Runaway (10 page)

‘Only so I could get oot yer hair once and for all!’ Dave said.

Donnie turned on him again, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘It’s
my
money!’

‘And this is
his
house,’ Jack said. ‘And I’ll bet you don’t pay him a penny in rent. So maybe he’s owed it.’

‘Come on,’ Dave said. ‘Let’s just go.’

And he tried to squeeze past Donnie to get his rucksack. But his son grabbed his coat and pushed him up against the wall again.

‘You’re going nowhere, you old drunk!’

The sound of smashing glass stunned them all into silence, broken only by Donnie’s wife’s startled little squeal. Pieces of glass showered across the hall carpet. Jack stood with his walking stick still raised. The brass owl’s head had shattered the glazed door with a single, sharp strike.

‘Let him go!’ His voice rang out in the stillness that followed. Commanding. Imperative.

And Donnie let go of his father, as if the old man were suddenly burning hot in his hands.

‘I did nothing to stop his father. And maybe you think I’m too old to stop you. But you’d be making a mistake if you did.’ He swung his walking stick to smash the brass head of it into the wall, gouging a deep hole in the plaster and sending white dust into the still air of the hall. ‘That’d make a hell of a mess of your skull.’

Donnie’s wife said in a shaky voice, her hands raised as if to calm them, ‘Now there’s no need for this, boys.’

Jack ignored her. ‘Give him the money.’

For several long moments Jack could see that Donnie was weighing up his options. In the end he thrust the money at his father.

And Jack half turned to Ricky. ‘Get his bag.’

Ricky looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, wide-eyed and startled. But he leaned over quickly to retrieve Dave’s rucksack. Dave joined them in the doorway and the three of them retreated down the path towards the waiting Micra.

They heard Donnie’s voice roaring behind them, ‘Don’t even think about coming back here, you old bastard. You’ll not get over the door.’

Jack swivelled and saw Donnie almost recoil, as if from a blow. ‘
Dave’s
door,’ he said. ‘Not yours. And maybe you’d better think about getting a place of your own. Because I’m sure Dave won’t want to see you here when he gets back.’

‘Aye, exactly right,’ Dave called from the safety of the gate.

As they got into the car, Ricky glanced at his grandfather and said, ‘I thought you didn’t believe in violence.’

Jack said nothing, but he sat shaking silently in the passenger seat. And feeling alive for the first time in a very long time.

_III

They parked on Battlefield Road, opposite the infirmary, on the hill that climbs from the Rest to the Langside roundabout. Beyond the roundabout itself the elegant columns of a Greek Thomson church that was now a restaurant were lit up as evening leached the last daylight from an overcast sky. Yellow lights burned in all the windows of the old infirmary; wards like legs extended from the main building to oriel windows looking south.

‘Who are we meeting here?’ Ricky asked.

‘We’re no’ meeting anyone,’ Dave said. ‘We’ve come tae get him. He’s no’ too well, so we’re gonnae have tae gie him a hand.’

Ricky looked worried. ‘What do you mean, “not too well”?’

Jack said, ‘He’s got terminal cancer, Rick. And they’ve attached him to all sorts of monitors after a heart attack.’

Ricky’s concern turned to horror. ‘And they’re just going to let him walk out?’

Jack and Dave exchanged glances. ‘Not exactly,’ Jack said. ‘Not that they’ve any right to keep him there, mind. But we’re going to have to . . .’ he searched for the right word, ‘. . . assist him to leave.’ He paused. ‘Though not exactly “we”.’ Another pause. ‘You.’

‘What?’ Ricky’s horror morphed to alarm.

Jack eased himself out of the car, ignoring Ricky’s protests, and retrieved his holdall from the boot. He placed it on the passenger seat and took out a large, white doctor’s coat. ‘Biggest I could get,’ he said. ‘Triple X. But you should just about be able to button it up.’

‘Me?’

Dave laughed from the back seat. ‘Dr Mullins. It’s got a ring tae it.’

Jack pulled a stethoscope from his bag. ‘This is probably a bit of a cliché, but it’ll make a good prop.’

‘I’m absolutely not doing this,’ Ricky said.

Jack gave him a look. ‘You absolutely are, Rick.’ Then he smiled. ‘But don’t worry. Me and Dave’ll distract the nurses. You’re going to need a wheelchair, though.’

Ricky’s eyes opened wide. ‘Where are we going to get a wheelchair?’

‘The hospital, of course.’

‘You mean, steal one?’

Jack laughed. ‘Of course not. We’re only going to borrow it. Hospitals lend mobility equipment to patients all the time. And there’s a whole bunch of them right outside the ward. Folding variety.’ He pushed the coat and stethoscope at Ricky. ‘Now put these on.’

‘I’m too young to be a doctor.’

‘You look old enough to be a junior. And anyway, who’d know?’

‘What if we get caught?’

But Jack just shook his head. He was feeling reckless. ‘Well, strictly speaking, we’re not relatives, so we’ve got no rights here. But what are they going to do to us, son? Shoot us? I don’t think so.’

The coronary care unit was busier than it had been on their earlier visits. There were more visitors, and Jack was pleased to see that the duty nurse was not one of those he had offended the previous night. He needed her to be susceptible to his charms.

They hesitated at the double doors leading to Maurie’s ward, where there were half a dozen wheelchairs folded and stacked against the wall. Ricky’s face was pink with both exertion and nerves. But he hadn’t turned a single head during their walk through the hospital. He made a very convincing doctor, Jack thought.

‘You wait here,’ he told him. ‘Until you see that we’ve got the nurse distracted. Then just stroll in like you own the place. No one’s going to question you. Maurie’s is the last door on the left. He’ll be all disconnected from his tubes and wires and waiting for you. When you’ve got him out, we’ll be right behind you.’

Ricky looked like he was about to throw up.

Jack and Dave walked casually through the ward. But before they got to Maurie’s room, Dave caught his friend’s arm, and they drew briefly to a halt.

Dave lowered his voice. ‘Just wanted to say . . . about Donnie and everything . . .’

Jack saw what looked suspiciously like tears gathering in Dave’s eyes. But grown Scotsmen didn’t show their emotions, and he wasn’t about to let them spill. He just shrugged and swallowed. ‘You know . . . thanks.’

Jack nodded, but there was nothing more to be said.

They carried on to the door of Maurie’s private room, and there they almost bumped into an oddly unsavoury, thickset man with short-cropped black hair, hurrying out. He didn’t acknowledge them but stuck his hands deep in his pockets, head sunk into his shoulders, as he strode off towards the exit. He left the scent of cheap aftershave wafting in his wake.

Maurie was sitting on the bed beside a holdall bag. He was wearing a coat and hat, both of which seemed several sizes too big for him. Seeing him out of bed like this made Jack realize just how diminished he really was. And for a moment he was struck by the folly of what they were doing.

‘Who was that?’ Dave said, flicking his head towards the door.

But Maurie just shook his. ‘No one. Are we all set?’

Jack looked at the bank of monitors beside the bed. Where the previous night green and red lights had winked and bleeped, and a heart monitor had registered on a green phosphor screen, nothing was illuminated. The equipment looked dead. Wires and sensors lay strewn around it on the floor.

‘Won’t that have set off an alarm or something?’

‘It’s disconnected from the mains.’ Maurie sounded tetchy. ‘Just get me out of here.’

Jack said, ‘My grandson’ll be here to get you in just a minute. We’ll keep the nurse busy.’ He hesitated, taking in Maurie’s chalk-white complexion, and the deep, dark smudges beneath his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘As okay as any dying man can be. Go!’

The duty nurse was talking to a middle-aged couple about the condition of their elderly mother, which suited Jack and Dave’s purposes very well. They stood, waiting to speak to her, masking her view towards the door of Maurie’s room, and Jack gestured to Ricky waiting out in the hall that he should make his move now. As Ricky pushed the wheelchair quickly across the floor of the ward, the nurse turned towards Jack.

‘How can I help you?’

Jack fished a pill box with a clear plastic lid from his coat pocket. It was divided into six compartments, each with its own coloured pills.

He said, ‘I know you’re not a doctor or anything. But since this is a heart ward, I thought I could ask you.’ He gave her his best smile. ‘These are the pills I’m on following my own little episode, and I’m off tomorrow on a wee trip. Only, I’ve lost my list of instructions telling me which to take when, and there’s no time to see my doctor before I go.’

‘Pretty colours, though, aren’t they?’ Dave said.

The nurse gave him an odd look.

‘You wouldnae know just how dangerous they are.’

The nurse frowned. ‘Dangerous?’

‘Aye, my old man was on these things after his heart attack, and they might have kept his ticker goin’, but they destroyed his kidneys.’

‘Polypharmacy,’ Jack said. ‘That’s what you’ve got to be careful of, isn’t that right?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to your doctor about your prescription, Mr . . .’

‘Aye, I thought you’d say that.’ Jack put on his best worried look now. ‘I mean, I think I remember the order I’m supposed to take them in, when and how many. But I wouldn’t swear to it. I thought you might know. There’s just no time to ask the doc, you see.’

He felt Dave dunting him, and glanced over his shoulder to see Ricky wheeling Maurie out of the ward.

‘Anyway, thanks for your help, nurse. You can always come to my funeral.’

Her eyes opened wide, and he grinned.

‘Just kidding.’ And he turned to follow Dave out into the hall.

Ricky had a good twenty yards’ start on them and wasn’t hanging about. They almost had to run to catch him up.

But as they did, Maurie started shouting, ‘Stop! Stop!’ and a panicked Ricky pulled up sharply.

Dave reached them first, then Jack, both of them breathless.

‘What the hell is it?’ Jack gasped.

‘I need to go,’ Maurie said

Jack looked up to see the men’s toilet sign above the door to their right. He cursed under his breath. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘No, it can’t. Just help me out of the chair. I can do this on my own.’

The three of them helped Maurie to his feet and stood fretting in the corridor by the wheelchair as the toilet door swung shut behind him. Visitors and nurses, and the occasional doctor, drifted by as they waited. And waited.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Dave whispered eventually through clenched teeth. ‘What’s he doing in there?’

Jack sighed. ‘I’ll go and find out.’

He discovered Maurie on his knees in a cubicle, his arms around the bowl of the toilet as if he were embracing it, retching and vomiting between huge gulps of air.

‘For God’s sake, man, what’s wrong with you?’

Maurie gasped, ‘I’ll be alright in a minute.’ And he threw up again. When he’d caught his breath, he said, ‘It’s the chemo.’

‘I thought you were stopping it.’

‘I just have.’ This time he dry-retched. ‘I think that’s all for the moment. Help me up.’

Jack helped him to his feet and fumbled in a pocket to retrieve a hanky to wipe the saliva and sick from his old friend’s lips and chin. ‘It’s not too late to give this up, Maurie. We can still take you back.’