was trying to force its way through the traffic towards the Underground station, its sirens screaming. It was agonising, the sound of the sirens, its thwarted progress. She looked away, at the Thames and the looming Houses of Parliament. They seemed unreal, like a backdrop rolled out for a budget movie that needed a quick establishing shot. This was what tourists imagined when they thought of the city: Big Ben and red buses, the London Eye and bobbies with silly helmets. And it was all there waiting for them.
But did they see the rest? Stevie wondered. The rough sleepers and kettled demos, the cheap chicken fryers whose sleeping bags lay bundled in the back of the shop, the men and women hanging around King’s Cross with a kind word and the offer of a bed for the night to runaways they would soon put to work?
Maybe the tourists did see, and felt as helpless as she did. It was a globalised world after all, and there was no reason to imagine that their capital cities were any different. The screams of the people falling were still in her mind. Stevie felt a sudden urge to go back, but didn’t break her stride as she crossed Westminster Bridge. Simon had trusted her to deliver the laptop. It was the only service she could do for him now.
Ten
St Thomas’s Hospital was grey and dirty against the blue sky. The filth of the city clung to its once white façade as if drawn there by the sickness within. Stevie felt a familiar sense of dread, but she walked through the automatic doors and into the foyer.
Inside, St Thomas’s looked more like a small mall than a hospital. A queue ran all the way from the tills in the Marks & Spencer’s concession to the bunches of two-for-five-pounds roses and serviceable carnations stationed in buckets at its door. The entrance hall was busy with workers on their lunch breaks but Stevie caught glimpses of the building’s real purpose amongst the crowd.
A thin man with a stethoscope draped around his neck stood by the lifts, talking on his mobile phone. Two women in green scrubs chatted as they walked towards the exit. A policeman shook his head and laughed at something an ambulance driver had just told him. Stevie thought she could spot some relatives of patients too. Tired-looking low-wattage ghosts of themselves, hoarding their energy for those moments when they needed to dredge up a healing smile or their heart’s blood.
Stevie went to the reception desk and explained that she was looking for Mr Reah. ‘I think he’ll be in one of the children’s wards.’
The receptionist consulted her computer. Stevie stared at a poster on the wall behind the desk.
COUGHING
VOMITING
DIARRHOEA
RASH
SWOLLEN GLANDS
If you experience a combination of three
or more of these symptoms, avoid sharing
them with your friends and family.
OBSERVE GOOD HYGIENE
CATCH COUGHS IN A DISPOSABLE TISSUE
DO NOT PREPARE FOOD FOR OTHERS
WASH YOUR HANDS FREQUENTLY
STAY AT HOME
CALL 0800 669 9961
The receptionist looked up at her.
‘You’re in the wrong building. You want the private part of the hospital.’
Stevie thought she sensed disapproval in the other woman’s voice, but perhaps she was just hearing an echo of her own surprise. Simon had never mentioned that he did private work. Stevie had imagined him tending sick children regardless of their parents’ means. She covered her disappointment with a smile and asked if it would be possible to visit Joan Caniparoli.
‘I was told she was in intensive care.’ Stevie’s voice was salesgirl-bright. ‘But I think there’s a good chance she’ll be out of there by now.’
The receptionist asked her to spell Joanie’s second name and rattled it into the computer keyboard.
Her eyes met Stevie’s. ‘Are you a relative?’
‘A friend.’
‘I’m afraid Mrs Caniparoli is still in intensive care.’ This time there was sympathy in the woman’s voice. ‘That means only close relatives are allowed to visit.’
Stevie wanted
But did they see the rest? Stevie wondered. The rough sleepers and kettled demos, the cheap chicken fryers whose sleeping bags lay bundled in the back of the shop, the men and women hanging around King’s Cross with a kind word and the offer of a bed for the night to runaways they would soon put to work?
Maybe the tourists did see, and felt as helpless as she did. It was a globalised world after all, and there was no reason to imagine that their capital cities were any different. The screams of the people falling were still in her mind. Stevie felt a sudden urge to go back, but didn’t break her stride as she crossed Westminster Bridge. Simon had trusted her to deliver the laptop. It was the only service she could do for him now.
Ten
St Thomas’s Hospital was grey and dirty against the blue sky. The filth of the city clung to its once white façade as if drawn there by the sickness within. Stevie felt a familiar sense of dread, but she walked through the automatic doors and into the foyer.
Inside, St Thomas’s looked more like a small mall than a hospital. A queue ran all the way from the tills in the Marks & Spencer’s concession to the bunches of two-for-five-pounds roses and serviceable carnations stationed in buckets at its door. The entrance hall was busy with workers on their lunch breaks but Stevie caught glimpses of the building’s real purpose amongst the crowd.
A thin man with a stethoscope draped around his neck stood by the lifts, talking on his mobile phone. Two women in green scrubs chatted as they walked towards the exit. A policeman shook his head and laughed at something an ambulance driver had just told him. Stevie thought she could spot some relatives of patients too. Tired-looking low-wattage ghosts of themselves, hoarding their energy for those moments when they needed to dredge up a healing smile or their heart’s blood.
Stevie went to the reception desk and explained that she was looking for Mr Reah. ‘I think he’ll be in one of the children’s wards.’
The receptionist consulted her computer. Stevie stared at a poster on the wall behind the desk.
COUGHING
VOMITING
DIARRHOEA
RASH
SWOLLEN GLANDS
If you experience a combination of three
or more of these symptoms, avoid sharing
them with your friends and family.
OBSERVE GOOD HYGIENE
CATCH COUGHS IN A DISPOSABLE TISSUE
DO NOT PREPARE FOOD FOR OTHERS
WASH YOUR HANDS FREQUENTLY
STAY AT HOME
CALL 0800 669 9961
The receptionist looked up at her.
‘You’re in the wrong building. You want the private part of the hospital.’
Stevie thought she sensed disapproval in the other woman’s voice, but perhaps she was just hearing an echo of her own surprise. Simon had never mentioned that he did private work. Stevie had imagined him tending sick children regardless of their parents’ means. She covered her disappointment with a smile and asked if it would be possible to visit Joan Caniparoli.
‘I was told she was in intensive care.’ Stevie’s voice was salesgirl-bright. ‘But I think there’s a good chance she’ll be out of there by now.’
The receptionist asked her to spell Joanie’s second name and rattled it into the computer keyboard.
Her eyes met Stevie’s. ‘Are you a relative?’
‘A friend.’
‘I’m afraid Mrs Caniparoli is still in intensive care.’ This time there was sympathy in the woman’s voice. ‘That means only close relatives are allowed to visit.’
Stevie wanted
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