Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Novels

"ONE POTATO, TWO"

by Colin M. Johnson

CHAPTER 8


      Wendy's eyes opened slowly and she looked about her.   She knew she'd been asleep a long time, and had been deeply involved in some very strange dreams.   She remembered a large ball with a honeycomb surface which had threatened to roll on top of her, and there was a stone, a huge stone, a million times bigger than any stone she could possibly have imagined - yet she felt sure it was real.   She'd even stood on top of it, and been lowered down the side on a long thin wire.

      Now she saw a nurse coming towards her, smiling an eager greeting that made her feel good inside.   It was Sharon Edwards.

      "Hallo, Potato," she whispered.   "Sorry - I keep forgetting - Wendy!"

      "Either," said Wendy in a dry voice.   She coughed to clear her throat and winced as a stabbing pain shot up her right leg.

      "You've had a long sleep," said Nurse Edwards.   "How do you feel?"

      "Strange," said Wendy, trying to decide whether the hospital ward was part of the same dream.   Then she remembered her conversation with Dr. Latham - that was no dream.

      "What did they do to me?" she whispered to the nurse.

      "Nothing you need worry about, Wendy, my sweet," said Sharon.   "You're still all in one piece."

      "Then why does it hurt so?"

      "Because it's starting to get better, that's why.   Your favourite doctor said he'd tell you himself as soon as you woke up.   Shall I ask him to pop along and see you now?"

      "Yes, please.   Get him to come straight away if it's good news, and tell him not to hurry if it's bad."

      Sharon smiled.   "I'll go and see if he's free.   But understand - if he doesn't come straight away, it may just mean he's busy, not that it's bad news - okay?   Because it isn't."

      Wendy kept a careful eye on the clock at the end of the ward.

      Dr. Latham appeared exactly four minutes later.   He held out his arms and came striding over.   "Hallo, little princess!"

      "Ah!   It's good news," Wendy nodded with great satisfaction.

      "Most of it, yes.   How did you know?   Because I came straight away?"

      "No, you took four minutes.   But when it's not good news, your face looks all different - sort of sad."

      "Well, it's ninety-eight percent good news, little lady.   Your surgeon's delighted it went so well."

      "What about the other two percent?"

      "You've got a few uncomfortable weeks ahead of you, I'm afraid, but we'll soon have you back to normal.   Do you want to know what they've done?"

      "Yes, please.   Who were they?   Didn't you do anything?"

      "I'm here to get that memory of yours back to full working order and ticking like a clock.   It's other people who deal with the leg department.   Come on, let's investigate their handiwork."

      He drew back the covers and Wendy examined the evidence in front of her.   She could see ten toes, all of which could be wiggled, and her right leg was bandaged all over and held fast in a rigid splint.

      "Convinced?" he asked.

      "I think so," she said with reservations, remembering a magic show she'd seen once where a lady could still wiggle her toes despite being sawn in half.

      "Trust me!   You remember the man who came to see you the other day?   Well, he spent a lot of time working on your leg, and he assures me it's going to be fine.   I used all my powers of persuasion on your behalf, and I nearly got the sack, but I told him he had to find a way of getting you out and about as soon as possible, and eventually he agreed to try something new.   There's a bone we each have below our knee that lies behind the main shin bone."

      "The tibia and the fibula," Wendy confirmed.

      "Yes," he grinned.   "Well, the fibula's a kind of spare part - in fact some people are born without one.   I'm told he took a small section out of yours and used it to strengthen the damaged femur further up.   He claims it's an improvement on nature.   But now the whole leg's to be kept in light traction for a few weeks - you know what that means?"

      "It means it's being stretched."

      "Good.   That bone's bound to feel a little painful until it gets used to its new home, and this nonsense here is to hold everything securely in place.   It won't be there for long if you behave yourself - in fact, in a few days' time you can try walking about.   But take it easy - don't go kicking matron, the first chance you get."

      Wendy had already studied books on the subject.   "Is this what they call an ischial bearing orthosis?" she asked, knowing her doctor would be amused and suitably impressed.

      "Well done!   It's designed to take the weight off your bones while they get themselves mended.   So, young lady, in a few days' time you'll be allowed to walk about without crutches, and then we'll be able to take that long-awaited outing."

      She gave an apprehensive nod.   "There's something else too, I think."

      "True.   Do you want me to talk about it now?"

      She put forward a hand for it to be held tightly.

      "I need to know more about your accident," he said.   "Can you remember being in a blue Jaguar, going somewhere with some other people."

      "Mummy and Daddy?"

      "Yes."   He gripped the small hand reassuringly.   "Only they weren't as lucky as our little Potato.   The car crashed very badly, and no-one escaped from it except you.   That's why they've never been able to come and see you.   But always remember that they loved you.   So many people love you, Wendy - in fact, one of your fondest admirers is sitting right here, and he swears you've been the best and bravest little patient he's ever had."

      She looked away for a moment, staring ruefully at the polished ward floor.   Then she thrust both arms towards him in a gesture imploring:

      "Cuddle me, please."

      The doctor put a strong arm around her, gently running his hand up and down her back while she buried her head against his chest.   The morning meeting he'd just left would have to manage for a while without him.

      "I have got a second Mummy and Daddy," she murmured softly.

      "Yes, my darling.   Bubble and Squeak with a little Potato.   Shall I ask Nurse Edwards to come and sit with you while I go and finish a very important meeting.   Perhaps you can tell Nurse Edwards about those dreams you've been having.   Make sure she writes everything down."

      After speaking briefly to the nurse, he hurried away with his head down.   Sharon brought a chair over to Wendy's bedside and sat holding a pad and pencil like a secretary poised for dictation.

      "My dreams aren't worth writing down," said Wendy.   "They're far too silly.   Don't you ever get funny dreams?"

      "It's yours we've got to make notes on," she whispered, fearing she'd be in serious trouble if she deviated from the doctor's instructions.

      But Wendy wouldn't hear of it, and insisted: "Yours first."

      "All right," Sharon prompted her.   "I dreamt once about going on an aeroplane.   Only instead of flying where I wanted to go, I discovered we were bound for Mars instead."

      "Mars!"   Wendy performed a good impersonation of Dr. Latham before pronouncing her verdict.   "That shows you're overfond of chocolate."

      "Yes, Wendy.   Now it's your turn."

      Nurse Edwards made copious notes as the patient began to chatter freely.

      "We were on an aeroplane," she recalled, "in fact I'm sure it wasn't in my dream, it was real.   So was the big stone.   Does that count?"

      "I expect so.   Go on."

      "Okey-dokey!   That's where we saw some crocodiles, I think.   There was this huge stone and people standing on it, looking ever so small like ants, and a train that didn't go anywhere, just round and round like a toy.   Got that?"

      Wendy peered at the pad to make sure her words were faithfully recorded.

      "I told you it was silly," she went on as Sharon scribbled furiously.   "But so is going to Mars.   And there was a sort of clothes-line going all the way to the top, and another train up in the air and a giant golf ball with triangles all over it - I think they were triangles.   But it was in the middle of a journey to somewhere else, and I know we had a ride on an aeroplane as well.   Then came the crocodile."

      "Don't tell me it had a clock inside it?"

      "No," Wendy replied scornfully, "not Captain Hook's crocodile, real ones floating about in the mucky water like logs with eyes, waiting to come and bite my leg off."

      "But your leg's still there, isn't it?"

      "It feels strange and stiff."

      "Of course - you've got a long splint on it."

      "No, a different sort of stiff, like it's stuck in a crocodile's mouth.   Have you ever had your legs in plaster?"

      Sharon admitted she hadn't.

      "You wouldn't like it," Wendy assured her.   "How do people fix artificial limbs on - do they use a special glue?"

      "I think some of them stay on by suction."

      Wendy sucked hard, pulling her cheeks into her face, and wobbling her lips like a fish.

      "So that was the end of the dream, was it?" Sharon persisted, keen to complete her task before Dr. Latham's return.

      "I can't remember any more now.   Anyway, it was all very silly."

      "To you, maybe, but silly dreams can help the doctors find out a lot more about you."

      "Then I'd better have some more," Wendy decided, and she settled down with her eyes closed.

      Later that day, Wendy asked her doctor a most profound philosophical question.   "Why can't people remember everything they want to remember?"

      Dr. Latham smiled.   Normally he'd have found it hard explaining this to a child's satisfaction, but he had great respect for Wendy's intelligence.

      "Let me tell you a story," he began.   "Then you can think about it further while I'm finishing my rounds.   Once, there was a very wise man who wanted to be the wisest man in the whole world, since he was already wise enough to realise he didn't know everything.   Then one day he met a second wise man, and they said to one another, 'If we swapped all our knowledge, and told each other everything we knew, we'd both be wiser than we are now.'   So each wise man began telling the other everything he knew.   But because they were so wise, they realised telling each other things they already knew was a waste of time.   'I have a better idea,' said the first wise man, 'You just tell me everything I DON'T already know, then I'll tell you everything YOU don't already know.'   Are you with me so far?"

      Wendy wasn't really concentrating.   She always found it deliciously soothing just to lie still and listen to her doctor's deep, gentle, resonant voice.   When he paused, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and nodded contentedly for him to carry on.

      "So the first wise man said: 'Please tell me all the things I DON'T already know.'   Then the second wise man asked: 'What ARE the things you DON'T already know?'   And what do you think the first man replied?"

      "I don't know," Wendy admitted.

      "Exactly!" said Dr. Latham.   "You see, Wendy, if I knew what memories you'd got in there, I guarantee I could wake the little blighters up and make you remember them.   But until we know what they are, we can't wake them up - and you can't tell me what they are until we HAVE woken them up."

      Wendy considered this carefully for a moment, then said:   "That's the same as when Daddy went fishing."

      "Tell me about him," asked the doctor, keen to learn more about Daddy, but also curious to hear what alternative analogy she was about to present.

      "You see," she explained, "when you go fishing in a new pond, you don't know what bait to use because you don't know what sort of fish are in the water.   You would know if you caught one, but you won't catch one if you don't know what bait to use.   Have you got that?"

      "Wendy, old Potato, that's an even better story than mine, and a lot easier to understand.   We'd make a good team, you and I.   I might take you on as my partner when you grow up.   So now - you practise being my assistant, and try to guess what questions I ought to ask to jog that memory of yours.   What bait do I use to fish out those missing thoughts?"

      "I don't suppose a worm's any good?"

      "We might need something a little bigger than a worm," he smiled.

      "Okey-dokey!"   She gave a thoughtful frown.   "What about a snake?   I'm sure I saw some in with the crocodiles."

      "You can't use crocodiles for bait," joked Dr. Latham.

      "That's not what I said," Wendy reproached him.   "You should listen."

      He shook his head and smiled fondly.   "Most of my time, Wendy, I do very little else.   Especially when it's you I'm listening to."

      After a few days, Wendy's right leg began to feel a lot better and she was allowed to walk around with a stick.   Soon she'd visited every ward in the hospital - some where she was quite welcome, others where she most definitely was not.   On one occasion she was found in the private ward of a dying old lady, reading to her from a book about crocodiles.   She was unceremoniously extracted at once and taken along to Dr. Latham where Nurse Morris made her views clear.

      "She's your patient, Doctor.   I expect you to keep her under control."

      "Oh, Wendy, what have you been up to?"   The doctor tried to look stern, but couldn't hide the tell-tale twinkle Wendy found so appealing.

      "I was only reading to someone who hasn't got long to go," she explained, sorry that her act of kindness had been misunderstood.

      Dr. Latham examined the book.   "You do seem fond of crocodiles."

      "Daddy said it was better for me to like crocodiles than if crocodiles started liking me."

      "True.   Have you ever been close to a real crocodile?"

      Wendy thought for a moment.   "Yes," she said.   "Okey-dokey."

      "It wouldn't have had a clock inside it?"

      "No - they were definitely real ones, lurking in brown water like floating logs, with funny-looking cats' eyes peeping out - watching you," she added, making her eyes glint to impress him.

      But Dr. Latham had been looking more closely at something else, and he picked up the house phone to summon one of his colleagues.

      "Now that you're here, Wendy, there's another problem we must see to.   I'm sorry, my pet, I know this is beastly for you, but it's best we get these things put right now, rather than have them bothering you when you get older."

      "What needs fixing this week?" she sighed wearily.

      "Those teeth of yours.   I'm sure they weren't like that before your accident.   They ought to be standing to attention like soldiers, not looking like some old fence that's blown over in the wind."

      A young man in a white coat knocked and entered.

      "Wendy, this is Mr. Warburton, our resident dentist.   Kevin, come and meet the famous Wendy."

      "No need for introductions," he said.   "Everyone knows Wendy."

      Dr. Latham gave a grunt.   "Yes.   I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

      "Good," Wendy offered her casting vote.

      "Kevin, watch out in case you cut yourself on this young lady's tongue, it's extremely sharp today.   Wendy, stop flirting and listen to me.   While Mr. Warburton goes pot-holing inside that mouth of yours, I want to tell you about an idea I've got.   You just bite his finger if you want to speak."

      Kevin Warburton gave an insincere smile and proceeded to examine Wendy's teeth while Dr. Latham tried to divert her attention.

      "We know precisely where your accident happened, Wendy.   Never mind what he's up to, look at me.   How about having a day out with me and going to see where it was?"

      Wendy gave a grunt of acknowledgement, as a more coherent reply was impossible with the dentist's hand deep inside her mouth.

      "Assuming that was a Yes, what I plan is this.   Now that you can walk more easily, and once we've got this mouth business under way, I want to take you back to where they found you last October.   If we examine the place for ourselves, maybe with a bit of luck we might see something you remember.   Or would you rather become a crocodile and eat Mr. Warburton?"

      The dentist looked up.   "Not today, thank you.   We've first got to push the gum forward to where it's supposed to be, then give the teeth a bit of support for a few weeks.   Otherwise they'll look as if they've been knocked about like ninepins.   Besides, a pretty face deserves pretty teeth, don't you agree?"

      "Will I like what you're going to do?" Wendy asked anxiously.

      "We'll try not to hurt you, but it may feel a bit awkward at first.   You won't be able to eat any solid food for a while - only soup, jelly, ice cream and nonsense like that.   You may find it hard to talk too, but that could prove a bonus."

      "She can get on with her reading instead," Dr. Latham added.   "And you should try to read, Wendy, not just look at pictures, otherwise you'll be a total dunce when you go back to school."

      "Won't I be able to talk at all?" she queried as the doctor escorted her back to the ward.

      "Yes, but you'll be wearing a small plate in your mouth."

      "A plate?" she exclaimed in horror.

      "I don't mean a plate like you have dinner on," he apologised, sorry that he'd alarmed her unnecessarily.   "It'll be like granny's false teeth, only it'll be fixed in there for a few months.   Then it'll come out, and you'll look much nicer when it's all done.   I'll ask Mr. Warburton to fit you in this afternoon.   Don't worry if it feels strange afterwards.   It will at first, but I'll make sure you come to no harm, I promise."

      "Will I be able to kiss people?"

      "I don't know about that.   Whom had you in mind?"

      After making sure no-one was watching, the doctor allowed Wendy to give him an extra long kiss on the cheek before returning to the ward.

      "He smells ever so nice," she announced to the other patients.

      Several days later Wendy awoke from a general anaesthetic and immediately started choking.   Nurse Edwards rushed over at once, and put a comforting arm around her.

      "Steady, steady!   You're perfectly all right."

      Wendy tried to speak, but it felt as if a huge saucer had been wedged underneath her tongue.

      "Don't try to talk," the nurse advised.   "You've got something in your mouth to get those funny teeth straight again, remember?"

      "How 'ong hor?" Wendy tried to asked, alarmed and angry, since it felt far worse than she'd been led to believe.

      "How long for?   Only a little while until you're all mended nicely.   I expect it feels as if you've got a non-stick frying pan in there."

      Wendy nodded, though clearly she wasn't at all happy.

      "It's not that bad," Sharon consoled her, "and they can take it out again if they really have to.   But that won't get you better, will it?   Just try to relax, and don't think about it.   Mr. Warburton worked very hard to get you fitted up, and you wouldn't want him to think he'd been wasting his time, eh?"

      "How han I ea' any-hing?" Wendy asked, frightened that her words weren't coming out properly.   Sharon held her in a reassuring cuddle.

      "We'll give you nice soft things to eat, like jelly and custard," she said.

      "An' iysh king," Wendy tried to remind her.   "Iysh king."

      "Ice cream comes later.   We don't want anything too cold just yet.   First we ought to give you some soup."

      "Hoo hor weckhurth?" she asked with difficulty.   Sharon hated herself for not understanding what the child was trying to say.

      "Do you have a favourite soup?" she asked, hoping it answered Wendy's question.

      "Yeh!" Wendy bellowed her exasperation, "'ut why hoo hor weckhurth?"

      Sharon calmed her down, repeating her words slowly as if it were a game - "Why - hoop - hor - weckfirsh?"   Then she laughed and gave Wendy's hand a playful squeeze.   "Oh, no wonder I couldn't understand," she said.   "Fancy talking about breakfast in the middle of the afternoon."

      She pointed to the clock, and Wendy grinned grotesquely.

      "So, what's your favourite soup?   If you can't tell me, I'll bring a list and you can point to whatever you like best."

      "Hoe-na-ho," Wendy informed her.

      "Tomato?   Right!   It's fun playing games like this, don't you agree?"

      Wendy shook her head and looked downcast.   "No.   No.   No"

      "Ah!   You said that all right.   You'll soon find there's lots of words you can say when you get used to it," the nurse assured her.   "Do you want to see what you look like?"

      Wendy shook her head vigorously.

      "Why not?"

      "Ih heelth hoo uhly."

      "It's not ugly, silly," she said.   "No-one would know it was there if only you'd stop chattering.   When you do want to have a look, just call me, okay?"

      Wendy began practising to herself until she found it quite easy to say: "Shank you, Nursh Sharon!"

      That evening, Dr. Latham came along to see how Wendy was coping with her latest ordeal.

      "Aw right," she chirped, always anxious to please him.

      "You're a good girl.   Sorry we put you through this, my love, but it won't be for long."

      She watched his eyes closely while he had a brief look inside her mouth.   She would love to have joked how he wouldn't do that so readily if she were a crocodile, but this time the observation had to remain unsaid.   Although the discipline of silence was undoubtedly good for her, it was a constraint she wasn't used to, and the doctor knew she'd find it most frustrating.

      "Good," he concluded.   "Now, there's a fine day forecast for tomorrow.   How about you and me visiting the spot where your accident took place, hm?"

      Wendy nodded, perhaps a little apprehensively.

      Early the following morning Dr. Latham made careful preparations before having Wendy brought out to the car.   It wasn't to be his own Granada, but a blue Jaguar, borrowed from a colleague for a necessary experiment.   Sitting at the wheel, the doctor watched closely as Wendy was wheeled across the forecourt.   As soon as she saw him in the car, she seemed visibly disturbed.   He tried to sound encouraging as he opened the rear door, but she seemed very worried.   It wasn't easy for him either, putting someone he loved through a painful test.

      "Would you prefer it if we took my other car?" he asked at last, and she smiled.   "So this one disturbed you.   Have you any idea why?"

      Wendy nodded, certain that it wasn't a good idea to travel in the Jaguar.   Dr. Latham signalled to a waiting colleague who came and drove it away.   Then they wandered hand in hand over to his Ford Granada.   Wendy saw an extra cushion already placed on the front seat, clearly to give a child a better view, and she narrowed her eyes in a mischievous but loving reprimand.

      Soon they were clear of the suburbs and heading west into open Hampshire countryside.   Dr. Latham decided it was best to be honest with his patient.

      "Wendy, you're an intelligent girl, I know, so I'm going to tell you exactly why I'm taking you out today."

      She looked at him in earnest silence.

      "I didn't expect you'd feel happy getting into the Jag, and you made that very clear.   I don't blame you.   If I'd been in a car crash, I don't think I'd like to ride in the same sort of car for a while.   But don't worry, we'll drive very carefully today.   We're going to see where your accident occurred, and on the way we may pass places you recognise, so keep looking.   Today, sweetheart, even a miracle is possible."

      He paused to glance at her.   She still looked most apprehensive.

      "But the main reason, Wendy, is that it's a lovely day, and I reckon you and I have earned ourselves a few hours in the sunshine.   Also it gives us a chance to talk without anyone coming to interrupt.   We both know it's not easy for you to talk at the moment, with that ironmonger's shop tucked in your little loudspeaker, so let's invent our own secret language.   If you want me to stop or want to ask anything, it's one quick tap on the left knee, understood?   And if you see anything that looks at all familiar, go for two taps.   Got it?"

      She nodded twice.

      "Good.   Let's give it a test.   Look at me for a moment.   Now, Wendy, do you know who I am?   If my face looks familiar, I want two taps."

      Wendy took her time over this because she couldn't resist teasing him whenever she got the chance.   Finally she let out a mischievous gurgle, and whacked his knee hard.

      "Thank you," he said.   "Perhaps a little gentler next time.   I thought for a minute you'd forgotten who I was."

      She lowered her head and looked at him slyly out of the corner of her eye.

      "You're a mischievous pickle, you know that?"

      She nodded firmly.

      "But remember, both doctor and patient are on a serious mission today, so from now on, you're to concentrate on what you see out there!"

      They travelled on for a while, then Wendy pressed him twice on the knee.   Dr. Latham pulled over and stopped the car.

      "All right, little one, take your time.   If I don't seem to understand at first, try it again with different words.   What is it?"

      "Not 'is one," she said, "'ut odder car."

      "The other car, the Jaguar?"

      "When we 'et 'ack, I wanno 'et in Daguar."

      "You want to just sit in the Jaguar when we get back to the hospital, is that it?"

      "Mm-hmm," she acknowledged, and had several cheeky attempts at saying "Sit".

      "Saucy monkey!   All right, we'll arrange that.   But you were certain you didn't want me to drive you anywhere in it, right?"

      "No go anywhere, desht ...", she said, and mouthed the word "Sit".

      "All right, I've got you.   Good girl, that's just the kind of thing we want on this trip.   Shall we continue?"

      Wendy nodded slowly, like a princess giving royal permission for her journey to be resumed.

      They passed through several towns and villages, but Wendy behaved more like a foreign tourist exploring the Home Counties for the first time.   Only once did she give his knee a tap, pointing up at an airliner which had just left Gatwick.

      Eventually they drew near to Baverbridge, and Dr. Latham slowed to a more leisurely pace along the road where the accident had occurred.   His patient, though, continued to look like an eager holiday-maker, recognising nothing.   When passing the actual spot, he was careful to maintain the same speed to avoid giving Wendy cues about a site he hoped she might identify.   Half a mile beyond, he stopped the car and she turned to him enquiringly.

      "Well?" he asked.   "Did you recognise anything?"

      "Are we here?" she muttered, surprised to find she could put the question so easily.   She repeated it several times, like a self-taught parrot.

      "You found that easy to say because it doesn't contain any nasty consonants," he pointed out.   "It's all vowel sounds.   Trying saying 'How are you?'"

      "'Ow are yer, are we 'ere?" she said in a mock Cockney accent, then chuckled with glee.

      "Monkey!   No, since you ask, we actually drove right past the place.   You didn't notice anything?"

      She shook her head, and said a well-rounded "No" like a duchess at Ascot.

      "Well, I'm going to turn round and approach it again from the other direction.   No-one's yet proved you weren't in the tanker, but you seemed so concerned about the Jaguar, I'd say that clinches it."

      They headed back half a mile to the lay-by where, many months earlier, the telephone men had stopped for lunch.   The doctor climbed out to survey the scene, and then walked round to the near side to help Wendy.

      "Are we here?" she asked again, now speaking like a reformed Eliza Doolittle enjoying her first excursions into drawing-room society.

      "This is the place, little one.   Would you like me to show you where you were found?"

      Wendy knew it was important for both of them, so she nodded solemnly as though about to enter church to be married.   They walked slowly down the road at a pace she could manage, and the doctor lifted her over the gate into the field beyond, somewhat annoyed that he hadn't been able to bring Wendy sooner.   By now, any remaining clues would have blown away or been cleared by road sweepers.

      Dr. Latham had actually visited the site himself a few weeks earlier.   He'd obtained precise details from police records, and knew they were now at the very spot where Wendy had lain for two days.

      "How I ge' here?" she asked with difficulty.

      "How did you get here?   I was hoping you'd tell me."

      But Wendy shook her head.

      "What I'd like to know," he said, "is how you survived at all, bearing in mind both vehicles were doing over forty miles an hour when they collided.   And that happened way back there, so you must have flown through the air like a paper aeroplane.   Anyway, this is where you landed."

      Wendy heard another aeroplane overhead and pointed.

      "You did that before, Wendy.   I hope you're not suggesting you fell out of an aeroplane?"

      "No," she said, slowly shaking her head.

      "But you reckon you were in one?"

      She nodded and continued to watch, fascinated by its apparently slow progress across the clear blue sky.

      "But you don't see anything else you recognise?   That's a big blow, Wendy.   I pinned all my hopes on finding something today."

      She looked carefully about her, and Dr. Latham poked at the ground with Wendy's stick, but neither of them saw anything out of the ordinary.   Disappointed, and regretting he'd raised his patient's hopes needlessly, he led her slowly back towards the road.

      The gate was now open, and as they reached it a tractor came trundling by.   The driver called out.   "I 'ope you folks knows it's private land through 'ere?"

      The doctor apologised.   "Yes, I'm sorry.   Is this your field?"

      "That's right, sir.   Can I 'elp you with something?"

      "It's possible.   Do you remember a bad road accident here four months ago?"

      "That I do, sir, with the tanker and the fire and all."

      "Well, I'm Dr. Latham and this is my patient.   She's the girl who was found in that ditch a couple of days afterwards."

      The farmer could not have been more impressed if the entire cast of Coronation Street had paraded before him.

      "Well, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed, his face aglow with reverence.   "How do, guv, my name's Bert Figgins."   They shook hands ceremoniously.

      "She still needs further treatment even now," the doctor went on, "but we're all delighted she's doing so well."

      "Well, I never," muttered Mr. Figgins.   "Yes, I remember that accident all right.   In a devil of an 'urry, they both was.   And the flames?   You never saw nothing like it!"

      "I brought the young girl down today to show her where it happened.   She still doesn't remember anything, you see.   I hoped we'd find something to give us a few more clues as to who she is, but I reckon it's all been cleared long ago."

      "You mean, she don't know her name and that?"   The farmer eyed Wendy with some curiosity.

      "Oh, we're pretty certain her name's Wendy," the doctor replied, and Wendy nodded her full agreement.

      "Well, I never!" Mr. Figgins repeated.   "My!   Just wait till I tell my wife about this, she were so concerned about the little mite."

      "So you didn't happen to find anything in the road or the ditch, or in the hedge, did you?   Some object that might have belonged to Wendy?"

      "No, not that come to mind now, sir, sorry.   Glad to know she's all fit again though.   Nasty that was, real nasty."

      The doctor thanked him.   "This was the one occasion we were hoping someone might have left a scrap of litter lying around.   Good day to you then."

      "'Bye squire!   'Bye miss!"   The farmer revved up his tractor, waving as he made off across the field.

      Dr. Latham lifted Wendy through a patch of mud by the gate, then closed it carefully and trudged back towards the lay-by.   He helped her into the car, strapped her in, and they drove off down the road, still very gently at first as though reluctant to leave behind some vital clue that might still lie hidden.   He brought the car to a halt again at the very spot where the collision had occurred.

      "It's hard to believe you got thrown from here, all the way back to where we were just now."

      Wendy looked back down the road, not fully believing what she was being told.   Then she stared silently into the hedgerow.

      They'd already gathered speed when suddenly she gave a yell, thumped the doctor's knee hard and scrambled out as soon as she could, hurrying down the road, hopping on her left leg, and dragging the other behind her.

      The doctor carefully reversed to where she was now standing.   Heedless of mud and brambles, Wendy was attempting to retrieve something from the ditch - a filthy soaked piece of paper, mostly red, and folded in half.   As he reached her, she was pointing, wild with excitement.

      "Ma'c 'Ing'm!" she kept squealing as he leaned forward and plucked the scrap of paper from the bank.   "Ma'c Ing'm!   Mi'i Mou'!   I wa' roo'hi a' ih whe' i' ha''n."

      Poor Wendy couldn't get any words out.   Overcome with turmoils of ecstasy, confusion and frustration, her eyes flooded with tears.   But they weren't tears of sadness, they were tears of delight as she staggered back into the doctor's arms.   As he picked her bodily off the ground, her face came close to his, and there were tears in his own eyes too.   He didn't yet know what Wendy had found, but it was obvious she'd recognised something of vital significance.

      Slowly she raised a hand and showed him the scruffy leaflet.   It was quite small, and but for its colour she might not have noticed it at all.   To any passer-by it would simply have been an ugly scrap of red litter, tossed aside by some thoughtless road-user.

      But to Wendy it meant something very, very special.

      "Ma'i' 'Ing'omm" she said calmly as he took it from her fingers and turned it over.   It was a page torn from a pamphlet, and the words on the front said Magic Kingdom.   On the other side was a diagram of the Disney World complex in Florida.

      Smiling through her tears, she said again, slowly and carefully, "Mazhic Chin'dom!   Michy Moush!" before lapsing into a confusion of sobs and a cackling laughter that was almost hysterical.

      Dr. Latham carried Wendy in his arms, walking several times up and down the road on both sides before finally returning her to the passenger seat of his car.

      Wendy was joyfully excited all the way home, a striking contrast from the reserved silence in which they'd travelled down.   She was not only thrilled by her discovery, she knew at last that she'd made a major contribution to her doctor's tireless efforts.   Her sharp eyes had turned their day's outing in a success.

      Despite being quite incomprehensible, Wendy chattered ceaselessly, unperturbed by the plate in her mouth, and even if he could have understood, Dr. Latham made no attempt to record what she was trying to say.   He was sure of only one thing, that the child beside him had been returning from a trip to Disney World when the fatal accident occurred.   His next job seemed easy - to identify the flight on which a little girl called Wendy had flown home that day from Florida.  

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