Read The Complete Talking Heads Online

Authors: Alan Bennett

The Complete Talking Heads (2 page)

BOOK: The Complete Talking Heads
3.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
He said, ‘Is there anything else beside that?’ I said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Any problems at work?’ I said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Any problems at home?’ I said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘You’re single.’ I said, ‘Yes.’ He said, ‘Where are your parents?’ I said, ‘Mother’s in her grave and father is in a Sunshine Home at Moortown.’ He said, ‘Do you feel bad about that?’ (He didn’t look more than seventeen.) I said, ‘No. Not after the life he’s lived.’
I saw him look at Dr Copeland, only he was toying with the calendar, sneaking a look at what next month’s cactus was going to be. So this youth said, ‘What life did he lead?’ I said, ‘A life that involved spending every other weekend at Carnforth with a blondified piece from the cosmetics counter at Timothy Whites and Tailors: He said, ‘Is that a shoe shop?’ I said, ‘You’re thinking of Freeman, Hardy and Willis. It’s a chemist. Or was. It’s been taken over by Boots. And anyway she now has a little gown shop at Bispham. His previous was a Meltonian shoe cream demonstrator at Manfields, and what has this to do with my stomach?’
Dr Copeland said, ‘Quite. I think it’s about time you took an actual look at the patient, Metcalf.’ So the young man examined me, the way they do pressing his hands into me and whatnot, and then calls over Dr Copeland to have a look. ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Make way for the expert.’ Only neither of them laughed.
Dr Copeland kneaded me about a bit, but more professionally and while he was washing his hands he said, ‘Miss Schofield. I’m not in the least bit worried by your stomach. But, you being you, it wants looking at. There aren’t many of us left!’ We laughed. ‘So just to be on the safe side I want to make an appointment for you to see a specialist, Mr Penry-Jones.’ I said, ‘Isn’t his wife to do with the Music Festival?’ He said, ‘I don’t
know, is she?’ I said, ‘She is. I’ve seen a picture of her talking to Lord Harewood.’ He took me to the door of the consulting room, which he doesn’t do with everybody, and he took my hand (and I’m not a private patient). ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for being a guinea pig.’ We laughed. Only it’s funny, just as I was coming out I saw the student’s face and he was looking really pleased with himself.
She very slightly presses her hand into her stomach.
FADE TO BLACK AND UP AGAIN
to still shot of bedside table. Clock. Bedside lamp. A bottle of white medicine.
FADE TO BLACK AND UP AGAIN:
Peggy is in a hospital bed.
I’ve just had a shampoo and set. She’s not done it too badly, bearing in mind she doesn’t know my hair. Lois, her name is. She has a little salon. You go past Gyney, and it’s smack opposite Maternity. It’s a bit rudimentary, they just have it to perk up the morale of the pregnant mums basically, but, as Lois says, it’s an open door policy just so long as you can find your way because this place is a rabbit warren. Lois said my hair was among the best she’d come across. It’s the sort Italians make into wigs apparently, they have people scouring Europe for hair of this type. I should have had a perm last Tuesday only when Mr Penry-Jones whipped me in here it just went by the board.
Caused chaos at work. Miss Brunskill said after I’d rung up Mr McCorquodale and Mr Skidmore went into a huddle for fully half an hour and at the end of it they still couldn’t figure out a way to work round me. In the finish Miss Hayman had to come down from the fifth floor - though not wearing her Personnel hat, thank God - and Pauline did her usual sideways jump from Records, but it’s all a bit pass the parcel. Miss Brunskill says everybody is on their knees praying I come back soon.
I’d actually been feeling a lot better when I went along to see Mr Penry-Jones. He’s got one of those big double-fronted houses in Park Square: vast rooms, wicked to heat. There was just one other woman in the waiting room, smartish, looked to have arthritis. I said, ‘I wouldn’t like this electricity bill,’ but she just smiled. Then the housekeeper came and conducted me upstairs. I made some remark about it being spring but she didn’t comment, a lot of them are Spanish these days. Mr Penry-Jones though was a very courtly oldish man, blue pin-striped suit, spotted bowtie. I said, ‘What a lovely fireplace.’ He said, ‘Yes. These are old houses.’
I said, ‘Georgian, I imagine.’ ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I can see I’m in the presence of a connoisseur.’ We laughed.
He examined me and I went through the story again, though I didn’t actually mention the steak bits, and it was a beautiful carpet. Then he looked out of the window and asked me one or two questions about my bowels. I said, ‘I believe your wife has a lot to do with the Music Festival.’ He said, ‘Yes.’ I said, ‘That must be very satisfying.’ He says, ‘Yes. It is. Last week she shook hands with the Queen.’ I said, ‘Well that’s funny, because I stood as near to her as I am to you, at York in 1956. What an immaculate complexion!’
When I’d got dressed he said, ‘Miss Schofield, you are a puzzle. I’m very intrigued.’ I said, ‘Oh?’ He said, ‘Have you got anything special on in the next couple of weeks?’ he said. ‘Because ideally what I would like to do is take you in, run a few tests and then go on from there. I’m absolutely certain there’s nothing to get worked up about but we ought to have a little look. Is that all right?’ I said, ‘You’re the doctor.’ We laughed.
He made a point of coming downstairs with me. It was just as some other doctor was helping the better-class-looking woman with arthritis into a car - it looked to be chauffeur driven. I went and sat on a seat in the square for a bit before I got the bus. The trees did look nice.
GO TO BLACK AND UP AGAIN.
Miss Schofield is now sat by her hospital bed in a candlewick dressing gown.
I’ve appointed myself newspaper lady. I go round first thing taking the orders for the papers, then I nip down and intercept the trolley on its way over. I said to Sister Tudor, ‘Well, with a candlewick dressing gown I might as well.’ Most of the others have these silly shorty things. Mine’s more of a housecoat. The shade was called Careless Pink, only that’s fifteen years ago. It’s mostly the
Sun
or the
Mirror
, there’s only two of us get the
Mail
and she’s another Miss. I could tell straight away she was a bit more refined. Hysterectomy.
Of course I shan’t be able to do the papers tomorrow because of my op.
When Princess Alexandra came round, this was the bed she stopped at, apparently.
I get on like a house on fire with the nurses. We do laugh. Nurse Trickett says I’m their star patient. She’s little and a bit funny-looking but so goodhearted. ‘How’s our star patient?’ she says. ‘I hope you’ve been behaving yourself.’ We laugh. She hasn’t got a boy friend. I’ve promised to
teach her shorthand typing. Her mother has gallstones, apparently. Nurse Gillis is the pretty one. I think she’s just marking time till she finds the right man. And then there’s Nurse Conkie, always smiling. I said to her, ‘You’re always smiling, you’re a lesson to any shop steward, you.’ She laughed and laughed the way they do when they’re black.
Sister came in while she was laughing and said wasn’t it time Mrs Boothman was turned over. She’s all right is Sister, but she’s like me: she has a lot on her plate. I said to her, ‘I’m a professional woman myself.’ She smiled.
Pause. Miss Schofield turns the name tag she has on her wrist.
Name on my wrist now: ‘Schofield, Margaret, Miss.’
Pause.
Mr Penry-Jones comes round on a morning, and he fetches his students and they have to guess what’s wrong. I said to Miss Brunskill, ‘It’s a bit of a game. If he doesn’t know what the matter is, they won’t.’ He said, ‘Gentlemen, a big question mark hangs over Miss Schofield’s stomach.’ They all laughed.
So tomorrow’s the big day. He was telling the students what he’s going to do. ‘I’m just going to go in,’ he said, ‘and have a look round. We’re not going to do anything, just a tour of inspection.’ I chipped in, ‘More of a guided tour, if all these are there.’ They did laugh. Not Sister though. She can’t afford to, I suppose. He’s like a God to them, Mr Penry-Jones.
I do my bit here in different ways. I’m always going round the beds, having a word, particularly when someone isn’t mobile. I run them little errands and tell the nurse if there’s anything anybody’s wanting. Mrs Maudsley opposite’s on a drip and she was going on about getting her toenails cut, they catch on the sheet. I located Nurse Gillis and told her, only it must have slipped her mind because when I went across later on Mrs Maudsley was still on about it. I mentioned it again to Nurse Gillis just in case she’d forgotten and she said, ‘I don’t know how we managed before you came, Miss Schofield, I honestly don’t.’ Actually I found out later her toenails had been cut. Apparently Nurse Conkie must have cut them the same day as she cut mine, the day before yesterday, only Mrs Maudsley wouldn’t know because she’s no feeling in her feet.
Mrs Boothman’s another of my regulars. Can’t move. Can’t speak. Doesn’t bother me. I sit and chat away to her as if it was the most normal
thing in the world. She’ll sometimes manage a little movement of her hand, but the look in her eyes is enough.
Miss Brunskill’s been down to see me. Nobody else much. Plenty of cards. I’ve got more cards than anybody else on this side.
She reads them.
‘Feel kinda sick without you. Trish.’ Trish Trotter. Picture of an elephant. ‘Wishing you a speedy recovery. All in 406.’ ‘It’s not the same without you. You’re missed more than words can tell. So I’m sending this card to say, Please hurry and get well.’ It says ‘from all on the fifth floor’ but I bet it’s Mr Skidmore, it’s such a classy card. A thatched cottage. I should imagine it can be damp, though, thatch. Silly one from Mr Cresswell and Mr Rudyard. ‘Sorry you’re sick. Hope you’ll soon be back to normal. Whatever that is!’
I thought they might have been popping down, but Mr Cresswell hates hospitals, apparently, and they’re going in for a new dog. A Dandy Dinmont. They think it’ll be company for Tina, their Jack Russell. Well, they’re out all day.
Pause.
Miss Brunskill’s knitting me a bedjacket. I said, ‘You’ll have to be sharp, I shall be home next week.’
Pause.
I’ve got one nice neighbour, one not so nice. She’s been quite ill. Just lies on her side all day. Karen, her name is. I offered her one of my women’s books but she just closed her eyes. She’s young. But however poorly I was I think I’d still try to be pleasant. The woman this side is as different again. Very outgoing. Talks the whole time. She’s in with her chest. She’s a lifelong smoker, so I don’t wonder. Her daughter’s marrying a computer programmer whose father was a prisoner of the Japanese, and she’s inundated with visitors. She’s a big TV fan so she’s often down the other end. I reckon to be asleep sometimes when she’s going on.You can’t always be on your toes.
Pause.
Could just drink a cup of tea. Can’t when you’re having an op. They get you up at six, apparently. Give you a jab. Nurse Trickett says I won’t even know I’ve gone and I’ll be back up here by twelve. I’ve warned sister I shan’t be able to get the papers, she thinks they’ll manage.
Pause.
Solve the mystery anyway.
Go TO BLACK.
Still of the bedhead. Bed empty, as if she has gone for her operation.
GO TO BLACK AND UP AGAIN.
Miss Schofield is sitting by a radiator near a window in her dressing gown.
Hair in my dinner again today. Second time this week. Someone must be moulting. I mentioned it to Sister and she said she’d take it up with the kitchen staff and get back to me. She hasn’t though. It isn’t that she’s nasty. Just crisp. I don’t complain. Nurse Gillis can be sharp as well, but I try and meet her halfway. I said, ‘Don’t apologise. I deal with people myself. They don’t realise, do they?’
Pause.
I’d such a shock yesterday. Nurse Conkie and Nurse Trickett had just given me my bath, and the little trainee nurse with the bonny face and cold hands was combing my hair, when I bethought me of the bedjacket Miss Brunskill had knitted me. I’d put it away in my locker because she’d made it too tight round the sleeves, but I tried it on again and it was just right. She says she hates knitting. I’m the only person she’ll knit for, apparently. Of course, I paid for the wool. She’s never ailed a thing, Miss Brunskill. Still, I hadn’t until this do. Anyway I’d just got the bedjacket on and she’d fetched Nurse Conkie to see how nice I looked and they got me out my lipstick and I put a bit of that on. I was just sitting there and Nurse Conkie said, ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go,’ and a voice said, ‘Hello. Long time no see!’ And it’s Mr Skidmore!
And I said it, loud, like that ‘Mr Skidmore!’ I said to him, I said, ‘Five minutes earlier and you’d have seen me being bathed.’ He said ‘That’s the story of my life.’ We laughed.
He chatted about work. Said they were still only limping along. Said my job is open whenever I feel up to it and what’s more it’ll stay that way They’ve got a special dispensation from Mr Strudwick. He says it’s open-ended. They’ve never done that before. When Wendy Walsh had her infected sinus they ended up giving her a deadline. Still she wasn’t the lynch-pin I am.
He did say there were other factors quite unconnected pushing them towards some degree of revamping. ‘But,’ he said, and patted my hand, ‘in that event we shall find you a niche.’ I said, ‘Well I’m honoured. Fancy making a special journey for me.’ Only it transpires that Mrs Skidmore’s mother is in the psychiatric wing with another of her depression do’s, and he’d left Mrs Skidmore sitting with her while he popped along to see me. ‘Killing two birds with one stone,’ he said. Then realised. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said. ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. We laughed. He does look young when he laughs.
BOOK: The Complete Talking Heads
3.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Once A Hero by Michael A. Stackpole
A Beautiful Lie by Irfan Master
The Quickening Maze by Adam Foulds
Shattered Stars by Viola Grace
The Red Chipmunk Mystery by Ellery Queen Jr.
Shadow Magic by Patricia C. Wrede