Page 12 of The Flowers of Bay C
‘Okay Karen.’
‘I don’t know what that means. My name is Violet.’
‘Nothing. Look, can you get your family or whatever to do the payment for you? Or do you have a card?’
‘But my husband won’t be in until tomorrow, andEastendersis on in ten minutes.’
Jake shrugs. ‘Sorry.’
‘Youngsters today have no staying power,’ Violet mutters, and shoves the unit away from her at Jake, who stumbles back.
‘Woah. Okay then. Good luck.’ Jake comes back over to me, slouches down onto the chair by my bed.
I muster up my strength and the edges of an outrage that isn’t as large in me as usual. ‘The Karen thing is tedious and offensive.’
Jake laughs. That worked well, then.
Jodie leans over to Jake, ignoring Kane who is immersed in his phone, all morose and silent. She tilts her head over at Violet, her eyes wide and dancing with mirth. ‘She’s gonna be a right one.’
‘She is that,’ Jake says.
‘I need a fag.’
‘I’ll come with,’ Kane says, leaping out of the chair and hightailing it out of the bay, leaving Jodie in his wake, struggling with all her paraphernalia.
‘I do, too,’ Violet says, unexpectedly. ‘You got one I can have?’
Jodie stares at her. ‘You look like you should stay here.’ Violet’s lips are bluer than before, her face pale as the moon.
Violet shakes her head, as if Jodie is being ridiculous. ‘I know what I can and can’t do. I’m high up in the National Trust, you know.’
Jodie and Jake gaze at one another with snarky grins dancing on their lips.
Violet turns her body away from us. ‘Nurse!’ she shouts at Nicki, who is hovering over by Kat’s bed. ‘Take me outside in one of those chairs. I need a cigarette.’
Nicki takes a long breath in and puffs out her cheeks. ‘Righto, MrsOh-dens. If I could just finish what I’m doing—’
‘I’ll take her,’ Jake says, dragging himself to his feet. I stare at him, taking in the sheer wonder of him, his gawky teenageness, endless arms and legs all sharp awkward angles, dark hair swept low over his eyes in messy disarray. ‘Not to talk to her or anything. Just ’cause they’ve got enough to do round here without her demanding her rights all the time.’
‘I’ll look after him,’ Jodie says, hovering in the doorway and winking at me. ‘C’mon, Mrs National Trust, let’s find you that chair.’
Jake says, ‘We should put a thistle on it.’
Chapter 5
Iam nice Penny.
I am Penny who says yes to everything, because I cannot be a person who lets others down.
Like when I said yes to joining the Parent Teacher Association and got mercilessly sucked into the life of a mum that does school things. I baked a thousand cakes, took meticulous minutes of long and pointless meetings, and organised discos for overexcited children who got high on all the sweets I got cheap from Costco and then traumatised the dazed-looking DJ with their squealing and squalling. I was swiftly promoted to vice chair, but never chair, because Lucinda Williams would never dream of relinquishing her power. Then I got myself voted onto the governing body and sat through endless meetings where I said yes to a lot of things I did not understand. I said yes to going on courses about safeguarding and British Values and then had to give presentations at the full governing body meetings to scary people who sat and judged my poor communication skills. But I was reliable, for a time, so I got asked and asked again, until I started being unreliable. I sent my apologies to meetings and school trips I’d been earmarked for as an extra adult to herd reluctant Year Fives around the Botanic Gardens or eager Year Ones around the Farm Park. I beratedmyself then; why did I ever sign up? Why did I ever think this would be different, that I would cope, that I would suddenly magically be well enough? I resigned and watched as a look of relief crossed the headteacher’s face and disapproval blazed in Lucinda Williams’ eyes.
I am nice Penny who wants to please, and I am disappointing Penny who always lets you down.
I can be nice Penny in hospital, though, without the pressure of performance. I’m the helpful patient, that kind and polite one who doesn’t shout at them or spit in their faces. I don’t tell them that their laziness is a complete disgrace, like Violet did to a healthcare assistant in the night. I can be different. I can make their job easier. And then, maybe, they won’t notice me too much.
This morning I spot Dr Chowdhury making for my cubicle flanked by a group of what can only be medical students. Incredibly young, fresh faces set with keen enthusiasm woven with edges of fear, clinging their iPads close to their chests and almost drooling in the wake of this renowned consultant who is deigning to allow them in his presence.
They squeeze together at the bottom of my bed and smile hopefully at me. Dr Chowdhury clears his throat and sweeps his hand towards them. ‘Good morning, Penny. These are some of my trainee doctors. Would you mind if they had a chat with you and examine you?’
