The Tale Of Mr. Henry Pascoe

The Tale of Mr. Henry Pascoe.

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         The purposeful, slow footsteps of the woman’s high heeled shoes faded as she retreated down the pristine white and green corridor. The noise seemed to echo through the silence, but nowhere more so than through the head of Mr Henry Pascoe. He had been sat in the same spot for no more than an hour, though it seemed to him a time unfathomable. His thoughts at first had been erratic, but had slowly drifted into a hollow void, where much went unnoticed, although he knew vaguely that something had happened. Something important.
         He also knew that he was waiting, apprehensively, for the woman to return.

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         The shutter on the fancy Canon EOS 350D opened and closed in rapid succession. The long blonde hair of the girl on the swing flew out behind her as she rushed forwards, then swept all over her beaming face of the five year old as she screamed with delight going backwards. She would keep this up for hours, and never seem to get bored of it. Such is the innocence of youth.
         The sun, bright and warm in the sky, caught her hair as it streamed out in the wind, making it shine and shimmer.  It rivalled the sun, no exceeded it in its brilliance and beauty in the photographers eyes.
         Click, click, click.
         The photographer stood and put aside the camera and went over to the swing. He stood behind it, and on the next back-stoke, he caught the chains, careful not to let the girl fall off. Again her high pitched laugh filled the air, and he felt infected with her pure, child-like joy.
         “No! Swing!” the girl giggled, “Daddy! Swing!” he laughed and lifted her a little higher in the air, so the seat was level with his head. He feigned dropping it a few times bringing further protests of giggles and humorous, whining ‘No’s’. He laughed with her as he finally released her and went back to the front of the swing-set, where he sat on the customary British white plastic lawn furniture, and poured himself some ice-cold, lemonade into a glass from the pitcher he had made for the two of them, and re-adjusted the parasol.
         Mr. Henry Pascoe felt so content. He loved days like this, just him and his little Jessica allowed a whole day together in the summer sunshine. Tomorrow would bring another such day, and there would be another after that, and again after that. Six weeks they would be able t spend together, uninterrupted by school or work. Six glorious weeks. He smiled to himself and sipped the bitter-sweet lemonade. He looked over at his daughter as she leaped off of the swing in the middle of a forwards rush, and ran squealing to the black and grey tabby that had just climbed over the fence. The cat looked quite startled at the loud enthusiasm of the greeting, but nevertheless allowed the girl to pet her as she settled in a convenient patch of sunlight. The cat was theirs, young but with endless patience for the girl and her heavy-handed but well-intentioned strokes. Her name was Tiggs; after Jessica’s younger attempts at her favourite characters name from Milne’s Winnie the Pooh stories.
         This was everything to Henry. Since his wife Evette had died giving birth to Jessica, this had become his entire family. He still missed Eve sorely, and the pain never seemed to lessen, it just became a part of his life; a part of him as much as his hair or eyes. But he did know how lucky he was to have Jessica, and in a way he was as happy as he thought he could ever be. He stood up, draining the last of his lemonade, and headed into the kitchen to make lunch ready for the afternoon.
         Inside, he stood buttering the bread for jam sandwiches; one eye on the knife as it scraped to and fro over the bread, and the other out the window on Jessica and Tiggs. Just in case. He was lucky really; a great family and a job that let him provide well for them and still afforded him evenings, weekends and holidays off everyone at Webster, Allen & Lloyd, the small-scale but highly successful lawyers he worked for, understood the situation and rarely let him be kept behind late.
         He finished putting sandwiches into the bag, along with Ribena, two apples and some crisps, and went over to the mirror in the hallway. He brushed his hair, which hung so it nearly covered his burnished hazel eyes and was as black as a ravens feather, then straightened his clothes. He looked well for his middling age, not much different to what he did when Jessica had been born. He always liked to look good, even when he was dressed down like he was, in a pale yellow polo shirt and old baggy and well-worn denims; it made him feel good when he looked good.
         He went back into the garden, where Jessica was now trying to crawl under a bush, likely after Tiggs who was nowhere in sight.
         “Jessi, you still wanna go to the park, or you going to do some gardening for me today?” she pulled herself out backwards, leaves sticking out of hair that was now an elegant mess, and ran over to Henry, flinging her arms around his knees.
         “We going to go feed the ducks now, daddy?” he smoothed her hair and threw aside the leaves and replied offhandedly to her expectant look.
         “Sure. You have the bread right?” she looked shocked and worried. The shook her head in horror, thinking as many children do that the ducks might well starve if they do not go and feed them.
         “That’s a shame.” he loved playing any game with little Jessi, but the wind up had gone far enough. He laughed and produced two small bags of bread, already crumbled into manageable pieces, from behind his back. “Good thing I do then, eh?” Once again her face light up.
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         A biro went back into the white jacket pocket of the young doctor. He turned and left through the door of the room, but before he had gone more than a few metres, he became blurred and indistinct.
         Mr. Henry Pascoe’s head hurt, and boy did he know it. He was vaguely aware of a woman bustling at the bottom of his bed. He could not make out much about her other than she wore pale blue and was very blonde. His memory stirred at the colour, and the way the light from the sun through the window played on it as she moved. His mind worked a little faster, and with a jolt he remembered Jessica. He shifted feebly on the bed, sending shots of pain though his body. He tried to talk, but could not make his mouth work.
         “Excellent. You’re awake. How do you feel?” the nurse had an unusually deep voice.
         “…Jessi…where’s…Jessi?” he managed at last.
“Jessi’s safe. Do you remember anything else Mr Pascoe? Why you’re here? Anything at all?”
He worked to try and answer, but his tongue felt swollen and dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth, so he eventually gave a deliberately slow shake of his head to keep from making the developing headache worse. The nurse came towards him, and checked his drip before looking at him straight in the face.
“There was an accident, Mr Pascoe. You’ve been unconscious for nearly two days. So has Jessi.” He struggled again, this time more fiercely due to his paternal concern for his dear daughter, and he mumbled in distress and anguish. “Your daughter is next door, you will be able to see her as soon as we have done some test on you and you can walk.”

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         The purposeful, slow footsteps of the woman’s high heeled shoes faded as she retreated down the pristine white and green corridor. The noise seemed to echo through the silence, but nowhere more so than through the head of Mr Henry Pascoe. He had been sat in the same spot for no more than an hour, though it seemed to him a time unfathomable. His thoughts at first had been erratic, but had slowly drifted into a hollow void, where much went unnoticed, although he knew vaguely that something had happened. Something important.
         He also knew that he was waiting, apprehensively, for the woman to return.
         She was the paediatric doctor in the hospital, and she had gone for the results of the C.A.T. scan they had done on Jessica. It had not been as long as Henry had though when the same slow click, click, click began to draw closer around a corner at the end of the corridor. It was not until the clicking if her heels on the polished floor had stopped barely a few metres from where he sat that he looked to see who it was. It was the doctor.
         He jumped bolt upright, a pain pulsing through his head and right arm from the sudden movement. He still had remnants of a concussion, and his right arm hung plastered and in a sling; he had suffered multiple fractures in his arm and a few broken ribs. But the pain he felt for moving so fast meant nothing in comparison with the pain and anguish he felt for his daughter. He wanted those results, wanted them to be good. The last time he had been allowed to see Jessi, she had still been unconscious, and he had not been allowed long as she was leaving for her scan. Since she had returned he had still not been allowed in, the doctors insisted she be left for that short time at least.
         “Mr. Pascoe.” The doctors voice was gentle and golden, and would have been honey enough to soothe many, especially when accompanied by the gentle smile she wore which, unlike some people, truly reached her eyes. Still, Henry could not help but see a conciliatory set to that smile, and a bracing gentleness in the tone. “I’m so sorry…” In an instant between that word and the next, images and sounds of him and his little girl slammed into his head with the force of a tidal wave, overwhelming him. Images of Jessi laughing and chasing Tiggs; Jessi’s fifth birthday party; the pair of them sat in bed together as he read her her favourite bedtime stories; him holding her in his arms for the first time. All these and more, ranging from her birth to that summer morning before going to see the ducks. “…that you have been kept so long from your daughter, and I understand that it must have been trying for you, but I’m sure you understand that we must be careful.” The statement threw his thoughts off slightly, and a faint hope blossomed, still tiny but there in his heart, that everything might be alright. “I have Jessi’s results,” she continued, the smile extending more and her eyes even lighting up a little, “She’s all clear. She’ll be fine.” The smile that flew across Henry Pascoe’s face at that moment, taking less than an instant to appear, would have told anyone who saw that he was the happiest man alive.
         Silent tears rolled down his cheeks.
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         More photos. More memories to be made and cherished. This time from a sixth birthday party, a day just a few weeks back that Mr Henry Pascoe had worried he and Jessi might not see. A pink bicycle with long ribbons in red, pink and white on the handle bars raced towards him. The stabilizers working to the full on her first bike. Jessi all but leaped from the saddle and hugged her father’s knees. He bet down and pulled her into a hug with his one good arm, and cried silent tears of joy and holding his most precious possession close, silently promising to never loose her.
         “Love you, daddy.” She whispered into his ear. “Lots”
         “I love you too sweetheart” Henry replied, looking at the blue summer sky, and thanking the Lord for His gift. The gift of another year for Jessi.
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