Hugh’s words as he came into the kitchen and joined them gave Bonita comfort, and his question gave her the answer she’d been dreading—this was it.
‘They should be here in a couple of hours, depending on the traffic,’ Bonita answered in an unusually high voice.
‘Good.’
‘Bonny explained about acute on chronic.’ Ever the good hostess, Carmel poured Hugh a cup of tea. ‘Did he have a heart attack?’
“It would seem that Luigi had a cardiac event.’ Hugh nodded. ‘But I’m not going to put him through tests. His lungs were filled with fluid—that was why he couldn’t breathe and was making so much noise. I’ve given him a large dose of diuretic that will get the fluid off, and some more morphine to help with pain, as well as a nebuliser to open up his airways. He’s also got a catheter in because he’ll be having a large diuresis. I mean, he’ll be getting rid of a lot of fluid and I didn’t want him having to worry about a bottle.’
‘So he’s comfortable,’ Carmel said.
‘Very,’ Hugh replied. ‘However…’
‘It won’t be the cancer that kills him.’ Carmel stood up. ‘Will it be today?’
‘I don’t know, Carmel,’ Hugh said gently. ‘But I think so.’
‘His GP should be here soon. I know you have to get back to work but would you mind staying until he gets here? I want to sit with my husband.’
‘Of course.’
‘Can I see him?’ It was the first time Bonita had spoken since he’d come in the room. ‘Just for a moment.’
Hugh had done a wonderful job. Her father who had been so breathless and agitated now lay peacefully, propped up on a mountain of pillows, his breathing shallow but not laboured. Bonita gave him a kiss, told him she loved him again, but she couldn’t sit by his bed, and just wait. She also sensed that her mother wanted to be alone with him.
‘I’ll wait in the lounge till his GP or Paul gets here, so call if you need anything,’ Hugh said kindly to Carmel. ‘But once they’re here I’m going to have to get back to work.’
‘Thank you, Hugh.’ Carmel accepted his hug with one of her own. ‘You’ve been marvellous.’
‘You, too.’ Hugh smiled, and Bonita watched, her throat thick with tears as Hugh said goodbye to her dad, not as his doctor but as his friend. He leant over the bed, his strong arms hugged Luigi’s frail body, and thanked him, too—for everything.
‘Will you be OK to go back?’ Bonita asked as they stood in the lounge.
‘No choice but to be,’ Hugh answered, rubbing his forehead with his hand, looking as tired and as wretched as Bonita felt.
‘I’ll go and ring the boys on their mobiles,’ Bonita said. ‘Tell them that he’s more settled. Paul should be here soon—apparently he was in the middle of an operation. He’s waiting for someone to come in and take over from him.’
‘Bill asked if you can ring.’ Hugh’s lips pursed just a touch ‘…when you get a chance. He’s worried about you.’
‘I’ll ring him.’ Bonny gave a pale nod.
‘Your mum wants the priest,’ Hugh said gently.
‘I’ll ring him, too.’
Hugh sat quietly on the sofa while she made the round of phone calls. A strange sort of silence had descended on the house and Bonita knew that it wouldn’t last, knew that in a hour or two the place would be full. For the first time since her mother had woken her, Bonita realised she was wearing nothing more than a flimsy nightdress. She padded upstairs and dragged on some jeans and a T-shirt, but didn’t even bother with a comb through her hair, just pulled it back into a low ponytail before heading back downstairs.
‘How are you?’
‘I don’t know.’
The adrenaline surge that had rocketed her out of bed and into action had long since abated and all she felt was depleted. She stood there, unsure what to do, where to go, how to be, how to feel, until Hugh caught her wrist and pulled her onto his knee.
‘Come here.’
And all it felt was safe.
All it felt was right.
And even if he couldn’t fix it, then he’d fixed it enough this morning—had turned hell into almost bearable.
For the moment at least.
She didn’t actually know who was holding who, his arms as tight around her as hers were around him. It was just a resting place for a moment as they both silently braced themselves for what lay ahead.
‘Remember when I was going under…’
‘Sorry?’ She felt his arms stiffen, the gentle ease in the room faltering for a moment, causing Bonita to pull back and frown. ‘When you put back my shoulder, what you said about it being for the best, me spending time with Mum and Dad. You were right.’
‘You remember that?’
‘I think so.’
‘What else do you remember?’
They held each other’s gaze.
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Hugh checked. ‘You can’t remember anything else?’
‘You telling me to wiggle my fingers.’ Bonita smiled. ‘But you were right, I am glad I hurt my shoulder, that I’ve had these last few weeks here. If I’d been at the flat I’d have missed so much.’
‘You’ve done so well.’
And that meant so much—her mother’s scolding, even if she could now understand it, her brothers’ expectations that she would be there, even if she accepted it, all grated at times. But that Hugh thought she’d done well meant so much.
‘This is hard for you, too.’ They were still looking at each other, talking like they hardly ever had, and she truly didn’t want it end, didn’t want him to go.
‘Don’t worry about me.’ His voice was thick, and she could hear his pain, and something else too.
‘But I do.’
It was as honest as she could be with him. As close as she could come to revealing to him that he lived in her mind, but it was close enough for now.
‘I had this aunt.’ Bonita rested her head back on his chest. ‘Zia Lucia…’
‘The glamorous one!’ Hugh said, and Bonita actually smiled.
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve heard your family talking about her. Your dad spoke to me about her just a few days ago.’
‘She was my dad’s sister and I don’t think my mum really approved of her—she’d never been married, was always dressed up in jewels and fancy dresses and flying off to exotic places. I used to love it when she came to visit. She’d always send me something pretty for my birthday—dresses or make-up or costume jewellery. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. When she died I never thought I’d get over it, I honestly thought that I’d never stop crying.’
‘But you did.’
‘And I will with Dad.’ Bonita sniffed. ‘I just don’t want to do this.’
‘I know.’
‘What was it like when it was your dad?’ Bonita asked, and she felt him stiffen, heard the long weary breath he let out before answering.
‘This is actually harder.’
She jerked her head up—looked at him again—and the pain that was inside her today was there on his face, the agony she felt mirrored in his eyes.
And it wasn’t wanton, or bold or even particularly brave because, looking at him, Bonita knew her kiss wasn’t about to be rejected.
Kisses—strange, delicious things, her mind thought as their lips touched.
A delicious sharing, a sweet acknowledgement that could be expressed better without words. It was a kiss that wasn’t about escaping, more about sustenance, a little pause in a vile day—a kiss that wouldn’t go further because for now it was absolutely enough.
‘You and I,’ Hugh said when inevitably it ended, ‘are going to have to do some serious talking.’
‘I know.’ There was a tiny glow inside her on a day she’d never expected to feel it, a tiny window into the future that had been so smudged and fogged up she’d never expected to see through it.
‘Just not now, huh?’ Hugh said as the first of many c
ars that day pulled up. ‘Let’s get through this.’
Hugh did more than talk to the GP. He talked to Ricky and then Paul when he arrived, too. And Bonita was so grateful that Hugh had warned her about Paul, so glad that she knew, because the smart words were long gone from her tongue before she saw Paul’s stricken face.
‘I couldn’t bloody get away.’
‘I know.’ She put her arm around her brother who sat on the sofa, his head in his hands. ‘My boss was doing surgery at the private hospital—I couldn’t get anyone in to take over.’
‘It must have been hell!’
‘My own dad needs a doctor and I couldn’t even be here.’
‘You’re here now,’ Bonita said kindly, catching Hugh’s eye as he patted his friend’s shoulder and then went back to work. Oh, he popped back later on a manufactured lunch-break. For Bonita, his was the most welcome face of them all as visitors came and went, as everyone waited for something nobody wanted. Carmel came out now and then, but the whole day was a long silent blur—an unsustainable pain. But Hugh had been right. Luigi was comfortable, in his own bed, surrounded by the people who loved him most.
‘I’m going to bed.’ It was Carmel who ended the day for everyone. ‘You all should, too.’
Hugh was on call at the hospital and had long since gone, Paul was in charge now and the GP had been in and out, and the palliative care nurse had helped Carmel to wash Luigi.
Kissing her father goodnight was almost more than Bonita could bear. She didn’t want to go to bed but was too exhausted not to—and, anyway, her mother wanted to be alone.
So she told her father she loved him, which, thanks to Hugh, she knew he already knew.
Slipping between the cool sheets, she lay in a hyper-vigilant state, waiting for what she didn’t know, scared not of going to sleep but of what she would surely wake up to.
‘Here…’ A mug of tea beside her bed was so normal, so what always happened in her house, that for a tiny second Bonita was soothed. Only her mother hadn’t knocked, Bonita realized. She was actually sitting on the bed beside her now and playing with her daughter’s hair.
‘He’s gone, Bonny.’
How she wanted to argue the point, but she knew it was hopeless. Bonita stared at her mother’s tired face and wished she knew what to say. She felt something shrivel up inside her, a horrible vacuum as her mind tried to fathom that he had gone, that while she had slept her father had left.
‘When?’
‘An hour or so ago,’ Carmel said. ‘He was asleep, he just slipped away.’
To where? she wanted to scream.
‘And you didn’t tell me!’ That she hadn’t told her, that her brothers, the doctor, everyone knew was almost too much, but again she’d misread her mother.
‘I’m going to tell your brothers now and then I’ll ring the doctor.’
‘You haven’t told anyone?’
‘I wanted some time with your dad,’ Carmel said, ‘before it all starts.’
And start it did.
Friends, family, visitors, funeral directors, priests and flowers, the house was a flurry of activity as Bonita curled up inside, wanted her dad to be dealing with it, wanted her dad to be in charge, as he always was.
Hugh was marvellous, stepping in, giving lifts, taking the brunt of Carmel’s temper when a grief-stricken Paul disappeared for a day of horse riding, Ricky had to get back to the kids and Marco had to see to a prize horse in Bendigo that was about to foal.
Hugh was the lynchpin. He blended in yet stood apart—family, only not quite. Someone they could all lean on because it wasn’t as painful for him.
‘OK?’ He checked on the morning of the funeral.
‘I think so.’ She didn’t know how to behave, didn’t know how she was expected to be today. Her new black shoes were already hurting, the new linen black dress she was wearing was already as crumpled as the tissue in her hand. Little Italy was sitting wailing in the lounge as her mother sat pale and tight-lipped upstairs, her brothers made small talk with uncles and Bonita just didn’t know where in this she belonged. The tears she shed so easily were a slow constant trickle today.
‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Just be there for your mum. How is she?’
‘Getting ready…’ Bonita’s voice trailed off as her mother appeared, and Bonita felt her already full eyes brim over as she saw, perhaps for the first time, how beautiful her mother really was. Rarely, so rarely did Carmel make an effort with her appearance, but she had today. Her salt-and-pepper curls were piled on top of her head, she was wearing a smart black suit with black suede shoes—a picture of understated elegance. And for the first time in ages she’d put on make-up, her dark eyes accentuated with mascara, a smudge of lipstick on her full mouth.
‘You look wonderful, Mum.’ Bonita squeezed Carmel’s hand as they stood waiting for the cars.
‘I wanted to look nice for him, this last time…’ Carmel gave a small nod and then she smiled and squeezed Bonita’s hand back. ‘Anyway, he can’t tell me off for wearing lipstick any more!’
It all passed in a daze.
The congregation was a strange blur of familiar faces—the Azettis were well thought of and the church was full, but Bonita, even when they arrived home, couldn’t really place who had been there or remember words that had been said. She held her mother’s hand again as her brothers, along with Hugh, the honorary son, carried her father on his final journey.
There was this hollow loneliness and piercing sadness as she did what her father would have expected her to do—served drinks and food—all the time wishing everyone would just leave. Though part of her didn’t want them to. She wanted the day to end, but at the same time didn’t want it to be over.
But it had to be.
‘Thank you, darling!’ Bonita watched as her mother kissed Ricky, his wife and kids goodbye. The last of the guests had thankfully gone, Marco had gone to bed about an hour ago and Paul had worked his way down a bottle of wine and was about to go to bed as well.
‘I’d better ring a taxi!’ Hugh pulled out his phone, but Carmel shook her head
‘Since when did you ring a taxi, Hugh?’
‘You need your family with you now.’
‘You are family.’ Carmel gave a tired smile. ‘So much so that you won’t mind if I don’t change the sheets in Ricky’s room. Stay,’ Carmel said. ‘Actually, I will go and do the sheets.’
‘Don’t worry about the sheets, for goodness’ sake.’ Hugh stood up and Bonita noticed her mother, who had been so strong all day, suddenly looked small, confused and bewildered and, Bonita realised, lost. ‘You sit down.’ Hugh guided Carmel to a chair. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Actually…’ changing her mind the second she sat down, Carmel stood again. ‘If you two don’t mind, I might just go to bed.’
‘Have a cup of tea first…’ Bonita dragged her bone-tired body from the sofa and frowned in concern as her mother declined. Bonita kissed her goodnight, could feel her mother’s tired shoulders as she hugged her. ‘Go to bed and I’ll bring one in to you.’
‘No.’ Firmly Carmel shook her head. ‘I want to be on my own now.’
‘Just leave her,’ Hugh said gently as Carmel dazedly wandered off.
‘She hasn’t even cried…she just looks so lost…’
‘You haven’t cried either.’
‘I have…’ Bonita gave a half-shrug. ‘I’m like a leaking tap.’
‘I meant—’ He never finished. A wail ripped through the quiet house, Carmel’s keening wail that shot Bonita across the room towards her parents’ bedroom, but Hugh caught her hands.
‘Leave her.’
‘Listen to her!’ Bonita sobbed, hardly able to stand her mother’s lament. ‘How can I leave her?’
‘What the…?’ Marco was in the hall now, Paul staggering behind. ‘Are you just going to stand there?’ Paul demanded of Bonita, but Hugh stepped in.
‘What do you want her to do, Paul? Go
in and calm her down, or maybe tell her to pull herself together and stop crying? Your mum specifically said that she wanted to be alone.’
There was anger in the air, only no one was at fault. There was the horrible sound of their mother’s tears and not a single thing that any of them could do to take her pain away.
‘I can’t do this.’ Marco headed back to the bedroom and Paul sat with Hugh and Bonita, waiting till it abated, till low, anguished sobs were all that remained.
‘You’re right.’ Paul’s head was in his hands, and Bonita could see his tears. ‘She just needed to get it out.’
‘She’ll be OK!’ Bonita said.
‘You know, I thought I was helping, being here for a few days and everything,’ Paul said, wine and grief making him maudlin. ‘Maybe we should leave her on her own for a bit…’
‘See how it is in the morning,’ Hugh said to his friend. ‘Go to bed now, Paul.’
And Bonita was so glad that Hugh had stayed, so glad that even if he was considered family, the bit of him that wasn’t family had been there when needed tonight.
‘Thank you.’ White, shaken, still reeling from her mother’s pain, from the grief of the day, Bonita sat stunned. ‘She needed that.’
‘What do you need, Bonny?’ Hugh asked, watching her brown eyes jerk to his, watching her as he had through the day as she’d tried to find her role, her place, to stay strong while bewildered.
‘You’ve done enough,’ Bonita gulped. ‘Helping Dad at the end, being there this week, all you’ve done today…’
‘I’m not talking about that. I meant for you. Is there anything I can do?’ He watched a dull flush spread on her pale cheeks and he felt as if he was cheating. It was like doing yesterday’s crossword with today’s answers. But if she had meant what she’d said, if she did love him, then surely this was one of the nights in her life that she needed him. One night she really shouldn’t have to face alone.
And, Hugh realised as a fist of pain tightened in his stomach, he needed her, too. He couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping alone tonight, of lying alone with his thoughts when he could be lying with her.
English Doctor, Italian Bride Page 9