Chapter Nineteen

 

Throughout the night and into the morning, a pretty young nurse had kept a watchful eye on Simon.

The name on his medical records–Steven Kelly–confused her. As a faithful fan of Simon and the Heartbeats, there was no way she could mistake who her patient was, but the name Steven Kelly had set alarm bells ringing in her head.

Checking his date of birth, she realized he could indeed have been the same young boy in her long forgotten memories of life in the orphanage, but she could not be certain.

She, Steven, and two others, had all been fostered in the same loving home. A patient, kind and positive woman, Linda had given them hot milk and biscuits every night as she read them stories of faraway places, and sang them songs of comfort.

Linda was always singing. The young nurse couldn’t help but smile at the memory as she carried on with her rounds.

Returning later to check on her patient, she sat down on the bedside chair to take the weight off her aching feet for a moment. His temperature was good and his pulse strong.

As she was filling out his chart, Simon began to stir. She watched closely as he woke, clearly alarmed as he realized he was in a hospital bed.

“What’s happened to me? Was I in some kind of an accident?”

“You’re ok,” she soothed, patting his hand. “Take it easy now, it could have been a whole lot worse.”

Keen to calm his agitation, she sat at his bedside a little longer while she explained to him what had happened.

Although she had been a fan of Simon’s for many years, she had never had any reason to link him to her childhood friend, Steven Kelly. But as they talked, she felt almost certain it was the same person.

“Steven,” she said sensitively, “you overdosed. You were lucky this time. But you mustn’t wait for your luck to run out. You need to get help to get a grip on this.”

“Why did you call me Steven? My name is Simon.”

“I’m sorry. It says Steven on your medical records.” She cleared her throat hesitantly before continuing. “Actually, I know who you are.”

“My name is Simon now,” came the bitter reply. “Steven was a long time ago, not that I would expect you to understand.”

“I do understand,” she objected. “I also had to change my name, but I still remember things. I still remember Linda, my foster mother. And,” she added gently, “I still remember you.” Not wanting to listen to any more, Simon rolled over on one side and stared blankly at the plain white wall.

“The doctor will stop by later to see you.” The nurse’s professional tone had returned, and she rose to leave. “If you need anything in the meantime, just use your bedside buzzer.”

* * *

Left alone, cocooned in his hospital bed with the curtains drawn around for privacy, his mind drifted back to memories of Linda, his foster mother. She had been the only real mother figure in his life, but it was all so long ago. His thoughts and memories jarred as they threw up long forgotten thoughts of abandonment and fear.

He had deleted that time–and the name Steven–from his life when he embraced his new persona of Simon. But now, without any word of warning, the scattered jigsaw of his past life had re-emerged.

Despite so many sad and upsetting memories flitting through his head, he could only remember Linda, and his life with her, with fondness. She had been the one who had encouraged his singing.

Needing to know more about the nurse and her childhood, he pressed his buzzer. With a bold swish of his curtains, the ward sister appeared to ask if he needed a bedpan.

“No,” Simon replied, “but I would like to talk to the nurse who was with me earlier, when I woke up.”

“She is on her break,” the polite, but sharp-tongued sister replied with authority. “Can I help you?”

“No, it’s okay, thanks. Oh wait, what’s her name?”

“It’s Linda.”

* * *

Don Peterson had endured a restless night, worrying about the consequences for him if Simon did not survive. It was one of the few occasions he had ever stayed an entire night alone at home.

His jumbled mind twisted and turned through the countless questions Alan Fox would scream at him if their young star did not pull through. He had to be prepared; he would have to cover his own ass.

Exhausted after little sleep, he phoned the hospital for an update on Simon’s condition. “The doctor starts his rounds at ten o’clock, leave it for an hour or so and try again then,” the receptionist suggested politely.

“Well, at least he’s still alive,” murmured Peterson, as he put down the phone. “That’s a good start anyway.”

* * *

“Feeling any better?” asked a cheery voice as the pretty young nurse peeped her head through Simon’s bedside curtains.

“Come in, please. Come in. What you said earlier, I need to ask you things.”

“I’m just about to go off duty. I just popped in because the sister said you were looking for me. Are you sure that you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really,” Simon admitted. “But I have to know about you. All that baggage from when I was a kid, and all that stuff from before, I have blocked it all out and the only connection is you. Why now? Who are you?” Simon sounded almost frightened of her reply.

Pulling up a chair at his bedside, the girl explained that her childhood name had been Kathleen Doherty, and–two years younger than him–she had looked upon Steven as her big brother.

As she talked quietly about her childhood, leaving the care home and life with Linda, her foster mother, forgotten images from the past flashed through Simon’s mind.

“I used to tease you by calling you Kitty-Kat,” he remembered, smiling at the memory. “You always followed me everywhere, so I called you that to make you stop.”

“I felt so safe being with you,” she said, delighted that he had remembered her. “You stopped the others from beating on me. I was so small and easy to pick on, you were the only one that made them go away. Nothing was ever the same after Linda took ill and we were all split up; it wasn’t until a few years ago that I found out she died of cancer a few months later.”

In the quiet of the small hospital room, undisturbed by staff or visitors, the two shared memories of their years with their foster mother.

“She was the happiest, kindest, honest, most Christian woman I have ever known,” said the young nurse, “and every day I try to live my life in a way that would make her proud of me. When it came to changing my name and my future, I wanted to be called Linda.” She spoke with absolute conviction. “Now it’s your turn. Why did you choose the name Simon?”

“Well, I didn’t put as much thought into as you did,” he grinned. “I just kept the S and changed Steven to Simon.”

“Not very imaginative for someone who writes such meaningful songs,” she teased.

Her comments brought Simon back to reality and he couldn’t ignore the niggle of worry that his past might end up as a headline in some gossip magazine. Without thinking, he asked Linda to keep their secret to themselves.

“A story like this could fetch a lot of money, Linda,” he admitted. “Please don’t tell anyone. If you are ever in need of money, come to me first and not some journalist. I’m begging with you, please, keep this between us, it has to stay our secret.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. The stain from the orphanage had never washed away; he did not trust anyone.

“You are still looking over your shoulder, Steven Kelly,” Linda snapped, obviously stung by his insult. “For a short time, you were the only brother I ever had and I was the closest thing you had to a little sister. A king’s ransom could never buy that memory.”

“I’m sorry, I am truly sorry for saying that,” Simon told her, “but my experience of people is maybe different from yours.”

“Maybe so, but you can only expect to get back what you put out. That’s what Linda always said.”

An uneasy silence followed her remark, before Simon apologized again. When Linda got to her feet and announced that she was exhausted and needed to go home and sleep, he asked if he could have her telephone number to call sometime.

She wrote her number on a torn strip of newspaper lying near the bin, then asked for his, and Simon gave the details of Star-way Promotions.

“With all the travelling and always on the road, the only way to reach me is through the Star-way office,” he explained, giving her the number. “They can take a message and pass it on.”

“You poor thing, that’s really sad,” she replied genuinely. “And I thought that your life would be so exciting.”

* * *

The doctor had already started his rounds. He and the ward sister stood at the foot of Simon’s bed. After reading his hospital chart, the doctor looked up to face the gaunt, tired man in the bed.

“So what is it that you don’t like about yourself, son?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“OK, let me put it like this,” the doctor’s tone was sympathetic. “If you love someone, would you intentionally go out of your way to harm them?”

“Of course not,” Simon answered.

“Well, it’s time to start loving yourself again, boy. People in this hospital are here for the reason that they are sick and want to recover. According to these hospital notes, you put yourself in danger. Would you like to speak to a therapist?”

“What?” Simon couldn’t hide his shock at the suggestion.

“You clearly have issues, and it may help to talk about them to a professional,” the doctor advised.

“I’m not listening to this shit!” Simon snapped. “Where are my clothes?”

“Sorry.” The doctor shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere. You are classified as a self-harmer.”

“And if I agree to speak to your therapist, will it get me out of here any sooner?”

“It’s the only way I can discharge you, son.”

* * *

Later that day, Dr. John Madison came to speak with Simon. When he first introduced himself, Simon remarked sarcastically that his name suited his profession.

“If we are going to go down that road, you will have to be more imaginative than that,” the therapist replied with a frown. “I’ve heard it all before. So let’s move on from the wisecracks and tell me why a successful, handsome young man, with the best years of his life in front of him, should try to kill himself.”

Simon’s answer was hostile and bitter. “I did not try to kill myself. I overdosed. Why would I want to kill myself?”

“Only you know that, but if we are honest with each other, I can help you find the answer.”

Simon felt threatened. Agitated and confused, he began shouting verbal abuse at the therapist.

Dr. Madison sat calmly at the side of Simon’s bed and let him rant without interruption. Eventually Simon ran out of steam and had no more to say.

After a few minutes of silence, Madison smiled gently at Simon. “Bet you’re feeling better already.”

Simon had no reason to trust this stranger, yet something deep inside told him he needed this man’s help. His inner being was screaming from its very pit to let the stranger in and fix it.

Dr. Madison waited patiently while his patient wrestled with a host of strong emotions. “There are neither rules nor judgment attached to this procedure,” he explained in soft tones. “We can do it whatever way you feel comfortable with. You can open up and talk about your demons if you want, but most of the people I see are not brave enough for that at the start.

“On the other hand, if you prefer, you can ask me questions and talk about yourself as a third party. The genie has to come out of the bottle at some point. As long as we are talking, you are letting it out. Sometimes people with issues show angry rage; they might self-harm, suffer from depression, or abuse alcohol and drugs. They are all very dangerous and may someday take your life. I believe that my way is more controlled.”

As Simon listened carefully to the therapist’s gentle and encouraging words, he could feel the knotted muscles at the back of his neck slowly start to loosen. Madison had assured him he was not there to judge in any way and that their conversations would be completely confidential.

“No guilt, no blame,” the doctor assured. “Chances are, most of it was not your fault anyway.”

* * *

Peterson phoned the hospital again. The longer Simon stayed in there, the greater the chance of Alan Fox finding out about it. The receptionist gave him no information, only confirming that Simon was still under their care and not ready to be discharged.

Maybe he’s had a relapse, Don Peterson thought as he hung up the telephone. The thought of it troubled him.