CHAPTER ONE
It had been a cold squally night with gusty winds and showers of driving rain. Dark clouds were scudding across the sky, hiding and then revealing, sometimes only for a few tantalizing seconds, a full moon.
Most people were still in bed, warm and snug. The lucky ones that is. Some were at work keeping the network of services going, while the nation slumbered on. Others, the unlucky ones, found shelter where they could, and prayed for the dawn.
Jonathon was one of the lucky ones. A young man with the world at his feet, and all his life before him. He was sat upright in his bed with the top duvet pulled up under his chin, and over his shoulders. He was warm and snug.
His was not a privileged life by any means. He lived in a fairly large terrace house with his working mum and dad, and a younger sister. Like her he attended a comprehensive school, where he was reasonably intelligent, sharp and streetwise. A modern young man. He
had just met a girl, and life was pretty good.
From h is position in the bedroom, he could see the clouds rushing over the rooftops, and hear the rain beating on the windows. A brief shaft of bright moonlight would occasionally cause him to turn his head, before the hurrying clouds returned the world to darkness. From time to time the room would fill with light as a larger gap in the clouds occurred, and he could see directly before him the bright orb of the moon.
Not normally a romantic, he had never before considered Earths nearest neighbour, simply accepting that it was there; or that sometimes it wasn’t. Now he could see it before him in all its glory and could not deny its splendour.
Jonathon watched it for a full five minutes, seeing all its marks and features, and then, remembering that man had explored some of its craters, wondered what it would be like being there, looking back.
Just as suddenly as it appeared it was gone as the clouds returned, and Jonathon snuggled down to sleep again, warm and snug.
In the town centre, in doorways and alleys, those less fortunate found shelter where they could, under the glare of that same moon.
Across the town Edward was in a bad mood as he closed the door to his flat. His partner Tony was still in bed, asleep and blissfully unaware of how upsetting his announcement last night had been. It was still dark, there was a ten-minute walk to the bus stop, and the
blustery rain in his face wasn’t helping. His bus was due at six thirty five, and he knew that he had no time to spare.
It wasn’t anger that he felt. He and Tony had enjoyed a good relationship since they met five years earlier, and in that time Edward had become more confident of himself. He had always been a quiet person, and would usually avoid the limelight, preferring to hide on the sidelines of life. Tony had not changed him completely, but he was more assured now than he had ever been in his thirty-four years, and he knew that on his own he would not have changed. Tony was a fun person, open and gregarious. Just the opposite to Edward, and yet they had both seen something in the other that they liked, and Edward had been gently molded into a more rounded person since they came together. No, it was not anger; rather it was a feeling of being let down, and of disappointment. Possibly even a little fear. He feared that if Tony left him he might quickly return to his former self, and he was happy with the way he was now. He liked the new person he had become, with Tony’s help and example.
Edwards thoughts were interrupted when through the gloom and the rain he saw his bus, and had to sprint the last few hundred yards. He made it just in time, sat down a little breathless, wet, and troubled.
Jonathon was up early that morning. He had things to do, and he didn’t want any hassle with his mum and dad. They didn’t seem to have much to say to each other, and there was always an atmosphere in the house. He tried not to let it bother him, and in any case in was not his
concern. He wasn’t going to interfere with them, and most of the time they didn’t get on his back. Just the same he wished that they would lighten up a bit, if only so he could bring his friends in now and again. He shrugged. It wasn’t a real worry, just as long as they didn’t try to
impose themselves on him too much, though sometimes he wished that they, especially his dad, would spend a little leisure time with him.
As soon as he heard his mother up and about, he had leapt out of bed, washed and dressed, had a couple of slices of toast, and was ready for off. His father was still in bed, but Jonathon was unconcerned - it didn’t even cross his mind as odd - that he would not see him before he set off for school.
His mother was curious about his haste, but was too preoccupied preparing the family’s breakfasts, and then getting herself ready to go to work at a town centre supermarket, to make any real attempt to find out what he was up to. It was another twenty minutes before Bill appeared, sat down at the kitchen table, spread out the morning paper and waited for his wife to put his breakfast before him.
The first words to pass between them were a quiet but empty ‘thank you’ when she placed the bacon and egg before him.
Theirs was not an especially silent house, nor was it an angry one. More than anything it was empty. The marriage that they shared, and the love had sustained it had just died. Two children had given them the satisfactions of fulfilling the need to be parents, and to claim a
place in society, but had not held them together as a loving couple. So they each lived out their days, both of them establishing a lifestyle that managed to keep them together as a family, but with little affection for each other. Nor, it seemed, with much for their Children either.
“Will you be taking Emma to school today?” Margaret asked, as she moved towards the staircase? Without waiting for an answer she called out, “Emma, if you are not downstairs in two minute, you won't have time for any breakfast.” Almost as an afterthought she added “Jonathon has already gone.”
“What’s he in such a hurry for?” asked Bill, the words emerging with some difficulty as he juggled with some soft egg intent on falling off the fork. He didn’t look up or wait for an answer, but managed to announce, before the piece of egg finally fell, “I expect he’s got some lass on tow if you ask me.”
Conversations between them were usually like this; questions without answers, and empty gestures. No real concern, and little desire to be involved in the lives of their partners or their children. They talked, but they did not communicate.
“Well,” she asked firmly, “are you?”
This time he did look up. “Am I what?”
“Are you taking Emma to school?” Margaret repeated, forgetting that some time had elapsed since her first inquiry.
“Yes OK,” Bill managed to convey through his mug of tea, “but only if she gets a move on. I’ve got an appointment in town at nine o’clock, and I am not going to miss it just so she can lay in bed.” He looked at his watch. “And I’ve got to be in London by mid day.”
Margaret made her way to the stairs again, but this time was met by her ten year-old daughter coming down.
“About time,” Margaret scolded, “your going to be late for school, and you are holding your dad up.”
Emma sat down, and started to eat her breakfast. Not a word of thanks, nor any hint to acknowledge her guilt.
“I am ready for off now.” Margaret announced, looking at Emma, “Your dads taking you to school, so get a move on.” With that she was on her way, closing the door behind her with a positive pull. No words of goodbye or terms of affection were made to the two people still inside the house.
Jonathon arrived at his school half an hour before classes started and was glad to see a group of his school friends were already there. He was particularly glad to see that one of them was Claire, a girl he had not noticed until recently, but who now was a major attraction.
He would be fifteen soon, and he was becoming more aware of the changes that occur, both physically and emotionally, at this age. He didn’t know exactly what was happening, but he was aware that being close to girls was nicer now that it used to be, particularly if the girl was Claire.
The other boys in the group were of course experiencing the same phenomenon and the need to show off and prove ones-self was more than apparent, and in spite of it be a rather wet morning there was some horseplay and shouting. The time went quickly and soon the
growing numbers of students were drifting in the direction of the large school door, and the classrooms. It was no coincidence that Jonathon and Claire lagged slightly behind their friends as they slowly walked towards the building, their hands accidentally touching; more than once.
Edward was somewhat calmer when he stepped from the bus. It was daylight now and the rain was lighter; almost stopped; and as he walked the couple of hundred yards to the entrance of the hospital, the feeling of being ‘on his own patch’ was both real and comforting.
Life had not always been easy or successful for him, and any progress he had made had been hard won. Mostly he acknowledged, due more to determination than brain power. He had not managed the grades that would have taken him to university; a severe blow to his ambitions
to be a doctor, but he had retained the dream, and by hard work and extra study, had made it as a male nurse. From there he had progressed to become a Staff nurse. He knew of course that his promotion ladder was limited, but he felt that he had done as well as he could, and that he would take any future promotion that came his way as a bonus. The main thing was that he was well liked, respected by his colleges, and was very content.
Now he was being asked to give it all up!
His partner Tony, who was quite well placed in an insurance company, had been offered a good promotion in another city, and without discussing it with Edward had accepted. It didn’t seem to have occurred to him that Edward would not want to move, just to
be with him. Tony knew that he was the dominant one in their partnership, and seemed to be unaware of what a wrench it would be for Edward.
With head still spinning he immersed himself into the busy hospital schedule, sorting out the priorities for the Accident and Emergency ward where he felt wanted and needed.
The ward was 'by its very nature' was unpredictable, and subject to changing from relative calm, to activity resembling controlled panic in a very short time. This day soon proved that it was not going to be any different, and a succession of cardiac arrests, plus accidents on the road and in the home, kept him busy for most of the morning. Just before mid day, the alarm bells sounded once again, when the driver of a car, injured in a head on smash, was brought in. He was in a bad way and unable to communicate, but documents in his wallet had identified him as Bill Marshall, a local man. His wife had been sent for and was now being brought in by the police from a supermarket, where she worked on the check out. A team of doctors and nurses were all engaged in the desperate fight to keep Mr. Marshall alive, even though his injuries suggested that they might fail.
Shortly after a nurse came in to say that Mrs. Marshall had arrived, and could someone speak to her. All the doctors were critically engaged so it fell to Edward to go to her, and give her whatever reassurance he could. Hope was a rare commodity in this case and he knew that it would be a difficult task, but he was also concerned that the lady, aware that her husband was in a serious condition would need all the help and comfort she could get.
He found Mrs. Marshall in a side room, standing at the window, motionless. Edward entered quietly and stood for a moment before he made a little sound. “Hello.” he said, when she turned to face him. “I’m Edward Willitt, Staff Nurse here in the A & E. I’m so sorry to meet you at such a difficult time: please sit down Mrs. Marshall, and I will try to answer your questions.”
Mrs Marshall looked him in the eyes, “Is it bad?” she asked.
Edward sensed that this was a lady who wanted to know it as it is, so he felt that it would be better not to hide behind generalities.
“Yes it is,” he said, “he is very badly injured, and there is a chance he may not survive.” He looked carefully at her as he spoke “But we have a very experienced team working with him, and if anyone can save him, they can.”
He saw no signs of shock or grief, but, knowing that reaction is often delayed, he spoke softly carefully. “It looks as though he was traveling quite fast when the accident occurred, and his injuries are very extensive.” he paused, “So much now depends on what the doctors find, and then what can be done.”
Earlier, when invited to sit down, Margaret had remained standing, as though reluctant to give in to the forces that were surrounding here. Now, unexpectedly, she felt tired and found some refuge on a hard upright chair, long since discarded from someone’s
dinning room.
“Is he going to die?” she finally found the words.
Edward reached out. It was not an intrusive gesture, and Margaret was aware of his warmth and concern as she allowed him gently to squeeze her hand.
“He was very close to death when he arrived,” Edward explained, as calmly as he could, “and the odds are not in his favour.” He was looking for some reaction, but so far there had been none. “Everything is being done to pull him through, but I think you should be prepared for the worst.”
Still there was no sign of any response, and Edward was starting to feel uncomfortable, wondering if perhaps he was not handling the situation appropriately. Then he saw the first tear, and in a moment she was sobbing. He was still holding her hand, and as she had made no attempt to remove it he moved a little closer, and she, understanding his gesture, placed her face against his shoulder and wept freely.
Edward heard the door open, and when a few moments later the nurse whispered in his ear, it was the news he had been expecting. He felt no need to hurry and allowed Mrs Marshall to gradually regain her composure, before he had to tell her what he now knew. Such were his injuries, that despite all their skills, the emergency team had been unable to save Mr Marshall, and now the hardest part of his duty lay before him. Gradually and gently, he moved himself away from Margaret. She had stopped crying and was quite calm.
“I guess that was the bad news.” she said, managing to find a half smile.
“I’m afraid so.” he replied, waiting for the right time to move on, “You will be able to go and see him very soon if you wish.”
It was a full minute before she answered, “I think I need a little time to clear my head.” she said, and then suddenly, as though surprised that she hadn’t thought of it before she exclaimed, “Oh my god; the children. I must let them know.”
Jonathon had looked at his wrist watch every five minutes as it approached the mid day break. He had arranged to meet Claire, and was quite stimulated at the prospect. He hadn’t had a proper girl friend before, so it was a mixture of anticipation, exhilaration and
excitement that was whirling in his brain at the moment.
“Jonathon.” he was hazily aware of hearing his name, and yet he did not quite hear it.
“Jonathon.” it came again. Mr Pickering was calling, puzzled by Jonathon’s apparent deafness, but quite unaware that this young brain was absorbed by the power of first love.
Jonathon looked up, surprised by the closeness of Mr Pickering’s face, but conscious that he had been in another world. Mr Pickering, the school head master was talking to him, and so he made an effort to concentrate.
“You have to go to the hospital,” Mr Pickering was saying, “your father has had an accident.”
“What kind of accident?” Jonathon asked, now awake, all thoughts of Claire gone.
“I don’t know Jonathon, the hospital has been on the phone and your mother is there now.”
Just then the door opened and a youngish man came in, whom Jonathon recognized as Mr. Wilson, the English teacher. He didn’t like him, or his toffee nosed manner, so he was not over impressed, least of all grateful, to hear Mr Pickering say, “Mr Wilson has offered to run you down to the hospital in his car, so get your things together as quick as you can.”
Jonathon was becoming aware of a sense of urgency in Mr Pickering. “Didn’t they say anything?” he asked, not liking the growing feeling of alarm within himself.
“No I’m sorry they didn’t, but they did ask you to get there as soon as possible, as your mother is very upset.”
That didn’t help at all, so quickly he gathered his papers into his satchel and was making his way to the door.
“Don’t forget your coat.” said Mr. Wilson as he followed Jonathon out of the room.
“Didn’t bring one.” Jonathon answered tersely, as they hurried along the corridor. He was thinking of Claire again, and was a touch cross that this new situation was going to spoil his date.
Mr Wilson on the other hand was wondering what would lead a supposedly sensible young man to leave his home in the heavy rain of the morning without a coat. Nevertheless, he hoped the journey to the Oatley General hospital might give them an opportunity to get to
know each other a little better. In that respect he was to be disappointed for he found Jonathon to be very unresponsive. He didn’t seem to want to talk, and was both abrupt and rude.
‘I wonder what it is that he doesn’t like in me’, Mr Wilson couldn’t help thinking as he negotiated a busy section. “Soon be there now.” he said out loud, hoping to bring Jonathon out of the sullen silence that had engulfed him, for none of his small talk during the journey had enticed him into conversation. “Have you been to the hospital before?” Once more there was no answer.
They found Mrs Marshall without too much difficulty in the side room, and talking to a male staff nurse. As they walked in Mrs Marshall looked up from her chair. Mr Wilson, feeling that he had done his duty, and that this was now a family affair, left the room.
“Come here Jonathon,” Margaret beckoned her son, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Jonathon walked towards his mother, a little uncertainly, not knowing what to expect.
“Your father has been in a bad car accident; this morning; about eleven O'clock I think,” Margaret seemed to be searching for words, not knowing how to break the news.
“What’s up mom,” a quiet voice, faltering, “Is he dead?”
He was fourteen, and did not now about etiquette and formalities. Is he dead? The question bluntly asked. But just the same, he did not expect the answer when it came.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Jonathon stood motionless for a few minutes, rejecting his mothers attempt to comfort him. Then he turned on the one man in the room who represented the hospital; the man in the hospital uniform.
“Why did you let him die?” he shouted, “What were you doing while he was dying? Why couldn’t you help him?” He was still shouting; almost hysterically, while Mrs Marshall, shocked at what she was hearing, shocked at such unwarranted rudeness, and shocked
because any other time Jonathon couldn’t care less about his father, leapt from her chair and moved toward her son.
“Stop that at once.” she said.
Then she turned to Edward. “I’m so sorry, he’s rather awkward with strangers, and he must be finding this very hard.” Jonathon turned to leave the room and was surprised to find his sister standing there. She had entered in time to hear of her fathers death, and to witness her brothers reaction. She ran to her mother, crying loudly, and her mother, at last having someone to hug and comfort, once again allowed her tears to fall.
Edward felt that they needed some time alone, and left the room, hoping he might find Jonathon, perhaps to find some way to ease his pain, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. Wilson had been born into a good family, the son of a successful businessman, and had benefited from a very happy and stable home life. He had eagerly embraced the opportunities of a good education; had a natural curiosity, and the need to know about life. He had always been keen to have a go at new things, and had tried most sports. While at university he had immersed himself in as many activities as he could manage during his stay, and when pushed he could turn out more than a passable tune on the piano. He understood and was interested in both the theory of art, and its practice. For this he gave thanks to his mother, who, part Italian, was artistic and perceptive. As a boy his father had encouraged him to experiment, to be adventurous and bold. He would say to him; “When you find something you really like, give it all you’ve got.” Fortune had favoured him for he seemed to have a knack at being good at everything he did, but he was never pushy; more likely to understate his achievements rather than brag.
With his tall athletic gait, added to his dark Latin good looks, and an easy manner, he was generally popular with the students, especially the girls. He did however have one characteristic which somewhat set him apart in this comprehensive school environment. He
had rather a posh accent, which gave the young people in his classes the perfect nick-name for him. There were also some who resented his wide accomplishments, no doubt aware that they would not be able to emulate him, and a suitably unflattering nick name was a nice leveler, at least in their eyes. But even those who liked him were happy to call him by this name, feeling that it contained a certain warmth. So to them all, from wherever they came, and to whichever camp they chose, he was Plummy
In some ways it had been a day not unlike this one, some eighteen months earlier when he attended his first interview with Mr Pickering. Just out of college and looking for his first teaching post, the meeting with the Head Master had gone well. But it had been a day of tension and anticipation of the unexpected. Soon after however he received the offer of an appointment, and in due course he had joined Oatley Comprehensive. Though he was reasonably settled now, he still felt that he was only just getting the hang of being a teacher. His degrees were in Modern languages, including English Literature; and also in Art History, but his all round knowledge were instrumental in his being accepted, and his feeling of being ‘at home’.
Being young and fit, his new head teacher was quick to see his potential on the sports field, and had persuaded (pushed ) him to take on the extra duties of sports master. The post would be a temporary one, until (Mr Pickering assured him) he was able to make a proper
appointment. Mr. Wilson however was under no illusions that the Head Master was not going to do that in a hurry. But he enjoyed the outdoor activities, and as it was not a big school, it helped him to get to know the students, less formally, and more quickly, so he had
never put pressure on his new Head, to find that replacement.
Mr Wilson's thought's were somewhat dampened as he searched the busy corridors, for he was aware that none of his skills or past experience was of any use to him just now, and he was anxiously searching his mind for a way to help Jonathon come to terms with
himself, and his loss. He had seen him come out of the little room and then run past him and down the corridor towards the exit.
“Jonathon.” he had called out, anxious to offer to take him to wherever he wanted to go, but either the distraught boy had not heard, or did not want to hear. In any event he did not stop. Shortly after, the young male nurse emerged, the one he had seen when he took Jonathon into the room, and it looked as though he too was searching for Jonathon. When it was clear that he was nowhere to be seen, he sat down on a chair just outside the door.
Mr. Wilson walked across to him, and offered his hand “Hello,” he said, “I’m Rodney Wilson, a teacher from Jonathon’s school”
Edward accepted the offer of a handshake, as Mr. Wilson continued, “I brought Jonathon in from the school when we heard the news of the accident.” At this point he stopped, hesitant in case his question was unethical “I just saw him run out. Did that mean bad news?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say it does.” Edward answered quietly. “Mr Marshall died without regaining consciousness.”
Death on the operating table was a fact of life which has to be faced by any member of an A&E medical team, and feelings have to be suppressed. But sometimes it is harder than others to be objective, and Edward had been quite upset in this case. Not so much because of the death of Mr Marshall, for it was clear almost from the start that his fate was sealed. But he had found the curious mix of emotions from his family unsettling, especially those of his young son Jonathon, whose anger had been uncontrollable. Edward had seen into his eyes when he had turned on him, and in them he had seen hatred.
Mr Wilson penetrated his slight daze. “What about the others?” he was asking, “Mrs Marshall, and her daughter, can I offer then a lift home or anything?”
Edward got up from his chair, “I'll go and see, but I doubt that they want to leave just yet.” He went into the room, and in a very short time returned, with Mrs Marshall and Emma following .
“This is Jonathon’s mother.” said Mr Willett as he introduced them to each other.
“It was kind of you to bring Jonathon down.” said Margaret. “I don’t think he will thank you, but I do.”
“I’m so sorry to hear what has happened Mrs. Marshall, and I’m very happy to be able to help at such a difficult time for you all; and I hope,” he continued “that I can help Jonathon too, if I get the chance.”
Margaret thanked him and then said, “This seems to have affected Jonathon very badly, and I am a little worried. I hope he will be alright.”
“I’m sure he will be,” said Mr. Wilson, “he’s a young boy, full of spirit with all his life before him. Maybe he just needs a helping hand He will certainly be welcome to mine if he will take it.”
besides of the moon
