Pete: A Short Story

Peter A Story

The window in the hospital ward stood open, having been flung wide that morning by the nurse. The air was crisp and fresh, the curtains stirred gently, and the bright green leaves outside cheered the eye. The blazing summer heat was still a long way off.

Peter had his appendix out. They said it was a tricky operationtheyd barely made it in time. But Peter was fearless.

Not afraid of jabs, are you? the nurse smiled, flicking air from the syringe in the early light.

Peter rolled quietly onto his side, not yet cleared to get up.

As if needles could frighten me, he thought.

Hed been brought in from an alleyway, where the pain struck. Not that he was a tramp, far from it; he grew up in a childrens home. He and the lads had just been coming back from the market where theyd tried their luck with some odd jobs, and then the cramp caught him. He regretted only one thing: hed dropped Len and little Billy in itthered be ructions at the home, he guessed. Yesterday, after surgery, Miss Kirkpatrickthe deputy headhad rushed in, showing concern. Peter, still groggy from anaesthetic, remembered her anxious face bent over him, though not much else.

If only the pain had hit when he was back at the home. It was only a little way to go. But it happened as it happened

He blamed the apricots. At the market, they got handed a crate of fruit going bad, only it wasnt so badsweet as honey. Theyd gorged themselves, and more fool them.

Oi, young hero! How are we feeling? asked the elderly doctor, a great mop of hair on his arms, as he examined the stitches. The worst is done, lad. Theres nothing to fear now.

I wasnt scared.

Oh! Brave chap, are you? Well, heres the thing, heronothing to eat yet. No treats, Im warning you! Just wait a little, and later well bring you some jelly.

Peter nodded, mostly out of politeness. He knewthered be no one bringing him sweets. No one at the childrens home was pleased with him right nowfor sneaking off, and especially for lumping the staff in it. Theyd gone to the market in secret, through a hole in the fence, and of course hed had to collapse on the way back.

The doctor was right about one thing: Peter was brave because he had to be. His mother gave birth to him, probably by accident. No money for an abortion, it seemed. He was ten, and looked at these things calmly, as orphans do.

He didnt resent his mum. On the contrary, he was grateful shed given him life, even though she signed him away at birththank you all the same.

Hed been in the babies home until three, then moved to a childrens home in Norwich, and later to another in Devon. For as long as he could remember, life had been a battle.

He remembered fighting for food in the dinner hall. It was a peaceful enough time in the country, but the cooks and staff took home most of the supplies openly, even carting them off in cars.

And it wasnt just over food there were fightsover whatever you like, really. Peter was strong, relied on it. Broke his arm twice. And once, when the visiting barber shaved them all bald, she nearly burst into tears at the sight of his headscar upon scar.

Nothing to cry about. Peter barely ever cried.

Now they thought they could frighten him with a scar on his belly or with needles

As if.

He thought grown-ups cold and calculating. He wasnt a darling little girl to be fussed over; he was rough, a little hard, plain-speaking and stubborn.

Mind yourself, Williams! Try any tricks and youll be in isolation! Miss Kirkpatrick often warned.

Peter never talked back, but he wasnt much for following rules either. Hed made his own long ago.

There was only one grown-up he liked to remember. He didnt know what it was for other children with their mothersthinking and talking to them in their mindbut this woman, whod flitted briefly through his life, he spoke to in his thoughts often.

He was about six when she started at the home, not the one here, but back in Norwich. He never knew her job there, but he remembered her soft smile, blue eyes, warm hands, and her scent. Sometimes shed take him on her lap and whisper in his ear:

You must be strong, Peter, promise me. Eat well, look after yourself, listen, yes? Itll be hard, but youve just got to try. Will you?

And then she’d sing a lullaby.

Little kitten, silver tail, hush a-bye, hush a-bye.
Little silver tail, little white paws,
Hush a-bye, hush a-bye.
Little white paws, little black ears,
Hush a-bye, hush a-bye

No matter how grown up Peter felt now, he would still sometimes remember that simple song when things were especially rough. Hed close his eyes, hum quietly, recall those warm hands, and it helped.

She vanished one day, gone as quickly as shed come, leaving him just a song and a memory. Never once had anyone else sung him to sleep or rocked him. He forgot her name and only thought of her as mum, though deep down he knew she must have been a nursery nurse or volunteer. But it helped, sometimes, to pretend.

The nurse closed the window and began making up the bed opposite. Peter was gladlying alone was lonely.

Soon a trolley rolled in, followed by a crowd of white-coated staff. Fuss and business everywhere. Peter watched from his bed, could barely see but managed a glimpse. On the bed was a pale, sharp-nosed boy with a drip hung above him. Soon enough, just the nurse and a man in a white coat remained.

No-one spoke much. They exchanged the odd word.

Hell be asleep for a bit, said the nurse.

All right. Thank you.

Call us if you need

All right.

She left. The man sat, slumped forward on his knees, head bowed, motionless. The boy slept.

The ward grew stuffy, but the man didnt take off his jacket or the white coat. Peter thought he must be half asleep too.

His back ached from lying. Peter turned over, and his bed creaked. The man turned. Hed deep furrows between his brows, and bags under his eyesbut his look was kindly.

Hello there, he whispered, as if only just noticing Peters presence.

Hello, said Peter.

The man settled himself, glanced at his son, then quietly pulled a chair up to Peters side.

Had an operation?

Yes. Appendix. Sliced right out.

Thats good. Not up and about yet?

No.

Do you want anything?

Im not allowed. Doctor said no food till this evening. Whats wrong with him? Peter nodded at the boy on the other bed.

Him? The man looked back, eyebrows drawn tight. Another illness. Mind if I stay here with you? Ill help if you need anything. And if people come for you, Ill step outside.

Dont mind, Peter shook his headwhat right had he to object?

The man moved his chair, turning. His names Simon. Hes eleven. And you?

Peter. Im ten.

Thank you, Peter, said the man, and Peter wondered, for what?

All the next day, people came and went. Simon got more drips, the doctor visited more than once. His father stayed overnight, talking to him sometimes. Simon would move his hands and head but keep his eyes closed, as if always asleep.

Later, an elderly couple arrived, bringing a younger woman with themSimons mother. She was tall, upright, with a bump in her nose and curly hair tied back. She looked pale, her eyes swollen and red from tears. They led her by the arm, sat her beside her son. She stroked him, whispering.

Perhaps you can move the other boy? Simons father asked the doctor, nodding toward Peter, worried for his wife.

Yes, well move him today.

The doctor came to Peter. How are you, mate? Hurting?

A bit.

That night, Peter hardly slepthis wound ached, he was frightened to turn, and the catheter bothered him. They hadnt fed him all dayhad they forgotten? Or perhaps it was too soon to eat.

You can try standing today. Well move you next doorinto the other ward. Come on then, the doctor called. The nurse will be along to remove the catheter.

Peter was desperate to get up but the nurse took ages. People came and went all the time.

It finally dawned on Peter that Simon was dying. He never woke, just slept. The grownups whispered, tense and resigned.

Simons cousin, a young woman, stayed at his bedside all day. Peter, shy in front of her, hinted to the nurse that he felt uncomfortable, but she just snapped, Dont flatter yourselfshes other things to worry about! Now, hold still.

It was quick, and Peter lay there, suddenly free, wondering where his clothes were. The girl tended Simons sheet, wetted his lips, watched out the window, and Peter wished hed thought to ask about his things.

Nobody needs you here! Thats just itnobody did.

An hour later, he decided to try sitting. He rolled over, clutching the sheet, and sat up.

The girl glanced over. Need a hand?

No. His head swam so much, he lay back down.

A minute later he sat again. Do you know where my thingsve gone?

She didnt, but promised to find out. Just keep an eye on Simon while Im gone, will you?

Peter attempted to stand, wrapped in the sheet, but his legs shook, he wobbledfrightened to leave the bed. He hadn’t imagined itd be so hard just to cross the ward.

Eventually, they brought him some scruffy hospital pyjamasnot his own clothes.

Ill look awaydont worry, said the girl, as he perched on the edge, pulled them on. They hung off himhe was used to hand-me-downs, and knew to tie the waist tight, but turning up the trousers was impossible for now. As he shuffled along tripping over them, she noticed.

Hold on! These are huge, arent they? She knelt to roll his trouser legs, finishing just as Peter turned pale.

Im going to faint

Oh! She caught him and sat him quickly. Goodness, youre still so poorly! Have you eaten? Whats your name?

Peter.

Im Elizabeth. Peter, your mum should be with you nowmaybe call her? Or is there no phone at home?

No mum.

Oh Dad, then? Or someone?

All fine. Im better. Ill go to the loo.

He made it to the bathroom and stared back at his reflection. Deep shadows under his eyes, lips white as milk, eyes jet-black and alive. One carer said his surname mustve been Williams thanks to those crow-black eyeshe went by Crow in the home, and was proud of it.

He splashed cold water on his faceit helped. Elizabeth mustve said something; they brought him jelly.

If youre up, you can come to the dining hall, said the attendant.

But he nearly fainted! He cant go up stairs yet. Ill fetch his jelly myself! Elizabeth protested. And no more food for him yet.

Peter couldnt stay put. He wandered about, glanced at Simona handsome, delicate boy, almost girlish and curly-haired like his mother, but so thin.

Is he dying?nobodys more direct than an orphan.

Elizabeth flinched. We dont know. But yes, Simons badly ill. Four operations, all on his stomach. His parents are worn out. Now its our turn. Im his aunt, his dads sister. Still, miracles happen, dont they?

I dont know, Peter replied, sitting on his bed.

He thought about Simonsuch a life, just like in the films. Mum, dad, grandparents, family Everything you could want, just wasted away.

No luck at all.

He was never moved to another ward. That evening, Simons father, Mr. James, returned. The ward was busy again, talk drifting to Peter, toohow no one had visited him all day.

Doctor said youre a childrens home boy? James asked him.

Yes.

Maybe youd be more comfortable in another ward. Simons very ill

No, Id rather stay. Can I?

The same routine went on for four days. Peter ran a fever in the end and was shifted to a ward of elderly patients. He grew bored, visiting Simon when he could. No one minded.

His fever delayed his discharge.

In that time, Simons father, Mr. James, learned everything about Peterover chats and by ear. He brought Peter some clothes. Peter, used to hand-me-downs, accepted them, then looked at Simon.

These his?

Yes.

What if he doesnt die after all?

James looked at him, surprised. In their family, no one uttered that worddie. They all waited, but nobody dared say it. How can you speak that of your only child? It was terrifying.

Mrs. James once screamed, when told theyd done everything right.

Why! Why did we do everything and he still dies? Why should I feel any better for that?

When your only soul prepares to leave, your body gives up, too. Mrs. James was a wreck, cajoled by tranquilizers that scarcely helped.

What if he doesnt die? Peter asked again.

James wanted to answer, not so much for Peter as for himself.

Im sorry, lad. Im afraid he cant survive now. Hes dying. He could barely force out the words.

Does it hurtdying? Peter pressed Simons shirts to his chest, gazing at him, brow knotted.

James saw his compassion and care. The child took everything in, understanding. No wonderhed spent days close by, overhearing doctors. He was just a childperhaps afraid, more so since he was an orphan.

Quicker than falling asleep. And were making sure hes in no pain, thats why were here.

But he moves

Yes, which is why we talk to himhoping he can still hear. Were not sure.

Family stayed by Simons side constantly. But one evening, James stepped out just a minute and returned to find Peter holding Simons hand, talking quietly:

and I dont know where my real mum is. Might not even be alive. Well, she left, and thats thatIm not cross. If she came back, Id forgive her, honest. You dont believe me? Thats a shame Just please, dont die. Your mums heartbroken. And your dad if I had a dad like that, Id never give in. Ill look after your shirts. Got loads anyway. Just dont die. Tryreally try

James coughed, his throat clogged with emotion. Peter jumped up.

He hears mereally does! He squeezed my hand! You dont believe me?

I do, PeterI do! I said, he probably hears.

The family all expected the end. Simon, their only, clever, beautiful hope, was slipping away. Theyd learnt his diagnosis years agomuscle atrophy at first, then heart, lungs, stomachwith treatment in London and Manchester from top doctors, giving him those extra years. Simon accepted sickness as a fact, never complained.

Mrs. James shouldered most of itsleepless nights in every hospital, pushing for the best, praying in every church. James stood byhe was a man, he had to be strong.

Her strength finally gave when Simons death became certain. They started giving her injections.

Please talk to him, Peter. I think hes glad of it.

For James, the boys conversations brought comforta bright spark by his dying son. Hed stand outside the ward, listening

Once, when Saracen broke my arm, everything went black. Dont believe me? Yes, black as night. But I didnt shout. I shook my head clear, saw my arm bent the wrong way, and Saracen, the coward, just waited for me to bawl. But I stood up, dusted off, and went, Well, go on then, finish the job! Felt sick but bit it downjust to spit him, not a single tear.

He ran to matron, all in tears! Idiot.

See, my arms fine now. Yoursll pass too. A broken arms worse than what youve got now. So, buck up, mate. Get better

Simon died that night. Peter didnt notice or wasnt told straight away. He waited for the morning round, went for breakfast, then poked his head into the ward.

A new patient was pacing where hed once lain, arranging things by the freshly made bed.

And Simon? Peter nodded at the bed.

No ideawasnt here, the patient shrugged.

Peter rushed to the nurses station, but the nurse was gone. He darted into the staff room, searching for his doctor, but he wasnt there either. He asked a junior doctor instead.

Simon! Where is he? Has he gone? Where?

The doctor frowned. Simon? Oh you understandhe was very ill.

He died? Peter cut him off.

The doctor nodded. Sadly. It happens.

Peter staggered out. He was angry at the whole hospital, furious with the doctors and nurses.

They didnt save him.

How was he to show that anger?

A cleaner was mopping the floor; Peter kicked the bucket, sending water flying. The cleaner shrieked; doctors appeared, a nurse came running.

Everyone shouted and scolded him. Peter kicked open the door to his room with his foot, sat on his bed, and clamped his hands over his ears.

An entire hospital! Dozens of doctors! And they couldnt do a thing to save his friend. Not one thing!

Why had Simon, unconscious the whole time, become his friend? Peter didnt know. But he was. Peter poured out his life storyto Simon, to the vanished woman, to the brawls and broken limbs.

Once, still in Simons ward, Peter dreamed Simon sat up, smiled sadly. Peter rushed over to lift him, but Simon asked just to sit a while. His voice, thin and almost girlish, began to tell Peter about his life.

Peter couldnt remember the story, but he heard Simons voiceof that he was sure. After a while, Simon glanced at the window, climbed onto the ledge, and Peter, terrified, woke up.

Black branches swayed outside, the moon shone. Simon tossed, his father slept on.

So Peter crept over, held Simons thin hands, and sang the only lullaby hed ever known:

Little kitten, silver tail, hush a-bye, hush a-bye.
Little silver tail, little white paws,
Hush a-bye, hush a-bye.
Little white paws, little black ears,
Hush a-bye, hush a-bye

From then on, Peter talked to Simon in his mindthe sick boy spoke of life: seaside holidays; grandparents, granddad a general; school and classmates, a room full of treasures, a mother who woke him up with a hug.

That was how Peter imagined a familytold through Simons stories. Sometimes Peters fantasies were ridiculous, but he’d never lived with a family, never seen their homes except on TV.

For instance, he thought all beds stood together in one big family room. Each had a small wardrobe in the hall, and Thursdays were always fish day, with Mum ladling out morning tea from a big pot.

***

Strangely, when Simon died, Mr. James felt a sense of relief. Not because he lacked love for his boynot at all. It was just that Simon had already slipped away, and if not for the life support, he’d have just lingered in pain. And now it was done.

Now, Mrs. James would have to accept what had happened and find a way to live on.

And Mr. James felt himself thinking more and more of Peter

It wasnt time to talk about adoption, of courseSophie would never understand. No one would ever replace Simon for her. The boys photo in flowers stood in their drawing room; his wife sat there for hours, lighting candles, going to church, visiting the grave daily. Eight years ago, shed lost another childshed never have children again.

But Peter would never have a mother or father, either

Of course, Peter was nothing like Simoncoarse, raw, with those dark, challenging eyes. But James heard the way the boy spokethere was a surprising kindness, a good heart inside him.

Soph, I went to the hospital today. Peters been discharged. They kept him in a good while.

Why did you go? Why? Sophie looked puzzled.

Oh, just to get Simons medical notes. Anyway, they said Peter made a sceneshouted at the doctors when he found Simon wasnt there.

Silly boy, Sophie sighed.

Yes, well James replied.

Dont worry about me, James. Im making my peacejust focus on your work.

All right.

Just dont talk to me about any boys for now, please?

James said no more to his wife.

But, at the weekend, he found himself driving to Peters childrens home. He couldnt help it. From Peters stories, hed gathered there wasnt much kindness or order there. But it was pointlessthe director wouldnt let him see the boy, peppering him with questions, looking at him with suspicion. All his explanations that it was just a harmless visit got him nowhere.

Instead of discouraging him, it only made him more determined. He remembered his old friend Sarah Miller, a classmate now working as an adoption support specialist.

He tracked her down and called round the next day. They talked a long time. Sarah was understanding, full of sympathy, and promised to find out about Peter, but reminded him everything depended on his wifes agreement, and on Peter himself. Nothing without their yes.

Still, James pressed aheadvisited the council offices, collected the paperwork for fostering or adoption. The officers were unexpectedly helpful, promising to arrange a proper meeting.

He told his father-in-law and his sister, Liz, but not his wife. Liz was enthusiasticthe boy had made an impression on her. They promised to talk to Sophie.

But every time Peters name was mentioned, Mrs. James wept.

Hell never replace Simon. Why cant you understand?

Nobodys talking about replacing Simon, Soph! But Peters an orphanand so are we now. Hes different: tricky, awkward, a home boyand yes, no one could replace Simon. But, if youd heard him with our lad, how much he cared! He hoped Simon would wake! He cheered me up, a grown man. Theres a gentleness to the child I cant explain. At least lets meet him. Please.

Just dont force me

It was the first step.

When Peter was finally brought to meet them, he was tense, wouldnt look up, knuckles white from gripping his fingers. He wouldnt even shake Jamess hand.

Sarah was there, quietly present, not interfering. James looked at Peter, seeing how tough it was for him. The boy frozeso pale. In hospital, hed been a different person.

He wanted to hug the boytell him not to worry. He didnt know what to say, how to help. He glanced at the women for help, but Sophie simply watched the child and sighed; Sarah just listened, taking it all in. So James chatted about unimportant things to break the silence.

Peter was so nervous, so anxious, he was sent back early.

So much for being fearless!

He understands everything, andI dont think he wants to come to us, does he? James asked, disappointed, on the drive home.

Youre wrong, said Sarah. He wants it so badlymore than you can imagine. Hell try so hard to be worthy, but hes terrified he wont measure up.

Are we so frightening? Sophie asked.

Youre the real parents hes never had. He doesnt know how to behave with you, and hes scared he wont please you. Now, hes dreaming of nothing else, Sarah replied.

They agreed Peter would visit for tea. He hadnt yet said yes, and Sophie hesitated too.

When James brought him, they sat at the kitchen table. Peters palms sweated as he stared into his cup, too scared to eat, to clink his spoon, even to glance around at the polished room. It was nothing like hed expectedhe felt crowded, almost pressed in by these adults.

He was most afraid of Sophie for some reason.

When James dropped a spoon, Peter jolted, tense, and blurted, Bloody hell.

James picked it up, laughing. Exactly! Im all thumbs. Why arent you eating, Peter? Tuck in, lad!

He pushed a piece of potato in, but it felt so awkward he just sat with it in his mouth.

Come on, mate, at ease!

Peterwould you like to see Simons room? Sophie offered.

Peter brightened, eyes alight, nodding quickly.

He walked into Simons bedroom, straight to the large portrait. Simon looked so differenthealthier, happier, smiling. It meant the world to see his friend alive, if only in that frame. Peter almost heard, Dont be afraid, Im here.

Oh, hello Simon! Peter hurried over, touched the frame, glanced at Sophie. He looks fatter here.

Yes, he wasnt always so thin. That was justjust beforeshe couldnt say the word died.

Before he died, you mean? Peter asked straight, running his hand over the frame. Can you show me what he was like here?

Sophie didnt follow at first, then fetched a photo album.

You know, I cant look yetnot really. You look, she said.

Peter sat, flipping quietly through. Sophie drifted to the window.

This him? Tiny here, isnt he?

Sophie came, sat down beside him. For the first time, she let herself lookflicking through memories she thought she could never face.

Hes funnycool Brilliant Peter commented, asking questions.

Then, finding a beach photo, he cried, Oh! The sea! He told me you all went to the sea.

Sophie shook her head, quietly sad. He told you? But he couldnt speak for a long time, Peter.

He didtold me! Peter flushed, realising hed said too much, but stuck to it anyway.

Sophie didnt argue. She sat, looking through the photographs with himcalmer, in fact, even happy. Seated beside this innocent boy, she found the pain less sharp, as if with him, she mightjust mightaccept Simons loss.

She took a breath and asked firmly, Peter, if we asked to adopt you, would you say yes?

He tensed, turning the albums pages in silence for several seconds.

Im not sure. Simon was a good lad. Im notnever really learned how to, well

Sophie suddenly hugged him, pulling him close.

Thats fineyoure not here instead of Simon, youre here as his friend. Thats enough.

Peter stiffened, startled by the hug; no one, apart from fights, had touched him for so long. He felt her warmth and scent; to distract himself, he kept flicking through the album, squeezed tight in her arms, while she rocked him slightly, lost in thought.

Peter had never in his life criednot once.

But now, a lump rose in his throat, and tears spilled down his cheeks. He hiccupped.

Are you crying, Peter? You are! Oh, dont crydont, or Ill start up too! Steady nowyoure a man, you must be strong! She wiped his tears away with her hand.

Hed heard those words before.

The window stood open. The air was fresh, the curtains puffed out, the leaves outside shone green, and Simon from his portrait watched him, gentle and kind.

And, like a little one, Peter asked, Do you know a song? Little kitten, silver tail, hush a-bye, hush a-bye. Little silver tail, little white paws

Ive heard itits a lullaby, isnt it? Would you like me to learn it for you?

Peter sniffed and nodded. And that was all he wished for.