Is There Anything You Want? Read Free Page B

nurse came in, surprised to find her still there, and asked if she was all right. She didn’t reply but slowly she got up from the bed. The nurse screwed up the paper on the bed, the noise violent, and spread a clean sheet. Another nurse came in, carrying a slip of paper, telling her to trot along with it to haematology. She asked if Edwina knew where that was but didn’t wait for an answer, said follow the yellow line back to the entrance hall, then follow the red line. Edwina took the paper, retreated to the changing part of the cubicle, dressed herself. She didn’t feel hot any more, didn’t put her jacket on top of her sweater. She unsnibbed the door. The clinic was so full that some people, men, were standing. There must have been some kind of commotion. Nurses were clustered round a woman sitting huddled on the floor. Edwina walked past them, found the yellow line, followed it, though she had no need to, she knew the way. That Friend was still standing, lording it in the entrance hall. She went behind her, picked up the red line starting at the reception desk. She’d no need of that line’s guidance either, but she followed it, looking down dully at it as it turned corners and shot down corridors. She arrived at haematology. She knew the system. Little numbered tickets came out of a machine, like they do at the deli counter in a supermarket. Take one, sit, keep aneye on the screen flashing up the numbers. She was thirty-seven. They were at twenty, but she knew things moved with speed here. They did. In no time, she was on her feet, moving to the door where a nurse took the slip of paper. It was a long, narrow room. It always reminded her for some reason of a shoe shop. The only shoes in sight were on people’s feet, but the atmosphere was like a busy shoe shop, slightly frantic, chaotic. Something to do with how the seats were arranged, all along one wall, with arm-rests to the right of each one. They were all men, the technicians who took the blood. She thought they were some sort of technicians, not nurses, though they wore white coats. Did she mean laboratory assistants, she wasn’t sure. No one ever told you anything. They were too busy to talk. It was all sit down, bare your arm, small prick. So busy. Blood pouring out of everyone into phials. Don’t be silly, not pouring, tiny amounts, dribbling. The man in the middle of the row was free. He beckoned to her. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. She went to him. Sat. He tightened the rubber thing round her upper arm. Asked her to clench her fist. The vein came up nicely. He was skilled. The needle went in easily. She watched the blood, her blood, squirt into the test tube. It looked rich. It looked good blood. And then the man said something. He patted her arm, the arm he’d taken blood from, and said, very quietly, almost whispering, now you take care, dear.
    Did she smile? Did she acknowledge his little bit of kindness? Did she say that yes, she would take care? She had no idea. She could hardly see for tears, hardly gather up her strength to leave the room. Her progress from the room was unsteady. She couldn’t see the red line to follow. Twice she lost the way to the entrance hall, twice turned corners into corridors unfamiliar to her. Miles of floor stretching in front of her, sign after sign directing her everywhere but to the exit. She had to stop and collect herself, breathe deeply. Then she felt a hand on her arm. ‘Are you all right, dear, can I help you, where are you going?’ She tried to say she was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. She coughed to cover her confusion. The coughing helped, it cleared her head. She saw it was that woman, that Friend, the one who waited for prey in the entrance hall. She pulled herself away from thehelpful arm and said she was perfectly well, thank you, just a coughing fit, and strode off briskly. She could see the exit sign now. She passed swiftly