Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Novels

"ONE POTATO, TWO"

by Colin M. Johnson

CHAPTER 6


      In her small terraced house in Baverbridge, Mary Barker was gradually adjusting to life without a husband, but the loss of her daughter was proving an intolerable burden.   Though she still had Sandy's little sister Karen to care for, she felt her entire world had been reduced to ashes by a cruel, draining uncertainty that seemed never to go away.

      Alec's employers had been very kind.   The pension they provided was extra generous since Alec had been killed in the course of his work.   But the question of Sandy's unauthorised presence in the cab was never resolved, and Mrs. Barker couldn't avoid clinging to the desperate hope that maybe, by some miracle, her elder daughter had survived after all.

      Neighbours contrived to shield her from a report in the local paper a week after the accident, describing how an unnamed seven-year-old girl had survived the crash.   They guessed that one day Mrs. Barker might learn more, and hoped she'd have enough resilience to bear the extra heartbreak.

      It happened some four months later, when Mary Barker went shopping for some vegetables.   The greengrocer laid a sheet of newspaper inside her basket before filling it with earthy potatoes, and when she got home she found herself staring at the very paragraph her well-meaning friends had managed to hide.

      Poor Mrs. Barker couldn't see beyond the statement that a little girl, found at the scene of the accident, was still unidentified, and her heart leapt for joy.   She contacted the police at once, and though they pointed out that the girl hadn't been wearing Sandy's uniform, she remained undeterred.   Mary Barker would clutch at any straw, however slender, in her forlorn attempt to fetch her daughter back from the grave.

      As soon as she was given details, she took a train to London and found her way to the hospital, where she met Nurse Morris.

      "Excuse me," she began nervously, "but I'm trying to trace my daughter Sandy.   She had this accident last October and I'm told she was brought here."

      "October?" exclaimed the nurse.   "And you've not known her whereabouts for four months?"

      "Oh, please," Mrs. Barker begged, "I didn't know she was still alive.   They told me she was transferred here from Southampton."

      "What's the name again?"

      "Barker.   Sandy Barker.   Oh, please, can I see her?   I've come up all the way up from Hampshire, and I have to get back before my other little girl comes in from school."

      Mrs. Barker bit her quivering lip and stared helplessly.   Nurse Morris took pity on her and led her into a quiet room where she offered the woman a cup of tea.

      "I have to tell you, Mrs. Barker, we don't have any patient here called Sandy Barker, I'm sorry.   True, there was a little girl whose full name we don't yet know, and she was in an R.T.A.   several months ago."

      "R.T.A.?" Mrs. Barker queried, lifting the cup in trembling hands and spilling tea down her coat.

      "Road Traffic Accident."   Nurse Morris wiped the coat with a napkin.

      "Yes, that's right," Mrs. Barker exclaimed with renewed excitement.

      "But we don't know the girl's surname yet - she thinks her first name is Wendy."

      "No, Sandy," she affirmed with a look of wild joy.   "She's not called Wendy, she's Sandy Barker!"

      "But she may not be.   If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll see if we can sort the matter out for you."

      The nurse stepped outside and asked someone to fetch Dr. Latham at once.

      "Perhaps if I explain the position," she said, returning to her visitor, "we are still trying to locate Potato's parents."

      "Potato?"

      "Sorry," she apologised with a faint smile.   "It's a name we used before we knew what else to call her - it's a long story.   But she was in a coma for many weeks, and suffered extensive damage to her lower limbs.   The orthopaedic side's well on the road to recovery but she still has no recall of the accident nor of her own identity.   Despite that, she's a chirpy little soul, and we all adore her."

      "That's my Sandy," claimed the proud mother.

      "Mrs. Barker, please, you mustn't assume she's your daughter until we've checked more details.   You're not being fair to yourself."

      "What else do you need to know?" Mrs. Barker blurted in a state of agitation.   "And please, when can I see her?"

      "In just a little while, don't worry.   We'll bend as many rules as we have to."

      "That's what my husband was doing when he gave her a lift.   Poor lamb, they found her bike, you see, and he must have ..."

      She was interrupted by a gentle rap on the door, and Dr. Latham appeared in his white coat.

      "Ah, this is Dr. Latham," Nurse Morris announced.   "He's been looking after our little Potato.   Doctor, this is Mrs. Barker - she's making enquiries about the R.T.A.   that your young patient was involved in."

      "I'm Sandy's mother," she stressed with an encouraging nod.

      "Mrs. Barker's convinced that our Miss Potato is her Sandy," the nurse explained.

      "I see," said the doctor, conscious of the woman's plain Hampshire accent.   Youngsters invariably pick up traces of their parent's speech patterns, and Mrs. Barker didn't sound at all like the mother of Wendy.

      "Look," he continued, "I was on my way to lunch, but maybe I can spare Mrs. Barker a few minutes.   My wife says I eat too much anyway."

      He took her along to his private office, and seated her comfortably in one of his armchairs, perching himself on the desk-top and leaning attentively towards her.

      "It's a tough ordeal," he began, "losing a child, one of the toughest any of us have to endure.   To lose a parent is a more natural, though it can be distressing at the time, particularly if it happens while we're still young.   But we learn to adapt, because that's the way we're made.   Life has been going on for millions of years, and nearly every living creature has faced that grim moment when a parent dies.   Any child who's ever seen the film BAMBI shares that feeling.   It's not a good feeling, we know, but it's quite normal and sadly inevitable, I'm sure you agree."

      Mrs. Barker nodded nervously as she listened.

      "Losing a spouse is tough too," he went on, "but half of all married couples suffer that unpleasant shock, sooner or later.   The happier the marriage, the harder the blow when it ends.   But a child, that vulnerable little bundle you bring into the world yourself, to lose a child is the most dreadful kind of bereavement."

      Mrs. Barker nodded again but said nothing.

      "My wife and I will never face losing a child, Mrs. Barker, not in the way you have, because for some reason we're unable to have children of our own.   But we've come to terms with it and adapted our lives accordingly.   My wife spends her days teaching in a primary school, helping to shape and guide young lives.   They're not our own flesh and blood, but nonetheless they're very important to both of us.   That's why we feel so proud when a little one she has taught, or one I have managed to restore to good health goes out into the world as a bright, strong adult.   It makes you feel good, you know?   You've achieved something, not only for yourself - you've given something worthy and good to another human being."

      His visitor eyed him as if mesmerised.

      "My patients are all very special to me, you see.   Ours isn't a job that stops when the factory whistle blows.   These children aren't ledgers you can put away in a drawer when it's time to catch your bus.   They're here in this hospital, in our hearts too, day and night until they leave, and part of me is here day and night with them.   We get to know our patients very well, Mrs. Barker.   They become a part of us.   We know what it is to love and to care.   It's the best feeling of all.   Now, tell me about Sandy."

      Mrs. Barker cleared her throat.   "She's eight years old," she began quietly, "a naughty little girl at times, but what girl isn't at that age?   She likes animals, and birds, and she does some very good paintings."

      "I'd like to see some of her paintings one day.   Do you have any pet animals?"

      "The girls have a rabbit.   And of course there's Sam, the dog."

      "How long have you had him?"

      "She's a bitch actually - Samantha, but we call her Sam for short.   We got her a year ago when the other dog died."

      "And what was your previous dog's name?"

      "He was a mongrel called Muffin, but we all loved him."

      For the first time he saw her smile.

      "I'm sure you did.   Muffin must have revelled in that."

      "He was a scamp and no mistake.   He'd go and fall in the duck pond, then come indoors and shake bits of green weed all over the kitchen walls.   Then he'd look at me with a grin, as if to say 'Sorry, I wasn't thinking.'"

      "That's good.   And what about Sandy, what sort of tricks did she get up to?"

      "Oh, countless things.   She once set the table with pieces of coal from the hod, spoilt my best white table-cloth and all.   And she gave her sister a ride down the road once, dragging her along on her school raincoat like she was Walter Raleigh.   And I remember her licking the lid of a tin of brown paint, thinking it was chocolate.   I had to clean it off her tongue with white spirit."

      "Yuk!   And what was she like as a little baby?"

      "Always smiling she was, with bright blue eyes and curly golden hair."

      "Interesting.   Tell me about your other daughter, what's her name?"

      "Karen," she replied, "She's a year or so younger than Sandy."

      "Why the name Sandy?   Was that because of the golden hair?"

      "No, she didn't have none when she was born.   It's short for Sandra."

      "I see.   And how was Sandra's physical health?   No problems?   Tonsils okay?   Teeth intact, eyes perfectly normal?"

      "Yes, nothing worse than mumps a while back."

      Dr. Latham felt it was time to adopt a more professional tone.

      "Well, Mrs. Barker," he said, rising to his feet, "nothing you've described so far disagrees with our mystery patient's physical condition, but I have to tell you - I don't believe she is your Sandy."

      "Why not?" Mrs. Barker snapped as if being denied something she sorely needed.

      "There are thousands of little girls just as you describe Sandy, but I think you must accept you now have just the one little girl, Karen, who means everything to you.   Give her all the love you'd give to both girls.   Remember to talk about Sandy every day, just as you talked about Muffin, with fondness and a smile.   Don't dwell on the painful event that took Sandy away, but remember the joy she gave you.   How's Karen coping without her sister?"

      "She misses her a lot."

      "Of course.   But girls of her age adjust very quickly.   They show their feelings more, and maybe that's why it affects us adults.   When children get upset, they cry a lot more than we do, but that doesn't mean they're going through a tougher time.   It's simply nature's way of letting some of that sorrow escape.   When we get older we feel obliged to suppress our emotions into a hard ball of resentment, sometimes even hate.   The best remedy is to soften it again.   I'm sure my wife's tenderness with her pupils is founded on the sadness we feel at having no children of our own.   I probably care that much more for my little patients because I know they're all I have.   You've got Karen, and of course you love her - you always will."

      He rested a kindly hand on her shoulder.   "Nothing can bring Sandy back, Mrs. Barker, but nothing can take away the many pleasures she once gave you.   I'm sure she'd want you to enjoy her memory, so try to smile every time you think of her.   Do that for both your children."

      He crossed to the door and looked at his watch.   "Do you have time to meet some of my family before you leave?"

      "What about the one from the accident?   Potato, you called her?"

      "Ah.   Potato occupies a very special ward."

      Relieved that she was no longer asking for Sandy, Dr. Latham took Mrs. Barker along to where most of the children were, announcing their names as they passed each bed, and getting a variety of saucy responses.

      "This is Jenny, our youngest patient who loves pulling faces to frighten me every time I come by.   Moving on, we have our first Karen, who likes to snore very loudly and keep the others awake.   Over there is Hannah who's our newest arrival - she's got a few problems we won't go into.   Next to her is Elizabeth, known as Busy Lizzie - and guess what - she's promised to make me a pullover for my birthday.   Then comes another Karen, who pretending to be asleep but who isn't really," he said, raising his voice until the child opened an eye to look at him.

      "Then we come to the cheekiest monkey this side of Whipsnade, who changes her name every day to confuse us and comes out with the most amazing jokes you ever heard - like DO NOT BEND.   I don't know what we're going to do with her.   Meanwhile over there in the blue corner is the fierce and fighting Nurse Edwards, whose job it is to keep this mob under control."

      He ushered Mrs. Barker to the top of the main staircase and paused, waiting for her inevitable question.

      "What about the one in the special ward?"

      "That was our special ward," he replied with a benign twinkle.

      "Was she there?"

      "Our mystery girl?   Certainly," he nodded.

      With some hesitation, she asked: "Would you mind if I just went back and said Hello?"

      They returned to the ward, and Mrs. Barker looked again at the little patients, all roughly of her own daughter's age.   She approached with curly hair, blue eyes and a very saucy smile.

      "Wendy, or Potato if you prefer," said Dr. Latham.   "Sit up and meet a lady who's come all the way to London to find out why all the noise is coming from this ward.   Her name is Mrs. Barker."

      "Woof!" said Wendy spontaneously, then looked repentant as if she'd overstepped the mark.

      "This little pickle arrived after a road accident, and she's waiting for someone to come and visit her," he explained.

      "Hallo, Wendy," Mrs. Barker whispered gently.

      The child grinned back politely, then looked to Dr. Latham for further explanation.   Mrs. Barker smiled again at the girl, then faced the doctor with a resigned shake of her head.

      "It'll become easier, believe me," he said, taking her arm.   "What time's your train?   Would it help if I gave you a lift to the station?"

      Mrs. Barker glanced back to give Wendy a special wave before following Dr. Latham out to the car park.   He quickly drove her in his Granada to the station where she thanked him again.

      "You must have found that a very grim ordeal," he responded, "but you handled it remarkably well.   I'm proud to know you, Mrs. Barker.   Remember, the rest of your life starts this afternoon when Karen gets home from school.   I'm truly sorry we couldn't give you the answer you were hoping for, but that's how life is for us, I'm afraid.   Do come and visit our little Wendy again, any time you're up in town.   She needs visitors, and we'd love to see you again.   Please bring Karen too next time."

      Mrs. Barker gripped his hand warmly.

      "Thank you," she whispered.   "I mean it.   You've been so kind and understanding.   Thank you so much."

      She headed off for her train, a little calmer and clearer in her own mind than when she came.   Yes, it was better to face reality than to crawl into a shell of self-delusion.   It wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't going to be impossible.

      An hour later as she stepped indoors, she gave Karen a warm and welcoming cuddle, and set about preparing hot buttered toast and honey for their tea.  

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