Winston Pig was standing on his plot, studying his plans and imagining his 3-bedroom brick house. “You look like a tasty little pig, just right for my hog roast,” cried the wolf and he huffed and he puffed and blew the plans away. The little pig ran off to his brother’s house.

The second little pig, Karl, was standing on the foundations of his house, watching the wooden panels being craned into place.  “You look like a tasty little pig, just right for my hog roast” cried the wolf and he huffed and puffed and he blew the panels down. The second little pig ran off to his brother’s house.

The third little pig, Giles, was already living inside his straw bale house. He was busy chopping salad and baking bread to eat with a bar-b-q when he heard a knock at the door.

“Giles let me in quick! A wolf has just blown away my plans and tried to catch me for a hog roast,” gasped Winston.

“Come in, you will be safe in here.”

Shortly there was another urgent knock. “Giles quick let me in! A wolf has just blown away my house panels and tried to catch me for crackling,” said Karl clearly distressed.  

The three little pigs had a beer together and made a plan. Just at the moment the wolf was reading their sign “hogs to roast” they operated the trapdoor and the wolf tumbled into the cellar. They caught him and had the tastiest bar-b-q they had ever known.

She imagines staying in the flat and notices a slow band of grey clouds moving in a different airstream. The grey is being overtaken in a race across the sky. Overtaken by an armada of galleons in full sail that glides so fast she feels like she is steaming across the ocean. She reaches out to check the ground. Is she moving or are they? The dry sharp stalks tell her that her ship is stationary. She smells the mint and thinks.

She turns her head to see high wispy clouds escaping like steam from a bubbling cauldron. The vapours flow and merge making images against the sky. A horse silently mutates into a lizard and then is gone. A map, islands moving and colliding in a frenzied continental drift. Two lands meet and close together leaving a lake of sky between. A round lake that’s being squashed and pulled. For an instant it’s a perfect heart and she takes a mental photo of this moment.

The shutter clicks something in her mind. Now she knows what they’re going to do. The lava stone is lifted, the wild mint smells good and she notices that the clouds have translucent edges that let through a magical platinum brightness.

“He had it coming,” hummed the frog, smugly, from a lily pad. As he watched the cat trying to swim to the bank, Arthur noticed a beautiful princess standing by the edge of the water. The princess looked at Sidney. Arthur looked longingly at the princess, spell-bound as she bent down and scooped up her bedraggled beast, kissed his nose and carried him off into the castle.

The leaf buds were bursting on the knobbly old oak tree as I opened the card: “Congratulations, from proud new grandparents.”

Before you started school we lived outside under that tree when it was hot.  Painting “my family” smudgy pictures in the dappled shade.

So many autumn leaves – you helped sweep them up. Bonfire and fireworks, soup and toffee in your den: “Adults keep out”.

A ring tone jarred as snow settled silently on the branches and smouldering logs filled the house with a sweet smoky smell.  “Hi mum, b home from uni b4 xmas eve, xxx.”

The hall throbs, the lights flash, your fast-fingered solo captivates the crowd. I’m so proud. I look at you but in your face I see your granddad. It’s sad. He would have loved to see you play. You never met him but you’ll understand one day.

A huge, bumpy, bulging Christmas stocking awaited two year old Jacob on Christmas morning. Installing himself in the middle of his parents’ bed, he ripped open the wrappings with glee while they watched with expressions of adoring satisfaction.

Later that day, at Grandma’s house, Jacob excitedly told his big cousin, Matt, about his haul. “So what did your mum and dad give you?” enquired Matt amazed. “Nothing” was the matter-of-fact reply.  Overhearing this, Jacob’s naive parents felt as dismissed as a Christmas tree on twelfth night, but consoled themselves that they were no longer Santa virgins.

“It’s alright Mary, we’ll look after you” reassures the professional on the other end of the phone line trying hard to keep her patient talking. Mary feels like someone is sitting on her chest, squeezing the air out of her. As she struggles to breathe, she feels like she has walked up four flights of stairs yet she is slumped on the bottom step barely able to hold onto the phone in her clammy hand. As pale as the Berber carpet, Mary feels guilty at making a fuss, and all she can think, as the nice lady keeps talking in her ear, is I mustn’t be sick here.

Two hours earlier, as Simon had been leaving for work, he had looked lovingly at his wife “Don’t forget, 1.00, at Il Forno, I’ll try and get a table with a view. Bye sweetheart – ooh you look summery today” said Simon glancing up and down at her turquoise Laura Ashley skirt and crisp white Broderie Anglaise blouse. As he walked away from the house he turned to catch her reply: “I won’t forget darling, I’m looking forward to it. I can’t remember when we last had lunch together – we’re always too busy these days.”

Simon peeks at his watch and quickly shuffles the piles of paper on his desk so that the most important is on top waiting for his return. Gulping down the remaining half of a mug of tepid coffee, he checks his e-mail. Half a dozen uninteresting messages have dropped into his inbox but not the important reply he’s waiting for. He double checks his diary for his next two commitments and leaves his office, locking the door on the way out.

Tall and conservatively dressed in a suit and pastel-striped shirt, Simon would blend into the crowd if it weren’t for his striking tan and sun-bleached hair. Only his pale panda-eyes mar his handsome brown face. His weekends off-shore sailing were his passion and more than compensated for his Monday to Friday existence.

Waiting to cross the main road, Simon notices the postman emptying the letter box opposite – the midday collection right on time. A pizza motorbike drones past him: barely reaching the speed limit despite the young driver revving the 50cc machine aggressively. A plumber’s van cuts in close to the kerb where Simon is waiting, so that an ambulance – blue light strobing and siren screaming – can squeeze through the narrow caused by the post van. “Typical white van driver” mutters Simon as he jumps back from the edge.

“OK love, what’ve we got here?” asks Stan, ambulance man Number 1, down the phone “Mary, chest pains, short of breath, suspected heart attack” is the professional reply from the other end. “No disrespect love, but beats me why she phoned you lot at NHS Direct instead of coming straight to us” scoffs Stan and then puts his hand over the phone to convey the vital details to his partner. “Lucky she was hanging out the washing and left the back door open.” “Right, can you hear me Mary? We’re here to look after you now” says Ali in a clear, calm reassuring tone while confidently slipping an oxygen mask over her face.

The distinctive ethery medicinal smell makes some people a bit apprehensive but not Simon. He’s only going to give blood, something he’s done scores of times before – practically every time the blood transfusion van comes to the civic office car park just across from his company. Finding out that they sometimes run short of O negative blood – his type – paradoxically because it’s the most common, had prompted Simon to become a conscientious donor.  He’s greeted warmly by Lily the regular nurse in this area: “Hello Mr Cheseldon, good to see you again. How are you today?” she enquires in her broad Geordie dialect.

Mary looking grey and barely conscious is on a stretcher being wheeled out to the ambulance now, mask and drip in place. Stan, a practical ambulance driver with years of experience has spotted her mobile phone on the hall table and has tucked it under the blanket on the stretcher. He’ll mention it to the duty sister later. He’s locked the back door and pulled the front door closed behind them.

Within 15 minutes Stan and Ali have handed Mary over to the A&E department. Luckily for Mary, they are having a quiet day. There has been no crash on the bypass, no drunken fights, no amateur football matches to create competition in triage. Mary is wired up to an ECG that is monitoring her heart rhythm and they are taking blood samples to test. The duty sister is looking through the plastic zip-lock bag with Mary’s patient number on it. Finding the mobile, the sister immediately checks for ICE numbers although doesn’t really expect to find them. But she does. The first one says ICE Simon Work: “Hello, this is a message for Simon. I am afraid I have to tell you that we have a Mrs Cheseldon here in Guildford Hospital. You can come to the main reception or contact us on ….” The second ICE number, labelled Simon Home, is more successful. It is answered by a lady.

Simon has had a quick cup of tea and a biscuit and been given the OK to leave. As he crosses the car park another ambulance blares along the main road in the direction of the hospital. There must have been a crash on the by-pass, he thinks, hurrying off to meet his wife. Bounding up the stairs two at a time to their favourite Italian restaurant, he wonders if she will already be there. “Bonjourno Signor”, “I’ll have a table for two by the window over there if you have one please” asks Simon, nodding towards the side of the room with the best views over town. “And while you are waiting?” the waiter enquires raising his eyebrows. “A fresh orange juice.” Inhaling the mouth-watering aroma of Italian breads mixed with basil and oregano, Simon checks his phone and places it on the table in front of him. He scans the view – beyond the modern glass domed roof of House of Fraser you can see right round from the college in the north, to the cathedral and the hospital chimney in the south.

Twenty minutes and a large orange juice later and Simon is still on his own. Keeping his tone light he leaves a message belying his concern: “Darling, you haven’t forgotten our lunch have you?”– his panic rising by finding his wife’s mobile unanswered. He tries to reassure himself that this is her one day off. As fund-raising coordinator for the local hospice, currently planning a celebrity cricket match and a strawberry tea at a local stately home she is quite pushed at the moment. She probably has a million things to fit into today. After 45 minutes, Simon settles his bill and leaves unfed but not hungry. He starts off in the direction of his office and then changes his mind. With an urgent stride he heads for home – one of the advantages of working locally. If he is quick he will still make it back in time for his video conference at 2.30. Putting his key in the door there is no sign of anyone. No car, no mobile and no note.

“Hello, you contacted me; I’m a relative of Mary Cheseldon”. “Ooh yes, follow me my darlin’, you may not be able to see her right away but I’ll take you to the doctor,” replies the warm red-haired A&E desk nurse in a sing-song Irish lilt. In stark contrast the next person to speak is the doctor:  “Hello, and you are …?” comes the flat, unemotional greeting. “Jenny Cheseldon, Mary’s daughter-in-law”.

“Mrs Cheseldon senior was admitted by ambulance with a suspected heart attack. We have had her on an ECG and done blood tests and I have concluded that there is nothing wrong with her heart but rather her symptoms are a result of acute and severe anaemia. I am proposing that we give her a blood transfusion immediately. Would you excuse me, I need to go and supervise my patient during this procedure. I would anticipate that you will be able to see her in about an hour.”  

Jenny stands staring at the patterned curtains, after the doctor has disappeared back inside the cubicle, trying to take everything in. She then hitches her bag back onto her shoulder, and wanders outside the building not noticing anyone else but smelling an unpleasant smell of cigarette smoke outside the automatic doors. Mary in hospital. It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t said she felt ill. Maybe she had been looking a bit peaky recently, been a bit pale, more tired than usual but needing an ambulance, it was just such as shock. Her mother-in-law was still working three days a week at the Citizens Advice Bureau as she had been since she was widowed 7 years ago. She told everyone it kept her young and kept her brain sharp. Living locally, Jenny was able to call in to see her several times a week and she hadn’t spotted any signs. Her house was as immaculate as always and Mary seemed her usual self.

Once Jenny is outside the hospital, she turns on her mobile. Telling Simon about his mother is her first priority.

Simon just made it to his office in time for his video conference with New York. Becoming impatient towards the end he muted his microphone in order to catch up with his voice-mail messages. Hearing the message from the hospital he could barely contain his anxiety and keep up appearances to his transatlantic colleagues. He felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. While still looking at the camera he retrieved his phone, flipped it open on his lap and peaked at the screen. 1 Missed call: Jenny.

The instant the video conference is concluded, Simon calls his wife back. “Darling are you alright?” he blurts. “I’m fine but …” “you’re at the hospital?” “Yes I am and ….” “so what’s the matter, are you ill?  Have you had an accident? I’ve been beside myself with worry since you didn’t turn up for lunch.” Jenny’s reminded that she had been looking forward to lunch but that seems days ago now. She had been brushing her hair and skilfully painting crushed coral on her lips when the hospital rang. Then she had pulled on an old pair of sandals, grabbed her bag and driven directly here – and her lunch date had completely slipped her mind. “Jenny, I don’t understand; please tell me what has happened to you?” Jenny snaps back into the present. “To me? Nothing is the matter with me darling, it’s your mother. She was brought into casualty this morning by ambulance. I don’t know what happened but the doctor said they thought she’d had a heart attack….” “I’m coming to the hospital right away” Simon interrupts.

Jenny turns off her phone and ambles mindlessly in the direction of the hospital café, past the cheerful Can we help you people wearing bright blue sashes, and the little shop full of cards and teddies. The doctor had said it would take an hour – but how long ago was that? She must at least have time for a cup of tea.

“Simon and Jenny, so good of you to come and see me. How did you know I was here?” Mary is propped up on a trolley; a tube leading from her arm and her face a healthy pink as if the infusing blood cells were going straight to her cheeks. Looking her usual smart tweedy self, her hair a neat grey perm and her nails polished, it was hard to imagine she could have been so ill. “I can’t remember much about what happened. You know I don’t like to make a fuss but I did feel rather poorly. I came in an ambulance you know.” Simon studies his mother – his eyes misting with worry, relief, confusion. To the right of her shoulder he notices the bag of blood but can’t quite make out the blood type on the label.

The warm Irish nurse pops her head around the curtains “here you are Mrs Cheseldon, here’s your bits and bobs” handing over a plastic bag containing her phone. “Clever you having those In Case of Emergency numbers in your phone, no disrespect, but not many people your age know about them. That’s how come you’ve got your lovely family with you now.”

2105 words