Charlie, are you out of your mind? Do you think Im inviting you to live with me because Ive got a few quid to spare? Poor thing, thats all there is to it.
Charlie sat in his wheelchair, staring through the dusty panes at the street outside. Bad luck, really: his hospital window opened onto the inner courtyard of the ward, a tidy little garden with kiosks and flower beds, but hardly anyone ever wandered there.
Winter had settled in, and the patients rarely braved the cold for a stroll. Charlie was alone in his bay. A week earlier his neighbour, Tommy Harper, had been discharged, and ever since Charlie felt a hollow emptiness.
Tommy was the sort of chap who could keep a room laughing for hours. He knew a million anecdotes and performed them with the flair of a seasoned actorbecause he was one, studying drama on his third year at the local drama college.
In short, boredom was impossible when Tommy was around. His mother popped in daily with freshly baked scones, fruit, and sweets, which Tommy shared generously with Charlie.
When Tommy left, the cosy atmosphere vanished, and Charlie felt lonelier than ever, as if hed been misplaced in some vast, empty attic.
His melancholy was interrupted by a nurses brisk entrance. Looking at her, Charlies spirits sank further: the cheerful young nurse Dasha hed hoped for was replaced by the perpetually dour and everdispleased Mrs. Gladys Hargreaves.
In the two months hed been in the hospital, Charlie had never seen Gladys smile. Her voice matched her expressionsharp, gruff, and utterly unpleasant.
Enough of the drama, love. Back to the bed! she barked, brandishing a syringe already filled with medicine.
Charlie sighed in defeat, turned his wheelchair and rolled back to his bed. Gladys, with a practiced flick, helped him lie flat and then tossed his legs over the side.
Off with your trousers, she commanded. Charlie obeyed, feeling nothing at all. Gladys administered the injection with practiced ease, and for that, Charlie silently thanked her.
Wonder how old she is, he mused, watching her concentrate on the faint vein in his gaunt arm. Probably retired by now. Small pension, so she has to work, hence the sourness.
At last she slipped a thin needle into his barely visible vein, coaxing a tiny grimace from him.
All done. Did the doctor stop by today? she asked unexpectedly, gathering her things.
No, not yet, Charlie shook his head. Maybe later
Dont sit by the windowtheres a draught, and youre as dry as a bone, Gladys warned, shuffling out.
Charlie wanted to snap back, but couldnt. Beneath her gruffness and a surprising touch of tenderness, there was something like carehowever begrudging it might be.
Charlie was an orphan. His parents perished in a fire when he was four. The blaze consumed their rural cottage, and he alone survived, saved by his mothers desperate act of hurling him through a shattered window just moments before the roof collapsed in flames, burying the rest of the family. He ended up in a childrens home. Relatives existed, but none hurried to take him in.
From his mother he inherited a gentle, dreamy disposition and bright green eyes; from his father, height, a lanky gait, and a knack for numbers. Memories of his parents flickered like fragments of an old film: a village fęte where his mother waved a bright flag, or sitting on his fathers shoulders feeling a warm summer breeze on his cheeks.
He also recalled a big ginger catmaybe called Miff or Borisbut beyond those fragments, the fire had consumed the family photo album.
No one visited him in hospitalthere was simply nobody left. When Charlie turned eighteen, the state allocated him a bright, spacious dormitory room on the fourth floor of a council block.
Living alone suited him, though at times a melancholy would swell enough to bring tears. He grew accustomed to solitude and even found its perks.
Yet the orphanage years left their mark: watching families on playgrounds, in supermarkets, on city streets, stirred bitter, uneasy thoughts.
After school, Charlie aimed for university but fell short on points, so he enrolled in a technical college. He liked it and the course suited him well. Socialising with his classmates, however, proved difficult; the quiet, introverted Charlie didnt intrigue them, and he preferred books and scientific journals to noisy student antics or video games.
When he did speak to them, it was only about coursework. And the girls? His modesty didnt help; the more outspoken lads always won their attention. At eighteen and a half, he still looked no older than sixteen. He became the resident odd one out, which, oddly enough, didnt bother him much.
Two months ago, hurrying to a lecture, he slipped on an icy pavement in an underground tunnel, breaking both legs. The fractures were nasty, healing slowly and painfully, though the last couple of weeks had shown improvement.
Charlie hoped for discharge soon, but his hopes were shadowed by worry: the building he was living in had no lift or wheelchair access. Hed be stuck in a wheelchair for a while longer.
After lunch, Dr. Richard Blake, a trauma surgeon, entered his ward.
Mr. Carter, Ive got good news, he said, after examining the Xrays. Your bones are finally knitting together as they should. In a few weeks youll be on crutches. Theres no point keeping you here; youll be treated as an outpatient. Your discharge papers will be ready in about an hour. Anyone waiting for you?
Charlie gave a silent nod.
Excellent. Ill ask Gladys to help you pack. Take care, and try not to end up back here.
Ill try.
The doctor winked and left, and Charlie began to contemplate his next steps. Gladys Hargreaves interrupted his thoughts.
What are you doing sitting there? Youre being discharged, she said, handing him a backpack that lay beneath the bed. Pack up, love. Mrs. Molly Whitfield will be in to change your linens.
Charlie stuffed his belongings into the bag, feeling Gladyss keen gaze on him.
Why did you lie to the doctor? she asked, tilting her head slightly.
What are you on about? Charlie replied, feigning confusion.
Dont play the fool, Charlie. I know no ones coming for you. How will you get home?
Ill manage, he muttered.
You wont be walking for at least half a month. How do you intend to live?
Ill figure it out. Im not a child.
Suddenly Gladys sat on the edge of his bed, leaning close.
Charlie, I know this isnt my business, but with those injuries youll need help. You cant do it alone. Dont take offenceIm being honest, she said softly.
Ill manage on my own, he snapped.
It wont work. Ive been in nursing for years. What are you arguing about, a child?
Whats it to you? he retorted.
Its that you could stay with me. I live a few streets out of town, the house has a porch and two steps, and theres a spare room. Once youre on your feet you can go home. Im a widow, no children, nothing left but this place.
Charlie stared, stunned. Live with a stranger? He had long stopped hoping anyone would step in for him.
Why are you silent? Gladys asked, frowning.
Its awkward, he murmured.
Stop dawdling, Charlie. Its uncomfortable living in a wheelchair in a flat with no lift or ramp. So, will you move in?
Charlie hesitated. On one hand, moving into a strangers flat felt odd; on the other, he couldnt walk anytime soon, and Gladys didnt seem that alien after all.
He began to realise that over the months shed looked after him in her own wayreminding him to close the window, urging him to eat cheese for calcium, teasing him about his little trouble. She was the only person in the whole world who seemed ready to help.
Ill stay, he finally said, but Ive got no money. My scholarship wont kick in for a while.
Gladys, hand on her hips, stared at him, then scowled and, with a hint of wounded pride, retorted:
Charlie, are you out of your mind? You think Im offering you a roof because Ive got a few pounds? I feel sorry for you, thats all.
I was just Charlie began, but cut himself off, apologising for any offense.
Im not offended. Lets get you to the ward, sit you there for a bit, she commanded. My shift ends soon, and well go.
Gladys lived in a small, tidy cottage with narrow windows, two cosy rooms, one of which became Charlies new haven.
The first days he was embarrassed, barely leaving his room, trying not to burden his host with requests. Noticing this, the elderly nurse spoke plainly:
Stop being shy. If you need anything, ask. Youre not a guest, youre a resident.
In truth, Charlie liked it there: the snowdrifts outside, the crackle of a woodburning stove, the smell of homecooked stewall reminded him of his own lost home and a fargone, happy childhood.
Days passed. His wheelchair stayed in the hallway, soon replaced by crutches. At last it was time to head back to the city.
After a routine visit to the clinic, Charlie, a little lurching, walked alongside Gladys, sharing his plans.
Ive got exams coming up, credits to collect. So much time lostnightmarish. I dont want to go back to the college.
Take it easy, Gladys advised. Your college wont disappear. The doctor told you to reduce the load on your legs.
Over the weeks they grew close. Charlie found himself increasingly reluctant to leave the cosy cottage and its endlessly kind lady.
She became a second mother to the orphan, though he never quite mustered the courage to admit it, even to himself.
The next day, as he gathered his things, he searched for his phone charger and froze: at his doorway stood Gladys, tears streaming down her cheeks. Something inside him surged, and he rushed to her, hugging her tightly.
Will you stay, Charlie? she whispered through sobs. How will I manage without you
And he stayed.
Years later, at Charlies wedding, Gladys took a place of honour at the head table, a proud motherfigure to the groom. A year after that, she cradled her newborn greatgranddaughter in the maternity ward, naming her after herself.
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