Sunday 2 August 2009

Lakeland Plague

It seemed like it had rained for weeks in Stanrith.

Doctor Niall O’Donnell stood saturated at the quarantine fence staring down through the hills over a swirling and persistent grey mist. Behind him a miserable plague spread through his village.

The rain pelted his yellow Mack. The earth had been upset further and grass was barely visible through the upturned mud. He briefly touched the rotten fence. The wood turned an ever-blackening muddy brown in the downpour. The fence felt soft in his hand, as if he could tear it, as if it would barely endure another soaking. As a fresh breeze sprayed the rain towards him he raised his hand to his face. He could smell the damp bark on his fingers.

He heard an ill cry of cattle faintly through a dim rumble of thunder behind him.  It was an expectant cry and O’Donnell took it as being meant for him personally. A village had put their health unfairly in his hands. Was he also expected to care for the cattle?

The holiday coach sped away from him down the road, bound for home. Not his home, his home was right here, here where his old but barely worn Wellington boots sank in to the slutch. He was virtually stuck in the mud and he didn’t care. For here he was away from the ill. Here he felt, though he shouldn’t, a calm lucidity.

As the white coach faded in to the distance he could still make out the two forlorn faces staring out of the back window. The faces were as old as his – forty. He had never seen two people look so distraught on leaving Stanrith. But in this case it was understandable. Their misery would be heightened further through the contrasting relief that would be felt by their fellow holidaymakers on that coach. For the majority had made a lucky escape. They were out of here and could resume their normal lives. Forget about this scare and put it behind them. They were negative, in the clear, free to go. The married couple at the back of the coach looked back for the two left behind. Their children. Their daughters. The not so lucky. The positive. The not allowed to go back. The quarantined.

The two teenage girls sat huddled together on a rotting wooden bench about twenty yards behind Doctor O’Donnell. They wore yellow macks matching both each other and his own. The large black waterproof sheet he had given them for added shelter hid their faces from him. It had been a sorry afternoon. He had hoped, perhaps, too optimistically that none of the holidaymakers had had time to catch it. That he could send them all away after having tested negative. Sorry to ruin your holiday ladies and gentlemen, but look on the bright side, at least you don’t have to live indefinitely under quarantine. On reflection maybe it was lucky that only two had tested positive.

O’Donnell the victim caught his last sight of the lucky coach as it disappeared to safety behind a line of trees. A civilisation lay beyond the endless sprawl of trees. It was an urban landscape O’Donnell had rarely visited since leaving university.

He turned and walked over to the victims on the bench.

“ We’d better get back you two back to the village” he said to the water logged sheet

The older girl lifted her side of the sheet and he now saw her face for the first time since he had taken the second blood samples. She had thick black eyebrows of the kind he had never seen on a girl. Her dark brown eyes stared at him malevolently as if accusing him for all the ills the village had inflicted on her and her younger sister.

“Oh there’s no rush mate” she insisted with well-practised sarcasm “We’re really enjoying sitting out here in the pissing down rain. A great end to what as been an absolutely top holiday”

“Okay I know it’s been traumatic. We’re going to do all we can for you and your sister you know?”

O’Donnell already got the impression he’d been left behind with more trouble. He looked at his watch. 7 0 clock. 7 0 clock and a drink had not passed his lips, How long had it been since he had made it till the evening before he had a drink? Maybe epidemics were the answer to his drinking problem

“Can we go to the pub?” 

The younger sister had now completely stripped away the sheet so that both of them now stared at up at him expectantly. The new face in contrast to her older sister looked almost pleased to be here.

“What?” O’Donnell asked

“I said can we go the pub? The Royal Oak. That’s the best one” the younger replied

“It’s a dump. Just like all the other bars in this shit hole” argued the older sister

“You don’t have to come”

“Shut up”

“I think we need to get you dry first. We then need to sort you out with a place to stay” interjected the Doctor “ We’ll take you back to the bus depot. Mr Clark is waiting for me and he’ll be able to sort us out with some hot drinks and food”

At the back of his mind he was hoping that Clarky had had the foresight to get something stronger in. Even it was that the supermarkets own brand bitter. Anything right now.

“Follow Me”

The girls stood up and began following the Doctor. As they approached he could see that the back wheels were now deep in the mud. When did it rain like this last? We don’t need this on top of everything else

“I think I might need you to give me bit of a push girls”

The older girl stopped still in her tracks and gave him the same accusatory stare she had mastered before.

“I hope you are joking” she said