Island Hideaway 5 - Coma Hide and Seek​

"Is she dead?"​​

​​"Of course she's not dead. Why would I bring you a dead body? She's in a coma."​​

​​"Why the fuck have you brought her here in a coma? This isn't the coma ward of the mainland's main hospital, it's an isolated, one-house island which doesn't even feature on the maps."​​

​​"She needs a place to hide away. There aren't many places left that don't feature on the maps." Eddie still had that knack of using your argument against you. ​​

​​"You can't play hide and seek when you're in a coma."​​

​​"To be honest Terrence, it's about the only thing you can do."​​

​​There was a long pause, spent looking at her prostrate body, no noticeable signs of life. The life-support was plugged into a very-makeshift looking battery-operated device. A line on a screen blipped up and down, the only indication I could see that she was alive. The screen blips therefore I am, as Descartes would undoubtedly have thought had he ever been in a coma. ​​

​​"There are people who want to silence her," Eddie said.​​

​​"She's in a coma," I said.​​

​​"Exactly."​​

​​"Isn't a coma silent enough?"​​

​​"It isn't permanent enough. We brought her here because it's safe. The safest place in the universe."​​

​​"We? Who else is here?"​​

​​"There's nobody else here. And it's best you don't know anything about us."​​

​​There was a long pause during which I made every possible effort not to find out anything about anything. There were a million and seven questions I didn't ask. As I say, a long pause.​​

​​"You seriously want to leave her here?"​​

​​"I've never been more serious."​​

​​"I've no idea what to do. I've got basic first aid and have helped give birth to a sheep, but that's the extent of my medical experience. ​​

​​"Let's get her into your house and I'll show you. We've planned for this, don't worry." (That 'we' again, another thousand questions I failed to ask).​​

​​With a great deal of care, we moved the body onto the land, along with a battery pack, a month's supply of intravenous fluid, a box of assorted medical equipment and a book 'So You're Looking After a Coma Patient'.​​

​​Transferring everything onto a trolley we carefully wheeled her, along with the equipment keeping her alive, up the incline from the bay half a mile to my house. It was the hardest half mile I have ever walked, every moment expecting the trolley to slip from my grasp and Mo’s prostrate body to go speeding down the hill like a scene from The Last of the Summer Wine, except The Last of the Summer Wine never involved coma patients and certain death. ​​

​​En route I thought up no fewer than seventy-nine things that could go wrong during the journey, but in spite of these we made it safely, no tragic comedy scenes. ​​

​​"Thank fuck," I said.​​

​​"Thank fuckity fuck," Eddie agreed. ​​

​​We set up Mo in the spare bed in the downstairs room I used for storage, attached the drip and connected her life support machine to the mains. I kept the battery nearby, recharging, ready for one of the frequent power cuts that comes with living on an isolated island that power companies sometimes simply forget about. Eddie taught me the basic medical procedures, how to change her drip, how the equipment worked and the basic nursing care she would need. There was an alarm system which would sound if the electricity cut out, so that I would know when to switch to the battery (Eddie took me through the process to be sure, as "It could happen in the middle of the night when your brain's not properly functioning.")​​

​​"You're not planning on going away are you?" Eddie said. "She'll need someone nearby at all times."​​

​​"I am away. I'm about as away as it's possible to get."​​

​​Eventually Eddie was happy that everything was in place and that I knew what I was doing. Now, I thought, is the time to talk, share a bottle of whisky and find out what the hell was going on.​​

​​"Well that's everything. I'll be back in a few weeks," Eddie said. "You've got my number, don't ring it. If you need me use this number, it's untraceable."  He handed me a mobile number, doubtless one of those paid for in cash disposable mobiles you see in crime dramas and mobile phone adverts.​​

​​I took the number from him and stashed it safely in my all-things-belt. ​​

​​"You're leaving me? You've only just arrived."​​

​​"I need to go before I'm missed. It's essential that nobody has the faintest idea where Mo is, I need to be back on the mainland tonight or they'll search for me." ​​

​​I tried to persuade him to stay, to help me through the first day, to tell me what the hell was going on, but he was in a hurry. He returned to the boat said a farewell "See you in a few weeks" and sped away.​​

​​I watched him go, but I didn't stay staring out to sea, as once I might, as now I had a coma patient to care for. ​​