Utopia Page 2

  I turn away, feeling uneasy, and glance over my shoulder to check that nobody is listening to our conversation. I know what she’s alluding to, but it’s deeply impressed upon us from an early age that we’re not allowed to debate the workings of the compound and people that do have a tendency to go missing. In the past few years there have been several incidents of gangs taking over whole floors, or even entire apartment blocks, and evicting everyone that lived there.

  I hear a chair sliding out from behind me. “My father’s one of the head governors,” Jericho snarls at Hailey. “He’s told me that thousands of pounds are wasted on unworthy causes like the homeless and the elderly, and it’s people like you that are to blame.” He jabs a finger towards her, then looks over at Alice, who’s shrinking down into her chair.

  Tommy opens his mouth to defend Hailey, but she beats him to it.

  “Then your father’s clearly a moron and he’s raised a parrot,” she hisses back at him through gritted teeth.

  Jericho stands motionless, glaring at her hatefully, but he doesn’t reply. Turning sharply on his heels, he stalks out of the canteen and back down the corridor. I roll my eyes as Lisa leaves her half-eaten lunch and runs after him, for the second time in less than as many hours.

  Tommy touches four points on his upper body like he’s praying. “God bless the patients on his ward, they’ll need it. It’s a good job that so many potential candidates apply for this training scheme so they can afford to be so picky,” he says in a voice that’s drenched with sarcasm and tinged with bitterness.

  I wonder whether Tommy was genuinely praying. Officially the compound is Catholic, but within our apartment my mother has never disguised her disdain for organised religion. In fact, in her grief after my grandmother died she told me that the religion they impose is just a form of mind control, and I remember wondering who they were.

  “What time do we need to be back in the room?” Alice asks, seemingly desperate to change the topic of conversation.

  “Not for another twenty minutes. Why don’t we take a look around?” Hailey asks, raising her eyebrows in question.

  I don’t know whether it’s a good idea to go wandering around the corridors without authorisation, but I’m keen to escape the atmosphere left by Jericho, so I agree. We leave the canteen and march swiftly towards the wards, like a troop on a covert operation. As we round the next corner I catch a glimpse of my mother, hunched over a clipboard, and spin around quickly before she looks up.

  “Not that way,” I whisper. “I’ve just seen my mother.”

  The group giggle and turn down the next corridor with a yellow sign hanging from the ceiling, ‘Radiology’. I’m not sure who’s leading the group, but it soon becomes clear that we’re lost. Before long we reach a locked door with the words, ‘Authorised access only’, stencilled on it.

  “What do you think is through there?” asks Alice curiously.

  “I don’t know, but my friend worked in pathology for six months and she told me that a lot of weird things happen here,” Hailey replies in an eerie voice. “I mean, don’t you think it’s strange that there isn’t a graveyard?”

  “I thought they took the bodies away to bury them in a churchyard,” I reply.

  “No,” Hailey responds. “They take them away because they want to know precisely how they died.”

  Chapter Three

  We reenter the meeting room in single file, returning to the same chairs. Lisa and Jericho have arrived back before us and are talking at an unnecessarily loud volume about the current state of our healthcare system.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Coleen interrupts. “This afternoon you’re going to help out in a number of different departments for one hour and then you’ll change.” She pulls out a folded piece of paper from her breast pocket and passes it to Hailey.

  Hailey gently unfolds the sheet and holds it out in front of her. “I’m in ear, nose and throat. You’re in cardiology,” she says to Tommy, but loud enough for us all to hear, then passes the paper to Jericho.

  Jericho glances at it briefly and then thrusts it towards Lisa. I lean over Alice’s shoulder when Lisa slides it along the desk to her. ‘Accident and emergency.’ It’s not somewhere that I have previously considered working, but it sounds exciting and busy which is exactly what I need after a slow morning.

  “Do you know where maternity is?” Alice whispers as we stand and begin to depart the room.

  “No sorry, I’ve never been there.” Outside the room I scan the ceiling for a sign. “That way,” I say, pointing left. “Follow Hailey.”

  Hailey turns around at the mention of her name. “Paediatrics,” she mouths, nodding her head towards Jericho.

  Smirking to myself I walk in the opposite direction towards A and E. Approaching the main desk I can’t see anyone, so I hover uncomfortably for a few minutes. When no-one arrives I tentatively begin to shuffle my way along the corridors. The walls are lined with a row of beds on either side, some with curtains drawn around them. In the first bed I see a middle-aged woman sitting with her feet hanging off the side. Her head and face are disfigured by angry open blisters and a large clump of her hair is missing. I suspect that she’s been in an apartment fire and is probably lucky to be alive. They’re becoming increasingly common as the apartment blocks become more overcrowded.

  At the far end of the corridor I see a nurse with her back to me. She’s staring intently at a large whiteboard with bed numbers and patients names listed down one side, and the nurses currently on duty down the other. She drums her fingers on the board which makes me feel like she’s in a rush, but since she’s the only nurse that I’ve seen I approach regardless. I slow my pace as I near her, hoping that she’ll look up, but she doesn’t.

  “Hi there, I’ve started an internship at the infirmary today and I was told you’re expecting me,” I say in the most cheerful, nonchalant voice I can manage. “I’m Zia,” I add, realising that I haven’t actually said who I am yet. I wait for a response but she’s not forthcoming with one, so I hold my breath anxiously, unsure of whether to repeat myself.

  After what feels like minutes the nurse eventually speaks, but she doesn’t look away from the chart. “Do you know how much work I have to do? I don’t have time to show you around. CATHERINE,” the woman yells at the top of her voice, making me jump with surprise.

  A mouse-like woman in her early twenties appears. “Yes, matron?” she asks in a calm voice which tells me that she’s used to dealing with her.

  “Take her with you. I haven’t got time for this today,” Matron barks.

  Catherine bows her head a little and gracefully glides back down the ward. I follow her without looking back and feel immediately at ease in her company. She has wide, kind eyes and asks me about myself without once talking about her. I admire that trait because I think it takes more skill to be a good listener than it does to dominate the conversation.

  As we walk down the ward together Catherine glances down at the clipboard grasped in her hand and runs her finger down it. “Who’s next?” she ponders aloud. “Mr De la Rey − dislocated shoulder. We might need some man power for this one, but let’s go and make the initial assessment.” She strides forward a few steps before slipping behind a white curtain surrounding a bed.

  I follow her, pushing the curtain aside to reveal a figure lying on their back with their knees drawn up. My breath catches in my mouth, gagging me. It’s the boy that I saw in the street last night. He moves his feet backwards and forwards in an agitated manner which makes me think that he’s in pain, but it’s not immediately clear why. He would be handsome if it wasn’t for the blue swelling developing on his left cheek. His dirty blond hair is pushed back from his face revealing two fierce eyes, and he scans the room repeatedly. I sense that he could be back on his feet at a moment’s notice. And I feel self-conscious imagining that he can sense my guilt, that he knows I saw what happened last night. I saw but didn’t help him.

  “Mr De la
Rey,” Catherine soothes. “What have you been doing to yourself?”

  I know that she means the question to be light-hearted, but I cringe inwardly. You mean what did he do to you? I think to myself, and worry for a moment that I’ve said it out aloud.

  He doesn’t reply. In fact, he doesn’t even look up.

  “To make the assessment I need to get a good look at that shoulder of yours. Can you take your t-shirt off please,” Catherine says, and I feel my cheeks begin to warm.

  His t-shirt is stained grey with many holes; perhaps in a previous life it might have been white. The boy pulls at the hem of his t-shirt with his left hand and tries to work it up and over his head. Instinctively I want to step in and help, but I sense that my assistance wouldn’t be welcome so instead I let him struggle alone.

  The boy’s stony features break into a grimace as he pulls the t-shirt down his right arm and casts it disdainfully onto the floor. Once removed, my eyes are drawn to the bluish-black bruising that covers his left shoulder, which hangs lower than his right. My gaze then moves down his chest. He has bruises everywhere. Some are dark black and clearly new but there are other yellowish ones that look to be a couple of weeks old.

  At school I remember hearing about an incident in which he knocked a teacher out cold because he called him stupid. Looking at the figure sat in front of me I find the two images irreconcilable, but what bothers me the most is that I didn’t see him defend himself last night. From stolen sideways glances I know that he’s physically fit enough to defend himself, so why did he let that drunken old man injure him so badly? The answer is sadly obvious to me; because it was his father.

  Catherine reaches over and begins to manipulate his shoulder, trying to assess the damage.

  “JESUS CHRIST, what are you doing?” he yells, pulling away.

  “Sorry,” Catherine replies sympathetically. “I was just trying to see whether your shoulder was dislocated or bruised. I think it might be best to do an X-ray so we can also check for fractures, but first I’ll put your arm in a sling to make it more comfortable for you.”

  The boy sits unnaturally stiff, staring at his worn tennis shoes, as Catherine ties the triangular piece of material around his neck to take the weight off his shoulder. I think he must be in a massive amount of pain otherwise he wouldn’t be here because I get the impression that he’s unaccustomed to needing to ask for help.

  Catherine slips swiftly past the curtain, leaving me alone, but I don’t know whether I should follow her so I find myself staring at the empty curtain.

  “What are you doing here?” he demands.

  I freeze like a rabbit caught in the headlights before slowly turning around. I try to remind myself, firstly, that he didn’t see me last night and secondly, that people who are in pain are often ill-tempered. “I’m doing a placement to get experience in different departments.”

  He stares straight into my eyes for the first time; they are hard. “So you must be one of the doctor’s daughters then? After all, it’s not what you know but who.”

  I’m taken aback by the level of hostility and resentment that’s so close to the surface. I’m here because I deserve to be, because I worked really hard for my final exams and achieved good grades. “No, my mother’s a nurse here, that’s all.”

  He winks and smiles cruelly. “Oh, but she’s dating a doctor, right?”

  My professional persona slips at the slight against my mother. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that; you don’t know anything.”

  He sits forward like he’s going to say something but then thinks better of it and leans back, looking at me. I feel my cheeks burning red and I’m relieved when Catherine reenters the booth. She looks back and forth between us. She knows that she’s interrupted something.

  “I’ve booked you in for an X-ray and they’re expecting you in radiology presently. Zia will push you down in a wheelchair.”

  “How much d’you get paid for this?” he asks, glaring at me. I stare straight back. “And I can walk anyway; it’s my arm that’s screwed, not my legs.”

  “It’s not a problem if you’d rather walk,” Catherine says patiently. “Would it be okay if Zia escorted you because it would be a useful experience for her and she can show you the way?”

  The boy lets out an exaggerated sigh and opens the curtains. “Fine, let’s go so I can get outta here.”

  Despite passing it at lunch, I can’t remember the way to radiology from my present location. From the outside the infirmary is a large square box, but on the inside the corridors snake in convoluted, irregular patterns. Normally, I would ask Catherine for directions but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, so I just head off in the vague direction and hope I spot a sign.

  ***

  After an uncomfortable ten minute walk, we arrive in radiology. The infirmary isn’t that big so I’m sure that we didn’t take the most direct route. I announce our arrival to a bald man in his late thirties wearing small, round spectacles. He looks at his watch and scowls at me, then beckons Mr De la Rey to follow him into another room. It’s clear that the radiographer doesn’t want me to join, so I take a seat in the waiting room. Some experience I’m getting.

  After what feels like a considerable amount of time because I’ve read all the posters on the noticeboard and become thoroughly bored, the pair reemerge. I stand up to greet them as they walk over, and the radiographer thrusts a brown A4 envelope towards me.

  “Take this back to the nurse in treatment. It looks like a straightforward dislocation so you should be able to deal with it there.”

  I sigh, trying not to feel downhearted as I watch the radiographer stalk off down the corridor. I feel the boy’s eyes upon me so I turn around to face him. “Well that sounds like good news,” I say, trying to inject as much cheer as I can muster.

  His eyes follow me as I lead the way back to A and E. “People don’t like you very much here, do they?” he says, slowly and thoughtfully. I find his statement hurtful and think that he probably means it to be, but he’s right. I don’t have a purpose yet and I just seem to be getting in everyone’s way. I pause to try and steady my voice before answering, but my feelings must be etched on my face because he follows up his own question. “Sorry, I just meant that if anyone looked at me like that bloke back there just looked at you, I’d really give him something to scowl about.”

  His brutal honesty makes the skin beside my eyes crease up in a weak smile. “It can’t be helped; this is my first day and you have to start at the bottom of the pack.”

  “Nah, he’s just an asshole,” he says with a wry smile.

  “And what about how you’ve treated me Mr De la Rey, does that make you an asshole too?” The word doesn’t sound right coming out of my mouth.

  His face is sullen for a moment and I wonder whether I’ve angered him. Then throwing his head back he lets out a guttural laugh which fills the corridor. I can’t decide whether he’s laughing at what I said or how I said it, but I’m glad either way. My mother always says that the most attractive thing you can wear is a smile, and right now I couldn’t agree more.

  “Lake,” he says. “My name’s Lake.”

  Chapter Four

  I don’t know whether I negotiated a shorter route back to A and E, or if I was actually enjoying Lake’s company, because we arrive back at the treatment room in what seems like no time at all. Catherine walks towards me with an outstretched hand and I suddenly remember that I’m holding the envelope and offer it her.

  “The radiographer said that it didn’t look like there were any fractures,” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m talking about.

  I watch with interest as she slides the X-ray onto the light box and scrutinizes the grainy black and white image. Peering over her shoulder I try to see the photo through her eyes. She points at a large knobbly ball at the top of the arm. “This... should be in here,” she says, jabbing another part of the X-ray. “Would you mind telling a nurse called Zaine a
t the front desk that we could use his help relocating the shoulder ball back into its socket?” she asks me, then turns to Lake who has sat back on the bed. “I’ll just nip and get some painkillers for you to help make the process more comfortable.”

  Walking back to the front desk I notice a tuft of black curly hair peeking over the counter. Unconsciously I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping that Zaine will have a receptive temperament like Catherine. Peering over the counter I see a large male with bulging biceps. He looks more like a body builder than a nurse and I wonder what Catherine wants to do to Lake.

  “Excuse me, are you Zaine?” I ask in my politest voice.

  “Who’s asking?” he replies, slowly looking up from his computer screen.

  “My name’s Zia and I’m currently on placement with Nurse Catherine. She was wondering whether you’d be able to help relocate a patient’s dislocated shoulder.”

  His face cracks into a smile and he rises to his feet. “And you were looking for some muscle? Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

  He towers over me as we walk back towards the treatment room, but I don’t feel intimidated by him, more like a big brother protecting me. When we arrive back I see Catherine injecting a clear solution into a vein on the back of Lake’s hand. His head lolls gently backwards and he closes his eyes as the painkillers begin to take effect. Zaine manoeuvres himself into position on Lake’s right-hand side.

  “Ready?” Catherine asks Zaine.

  Zaine straightens Lake’s arm, steadying it at the elbow, and nods.

  It’s not what they say, more what they don’t say, which tells me that they’re friends outside of work and not just colleagues.

  Zaine pushes, moving Lake’s arm in small circular motions.

  Lake’s eyelids snap back, no longer in his warm-drug induced place, and despite his gritted teeth a low moan escapes. He reminds me of an injured animal, unwilling to show that he’s in pain because it would be seen as weakness. Perhaps in his world it is.

  “Hang on in there kid,” Zaine says in friendly voice that seems too jolly for the situation. Maybe he’s become desensitized over the years; maybe I’ll become the same. “It’s just about finding the right place.”