Free What a Load of Rubbish by Martin Etheridge Page A

scanned the ward: nothing. Then, on the last sweep of the beds: “AH SO ZHERE YOU ARE! I AM LOOKINK ALL OVER FOR YOU UND VHERE ARE YOU. I VILL TELL YOU. YOU ARE IN HERE. UND VAS IST YOU DOINK . YOU IST VALLOWING IN YOUR OWN PITY DAS IST VAS YOU ARE DOINK!” There was a brief pause while Gisele got her breath back. The windows stopped rattling in their frames. The walls no longer shook. Then panes of glass began to crack. Plaster began to crumble from the walls. “UND MEIN GOTT! VAS HAVE YOU BEEN DOINK YOU ARE SO SKINNY MIT DER RIBS LIKE EIN GLOCKENSPIEL – YOU IST VASTEING AVAY!”
    She was right, now he no longer needed that extra bit of bulk to his shoulders to move his unwieldy barrow around with skill and dexterity, those muscles were no longer there. And in their place bones were beginning to push to the surface of his skin. Instead of being a bit of a hunk, he was on the road to becoming a piece of junk.
    Malcolm’s eyes looked up from the set. “Gisele – it’s you innit, what are you doin’ here?”
    “I haff kommen to wrench you from der depths of despair. Und to re-kindle aliddle leibe in das broken heart of yours.”
    “Forget it darlin’. I’ve ’ad it, I ’ave – mere flotsam on the sea of life – that’s me…”
    “Nein, nein Malky do not be sayink das. I do not zink you am ein ham floatink in der sea; vas ist zis mere ham you ist speaking of?” A puzzled look.
    “No – no Gise. You don’t understand.” Good old Malcolm, true to form, from his sickbed he was still trying to correct Gisele’s pidgin English, even when he could see no future in their relationship. Now that is love for you, “Flotsam, I said. Flotsam – it’s about shipwrecks, things that float about in the sea and stuff like that.”
    “Oh!” said Gisele, glad to have gained a little knowledge from this difficult situation but still worried at the thought of losing her man. She still looked puzzled as Malcolm went on.
    “Look at it from my point of view Gise, I’ve grafted f’that lot – man an’ boy – for twenty-seven, twenty-seven years. I’m clean, I’m smart, an’ I’m brilliant at my job. Cor blimey! I clean streets, disinfect where dogs ’ave done their business, take old ladies to town on me barrow, polish the numbers on doors so the postman can read ’em clearly. ’Er Majesty ’as even sent me an award for efficiency –” here Malcolm took on a very noble expression; he looked like royalty in pyjamas.“– Above and beyond the call of duty. And then I meet you and we get on brilliant – an’ I think you’re lovely you are. An’ just when I think things can’t get any better, what happens? That Willy ‘I’m going to be the next chuffin’ Mayor’ Eckerslike bloke sacks all us street cleaners and gets this ‘All-in-One-Der’ monstrosity an’ them rubbishy robots to do our work ’cos ’e don’t ’ave to pay them any money. An’ then to add insult to injury, I ’ear that you’ve run off with a perishin’ lollipop-man. I mean, I ask you? I’m a skilled urban roadside and pavement specialist. He just leans on his pole all day, ‘Stopping Children’.” Then a thought crossed his mind. “Stopping children from doing what, I’d like to know. No, I’m sorry Gise darlin’, I give up. You’ll have to find somebody else – it’s over…”
    Rumble, rumble, rattle, clink! Rumble, rumble rattle, clink, clink, rattle! The tea trolley sounded, quite far away down the ward. This meant it was three o’clock when patients and their visitors were given tea or coffee and, sometimes, a jam sponge-cake left over from lunchtime.
    “Oh no Malky mein chatz, you kannot be meanink that, ich liebe dich!”
    “I love you too Gise but I’ve got no job, no perishin’ money so this relationship is goin’ nowhere…”
    Rumble, rumble clink, rattle! Rumble, rumble, rattle, clink! That tea trolley wasgetting closer. It stopped next to Malcolm’s bed.
    “Tea! Coffee – would anybody like a