Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2008 14:00:57 EDT
From: Djedoric58@aol.com
Subject: The Bull singer chapter twenty four

THE BULL SINGER
CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR


I have added a bit more to the end of chapter twenty-three so please don't
miss it.

From chapter twenty three

The doctor made to remonstrate with Mags but I caught his arm and drew him
away. "It's all right, that man is my son. Now, what's the damage, doctor?"

"It's isn't broken. He's just dislocated it. After I've put it back, he'll
need it in a cast for about two weeks and no walking on it for at least a
week. What I'm more concerned about is why he keeps on fainting all the
time. I can understand him fainting initially from the pain, but once we
gave him something for the pain that should have been it. Just to be in the
safe side, I would like to have a colleague of mine have a look at him
while he's here." Shocked, Millie and I stared at each other, then at the
doctor.

Bernard's Story

Seeing the boys crowding round Street's gurney, and the old man and his
sister keeping the doctor occupied, no one noticed me as I took out my cell
phone and made as if I was making a phone call, when in fact I was taking
some very interesting pictures. So this hunk was Street's uncle was he? I
remembered him coming to the theatre and being introduced as a member of
Billy Junior. From what I saw he was pretty cosy with his nephew, too cosy
in fact, and my faithful camera phone recorded it all. Satisfied, I tapped
Jimmy on the shoulder. "I have to phone my dad and let him know I'll be
late home, but the reception in here is awful. I'll be waiting outside."

Jimmy nodded. "Okay, mate. If my dad is still here, will you tell him to
come in, it looks like we're in for a long wait."

Once outside the front doors, I waited till Mr Mitchell had gone inside,
then I was free to make that all important phone call. "Hi, Dad, you can
tell your boss she was right. There's something going on with that uncle of
his, and with the head teacher's boy, I caught him and Street in bed
together this morning."

"Really," my dad sounded disbelieving. "Do you have any proof?"

I grinned to myself. "Just like you taught me, Dad. Chip off the old block,
that's me. I've got some juicy pictures of him and his uncle and I'm
sending them ASAP."

"Good lad! I'll see you later."

I slipped y phone back into y coat pocket and went back inside to see what
other tid-bits I could find. I hadn't a clue why my dad was so keen for me
to keep tabs on the kid but it beat being bored.

 Now read on

Mags's story

I just couldn't believe how stupid these kids had been, but perhaps it was
a good thing this had happened, because now it appeared Joey was sick with
something that might not have been detected in time. As we waited in
casually for the medical team to put a cast on Joey's ankle, I hoped
whatever else was wrong could be investigated and treated early, before
Joey got really ill. There were so many illnesses that would lie dormant or
undetected for years, and then all of a sudden erupt with a severity that
would be impossible to treat. My thoughts must have shown on my face
because Dad laid a gentle hand on my arm and squeezed it. I covered his
hand with mine and smiled at him, knowing he was just as anxious as I to
hear what the other doctor had to say. What I didn't tell Dad was that I
had already gone through a similar waiting period with Billy. All I could
do was to pray that the prognosis would not be as disastrous; I didn't
think I could go through losing Joey the way I had lost Billy. While I
tried to stay calm for Dad's sake, I watched the others trying to deal with
the situation in their own way. Pete seemed more worried about Dad than
anything and I appreciated that while I watched the boys, apart from Jimmy,
shuffle about in their efforts to appear nonchalant about the
incident. Jimmy sat next to me with his head in his hands while his dad
paced the floor with a phone glued to his ear as he tried to contact the
boys' parents, if only to let them know where they were.

As I was let all these thoughts run riot around my brain, Dad nudged me and
lean into whisper in my ear. "I thought that lad couldn't get a decent
signal in here? Mitchell seems to be doing all right."

I shook my head. "Maybe he's on a different network. Some networks are
better than others."

At this, Jimmy raised his head and gave me a thoughtful look. "I don't
think so. Dad and I are on the same network and I'm sure I saw Bernie
topping up his phone with a similar card to mine. Maybe he had some trouble
with his phone; he was fiddling with it a lot before he left."

"Or not." My suspicious mind had already begun to make all sorts of weird
and disturbing computations. "How long have you known him?"

"Not long; why?"

I shook my head, not wanting to alarm him, but if I was correct, The Bitch,
was having Joey watched, and who better than someone at school? "What do
you know about him?"

"Nothing much. He moved to Little Fordham from Manchester with his dad
about three months ago. I've no idea what his dad does. Bernie's always a
bit vague when asked about him. All he told us was that the guy's an agent
of some kind for a business in the midlands. It must be a decent job
because Bernie's always got money in his pocket, and I'm not talking about
a couple of twenty pound notes. I've seen him with a roll of them."

Dad lifted his head at that moment, and our eyes connected in a knowing
glance. He wasn't all that savvy about state of the art stuff but there was
nothing wrong with his brain when came to picking up clues. Word had it
that he wanted to be a police detective before my granddad dragged him into
the farming business. I didn't have to say, "Are you thinking what I'm
thinking?" because I knew that he was.

At that moment, Bernie walked up the corridor, smiled and nodded to us, and
leaned up against the wall beside Jimmy. "So what's the news?"

"He's having his ankle put in a cast." Jimmy said. "Then he has to wait and
see another doctor."

Bernie stared down at Jimmy then at us, but I didn't see any genuine
concern in his eyes. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

"We don't know yet, "I replied, wishing the kid would just disappear and
failing to keep my irritation out of my voice. "That's why he has to see
another doctor." I rose to my feet, gave him a knowing glare and stalked
into the room where Joey was being attended to. A nurse tried to stop me
approaching the treatment couch but Joey spotted me and reached out a hand
towards me.

A young make nurse with pips on his shirt shoulders looked up from
adjusting the straps of a rather bulky looking foam cast on Joey's
ankle. "It's all right nurse, I'm almost finished. Mr Alton is it?"


Joey's Story

I didn't take in half of what went on around me; my ankle, although most of
the pain had gone, ached like mad as the nurse worked on it. I knew that
was because of the painkillers the doctor given me. Through a sleepy haze I
heard the first doctor talk about wanting me as calm as possible for when
some other doctor came to see me. What did I need another doctor for? I'd
only dislocated my ankle, and I just wanted to sleep. The pillow I lay on
was comfortable enough and all I had to do was relax, just like the doctor
had advised before he left the room. Through a daze, I watched the nurse
place my ankle in a wedge of blue and yellow foam. What? No plaster cast? I
raised my head to take a better look and saw the door open, and there was
Mags; my saviour. I reached out my hand to him and I heard the nurse say
something to him. He hurried to my side and took hold of my hand, and I
choked up.

"Hey, sport! How are you feeling now?" In reply, I tried to get my mouth to
work, to tell him I was so glad to see him, but the only noise I made was a
load of gibberish. Mags pushed me down to the pillows and stroked my hair
back. "It's okay, sport. The doctor wants you to have a rest so he's given
you something to make you sleepy. Don't try t fight it, you'll only feel
worse."

The doctor appeared on the other side of the gurney and they talked over me
before the nurse leaned down and gave me a warm smile. "I've decided to
keep you in overnight for observation, so we're transferring you up to the
Children's Ward." I shook my head as he went on, "That way we can have you
calm and relaxed for when my colleague, Doctor Simms, sees you later on. We
want to find the reason for all your fainting spells. It might be something
simple like severe stress, or something more serious in which case we'll
arrange for you to be transferred to Manchester Royal for more tests first
thing on Monday. But I'm eighty percent positive it's only stress
related. Okay lad? You just relax now, and get some sleep. I'll see you
later with Doctor Simms."

"Mags! Mags?" I felt his hand pull away, and I scrabbled for it. The
doctor's face appeared above me again. "It's all right son, your uncle can
stay with you."

As I relaxed, I felt Mags take hold of my hand once more, squeezing it
right. His face took the doctor's place, full of concern. "It's okay,
Joey. I'm here."

"Mags?"

"What?"

"What about the show?"

"Let's get you seen to first. We'll talk about the show later. Just close
your eyes and try to sleep."

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting. "Promise?"

"I promise."

 The last thing I knew his lips touched mine before I woke up in a two-bed
ward with Disney pictures on the walls, and with a stomach that yelled
"Hungry". I looked at the other bed and found it empty. Oh, yeah, shipped
out as many patients as they could at weekends, didn't they. Brilliant,
that meant I would be on my own. I tried to turn on my side but something
held my left foot. I raised my head and saw that foam-clad ankle was raised
on a frame. At last moment a cubby nurse with a face like Aunt Cissie's
came in. Who, your awake! Are you hungry, dear? I'll get a porter to bring
you a lunch tray. Lunch was served an hour ago but I'm sure we can find you
something. Back soon!" Before I had time to reply she had scuttled out of
the ward. I looked round the room to see if I could see a clock and saw my
watch on bedside cabinet along with a jug of orange squash. My watch said
one thirty and my stomach growled at me. Twenty minutes later, a porter
walked in and dumped a tray on an over-bed rolling table. Shoved the table
across my legs, glared at me and walked off. Okay, well, good afternoon to
you too!

I sat up as best I could and pulled the table closer. Lifting off the plate
cover I surveyed what was supposed to be a meal. Two sausages, a lump of
mashed potato, a spoonful of peas, and the whole lot cover in congealed
gravy. I felt the plate; it was cold. I took a forkful of potato; that was
cold too. There was a button by my bed-head to summon help. I lay down and
pressed it. Oh, lovely! The same porter came back in. "Well?"

I pointed to the meal. "This is cold."

The porter glared at me. "So?"

"I can't eat it."

"Kitchen's closed." Was all I got before the guy turned at walked off.

Angry now, I pressed the bell again. Thankfully, a nurse in a yellow
uniform came in and I explained my problem. With a smile she took the tray
away and promised to get me something else. Another nurse came in with a
first one I had seen. They fussed about the bed, lowering my ankle and
raising the back support and helping me take a pee. "There you are, dear."
The chubby nurse stacked the pillows from the spare bed behind me. "I'm
sure you'll be more comfortable now. "We're off duty now, but there'll be
someone popping in to see to you through the afternoon." The other nurse
warned me not to get out of bed and made sure a fresh pee-bottle was within
my reach. Unfortunately, when they left they didn't put the table back, and
that wasn't my only problem. The porter who brought me a second tray was
Mr. Grouch from before. He saw were the table was, dumped the tray on it
and walked off with a malevolent smile on his face. I stared at the tray
and watched the steam filtering out from under the plate cover. I pressed
the bell. No answer. I measured the distance between the bed and the table
and wondered if I could hop or even walk that far. I drew the covers back
and eased my injured ankle from under them. I felt a twinge but nothing
like the pain I'd had earlier. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I
sat on the edge of the bed and lowered my right foot to the floor. Okay so
far. I pulled my hospital gown down over my thighs in case someone walked
past the open door and stood up. Holding onto the bedside cabinet, I tried
my felt foot on the floor. Okay again. I took a step forward with my left
foot and a hop with my right before I had time to bear any weight on my
left. I could do this okay. I took another hopping step and pain shot
through my ankle. Over balancing, I grabbed for the cabinet, missed and
sent the jug of orange flying. Hospital floors are slippery when wet; they
are also cold and very hard, as I found out seconds later.