Doctor McKendrick was running late again and Elvis was bored. The only magazines in the waiting room were old copies of Woman's Weekly and Good Housekeeping. Doctor McKendrick finally called for Elvis. Henry was sat with him again and smiled warmly at Elvis as they sat down. Before the doctor could start to speak the door burst open and the receptionist put her head inside the room.
'Doctor, the nurse wants you right now! Misses Roebuck's collapsed.'
The doctor sighed and grabbed his stethoscope. Today was never going to run to time. 'I won't be long... hopefully.' he grumbled as he disappeared after the receptionist.
Monica looked uncomfortably at Henry and then studied the pattern on the carpet.
'How you feeling Elvis?' asked Henry. 'No more turns?'
'Em, no' said Elvis 'I don't think so.'
'That's good.' Henry nodded at the magazine on Elvis's lap. 'You like a bit of Woman's Weekly, eh?' he asked with a smirk.
'Oh no, I just... there was nothing else out there. I wasn't interested...'
'Hey, I'm only teasin'. I know it's all crap out there. Trouble is if they put any decent stuff out there it gets nicked straight away - an' it's the receptionists that take 'em!' he added with a snigger.
Elvis smirked back.
The door opened and Doctor McKendrick walked back in. 'False alarm, yet again.' He slumped back into his swivel leatherette chair. 'Now where were we? Oh yes, Elvis, your results.'
Elvis bit his lip in anticipation. He had come to the conclusion that he hadn't imagined everything, but he still wasn't expecting good news. He knew his body was damaged and the last thing he really wanted checking was his brain.
'Now it's good news Elvis. The CT didn't show anything new, the EEG was normal and the blood tests were fine.'
'Oh good. So he hasn't got epilepsy then doctor.' said Monica.
'Oh yes, it’s definitely epilepsy. But the tests were all good.'
'But, if the tests were all clear, how is it epilepsy?'
'Oh, it's like that sometimes.' explained Doctor McKendrick
'So what's the point of the tests?' asked Elvis feeling confused.
'Don't be cheeky Elvis.' scolded his mother.
'We won't start any medication for now though, seeing as the tests were clear. We'll wait until the next one.'
'Oh dear, will there be a next one?' asked Monica.
'No, hopefully not. But if he does have another we can give him some drugs to stop them. Anyway, I'm running very late now so if there's no more questions...'
'How do you treat plague?' asked Elvis, trying to make it sound as natural as asking the time.
'When will he have the next one?' asked Monica.
'We don't know Misses. Klatzmann.' he answered with a hint of impatience in his voice. 'And what was that Elvis? Did you say how do I treat ...plague?'
'Yes' replied Elvis, 'it’s... for school, a project.'
'Oh, I see. Well, I don't treat plague Elvis. It's been gone from this country for a long long time. But I know we could treat it now with antibiotics.'
'Good' said Elvis, pulling out a pencil and piece of paper. 'Which one would you use and how much do you give them?'
'Gosh that's a very detailed project you’re doing there Elvis. I'm afraid I wouldn't know precisely. I'd have to look it up.' He turned to Henry. 'Do they still have plague where you come from Henry?'
'No, I don't think there's been plague in Leeds for a long time.'
'No, I meant... oh, it doesn't matter. Anyway, I'd love to help but there's a whole waiting room full of people out there Elvis and I need to get on. Come back and see me in a month and we'll see how you're going.'
Elvis was deflated. He'd have to try and get information from somewhere else.
'I could 'elp you Elvis. We can go look it up together if you like.' said Henry.
'Yes, yes. Good idea.' enthused Doctor McKendrick. If he could lose Henry for an hour he would have a chance of making up some time. 'Why don't you go and do a little research together. Then you could give me an update on plague too Henry. I'd like that.'
Elvis and Monica followed Henry back out to the waiting room. Monica wasn't going to sit and listen to a load of boring talk about school projects. A little shopping would be a more productive use of her time. She arranged to meet Elvis back at the surgery in an hour and headed for the arcade.
Elvis and Henry sat in an empty consulting room and poured over medical texts and the computer. Henry printed off some information, the medicines, what dose and how long to give them.
'So, if say, tomorrow, there was a little outbreak of plague not far from here,' postulated Elvis 'how would those people get their medicine?'
'Outbreak of plague? In London?' Henry laughed 'Hey if there were plague in London tomorrow, the shit would hit the fan big time. There'd be public health people crawling all over the place like flies. They'd sort out the medicines, don't you worry.'
'But, are these easy medicines to get?’ asked Elvis, 'If you needed them, that is?'
'Oh yeh. One of those on that list I take for me acne every day.'
'So I can buy that from the chemist... if someone needed it.'
'Yeh, with a prescription. Every chemist would 'ave it.'
'A prescription?'
'Yeh, a prescription. You'd have to have a prescription from a doctor to get it from the chemist.' The phone rang. 'Ok, I'll be out in just a tick.' He turned back to Elvis. 'Look, my wife's 'ere to go for lunch so we'll 'ave to wrap it up for now. Your Mum's due back any'ow.' He picked up a small leather satchel and began rustling through it. 'But before you go, I've got somethin' for you.' Finally he found what he was looking for and pulled out a piece A4 paper covered with a patchwork of pictures and names.
' 'Ere, Elvis, look. I did you this, thought you might find it interestin'.' He passed the piece of paper to Elvis. 'What do you think all those people 'ave got in common?'
Elvis looked at the pictures and names. They were in three groups. The first was a collection of historical characters including Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Socrates and Joan of Arc, then there were some modern day faces he recognised such as Danny Glover and Martin Kemp, and finally a row of writers and sports stars that he'd never heard of.
'Any ideas?' asked Henry.
Elvis looked at him blankly and shrugged.
'Pretty impressive group, eh?'
Elvis didn't have a clue what he was talking about.
'They've all got epilepsy.' explained Henry. 'Every one of 'em! D'you reckon Socrates was stupid? What about that Napoleon. He didn't do too badly if you ask me. If you can have epilepsy and take over most of Europe then it can't be that big a deal now, can it? An' back then they couldn't even treat it!' Henry smiled and climbed to his feet. 'Come on, mate. Let's get goin'.'
They both walked out towards reception. At the desk stood a woman in long dress and hijab headscarf. She shared Henry's ebony skin. Her pregnant belly bulged under the long dress. 'This is my wife, Nya.' announced Henry. 'Nya, this is me little mate, Elvis.'
'Pleased to meet you Elvis.' She stretched out her slender fingers and gently shook hands with Elvis. 'He's not been boring you with stories of Leeds has he?'
Elvis shook his head.
Behind them, at the reception desk, a conversation was getting heated. A man in his late twenties was sweating and agitated, pacing up and down before the counter.
'I've been 'ere a fucking hour an' 'alf already! All I need is a fucking prescription! How 'ard is that?' He banged his fist on the counter. The receptionist jumped.
'Hey,' Henry intervened, 'no need to get upset.'
'Look, I'm sorry.' said the receptionist 'I can only tell you what he's saying. I can't do your prescription.' She edged further back on her chair. She nervously fingered the panic button under the desk.
'Well ring 'im again. Just bloody tell 'im that I'm not goin' anywhere without that prescription.' He turned to Henry 'And you mind your own friggin' business!'
The receptionist picked u
p the phone. 'I know Doctor McKendrick...Yes, I know you're running very late.... but he's most insistent... Ok, I'll tell him.' The receptionist replaced the handset and swallowed hard before looking up at the man. 'The doctor says he can't see you now. He says if you want a prescription you'll have to come back to the emergency surgery at five thirty.'
'Fucking bastard!' He pulled back his arm and slammed his fist into the wall at the side of the desk. The plaster board crumbled and his hand disappeared inside.
The receptionist hit the panic button.
'That's it!' shouted Henry 'Get out!' He grabbed the man's arm and tried to pull him away from the desk.
'Get your filthy black hands off me!' The man shook free from Henry's grip; then turned and rammed both of his fists into Henry's chest, shoving him violently backwards. Nya tried to move out of his path but caught her foot on the chair leg and stumbled. Elvis reached out to catch her but she was already falling and too heavy for him to hold. Her pregnant belly struck the corner of the coffee table as she tumbled to the floor. Elvis finished on the carpet alongside her.
'Ha! Look at you! Serves you right, you fucking terrorists! Why don't you both piss off back where you came from!'
Henry raised his fist ready to land a punch.
'Henry' shouted Nya from the floor 'leave him. He's not worth it. Henry! Please, for me!'
'Elvis! Elvis! What the hell's going on?' screamed Monica as she appeared in the surgery door. She ran to her son.
The man laughed. He barged Monica out of the way, kicked over a leaflet stand and disappeared back onto the street.
Doctor McKendrick put his head out of his door. 'Is everything OK?'
Monica swept Elvis to his feet and pulled him towards the exit.
'Mum, stop it!' protested Elvis, looking back at Henry kneeling on the floor by Nya.
Monica was in no mood to hang around. She dragged Elvis out of the door and off towards the bus stop.
Back home, Monica went straight to the fridge and poured a glass of wine. Her hand was still shaking. The phone rang. It was Doctor McKendrick. He'd rung to apologise for what had happened in the surgery and check that Monica and Elvis were both unhurt. 'Henry's young and inexperienced,' he explained 'you have to learn how to handle people like that. I'm sure he'll have learnt a lot from the experience. I'm sure it won't happen again. And anyway, I'm glad to hear you were both OK. So I'll see you again in a month's time.'
'Em, yes, a month.' replied Monica, wondering if she really wanted to go back there again. 'And everyone else was OK? That girl on the floor, she was alright?'
'Oh that was Henry's wife. She was a bit sore. I sent her off to the hospital to have a bit of a check up on the baby. I'm sure she'll be fine.'
Elvis meanwhile had slipped upstairs to check what was happening in the attic. At least he had a starting point. He knew what medicine he needed. He just didn't have a clue how to get it.
He pushed open the hatch and was met with the sound of excited chatter. It came from Le Clerc, stood at the window and peering out at the new view of London. 'Let's get out there and have a look! Come on, it's a whole new world! Look at those... carriage things. And those buildings! Look how tall they are. And... what the hell are those people wearing? What ever happened to style?'
Alongside Le Clerc stood his teenage greasy assistant. He was desperately trying to peep over Le Clerc's shoulder to glimpse the exciting new world. Another new couple was sitting on wooden crates. Elizabeth and her family were gathered in their old servant quarters in one of the attic partitions. The mother who'd been sitting out in the rain was feeding her baby again. The attic was looking rather full.
Le Clerc threw out his arms to meet Elvis. 'This must be the boy I've heard so much about! The boy with all of the answers! We've got to talk! There are so many things we could do together. Come on, you must take me outside and show me this new world.'
Elvis looked at his sores and shrank away. He looked around the room and shook his head. 'This isn't good. We've got to get you lot out of here.'
'Exactly!' said Le Clerc. 'Show me the new London.'
'No!' hissed Elvis 'I mean we've got to find somewhere else to hide you until I can work out what the hell I'm supposed to do with you all!'
Elizabeth put Alice down and approached Elvis. 'Could you find any? Did you get some medicine?'
'No' replied Elvis 'Not yet, but I do know what we need now.'
'Fine!' agreed Le Clerc 'We'll wait until you get some medicine and fix up these spots, and then together, you and me, we'll hit the town!'
Elvis decided he'd have to move them. But where to? The only place he could think of was at the rear of the church across the road where there was an unused hall. It was an ugly 1950's concrete block that had been meant for demolition for some years, just as soon as the church could afford to clean up the mess. Meantime it was being used to house donations for the annual jumble sale. It wasn't ideal but at least it would be somewhere safe for now.
'Please, keep together and keep quiet.' pleaded Elvis as he led them down the stairs. Monica was into her third glass of wine and starting to relax. She put Oprah on the television and her feet on the settee. She deserved a little relaxation after what she'd been through. Elvis tip-toed down the staircase into the hall. He gestured everyone to be quiet and pointed towards the stairs to the basement kitchen. But Samuel was curious about the noises and the laughter emanating from the living room. Through the crack in the door he caught a glimpse of the bright lights of Oprah. He nudged the door open a little more. His mouth hit the floor. A magical square box with moving talking people inside. What witchcraft was this?
'Elvish, is that you sweetie?'
Samuel didn't move. He was hypnotised by the people with the strange accents talking in the box.
Elvis heard his mother and spotted Samuel stood at the door. He dashed back down the hallway, grabbed his arm and pointed him towards the kitchen stairs. 'Yes Mum, only me.'
'What you doing sweetie? Come help me work this remote control? I can't get it to work.'
'Mum! I'm busy.' replied Elvis and pointed again impatiently towards the basement door. Samuel was now inspecting the vacuum cleaner.
'Busy doin' wha' Elvie?'
Elvis silently stamped his foot and pointed again for Samuel to head downstairs. Finally he disappeared down the steps. Elvis marched into the living room and snatched the control from his mother’s hand.
'Elvie, be careful sweetie!'
'There's a switch on the side here that changes it from TV to DVD. Look. All you need to do is slide it forward. And don't call me Elvie. Or sweetie. OK?'
'OK. But no one can hear us, sweetie.'
Elvis gritted is teeth. 'I'm going outside for a bit.'
Monica didn't hear him. She was busy flicking through the channels looking for Doctor Phil. He was on around this time, she was sure.
Elvis followed the group down the steps. He'd need to get them across the road and into the old hall as quickly as possible. In the kitchen he found Samuel with his head inside the oven, Le Clerc pressing buttons on the food mixer and his assistant Thomas opening cupboards and pulling out the strange cans and packets. Alice was charging around with a brush banging into chairs and table legs. Mary was sat on Elvis's favourite stool. She felt unwell again, nauseated and feverish and not helped by the memory of Fran lying on the floor of this same kitchen.
'Oh shit!' said Elvis 'Put all that down! Come on, we've got to get out of here before Morris gets back.'
Elvis opened the kitchen door and peeped out to make sure nobody was looking. It was all clear. He waved them all through. 'Keep out of sight, if you can.' he urged. He waited until the last one was out and quietly closed the kitchen door.
''Ere, do you know what the 'ell is goin' on?' The voice was deep and gruff. Elvis span around to be confronted by a huge man with unkempt beard and huge belly behind a dirty apron. It was the inn keeper.
'Oh no!' said Elvis 'Not another one!'
'Not another what?'
'Oh, don't worry about it. Just follow the rest of them.'
The group had gathered at the gate and were staring in wonderment at the street, the vehicles speeding by without horses, the bright lights, the strangely dressed pedestrians. Elvis waited for a lull in the traffic and then opened the gate and waved them through. He led them quickly across the road and towards the church. It was unusual for the street to be so quiet at this time of the day; he'd been lucky for once. But then a double-decker bus pulled up outside the church, opened its doors and discharged a mass of bodies onto the pavement ahead of them.
'Oh no,' grumbled Elvis 'just look down and say nothing. Let me speak if we have to.'
The pavement was narrow and they were going to have to squeeze their way through the crowd. But as they approached and people saw the sores and smelt the odours, they pushed and jostled to get away from them, stepping into the road and against the bus to get away. This wasn't the attention that Elvis was looking for. He had to try and think of an explanation quickly. He remembered an old movie he'd seen with his mother recently. He'd watched it because his mother told him it starred Indiana Jones but that wasn't quite right. It had modern day people who dressed in old clothes.
'Excuse me, coming through!' shouted Elvis. 'They're just Hamish people, from America. Just here for a visit. Coming through.'
Samuel meantime was admiring the bus. How on earth could these things work? It had to be magic. He put a hand onto the shiny stainless steel pole at the back corner and looked at his reflection. He climbed up to look at the strange people crammed inside. Then there was a 'ding ding', the bus jolted and then began to move. Samuel screamed. Elvis was at the front of the line and heard the shout. Samuel was hanging off the back step, one hand still clinging onto the pole. Elvis reached out, grabbed his arm and yanked him off the bus as it gathered pace. The two of them landed together on the pavement amidst the crowd of people. Samuel had an excited grin across his face.
Elizabeth was less impressed. 'Samuel, get up. What were you told?' she hissed. 'Get up right now.'
'Bloody freaks.' muttered someone 'I've seen them people on TV. They're even worse in real life.'
Elvis hurriedly led the group around the back of the church, watching carefully to ensure there was no sign of the vicar. The hall was made of plain concrete slabs with a series of high windows running along the top of the wall for ventilation. The double wood and glass doors bore a large crucifix on each window. The doors were firmly secured with chain and padlock.
'You said there was no plague no more.' said Samuel.
'That's right.' said Elvis 'It's long gone.'
'Well what's that?' Samuel pointed at the crucifixes decorating the doors. 'I ain't bein' locked back up in no plague 'ouse again!'
'No, there is no plague. This is a church hall, that's all. Just somewhere to stay.' explained Elvis. He rattled the door handles. 'Trouble is though, it's locked.'
'Here' said Le Clerc. 'I'm a dab hand at these things.' He pulled a pin from his pocket and began to pick at the lock. It was tougher than he'd expected.
'Watch out.' said the inn keeper and barged Le Clerc out of the way. He grabbed hold of one of the door handles and ripped it out of the soft, decaying wood.
'Who needs brains when you got muscle?' Le Clerc slapped him on the back.
The hall comprised a small glass foyer, followed by a single main room with a small kitchen and toilet at the far end. The far wall was lined with stacks of yellow plastic chairs, the other with wooden tables, each one piled high with clothes, blankets, toys and brick-a-brack, sorted into categories ready for the annual autumn jumble sale.
'This the best I can do.' said Elvis. 'I'll have to get back home before I'm missed.'
'What are we supposed to do 'ere?' asked the inn-keeper.
'Just... just make yourself at home.' suggested Elvis. 'I'll be back.'
Elvis slipped back out of the hall and closed the door. He peeked around to check it was clear. Nobody was in sight. He walked quickly around the side of the church and found the vicar in the middle of the path talking to an elderly female parishioner. Elvis hesitated. His instinct was to turn and run but he knew he'd be spotted. He'd just have to try and act casually, make out he'd been in the churchyard working on his project. He kept his gaze on the gate ahead and walked quickly past them both. In truth he didn't just feel anxious; he had a headache and felt sick. He was becoming hot and feverish and felt a little feint. The vicar lost concentration on the conversation but that didn't slow the old woman. She continued on about the state of the churchyard and the amount of litter and the vandalism to the headstones. It was all an utter disgrace. They needed security cameras and a guard with dogs. The vicar hadn't heard her though. He was eyeing Elvis with suspicion. What was this boy from number 28 doing in his churchyard again?
As Elvis walked out of the church gate, the shiny blue Subaru from the party was pulling out of his drive. The poly-tone horn sounded, the tyres screeched and it roared into traffic, forcing cars to skid to a halt to avoid collision.
Elvis checked around the garage again before heading indoors. As he climbed the stairs he heard shouting from the living room. Morris was trying to take Monica's second bottle of white wine away and was facing angry resistance. Elvis's heart sank. He hurried to get away from the noise. Most of the shouting was coming from his mother. As Elvis crossed the landing, there was a sharp 'slap' from downstairs, followed by the front door slamming, then silence. Elvis listened for a moment then kept on upwards. He'd wanted to check the attic before Morris got up there to look for rats. It seemed further than ever. He was getting dizzy and short of breath. By the time he finally made it to the top he felt as if he'd climbed Everest. He slumped onto the edge of the top step and looked around to see if anyone had appeared. But what met his eye was the sight of ripped up floor boards, emptied crates and upturned boxes. The whole attic looked to have been torn apart. Morris must have already done his search for rodents thought Elvis. He'd been very thorough.
Elvis slid back downstairs on his bottom. He stumbled his way back to his bedroom. He remembered the stone he'd hidden in his underwear draw and the stories he'd been told about it. He pulled open the draw. The stone was gone. He pulled all of the pants out and dropped them onto the floor but there was nothing but his boxer shorts and the unopened Y-fronts that Morris had given him last Christmas. Elvis began to feel worse. He started to cough and felt as if his head was going to burst. He lay on the bed and closed his eyes.
Chapter 8