It was just gone ten fifteen when a group of young men and women in their mid-twenties, all wearing white coats, entered the ward.
Janus recognised the taller and older man who was leading them. It was the surgeon who had operated on his dad.
Eventually the group stopped at the end of his father's bed. Taking the notes which were hanging from its end the older man opened them and turned to his group.
After a short discussion with the younger doctors, the surgeon, Mr Greensteed, turned to face Janus's father who was lying slightly upright on pillows, eyes agog at the crowd that had just descended upon him.
“Good morning, Mr Malik,” Greensteed said cheerily.
“Good morning,” Janus's father responded.
“How are we feeling today?”
“I am feeling very well, Mr Doctor.”
“Mr Malik,” the surgeon said ignoring the reference to doctor, “with most people who have been through something similar to the surgery you have undergone I would be telling them at this moment that they ought to stay for a few more weeks. But in your case I feel inclined to say otherwise.”
Andrzej Malik looked at his son to get some kind of clarification as to what he had just heard. He wasn't sure he understood entirely, but it sounded like he may be able to go home.
The surgeon noticed the quizzical look Andrzej Malik gave his son and added: “You have recovered more quickly than even I expected, Mr Malik.” Greensteed smiled.
“What does this mean exactly?” Janus interjected.
“I mean that your father's prognosis, as it stands now… I'm sorry.” Greensteed corrected his terminology; he always got like this when he took the student doctors around the ward with him, “what I meant to say is that your father's injuries, as they are now, have healed sufficiently for him to go home.” The surgeon paused to let the information sink in, then added: “If he's careful. Okay? And I mean that.” The surgeon nodded his head slightly forward in Janus's direction, raising his eyebrows as he did so, without shifting his gaze from Janus's eyes, ensuring that he would pick up whether the son really knew the seriousness of what he was trying to get across. Mr Malik's son passed the test.
“And by careful you mean…?” Janus asked.
“Careful means that your father will have to promise not to move around too much when he's home. And I mean not to move around too much. Is that clear?” the surgeon said reinforcing his previous comments.
Janus turned to face his father and speaking quickly in Polish he said; “See, Father, you can go home today.”
Looking at Andrzej Malik the surgeon continued slowly. “Mr Malik, you have had very severe internal injuries and these will take a long time to heal. If you move around too much you risk internal bleeding and that is the last thing you want.”
“I understand, Doctor,” Andrzej Malik said.
“Mr Malik, I can sign you out today if you will honestly avoid any manual work for at least the next month. Can you do that?”
“Doctor, I honestly say to you now, for the next month I will not do any work. My son will attend me when necessary.”
“Good,” Mr Greensteed answered, “in that case I will allow you to go home. However you must make sure that you take the medication I prescribe.”
“Of course, of course, Mr Doctor. I do as I am told. The British health service is the best. I know that.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Mr Malik. The nurses will arrange your medication and discharge you.” Mr Greensteed turned to Janus. “The prescription will only be for five days, after that you will need to get a repeat prescription from your father's G.P. and pick it up from your local pharmacist. Will this be a problem for you?”
“No, Mr Greensteed,” Janus responded.
“Good. It is very important that your father keeps on the medication for the next few weeks at least. In the meantime I'll arrange a follow up appointment. If you don't get a letter in the next ten days make sure you contact me,” the consultant surgeon said. “And that all being so, your father will be able to leave, as soon as the paperwork is completed.”
Janus nodded, mentally noting everything he was being told.
“Mr Malik,” Mr Greensteed continued, “it's Janus isn't it?”
“Yes, Janus,” Janus confirmed
“I can't tell you strongly enough; you must make sure your father takes his medication. It's intended to stop superfluous bleeding. He has suffered immense internal injuries and it is essential that we focus on the management of those internal injuries. If your father does not take the pills then you can expect him to be back in this hospital faster than you can say tout de suite. You understand?”
“Definitely,” Janus said. He almost felt like saying, yes sir, and saluting but he understood the seriousness the surgeon was trying to convey.
The staff nurse took notes and the surgeon's group moved on to the next patient.
“Well, Dad, I think you're out of here,” Janus said.
“I am pleased. This makes me happy,” his dad said imagining the moment he would leave the hospital and start his trip back home.
Some very long hours later Janus collected his dad's prescriptions and pushed his father slowly to his car in one of the hospital’s wheelchairs.
“Dad, you've got to take it easy for a while now. You understand that don't you?”
“I do Janus. I been through a lot. This injury will not stop me. I need to be better. I will be better, in some time,” his dad replied, in his version of English
“Good, Dad, that's good,” Janus said. “Don't forget I'm always available on the phone. You can call me whenever. You understand?”
“Janus, I not stupid. I know what s happened. And I am glad you my son,” his dad answered.
Janus stopped his car outside his father's house and took him in.
“Janus, you been a good boy. I am okay now. I glad to be in my home,” his dad said.
“Dad, I'll be round every day, but if you need me just ring. I'm only a few minutes away,” Janus replied.
“Janus, I ring if I need you. I ring if I don't.” Janus's father smiled.
“Thanks, Dad, that makes me happy,” Janus said, rolling his eyes.
***
On the morning of the third day of Janus's visits to his dad's house his father talked about his medication.
“Son,” his dad started in his pidgin English, “I have only two day left in my medicine. Can you get me more?”
“Of course, Dad. I’ll write the note for your G.P. and drop it in. Do you have any writing paper? ”
Andrzej Malik pointed towards his bureau in the back half of the open plan lounge/dining room that looked out over his small garden. Janus sat down at the desk and started writing the note in his sprawling hand.
Turning back to his father he said; “Dad, I’ll bring your pills back tomorrow, if I can, or the following morning. It usually takes a day or so to sort this type of thing out.”
“That's okay, Son, I have enough to see me through.”
Janus left his father's house and dropped off the note, for a repeat prescription, at his dad's G.P. He would pick up the prescription the following day and drop it off at their local pharmacy after that.
***
Janus had been extremely worried about his father during these last few weeks and made sure that all their contracts, the ones that were outstanding on their job list, had been handed off to other people they could rely on to do the work. Janus hoped their customers, who were now beholden to other parties, would come back to Malik Plumbing & Decorating should they need anything else, when it was up and running again.
After that he immersed himself in researching the paranormal. Although his dad had been through a lot, he still felt better doing it this way rather than having to give excuses to his father as to why he wouldn't be turning up to one job or another.
Janus jumped out of bed relishing the thought of another full day in Southend library getting to grips with his pet topic. He phoned his dad.
“Dad, I'll be around this afternoon for a change. That good for you?”
“That's okay. I didn't know that TV in the daytime is as good as it is,” Janus's dad responded in his broken English.
Janus frowned, not quite believing what he was hearing, “That's great news, Dad. I'll see you this afternoon. Bye.” He put the phone down quickly before his dad could ask him what he was doing today.
Janus drove to Southend library and after parking his car he made his way in. He was glad to see that, what he had now come to think of as his table and chair, were unoccupied. He collected the books he had chosen to read for the day from their respective shelves and settled down to a full day’s study.
***
“Excuse me, sir,” the librarian said.
“Yes?” Janus said, looking up from his books.
“I'm afraid we'll be closing soon.”
“Oh shit,” Janus said, looking at his watch. “Sorry,” he said, apologising to the librarian for his language as he left the books and the building at a run. He'd only got fifteen minutes to get to the G.P. to pick up his father's repeat prescription.
He got there just as the surgery's receptionist was about to lock the doors.
“Please, please, please,” he said not sure what to say, knowing that most receptionists could be fearsome creatures if you ever got on the wrong side of them. “I'm so sorry, my father needs his medication and I didn't know the time and I must take his prescription to the chemist and I need to give it to them.” Janus was rambling.
“Sir, please calm down,” the receptionist said. “What's your father's name?”
“Oh,” Janus said, completely surprised by the response, “Mr Andrzej Malik.”
The receptionist walked through the door at the back of the waiting room and reappeared behind the reception desk. There were only three repeat prescriptions which hadn't been collected. Quickly she picked out the one for Janus and pushed it across the counter.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Janus said, as he turned toward the exit. Just as he was about to go through the door the receptionist called to him.
“Mr Malik.”
“Yes,” Janus replied.
“Don't do it again,” she said.
Janus left quickly for the chemist. Once there he popped his father's repeat prescription through the letter box his local pharmacy had installed for those people who did not have the time to stop and wait for it to be made up.
The day and night pharmacy's supervisor picked up all of the prescriptions that had been delivered to them from their drop-in box. It was just one of the procedures she’d got used to since being giving the supervisor’s position after applying for it four weeks previously. Though the job brought in a welcome income the fact that she’d had to get a job in the first place rankled her.
Working through each prescription one by one, the supervisor made up each ready for collection the following day. She then came across the prescription for a Mr Malik which dictated the need for regular antithrobim tablets and analgesic ones as well.
This guy is not very well
, she thought.
The pills he required were significant, the pain killers were morphine based and he needed drugs to stop unnecessary bleeding in conjunction with the others.
She stared at the address on the prescription for a while, then realised she knew it.
Mr Malik
,
of course
, she recalled and smiled to herself.
She had read about the accident in the local paper at the time but until now, hadn’t known it was
the
Malik family she knew. Knowing the people involved and how unwell they must be, she updated the prescription appropriately.
Hospitals these days were always trying to skimp on things just to save the budget. At the end of the day she had a duty of care to consider and had to make sure that all their customers got what they deserved.
Janus got up early; there was a book launch he wanted to go to at Treadwell's bookshop in London's Covent Garden.
The book launch had been advertised on one of the notice boards next to the enquiries counter inside Southend library. It had grabbed his attention whilst he'd been queuing to ask about ordering in yet another book on the paranormal for his research.
The launch was due to start at ten in the morning and this meant he had to be at Leigh-on-Sea Station by 8.20 a.m. if he was to catch the train to Fenchurch Street and still have plenty of time to walk from Covent Garden tube station to Tavistock Street, where the shop was located.
He was very interested in what Dr Geraint Aspwith, the author of this new book,
had to say. From all the articles he had read about Aspwith's book,
The Psychology of the Occult and Paranormal Phenomena
, it would certainly go a long way to help him gain an understanding of his life experiences and hopefully help him make some sense of them.
***
Janus left Covent Garden tube station and started the short ten minute walk toward Tavistock Street. He wondered what questions he could ask and hoped that Dr Aspwith's view and book were not a total denunciation of the occult and paranormal phenomena.
Arriving at the head of Tavistock Street and feeling the need for a coffee, he looked around and noticed the Charles Dickens’ Coffee House. Janus checked his watch and sighed, he only had ten more minutes before the book launch was due to start. It was not a lot of time and he decided to forego the coffee and get some later. He wandered towards Treadwell's shop front.
Walking past the railings outside the front of the shop he made his way in. The bookshop seemed to have an aura about it; one he felt allied with, for no reason he could understand at the moment.
Its floor was of old and dark wooden polished floorboards with a scattering of what seemed to be Persian rugs placed here and there. It was lit in a distinctive manner with lamp stands, light shades and wall lights seemingly situated at random, creating pools of dark and light with no particular pattern.
The books themselves were housed in a mismatch of differing wooden bookcases; Janus wished he had come here before just to experience the place without any other plans.
Following the sign to the event Janus made his way down the stairs. The book launch was being held in a room below Treadwell's; one often let for events of this sort.
The room was about the same size as the one he had been to in Westcliff for the spiritualists’ meeting, its capacity being about twenty five to thirty people. He was surprised and happy to see that it was not as packed out as he had expected it to be. He would certainly get a chance to ask some questions if the option was offered.
Janus sat down, as he always did at events like this, on a chair near the exit and in this case the stairs up to the exit.
Just after the allotted start time and after a few more arrivals Dr Aspwith, so he assumed, entered the room and made his way to the table at the front. He was closely followed by someone Janus recognised.
Janus frowned to himself for a second trying to recollect the other person's face. Then he had it, it was Richard Jameson, the man he had spoken with briefly at the spiritualist meeting, in fact, the man who had given him his business card at that meeting all those weeks ago.
Dr Aspwith started his talk and gave a brief outline of the reasons why he had written and compiled his book. After the short speech had finished the other people attending the event started to line up in front of the table Dr Aspwith was sitting behind, to get their copy of his book signed.
Janus was disappointed with the talk; he had hoped there would be more to it than a brief history of what the doctor had done. This left him with only one choice and that was to purchase the book for himself.
There was another table in the room, just next to the entrance at the bottom of the stairs, with one of Treadwell's staff standing behind it and a huge pile of Dr Aspwith's books. Janus picked one up and handed his money to the young, blonde Treadwell's girl standing behind the table. Whilst she was trying to sort out his change Janus was tapped on the shoulder.
“It's Janus Malik isn't it?” Richard Jameson asked as Janus turned around to face him.
“Yes, yes it is. Hello, Mr Jameson,” Janus replied, offering his hand. Jameson shook it.
“How are things with you Janus? Up here to clarify your life a little?”
Janus was struck dumb. During their last short conversation he had got the feeling that Richard Jameson had only a passing interest in the paranormal and didn't have any abilities himself.
“You look shocked, Janus, don't worry, I have an uncanny knack for reading people I know, and it's probably why I've been able to get to where I am today.”
“Oh!” was all that Janus could manage to say.
“Looks like there's a lull in the people wanting to have their book signed,” Richard observed. “I think you can get your copy signed now.”
Janus looked towards Dr Aspwith. “Okay. Thanks. Nice to talk to you again, Mr Jameson.”
“And you, Janus,” Jameson said.
Janus made his way across the nearly empty room to the table Dr Aspwith was sitting at.
“Who do I make this out to?” Aspwith asked.
“Just to me, thanks, er… Janus Malik.”
Dr Aspwith signed Janus's copy and before turning back to Richard Jameson, Janus wondered what he could talk about, nothing came to mind and he turned away from Dr Aspwith.
Janus sighed with relief, Richard Jameson was now in, what seemed to be, an in depth discussion with a tall woman whose rich dark brown hair cascaded across the tops of her shoulders like a silken waterfall. Janus paused for a moment then made his way out of the shop holding the huge tome that was Dr Aspwith’s book under his arm, wondering who the stunning woman was.
He walked back towards Covent Garden tube station trying to fathom out why Richard Jameson seemed to have such an interest in him. Perhaps it was as he said, he had an uncanny knack for reading people he knew, but how could he say that about him? They'd only met once before and very briefly at that. Janus put it down to the fact that the guy, Richard Jameson, was just an extremely incisive person.
Janus returned from his early morning jaunt to Treadwell's, one of London's leading occult book stores, knowing there were a few other tasks he had to complete that day before he could relax.
As he got off the train he checked his watch, it was coming up to one o'clock. He had to get to his dad's house soon with the medication.
During the train journey home he had been thinking about his father's accident and had come to the conclusion that there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Even if he’d been scheduled for the job his dad would have arrived at the site before him and gone up the scaffolding anyway. His father always made an early start and this fact alone was probably why his father had such a good reputation; his dad was always early, always finished the job on time and without unnecessary additional costs.
Janus changed his mind about the spiritualist meeting he had attended on that awful day. His dad's accident was just that and even if he’d been there, or even on his way, he would not have been able to change a thing. At the end of the day his father was alive and recovering in his own home, during which time Janus had gained a little more freedom to attempt to research and tease out the buried truths which he was certain existed behind life's more mundane realities.
Reaching the exit of Leigh Station after the short walk along its grey and exposed platform he jumped into a waiting cab and instructed the driver to take him to his local chemist where he could pick up his dad's medication.
After Janus had collected the pills the cab driver dropped him off at his home. Quickly entering his flat he made his way into his open plan lounge and checked his telephone messages. There were none. After having a quick coffee he left to take the medicine to his dad's house.
Janus put his key into the lock of his dad's front door, turned it and entered.
“Janus,” his father said. “Is that you?”
“Of course it is, Father, who else?” Janus responded in Polish, as he wandered along the short and dim hall that ran parallel to the staircase. He entered his father’s lounge at the back of the house through the second doorway off the hall.
“Have you got my pills?”
“Yes, Father,” Janus said, continuing to speak in Polish. He crossed the old and tatty patterned beige carpet then faced his dad, who had remained seated in his favourite cushioned and high sided leather chair.
“Thank you, Son,” his father replied, also speaking in Polish. “I need to get better. I can't stand living in this place with nothing to do any longer. This is torture; I need to work.”
Janus dumped the white paper bag containing his dad's medicine on the sideboard next to the television stand.
“Father, I've put your medicine on the sideboard.”
“Thanks, Son. I can see that. There is nothing wrong with my vision,” his Dad said smiling.
“Father, I’ve got to go,” Janus said, still talking in Polish. “I have things to do. You make sure you keep taking your medicine,” Janus indicated to the package, “and I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in next to no time.”
“Okay, Son. Thanks,” his Dad said.
“I'll see you in the next couple of days Father. Okay?”
“Of course it's okay, Son. I'm getting around a lot better now and the pain's not so bad.”
“Ring me if you need to,” Janus said as he left the back room. Before shutting the front door he called out, “Bye, Father.”
Janus left his dad's home, he was happy now, and relieved that his carer's duties were over for the next two days or so.
***
It was on the second day after his son had said to him ‘see you in a couple of days’,
that Andrzej began to feel drained of energy. He got out of his bed slowly; fighting dizzy spells and trying to force his eyes to focus through the black spots that occasionally tainted his vision. Gradually and carefully he dressed himself.
Since he had started taking the medicine his son had collected from the chemist up the road, he’d begun to feel not quite right; but he consoled himself with the thought that it was probably just a change in the brand of his medication that was causing the new side-effects.
He was sure they would pass and was determined he wouldn’t be calling his son before he was due to visit the following day.
Janus had been very good to him during his convalescence and Andrzej didn’t want to be a burden; so he would wait.
Andrzej made his way slowly down the stairs to the kitchen; supporting himself on the stair’s banister as he did so.
After he had put the kettle on he had to steady himself once more by holding onto the kitchen counter. He finished making his tea and walked unsteadily into the lounge.
He picked up his pills from the sideboard and took an extra dose from the bottle. He was sure that if he doubled his dose it would make up for the difference in medicines between the chemist and the hospital.
Andrzej sat in his favourite chair placing the extra pills and the cup of tea on the table next to it.
After his tea had cooled sufficiently he popped his usual dose and the two extra ones, he deemed necessary, into his mouth and washed them down with his now luke-warm tea.
He knew it wouldn’t be long before the double dose would take it effect and he would start feeling much better. Andrzej sat and waited; struggling to stay awake.
After an hour the dizziness he had experienced earlier that morning came back with a vengeance. He really needed to call his son; there was something very wrong, but he didn’t have the energy to get to his phone in the hall or get to his mobile which was charging on his bureau.
Still sat in his chair he wondered why he felt like he had wet himself; he didn’t recall any powerful urge to urinate. As he sat there he began to feel a strange coldness creep up along his arms; it had started in his fingertips making him shiver: his thoughts became scared and frantic but he was unable to react. The intense lethargy he was feeling enveloped him like a slimy cold and heavy, wet to the touch, blanket of chain mail, pressing down upon him.
Gradually his thoughts calmed as, finally, consciousness seeped away in unison with the loss of his vision.