by Vivien Brown
She had left the rain behind, hovering like a soggy grey sheet over the sea, and felt her spirits start to lift as she came into a dusty and damp London, humming with noise and throbbing with life. Resisting the temptation to shop, she had bumped her small case onto the tube to Euston and just managed to catch the train in time. A pale sun hung in the sky now, peeking out between drifting patches of cloud as she settled into her seat and let the train take her home. The further north she travelled the brighter the weather, and her own mood, seemed to become.
The seat beside her was empty, and the woman in front was already asleep. Slipping out of her shoes, Patsy tucked her feet up under her, ran her fingers over the thin gold chain that circled her ankle, briefly catching one of its tiny links on her engagement ring, and rubbed at the broken blister still sore on her heel. She was heading for her childhood home, for her old bedroom which she knew would still look exactly the way she’d left it, her dressing gown still hanging on the back of the door, her over-sized Christmas-present slippers poking out from under the bed, her walking boots and waterproof coat cleaned and waiting in the hall ready for the next time she took them tramping over the hills. She could be a different person there, shake off the super-efficient, super-poised woman she was at work, and just be herself again. Closing her eyes, she could almost smell the wide expanses of well-trodden grass, the cool clean blue-white air that lay over the lakes, hunks of her mother’s homemade bread cooling on the range, and the unmistakeable whiff of damp dog.
She didn’t realise she’d nodded off to sleep until the train shuddered to a noisy halt, late in the afternoon, and there was her brother Matt jumping up and down on the platform outside and banging excitedly on the window.
*
The room was so much quieter now. No hissing, no whirring from the machines. Just Ruby, looking as if she was asleep. Looking alive. Not quite so still any more. The tube gone from her mouth. A hint of colour in her cheeks. Just the bandaging around her head to show that she was not merely a girl asleep in her bed and dreaming. That she was sick, and there was still some way to go.
The first step was over. She had started to breathe by herself. She hadn’t died. These were good things. Miraculous things. Now they had let him into the room, Lily hovering beside him, half hiding behind his legs.
But Michael knew the biggest hurdle was yet to come. What had been happening all this time, in that head of hers? What was going on in her brain? Was it healing? Was it going to survive? Intact and undamaged? Would Ruby be able to do all the things a young girl of twenty-two should be able to do?
He felt himself gulp, swallow hard, as if he was the one struggling for air. Would she still be the same Ruby, when this was all over? The same simple, trusting, but maddeningly hot-headed, girl he had known? She had to be. Oh, God, please, please, she had to be. For all their sakes, but especially for Lily’s.
He closed his eyes, felt Lily’s tiny sweaty hand wriggle in his, and quickly opened them again.
As he watched from the back of the room, saw the doctor leaning over Ruby, the nurses moving about efficiently, charts being filled in, he could have sworn he saw her move. Saw her fingers start to twitch. Just a flicker, but enough. Enough to bring an air of hope to the room.
Lily had seen it too. ‘Is Mummy waking up now?’ she said, her hand slipping out of his as she took a tentative step nearer to the bed.
He looked across at the nearest nurse. Raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Saw her smile and nod.
‘Yes, sweetheart,’ he said, hardly daring to believe it was true. ‘I think she is.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ruby
When Michael came into my room, I was in bed. It was a very cold morning in January, frost on the grass, the windows misty, but under the covers I was as warm as toast. Geri always keeps the heating off at night and it takes time to kick back in. I think Ken likes it that way. Saves money, I suppose. I’ve noticed that he always keeps his socks on though. Big thick woolly ones, even with his pyjamas. Warm feet, warm heart. Isn’t that what Mrs Castle used to say? Or was it hands? I wonder if it works the other way too. Cold feet, cold heart …
He does seem a bit of a cold fish, her Ken. With his cold fish feet, his cold fish toes and his cold fish fingers. I giggle to myself about that. But he is. Cold, I mean, whatever the weather. I don’t ever see them hold hands or kiss. Not in front of me, anyway. Not the way I thought couples were meant to do. Maybe that’s just because they’re old, and the fire has gone out. But what do I know about couples? Where I come from, everyone is pretty much on their own.
I was wearing very little that morning. Just a thin nightshirt that barely reached to my knees. White, it was, with flowers on the front. Nothing else. He’d brought me tea. He didn’t usually. I think she’d gone out to work early, and who knows where Ken was? I don’t think he was in the house. Even if he was, he’d never been inside my room, and wasn’t likely to start now.
I don’t really remember how it happened. Not clearly. Just that it did. And how much I wanted it to. Kicking off the covers, raising my knees, reaching for the mug and feeling it shake, heavy and hot, in my hand. My nipples reacting to the sudden rush of cold air and standing up like buttons behind the cloth of the shirt. And Michael noticing, and pretending not to. My hair all messy and tousled from sleep, the soapy fresh tang of his skin, him holding out both hands to steady mine, to guide the mug to the safety of the bedside table, my bare knee knocking his arm, the nearness of his face to mine. Oh, the nearness. Neither of us moved away. He still held my hands, held my gaze, lowered himself onto the edge of the bed – said something. What was it? Something about the time or the weather or what was I going to do today? It was my day off from the shop. I remember that. No plans. No hurry.
His hands reaching across the counter at the bank. How many times had I dreamed of them? Warm, strong hands, sliding the money under the glass, pulling back, away from me. And now, here they were, not pulling back. I leaned forward. No glass partitions, no watching eyes, no hurry. I leaned forward, and I kissed them. Without thinking, without saying anything, without shame. Pulled his hands up slowly to my lips and kissed them. I felt the thin cloth move as I moved, felt the cold air ripple up my exposed skin, felt his hands slide away from under mine and slide up beneath the shirt and find me.
I loved it, and I loved him. More in that moment than ever before, or since.
Mike came into my room. Stood by the bed, watched me, touched me, entered me. Only once, but once was enough. And then there was Lily. Tiny inside me, then growing, growing, like a little miracle. She brought us together, Mike and me. Lily, the glue that bound us together. And when she was born, she was like all my dolls, all those other Lilys and Betsys, merged into one and brought to life. But better. More beautiful. More perfect. Half his, half mine. More mine than anything had ever been before. From the day she came I loved her. More than anything, or anyone. And love can’t be divided, or shared. She is mine, and Mike’s. Not hers. Never hers. I can’t let her have her, take her …
Lily.
‘Is Mummy waking up now?’
I hear her voice, and I know she’s here. In the room with me.
It’s cold, and I am wearing very little under the covers. Just a thin piece of cloth. Where is Geri? She must have gone to work, left me here to sleep in. Michael has brought me tea. I have brought him nothing but trouble. I try to raise my knees, but they don’t move. Won’t move. I can feel my fingers. Just. And then they start to tremble. A flicker of a feeling. But I know that if I can just reach out, I will be able to touch her. Lily. My Lily. All that matters to me in all the world. Just Lily.
‘Is Mummy waking up now?’ I hear it again, like an echo. Round and round, far away, swirling in circles inside my head. I feel my eyelids move, struggling to open. I want to see her. Need to see her.
There is a long silence. I can feel hands touching me, eyes watching me, everything and everyone stopping and waiting. For me.
/>
‘Yes, sweetheart. I think she is.’
And then I do.
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Laura was sure the woman had tried to commit suicide. It didn’t matter what story she told, about taking too many pills by accident, about not meaning for it to happen. Anyone could see it had been real, and how close she had come to succeeding. A cry for help, or maybe even a genuine attempt to end it all, to escape from something she flatly refused to talk about.
It seemed such a terrible thing to say, in the face of the woman’s obvious anguish, but Laura was almost glad she had this patient to worry about now. Someone whose troubles were big and deep and heavy enough to have brought her here. Someone whose plight reminded her why she had wanted to be a nurse in the first place. To help, to heal, to make a difference. And now … Well, administering an antidote, talking to her, walking her up and down, giving her a shoulder to lean on, it all helped to take her mind off Ruby and the wait for news.
‘Julie, I can’t do that,’ she said again, trying to guide the woman back to her bed. ‘You shouldn’t leave the ward. Not yet. You’re not ready.’
‘But it wouldn’t take long. Ten minutes. I have to talk to God.’ The woman clutched at Laura’s wrist, pulling her towards the door. ‘Please. You have a chapel here. I know you do. You don’t have to come with me. Just turn your back, let me slip out. I can find it, follow the signs. You can say you knew nothing about it. Just for a little while. Please. I need to talk to God. It’s important.’
‘Julie …’
‘You don’t understand, nurse, just how important it is. What I’ve done, it needs to be … forgiven.’
The chapel. Laura knew where it was, had passed its doors often enough, but she’d never been inside. Had never felt the need, nor understood its power. Yet, for this woman, it was clearly desperately important, that urgent need to unburden. And whatever it was that troubled her, it had been bad enough for her to try to take her own life, no matter how strongly she denied it.
‘But there may not be anyone there. You know, a priest …’
‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I don’t have to see a priest. What I have to say is between God and me. I just hope He’ll listen …’
They had passed the bed again, on their slow circuit of the ward, and were nearing the exit door. Julie limped a little, her toes red and sore from being more or less dragged from her home by her distraught husband, the bruises already big and blue on her arms from where he’d gripped her and shaken her and then tried to carry her in his haste to get her here. Now all she wanted to do was leave.
‘Please. It’s not as if you can hold me here, is it? Against my will, I mean. I could walk out any time I like.’
‘Technically, yes, you could. But I don’t think you’d get very far. For a start, you don’t have any shoes with you. And, besides, you’re far too weak to leave. Julie, you swallowed a lot of pills. You’re lucky your husband found you and we were able to help you so quickly. You’ve not long been properly awake, and you can hardly stand unaided. So, why not wait? Until the doctor says you can go. The chapel will still be there later, won’t it?’
‘No. I’m sorry …’ Julie stopped for a moment and bent forward, almost double, holding her hands across her stomach, taking a slow breath in and out again before moving on. ‘But I have to. And before my husband comes back. He’ll only be gone a few minutes, and I don’t want him to know. Or to stop me.’ Then, with an almighty effort, she straightened up, pulled herself free of Laura’s restraining hands and headed for the door.
There was nothing Laura could do but follow. The woman was too ill to go alone.
Maybe we really will be so quick that nobody will know we’ve gone, she thought. Except it wasn’t right. It was against the rules. She was meant to say if she left the ward, and especially if she took a patient with her. But if she ran back inside now, Julie would be gone, wandering the corridors, staggering about by herself. She couldn’t let her do that.
The lift came quickly and, before she could change her mind, they were both inside.
The chapel was down in the bowels of the place. It had pale wooden double doors with stained glass panels, and a sign outside that invited them to come in, day or night. Julie held tightly to Laura’s arm with one hand and eased one of the doors open with the other. Inside there was just the sound of their feet, squeaking on the wooden floor, to break the almost eerie silence. Julie stopped a few paces in and crossed herself. Head, heart, side to side. Mumbling a prayer under her breath.
‘You’re a Roman Catholic?’
‘Oh, I’ve tried not to be, believe me. Tried to leave it all behind, but I can’t. It’s in me, always has been, all my life. There’s no escape.’ She lowered herself into the nearest seat and bowed her head.
Laura looked around. There was a narrow band of red carpet along the central aisle, little kneeling stools covered in tapestry pictures, a simple cross above the small altar at the front. There were flowers too, in vivid pinks and oranges and reds. So colourful, so cheerful. But the woman beside her looked like she had a grey doom cloud hanging over her head, weighing her down.
‘Shall I leave you alone for a minute or two?’ She felt a bit uncomfortable, as if she was intruding on someone else’s most private thoughts. Like a stranger at a funeral, hovering outside the grief.
‘Yes, please. I’ll be fine here. What I have to say won’t take long.’
‘Well, only a few minutes, mind. I’ll be just outside and when I come back for you I want you back up to that ward super quick. No arguments. Okay?’ Laura touched her shoulder and tiptoed away.
It was almost as quiet out in the corridor as it was inside the chapel. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes. That was all she would give her. While she waited she would grab the nearest phone and call A & E, to tell them where they’d gone and when they’d be back.
‘Laura?’
The voice behind her seemed to come out of nowhere and made her jump. She turned and there was Paul, dressed in his usual black, sandwich in hand, coming around the corner from the lifts.
‘Well, we don’t often see you around these parts.’
‘Never, actually. My first time inside! But it’s very nice, isn’t it? Your chapel. Very peaceful and bright.’
‘What did you expect?’ He laughed. ‘A cold damp cave? We do like to be warm and welcoming. A place for people to rest and relax, have a little think or a little cry. They come for all sorts of reasons. Yes, to pray if they want to, but it’s not compulsory!’
‘That’s why I’m here, actually. A patient of mine. She’s in there now, having her own little moment. Talking to God.’
‘Would she like to talk to me, do you think? Could I be of any help?’
‘I don’t know. She’s a Catholic, and you’re …’
‘And I’m not! No, that’s true, but it doesn’t usually matter, not really. A listening ear, a kind word. We’re all of us capable of that. We do worship the same God, after all.’
‘Even so, I get the impression she probably just wants to be on her own in there. For a while, anyway.’
‘How long have we got then?’
‘How long?’
‘Until you have to go in? I’m assuming you’re lurking out here until she’s finished, not just on the off-chance of bumping into me?’
Laura giggled. ‘Five minutes. Ten, at a push.’
‘Right then.’ He peered at the triangular packet in his hand. ‘Cheese and pickle on brown. Fancy half?’
‘I’m meant to be on duty.’
‘Aren’t you allowed a bite of a sandwich while you’re on duty? Come on, I’m on duty too, and we all have to eat. Follow me.’ He turned around and pointed to a smaller door marked ‘Staff only’ that she hadn’t even noticed. ‘My own little hidey hole. My place of escape when the going gets tough.’
‘And does it? Get tough?’
‘Sometimes. No more than in your job though, I’m sure
.’ They went in and he closed the door behind them, pointing her towards a threadbare armchair. It was low and wide, its big squashy cushion swallowing her up like a sponge. Once she’d sat down, he pulled out a small wooden chair from under a cluttered desk for himself.
Laura spotted the phone and remembered. ‘I just need to call the ward. May I?’
‘Be my guest.’ He lifted the receiver and handed it to her. While she explained what was going on to the nurse who answered, he busied himself ripping at the corner of the sandwich wrapping with his teeth.
‘I got this from that friend of yours,’ he muttered, when she’d handed him back the phone. ‘You know, one of the girls you were with, in the pub. I didn’t know she worked here in the shop. Shows how much I notice.’
‘Fiona?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. I think my mate Ian was quite smitten with her actually.’
‘Really?’
‘He took her number, you know. I’m pretty sure he’s going to ask her out.’
‘Oh!’
‘Is that a good thing? He wouldn’t be treading on any toes? She’s not already spoken for? Not married or anything?’
‘Oh, no. Not married … Or anything!’
He opened a drawer and rummaged about inside, finally producing a paper plate that looked like it had seen better days. From her armchair she couldn’t see it clearly, but she was fairly certain it had Happy Birthday written in the centre.
‘And you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Married? Or anything?’
Laura laughed. ‘definitely not.’
‘So, I was wondering …’ He kept his head down, taking his time to separate the sandwich into its triangular halves and place her share carefully on the plate. ‘If you might consider maybe going out with me one evening? On a … well, on a date.’
He looked up then, his eyes capturing hers, holding her gaze as he passed the plate. A date? She hadn’t seen that coming. Hadn’t expected it at all.