The Magic of Figaro

Chapter Three

Mum told me later the doctor arrived home before she did. When she found us, I was clutching Pru's hand. Dr Smethfield had electrocuted his body. In the last moments of life, the faint ebbing of blood in his veins, he had managed it. I owe that doctor. Pru's eyes were fluttering as Mum, Monty and Mrs Wheatseed arrived back.

To say I was exhausted was an understatement. I was beyond human tiredness, physically and mentally. Once I knew Pru had made it, I staggered up. My heart and mind gave my body permission to rest. I nearly blacked out then and there, but managed to stumble towards my bed.

When I woke, it was evening again. Monty had just left. I imagined him pacing anxiously outside my bedroom, hoping every creak was me waking up, alive and happy. I doubt this was the case. Everyone was probably clustered around Pru's bed, making sure he kept on breathing. I don't blame them. I've never seen anything that horrifying before.

When I slump into his room, I find the doctor and Mum sitting on chairs around his bed. Pru is sleeping, a peaceful smile on his face. My heart relaxes. The chair creaks as Mum turns to me. She has a weary smile on her face. I pick up a chair and move it up to where the adults are sitting.

"Is he OK?" I immediately ask the doctor. He chuckles and smiles grimly.

"Yes, thanks to you."

I don't smile. The shock of the night is still cemented into my mind.

"You must have undergone a great ordeal," he says, patting me on the shoulder. "You did marvellously. I can applaud you for that. It was all those compressions that kept his heart fluttering for all that time until I arrived. If you hadn't, The Fib wouldn't have worked. He would have been far gone."

I nod. Mum massages my back with her fingers. "You did wonderfully, from what I hear. Pru was asking you for you when he woke up a few hours ago. He wanted to know where you were. I had to give him the truth. His sister was bone tired from keeping his heart running for so long."

"It felt like hours," I remark. "It was Pru that kept me going that whole time."

"I've heard that before," sighs the doctor. "Unfortunately, pure love is no cure."

I lean back in my chair, gazing at Doctor Smethfield's face. He kneads his face with his hands, and then flexes them. He folds them across his lap as he fixes us with a piercing stare.

"I won't pretend that Pru's battle last night wasn't worrying. I hate to say it, but Pru will be in the danger zone for some time yet. I've been saying it for years, that boy needs an operation. I know," he says, silencing my demur, "that it's too expensive, but we have to face facts. I've seen patients with piedoporosis before. This is just the beginning. Once they start to black out like this, without any previous symptoms, it means they're reaching the turning point of the disease."

He looks pained to be saying this. I'm keeping my face passive, but inwardly my heart is pounding.

"Let me put this simply; if Pru doesn't receive treatment, he is unlikely to survive the ordeal ahead. He needs surgery to survive. There is still a chance he could survive without, but it's very uncertain. The survival rates are low."

My heart stops. Pru is still in danger. Here I was thinking that last night was the worst that could possibly be. And now-

"I'm sorry, Dirgette," the doctor is talking, "I wish I could do more."

Mum's face is blank. She can't accept it. Her son has been given a death sentence.

Dr Smethfield sighs and pats her arm.

"I am truly sorry. I won't charge you for tonight." I acknowledge this kindness with a nod. But it's forced. It's dead. Just like Pru might be.

He looks as if there is so much more he wants to say. Instead, he leaves the room, leaving a world of despair behind.