Hospital Waiting Room

Barry had always believed that hospitals were rather like airports.

There were lots of people walking quickly.

There were lots of doors that said things like STAFF ONLY, which made him immediately interested.

There were mysterious machines that beeped.

And, most importantly, there were people in uniforms who occasionally gave you biscuits.

Marmaduke agreed completely.

The boys were in Leicestershire with their dad, Mr Brand, to visit Grandma Brand, who was back in hospital again. Their mum had stayed in London to work because apparently insurance companies did not stop having meetings just because your mother-in-law was in hospital. Alfie was in football club for the rest of the week. 

Sleeping at Grandma Brand’s house had been very exciting. A new adventure in Leicestershire.

They had arrived at the family home yesterday morning. 

The house was quiet.

To Mr Brand, it felt slightly strange coming there without Grandma being there. Her things were still everywhere: photographs, books, little ornaments and the sort of mysterious drawers full of objects that adults insist are useful but nobody has ever actually used.

This morning, Barry wandered into the sitting room.

“What’s this?”

“A vase,” said Mr Brand. 

“What’s it for?”

“Flowers.”

Barry looked inside.

“There aren’t any.”

“That’s because it’s empty.”

“Oh.”

He walked away.

Thirty seconds later he came back.

“What’s this?”

“Another vase.”

“Why?”

“Because Grandma has two.”

“Why?”

“Because she likes flowers.”

“There aren’t any.”

Mr Brand’s brother arrived shortly afterwards, and there were hugs and cups of tea and grown-up conversations about Grandma.

Barry listened carefully.

He heard the words doctors, treatment, tomorrow, how she’s doing and we’ll see.

He didn’t understand all of it. 

But he understood enough to know that everyone was worried.

So, unusually, Barry was quiet.

For approximately four minutes.

Then he found a wooden ruler.

“Marmaduke,” he whispered, “look.”

“What?”

“This is a sword.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is now.”

“Barry.” Mr Brand’s voice came from round the corner. 

Barry slowly lowered the ruler.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were.”

“I was going to put it back.”

“You’re holding it like a sword.”

Barry looked at his hand.

“Oh.”

The four of them drove to the hospital for visiting hours. They did leave early… 97 minutes early, to do a 21 minute drive. Parking was horrendous at this hospital, expensive, nowhere near the hospital building you needed to visit, and didn’t bring out the best in Mr Brand. 

Barry mentally took note of a new swear word he heard Mr Brand mutter twice. 

Grandma Brand was in the fourth floor, and Mr Brand and his brother had arranged to speak with the doctors.

Before that, though, Barry and Marmaduke were allowed to see Grandma.

Grandma looked tired, but she smiled when she saw them.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Barry marched straight up to the bed.

“Hello, Grandma.”

“Hello, Barry.”

“Are you poorly?”

“A little bit.”

“Are you going to get better?”

Grandma smiled.

“That’s the plan.”

“Good.”

Barry nodded seriously.

Then he pointed at the hospital bed.

“Does it go up?”

Mr Brand looked at him.

“Barry.”

“What?”

“It does go up.”

“Can it go really high?”

“Barry.”

“How high?”

“Barry.”

“Can it go through the ceiling?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because hospitals generally don’t put beds through ceilings.”

Barry considered this.

“That’s probably sensible.”

Grandma laughed.

And for a few minutes, everything felt normal.

They talked about school.

Marmaduke told Grandma about his cat.

Barry told her about something that had happened involving a bicycle, a puddle and what he described as “a very surprising bush”.

Nobody was entirely sure what that meant.

Then Mr Brand told the boys that he and his brother needed to speak with the doctors.

“Can you boys wait outside for a little while?”

“Of course,” said Marmaduke.

Barry nodded, “I can wait.”

Mr Brand looked suspicious.

“You can?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

Barry thought.

“Until second lunch.”

“That’ll do.”

The nurse in the waiting room clearly knew children.

She had the calm expression of someone who had witnessed every possible form of childhood nonsense and survived.

“Would you like the television on?” she asked.

“Yes!” said Marmaduke.

“Can we watch cartoons?” asked Barry.

“Probably not.”

“Why?”

“Because this is a hospital.”

“So?”

“So the other people might not want cartoons.”

Barry looked around.

There were several adults sitting quietly.

“Could we watch something boring?”

The nurse smiled.

“Let’s find something suitable.”

She switched on the television.

It was an old daytime programme.

Barry stared at it. “This is terrible.”

“It’s about gardening.”

“Yes.”

“Gardening isn’t television.”

“It is if you’re a plant.”

Marmaduke giggled.

The nurse then produced something even better.

“Would you like to play Connect Four?”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“What is it?”

“You put your counters in and try to get four in a row.”

Barry examined the game.

“So you put four in a row?”

“Yes.”

“And then you win?”

“Yes.”

Barry smiled.

“I’ll be very good at that.”

Five minutes later, Barry had managed to put six counters into the same column.

“Why?”

“Because they’re supposed to fall down.”

“They did.”

“They’re not supposed to stack up like that.”

“They are now.”

Marmaduke was watching carefully.

The nurse walked past, looked at the Connect Four board and stopped.

“Oh dear.”

Barry looked pleased.

“I’m winning.”

“You’ve invented a new version,” she said.

“What is it called?”

The nurse thought for a moment.

“Connect None.”

Marmaduke fell into a fit of giggles.

Eventually, Mr Brand and his brother came out.

“We’re going for food,” Mr Brand said.

“YES!” shouted Barry.

Everyone in the waiting room turned around.

Barry lowered his voice.

“Yes.”

The hospital café was busy.

They found a table and ordered.

Barry chose a sandwich.

Marmaduke chose chips.

Mr Brand chose coffee.

His brother chose coffee.

The grown-ups began talking again.

Barry looked at his sandwich.

Then at Marmaduke’s chips.

Then back at his sandwich.

“Marmaduke.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to swap?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I give you half my sandwich?”

“No.”

“What about all of it?”

Marmaduke stopped.

He looked at Barry.

“What kind of sandwich?”

“Ham.”

Marmaduke thought carefully.

“No.”

Barry sighed.

“Fine.”

He took a bite.

Then he noticed something.

“Marmaduke.”

“What?”

“There’s a chip on your tray.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got loads.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got none.”

“You have a sandwich.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I think we should share.”

Marmaduke stared at him.

“You’ve changed.”

Barry nodded.

“I’ve become generous.”

After lunch, they went back upstairs.

The boys were tired now.

Especially Barry.

Which was impressive.

Mr Brand and his brother went back to see Grandma.

Mr Brand saw how the boys threw themselves into their seats and came over.

“Are you all right?”

Barry nodded.

“I’m tired.”

“I thought you’d never say it.”

Barry yawned.

“Can we have Connect Four?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve had enough.”

Barry considered arguing.

Then he yawned again.

“Okay.”

“You’re very tired.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“You just yawned.”

“That was my mouth stretching.”

“Why?”

“Because it was bored.”

Marmaduke giggled sleepily.

The nurse smiled.

“You boys have had a long day.”

Barry nodded.

“I’m going to sleep when we get home.”

By early evening, they were back at Grandma’s house.

Mr Brand made dinner.

His brother was going to stay too, that night.

The adults talked quietly.

The boys changed into their pyjamas.

Marmaduke climbed into bed.

Barry climbed into bed.

Then Barry climbed out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Marmaduke asked.

“I’m thirsty.”

“You have water.”

“I don’t like that water.”

“It’s the same water you’ve had all day.”

“It tastes different.”

“It’s water.”

Barry stared at him.

“Have you tasted it?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know.”

Barry returned to bed.

Five minutes later:

“Marmaduke?”

“What?”

“Do you think Grandma will be okay?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.”

There was a little silence.

Then Marmaduke whispered, “My mum says Grandma is very strong.”

Barry nodded.

“She’s stronger than Dad.”

“Stronger than Marjory?”

“Maybe.”

Barry smiled.

“I’m stronger than you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You couldn’t even open the jam yesterday.”

“That jar was very strong.”

“It was a normal jar.”

“It was aggressive.”

Marmaduke started laughing.

Soon both boys were laughing.

And downstairs, Mr Brand heard them and smiled.

It had been a long day.

A worrying day.

A day full of doctors and waiting rooms and difficult grown-up conversations.

But it had also been a day of Grandma smiling when she saw them, Marmaduke laughing hysterically at Connect Four, Barry attempting to trade an entire sandwich for three chips, and a cat called Steve.

Tomorrow there would be more hospital visits.

More grown-up conversations.

More waiting.

But tonight, at Grandma’s house, the boys were safe together.

Well…

Mostly safe.

Because just as Mr Brand was about to go upstairs, there was a loud crash.

He froze.

“What was that?”

A tiny voice came from the bedroom.

“Nothing.”

Mr Brand walked upstairs.

He opened the door.

Barry was standing beside the wardrobe.

Marmaduke was sitting on the floor.

And a pile of Grandma’s old hats had somehow fallen out of the wardrobe.

Mr Brand stared.

Barry smiled.

“I can explain.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

Barry pointed at Marmaduke.

“He did it.”

Marmaduke’s mouth dropped open.

“I did not!”

Barry thought for a second.

“Actually, I think the wardrobe did it.”

Mr Brand sighed.

“Bed. Both of you.”

“But—”

“Bed.”

Barry climbed under the covers.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow can we go to the hospital café again?”

Mr Brand stared at him.

“Why?”

Barry smiled.

“I’ve got unfinished business with those chips.”

And with that, he closed his eyes.

For once, Barry was asleep within thirty seconds.

Marmaduke followed shortly afterwards.

Downstairs, the adults finally sat down with their cups of tea.

Mr Brand looked at his brother.

His brother looked at him.

They both smiled.

Parenting, hospital visits, work, worry, tiredness and two energetic boys.

It wasn’t easy.

But somehow, together, they managed it.

Usually.

Give or take a broken Connect Four game, several stolen chips and one extremely suspicious wardrobe.

And, frankly, that was probably about as organised as life with Barry was ever going to get.