Finlay
Finlay inexplicably still hasn’t completed the dreaded assignment three days later. It’s almost harder not to finish it than just to press submit. Every time he tries to work on it, he remembers the fact that this is his last chance, that if he fails again he could be out of university. And then he can’t write a single word.
It’s also been nearly two weeks since he saw Akash. Although Finlay knows Akash asked him to message, he starts to think Akash was just being nice. A friendly see you soon! It was good to catch up, but there’s no obligation to uphold a friendship they had ten years ago. And although Finlay misses him, that feeling is precisely the reason he doesn’t get in touch.
He also hasn’t seen the girls in a few days either. After he came out to them, this fragile nakedness started creeping in. Finlay feels oddly vulnerable that they know now, as though it gives them a greater insight into him, a more private reach. He needs to keep his distance, at least for a little while.
Plus Finlay has more pressing concerns. Because today is his first shift on placement. 141
It starts at 9 a.m., so he finishes his cleaning job at 8 a.m. and cycles to his flat to get showered and changed. He’s mapped the route there and back. He’s packed his lunch. He’s set his clothes out. He’s ready.
Finlay received his nursing uniform at the start of term. It’s a zip-up navy tunic with the Glasgow logo stitched into the breast pocket, a huge pocket at either side, and a pair of navy drawstring trousers.
He’s obviously tried it on a hundred times. He likes the fit, but every time he glances in the mirror it’s as though he’s trying on a Halloween costume. He doesn’t feel like a nurse. He doesn’t feel equipped to look after people. To put their life in his hands and confidently know what the fuck he’s doing. So there’s that.
He also doesn’t know anyone at this placement. They found out a few weeks ago: Jun is in the gastroenterology ward at Queen Elizabeth University Hospital, the biggest hospital in Scotland, and Derya will be in radiology a bit further afield in the West End Clinic.
Finlay is residential: Silver Lodge Care Centre.
They’ve been split up. For the next two months. Although Finlay thinks it might be a good thing now, more of an excuse for why he can’t see them, but at the time the confirmation deflated them.
‘Well, I guess this is the last supper,’ Finlay had announced in the common room when they found out, morosely stirring his instant noodles and making the girls laugh until he had to join in.
But even though Finlay tells himself it’s a good thing, now he has to do it all over again. Meet people. Make friends. 142
Outside, the late October air is bitter and biting on the way to placement: winter coming in fast. It’s been over a month since he started university, which is still surreal.
The building is short and stocky, brown bricks and low windows, a flat roof and a homely atmosphere. There’s a long driveway. He sees a plaque with Silver Lodge Care Centre embossed on it, and a few cars in the small car park. The sun hasn’t fully risen; the sky’s a pale, murky grey. Finlay slides his bike into a rack and locks it. Nerves squirm in his abdomen with the thought of being the newcomer and the terror of being the outcast.
He makes his way through the silent reception area of the care home, with soft armchairs and coffee tables placed around, and hitches his bag up his shoulder.
The receptionist at the desk has short auburn hair, ivory-pink skin and slight wrinkles forming. Her name tag states: Charlotte. Finlay files that information away.
‘Hi, Finlay Nowak, I’m here on placement.’ He smiles wide.
‘Oh.’ Charlotte blinks. ‘You’re quite early.’
Twenty minutes, in fact.
‘If you just wait there, I’ll get Rhonda.’
Finlay follows Charlotte’s directions towards one of the plush seats. He sits down for two seconds before he notices one of the coffee tables is a little messy so starts collating the leaflets into a pile. Dementia, Tinnitus, Ostomy Care. He picks one up and flips through. He can’t focus on the words.
Finlay’s stomach is cramping. Will they expect him to 143know what he’s doing? Do most student nurses know what they’re doing?
Once the table is a little tidier, Finlay notices some coffee stains underneath. He sanitises his hands and finds some wet wipes. He’s still cleaning when Rhonda appears.
‘Finlay?’ she asks. Her voice is Scottish, familiar, kind.
He shoots up like a string puppet. ‘Yes!’
Rhonda is short, wearing a similar uniform to Finlay’s, cluttered with badges and lanyards. She’s black, with brown eyes, a tightly curled afro and prominent dimples when she smiles.
‘My God!’ She raises her brows. ‘Workin’ already?’
Finlay laughs. ‘Just habit.’
‘Well.’ Rhonda leans in conspiratorially. ‘In this job, ye take all the spare minutes ye can get.’
*
Rhonda gets him a disposable apron and gloves, and gives him a tour of all the important sites: the break room, the toilets, the store cupboard, etc. It’s small but clean, smells nice and looks orderly. There’s a coffee machine, but it costs a pound to use so Finlay makes a mental note to limit himself to one a week.
Then Rhonda introduces him to the ‘team’, which consists of four other staff.
Beth’s in her twenties, recently graduated, honey-tan with long blonde hair. She says to Finlay: ‘You’re tiny!’
Leanne’s in her early thirties, maybe, with rosy-peach skin and brown hair pulled back with hairclips. She nods silently, quiet and demure. 144
Somaya is a similar age, with brown skin and small features, and wears a hijab. She smiles and tells Finlay, ‘If you need anything, just ask.’
Charlotte is, obviously, on reception.
Next: the residents.
Some are nice, some are not; most are very neutral about his addition. In that Finlay comes into their room with a wide smile and a ‘Hello!’ only to be greeted with absolutely nothing. Not even the blink of an eye.
For some reason Finlay assumed he’d be doing the unskilled jobs, the does-not-need-qualifications-for jobs, but it’s the total opposite. He almost wants each resident to sign a form that says: Finlay was forced to do this on his first day and is not liable for whatever happens to me.
One of the first things Finlay has to do is to change the leg dressing on a seventy-year-old man who’s hard of hearing.
‘Ah don’t want him dain it.’ Patrick swats Finlay as if he’s an annoying housefly.
‘Finlay’s doing it today, Patrick, and he’s more than capable,’ Rhonda says firmly.
Finlay has to take Patrick’s side on this one and disagree with that. Finlay shoots Rhonda a look. She just nods him along like he’s a small child headed off to school.
It doesn’t go terribly. It doesn’t go great. Patrick groans and grumbles and complains as Finlay peels off the old dressing, cleans the area, dries the area, and puts on a new dressing, chanting lecture slides in his head the entire time. 145
But then it’s done, and the dressing is functional. Finlay blows out a long breath.
‘Not so bad, eh?’ Rhonda bumps him as they enter the corridor. ‘So – what made ye pick nursing?’
‘Um.’ Finlay rubs his nape. ‘It’s a good job.’
Rhonda raises her brows. ‘Plenty of good jobs.’
‘I …’ Finlay swallows. ‘I like it.’
He’s never admitted this to anyone. It’s a weird thing to admit. He likes this. He likes sickness and dirty bedsheets. He likes antiseptic smells and human waste. He likes pain, pus, blood, urine. He likes holding somebody’s chin to pick out small pieces of gravel, their knees pressed and breath close: trusted and trusting.
Wanting to be a doctor is normal. The healers of the world, the pride of their family. But normal people don’t want this: to be overworked, underpaid, overstressed, undervalued.
‘Me too.’ Rhonda nods. ‘You’ll meet people, you’ll love them, and you’ll help them. But you’ll touch death, too. It’s good to know that first.’
Finlay’s mouth is dry as he nods again. Rhonda’s gaze holds him in place, and then she smiles. ‘Ready?’ She somehow manages not to shatter the moment, voice gentle and calm. Finlay imagines that voice at the edge of his bed when sick, and knows it would soothe the same as the cool touch of a hand.
‘Yes.’ Finlay smiles.
‘Good.’ Rhonda nods again. ‘So, I’m no’ throwing ye into the deep end—’
Dread curdles in Finlay’s stomach. 146
‘But I’ll let ye handle the others yourself—’
Finlay opens his mouth in panic.
‘Trust me, you’ll be fine.’ Her hand lands on his shoulder. ‘And if ye need anything, just shout. Don’t be scared to say I’m a student, I’m no’ sure. We’re always here to help.’ She smiles.
And then she hands Finlay the medical files of all the residents he’s overseeing today.
‘Baptism of fire,’ she tells him. ‘Only way.’
*
His residents today are Patrick, Alice, Harry, and Edith. Finlay reads their information, steadies himself, and enters the belly of the beast – their bedrooms.
Alice has dementia, but she also has a colostomy bag that needs care. Finlay’s never dealt with one before. So of course when Finlay touches it, it explodes. Everywhere. All over Alice’s clothes, legs, stomach, bed, everything.
Finlay literally doesn’t care about how bad it smells or the fact he’s up to his elbows in it, but Alice is so confused and upset she starts shouting for help. Because who the fuck wouldn’t shout for help if a random stranger barged into their room and burst their stoma bag?
Leanne comes in, takes one look at the scene, and immediately intervenes. ‘It’s all right, Alice, you’re all right.’
Finlay hides in the disabled toilet and cries.
Leanne finds him.
‘Finlay?’ She knocks gently.
Finlay stiffens. He opens the door an inch. ‘I’m so sorry—’ 147
She comes in, takes his hands, and puts them under the tap. ‘You need to make the water hot.’
Finlay is silent as she scrubs, clearly more familiar with this than him.
‘The smell passes,’ she murmurs. ‘I know it’s a shock, but you’ll get used to it.’
Finlay shakes his head and sniffles. ‘I’m so embarrassed. I literally can’t believe I burst her bag. That must’ve been awful.’
Leanne looks at him, but her eyes soften. ‘These things happen.’
Finlay reaches for the paper towels. ‘She must’ve been terrified. I completely forgot to introduce myself. I just barged in, said hello, and started changing the bag.’
Leanne turns the tap off and stares at him. She lets out a laugh, sharp and sudden. Finlay adjusts his glasses, a little affronted.
Leanne waves a hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she manages. ‘It’s not funny. I just imagined you rushing for her stoma as if you wanted to steal it.’
Finlay wants to be very serious right now, but that is objectively hilarious. He snickers. Then Leanne starts really laughing, and Finlay joins in. He laughs so hard he has to double over, the absurdity of the moment rushing through him.
*
Eventually, Finlay meets his two other residents.
‘Where are ye fae?’ Harry immediately asks.
‘Scotland.’ Finlay frowns.
‘Whereaboots?’ Harry leans forward. ‘Ye dinnae sound like it.’
Finlay clears his throat. ‘Uh, Glasgow.’
He can’t pinpoint a specific location because there isn’t one; he’s 148moved around too much for that. And Finlay doesn’t speak Scots either. He was too secluded and unsociable and his tongue never unravelled enough to learn. His mother spoke with a Polish accent, and Finlay spoke to her every day.
Maybe he overenunciates English. Maybe that’s how his voice will always be now. That’s why they’re called formative years. They mould a person into a shape they can’t melt out of.
‘Well, I dinnae agree wae this relaxin’ the borders and lettin’ in anywan.’
Finlay nods silently, gives a hum here and there as he sorts Harry’s many medications and Harry rants some more anti-immigration rhetoric. Finlay doesn’t point out that the NHS wouldn’t exist if it didn’t recruit foreign staff.
Edith is quiet and calm. She’s in a wheelchair with Parkinson’s. Finlay helps her to eat and wash. This is the kind of job Finlay imagined doing, so it’s about the only thing that goes smoothly.
And then the day is finished. It’s over. It was literally not good. Finlay was actually very terrible.
‘Shush, you were fine!’ Beth laughs.
‘Honestly, I’ve done it before too.’ Somaya nods. ‘The bags are really tricky, you need to make sure the flap is sealed—’
Finlay groans and puts his head on the reception desk. ‘What’s my nickname?’
‘Still being decided,’ Rhonda states, and they all laugh.
Finlay leaves them with a wave and pulls out his phone. He bites his lip, hesitating, but takes the plunge before he can talk himself out of it. 149
Coffee?
IM FREE, Derya texts, I need to rant
That was awful, Jun adds, I almost left
It cannot be worse than mine, Finlay replies, smiling. The thought of seeing them lifts his entire mood. Meet you guys in an hour.
When Finlay gets back to his flat, the sensation of looking after someone is still in his hands. He remembers this feeling. Making his fingers gentle, making his voice soft. The memory has clotted in his chest to form a strange, heavy pressure. There was fear and nausea with Banjo, plus this strange transferred pain, a wince for every black-and-blue bruise. Now Finlay can unpeel dressings from mottled wrists and feel nothing.
It’s a good thing, this distance.
After Finlay sleeps outside the bathroom when Banjo is sick, things are easier. Banjo is calmer. Finlay’s not about to call them friends. They’ll be moved out of St Andrews soon, considering it’s only a temporary housing solution until the longer placements with proper carers are secured. Most of the kids here have behavioural or other issues, which is what makes finding a placement for them even harder, and probably why they land here in the first place. But it also means nobody is really here to make friends.
Then something unthinkable happens to Finlay.
He goes into his room one day after therapy, lies down 150and frowns. Something feels off. His skin itches. Finlay reaches underneath his pillow. At first he only uses one hand, then both. Then he rips up the pillows, the duvet, the sheets, throws his mattress off, flings his drawers open, searches and searches and—
‘No, no, no, no.’ He’s only aware that he’s speaking as he gets louder. ‘No, no, NO!’
He tries Banjo’s bed, Banjo’s things, Banjo’s drawers. Nothing.
Finlay tries the bathroom, the kitchen, throws himself into the hamper of dirty clothes, pulls everything out, pyjamas and underwear and—
‘Finlay! Finlay, what’s happened?’ Lucy appears at his side.
Finlay keeps searching.
‘Finlay, please,’ Lucy tries. More staff surround him.
‘Just give us a wee idea, mate,’ Douglas tries. ‘We’ll help ye find it.’
‘It can’t have gone far,’ Sophie adds, as if she even knows.
Finlay shakes his head, moves into the living room where everybody is watching him. He throws up the cushions, looks under the couch, scatters the magazines and books and snacks and toys.
Marco and Calum and Lewis and Sonny are all shouting, complaining, shoving him, saying things, but Finlay can’t find him.
It doesn’t even matter, nothing even matters, because Mr Black is gone.
Finlay screams. It’s an ear-splitting, shrieking noise. He slaps his face with both hands, rakes nails down his skin. People start restraining him. Finlay thrashes wildly, but he’s not strong enough.
‘Whit the fuck!’ Banjo crashes on to the scene. He’s wind-bitten 151and sweaty, eyes crazed. He must have been outside. His eyes meet Finlay’s before he takes a step forward.
But the walls collapse. Finlay sobs and falls to the floor. Because it’s all gone. He’s lost everything. His only companion, his one comfort in life, the only thing that smells familiar, that feels like home.
‘Jesus!’ Marco – a boy a year younger than him – cries. Mr Black is ripped out from the couch cushions, floppy and crushed. ‘Thought it would make you speak, I didn’t think you’d go ballistic.’
Finlay freezes. Every part of him goes still. Everyone in the room holds their breath. Banjo stares.
‘Marco, that’s your TV privileges revoked,’ Lucy informs him, but they’re still on edge. Sophie and Douglas say nothing.
Finlay walks over. Marco holds Mr Black out, bored. He’s bigger than Finlay, shoulders wide. Finlay should let this go. Allow this to have been a simple mistake, a prank, a nothingness. But everyone is watching him. Every single person in St Andrews knows now that Finlay’s one weakness is a worn old teddy. And they’ll come again. They won’t stop.
Finlay flies at Marco.
He gets both hands around Marco’s throat before Marco throws Mr Black at Calum. Finlay doesn’t lose focus though, tightens his grip, because Marco has clearly never known the frantic animal pain that overtakes the body when you reach for the last something you own in the world and discover it gone.
There’s so much commotion, so much noise: Banjo’s jumping between Calum and Lewis, who are tossing Mr Black around, 152Sonny has his hands over his ears, the staff are trying to split Finlay and Marco up and comfort Sonny and stop Lewis and Calum and pacify Banjo.
Finlay’s soon ripped off Marco, who takes a ragged inhale, staggering backwards to the couch. But then Finlay sees Mr Black being pulled between Banjo and Calum, about to be ripped in two.
‘No!’ he screams.
A change comes over Banjo. He abandons his mission of retrieving Mr Black and punches Calum three times in quick succession, arm diving in with almost blinding speed. Calum sways but Banjo keeps going: this new, horrific brutality in every line of his body.
‘Banjo, Banjo stop, right now—’ Douglas tries to interfere without getting hit, but Banjo’s too quick. It’s only when Calum stumbles that Douglas steps between them.
Banjo doesn’t notice. He picks Mr Black up off the floor.
Lucy and Sophie are holding a struggling Finlay by both arms; Douglas is tending to Calum, Marco is coughing, Calum is shouting, ‘My nose!’
Banjo holds out Mr Black with a bloodied hand and smiles. ‘Here.’
It’s the greatest act of love Finlay’s ever known.
*
Finlay is allowed in the quiet room with the cuddly toys and the cushions for however long he wants. He lies in the middle with Mr Black protected in the concave of his body. He doesn’t want to face anyone or anything. 153
After a couple hours, there’s a noise outside his door. Finlay doesn’t move. He assumes it’s the staff.
‘Oi,’ Banjo states, voice low as if he’s pressed to the gap in the door.
Finlay doesn’t move.
‘Ye oan the floor?’ Banjo asks.
Finlay wants to say something. Life is hard. Sometimes it puts you on the floor. They already know that, though.
It sounds as if Banjo sits down and presses his back to the door. ‘D’ye … wannae talk?’
Finlay curls into a smaller ball.
‘Ah, fuck it, I’ll talk. Eh … Said sorry tae Calum. But staff made everyone say sorry in a wee sorry circle so it wasnae like it mattered. ’Hink they’re jus’ givin’ us time tae cool aff an’ that. Don’ ’hink anyone’ll try that again.’
There’s silence.
‘Is it … special? The teddy?’
Finlay is silent. It’s a teddy. He’s fifteen. He doesn’t know how to explain it without opening up his insides.
Banjo doesn’t repeat himself. He’s content to wait.
‘His name is Mr Black,’ Finlay manages, voice hoarse. He lifts Mr Black up to his face, strokes his floppy ears and presses their noses together. ‘He says “thanks” for saving him.’
Banjo is quiet.
‘I found him in the bin,’ Finlay rasps. ‘He only had one eye. It would be so easy to fix, but someone threw him away. He’s shy because he’s not from here. He doesn’t know anybody. And he 154doesn’t speak because people make fun of his voice. So he’s sad, because no matter where he is … he can never be home.’
They breathe for a minute.
‘I get that,’ Banjo murmurs. ‘I fucken get that, Mr Black.’