Josie could sense from Christine’s posture and expression that something was wrong the moment they entered the Intensive Care Unit of the Bristol Royal Infirmary early that evening. George didn’t pick up on any such signals. Possibly because his attention was fixed on the figure in the bed. The fact that Raymond was in the ICU and not on the ward was obviously immediately concerning. Something must’ve gone wrong. He was also on a ventilator, which was breathing for him. Tubes and wires were attached to his father. Machines beeped incessantly. To George, this man, so capable, so quietly in charge, so innately understanding of him, looked stricken, diminished. His face was grey, like many corpses George had seen in his work. How could someone who, only hours before, had been a picture of health for his age – this despite the tumour in his lung – look so close to death? It was then that George turned to Christine, now being comforted in Josie’s arms, and saw from her shrunken expression that things definitely weren’t as they should be.
‘He looks awful,’ he said to her. ‘Is he supposed to look like that? Is it normal?’
‘DS Cross?’ a voice enquired behind him. George looked and saw Mr Moseby walking towards him. ‘Could I have a word?’
‘Is he all right?’ asked George who felt a wave of concern, possibly panic, pass through his body.
‘Please follow me,’ replied the surgeon, giving nothing away and leading him to a side office behind the nurses’ station. It was similar to the way George and Josie often spoke to the relatives of victims. If George hadn’t noticed the tone of voice, he definitely noticed the familiar expression on the doctor’s face. It was the one he saw on Josie’s face when breaking bad news to people. It was an expression he’d tried to emulate in such circumstances, without success. Josie had actually asked him to stop after a couple of attempts, telling him he looked like he was in pain. Surely that was the effect he was trying to convey, he responded. She then informed him it looked like the pain of someone constipated trying to evacuate their bowels. Not someone trying to express empathy. She followed George and Moseby into the side office.
‘The removal of the tumour was completely successful. As we expected we were able to remove it in its entirety. It was actually in a very uncomplicated location,’ the surgeon continued.
‘But…’ George interjected.
‘But, as I told you and your father, this operation was not without its risks in a man of his age.’
‘You did,’ George agreed.
‘We think your father may have suffered a stroke during the course of the operation,’ the surgeon informed them.
‘You think?’ asked George.
‘When he came round, he was unable to speak and there was no movement in his left side.’
‘Why is he on a ventilator?’ George went on. ‘Is that a result of the stroke?’
‘He began losing consciousness and the ability to protect his airway. That was why we intubated him and he was moved here, into the ICU.’
‘How long will he be in this condition for?’
‘It’s hard to predict. A few days, perhaps.’
‘What will the effects of this stroke be?’ asked George. ‘Will he be able to speak? Walk?’
‘Tomorrow we’ll scan his brain. Then we’ll know more,’ Moseby informed him.
‘I knew Arthur was best left alone,’ said George, getting up abruptly and leaving the room.
‘Who is Arthur?’ Moseby asked Josie after George was gone.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ replied Josie. ‘Can I give you my number if you need to get in touch with George? It’s probably quicker and easier that way.’ She gave him her business card.
‘Yes, of course.’ Moseby fumbled in his jacket pocket and brought out a business card of his own, which he then wrote on the back of. ‘This is my personal mobile. Do call if he has any questions or concerns, which I imagine he will.’
*
She found George standing at the end of his father’s bed. Josie thought he looked confused, possibly frightened.
‘George?’ Josie said quietly.
‘Yes,’ he replied and, taking this as a cue to leave, did just that. Without a word.
Josie turned to Christine and took her into her arms once more.
‘Don’t stay here too long. You’ll need your strength for when Raymond wakes up,’ she advised her.
‘I know,’ Christine replied.
‘George…’ Josie began, excusing her friend.
‘You don’t have to explain, dear. He’s my son,’ Christine replied warmly.
‘Yes. He is,’ said Josie, smiling.
Josie left the hospital and found George standing next to her car.
‘I’d like to go back to my flat,’ he informed her.
When he got out of her car some ten minutes later, without a word, and walked up to his front door, fumbling for his keys in his trouser pocket, Josie felt a huge pang in her stomach. He seemed so alone in that moment. If only he would let people into what he was thinking, what he felt, surely he’d feel so much better. Then she realised that the one person George let do that was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.