Is It Safe? Ch. 02

England

Since my parents' homes were no more than three miles apart, Mum arrived a few minutes after I phoned. Charlie and I watched from the front door as she raced the car through the open iron gates, skidded to a halt on the drive and gravel showered the front of the house. We backed into the hall to safety.

She leapt from her Audi and ran into the house. "Are you alright, girls?"

"Yes," I assured her. "Sorry if I panicked you, but I was scared. I can't understand why Dad won't wake."

Upstairs, she strode to the bedside and placed her hand on his brow. For years she'd been a nurse and was well qualified to diagnose any risk. She examined his pupils, respiration and pulse rate, amongst other checks.

She was puzzled. "Without doubt, your father is comatose. Normally the reason is self-evident, but he seems to have invented a cause of his own." She studied him, clearly confused. "On first examination he's healthy ... simply put, he shows all the symptoms of Rip Van Winkle."

Mum noticed the inquisitiveness on Charlie's face. "Comatose means in a coma - he's unconscious, and Rip Van Winkle fell asleep for a hundred years."

"Mother, you've confused him with Sleeping Beauty," corrected Charlie. "Rip Van Winkle slept for twenty years. He missed the whole of the American War of Independence." Charlie sneered. "Comatose was the word I was uncertain of."

We gaped at her. I was unable to differentiate which amazed me into dumbness: the patronising attitude or her unexpected knowledge of Rip Van W.

Before Mum could react, we heard the sedate arrival of a Rolls Royce as it crunched through the gravel. Mum leaned out of the bedside window and waited for the driver to park, before she waved him to come up.

She leaned against the sill of the open window. "On my way over, I called Colin on my mobile. He agreed to leave the hospital at once."

We scowled. We weren't impressed with Colin, a perception resulting from recent years living in his house. Mum assured us he would grow on us, given time. She was right, he grew like mould.

When she left Dad, we moved into his home - it was a black letter day!

Her boyfriend entered and, en route to the bed, rotated a full circle while he contemplated the room. It was his first visit.

His smooth round face exhibited his normal supercilious mien. As always, his clothes were impeccable, dressed in a three piece suit, obligatory bow tie and highly polished shoes, hand made in Saville Row. In all the time we lived in his home, we never saw him dressed differently. Even on a hot, humid day, which that day was rapidly becoming, I couldn't detect a spot of perspiration.

Mum was tall and, since he was four inches shorter than her, it obliged her to lean forwards to equalise the height. She kissed him, a peck on his cheek. We never saw them show greater affection than their customary greeting.

"Colin, thank you. You are a dear for interrupting your work," Mum intoned in the false voice she saved for him and his cohorts. "The girls were terribly worried."

My mother's outstanding and I love her, however she grates me with the affected voice she uses around Colin & Co.

Charlie and I knew what was expected of us, so we chorused, "Yes, thank you Colin."

I added, "It is most kind of you to come so soon."

Mum shot a quick glare at me, whereas Colin didn't recognise mockery.

There was a slight bow of his ginger topped head in our general direction. "Anything to help your dear Mother. Well, you must leave while I examine your father."

He minced towards us, waving us from the room with the back of his hands as though he was shooing birds away from a picnic. Maybe, in his estimation, we were only a margin more important than birds. How was it possible for a man, borderlining five feet two, to look down on the rest of the world? It was beyond my imagination.

We backed off, although Charlie was unable to resist an Italian salute to the back of his head as he turned towards the bed. We exited and closed the door behind us.

The wait was a torment and, unable to relax, we alternated between pacing the landing and walking in tight circles outside the bedroom door.

At last, they reappeared.

Colin swaggered with Mum close behind. His sweep past was majestic before he stopped, puffed up and turned to face Mum. "Let me know as soon as there's any change in his present state, Sandra." To Charlie and I, "Goodbye, ladies. See you at dinner."

He skipped down the steps two at time. He must have been in a rush; he'd never done that before.

"Thank you so much, Colin," Mum shouted to his retreating back. He dashed through the hallway, raised an arm in acknowledgement and rushed out.

Mum's eyes swept the two of us. "Now, my dears," she said, as she shepherded us back into the bedroom, "we must be brave."

"Sit down girls," she ordered, as she drifted to the dressing table mirror to inspect herself.

She ran her hands down the length of her tight skirt and checked the buttons of her pristine white blouse were dead centre between her breasts, Satisfied, she kicked off her high heels and sat on one of the easy chairs, stretched her slender legs and flexed her toes.

Meanwhile, Charlie threw off her dressing gown, positioned herself on the bed and reached for Dad's hand.

I placed my chair by the bed, took his other hand and stroked it. It felt normal - big and strong.

I looked at Mum and that prompted her to start.

"My evaluation was correct, your father is not in a coma, but a deep sleep. What is most important is, there are no physical problems." Before either of us were able to ask questions and I, for one, had many, she rushed on. "There is more to tell on his condition, but before I elaborate, let me tell you about the background.

"According to Colin, over recent months, a steadily increasing number of people have fallen asleep and have not woken. These were not hospital patients, nor were they undergoing treatment. They are normal, healthy people who, for no known reason, are in a perpetual sleep."

She paused, joined Charlie on the bed and put an arm around her. I was amazed. I knew she loved us, yet being demonstrative was out of character. It was normal to display love and affection at arms' length.

A moment later, I understood why. She held my gaze as she delivered the blow. "At the present time, there's no known cure; no way to wake them."

I was stunned, devoid of rational thought and Charlie was pale and close to tears. I felt sick; it was terrible news. I'd assumed there was a quick fix and Dad would wake soon, if not that morning, at worst within a day or so.

"Remember, the most important thing is that your father is not ill. There is nothing life threatening. Look! His sleep is normal. In fact ..." She placed her ear to his mouth. "Yes, it's as I thought. I was always convinced there was no cure for his snoring. Even now I hear him."

There was a gentle expression in her eyes and we knew the fib was an attempt to lighten the situation. I endeavoured to appear cheerful.

"Girls, if he was in pain or distress, you would see the symptoms.

"Shall I go on?"

I nodded.

"There has been little mention in the media, mainly because no-one outside of the medical profession has noticed the trend. However, there have been sufficient occurrences to merit an official investigation and Colin has been involved on the periphery. It's early days and there's nothing published, despite this, he has read case studies.

"They all have two things in common. Firstly, the person goes to bed in the normal way, and in the morning, they don't wake. Just like your father.

"Charlie, what does everyone do when they sleep?"

"Dream?"

"Correct. It's the second commonality. Watch your father's eyes; what do you see?"

Charlie and I examined his eyelids. I knew what it was, as I'd studied it in psychology.

"Well," observed Charlie, "his pupils are moving under his eyelids. Is he dreaming?"

"That's right. It's known as rapid eye movement, or REM for short. It's the signal a person is dreaming. Each night we dream on four or five separate occasions, totalling around two hours.

"During the night, these sleepers experience the same REM periods as we do.

"But ..." She paused for effect as she verified we were concentrating. "But, the amazing thing is these people have REM all day."

"So, what you're saying," I expanded, "is that they dream in the daytime." I thought about the ramifications. "It's weird, but hey, that must be great. A real life Walter Mitty."

"Yes," Mum agreed. "Is it a significant observation, though? Does the daytime dreaming have any bearing on the constant sleeping, or is it an insignificant side issue?"

She hesitated. "Girls, I think that's enough for the moment." She looked from Charlie to me. "Unless you have any urgent questions. Are you ready for lunch?"

I had no appetite. I was empty, although it wasn't the result of food deficiency. "No, I'm OK," I replied.

Charlie shook her head. "No, thanks."

"Fair enough," Mum said, "however I must eat. I'll fix a sandwich and be back in a while. Afterwards, we'll sort out the practicalities and logistics."

"The what?" Charlie queried, as she left the bed.

"I'll explain after lunch."

Mum was directly behind her. "Do you girls intend to dress sometime today?" she asked as she squeezed Charlie's bottom.

I knew my kid sister considered herself far too old for such maternal practises, however she indulged Mum with a playful squeal.

They left Dad and I alone in the bedroom and, I don't know why, but I shut the door behind them.

Deep in thought and heavy-hearted, I tramped back to the bed. I was in shock, although a little happier to know he wasn't suffering. Maybe, I thought, maybe, is it possible he's enjoying his full time day dreams?

On his bed, I squeezed beside him and lifted his helpless hand. Come on Dad, I coaxed. Help me! ... Please.

I examined the expressionless features of his face in the foolish hope of some sign of lucidity. As I idly straightened the tangle of his dark hair, enlightenment came to me.

That was it!

In a single heartbeat, everything became clear and I understood the connection with the 'coma.' I realised the purpose of the books and why he winked when I asked about them.

Each time I pestered him, he would repeat the same, "Wait until I've mastered it and I'll explain everything. In fact, I'll tell you how to do it, but first, I must perfect it."

This is fantastic.