by Carrie Elks
‘Anyway, tell us about Budapest. Is the Danube as pretty as they say it is?’ Lucy asked. The change of subject was like a weight lifting from all their shoulders, and suddenly they were chatting again, their expressions softening as they exchanged news, talking about husbands and boyfriends , jobs and houses.
Lucy leaned back in her chair, surveying them all with a warm smile. She loved her sisters fiercely. Since she was fifteen years old, it had been her job to take care of them, to make sure they were happy.
To all intents and purposes, it still was.
9
My mother came into mine eyes
and gave me up to tears
– Henry V
There should be a car waiting for you in Miami. I’ve rescheduled tomorrow’s meetings, and cancelled your appointments. Give my best wishes to your mom. Grant
Lachlan skimmed the text then shoved his phone into his pocket, pulling his small, expensive case behind him as he walked into the airport arrivals lounge. Cabin-sized, it contained everything he’d had time to throw inside it, before racing to JFK Airport for the first flight he could get on.
It was eleven p.m. local time. Darkness had descended, lending Miami International a quieter atmosphere, suiting Lachlan’s mood completely. He strode across the tiled floor to the man holding the sign with his name on, nodding and allowing the driver to take his case as they walked out to the car.
A few minutes later they were pulling onto the freeway. The driver made a couple of half-hearted attempts to begin a conversation, but Lachlan’s replies were terse, almost taciturn. He preferred to stare out of the window, or check his messages to see if there were any updates from his mother’s nurse.
‘It’s the university hospital, right?’ the driver asked, pulling into the fast lane.
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m guessing it’s not a regular appointment at this hour.’
‘My mother’s been taken sick. I’ve flown down from New York to see her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the driver said.
‘Thank you.’
‘My father was in Mercy last year,’ the driver continued. ‘Heart attack. They gave him a week at best. Within two months he was dancing at my sister’s wedding. They said it was a minor miracle.’
Lachlan half-smiled. He wasn’t expecting any miracles – minor or not – for his mom.
It was less than fifteen minutes before the car pulled up outside the hospital. The driver flicked his hazard lights on and climbed out to grab Lachlan’s case from the trunk. Lachlan stood and looked up at the cream stuccoed building. If it wasn’t for the green-and-orange University of Miami Hospital signs, you could mistake it for a high-end hotel. Hell, some of the top-level rooms had fantastic views of the beach and city.
Slipping the driver a twenty-dollar tip, Lachlan grabbed his case and walked through the glass sliding doors and into the entrance, immediately heading for the information desk. It was quiet inside – regular visiting hours were over, and the general public were safely at home for the evening. Even the staff spoke softly as he asked for directions to his mom’s room.
When he made it to the Pulmonary and Critical Care ward, the nurse quietly directed him down the hallway. ‘The pulmonologist has gone home for the evening,’ she told him, her voice low. ‘He’ll be back in at eight for ward rounds. You’ll be able to speak with him then. But in the meantime if you have any questions, I should be able to help.’
‘How is she?’
‘Critical but stable,’ the nurse told him. ‘She had a chest infection which developed into pneumonia. She’s being treated with an antibiotic drip, and she’s on oxygen, but her heart is weak. We should know more tomorrow.’
‘Will she make it?’
The nurse’s face softened. ‘It’s hard to tell. There’s a fine line between treating her and exacerbating her pain. As you know, COPD is progressive, we can only treat the complications. But we’re doing all we can to help her fight.’ She stopped outside the room, pushing the door open. Lachlan stepped past her, his eyes immediately drawn to the pale woman resting on the hospital bed. She was hooked up to a machine, lines leading from her wrist up to a drip. An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth, and every time she inhaled he could hear a rattling from her chest.
‘That’s a venturi mask,’ the nurse explained. ‘It delivers high levels of oxygen to her lungs. It’s more effective than a nasal cannula.’
Lachlan nodded, though he was barely listening.
‘She’s also had two steroid injections to improve her lung function. I expect they’ll send her down for another chest X-ray tomorrow.’
Tomorrow. Seeing his mother lying on her bed, he wondered if she’d even see it. Leaving his case by the door, he walked over, pulling the chair close to the bed. Picking her hand up, he clasped it between his own.
‘She feels hot,’ he said.
‘She’s had a fever. It’s coming down. We’ll be taking her vitals again in half an hour, hopefully she’ll be a bit cooler by then.’ The nurse checked her watch. ‘I’ll leave you in here for a while. If you’d like some refreshments, the café is open all night, it’s just down the hall. And if you need one of us, you can either press that button,’ she said, pointing to the red button on the wall, ‘or come find us at the nurses’ station.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied, still staring at his mother.
‘You’re welcome.’
He spent the next hour sitting with his mom, listening to the regular beeps from the heart monitor, and her irregular breathing as she struggled still for air. The wheezing rattle from her chest made him wince, it sounded as though with every breath she took she was going in to battle. A couple of times her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him glassily, not recognising who he was, or if she did, unable to find the energy to acknowledge him.
By midnight he’d fallen asleep on the padded leather chair, his head lolling to the side as his long legs stretched out in front of him. But his slumber didn’t last for long. Every hour the nurse came in to check the machine and the IV, making notes on her tablet to record his mom’s hourly stats.
The second time the nurse woke him up, his neck was stiff, his back muscles complaining at the awkward position. He circled his head a couple of times, feeling the knots clicking against each other. ‘Where did you say the café was?’ he asked. Right then, the lure of a caffeine injection was too strong to ignore. It was a shame they didn’t serve anything stronger.
‘Down the corridor and to the left,’ she told him, adjusting the machine. ‘If you’re lucky the terrace might still be open. It has a nice view of the city.’
There was no queue at the counter. The barista served him quickly, using the same low tones everybody else seemed to have in the hospital. Did they put them on some kind of training course? Lachlan handed over a note then carried his coffee over to a corner table. The doors to the terrace were locked but the sounds of the city still found their way through the gaps. His phone screen told him it was half past one in the morning, and it felt like it, too. Sitting there in the corner of the deserted café, Lachlan felt a pang of loneliness sting his stomach.
Do you have anybody you’d like us to call? Wasn’t that what they said when a patient was close to death? If the nurse asked him there and then if there was somebody she could call, who the hell would he say?
Grant probably cared, but only because he was Lachlan’s friend. And he’d be fast asleep at this time. He couldn’t imagine Jenn would be very impressed if Lachlan woke them up just to talk.
Did he even have any other friends? Maybe, but not the kind you’d call in the middle of the night, looking for sympathy. He spent his life surrounded by work colleagues, employees, friends who liked to have a good time, but would a single one of them be there for him if he sent them a message right then?
He didn’t think so, no.
Taking a sip of his coffee, he let the bitter taste swill around his tongue, and then swi
ped his phone, checking the time once again. One thirty-three a.m. – only a few minutes since he last checked. It was as though time moved at a slower pace in the night, the same way the nurses lowered their tones once the midnight hour had passed. He checked his emails, his messages, his diary. Took another sip of his drink. Two nurses walked into the café and headed straight for the counter, then left as soon as their to-go drinks were made.
He glanced at the news, the weather forecast and the closing share prices across the globe. His coffee was half-drunk now, the liquid cooling fast in the air-conditioned café, and he pushed the cup away with one hand, still holding the phone with his other.
Sighing, he pressed on the search box in his web browser. What could he look up next? He wasn’t interested in gossip, didn’t follow any TV shows, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a book. The keyboard popped up on the screen, and he slid his fingers across the boxes, making letters appear in the search.
The MacLeish clan.
As soon as he pressed the little magnifying glass icon, a list of results appeared. An online shop selling Scottish tartan, a Wikipedia page, and then the website that Grant had told him about. Lachlan pushed on the third result, and it immediately took him to the same page he’d seen before, the one with a tartan background, and a photograph of Glencarraig Lodge in the banner.
The menu held a number of options, and he clicked on the history one first. He glanced through it, reading about the clearances in the eighteenth century, and how they resulted in so many poorer Scottish families being evicted by their aristocratic landlords, leading to a mass emigration to the New World. He read about Bonnie Prince Charlie, and how the head of the MacLeish clan had supported him in his quest to defeat the English occupation, leading to the clan chief being forced into exile, a hunted man.
There was so much information in there, Lachlan could barely take it all in. Who had written this? He couldn’t believe his father had either the interest or the technical expertise to run a website. There was no information about the author – just links to the forum, which as Grant had said was pretty deserted – as well as details of the accommodation that Glencarraig Lodge offered to paying guests, and an annual gathering.
Interested, Lachlan clicked on the gathering page. A photograph of Glencarraig castle came up again, but this time there was a host of people standing in front of it. Men wearing kilts in the traditional MacLeish tartan, ladies in longer skirts wearing tartan blankets wrapped across their shoulders. There were even children, boys in kilts and flat tam-o’-shanter hats, girls in shorter skirts and long socks. At the bottom of the photograph was a caption: MacLeish Clan Gathering 2017.
He blew up the photograph, scanning the people to see if he recognised anyone. But none of them looked familiar. Neither his father nor his brother were there, and that gave Lachlan some satisfaction.
The café door opened again, and this time there was a bigger influx of people. He glanced at the time and was shocked to see that over an hour had passed. He stood quickly and headed back to see his mom in her private room.
Learning more about the MacLeish clan would have to wait.
10
Scotland has enough treasures to satisfy
you out of your own royal coffers
– Macbeth
‘Mr MacLeish?’ Dr Farnish walked out of the hospital room, pulling the door closed behind him. ‘I’ve had the results of the X-rays back. Your mother’s chest is looking clearer than yesterday. The antibiotics seem to be working.’
Lachlan nodded quickly. The relief made his muscles feel loose. ‘She’s more lucid than yesterday, too. We managed to exchange a few words.’
‘Yes, that’s a good sign. If her recovery continues we should be able to discharge her before the weekend. The fact she has twenty-four-hour care at her home should make things easier.’
‘Will there be any lasting damage?’ Lachlan asked. ‘Do we need to review her care?’
Dr Farnish shook his head. ‘As you know, each episode of exacerbation causes some damage to her lungs, which will make breathing harder for her. But she already has a ventilator at the care home, and that should be sufficient for now. I’ll want to review her in a week, and then monthly from then. But if she’s well enough to discharge, then she’ll be well enough to go back to her care home.’ He lowered his voice, enough for Lachlan to have to lean a little closer. ‘At some point you’ll need to have a discussion with her about her wishes. Maybe think about a living will. Her COPD will have an effect on her quality of life, and eventually the pain is going to outweigh any positives.’
Lachlan leaned back on the painted wall. A nurse walked past them, pushing a trolley of equipment, the rubber wheels squeaking against the tiled floor. The doctor was right – he knew that. They’d consulted enough experts to know there was no way but down for his mother.
‘I’ll speak to her when she’s back at the home,’ he agreed, though he was already working out when he’d have a chance to do it. Now she was on the mend he had to get back to work – he’d already cancelled four days’ worth of meetings, he couldn’t cancel much more.
‘I know it’s not easy, but it would be the kindest thing to do.’
Lachlan nodded again, then walked back into the hospital room, where his mom was still sleeping, her breathing audible against the backdrop of the bleeping monitors. There were pillows propped around her, and the tubes were still attached to her wrist, but the mask had been removed, replaced by a nasal cannula that allowed her to speak, for the few minutes she had enough energy to stay awake. He sat next to her, in the chair that had already moulded to his body, the cushions sinking beneath him as though they were tired of staying plump.
It was hard to look at her like this, even knowing she was getting better. She looked so different to the mother he remembered growing up. The young, vibrant woman – too young, probably – who would kiss him like crazy then disappear for hours, leaving him to fend for himself. From the earliest age he’d learned to be independent – to find his own food, his own entertainment, his own comfort. He’d quickly learned that if he didn’t take care of himself, nobody else would.
Looking back, he could have gone either way. For a few years there as a kid, he’d skirted the lines of the law, hanging out with the wrong crowd, looking for a fight – any fight – just to prove he existed.
Strangely, it had been his father – the man who hadn’t seemed to care much for him – who’d made the difference. Or rather, it had been the times Lachlan had stayed with him and his family. They’d shown him an alternative to the lifestyle that had been all around him. Even Glencarraig had played its part. It was hard to be angry when you were surrounded by the beauty of nature, and almost impossible not to want more from this world than a lifetime of thuggery.
So he’d worked hard, harder than he’d ever knew he could, first at school and then in business, pushing himself out of his old life and his neighbourhood, bringing Grant right along with him. He hadn’t stopped fighting – he probably never would – but the things he was fighting for had changed.
His mother’s eyes flickered open for a moment, her watery blues meeting his, before they closed again and she took a deep, rattled breath.
In her own way, she was a fighter, too. She’d done the best she could as a mother – with the scant resources she had available – and he didn’t hold his upbringing against her for that.
He let his head fall back in the chair, until it met the cushioned back, and took in a deep breath of cleansing air. Everything he had was hard fought for – and won – and Glencarraig wouldn’t be any different. He could sit here in Miami or New York and wait for things to happen, or he could take the fight to the place it mattered most.
Maybe it was time to go to Scotland.
‘Marcus took over the meetings,’ Grant told him. ‘And I’ve couriered over a whole set of documents for you to sign. They need to be back with our attorneys this week. How’s your mom doing?’
/>
‘A lot better. She’s being discharged tomorrow.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Grant sounded genuinely pleased. ‘Her recovery is continuing then?’
‘Yes. They’re moving her onto oral antibiotics. And the care home is ready for her.’
‘That must be a weight off your mind.’
‘You could say that.’ Lachlan smiled.
‘When do you think you’ll be back in New York?’ Grant asked. ‘Do you want me to book your flights?’
Lachlan took a sip of his coffee. In the days since he’d arrived in Miami, he’d made this corner of the hospital café his own. He’d found it surprisingly easy to run his business from there – with Grant’s help. ‘I’m not coming back to New York,’ he said, placing his cup down on the Formica. ‘I want to meet with my brother’s attorney,’ he said. ‘And I want to do it in Scotland.’
‘Are you sure?’ Grant asked, sounding confused. ‘You’ve already been out of the office a while.’