As her father recounted the details, her upbeat, optimistic character took on a sharp poignancy; Church marvelled at how she had managed to remain so unspoilt while living permanently in the shadow of death. And it made his own doubts and fears seem so insignificant; he felt weak and pathetic in comparison.
The drive to Bristol passed in a flash of recklessly taken corners and jumped red lights. Each time Church glanced at Marianne in the rearview mirror, his heart rattled and his stomach knotted. Her face was impossibly pale. She was still out cold and he couldn't tell if she was suffering. He couldn't believe how acutely he felt for someone he barely knew; perhaps it was just the name creating echoes in his subconscious-maybe this Marianne he could save! — but whatever it was, she had touched him on some deep level. More than anything else in the world, he didn't want this Marianne to die.
Laura warned the hospital of their approach with the last gasp of life in her mobile phone and when they arrived at Frenchay the staff were waiting for her. As Marianne was rushed on a trolley up to the operating theatre, the farmer paused briefly to offer thanks for their help before chasing after his daughter.
'Poor girl. I hope there's something they can do,' Ruth said softly. Seeing the concern on Church's face, she touched his arm gently and said, 'At least we were around to get her here quickly.'
After occasional bouts of drizzle, the gathering storm clouds finally broke in a downpour that hammered against the reception doors. Bursts of lightning crackled overhead. 'We should be hitting the road,' Laura said as she watched the fading light.
'I can't go until I know how she's going to be.' Church silenced Laura's protests with a shake of the head before wandering slowly to the lift doors through which Marianne had disappeared.
Like most hospitals, the layout of Frenchay was labyrinthine. Church thought he was following the numerous signs, but he must have missed one at some point, for he found himself in a quiet ward with no sign of any operating theatres. Looking for directions, he stepped inside. Unlike the rest of the hospital, it was so still his footsteps on the creaking, sticky linoleum sounded like he was wearing hobnailed boots. There was the unmistakable smell of antiseptic that he always associated with sickness. Small rooms lay on either side of the corridor at the start, but further on he could see double doors through which he could just glimpse a large, open ward filled with beds. The room to his right had a big viewing window like a storefront. Inside, a sickly boy lay on his bed staring blankly at a TV set which featured US cartoons that were cut so fast it made Church feel nauseous. Numerous tubes snaked from his arms and his nose and there was a bank of monitors to each side of his bed. From the intricate locking system and the red light above the door, Church guessed it was some kind of isolation unit.
The door on the room to his left was slightly ajar and as he approached it Church could hear voices whispering a mantra over and over again. Through the glass panel he could just see a middle-aged woman in the bed, her arms so thin they looked like sticks. Her eyes were closed and she had on a black wig. A man with grey hair and a face lined by grief sat on one side of her, his hand resting gently on her forearm; his fingers trembled intermittently. On the other side a younger man, in his twenties, his face flushed from crying, held her hand loosely. They were both repeating the words 'I love you' in quiet, strained voices.
'Are you a relative?' The voice made him start. A black nurse, short and dumpy with a pleasant face, was at his side.
'No. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I just …' His eyes returned unbidden to the painful tableau. 'What's wrong with her?'
The nurse smiled, but she wasn't going to give much away. 'She hasn't got long. She's been in a coma for the last day. But she can still hear, we think, so they're just saying what they feel, trying to show her she's loved.'
Before the end, Church thought. He looked on to the double doors where he could now see people of all ages lying in the beds. 'Them too?'
'Leukaemia mainly. Some others. The boy in the room behind's just had a bone marrow transplant. We need to keep him isolated because he's susceptible to infection.'
'Looks like some people's worlds are ending ahead of schedule.' Laura had walked up unseen and had been watching the two men whispering to their wife and mother. Church rounded on her to berate her for her callousness until he saw her eyes were brimming with tears.
The nurse glanced at them both, then said questioningly. 'Is there someone-?'
'No,' Church apologised. 'A friend's just been rushed into an operating theatre. I got lost.'
'Easily done,' she smiled. 'This place is a rabbit warren. The next floor up.'
'Where's Ruth?' Church asked as he led the way up the stairs.
'In reception, sulking.'
Church guessed that wasn't the case, but said nothing. When they reached the next floor, he held open the door and said, 'I never thought about the repercussions.'
'What do you mean?'
'How many people rely on technology. That boy in the isolation unit, all those monitors and electronically regulated drips-' He broke off when he saw Marianne's father sitting on a chair with his head in his hands. 'How is she?' Church asked cautiously.
'They're just prepping her now. The op should take about five hours, they reckon. They think we got here in time. If all goes well-' He swallowed, grasped Church's hand again. 'Thank God you were there.' Church sat next to him, listening to the clinical sounds of the hospital, the rat-chat of swing doors, the measured step of soles on lino, the clink of trolleys, the whir of lifts. 'I've spent years preparing myself for this moment and it hasn't done one bloody bit of good,' the farmer continued. 'I should've just pretended she wasn't ill and dealt with this when it happened.' He added bleakly, 'I hope I haven't wasted the time I've had with her.'
'No point thinking about the past,' Church said calmly but forcefully.
'Do you believe in God?' The farmer's hands were shaking. He caught his wrist, then buried his hands in the folds of his jacket.
'I'd like to,' Church replied guiltily.
'And so would I. I used to pray, when we first found out about Marianne. I stopped after a while. I couldn't really see the good of it, you know? It didn't seem like the kind of thing grown-ups should be doing. The wife kept at it, though. Down the church every Sunday. I should have carried on. That was me being selfish.' Church politely disagreed, but the farmer waved him quiet. 'She's the only one we've got. We never seemed to get round to having any more, but she got lots more love because of it. You couldn't have wanted for a better child. Never been any trouble. Always done her schoolwork, passed her exams. Never been lippy to me or the wife. Helped out around the farm, even when I didn't want her to because she was going through one of her bad periods. She's a bit of a dreamer, I suppose. Used to read books all the time. Not like me. I like to be out there, bloody well doing stuff with my hands. But Marianne, she liked to think.' He paused reflectively. 'I always hoped she'd take over the farm one day.'
'She still might.'
The farmer nodded, tight-lipped, refusing to tempt fate. For a long period they sat in silence, listening to their thoughts. Laura seemed to grow uncomfortable at the inactivity and after a while muttered something about going off to find the canteen.
Through the windows at the end of the corridor Church watched the night draw in, wrapping itself around the storm that still buffeted the building. Flashes of lightning flared briefly like the distant fires in the void he had witnessed through the windows of the Watchtower.
When four hours had elapsed, a nurse emerged from the theatre, her expression closed. The farmer caught her arm as she passed and pleaded for some information.
'I can't really say. Mr. Persaud will be out as soon as he knows the situation,' she began, but looking at his face, she relented a little. 'It looks like it's going well,' she said with a comforting smile. 'Barring anything unforeseen-'
As if her comment had been heard by the gods, in that instant all the lights went out. The farmer cried out in shock as the darkness swallowed them. 'Just a power cut,' the nurse said reassuringly, before muttering, 'Bloody storm.' The lack of illumination through the window suggested it had hit most of the city. 'Don't worry. We're well prepared for things like this,' she continued. 'We've got an emergency generator that will kick in any second.'
Like statues, they waited in the claustrophobic dark, their heavy breath kept tight in their lungs.
'Any moment now,' the nurse repeated. There was an edge in her voice that hadn't been there before.
It was as if the entire hospital had been held in stasis, but then the dam broke and the cries started far off,
