interaction, he does not notice it.

“
Your pocket is singing,” says Grace, breaking the
spell.

He
starts. “What?”

“
Your pager.”

“
Oh.” He snatches the device from his pocket, shuts off the
beeping and pulls a face as he reads the little screen. “I’m
wanted. Another patient. I’ve got to go.” He stuffs the pager into
his pocket. “Grace … can I have a word.”

“
Sure.”

“
In private.”

Although
it is not necessary, he nonetheless leads Grace out of Colin’s
earshot.

“
What’s up?” she asks.

Gibbs
presses a finger to his forehead and begins to rub a tight circle.
“When you’re done here, before you go, I want to talk to
you.”

“
What about?”

“
I think you know.” He glances over at Colin. “It’s
important, so when you’re finished visiting, come find me in the
Duty Room. If I’m not there, wait for me. Do NOT go without talking
to me first, understand?”

“’
Kay.”

“
I’ll let you have another half an hour with him and then
send someone to help you get Colin back inside.”

He turns
and walks swiftly back to the building and through the open French
windows of Room 28.

“
That looked all gey hush hush,” says Colin, when Grace
returns to him.

“
He wants to have a word with me before I go,” she says,
picking the blanket from the grass, giving it a shake and draping
it over Colin’s legs.

“
Fit ‘boot?”

“
Didn’t say, but I think he was a bit annoyed that I gave
you ginger beer and cake, and you preferred it over his liquid
pap.”

She fits
the plates and other bits and pieces, along with the left over
food, back into the picnic basket, holding back the
cupcake.

“
There’s still a bit of frosting left. Want some
more?”

“
Aye, why not.”

“
Help yourself then. You’re not a baby. I shouldn’t have to
feed you.”

“
Ye know I canna.”

“
Try.”

She
holds the cake steady as a deep frown of concentration creases his
brow, drawing his eyebrows almost into one. He grunts with effort,
and in his lap one of the curled hands twitches. A weak but
definite movement.

“
I can’t,” he says, and huffs with frustration.

“
You did,” she says. “Just a little bit, but you did. Well
done. You may have your reward.”

She
takes hold of his hand, extends one of his fingers and dips it into
the soft buttery frosting. Gently she inserts it into his mouth.
When the butter and sugar mixture has melted on his tongue, he
swallows it down and Grace wipes his wetted finger with the tissue
and lays his hand back in his lap.

When
everything is packed away, Grace wheels Colin over to a bench and
sits beside him, holding onto his hand while they wait for an
attendant to come to wheel him back into his room.

Gazing around the garden, she spots a young man sitting at
the water feature, staring off into the middle distance, his face
haggard, drawn and expressionless,
swollen lines surrounding exhausted eyes
which are at the same time
i
ntense, unnerving and dark, darting in and out of distant
shadows, searching for ghosts waiting to haunt the last shreds of
sanity remaining inside a terrorised mind,
that vacant emptiness in the troubled
eyes of a traumatised combat soldier.

“
They call it the thousand yard stare,” says Colin. “Ye can
see it everywhere, and no jest here. Look around ye next time ye’re
in town and ye’ll see ‘em. Deid souls sucking on a vodka bottle in
Union Terrace Gardens, or ambling aimlessly through the streets,
eyes darting everywhere like scared rabbits, heids down avoiding
eye contact, preferring to bed down in the park or in a doorway
because they are too terrified ta be indoors–” He lets out a deep,
juddering breath. “Not all wounds are visible.”

She
squeezes his hand, kisses his fingers, and they sit for the next
few minutes in silence.

“
Ye were thinking aboot the dead man at the Larches weren’t
ye?” Colin says after a while. “Wondering if he might have been one
of those poor lost sods?”

“
Yes.”

“
No news yet?”

“
No. I–”

She
breaks off when she spots a man striding toward them. Colin follows
her gaze.

“
That us?” he asks.

“
Looks like it. You ready.”

“
I suppose.”

“
Everything okay?” the attendant says, letting the brake off
Colin’s chair.

Grace
smiles up at him. “Fine. He’s a little tired, but nothing a wee nap
won’t put right, eh sweetheart?” She kisses the top of Colin’s
head. “Looks like it’s time for me to go, and for you to get some
rest. I’ll come and see you again in a couple of days,
okay?”

“
Bring something nice.”

“
What would you like?”

“
Ice cream.”

“
Really?”

“
Aye. Vanilla, with some o’ that toffee sauce.”

“
Not asking for much are you? I’ll see what I can do.” She
kisses him again. “Bye bye, sweetie.”

“
Cheerio.”

Grace
knocks on the partly open door of the office labelled Duty
Room.

Gibbs
looks up from the paperwork on his desk and beckons her inside,
rising to greet her.

“
You said you wanted to see me before I went home,” she
says.

“
Yes, I do.” He offers her the use of the visitor’s chair.
“Please, sit.”

She
sits, and he perches a buttock on the edge of the desk, arms
folded, looking down on her, a stiff artificial smile plastered on
for her benefit.