Paint Me True: Sample Chapters

Five: Nora

Twenty-four hours later I was in London, Heathrow, another face in the hordes on the move. I’d cleared customs and immigration and now tried to stuff my passport into my pocket with one hand, hold onto my bag with the other, and follow signs to the trains all at the same time. I’d done this before, and just like before it gave me a thrill to know how far I’d traveled. The glimpses of sky I caught through the windows showed gray clouds, but it wasn’t even six a.m. Given how far north I was, and the fact that it was the middle of the summer, the sun was already up and with luck it’d burn off that layer of cloudcover. Right now, though, I imagined the landscape as watercolor material, the pale gray concrete of the buildings overlain with all shades of greenery.

I got some pounds sterling out of the first cash machine I found – using a debit card Aunt Nora had given me. We’d fought about that, years ago, and suffice it to say, she’d won. My bank and credit card company charged fees for every foreign currency transaction I made, and Aunt Nora had showed me her checking account balance. It was six figures. That, and she’d broken down in tears and told me neither of her children ever came to visit, so she wanted me to come as often as I liked. Since she doted on me like a mother, I decided to think of myself as a daughter to her, even if there was only a fifteen year age gap between us.

The train to Oxford was already in the station, its silver gray cars stretching off down the platform like an articulated metal snake. I selected a car about halfway down its length, stashed my luggage in the metal rack and sank into a seat facing forwards. I fished out a can of Dr. Pepper that I’d bought on my way through the airport and drank it as fast as I could. I needed to stay awake, or else I might sleep through my stop.

As the engine spun up and the train began to move, I took out my British cell phone – one I’d bought a couple of visits ago – and switched it on. The UK had pay-as-you-go phones that never expired. I could keep my number and prepaid minutes for as long as I wanted, a deal I wished I could get in the US. The phone chimed to let me know I had a message.

“Hello, my name’s Colin Radcliffe. I’m a nurse at St. John’s private hospital. We’ve received your aunt into care and she asked one of us to call you. We’re located in Summertown. I’m sending you a text with directions from the train station.”

Sure enough, there was a text with the directions. I loved modern technology.

The train pulled into Oxford at 7:48, and I stumbled off with my luggage. I needed to sleep, but more than that, I needed to help Aunt Nora. I bought another Dr. Pepper in the station and downed it fast, then went out to the taxi stand and explained I needed to get to St. John’s hospital in Summertown. For a few confused minutes the cabbie at the front of the line argued with me about the location, then said, “Oh, right, you mean the private ward in the general hospital.” I knew nothing about the hospital system in Oxford, so I just had to take his word for it. He claimed, looking at the directions on my phone, that this was the right place.

He helped me load my bags into the car and then we were off. I tried not to look. Walking around Oxford was pretty easy. The roads twisted and turned and changed names sometimes, but you could pick a direction and work your way to where you wanted to end up. Driving, though, required knowledge of the one way streets and weird intersections. I ignored how often the driver turned in what seemed like the exact wrong direction as we darted down the narrow lanes, dodging bikes and pedestrians.

Yet at the same time, I willed myself to be alert. If the hospital was giving my aunt a hard time, then I needed to be ready for a fight. I hated hospitals, but I had enough experience to know that it never paid to be easygoing. You had to demand what you wanted and make sure you didn’t let the staff rest until you got it.