The Last Request
No, Im never going home again groaned James, clutching his side and writhing in pain. And Ill never see Emily again. I was going to propose, you know. Missed my chance What did I ever do to deserve this?
Dont get in such a flap, the nurse said, flashing a reassuring smile as she noticed how pale the young man brought in by ambulance had gone. Itll all be fine.
Highly doubtful James managed, with the gravitas of someone being sawn in half, or possibly waiting for a haircut.
And then, not wanting to ruin the full effect of suffering unnecessarily, he sat in abject, wide-eyed silence while everyone prepared him for surgery.
*****
James had never been a fan of hospitals. It was a point of honour instilled in him since childhood, for in such establishments, pain was dished out for free, and nobody ever apologised for the emotional trauma.
Oh come on, Jimmy, stop the waterworks! the nurse would chuckle, jabbing his finger to extract blood. Youre a big boy now, off to school soon, but crying like my Aunt Mabel at the end of *EastEnders*. Arent you a bit embarrassed?
James had peered through tears, trying everything short of tunnelling through the floor to escape. No, he wasnt embarrassed. He was in agony and, frankly, insulted.
On the way home from the surgery, hed passionately promise his mum never, under any circumstances, to set foot in a hospital again.
Never ever, Mum. Id rather die! declared little James, dramatic as only a six-year-old in a duffel coat can be.
Oh, dont be so daft, his mother would sigh. Doctors are there to help people, so they dont get ill or, you know, perish unnecessarily.
Cheers, James would sniff, inspecting the fresh pinprick. Let them treat each other then! Leave me out of it.
Need I mention what happened when they dragged him to the dentist to get a tooth pulled? The screaming could be heard from the cross street, even with the windows closed. Sentimentality carried no weight there.
So, it was no surprise that, now technically an adult, James avoided medical establishments like the leftover lettuce on a service station sandwich.
He succeeded. Until fate or a rogue appendix put its foot down.
He and Emily were supposed to go out for dinner; hed arranged for musicians to play her favourite song. The waiter was even in on the proposal plan. Instead, James doubled over at the last moment. In the end, Emily had to call for an ambulance.
I dont need the ambulance Ill just walk it off! he protested.
Dont be stupid, James. I can see youre in bits. Its probably your appendix. I had the same; dont argue.
Thus did James, against every fibre of his being, find himself in the gloom of City Hospital, Ward 6.
You get the idea.
The prospect of surgeons rummaging about his inner workings made James quite nostalgic for the time hed almost escaped a flu jab in Year Four. As a gurney creaked past, pushed by two men who looked like they moonlighted as undertakers, James was overwhelmed with existential gloom.
Thats it. Im not coming home he groaned. Ill never see Emily again. Ill never tell her how I feel What rotten luck.
Dont be so gloomy! chirped the nurse, clearly used to melodrama. Its just a straightforward op. And you came in time, so no worries. Now, if youd turned up tomorrow, youd have something to complain about.
And, as it happened, the surgery went smoothly. Not a single horror worthy of a Sunday tabloid. For the first time in his life, James left a hospital with a vaguely positive impression if you didnt count the food.
They sent him off on the operating table, and the next he knew, all the worst was behind him. By the afternoon, he was tucked into a regular ward bed, and he promptly fell asleep waking only at intervals for the mysterious changing of drips.
But the next morning
James discovered hed acquired a roommate: an elderly gentleman snoring softly in the opposite bed.
Just my luck, thought James. Hell latch on and give me his entire life story.
He wanted peace, preferably of the permanent variety. He didnt even message Emily, just sent a perfunctory Im alive text and hid his phone.
Emily and James had been living together over a year. The plan had been to propose the night before the grand gesture, the musicians, the ring hiding under a silver cloche. It was meant to be magical. Instead, he was stuck in pyjamas eating questionable jelly with a pensioner.
To Jamess surprise, his new cellmate respected the rules of British small talk. He said good morning and said nothing more. Instead, the old man muttered to himself as he failed repeatedly to get through on his mobile. He called all day, until the phone died.
No charger. Left at home. And, of course, it was a brick the sort of phone you could use as a paving stone. No one on the ward seemed to own anything made before 2018.
Eventually, staring bleakly at his lifeless phone, the old man began to weep. At this point James found a small pang of guilt, having mentally consigned the fellow to the bin marked bores.
So, gathering his courage and his dressing gown, James sat on the edge of his bed and asked if everything was alright.
I just cant get through to my son, sighed the gentleman.
Does he know youre here? James asked, genuinely shocked.
Oh, he knows The nurse called yesterday, when they brought me in. Still, he wont speak to me. We argued months ago, just before my birthday. He wanted to stick me in a care home and sell the house, but I wouldnt have it. Not just for the house.
He explained how hed landed in hospital with a heart attack, and how the doctors had stabilised him but said hed need an operation.
Theyve pencilled me in for the day after tomorrow. He paused, looking weary. But Im afraid Ill die long before I see that operating table.
Nonsense! said James, determined to cheer him up. Doctors exist to keep us all alive. Look at me out with the appendix yesterday! Still here, albeit with less equipment.
The old man smiled, but didnt bother to point out the difference between an appendix and a dodgy heart.
Ive just got my dog left. Hes out there somewhere. He looked out the window, voice trembling. I wanted my son to look after Biscuit if anything happened to me or at least find him a good home. Neighbours wont take him in too many pets already. And lets face it, theyre not going to go door to door for a scruffy mutt. But my son might, as a final favour. Not for free! Hed inherit the house and garden hes been eyeing up for years. Fairs fair. Only he never returns my calls. The nurse rang him too. Wouldnt even talk to me. Thats my son for you
James didnt have a snappy reply to that.
I worry about Biscuit. Whatll happen to him? Wholl take care of him out there alone?
Daft old man, thought James. But as the man told the story of finding Biscuit, James quickly changed his mind.
I found him on my birthday, would you believe. Six months ago now. My son had forgotten, and theres not one other relative left. My wife bless her died five years ago. Funny thing, she turned up in a dream the night before, dog on a lead, smiling and waving. The next day, I went out to get my groceries. There he was, tied to a railing in the cold rain. I asked about, but no one knew whose he was. I waited hours, hoping someone would come. No one did. By dark, I knew hed been abandoned.
So you took him in?
Of course I did! How could I leave him? Might sound mad, but I thought my wife sent him. Saw I was lonely, saw the rift with my son, so she gave me a mate.
James nodded noncommittally anything to keep things cheerful. The old man seemed to need someone in his corner.
We got on famously, me and Biscuit. I still tried to find his owner, put up posters everywhere. But no one came forward. And, truth is, I was glad. Biscuit well, hes more than a dog, you know? Hes been my reason for getting up in the morning.
That evening, James lay awake, worrying about the dog outside and the son who seemed to lack the usual human complements of heart and soul.
If you can ignore your dad in hospital, youre made of stone
He drifted off, and dreamed of a scruffy little mutt padding the streets, searching for something, while James trailed behind, inexplicably invested in the outcome.
He woke to the sound of the old man choking for breath, clutching his heart.
Shall I call a nurse? James leapt from bed.
No, no. Later he rasped. But ring my son, David. Please? His numbers on that scrap of paper. Tell him to come, if he can, just so I can say goodbye. Or, if he wont, at least ask him to find Biscuit a new home. I know Ill not see him again. But if I knew Biscuit would be alright, I could go in peace.
James hesitated (nurse or phone first?), before tremblingly dialling the numbers scribbled on the bedside table.
Hello, is that David? Im your fathers roommate here He paused. Incredibly, hed never actually got the old mans name.
Im Arthur, Arthur Smith, croaked the old man.
Arthur Smith. Hes ill, asks if you could come. If not, at least rehome his dog, Biscuit. I think hed rest easier.
Is he dying, or what? David asked, practical to the core. Which hospital? Is it the sixth? Ive lost track.
Yes, sixth. Ward 314.
James repeated the address, then threw down the phone and set out to find the on-duty nurse, who he found napping at her desk. Garbled explanations ensued, and then James hurried back to the ward.
How are you, Arthur? The nurses gone for the doctor. Hang in there, alright? Your son said hed try to come. Arthur look at me, dont close your eyes!
Arthur Smiths heart stopped before the nurse and half-awake doctor got to the room. The doctor pronounced in weary monosyllables, checked for a pulse, and left. Twenty minutes later, the same porters James had seen on his way in wheeled Arthur away.
*****
Your father died with me by his side, James told David when he appeared the next day.
Well, thats for the best, David said, with all the warmth of a wet dishcloth. At least he didnt linger, you know? No one wants to be stuck caring for an old man when you barely have time to sort your own life. Ive got family, a job Hes at peace now. Thats what matters.
Arthur wanted you to promise youd find Biscuit a good home, James said flatly.
Oh the dog! He rescued some mongrel a few months ago. Whos going to want that? He even refused a care home because of that blasted dog. I tried to tell him, it was for his own good. But he was always stubborn
That was his last request, James said, giving him a very English look. You really cant do this one thing? Especially now the house is going to you.
David eyed James warily; then, without a word, scooped up his dads battered phone and the piece of paper, and left. He didnt bother saying goodbye just banged the door as he went.
James sat on the bed, feeling sadder than he cared to admit. Arthur was seventy-seven, but plenty make it to ninety. He could have had more years. Fate strange and fickle stuff.
And now Biscuit was alone in the world.
I doubt David will bother, thought James. Hell sell the house; Biscuitll end up a stray. With luck, the neighbours might give him leftovers. Without luck
That night, James dreamed of Arthur walking the old streets, calling for his dog, teary-eyed.
James ever the stiff upper lip found himself having a little cry in the night, though itd been ages since he last let his emotions out in public, let alone in private.
Even back home, after he was discharged, the dreams didnt stop. Mornings became introspective affairs, enough for Emily to notice.
You alright, James?
Yeah, just thinking.
About what?
There was this old man in hospital with me. Was meant to have a heart op, but he died. He had a dog left behind. Only relatives his son, and they hadnt spoken in months. Arthur called him all the time, but David never answered. When he turned up, his father had already died. I asked him about the dog, but it was clear he only cared about the house. Right there, he was phoning estate agents, seeing how soon he could sell it off. Poor old dog. He was a lovely man, Arthur, so his dogs bound to be decent too.
Shall we see if we can find him? suggested Emily. If hes still hanging about, lets give him a home.
Are you sure you dont mind a dog?
Of course not. I think itd be great! We can go for walks together. Just think!
James beamed. Brilliant! OnlyI have absolutely no idea where Arthur lived.
Ill sort it, said Emily. Well stop by the supermarket for chocolate and a fancy coffee just in case we need to sweet-talk the hospital receptionist.
Turns out, hospitality via caffeine and confectionery works miracles. The woman at reception flatly refused to give out an address until presented with Dairy Milk and a jar of posh instant. With a bit of charm (and a hint about a sad dog), the address was discreetly slipped over.
Forty blissful minutes of A-roads later, James and Emily arrived at Arthurs house. They wandered around the sagging garden fence, but there was no sign of Biscuit.
A neighbour popped out as they loitered. Looking for someone?
I shared a ward with Arthur Smith. He James hesitated. I was with him, at the end.
Oh, the poor dear. Such a shame. They never make blokes like that anymore. May he rest in peace. His son didnt even sort out the funeral properly just did the bare minimum, and now hes redecorating to flog the place.
Did you see what happened to his dog? James asked. Arthur was worried sick about him.
Little Biscuit? Saw him waiting outside, day after day. Sat by the gate, watching for Arthur to come home. He never came, of course. First night after well, he howled till morning. Did it most nights, honestly. I understood it was grief. David, though That bloody mutt! He yelled, bundled him in the car, drove off. Then he disappeared. Gone back to wherever he lives, I expect.
Any idea where he took Biscuit? Emily interjected. And, erm, what does he look like?
The neighbour pulled out her phone. Hes a short little thing, proper cute. Oh, wait, Ive got a picture.
Emily took one look. Thats a corgi! How gorgeous. But David didnt say who he was giving him to?
Said hed found someone but hes never liked pets, even as a child. Typical. How Arthur had a son like that is a mystery.
They thanked her and drove off, subdued and guilty for acting too late. If theyd come sooner, maybe they could have found Biscuit. Now, who knew where hed ended up?
James tried phoning David directly. Rejected. Blocked, it seemed. Lovely.
Well just have to hope Biscuits alright, Emily said, forcing optimism. Best to think good thoughts.
Moments later, that fabled force called fate intervened. Stuck in traffic, Emily took a detour, and after a few miles she slowed, pointing at the verge.
James, look! Isnt that him?
He peered out and there, on the grassy edge of the bypass, sat a small, forlorn dog, unmistakably Biscuit.
They stopped, got out, and crept closer. The closer they got, the surer they became: this was Arthurs Biscuit.
Biscuit! James called, heart in his mouth.
The dog started, turned to look at them with huge, uncertain eyes.
Thats him, no question, James told Emily, dropping into a crouch. Biscuit, dont be frightened. I knew Arthur he asked me to look after you. Would you like to come home with us?
The corgi stared, wary but curious. Then he leaned in, sniffing Jamess hand. And just like that, a tail began to wag, hopelessly optimistic.
Those hands they still carried the scent of Arthur. After all this time.
Biscuit edged closer, then leaned against James, trusting him completely.
As James absentmindedly scratched his head, he realised the dogs bright eyes were suspiciously shiny. Emily wiped her own cheeks as she watched the scene.
And so, the three of them set off home, a new plan for the future already taking shape.
James and Emily cheered their fortune at taking the scenic route and finding a friend who needed them as much as they needed him. As for Biscuit his delight was impossible to miss. Hed been lost, and now he had home, humans, and kindness. What more could a dog want?
*****
Well, muttered James later that night, as Biscuit stretched out happily on the sofa, thats family for you. David re-homed the dog and couldnt be bothered even to say goodbye.
Let it go, Emily murmured. We have Biscuit now, and he has us. Life will set David straight in the end. One day hell be old and lonely, too. Then maybe hell understand.
Suppose so James sat watching Biscuit, who was dreaming, paws twitching in some doggy adventure. James reckoned he knew who the dog was running to meet in those dreams.
He smiled, got up very quietly, and fetched the little box with the ring hed hidden away ages ago.
That very evening, finally at home, with Emily and Biscuit and no musicians or waiters James proposed. Not in a fancy restaurant, not in the way hed planned, but in the only way that mattered, right there, in the moment. Emily, of course, said yes.
And thats the story.
