The Broken Man. Josephine Cox

minutes, and when the nurse indicates that it’s time to leave, you must do as she asks. You do understand, don’t you?’

      Even though he ached to see his mother, Adam wanted what was best for her. ‘Yes, sir, I understand. I just need to see her.’

      ‘And so you will.’ He turned to the nurse. ‘Matron, please will you take these gentlemen along to see Mrs Carter?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Thank you. Oh, and I’m afraid I need to commandeer two of your nurses.’

      Matron pursed her lips in disapproval, but her smile soon reassured him. ‘As long as I get them back.’

      ‘Don’t worry.’ After working together for many years, these two understood each other.

      Before excusing himself from their presence, he turned to Adam. ‘From the little your mother could tell us, she lost her footing and tumbled all the way down the stairs. Did you see her fall?’

      Adam glanced nervously at Phil before answering, ‘No, sir. I wasn’t there. I came home from school and found her lying near the bottom of the steps.’

      ‘I see.’ He took a breath. ‘Your mother will be pleased to see you, but she’ll be a little groggy from the anaesthetic. She may not be able to say much, but she will hear you when you talk to her … Remember, a few minutes only.’

      ‘Will my mum be strong enough to come home soon?’ Adam asked.

      The surgeon gave the only answer he could. ‘We can’t say at this time, because she still has a long way to go. Your mother was very badly injured, but I can assure you, we have done everything possible to help her. I’m sure your mum wants to get home to you as soon as possible. Oh, and you mustn’t be too frightened when you see her. She’s surrounded by machines; all there to assist her recovery. Both her arms are wrapped in plaster casts, and she carries a great number of nasty bruises.’ He deliberately made no mention of the numerous internal injuries; some of which would take many months to repair.

      He placed his hands on Adam’s small shoulders. ‘I’m telling you now so that you won’t be alarmed when you see her. All right?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Adam was shaken, but determined. ‘When she gets better, she’ll be coming home, won’t she …? When her bones mend and all that?’

      The surgeon tried to put it tactfully. ‘We can’t really say how long it will take her to recover. Your mum has been through a shocking ordeal, and hours of major surgery, and now it’s imperative that she gets rest and care.’

      ‘Then she’ll be all right, won’t she?’ Adam was relentless in his need for reassurance. ‘We’ll be able to take her home soon, won’t we?’

      The surgeon was equally determined not to raise the boy’s hopes. ‘In these early stages of recovery, we must not even think of her as being in a hurry to get home. I’m sorry, I know it’s hard for you, but you have to try to understand.’

      Tearful now, Adam appealed to Phil. ‘Tell him, Phil. I want my mum to come home really soon. I’ll look after her, you know I will.’

      Phil nodded. ‘I know you would, son, but like the doctor says, your mum needs time to recover where the doctors and nurses can keep an eye on her. And besides, I’ll bring you to see her every day. Meantime, she’ll want you to be attending school and trying to get on with your life as normal. You know that, don’t you?’

      Reassured by Phil’s persuasive remarks, the boy looked up at the surgeon. ‘Please, can I see my mum now?’

      ‘Of course.’ Being a family man, Mr Hendon was full of sympathy for the boy. ‘Matron will take you along.’

      The surgeon departed ahead of them, while directly behind him, Matron led Phil and Adam along the same corridor, to the recovery room.

      Throughout the long, worrying walk, Adam kept his gaze to the floor, while Phil looked ahead, his mind troubled by the look in the surgeon’s eyes when asked about Peggy Carter’s condition.

      He watched as Mr Hendon, still ahead of them, turned into what looked like the main office. His interest was heightened when he drew alongside the office and he saw the surgeon earnestly talking with two official-looking people.

      As Phil glanced in, one of the officials caught sight of them passing by the window. He then beckoned his colleague, and she looked out of the window, directly at young Adam.

      Phil’s concern intensified. Discreetly, he put his hand on Adam’s shoulder and hurried him along.

      ‘Who were those people?’ Adam asked. ‘Why were they looking at me?’

      ‘They probably heard our clattering feet hurrying along, and were curious,’ he reassured Adam.

      Phil, however, felt decidedly nervous. He was in no doubt that the officials were interested in the boy. Also, they had appeared to be engaged in deep conversation with the surgeon. Maybe it had nothing to do with Adam or his mother, but Phil had a bad feeling, which he could not shake off.

      He glanced at the boy. Such an innocent; his young heart filled with loathing for his cowardly father who had left such a trail of devastation in his wake. And now, he was so afraid his mother would never get well again. Yet through all his crippling unhappiness, Adam gave no thought to himself. Nor did he realise the precarious position he had been put in by his father’s abandonment of him.

      At the door of the recovery room, Matron peered in through the glass panel. ‘Don’t forget, a few minutes, that’s all,’ she warned.

      After Adam gave an appreciative nod, she turned the handle and pushed open the door to usher them inside.

      Phil and the boy were shocked to see the small, vulnerable figure lying in the high bed, her face turned away and her two arms wrapped in thick, stiff plaster. There was a kind of pulley over the top of the bed, with support-joints stretching down; two ends attached to the root of the pulley, and the other ends attached to the plaster-encased limbs, which were very slightly elevated above the patient.

      Phil’s interest was immediately drawn to the heart-tracking machine.

      ‘Carefully now.’ Matron accompanied Adam to the bedside, where she sat him down on a chair right beside the bed and close to his mother, whose badly bruised face was turned towards him. She appeared restless, intermittently shifting her head back and forth, and making a low, whining sound, much like an animal in pain.

      Unsettled by this sound, Phil fixed his troubled gaze on the heart monitor; he was greatly relieved to see the screen showed a steady beat.

      Taking a seat beside the boy, Phil rested his arm on the back of Adam’s chair, while his sorry gaze also travelled the visible dark bruises on Peggy Carter’s body. Deeply unsettled, she appeared to be unaware of their presence.

      ‘Mum?’ With a shaky voice, Adam called out twice. ‘Mum, it’s Adam. I’ve come to see you.’ Reaching up, the boy tenderly clasped the tip of his mother’s fingers where they jutted from the plaster cast. ‘Phil’s here too, Mum. He’s been looking after me.’

      When the tears rolled down his face and his voice began to tremble, Phil slid a comforting arm around him. ‘Easy, son. You remember what the doctor said: your mum might not be able to speak, but she might possibly be able to hear you. So, just try and tell her the things that are in your heart. Let her know that everything is all right, that she’s not to worry about you. And tell her you’ll be here to see her often, until she’s well enough to come home.’

      So that was what Adam did. He told his mother how very much he loved her. ‘I’ll be so glad if you can get better really quickly, and then you’ll be able to come home and we’ll be together, and I’ll take care of you until you’re strong again.’

      Both Phil and Adam were