by Isabel Wolff
Dad caught Louis as he slithered down the slide again. ‘He does seem sleepy today – don’t you, darling?’ Dad cuddled him. ‘You didn’t want to get out of your cot.’ Suddenly Louis started to cry. ‘Don’t cry, sweetie.’ Dad stroked his face. ‘There’s no need to cry.’
‘Do you think he’s okay?’
Dad felt his head. ‘He’s just got a bit of a temperature.’
‘I noticed that he felt warm when I kissed him.’
‘It’s half a degree over normal, I’d say, but I think he’s fine. Let’s put him in the swing again – he loves that.’
So we did, and this seemed to cheer Louis for a moment and he stopped crying and sat there, but listlessly now, closing his eyes again, his legs dangling.
‘I’ll give him some Calpol,’ Dad said. ‘Could you lift him out, Phoebe?’
As I did so, Louis’ little green coat rode up. My heart lurched. His tummy was scattered with red spots.
‘Dad, have you seen this rash?’
‘I know – he’s had a bit of eczema lately.’
‘I don’t think this is eczema.’ I stroked Louis’ skin. ‘These spots are flat, like little pinpricks – and his hands are like ice.’ I stared at Louis. His cheeks were flushed but there was a bluish tinge to his mouth. ‘Dad, I don’t think he’s very well.’
Dad looked at Louis’ front then he took the baby bag off the back of the buggy and got out the Calpol. ‘This will help – it’s good for lowering a high temperature. Could you hold him, Phoebe?’ So we sat at one of the picnic tables and I cuddled Louis while Dad poured the pink medicine into the spoon. Then I inclined Louis’ head. ‘That’s a good boy,’ Dad said as he trickled it in. ‘Normally it’s a struggle, but he’s being so good about it today. Well done, little boy …’ Louis suddenly grimaced, then threw it all up. As Dad wiped him clean I felt Louis’ brow. It was burning. He emitted a high-pitched cry.
‘Dad, what if this is something serious?’
He flinched. ‘We need a glass,’ he said quietly. ‘Get me a glass, Phoebe.’
I ran up to the café and asked for one but the woman said that glass isn’t allowed in the Diana Playground. I began to panic. ‘Dad – do you have a glass jar with you?’
He looked at me. ‘There’s a jar of blueberry pudding in the baby bag. Use that.’
I got it out, ran to the loo, washed out the purple mush and rinsed the glass, tearing off as much of the label as I could with my trembling fingers. When I came out I looked to see if there was anyone who might help us, but the playground was almost deserted apart from a few people at the very far end.
Dad held Louis while I pressed the glass to his tummy. Louis flinched at its coldness and started screaming now, tears spurting from his eyes.
‘How do I do it, Dad?’
‘Don’t you just press it and see if the spots fade?’
I tried again. ‘It’s hard to tell whether they’re fading or not.’ Now Dad was dialling a number on his mobile. ‘Who are you calling? Ruth?’
‘No. Our GP. Damn – it’s engaged.’
‘There’s an NHS helpline – you could get the number from directory enquiries.’ Now Louis was half closing his eyes and turning his head as though the sunlight was bothering him. I put the jar to his tummy again, but the glass on the bottom was too thick to see through it clearly; then I saw that Dad was still on the phone.
‘Why can’t they answer?’ he moaned. ‘Come on…’
Suddenly my mobile phone rang. I pressed the green button. ‘Mum,’ I breathed.
‘Darling, I just thought I’d give you a call,’ she said quickly. ‘I am feeling quite nervous actually…’
‘Mum –’
‘I’ll soon be arriving at the clinic and I do have a bit of a pit in my stomach about it all, I must say –’
‘Mum! I’m with Dad and Louis in the Diana Playground. Louis isn’t at all well. He’s got these spots on his tummy, and he’s crying and he’s got a high tem perature and he’s light-intolerant and sleepy and he’s been sick and I’m trying to do that glass test, but I don’t know how to do it.’
‘Press the side of the glass to his skin,’ she said. ‘Are you doing it?’
‘Yes, now I am, but I still can’t see.’
‘Try again. But it must be the side.’
‘The thing is, it’s a small jar and some of the label’s still stuck to it – so I can’t see if the spots are fading or not and Louis really is quite distressed.’ He’d thrown back his head, and was emitting another high, keening cry. ‘This has all just blown up in less than an hour.’
‘How’s your father managing?’ Mum asked.
‘Not that well, to be honest,’ I said quietly.
Dad was still trying to phone the doctor. ‘Why don’t they answer?’ I heard him mutter.
‘He can’t get through to the GP …’
‘Stop!’ I suddenly heard Mum say. What was she talking about? ‘And can you pull in on the right – into that car park there?’ Now I heard the sound of the cab door being opened, then Mum’s footsteps tapping quickly over the concrete path. ‘I’m coming, Phoebe,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Put the baby in the pushchair, leave the playground now and walk back towards Bayswater Road. I’ll meet you.’
So I strapped Louis into his buggy and now I was pushing it out of the playground with Dad, and we were walking quickly towards the park gate wondering what was going on and suddenly there was Mum, walking – no, running – towards us. She barely registered Dad as she focused on Louis. ‘Give me the jar, Phoebe.’
She pulled up Louis’ top then pressed the glass to his tummy. ‘It’s hard to tell,’ she said. ‘And sometimes the spots can fade and it can still be meningitis.’ She felt his brow. ‘He’s so hot.’ She took off his hat and unbuttoned his coat. ‘Poor little thing.’
‘We’ll go to my GP,’ Dad said. ‘They’re in Colville Square.’
‘No,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll go straight to Casualty. My taxi’s just over there.’ We ran to it, and lifted in the buggy. ‘Change of plan – to St Mary’s, please,’ Mum said to the driver as she climbed in. ‘The A & E entrance, as fast as possible.’
We were there within five minutes, then we got out, and Mum paid the driver then we ran inside and she spoke to the receptionist and we sat in the Paediatric A & E waiting room with the children with broken arms and cut fingers while Dad did his best to comfort Louis, who was still crying inconsolably; then a nurse came out and quickly examined Louis and took his temperature, and now she was telling us to go straight through and I noticed that she was walking fast. And the doctor who met us in the Triage area said that we couldn’t all come in, and he thought that I was Louis’ mother so I explained that I was his sister, and Dad asked Mum if she’d go in with him. So Mum gave me her overnight bag, and I took it back to the waiting room with Louis’ buggy and the xylophone and I waited …
I waited for what seemed like an eternity, as I sat on my blue plastic chair listening to the whirr and thump of the cold drinks machine, the low chatter of the other people and the incessant babble of the wall-mounted TV. I glanced at it and saw that the One o’Clock News was starting. Louis had been in there for an hour and a half. That meant that he had meningitis. I tried to swallow, but there was a knife in my throat. I looked at his empty buggy and felt my eyes fill. I’d been upset when he was born – I didn’t even meet him for the first eight weeks: and now I loved him and he was going to die.
Suddenly I heard a baby screaming. Convinced that it was Louis, I went up to the reception window and asked the nurse if she knew what was happening. She went away, then returned saying that they were doing further tests on Louis to see whether a lumbar puncture was needed. I had visions of his little body trailing drips and wires. I picked up a magazine and tried to read it, but the words and photos were bending and blurring. Then I looked up and there was Mum walking towards me, looking upset. Please God.
She gav
e me a watery smile. ‘He’s okay.’ Relief flooded throgh me. ‘It’s a viral infection. They blow up very quickly. But they’re keeping him in overnight. It’s okay, Phoebe.’ I saw her swallow then she pulled a pack of tissues out of her pocket and gave me one. ‘I’m going to go home now.’
‘Does Ruth know?’
‘Yes. She’ll be here before long.’
I handed Mum her bag. ‘So I guess you’re not going to Maida Vale,’ I said quietly.
She shook her head. ‘It’s too late. But I’m glad I was here.’ She gave me a hug then walked out of the hospital.
A nurse directed me to the children’s ward. I went up there in the lift and found Dad on a chair, by the end cot, in which Louis was sitting up, playing with a toy car. He seemed himself again, more or less, apart from a bandage on his hand where they’d had to put in a drip. His colour seemed to have returned to normal except …
‘What’s that?’ I said. ‘On his face?’
‘What’s what?’ said Dad.
‘On his cheek – there?’ I peered at Louis and then I realised what it was – the perfect imprint of a coral kiss.
FOURTEEN
It took me a day to get over the trauma of Louis’ trip to Casualty. I phoned Mum to see how she was.
‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly. ‘It was rather a … strange situation, to put it mildly. How’s your dad?’
‘Not happy. He’s in the dog house with Ruth.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s furious with him for not knowing that you go straight to Casualty if you suspect meningitis.’
‘Then she should take more responsibility for Louis herself! Your father is sixty-two,’ Mum went on. ‘He’s doing his best, but his instincts just weren’t … right. Louis needs proper childcare. Your father’s not a nanny – he’s an archaeologist.’
‘True – not that he gets any work. But what’s happening about your “procedure”, Mum?’
I heard a painful sigh. ‘I’ve just paid the other £4,000.’
‘You mean you’ve spent £8,000 on a facelift that you didn’t have?’
‘Yes – because they’d had to hire the operating theatre and pay the nurses and the anaesthetist and then there was Freddie Church’s fee, so there was no getting out of it. But when I explained what had happened, they kindly said they’d give me a twenty-five per cent discount when I do have it done.’
‘And when will that be?’
Mum hesitated. ‘I’m not … sure.’
Two days after this Miles collected me straight from the shop and drove me back to his house for the evening. As I’d been feeling slightly grubby I had a quick bath then went downstairs and cooked dinner. As we sat down to eat we talked about what had happened to Louis.
‘Thank God your mother was so near.’
‘Yes. It was … lucky.’ I hadn’t told Miles where she’d been going. ‘Her maternal instincts came to the fore.’
‘But what a bizarre encounter for your parents.’
‘I know. It was the first time they’d seen each other since Dad left. I think it’s shaken them both.’
‘Well – all’s well that ends well.’ Miles poured me a glass of white wine. ‘And you said you’d been very busy at the shop.’
‘It’s been frantic – partly because I had a nice mention in the Evening Standard.’ I decided not to tell Miles that it had come from the girl who’d torn Roxy’s dress. ‘So that’s brought in customers, and I’ve had Americans coming in to buy things to wear for Thanksgiving.’
‘When’s that? Tomorrow?’
‘Yes. I’ve had a run on “wiggle” dresses – all very retro.’
‘Good.’ Miles raised his glass. ‘So everything’s going well?’
‘It seems to be.’
Except that I’d heard nothing further from Luke. As two weeks had now gone by I assumed that Miriam Lipietzka had been told about my request and that her answer, for whatever reason, was no.
After supper Miles and I went into the sitting room to watch TV. As the Ten o’Clock News started we heard the front door open – Roxy had been out with a friend. Miles went into the hall to speak to her.
I heard her yawn. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Okay, darling, but don’t forget I’m taking you in early tomorrow, because I’ve got a breakfast meeting. We’ll be leaving at seven. Phoebe’s going to lock up when she leaves a bit later.’
‘Sure.’ Night, Dad.’
‘Goodnight, Roxy,’ I called out.
‘Goodnight.’
Miles and I stayed up for another hour or so, watched half of Newsnight, then went to bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. I felt comfortable with him now that the problems with Roxy were receding. For the first time I could imagine a shared life.
In the morning I was vaguely aware of Miles moving about in the bedroom. I heard him talking to Roxy on the landing, then there was the scent of toast, and the distant slamming of the front door.
I showered, drying my hair afterwards with a dryer that Miles now kept in his bedroom for my use. Then I went back into the bathroom to do my teeth and makeup. Now I went to the mantelpiece to get my emerald ring which I’d left there the night before. I stared at the green saucer in which I’d placed it. In the saucer were three pairs of Miles’ cufflinks, two buttons, and a book of matches, but nothing else …
My first reaction was to wonder whether Miles had moved the ring for safe-keeping. I didn’t think that he would have done that without telling me, so now I looked along the mantelpiece to see if it had somehow been knocked out of the saucer, but it wasn’t anywhere there, or on the floor, every inch of which I now searched. I could feel my breathing speed up as the stress of not being able to find it increased.
I sat on the bathroom chair and went over in my mind what I’d done the previous night. I’d come back to the house with Miles, and because I’d been so busy all day I’d had a quick bath. That’s when I’d taken the ring off, and had put it in the green saucer, which is where I always put my jewellery when I stay at Miles’ house. I’d decided not to put it back on because I was about to do some cooking. So I’d left it in the saucer and had gone downstairs.
I glanced at my watch – it was a quarter to eight: I’d have to get the train over to Blackheath soon, but by now I was in a panic about my ring. I decided to phone Miles. He’d be in the car, but he had a Bluetooth. ‘Miles?’ I said when the phone picked up.
‘It’s Roxanne. Dad asked me to answer as he forgot his earpiece.’
‘Could you ask him something for me, please?’
‘What?’
‘Could you tell him that I left my emerald ring in his bathroom last night, in a saucer on the mantelpiece, and it’s not there now so I’m wondering whether he might have moved it.’
‘I haven’t seen it,’ she said.
‘Could you ask your dad about it?’ I reiterated. My heart was pounding.
‘Daddy, Phoebe can’t find her emerald ring: she says she left it in your bathroom in the green saucer and thinks you may have moved it.’
‘No – of course I didn’t,’ I heard him say. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Did you hear that?’ Roxy said. ‘Dad didn’t touch it. No one did. You must have lost it.’
‘No, I haven’t. It was definitely there, so … if he could call me later … I …’
The line had cut off.
I was so distracted about my ring that I nearly forgot to set the burglar alarm. Then I posted the key back through the door, walked to Denmark Hill, got the train to Blackheath then went straight to the shop.
When Miles phoned me he said he’d help me look for the ring later. He said it must have dropped down somewhere – that was the only explanation.
That night I drove over to Camberwell.
‘So where did you leave it?’ Miles asked as we stood in his bathroom.
‘In this saucer, here …’
Then it came back to me. I’d been too stressed for it to registe
r, but Roxy had told Miles that I’d left the ring in ‘the green saucer’; but I hadn’t told her that it was the green one – I’d said ‘a’ saucer. In fact there were three of them, all different colours. I felt a sick see-saw feeling and had to put my hand to the mantelpiece to steady myself.
‘I put it here,’ I reiterated. ‘I had a quick bath then decided not to put it back on because I was going to be making supper, so then I went downstairs. When I went to put it on this morning it had gone.’
Miles looked at the green saucer. ‘Are you sure you put it here? Because I don’t remember seeing it in here last night when I took off my cufflinks.’
I felt my insides twist. ‘I definitely put it there – at about six thirty.’ An awkward silence enveloped us.
‘Miles …’ My mouth seemed to have dried to the texture of blotting paper. ‘Miles … I’m sorry, but … I can’t help wondering …’
He stared at me. ‘I know what you’re wondering, and the answer’s no.’
I felt heat suffuse my face. ‘But Roxy was the only other person in the house. Do you think there’s any chance she might have picked it up?’
‘Why would she?’
‘By mistake,’ I said desperately. ‘Or perhaps just … to … look at it, and then she forgot to put it back.’ I stared at him, my heart pounding. ‘Miles, please – could you ask?’
‘No. I won’t. I heard Roxanne tell you that she hadn’t seen your ring and that means she hadn’t seen it and that’s all there is to it.’ Now I told Miles about Roxy seeming to know that the saucer in question was green. ‘Well …’ He threw up his hands. ‘She knows there’s a green saucer because she comes in here sometimes.’
‘But there’s also a blue saucer and a red one. How did Roxy know that I’d left it in the green saucer without my having told her?’
‘Because she knows I keep my cufflinks in the green one, so she must have assumed you’d left it in there – or maybe it was a simple association because emeralds are green.’ He shrugged. ‘I really don’t know – I only know that Roxy did not take your ring.’