Read Online Mad Worlds by Bill Douglas - Free Book Online

about the patient you’re visiting and your details.”
    This was so slow! She gulped out “John Chisholm” and went to stand beside the desk, waiting while the man sat down and took a fountain pen from his pocket. She watched him write the date in one column, then pause at the next.
    â€œWhat’s his name again, lass? I have to get it right.”
    She repeated John’s name and spelt it for the man as he wrote laboriously in copperplate handwriting. Then, confirming her marital status, she gave her name and address, with spellings, and saw him write ‘Infirmary’ in another column.
    Mackenzie pressed the sheet with blotting paper, pocketed the pen and stood up. Thank goodness that was over. Where was the urgency?
    â€œYou wait over there with Sam, lassie.” Mackenzie pointed to a row of chairs against a wall. “I’ll ring the ward, and they’ll send a nurse to take you there.”
    Heather went and perched on the edge of a seat next to Newman. “Do they always have this palaver? John could have died by now.”
    â€œIt’s always the same procedure, even on an emergency visit. The only difference will be them bringing your husband down here to see you. I’ve never before known them let a visitor – even me when I admit a patient – onto their wards.”
    He sounded angry. Nothing to how she felt. What were they playing at? She must see John – now! An age passed. Newman limped across to Mackenzie.
    A clanking of keys? Yes – a door was opening in the far corner. A white-coated man appeared.
    She leapt to her feet.
    Mackenzie shouted, “Mr Niven’s here from Infirmary, Mrs Chisholm, and –”
    She’d reached the open door.
    The sullen-looking giant Mr Niven grunted and stood aside to let her pass. She watched impatiently as he fiddled with keys and locked the door behind them.
    The next few minutes were a blur of walking in silence behind Niven along gloomy empty corridors. This was eerie, Dickensian, but at least she was being led to John. If only this giant would get a move on. He shambled, with no hint of urgency. Now and again she got a whiff of something nasty and unfamiliar – but this didn’t bother her. She’d brave Hell itself to see John.
    â€œWe’re here, Ma’am.” The man wrestled with his bunch of keys and unlocked the door marked ‘Male Infirmary’. “Wait there behind me,” he said, and opened the door a fraction, shouting, “Sir, she’s here.”
    More delay! The door opened to reveal another white-coated man. Niven stood aside and motioned her to go in.
    The other man extended a hand. “Mrs Chisholm, I’m Mr Macnamara, the Charge Nurse here. Come with me. Your husband’s near the other end.”
    Walking between the rows of beds reminded her of visiting her uncle on a general infirmary ward, but here really stank. She risked glancing from side to side, glimpsing beds – some empty, others with huddled figures on them – until she saw a leering pyjama-jacket-clad man sitting legs apart on his bed. Cheeks warm, she kept her eyes on the Charge Nurse as he walked ahead of her.
    That smell. Same as the corridors, but stronger. Sick-making. And was that howling – and a wolf whistle – somewhere behind her?
    Macnamara slowed and halted by a bed where another white-coated man stood. “Your husband,” he said, “and the nurse is Mr Maclean.”
    No! Propped up in bed was a strange figure. Something covered his face and a tube ran down to a machine.
    â€œThe mask is to give him oxygen,” said Macnamara. “And,” he pointed at the machine, “that’s the oxygen cylinder. He’s got pneumonia.”
    She hadn’t been prepared for seeing John in this state. She resisted her impulse to rush over and hug him. That might kill him. She walked over and knelt beside the bed. She took his limp hand and held