A sound came from the boy in the bed opposite, and Alfie looked across at him. His eyes were open but they didn’t seem to be focused on anything.
“He’s barely said anything sensible in a week, poor blighter,” said Georgie, shaking his head. “His mind’s done for.”
“Dad, you have to come with me,” said Alfie, tugging at his father’s hand. “We can leave, both of us. There’s a train. I’ve got two tickets. I’ll take you home. You’ll get better if you just come home.”
“All right, Alfie,” said Georgie, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t have any choice in the matter. “Dr. Ridgewell’s said it’s all right, did he?”
Alfie hesitated but then nodded quickly. “Yes,” he replied. “He says you’re better and all you need is to go home to your family. He told me to come and get you.”
“He never said anything about it to me. Ow,” he cried suddenly, grimacing and putting a hand to his temple. “Pills, pills,” he grunted, pointing at the dish beside the bed, and Alfie ran over to get them and the glass of water. Georgie swallowed each one quickly and sat back in his chair, breathing heavily as if this had already exhausted him. “It’s the headaches,” he said quietly. “I get them every so often. Rotten things, they are. Pain like you wouldn’t believe. They make me sick. I need my pills, Alfie. They give me them every three hours. Don’t let’s go without them.”
“It’s fine, Dad,” said Alfie, who knew there was a medicine cabinet in the bathroom at home next to the bandages, a gloopy green bottle for when he had a cough, and a couple of bottles of pills—he didn’t know what for. “We’ve lots of pills at home. You can have some of those.”
“Oh, all right then, Alfie,” said Georgie, shrugging his shoulders again, and it was only now that Alfie realized that his dad wasn’t behaving like his dad anymore. It was as if they’d swapped roles and Georgie simply believed whatever Alfie told him; as if he were the adult and Georgie the child. This idea made Alfie feel very uncomfortable and even a little frightened. His dad was supposed to take care of him, not the other way around.
“Come on, then,” he said, pulling his father up again and leading the way out of the ward. “We need to go downstairs quietly.”
“Bye, lads!” said Georgie cheerfully, waving at the men in the beds, but his voice was too loud and Alfie shushed him. They made their way to the ground floor without anyone noticing them, and out into the courtyard, where Alfie retrieved his duffel bag; he opened it and pulled out the trousers, shirt, and jacket that he’d taken from his dad’s wardrobe that morning.
“Put these on,” said Alfie. “That way no one will grow suspicious on the train.”
“All right, Alfie,” said Georgie, obediently putting the clothes on over his pajamas and then slipping on the shoes that Alfie handed him. “You are sure about this, though, aren’t you? Dr. Ridgewell says it’s fine?”
“He told me to come and get you,” said Alfie. “Come on, Dad, let’s go.”
As they turned the corner, Alfie saw a man marching toward them wearing a full dress uniform and he felt his heart jump in his chest. The man was staring at the two of them and picking up his pace as he got closer.
“Don’t say anything, Dad,” whispered Alfie. “Leave this to me, all right?”
“All right, Alfie,” said Georgie.
“You, boy,” said the man, stopping before them. He had very red cheeks and a snow-white mustache and was carrying something resembling a cane in his hands. “Where am I?”
“The East Suffolk and Ipswich Hospital,” said Alfie.
“Yes, I know that,” said the man irritably. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I’m looking for the entrance to B wing. There’s a bloody great dog down there at the main doors, and every time I try to go in he growls at me. I would have shot him, but I left my gun at GHQ.”
Alfie stared at him in horror. For a moment he wondered whether this was just another one of the patients, but the man’s uniform said otherwise.
“Who are you anyway?” asked the man. “What’s a boy doing here? And who’s this fellow?”
“Georgie Summerfield,” said Georgie, smiling as if the whole thing was a terrific joke. “I had a dog myself when I was a boy. A little King Charles. Melancholy little fellow. But full of love.”
“Fascinating,” said the man. “Work here, do you, Georgie?”
“Dr. Summerfield,” said Alfie quickly.
“Oh,” said the man, looking him up and down and backing off a little. “You’re in charge around here, are you?”
“Not me, sir, no,” said Georgie.
“Dr. Summerfield is just leaving for the day,” said Alfie.
“At this time?” asked the man, checking his watch. “Bit early to stop work, isn’t it?”
“He was on the night shift,” said Alfie.
“And what are you, the ventriloquist’s dummy? Can’t Dr. Summerfield speak for himself? Who are you anyway?”
“His father is a patient here,” said Georgie, standing up straight now and speaking in a clear voice.
“And how’s he doing?”
“Not well. He came to see him, but we can’t have boys here. I’m making sure he gets back to the station on my way out.”
“Hmm,” said the man. “Very well. Give him a clip around the ear, did you?”
“No, sir,” said Georgie.
“I would have. Can’t abide boys, me. Or girls. Any children, really. Either gender. I don’t discriminate. Hate them both equally. Well, look … B wing—help me out, will you?”
“Go through this door,” said Alfie, “then walk down the corridor, take the first left and you’ll come to a staircase, go up one flight and turn right until you reach St. Hilda’s Ward, then go through the door that says No Entry, and the long corridor there will lead you to B wing.”
“Thank you,” said the man, nodding cheerfully now. “Think I got all that.”
“You’re welcome,” said Alfie, who had made up every word of that last speech. But he simply wanted the man to leave and hopefully to get lost in the corridors of the East Suffolk.
“You did brilliant, Dad,” said Alfie when the man was gone, but Georgie had relapsed into his former absent state now and it took him a long time to turn his head.
“What was that, Alfie?”
“You were just like your old self. He didn’t suspect a thing.”
Georgie said nothing, simply frowned and then closed his eyes as he let a low groan emerge from his mouth and pressed his hands to his temples.
“Dad,” said Alfie. “Dad, are you all right?”
“Fine, son,” said Georgie quietly. “Can we go inside now? I think I should get back to my bed.”
“No! I’m taking you home, remember?”
“Oh yes,” he replied. “All right then. If that’s what you think is best.”
Halfway down the drive, Alfie saw three nurses coming up it, and he pushed his father behind a group of trees.