The phone started to ring again, but this time I was given a sporting chance.
“This is the Royal Hospital. We admitted Mr Fisher earlier this evening and we found your name and telephone number in his wallet.”
“Mr Fisher?” My mind went blank; the name didn’t register. “Oh, Uncle Richard!” The penny finally dropped. It had been some years since I had heard or seen anything of him.
“What’s wrong? How is he?”
“Rather poorly, I’m afraid. Is there any chance you could come straight over?”
………….The sister on duty was quick to spot my entrance.
“Yes?” she enquired in a menacing voice.
“I’m here to see Mr Fisher, someone phoned me.”
“Ah yes. Well I’m afraid it’s not good news. He was admitted at tea time, following what appears to have been a serious heart attack.”
“How is he?”
“Barely conscious I’m afraid. When he does come to, he simply asks whether it is the fifteenth yet.”
“We’ve no idea. We thought you might know. He seems very pre-occupied with it.”
“I can’t help you I’m afraid.” I glanced at my watch. “But on my reckoning, he’s only got about two and a half hours to wait.“