Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

This didn’t merit a reply. ‘How about as a temp? Emergency cover, for when people get ill or go on holiday?’

‘What’s going on, Margeir? Have you got yourself a woman who wants you home at night?’

‘No.’ If only.

‘What is it, then? Until now you’ve been quite happy with your time slot, or am I mistaken?’

‘Yes. No.’ Margeir squirmed in his seat. Soon he would be politely shown the door. It was only ten minutes until the manager’s own show was due to start. ‘I mean, yes, up until now I’ve been satisfied and no, you’re not mistaken. It’s to do with something else.’ His mouth suddenly filled with saliva, and he swallowed hard. ‘This real weirdo has started phoning in and the idea that he might be the next caller is putting me constantly on edge. I think he’d be less likely to call during the day.’

The laughter this provoked was loud and hearty. ‘Dream on! Haven’t you learned anything? The loonies call whenever the lines are open, it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference what time of day or night it is. It’s just part of the job; most callers are all right, but there are always a couple that are… how shall I put it… different. You can’t take it personally.’

‘It’s not just a run-of-the-mill nutter. There’s something really disturbing about his calls, even though he doesn’t say much or stay on for very long.’

‘Then don’t answer. Simple.’ The manager raised his hands and moved them in circles above his head, as if conjuring ideas from the air. ‘I don’t know… put on a song, read from the newspaper, find something funny on the Internet for your listeners. Play some commercials.’

‘He calls from an unlisted number. But others do too, so there’s no way of weeding him out; if I don’t answer him when he’s still trying to get through, no one else can be put through either. It would help if we could just screen our callers.’ Margeir knew that it had long been in the pipeline to buy a machine that would make this possible.

‘Hmm, yes.’ The manager dropped his hands to his lap. There wasn’t much evidence of the station investing in anything; one of the studio headphones had been in need of new foam since September. ‘That’s something I’ve been planning on sorting out, of course, but with the króna the way it is, it would be well worth waiting, even just a few months. You must understand that, surely – your finances can hardly be in great shape.’ This was below the belt and the manager seemed to realize it, hurrying on. ‘But why does it bother you so much? We all get strange phone calls and they mean nothing, at the end of the day. They’re either from wannabe comedians or shrinking violets who don’t dare to speak once they’re on the air and just breathe into the receiver instead. I don’t know why you let it get to you.’

‘These calls are different. He’s not a joker or a breather.’ Margeir wanted to explain himself without going into precise detail. ‘This listener seems to know me. He says things that he knows will bother me.’

This was getting too personal, and the last thing the manager was known for was his powers of empathy. ‘What? You’re not going to let that get under your skin, are you? It’s just some coward who gets his kicks from knowing he’s got to you. Laugh at him and hang up.’ He leaned back, satisfied with his latest solution. ‘There’s no need to get worked up over nothing.’ It was clear he’d had enough of this topic. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’ He didn’t need to add, Or should I start looking for someone else? ; it was clear to Margeir which way the wind was blowing.

‘Uh, yes, of course. No problem.’ But this was far from the truth. His words rang hollow in his ears. He had a big problem, but if he told the manager the whole story, he might as well quit. ‘Well, keep me in mind if anything changes, but until then, no problem.’ Margeir stood up and left the office, taking care to walk out with his head held high. As he went through the door it crossed his mind to turn around and get down on his knees. Maybe that was the way to get into the manager’s good books. But his hesitation was momentary and he let the door click shut behind him. It was just as pointless to humiliate himself that way as it was to imagine that carrying on with his show would be no problem . Nonetheless, he allowed himself to hope that his fears might not come true after all.

It had been a difficult morning, and this was reflected in the atmosphere in the little duty room, where they were sitting dismayed and frustrated after hearing about the hospital’s latest cutback plans. In short, they meant more work and less pay at the end of the month – a deadly combination. ‘How come Bjarni in Room 2 hasn’t been discharged? The x-rays show that he’s fine to go home, and we need the bed. I made that clear yesterday.’ The senior consultant was rarely happy, and always liberal with his criticism. He was due to retire soon and the recent organizational changes to the hospital and to his department had done nothing to improve his moods. ‘How could I have been misunderstood?’

Silence fell over the group as each hoped that one of the others would come up with an explanation. The senior consultant tried in vain to make eye contact with them, until a nurse finally spoke up. ‘His wife refuses to have him at home. A social worker is trying to find a solution, but until then we were told to leave him where he is.’

‘And nobody said anything? This isn’t our problem; the man is completely healthy. Healthy enough, anyway.’ Again no one said anything; the patient had barely recuperated and his wife had just undergone a hip operation herself, making it difficult for her to look after him at home. ‘We’re expecting two new admissions this afternoon; what do you recommend we do with those patients? Send them home to this man’s wife, perhaps?’

‘Bjarni still being here isn’t the problem – even if he’d gone, we could hardly put both the new patients in the same bed. Admissions have to be organized better. It doesn’t make any difference whether it’s one patient or two that end up in the corridor – it ought to be none.’ The doctor who answered was widely tipped to take over from the senior consultant when he retired. He was a quiet, unassuming man, although recently he’d done more to make his presence known.

The senior consultant didn’t look impressed. He crossed his arms, pushing his striped tie – which was noticeably too wide to be fashionable – to one side. ‘This isn’t the only thing that went wrong here yesterday. I see from the report on the paralysed girl in Room 7 that she still hasn’t been seen by a therapist. May I remind you that this could provide an invaluable insight into her condition and therefore help us to diagnose her.’

‘She came yesterday.’ The nurse who said this flushed a little as she spoke, regretting having attracted the attention of her ill-tempered superior. ‘The therapist. Someone might have forgotten to record it, but she was here and she sat with the girl for at least half an hour.’

‘And? They could hardly have just been having a pleasant chat. Didn’t she tell anyone what conclusions she drew from the session? Did she simply disappear without speaking to anyone?’

The young nurse became even more embarrassed and fiddled distractedly with a pen in the breast pocket of her scrubs as she spoke. ‘She talked to me a bit on her way out. Said she was going to get in touch with us today about it.’

‘Why the delay?’ The senior consultant tightened his arms across his chest, pushing his crumpled tie to an even more ridiculous angle. ‘Doesn’t she know we’ve been waiting for this?’

‘I don’t know.’ The young woman blushed even harder and looked pleadingly out of the corner of her eye at the doctor who’d spoken up first, but to no avail. ‘She said she was going to write up her notes about what she got out of the patient and go over them. If I understood her correctly, she thought she might have misunderstood or misinterpreted what the patient was trying to say.’