Page 32 of The Flowers of Bay C
‘What a mess, shit everywhere.’
‘It’s disgusting. Look at these sheets. Some of us round here have to clean up after people like you.’
A tiny, wavery sound, like a cat in pain. Followed by more harsh laughter, then, ‘Shhh, Julie. You’re making too much noise.’
Crying, now, that’s what I can hear. Raspy sobs. Scratchy words. ‘My mouse. My mouse. Please.’
I am frozen.
‘Your mouse, your mouse, oh please, oh please,’ in a mocking whisper and a barely snuffed outcackle.
I have to call a nurse. Have to tell them what is happening. What they are saying to Barbara. But my body will not listen to my mind. My limbs are bricks. I can’t let this happen to her. Can’t let—
A scramble. A flurry of light and curtains and shock. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
Jodie.
‘How would you feel if I called you a cantankerous old hag? Not so good, right? I’m reporting you, and you’re totally getting binned for this.’
They go quiet then, but I can still hear the watery waves of Barbara’s bewildered grief. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the night to swallow me up.
‘Penny.’ A soft whisper. ‘Wake up, love. I’m just here for a little bit of blood from you.’
The phlebotomist ties a tourniquet round my arm, squeezing tight until it goes numb. ‘Sharp scratch.’
I like it when the phlebotomists do my bloods. Their sharp scratches are a whole lot less sharp than other healthcare professionals’ sharp scratches, especially doctors. Especially junior doctors. Their sharp scratches are so sharp it’s like being bitten into by a raging tiger. But the nice phlebotomist’s sharp scratch barely registers as anything beyond a tiny sting.
She takes several vials of blood this morning, all with different labels quickly and competently attached, neat and tidy and well-practised. ‘There we go. All done.’
‘Thank you.’
She goes to Violet next, shakes her shoulder gently. ‘Mrs Oddens? Violet?’
Violet splutters and coughs. ‘What do you want now?’
‘Just here for some bloods, love.’
‘Theytook some yesterday! Don’t you dare stick that thing in me!’
‘Doctor asked for some more.’
‘If you lot could do your job better this wouldn’t happen. They took about a pint of the stuff yesterday. What business do you have stabbing me again? This is disgraceful.’
The phlebotomist doesn’t even flinch. ‘Doctor needs more today.’
Violet catches me watching and narrows her eyes at me. ‘Well, try not to stab me too hard. The one yesterday, it was disgusting, she wasn’t at all careful, I can tell you that much.’
The phlebotomist presses her lips together, with one slightly raised eyebrow, wrapping her tourniquet and readying her needle. She doesn’t mention that she was, in fact, the one who took Violet’s bloods yesterday. I wonder about her, about how many times she goes unseen by patients, trekking round the wards with her trolley, hated for her needles.
‘Sharp scratch.’
Violet screeches like a derailed train. ‘Ouch! That ruddy hurt!’
The phlebotomist doesn’t reply, just as she didn’t yesterday when Violet went on a long rant about how much she hates needles, how she’d refused the Covid vaccine because she hates them so much but mostly because they put microchips in them to control us, and she’d had Covid anyway so what was the point?
‘You lot with your tiresome needles, all the time, disturbing my sleep. It shouldn’t be allowed. Can’t you come back at a reasonable hour?’
I close my eyes, grinning to myself. I know what Jake would be saying if he were here now.
