George Oliver
New Member
Ten minutes out of the West End my heart skipped a beat as I turned on my mobile telephone. It was Georgina and the messages were quick and garbled.
‘Jon. Call me back quickly, please.’ Beep.
‘Jon? You there? You must call me.’ Beep.
‘Jon? I’ll be at the hospital. Janine’s got the rest of the kids.’ Beep.
The rest of the kids? What did she mean?
‘Darling? Darling? I need you. I’m going to have to turn off my phone now…’
I could hear voices, urgent voices in the background and beeping machines. I leaned forward, suddenly feeling less drunk and tapped on the glass of the cab.
‘Emergency’, I said to the driver. ‘Kingston Hospital. Fast as you can.’
The driver nodded and went straight through a red light.
I ran down the corridor, my leather-soled shoes slipping on the smooth white tiles. I screeched round a corner toward Accident and Emergency. I was following the orange arrows on the ground that led to the Children’s A&E section. I’d been to Kingston Hospital before with suspected kidney stones and it was quite well-lit and friendly for an NHS hospital. I ran into the ward and the nurses looked at me strangely. Georgina raced towards me, her blonde hair matted and make-up smeared down her face. She ran straight up to me and hugged me.
‘Darling, what is it?’, I asked.
‘I…I…can’t tell you’, she whispered, choking on tears.
‘What can’t you tell me?’
‘It’s Sophie.’
‘Sophie? What’s happened?’
Sophie was our two year old. The youngest of our four. Then Georgina screamed and I shut my eyes and prayed.
‘Mr Berry? Mr Jonathan Berry?’
I opened my eyes. It was a doctor. A young grim-faced male doctor. I turned to him, my face as white as his coat and I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘Is my daughter alive?’, I asked.
‘Jon. Call me back quickly, please.’ Beep.
‘Jon? You there? You must call me.’ Beep.
‘Jon? I’ll be at the hospital. Janine’s got the rest of the kids.’ Beep.
The rest of the kids? What did she mean?
‘Darling? Darling? I need you. I’m going to have to turn off my phone now…’
I could hear voices, urgent voices in the background and beeping machines. I leaned forward, suddenly feeling less drunk and tapped on the glass of the cab.
‘Emergency’, I said to the driver. ‘Kingston Hospital. Fast as you can.’
The driver nodded and went straight through a red light.
I ran down the corridor, my leather-soled shoes slipping on the smooth white tiles. I screeched round a corner toward Accident and Emergency. I was following the orange arrows on the ground that led to the Children’s A&E section. I’d been to Kingston Hospital before with suspected kidney stones and it was quite well-lit and friendly for an NHS hospital. I ran into the ward and the nurses looked at me strangely. Georgina raced towards me, her blonde hair matted and make-up smeared down her face. She ran straight up to me and hugged me.
‘Darling, what is it?’, I asked.
‘I…I…can’t tell you’, she whispered, choking on tears.
‘What can’t you tell me?’
‘It’s Sophie.’
‘Sophie? What’s happened?’
Sophie was our two year old. The youngest of our four. Then Georgina screamed and I shut my eyes and prayed.
‘Mr Berry? Mr Jonathan Berry?’
I opened my eyes. It was a doctor. A young grim-faced male doctor. I turned to him, my face as white as his coat and I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘Is my daughter alive?’, I asked.
