Wiley Dormouse-ee (aka Bike) Part 631 by Angharad

Cathy sank to her knees and still holding Simon’s limp hand between hers, she kissed his fingers and began to silently pray that he would recover fully. She prayed to the universe, to the God she didn’t believe in, to Uncle Tom Cobbley and all. Did it help? She’d never know, but Henry stood at the foot of the bed astonished by what he thought he could see happening.

He was sure he could see Cathy surrounded by–well, a halo of white light–and a blue light was passing from her hands into Simon’s arm and thence his whole body.

He rubbed his eyes and the vision was still there. If it was an illusion, optical or other, he didn’t care if it gave Simon any better chance of survival. This girl was remarkable, Tom had said so, Simon had said so and now he was thinking it.

He heard footsteps approaching and a nurse bustled towards the room, Henry, thinking quickly intercepted her and took her back out again. He bought Cathy, maybe another five minutes to work her magic, if that was what she was doing.

Cathy felt as if she was in a trance, mumbling to herself a mantra of, I love you, please get better, as she felt something happening between the two of them. She didn’t know what, but it seemed something like what had happened when she stood touching Puddin. She tried not to think about it, if it was happening, then she didn’t want to influence it, so she carried on with her mantra, saying it aloud, it getting higher in volume as the moments passed.

As the nurse returned to take Simon’s blood pressure, which had been very low, she heard him cough a couple of times and the woman’s voice stopped and gasped.

Cathy hauled herself to her feet and looked at Simon, his eyes were fluttering. Then they opened and she kissed him. He recognised her and smiled, “You’re in heaven too?”

“Me, no, I’m going the other way,” I replied smiling at him, “Welcome back to earth, your lordship.”

“I thought we were through?” he said hoarsely.

“Now why would you think that? You don’t think I’d let a catch like you slip away, do you?”

“Catch? You’d be better off with a net full of herring,” he said back to me.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked him.

“Please, my throat is parched.” I poured him one and placing the straw in it, guided it to his mouth. “Thanks, that’s better.”

“What did you take?” I asked him.

“Paracetamol, about thirty of them.”

“Why, Simon?”

“I thought I’d lost you and didn’t want to live with out you.”

“Oh, Simon, you haven’t lost me, I love you too much for that. I’ll never let you go again, I promise.” Tears were streaming down my face as I hugged him, so tightly I was in danger of breaking his ribs. My shoulder was hurting like hell, but I didn’t care about that.

“Excuse me, but I have to take his blood pressure,” the nurse bustled in and proceeded to wrap a cuff around his arm. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Awful, stupid isn’t it, all those pills and I’ve got a headache.”

“I always thought I was a pain in the neck,” I said trying to keep him smiling.

“Neck, nah, much lower than that, rhymes with farce.”

“Gee thanks, Lord Cameron.”

“Your welcome, Lady C.”

“You’re not a lord, are you?” asked the nurse.

“’Fraid so, you’re not going to throw me out are you?”

“You’re joking in ya?”

“He’s not, and the gentleman behind you is his dad, Henry Cameron, Lord Stanebury.”

“Never! Well I’ll be blowed, it’s like the ‘Ouse o’ Lords ‘ere, innit? Cor blimey, an’ there was me thinkin’ you was just an or’nary punter with an un’appy love life.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully that’s on the mend now.”

“Oh, the consultant is coming to see you later.”

“Okay, I’ll try and be here,” said Simon, weakly. He was beginning to fade and closed his eyes. I held his hand, the feeling from earlier had gone, which meant either he was getting worse or he’d taken as much energy as he needed for the moment. I looked at Henry, and we decided to wait for the consultant. Simon slept while Henry and I sat waiting trying to keep still and sane. I was worried to death.

About an hour later, a Mr Armstrong, arrived the hepatic surgeon. I hoped his first name wasn’t Lance because I’d not be able to take him seriously. Seeing that Simon was still sleeping, he spoke to us first.

“It’s not good, I’m afraid. He’s done considerable damage to his liver. I’m going to suggest placing him on the list for a transplant.”

“It’s that bad?” gasped Henry. I was too shocked to speak at all, just this coldness spreading from my solar plexus began to cover my entire body.

“Are you alright, my dear,” said the surgeon, and helped me to a chair.

“Liver transplant? It’s all my fault,” I said in a monotone.

“From what I understand he took the pills by himself, which means in my book, it’s self inflicted. So you’re not to blame, whatever you might think.”

“Oh geez, what are we going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to order some new bloods, just to see how bad the damage is, check a few enzymes. The liver has a capacity to repair itself, but from what we saw in the earlier tests, it looked beyond that. Still miracles are said to happen, mind you, I don’t see many of them. Take care young lady, get yourself a cuppa or something.” He nodded at Henry and left.

“Oh shit, what are we going to do, Henry?” I wanted to cry but was too shocked to even manage a few tears, I felt absolutely helpless. What would the girls say if he died? They’d blame me when they found out. I’d spoiled it for everyone–I’m totally useless.

“We’re going upstairs for that cuppa, you look like shit warmed up, then we’re coming down again and you’re going to put the fluence on him again.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked feeling sick to my stomach and he was babbling like a mountain brook.

“I’m talking about what you used to do with Stella’s baby. I saw the blue light going from you to Simon. Come on, let’s get a cuppa and you can zap him some more.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I said feeling even more inadequate.

“What d’you mean, you don’t know if you can?”

“Well, I have no control over it, it either happens or it doesn’t.”

“Well I reckon we’ve got maybe half an hour for you to get some control over it and get back there and zap my son.”

“And if I can’t.”

“He’s going to die.”