Liz & Becky At GOSH

In the midst of the usual night-time noises rebounding across the car park, there came cries. Cries, calls and sometimes screams. Little people were in pain; small children were suffering in another world.

Above the chapel in the parents' block, two women craned their heads to listen. Nature recognises the calls of its own. Amidst the cries, the women could discern one.

"It's him, isn't it?" Liz inquired. Becky, in an adjacent single bed, sat up and strained to hear through the thick chapel walls and stained-glass windows. She looked tired, as if her vibrant youth had been drained away like sand through an hourglass.

"Yes, Mum. It is. It's him." She slid out of the check-patterned quilted cover and sat on the edge of the bed, the steel springs creaking. The cold metal frame pressed against her legs when she slipped her feet into red slip-ons. She picked her pink bracelet watch from a white bedside cabinet and looked at the digital face: 4:00 a.m. She pushed off the bed and took two steps to the door. The dark polished oak floor creaked. She lifted a white terry-cloth bathrobe from a hook. It had a blue "H" over the breast pocket. Its softness gave some comforting memories of happier times. She snuggled it around her.

"Pass me mine, Becky," Liz said gently, running her fingers through her hair. She was also sitting on the edge of her bed. She put on her plum-coloured Clark's slippers. "I'll come with you." Becky passed Liz a brightly coloured kimono. The trees, birds and pagodas stood out against a black and scarlet background. The silk rustled as she tied the belt.

The wooden door closed gently behind them and their steps sounded on the metal spiral staircase. Wood polish and the aroma of flowers met them in the dimly lit chapel interior. Candles flickered, lit by praying parents.

Becky's mum put a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I read somewhere that 'Gethsemane' means wine-press: the last few years have felt like that." Liz steered Becky between pews to an oak door. They said their prayers, although their hopes were in a box.

Becky pushed open the heavy dark oak chapel door. The two women walked through the doorway to the lift, Becky's flip-flops slapping against the tiled floor.

The lift jerked downwards to the upper ground floor and the doors swished open.
Cold air met the women in the corridor, harshly lit by strip lighting that blinked and hissed. The brick walls were painted white. It smelled of metal and heat.

"I don't think we'd ever find our way through this maze without this," Liz nodded towards a glossy red line, about six inches in width, stretching into the distance.

They walked past huge metal boxes with dials and flashing lights. Steel heating ducts about two feet in diameter pulsated and groaned above their heads. An underground world, whilst 30 feet above, most of London remained asleep, unaware of worried wakeful parents. Another world.

It became warmer as they approached the boilers, and Becky screwed up her nose at the strong smell of disinfectant.

Becky pushed apart two opaque charcoal-coloured plastic doors and they stepped through. The doors closed with a loud 'slap'. Maps, charts and various instructions were affixed to a cream wall facing them. In the brightly lit corridor, another pair of lift doors faced them.

Liz pressed "4"and when the lift doors opened on the fourth floor they were in a world of noises, smells and suffering. Children attached to drips tossed and turned in their beds. Some, like Wesley, were seriously ill, the seconds and minutes of his life fleeting away like a vapour.