Half life

The full banana

Carole Morin

Maddie telephoned in the middle of the night to boast about her heart attack.

`It's your mother,' Dangerous Donald muttered, passing me the phone.

`I'm lying here with wires coming out of me,' she said. 'I won't last the night.'

`Shouldn't they have confiscated your telephone?' I asked.

`Is that all you can say? I'm at death's door. Don't shame me by not rushing to the hospital. And whatever happens don't show up here with that walking-stick of yours.' Maddie is terrified in case anyone finds out about my tubercular toe. Accord- ing to her, it's only dirty folk that get tuber- culosis — even if it is confined to one small toe bone.

Mr Blur, the consultant, came on the 'phone. 'What's the story?' I asked him, wondering if I was having a convincing nightmare.

`I don't have a crystal ball,' he said obscenely. 'Your mother's had a massive coronary. She may live, she may not.'

Maddie was furious that I couldn't catch a plane to Glasgow until the airport was open. 'That's just like you,' she said, 'you would have to be living in London at a time like this.'

When I arrived at the hospital wearing my Patrick Cox patents with an oriental Liza Bruce dress that had been lying by my bed, Mr Blur (whose name turned out to be Brown) said, 'She's not playing by the rules.' Maddie did indeed look deathly lying there without make-up. Her blue-tint- ed lips and cracked eyelids made me want to cry but I knew I was only feeling sorry for myself.

`What happened?' I asked.

`The West of Scotland is famous for heart attacks,' a nurse hugging a clipboard answered for her. 'Smoker?' Maddie got a tick. 'Fatty diet?' Afraid so. 'Family history of heart disease?' Yes. Loads of ticks! Torquemada turned to me, 'It's in the genes. It'll be your turn next!'

`At least I'm not obese.'

`That won't be much use to you when your time comes,' Torquemada said, cheer- fully, making her exit.

`Do you think they go in for euthanasia here?' Maddie asked me.

`It's bound to be cheaper than keeping you on that machine.'

`You're terrible,' she said. 'You've never really forgiven me for Hammy.' Out of all the kids in the class, I had been picked to take Hammy the hamster home for the summer. He had a cage with a red wheel. I put a Club biscuit in it before going to bed in case he woke up before me and fancied a snack. In the morning the biscuit was gone and so was Hammy.

`Where's Hammy?' I asked, staring at his empty cage.

`He died suddenly in the night.'

`Died of what?' Hammy was brand new, the school had just got him.

`Heart attack,' she said, going red.

`You murdered Hammy!' I was appalled and thrilled at her ruthlessness.

At the end of the school holidays I returned the empty cage to Miss Swan. `Where's wee Hammy?' she asked, brow puckering in concern.

`My mummy murdered him.' I said. The whole school was talking about it. Wee girls who'd never even met Hammy hud- dled in the toilets, crying. The groovy head- master sent for me and asked, 'Is your mother the full banana?' The next day it was forgotten by everyone except Maddie.

Lying in her hospital bed, pale and old, she said, 'You ruined me. I couldn't show my face at PTA again. But I'm telling the truth. I never murdered Hammy — I chased him. And let's face it, he stank to high heaven.'

`I bet your fingers are crossed behind your back.' That's what Maddie does when she tells a lie that God can't punish her for.

`I swear on my life. I opened his smelly cage to clean it and Hammy ran away.' Changing the subject she said, 'Oh well, that Eric Canton's a sexy beast, isn't he?' We shared a beautiful silence. Maddie touched her blueish lips with her index fin- ger and said philosophically, 'You know, next time I disturb you in the middle of the night it could be to let you know I'm dead.'