I’m going to try cinnamon next. A lady on the internet said it gets rid of them like a ‘miracle’ and it ‘makes your house smell great!’ You just sprinkle the spice around the entry points and it repels them. I know their entry points because I’ve watched them for weeks. My husband thinks I’m mad. I just think they’re disgusting: if you see one, you know there are thousands more waiting to be found.
‘You’re thinking about the ants again, aren’t you?’ said Dave. We were walking through the hospital car park. We hadn’t spoken much on the drive over. When we saw how much parking would cost I said that those prices were extortionate and that we shouldn’t bother today, but he said no. He held my hand and led me to the entrance. It had changed a lot since I’d worked there, which I supposed was about thirty years ago now. The room was airy and bizarrely fashionable, with big windows letting in lots of light. When I worked here it was dark and dingy. I got bored of hospitals and spent the rest of my career in doctor’s surgeries. Maybe I wouldn’t mind working in hospitals now, if I was still working. This looks like pleasant place to spend your time. We could just come out here for the day.
A ‘keep your hands clean’ sign was above a soap pump. Apparently, we should use it as we walk in, even visitors. I thought this was going a bit overboard. Dave was being cautious and made me get some of the stuff on my hands. It smelled minty, astringent. It reminded me of when I got the regular chemicals out to get rid of the ants. The chemicals didn’t work; or, they did for a few days and then the ants came back, more than before. I didn’t tell Dave, but I cried when I saw them coming in a different way. Luckily, he was out at work at the time. I just thought that the chemicals would work. I keep a look out for ants on our carpet when we’re watching TV. We’ve got a dark grey carpet, thick knit, and you can only see them if you look closely. They especially like the corner of the room, it’s swarming with them. Dave doesn’t care. Says it’s just a few ants.
We walked through the foyer. Dave was directing me, walking with purpose. We passed a Costa and a Smiths. It felt like we were in an airport. Ann would like that, I suppose. She spent twenty years in France. She’s always been so glamorous and she’ll be with her family and won’t want me disturbing her. Dave kept on walking, with purpose.
Ants are the most irritating pests. I’ve watched them a lot recently; they get more harassed looking as the summer goes on, like they’re panicking that summer’s nearly over and they haven’t got around to everything they’d planned on doing. I’ve learned a lot about ants on the internet. I think Dave is a little bit annoyed with all the ant facts I keep coming out with.
Ann is very ill.
Ann doesn’t want visitors, I’m sure. I’d just tire her out, she’ll be fine soon and I can visit her at home. Ann and I have been friends since school. I’m not in touch with anyone else from school except Ann and we drifted apart during our twenties and thirties. But since she moved back we’ve been best friends again.
We’d arrived at a wall of lifts. Dave pressed one of the ‘up’ buttons.
‘You remember the room number?’ he asked.
‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ I felt small.
‘I’ll wait in the Costa,’ he said, as if he were talking to a stupid person. ‘You need to see her by yourself.’ He smiled but he looked worried. He must be worried about Ann. He shouldn’t be, she’ll be fine. Ann would appreciate my efforts in combatting the ants; she’s very house-proud. She’ll be out of here soon, I’m sure.
Ann was always the glamorous one. My children are both teachers, which is strange because I hated school apart from Ann, and Ann’s children study and work all around Europe. Even when Ann’s French husband ran off with a younger woman, I couldn’t help thinking about how glamorous it all was. She’s an artist and paints beautiful pictures, but her husband was rich and I don’t think she’s bothered about money. She said when I retired we’d see each other more, be ladies of leisure. And a month before I retired she got the diagnosis.
The door dinged and opened and Dave watched me go into the booth. He waved, awkwardly, wearing a trying-not-to-be-worried look on his face, as the doors closed. The circle around the four stayed lit up blue. It was a silver box-like lift and it didn’t look too clean, with plenty of shoe-scuffs and what looked like chewing-gum stains on the floor. It moved slowly. I just wanted this to be over. Ann wouldn’t even want me there. I was the only one in the lift.
The doors opened again at the second floor. A man got in. He was clutching some pale yellow flowers and wearing a nice suit, and we smiled at each other in that very British way: no teeth, as little eye contact as possible. I was relieved. I didn’t want any conversation.
I wondered if there were any ants on his flowers and I looked, out of the corner of my eye, at him. I assumed they must be for his wife. He was wearing a wedding ring. He was cradling his left hand around his right, clutching the flowers, as if he were scared that he’d drop them. They smelled sweet. My hands still stank of astringent and these flowers smelled normal, organic. Healthy. I bet cinnamon will work on the ants. We use chemicals for everything nowadays and for what?
The lift started making whale-like sounds. It juddered. It stopped moving. The little digital display flickered between the numbers 3 and 4. If only that man hadn’t got in. We smiled, predictably awkwardly, at each other. He had a go on the emergency thing, pressing the red button and speaking into the holes. Somebody answered and said that they knew that there was a problem and that they’d be with us soon. The man looked calm. I looked at the floor. I didn’t fancy sitting on it.
‘These lifts are always breaking down,’ he said, shyly. ‘They start again quite quickly. I always forget until I’m back in one, though.’
Two minutes later I was in full flow, talking about the ants to this bemused man. I didn’t want to talk about Ann, I didn’t want to talk about working as a nurse all those years because when people find out you’re a nurse they start showing you parts of themselves you wish they wouldn’t. I couldn’t remember any news stories; I couldn’t even remember what the weather had been like on the drive over. The only thing I had been thinking about that wasn’t these things was the ants. And I had to talk about something because I didn’t want to think. I’ve never really liked lifts. This man was calm about them but I didn’t know how he could be.
‘I don’t know how to get rid of them,’ I heard myself saying. I always natter on when I’m nervous. My brain shuts down but my mouth speeds up. ‘I tried sprinkling vinegar around a couple of weeks ago. My husband thought I was mad.’ It had triggered a bit of an argument most nights. I’d start washing up before we’d properly finished our meals. I just didn’t want to attract the ants.
It was then I noticed that the man didn’t really seem to be listening and was looking at his yellow flowers.
‘My husband’s got mild OCD,’ he said, distracted. What was he implying? I felt a little ashamed that I’d assumed he was married to a woman. His face crumpled slightly; like he was used to composing himself, used to not crying in front of people. ‘He’s not very well at the moment. Bone cancer.’ I realised that this was the first time I’d properly looked at his face.
I felt awful for him, and here was me talking about ants. ‘My best friend Ann’s got cancer. Breast.’ I’d been trying to ignore my sadness and saying it out loud almost overwhelmed me. But I couldn’t lose it in front of this man. We would both end up crying wrecks stuck in a lift. I looked at the floor buttons because there was nothing else to look at. There were fifteen floors in this hospital. Only four was still lit and I pointed at it. I swallowed. ‘Is he on the fourth floor too?’
He nodded. ‘They are probably going to move him in the next few days,’ he said. Tears filled his eyes but he smiled as if he had to prove something. ‘I’ve managed to hold it together so far.’ He laughed, as if he was embarrassed. He looked much younger than me.
‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’m managing though. My husband thinks I’m being obsessive about small things. But an ant infestation isn’t small, if you ask me. I have to deal with everything and it’s so easy for him.’
‘Kind of funny, though, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Ants. Ann. Very similar words.’ He looked thoughtful, as if he were forcing himself to take his mind off his life.
The lift juddered again and it started moving. There was no time to answer and we managed to get the doors open and the light of the hospital was so bright it made me wince. But, by then, this man and I were back to being awkward strangers with each other. Why had I told him so much about my life? I suddenly felt shy. There was nobody waiting for the lift.
We said good-bye to each other and I watched him disappear down a corridor, back slightly hunched from his careful, almost reverent, flower holding. That man could find his husband’s room in his sleep. And here was me, not daring to come here at all. I followed the directions to Room 426A. I breathed in deeply and forced a smile. I knocked on her door, heard ‘come in’ and obeyed. Her room smelled funny.
Author bio:
Kate Lunn-Pigula has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Nottingham. She works in a library. Her short stories have been published by The Honest Ulsterman, Other People’s Flowers, Bunbury Magazine and the Corvus Review, amongst others. She blogs at http://katelunnpigula.wordpress.com and Instagrams and tweets
@katelunnpigula.
Photo by Thomas Kinto on Unsplash