Falling For You (4 page)

That Downing College offer, it’s a dream, that’s all. A pipe dream. But - it would be a sign that things could change in life, a sign of hope where I haven’t been able to see any for such a long time.

‘Those diggers were probably drafted up here just in case they’re needed later. The Met office ha
s
forecast snow on the way, lots of it.’ I put on a smile ‘It’s going to be a white Christmas, did you know, Dad?’

It’s gone so quiet and still and peaceful outside.  I watch the postman trudge wearily round the steep bend at the bottom of Asleps Lane. He’s right at the end of his round, he’s got to be, his post-bag is hanging limp and empty, slung over his shoulder. Has he even got anything left in there? If he’s trekked all this way
over
to us just to deliver another flier for the Indian takeaway in the village I am going to
die!

‘Look, it’s started,’ I say, pretending to myself that I’m not desperate for the post, playing that game again, because the outcome - if I let myself care - could be so cruel.  ‘Looks like the Met office were right.’

And right now the sky is a bright grey, expectant. As if all the world were just like me, waiting for something, on the verge of something important and … something is coming. Is it even remotely possible that my wish could have worked? I don’t know quite what’s coming, yet, but there’s change in the air.

Is it good change? I hear the soft thud as the post arrives downstairs on the mat.

When I stick my hand out of the window, on the end of my fingertips I can feel the first of the frozen snowdrops that come spinning out of a dark-bright sky.

^{23rd December  West Camp Village, Jaffna}

I didn’t find Amma.

I sit up, startled, rubbing at my face to try and get my bearings. Beyond the clear plastic window of the tent I share with Joaquin, it is early outside, morning already. When did that happen?

The digital clock we keep on the fold-away table between us says 6.20 am.
No way, man
. I run my fingers through my hair, confused.

I didn’t mean to go to sleep, I wasn’t supposed to. What’s happened to Sunny?  The operation will have been over hours ago.
Damn it!
I flick the torchlight on and scramble around for something to put on over my T-shirt. Outside is cold. It’s still raining. How am I ever going to find out how his op went at this early hour? The
re
’ll be a nurse on duty but it’s unlikely she’ll welcome me barging in on them at this hour. He’ll be asleep - dosed up to the eyeballs, probably.

But what if he isn’t? What if he’s awake and scared and he’s wondering where I am? Hell, why did I ever lie down on my sleeping bag, even for five minutes? I should have known I’d crash.
I’m
the closest thing Sunny’s got to having an adult who looks out for him. I should have been there for him this afternoon when he came out of recovery and I wasn’t.

It’s a long way to the Recovery tent from here and there aren’t many folk about yet. The guy who puts up the fliers on the fence gives me his usual grin when he sees me looking, but I’m not one of the poor sods stuck here wondering desperately what I’m going to do next. I notice he’s taking more fliers down than he’s putting up, today. Maybe people round here are running out of money.
Or hope
? I put my head down and keep on walking, aware that my presence out so early in the morning has been noted. I’m collecting a few curious looks from the military guards posted here and there along the way, too. They’re here ‘to keep the peace’ and to make sure that ‘people don’t panic and do foolish things’. Like try to leave, maybe.

But that’s not my business.

I need to concentrate on how I’m going to get in to see Sunny. I have to show my UN paramedic badge a couple of times. I pretend I’m going to relieve one of the nurses coming off duty and the guards don’t know any better. It seems feasible and they let me pass. 

By the time I get to the Recovery tent the sun is just rising. The rain has stopped for a few blessed minutes but the air is still dank and misty. The nurses are having an early morning cup of chai at their station, and they ignore me. The patient’s beds are still quiet, not much movement around yet. 

But Sunny isn’t in Recovery.  I rub at my eyes fiercely, aware that I’m still barely awake. He’s got to be here, though. I saw them yesterday, about to wheel him away for the op - there isn’t anywhere else he could be.

Unless something has gone badly wrong. I feel a spasm of fear in my chest. Where is he?

One of the women at the nurses’ station looks up then. She waves, beckoning me over.

‘Lawrence, he isn’t here,’ I watch her pull out an admittance list, as if to make doubly sure. ‘That little lad. They didn’t operate on him after all.’

‘No?’ I stare at her, open-mouthed. ‘Are you certain?’ He was prepped and ready to go. What could have made them change their minds?

‘It seems a red light patient came in and knocked him out of his slot right at the eleventh hour.’

The tightness in my throat slackens off.

‘They’ve put him in the standby-suite. It’ll still happen today.’ She assures me. ‘The best thing is,’ she lowers her voice, ‘It means he’ll be seen by Mr Lazerev, if he’s on this morning…’

Lazerev. I don’t know him. There are so many doctors here, and every time you think you’ve got the hang of who’s who, they change. Everybody changes. Except me. I’ve been here too long, that’s why.  It’s time to move on.

‘Lazerev’s the best,’ she’s saying but my head’s pounding like a hammer. ‘Shall I take you to him?’

‘I’m good, thanks.’ I’ve got to get a grip. ‘
Thanks,
’ I say again, as she gives me a sympathetic look. I get to the Standby suite just as Sunny’s being taken out to the bathroom.

‘Hey, Big Man…’ I give him a high five.

‘Lawrence,’ he says ruefully. ‘As you see, I am still here.’

‘Still here?’ I crouch down by his chair and touch his cheek with the back of my hand. Why is it that he touches me so deeply, this one particular child? It’s a question that’s perplexed me for some time. All patients are important, and we’re taught that none should be favoured. Besides, they come and go. And yet Sunny matters. He matters more and I don’t know why. His dark eyes take me in shrewdly.

‘Did you find her?’

‘I’ll fill you in, later,’ I promise him. ‘If I hold you up now we’ll both get in trouble with the nurse,’ I look up and wink at her.

‘Plenty of time to catch up later,’ she flushes pink and looks down but she’s smiling. ‘We’ve got a schedule to keep to.’

‘Ah, I assume you know that young man?’ From his Russian accent, I take it to be Mr Lazerev who appears behind me just as she pushes Sunny out of sight.

 ‘Lawrence Macrae,’ I turn and introduce myself.  ‘I’ve been working with Sunny for some weeks now.’

‘Lawrence. He’s just been telling me that you went out to find one of his family members is that right?’

‘Correct.’ Behind him the guy I take to be his Registrar shifts from one foot to the other and I get the sense the two of them have been having some sort of discussion about Sunny. ‘May I ask if you were successful?’ Lazerev glances at his colleague, then back at me. ‘It might have a bearing on what we undertake today…’

 I shake my head, ruefully.

‘Pity.’ He taps his notes with his pad thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had a look at the damage. If we went for a ray amputation,’ he’s saying thoughtfully, ‘we could save the whole foot, you realise. Just take off two toes and the corresponding metatarsal bones.’

What did he just say? My heart skips a beat. He could save the foot?

‘My problem is that’d leave him with an open wound for three months. If we can’t guarantee antiseptic conditions for the duration of the healing period we could end up doing more harm than good. It’s a pity he wasn’t on the Aid-Abroad list,’ he glances at the Registrar again who lifts his shoulders slightly, as if to say there’s nothing to be done about that.

‘Aid
who?
I’m sorry, I haven’t heard of...’

The Registrar shakes his head slightly now, his face closed
.
‘No point wasting time pursuing that, Mr Macrae. As far as I’m aware, they closed the list two weeks ago.’

‘Even so…’ my mind is racing ahead of me. Antiseptic conditions – is that all they need to agree to go ahead with this ray procedure? I appeal to Mr Lazerev now. ‘Think about it. This child has no family left. He’s got nothing, no life to go back to at all. But if we could save his foot, if there were any chance …? ‘

‘But you say you don’t know of anyone who could take him in? Anyone at all?’

I almost shake my head. Sunny hasn’t got anyone.
‘There may …be someone,’ I get out. The Russian takes me in for a moment.

‘Is there or isn’t there?’

I consider the situation rapidly. If I say there isn’t anyone they are going to go in and take off Sunny’s foot, right here, right now. He will be disabled for the rest of his life. That will affect his chances of getting work, of one day finding himself a wife … under these conditions, everything, in short that goes to make a life.  

‘Possibly,’ I stall. ‘I’ve still one other avenue left to try.’

‘In that case, I need a moment with my Registrar, please,’ he says.

 I nod, and step outside, exchanging the shady area inside the tent for the brightening morning so they can confer privately for a moment. What did I do that for? I haven’t any avenues left to try. Yesterday I saw first-hand what the situation was like in the place where Sunny came from.

 I have no idea how I’m going to turn this around.

While they talk, I sit on an old abandoned orange crate and try and get my head around what Mr Lazerev’s just told me.
Could
they do that thing he was talking about, just take off the toes? It seems too good to be true. Yet - from what this surgeon says - it now seems a possibility. If we could secure the right recovery conditions. Who can I ask?
Who
? There’s got to be someone.

But there isn’t, is there?

I haven’t been awake all that long and the memory from yesterday comes as if from a dull, faraway place in my mind. Yesterday I managed to hitch a lift with Joaquin when I found out his team were going out to Katkulam. That’s a village near where Sunny comes from, about an hour away from here. Turns out the landmine clearers go there every Wednesday. Someone like me wouldn’t normally be allowed to go and Joaquin did his best to dissuade me. He was adamant that I wouldn’t find any relatives out there but I had to go look. I’d promised Sunny I would.

I went to Katkulam
.
I drag my mind back to follow the train of events that brought me here. I went to Katkulam because none of the new lot of refugees at East Camp had ever heard of Sunny and I still harboured some forlorn hope of finding
a
survivor from a village near his home who knew him. I don’t really know what exactly I was expecting to find. Some sort of abandoned village, maybe. A few craters here and there where the bombs fell. Some damaged houses. Lots of debris. A few chickens scratching around in the dirt, one or two mangy dogs, I don’t know. I didn’t find that.

When we got to Katkulam I thought Joaquin had just stopped at some random place to take a leak, that he’d chosen the dimmest and darkest spot to do it because he knows how that freaks me out. They all get a rise out of that, joshing me cos I’m not scared of bombs, I’m not scared of fighter jets or any man but I’m scared of the dark. After a time when my eyes got acclimatised to the poor light I started to make out strange shapes, dark and crooked amongst the foliage. They really scared the shit out of me. Turned out they were the bombed-out shells of houses that had got covered in jungle creepers.

Then everyone got out of the jeep. Someone pulled at my elbow and told me I had to put my face-protection gear on. Everybody was taking great care about where they put their feet. I thought at first they were larking around but Joaquin assured me they weren’t. They warned me to make sure I only stepped in their footsteps and nowhere else and that’s when it dawned on me that they really weren’t kidding. I’d known why they were out there but I’d imagined there’d just be the odd device planted here and there. It wasn’t like that.

‘This whole place,’ Joaquin spread his arms out, encompassing as far as the eye could see, ‘It’s littered with UXOs. Unexploded ordinance,’ he explained as my eyes must have widened questioningly. ‘Landmines.
’