Touching her forehead, Mary traced with her fingers, the shape of an egg sized lump beneath the bandage. She felt quite dizzy and let out a deep sigh, covering her eyes with her hands.

“Are you alright Missus…?”

Mary looked up to see a young lad sitting opposite, his head also wrapped in a bandage. There was no egg shaped bump under his, but there were a lot of blood stains. He had obviously taken quite a knock.

“Yes, thank you.” Mary replied. “…I’m just a bit dizzy. We seem to have matching bumps. What happened to you?”

“I was at football practice. My mate and I both went for the ball and our heads banged. He was ok but I landed on the ground.

I think that’s when I cut my head. There was an awful lot of blood and now it’s all over my new football top…”

Looking down at the bloodstains, his eyes filled with tears. Mary thought he couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old.

But why was he here all by himself?

“Did someone bring you here…and just leave you on your own?”

The boy looked up, wiping the tears away.

“Oh Mr. Peters brought me. He’s our coach. He’s gone to fetch my Mum…”

Mary nodded.

“I see. What’s your name by the way? I’m Mary…”

“My name’s Roger, but everyone calls me Ginger, because of my hair. It’s the colour of ginger snap biscuits you see…”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, obviously not delighted by this revelation. Mary smiled, understanding school nicknames very well. When she was at primary school, her mother had braided her hair into two, thick plaits. The boys in her class called her Dutch Girl, because a poster about Holland on the classroom wall had a girl in the picture with plaits just like hers. The name stuck all through her primary years and Mary was glad when the day came to start secondary school. The boys were not in any of her classes and thankfully, Dutch Girl was left behind. Nowadays, the plaits were long gone. At 80 years of age, Mary’s hair was snowy white and cut very short.

“Well I’m pleased to meet you Roger.”

She gave a little wave of her hand.

“So what happened to you Missus? …I mean Mary…”

Impressed by this young lad making conversation with an old woman, Mary told him…

“I was hanging out my washing and bent down to get the last wet towel from my laundry basket.

When I stretched up to peg it on the line, everything went black. Next thing I knew, I was in the back of an ambulance.”

Roger was nodding.

“…and they left you here by yourself…like me?”

“Yes…” replied Mary “…but the ambulance driver said my neighbour was going to contact my son, so he will be here soon.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a crackly sounding voice coming from a loudspeaker on the wall.

“Roger Martin please come through and go to the door at the end of the corridor.”

Heading for the door, Roger turned to Mary.

“Will you tell my Mum I’ve gone through…?”

“Of course…” Mary replied.

The waiting room was quiet now. She had been glad of Roger’s company and hoped he would be alright.

“Mary Ritchie, please come through and go to the door at the end of the corridor.”

The loudspeaker voice repeated it’s crackled instruction.

Opening the door, Mary found herself in a darkened corridor. It seemed very long and she could see young Roger standing just ahead of her.

“It’s awfully dark Mary, can I walk with you?”

“Of course…” she replied, taking his hand.

Moving forward, they heard a muffled voice calling from behind them.

“Roger, are you there? It’s Mum…”

Roger’s eyes lit up. Dropping Mary’s hand, he ran back towards the waiting room.

“It’s my Mum! I’ll just go and get her…”

“Of course!” Mary smiled and continued along the corridor by herself.

The door at the end had no handle. It creaked as she pushed it open and found herself blinded by a very bright light.

“Come in Mary…” said a gentle voice “I’ve been expecting you…”

Mary began to realise what was happening and where this might be leading.

Stepping forward, she spoke aloud her last thoughts as she moved into the brightness.

“I’m so glad young Roger went back…and I do hope my son won’t be too sad…”