Bannerman gave the class a moment to think about what he had said before saying, ‘Perhaps the class would care to compare the pathology of the more common forms of dementia and we can discuss it next time.’
Bannerman returned to his office in the hospital and lit a cigarette. His secretary, Olive Meldrum, appeared a few moments later with strong, black coffee without being asked.
‘How did it go?’
‘Not bad,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Not bad at all. They’re quite a bright lot. Any messages?’
‘Stella phoned. She’s operating this afternoon but she still expects you for dinner at eight and would you bring the wine?’
‘Did she
‘She said chicken,’ said Olive, anticipating the question.
‘Anyone else?’
‘Dr Vernon asked that you call him if you have a spare moment. That was all.’
Thanks Olive, get me Vernon would you?’
Olive closed the door behind her and a few moments later the buzzer on Bannerman’s phone announced his call.
‘Hello George, what can I do for you?’
After a few pleasantries Vernon got down to business. ‘I’ve had a forty-seven-year-old man in for treatment on his arm. He burned it badly in an accident with a kettle of boiling water.’
‘Not exactly my area of expertise,’ said Bannerman.
‘It’s not the burn I’m concerned about,’ said Vernon. ‘I think he may have other problems.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I’ve noticed that in several conversations I’ve had with him he appears to have forgotten what I said to him only a few moments before. The first time I thought nothing of it but it’s happened more than once. Brain disease is your thing; I wondered if you might take a look at him?’
‘Of course,’ said Bannerman, looking at his watch. ‘How about now?’
‘Absolutely,’ answered Vernon, saying that he was obliged. He would meet Bannerman at ward seventeen in five minutes.
Bannerman rinsed his mouth with the antiseptic wash he kept by the basin in his office; he didn’t want the patients to smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. He put on a fresh white coat and started out for the ward. The pathology lab was in the hospital’s basement so his journey took him up two flights of stairs and along a corridor which was busy with lunch trolleys and nurses in transit between their wards and the dining-hall. Vernon met him at the entrance to ward seventeen; they entered together.
‘I rang Sister to say we were coming,’ said Vernon.
As if on cue, a stout woman dressed in navy blue with a white frilly cap on her grey hair emerged from a door to their left and smiled at them. ‘Mr Green is all ready for you,’ she said. ‘Nurse will screen him off.’
Vernon and Bannerman were accompanied down the ward by a student nurse who pulled green, cotton screens round the patient’s bed, corralling the three of them inside. The ward had a meal-time smell, a mixture of food and antiseptic.
‘Mr Green, this is Doctor Bannerman. He would like to ask you a few questions.’
The patient, a well-built man with a tanned face and good teeth smiled and said, ‘What can I tell you Doctor? My arm is coming along well thanks to Doctor Vernon here and they tell me I’ll be getting home soon.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Bannerman. ‘What happened exactly?’
The patient smiled and said, ‘You chaps are like the police. You keep asking the same questions over and over again.’
‘I hope that’s not from personal experience,’ smiled Bannerman.
‘Indeed it is,’ replied Green.
Bannerman was taken aback and Green noticed. ‘I’m a policeman Doctor, a sergeant in CID.’
‘Oh I see,’ said Bannerman with a smile. ‘I didn’t know. So what happened?’
‘Happened?’ asked Green.
Bannerman noted that Green appeared to have forgotten the original question and exchanged a quick glance with Vernon who nodded. ‘Your accident,’ said Bannerman.
‘It was just carelessness really. I grabbed at a kettle thinking it was empty. I was going to fill it to make some tea and it turned out to be full of boiling water. It went all over my arm.’
‘Nasty,’ said Bannerman with a grimace. ‘Who else was in the house at the time?’
‘Nobody,’ replied Green.
Bannerman looked at Green wondering whether or not he would realize anything from his own reply but he didn’t appear to. ‘What happened then?’ he asked.
‘I tried to get my shirt off to hold my arm under the cold tap for a bit but the pain was something else. I could see the damage was pretty extensive so I called the ambulance and waited.’
‘Did the ambulance take long to come?’
‘Eight minutes,’ replied Green. ‘I watched them all pass on the clock.’
‘Do you know how long it took to get to the hospital?’ asked Bannerman.
‘Ten minutes,’ replied Green. ‘It would have been quicker but there was a big snarl-up of traffic in Graham Road where they are laying new gas pipes. We got held up there for a couple of minutes despite the siren and flashing lights.’
‘What day is it today?’ asked Bannerman.
Green smiled as if he hadn’t heard properly but Bannerman’s expression assured him that he had. ‘Why it’s … it’s …’
‘Tuesday,’ said Bannerman, Tuesday the 23rd of January.’
‘Of course,’ smiled Green. ‘I couldn’t think for a moment there. That’s the trouble with being in hospital, the days just come and go and they all seem the same.’
Bannerman nodded sympathetically and said, ‘I want you to start counting backwards from three hundred taking away seven at a time.’
Green shrugged his shoulders and began. Three hundred, two hundred and ninety-three, two hundred and eighty-six, two hundred and seventy-nine, two hundred and eighty-six, two hundred and eighty-six …’
That’s fine,’ said Bannerman.
‘How did I do?’ asked Green with a smile.
‘Just fine,’ said Bannerman. He looked to Vernon and nodded.
Vernon thanked Green for his cooperation and he and Bannerman left to walk back up the ward to the ward duty-room while a nurse pulled back the screens on Green’s bed.
‘What do you think?’ asked Vernon.
‘I think you were right to be suspicious,’ said Bannerman. ‘He’s showing all the signs of early Alzheimer’s.’
‘I feared as much,’ said Vernon.
‘His long term memory is fine but short-term is practically lost. I suspect that was the cause of his accident. I think he put the kettle on to boil then forgot that he’d done it. He went to do it again and poured the scalding water over his arm. He said there was no one else in the house. It must have been him who boiled the kettle in the first place.’
‘He’s only in his forties,’ said Vernon shaking his head.
‘He can only get worse,’ said Bannerman softly. To all intents and purposes his useful life is over.’
‘He has a wife and two teenage sons; one of them is a black kid they adopted when he was three. Sometimes I wonder if there’s a God at all.’
‘I came to my own conclusion on that one some time ago,’ said Bannerman without elaborating. He said goodbye to Vernon and returned to the Pathology Department.
Olive Meldrum had gone to lunch; the outer office was empty. Bannerman made himself some more coffee and took it through to sit down at his desk and light up a cigarette. There would be no lunch for him today he decided. The bathroom scales this morning accused him of being twelve and a half stone and he had not been able to offer any defence. The band of thickening flesh round his middle, a legacy of over-indulgence at Christmas, was conclusive and could not be denied. Something had to be done.
