by Anita Notaro
I felt my bottom lip wobble, the way it always has done when I get upset. Because he was probably right. I’ve been in the background so long, I probably don’t know how to be any other way. I felt the tears spring to my eyes.
When Billy saw them, he put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘Ah, pet, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ve been a wonderful daughter, and you make your mammy proud every day. It’s just I know she wants to see you happy, that’s all.’
‘I am happy, Billy,’ I murmured, thanking God that we were at the turn to my road and that I could cut the conversation short. ‘I know you want the best for me, but …’ I didn’t know how to explain to him how frightening I found the prospect of change, so instead I pretended to look at my watch. ‘Oh, God, is that the time? I must run, or it’ll be midnight before Mum gets to bed.’ And with that, I ran as fast as I could, without even turning to wave at my front door, the way I always do. I knew that Billy would be upset, but right then, I just didn’t care. I was cross with him, to be honest – probably because, deep down, I knew that he had a point.
‘Mum?’ the television was still blaring from the living room as I closed the front door behind me and put my house keys on the hall table. She didn’t call out, as she usually did when I got back, but then she probably couldn’t hear a thing over the noise of the television. She must have turned it up again, I thought, as I slipped my feet out of my navy walking shoes and into my slippers. They were huge and fluffy, with ‘Antonia’ embroidered on each toe. Mum had bought them for me as a joke the previous Christmas, but I loved to wear them around the house – they were a bit daft and they made me feel a bit less … straight-laced, I suppose.
‘Mum, I’m surprised you can hear yourself think.’ I laughed as I pushed the door of the living room open and walked over to her. She was slumped forward in the chair, her chin on her chest, and for a moment, I thought she was fast asleep. ‘Mum?’ My voice sounded odd, even with the din of the television. I put a hand on her shoulder, and it felt stiff to the touch, cold. No, please God, no. I ran out of the room, and dialled 999, trying to stop my hands from trembling as I punched in the numbers.
3
THE JOURNEY FROM home to the hospital was a blur. I wasn’t even allowed to travel with Mum in the ambulance, and I had to drive behind it all the way to Dublin. I was in such a state that I couldn’t find my car keys, emptying my handbag out on the hall floor and rummaging around, until I remembered that they were in my coat pocket. And now, here I was, in an alcove off the main waiting room, Mum’s warm dressing gown in my hand. I was shaking violently and my teeth were chattering.
‘I’ll get you a cup of tea to warm you up, is that OK?’ The nurse’s voice was loud in my ear. I’d forgotten she was there for a moment, and then I looked down and realized she was holding my hand. I shook my head. ‘I just want to know how she is.’
‘Dr O’Rourke is looking after her. She’s in good hands. I promise.’ And she smiled and patted my knee. ‘I’ll bring you that tea, anyway.’ And then she was gone and I was alone. I couldn’t think straight. Should I call someone? Mum had a brother and sister who lived in Australia, and I found myself looking at my watch, wondering what time it would be there. But what on earth would I tell them? That Mum was unconscious? That I didn’t know whether she’d live or die? I’d never felt so lonely in my life.
I realized that I must have nodded off for a while. As I listened to the beeping of the monitors I remembered I’d dreamed that I was singing ‘Ave Maria’ in a crowded stadium in front of a huge crowd, and they’d all been laughing, and I’d wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. And then I’d looked down to the front row and seen Mum, smiling and blowing me kisses and that had kept me going.
‘Are you the next of kin?’ I sat up and rubbed my eyes as the doctor sat down beside me. ‘I’m sorry. You must think that I’m uncaring. It’s just …’
‘Not at all.’ His manner was brisk, and when I looked up at him, I could see how distracted he was, tapping his foot, jiggling his bleeper in his hand. And then he smiled at me and his features relaxed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was about my age but he looked older, tired, and his fair hair was thinning on the top of his head. Probably all the late nights in this place, I thought.
‘How is she?’ I put a hand to my throat.
He sighed. ‘She had a heart attack, but she’s stable now. We’ll need to monitor her carefully for signs of cardiac distress over the next few hours, and the picture should become clearer then. I’m sorry not to be able to say more now, but …’ Abruptly, he stood up. ‘Look, do you have anyone that can be with you?’
I shook my head. ‘No, my dad’s dead and I’m an only child.’
He nodded and looked over his shoulder as a nurse called his name. ‘Friends?’
‘What? Oh, well, yes, I do,’ I said, thinking immediately of Sister Monica. I’d call her. She’d know what to do.
‘Good.’ He looked at me again, this time more kindly. ‘Look, I’ll check in on you again later to update you. And if you need anything … one of the nurses will know where to find me. OK?’
I was about to nod and say thanks, but I was interrupted by the bleeper and by the nurse again. ‘Dr O’Rourke, your CT scan …’ He looked down at the beeper and then back at me.
‘Busy night.’ I attempted a smile.
‘You could say that.’ His smile was broader this time. ‘Right, must go.’ And he was running up the corridor, as another nurse grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along towards one of the wards.
I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come, so instead I sat with my head in my hands for a few moments, before deciding to call Sister Monica. I needed her, I thought, as I pulled my mobile phone out of my handbag. I didn’t even look at the time, but when I stood outside the A & E department, mobile in my hand, the sun was just coming up, so I hoped she’d be awake.
‘Sister Monica?’ I was mortified to hear the wobble in my voice, like a little girl. Pull yourself together, Antonia, I thought.
‘What is it, Antonia? What’s wrong?’ Her voice was strong and alert, as always, and when I heard it, I just crumbled.
‘It’s Mum …’ I couldn’t get the rest of the words out for the sobs.
‘Is she ill? Tell me, pet. What’s the matter?’
Sister Monica’s voice was so gentle that I managed to blurt it out. ‘She’s had a heart attack.’ It sounded so final that I burst into a fresh bout of sobbing, barely able to hear Sister Monica shushing me down the phone.
‘Which hospital are you in? I’ll be right there.’
‘No. No, there’s no need, Sister Monica.’ At the thought of seeing my old friend again, I panicked. I couldn’t get an old lady out of bed and make her come halfway across the city, I thought. But that wasn’t the real reason. I knew that if she appeared, with her calm good sense, I’d just fall apart. ‘Look, she’s stable … I’ll ring you if there’s any change. In the meantime, will you pray for her?’
There was a pause at the end of the line, and I could tell that she was weighing up what I was saying to her. She could always read me so well, Sister Monica. ‘You can’t fool me,’ she’d joke when I was seven and trying to get out of doing my homework. ‘I can see everything with my magic eye.’ And we’d laugh, and of course I’d squirm with guilt at the same time. And then she’d reach inside the pocket of her black habit, produce one of her favourite chewy Milky ‘Moo’ Mints, and hold it out. ‘Peace offering,’ she’d say and pat me on the head.
Now, she sighed. ‘Of course I’ll pray for her, and I want you to ring me the minute you have any news. Do you promise?’
I nodded. ‘I promise.’ And then I disconnected before I could burst into tears again. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I’m alone, I thought. For the first time in my life.
By the time I got back to the waiting room, a nurse was just coming towards me. ‘Antonia Trent? Dr O’Rourke has been looking for you e
verywhere.’ She was around the same age as me, but smaller, with her hair pulled into a tight bun, and bright blue eyes above her green scrubs. She shot me a glare and I hung my head for a moment.
‘I’m sorry. I was just phoning a family friend.’ But her back was turned to me already, and she was marching up the corridor. I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, and then wondered what on earth was wrong with me? Miss Mouse didn’t stick her tongue out at passing nurses. It had to be the stress.
I had to run to keep up with her as she walked briskly ahead of me, up a flight of stairs and in through a door marked ‘Intensive-Care Unit’. My heart started thundering in my chest, and I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. I prayed that I wouldn’t pass out. Think of Mum, I said to myself. Think of how much she needs you.
The nurse turned to hold the door open for me, and the expression on her face was kinder this time. ‘Just hang on a second. I’ll need to find Dr O’Rourke for you. He can explain everything.’
Explain what? I thought, standing beside a drugs trolley in ICU, watching the nurses rush back and forth, hearing the beep-beep of the monitors. Was Mum in one of those rooms? I couldn’t bear to think of her being alone. I was about to grab one of the nurses and demand to know where Mum was, when Dr O’Rourke appeared. Even harassed and dishevelled as he was, my heart leapt when I saw him. At last, here was someone who could tell me what was going on.
As he came towards me, his lips were set in a grim line. And I knew.
‘How is she?’
He shook his head and reached out to hold my arm.
‘She’s not—’ I began.
‘No,’ he said gently. His fingers were warm as he steered me towards one of the rooms. ‘But I have to tell you that I’m worried about her. She’s very weak, and she’s not responding to the heart medication.’
I put my hand to my mouth. ‘Oh, God … she’s not going to die, is she?’
I was willing him to say of course not, but I guessed the truth from the look on his face.
‘It’s not good, Antonia. You might have to prepare yourself.’ We stood outside the door of her room, and for a second I wasn’t sure about going in. I was scared, I suppose.
I nodded. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled at me, and this time the smile reached his eyes. He patted me on the shoulder. ‘It’s difficult, I know, but we’re doing everything we possibly can.’
‘I know, Dr O’Rourke. Thanks,’ I managed, and crossed the threshold into the room.
Mum looked so small and frail on the bed, so vulnerable. I wanted to reach out and hug her, but she had so many wires on her chest, and a tube in her mouth. ‘We’re monitoring her heartbeat,’ the doctor said kindly.
‘Mum?’ I went over to the side of the bed, putting down the dressing gown I was holding, and took her hand in mine. It was warm and soft. I looked over to the doctor. ‘Can she hear me?’
‘Well, she’s heavily sedated, but I think you should talk to her and hold her hand. She’ll take comfort from it, I’m sure.’
‘Thanks.’ I barely heard him leave. Then the door swung closed behind him, leaving me alone with Mum. As I held her hand I remembered how she used to take mine in hers when we were crossing the road. It always made me feel so safe, my small hand in her larger one. Every time, she’d turn to me before we crossed and smile. ‘Always look right, then left, then right again. Will you remember that?’
‘Right, then left, then right again,’ I’d repeat.
‘That’s it, pet.’ And she’d squeeze my hand.
It was one of the first things she taught me. And then she taught me how to make scones and sew clothes for my dolls, and to remember always to say please and thank you, and how to play patience and make popcorn on the stove. And, later, how to curl my hair. She was my mum. I took in a deep breath and tried to push the sobs away. ‘Mum? It’s Antonia.’ I squeezed her hand again, hoping that somehow she might squeeze back, might sit up in the bed and ask me what all the wires were for. Mum, who before her stroke had never been sick for a single day in her life.
‘Mum, I just want to say … well, I love you.’ In spite of everything, I couldn’t keep the tears away. We’d never exactly been demonstrative, Mum and Dad and I. We’d never said ‘I love you’ to each other, but it seemed important to say it now. Funny, it was the first time I’d ever said the words out loud, to anyone. ‘You’re in the best of hands, Mum,’ I continued. ‘The doctors are doing everything they can. You don’t have to worry about a thing.’ Because I knew that if she could hear or see anything she’d be scared and would need reassurance. And I’d always been there to offer her that.
‘I’m here, Mum,’ I said to her now. ‘I’m here.’
I couldn’t hear anything for a moment except the steady beep-beep of her heart monitor, but then it let out a sudden long single beep, and the nurses and that harassed doctor came crashing in through the door. ‘Wha—?’ I opened my mouth to ask what was happening, but the nurses ignored me.
‘Her blood pressure’s dropping,’ one murmured, examining the monitor.
‘Right, we’ll need CPR,’ the doctor said. Then, as if he was seeing me for the first time, he added, ‘Could you wait outside, please?’
His tone was brusque, and stupidly, I felt hurt for a moment, before nodding my head. ‘Of course.’
I went to the door and glanced back. They were all around Mum like a swarm of bees, pressing buttons and injecting her. I knew that it was the last time I would see her alive.
The doctor came out of her room twenty minutes later. I jumped up from where I’d been sitting, perched on a radiator outside her room, willing him not to say the words.
He shook his head. ‘I’m very sorry, Antonia. We did all we could, but her heart was just too weak. We couldn’t revive her.’
My knees buckled, and he had to hang on to my arm to keep me from collapsing on to the floor. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ he repeated, steering me towards a row of seats at the end of the corridor. He sat down beside me and waited, while I sobbed my eyes out. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘If it’s any consolation at all, she didn’t suffer, Antonia.’
I nodded, unable to speak.
‘Do you have any family or friends you’d like to call?’
I shook my head. ‘Mum has a brother and sister in Australia, but I’m adopted.’ I blurted the words out and then wondered what he must think of me. What had my being adopted got to do with anything? God, I sounded so stupid. But when I looked up at him his eyes were kind.
‘Well, that must make you even more special then, mustn’t it?’ He said. ‘Your mum was very lucky to have you as a daughter.’
‘Thanks,’ I murmured, opening my handbag and rummaging around for a tissue. I realized then, that he was still holding my arm, and I had to extricate myself gently. I blew my nose and tried desperately to be collected. ‘What happens now?’ I managed.
‘Well, you’ll need to contact the funeral home, and they’ll come and … take her—’ he began.
‘Take her where?’ I panicked, and clutched my hand to my throat.
‘To the funeral home,’ he said gently. ‘Did you do this before for your dad?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Mum did it all.’
‘Right …’ he began, and then his bleeper went off. He looked at it and tutted, pressing the black button off. He was distracted again, running a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll bring you back to her for a moment, and then I’ll have a quick look to see if there are any local funeral homes in your area. Where did you say you lived?’
‘Glenvara. It’s in Wicklow.’
He smiled. ‘Coincidence. My brother and sister-in-law live there. Nice spot.’
I managed a smile. ‘Yes, it is. I’ve always loved it.’ But then I thought: What on earth am I doing talking to this man about the beauty of Wicklow when my mum has just died? He must think I’m out of my mind.
I stood up, more abruptly than I’d intended. ‘Can I see my mum now?’ I t
ried to look as if I was in control, not a blubbering mess who didn’t know what to do with herself.
‘Oh.’ He looked startled for a moment. ‘Of course.’
‘Thank you,’ I said crisply, and I stood up and turned my back to him, and walked up the corridor to Mum’s room. I stood at the door for a few seconds and closed my eyes, trying to pluck up the courage to go in. And then I could feel the doctor’s hand on my shoulder, heavy and warm, and I’ve never felt so grateful to anyone in my whole life. He had to see this kind of thing day after day, and yet he still managed to be kind.
‘Ready?’ he said.
‘Ready.’ And then I walked into the room to say a last goodbye to my mother.
4
WHEN I OPENED the front door to the house later that day, I had to stop myself calling out ‘Mum’, the way I always did as soon as I turned the key in the door. ‘I’m home!’ I’d announce as I put the shopping down. Of course, there was no one there to welcome me. The silence was oppressive, and I suddenly realized that I was entirely alone. I put my bag down on the floor, and cried until I could cry no more, wondering if Mum would mind that the tears were for me as well as her. Would she be hurt that I was thinking about myself and the life I’d have without her?
Eventually, I managed to drag myself up the stairs. I couldn’t imagine that I would sleep, but it’s amazing how the body has a way of telling you what it needs. I took Mum’s dressing gown out of my bag and tucked it around me, huddling on her bed. The dressing gown smelled of that lavender face cream she liked, and it comforted me. In spite of everything that had happened earlier, I drifted off.
The late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window woke me. Groggily, I looked at my watch. It was four thirty. For a precious moment I forgot where I was, but then the memories came flooding back, and I felt the tears sting my eyes. My first day without Mum.
I managed to get out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, putting the bag in the cup and pouring boiling water over it, congratulating myself that I could do just that small thing. I could manage on my own. Maybe if I kept saying it to myself, it might turn out to be true. What was it Sister Monica always said? ‘One foot in front of the other, Antonia.’ The thought of it almost made me smile, until I remembered that I’d have to ring her, to break the news. And everyone else. I began to feel my heart flutter in my chest, that familiar feeling of panic coming over me.