She had decided to get the nurse to phone Max once she was settled onto a ward. It was two o’clock. This sudden and complete weakness had overwhelmed her. She had honestly expected some more time to adjust and to make plans. So – what now? She would get Max to pick Melissa up from school and ring his mother to take over. Yes. Eleanor imagined that she could make it a bit tidier. Less stressful for everyone. She was feeling guilty. For not listening to Max who in recent days had wanted to stay home with her. Now she was thinking that by the time he caught up with what was happening, she would at least be settled. Comfortable. Calm.
Tidier.
She also wanted to speak to Dr Palmer and the lawyers about what to do about the test results. All before Max arrived.
__________________
* * *
‘You can’t go back in there, professor.’
‘I bloody can. One of my staff is up there. A seminar. Half a dozen students.’
‘We need to leave it to the fire brigade now.’
Max tried to barge past the caretaker but he was having none of it.
‘I can’t let you do that, professor.’
Max took a swing but missed.
‘Jesus Christ. Professor Dance!’ the caretaker was in shock. But he was a muscular man and in less than a minute had Max in a tight hold – one arm twisted up his back.
‘Now. I realise you’re upset. And I’m very sorry about this. But we need to calm down. And leave this to the professionals. Yes?’
Max struggled without success.
‘I’m the head of the department. I’m responsible.’
‘Yes. I know that. But I’m in charge on this one. Now. Can I let go of you? Are you going to calm down and let me walk you to the exit? Yes?’
__________________
* * *
‘She’s in a coma.’
‘What on earth do you mean – she’s in a coma. I need to speak to her. She was perfectly fine this morning. Doing OK. What do you mean she’s in a coma?’
‘Things deteriorated very, very quickly, Max. It’s her liver. And her lungs. There’s a clot. Look. She was blacking out. We had to do something for the pain.’
‘But she will wake up?’
Dr Palmer had met Max on the corridor and walked swiftly alongside him to Eleanor’s side room. It was five o’clock. His mother now with Melissa.
Her skin was all the wrong colour – but Dr Palmer explained it was the lungs they were more concerned about. He was wittering about the rarity of Eleanor’s case. How the tumour spread and organ system response was so very difficult to predict. Every case was—
Max wanted him to shut the fuck up.
‘She was fine this morning.’ He was thinking now that he should have stayed home. Never mind what Eleanor wanted…
‘The important thing now is that we keep her comfortable.’
‘I had no idea she had lost this much weight. She wouldn’t let me see her,’ Max was standing by the bed as Dr Palmer checked the display from the machines. ‘This is my fault, isn’t it? I should have insisted. Brought her in sooner. She wouldn’t even let me help her with her bath. I tried. Believe me, I—’
Dr Palmer put his hand on Max’s upper arm. ‘None of this is your fault, Max. It was important to let Eleanor do this her way.’
Max put his hand up to his mouth, feeling giddy suddenly. Dr Palmer helped him to sit on the chair alongside the bed.
‘Pain. You said she was in pain?’
‘We are giving her everything, Max. It’s OK. She wasn’t uncomfortable for long.’
‘So she was distressed?’
Dr Palmer looked across at the nurse.
‘We did our best. She wanted to stay awake to speak to you. But it got too much for her.’
‘Was she distressed?’
‘She wanted to talk to you about something. It was upsetting her. But she’s calm now. She wasn’t distressed for long, I promise you.’
‘So she will wake up?’
Max watched Eleanor’s chest rising and falling – this terrible pause with every third breath.
‘I will get to speak to her again? She will wake up?’
___________________
* * *
The fire brigade used an extension ladder to reach the upper seminar rooms. There were five terrible minutes of panic when they could all see the students and Anna up at the window – the smoke in the room evident and the faces terribly afraid. And then the paradox of calm and everyone pretending it had been no big deal.
The students watching from the lawns filmed it on their mobiles and then clapped. The students who were moved to safety via the little platform changed demeanour the moment they hit the safety of the ground. It had been a lark. A triumph for Facebook.
Max watched Anna insist on being the last to be accompanied on the little platform down to safety.
‘It was the deep fat fryer,’ he heard someone whisper alongside him. ‘Hadn’t been cleaned. Health and safety are gonna have a field day.’
Anna watched him from the platform as it was manoeuvred slowly down to the ground, her hand cupped over her cold sores as Max had to sit down on the grass.
34
MAX - 1994
Max had always known what the biggest test of his love for Eleanor would be. Not losing her. That felt exactly as he had feared – like ripping flesh from his bones. Just much faster than anyone expected. Four hours in the hospital. A clot on the lung.
You have to wake up, Eleanor. I’m not ready.
But no. Even that horror was not as bad as it could get.
With Eleanor’s father on the way from France and Max’s mother holding the fort at home, only now came the true test.
Driving home to Melissa.
This terrible, terrible journey during which Max had to muster every ounce of his physical strength to overcome an unexpected fury towards the woman he so loved for leaving him with this task.
OK, so they had had their weeks of ‘normal’. But Max was sure Melissa knew, deep down, that something very big was up. And to the very end he had tried to get Eleanor to change her mind. To prepare Melissa. To let her see the counsellor. To buy some special book and do the memory box. To say a proper goodbye.
But – no. Eleanor would not budge. I can’t do it. Please don’t make me do it, Max.
For those final few days during which Eleanor was so obviously deteriorating, Melissa thought it was appendicitis.
‘Is it her appendix, Daddy? Tabatha’s mummy had her appendix out last summer. But she didn’t get a very big scar. Tiny. She showed us,’ she had said just that morning when he left her at school. ‘If Mummy has to have her appendix out, will she show me her scar?’
His own mother had also disapproved of the secrecy. And when he turned up now at the door – straight from the hospital, he could hardly bear to see her in her pinny and her slippers – slumping down into the seat by the telephone in the hallway.
She had wanted to come upstairs to Melissa. To help him do it.
But Max shook his head. He didn’t want anyone else in the room.
In her bedroom Melissa was plaiting Elizabeth’s hair – a tatty rag doll. A gift from his father when she was three.
‘Is Mummy home with you?’
Max sat on Melissa’s bed.
‘No. Listen, honey. Daddy has some very, very sad news, darling.’
‘Was it her appendix?’
‘No.’
Melissa’s body tightened and she began to undo one of the doll’s plaits. To needlessly repeat the task. Plaiting the left side of the hair all over again. Pulling hard at the strands of nylon.
She said nothing.
‘Sometimes things happen, my darling, which are very difficult to understand. And also to explain Melissa.’
‘Is Mummy having another baby?’
‘No. Mummy isn’t having another baby.’
‘I don’t mind. I won’t be jealous. I promise.’
Max moved closer t
o his daughter and put his arm around her shoulder, fighting the surge of panic. The adrenalin through his body.
‘The thing is Melissa. God has decided that Mummy needs to be in heaven with him.’
And now Melissa was completely still. As if anaesthetised. Rigid. Saying nothing.
‘Mummy has gone to heaven, darling.’
And then Melissa moved her head very strangely. A sort of twitch of her chin. She did it over and over – like a tic which Max had never seen before.
‘I think I’m going to change Elizabeth’s outfit now.’
‘You can do that later, darling. I need you to listen to me. And to understand what I’m telling you. It’s very, very sad – my darling. Awful. And it hurts Daddy very much too. Right in my heart. But we need to be very brave. I’m so sorry, darling. Mummy loved you more than anything in the whole world. But Mummy has died in the hospital and gone to heaven today. And it means we can’t see her any more.’
And then, after a few more seconds of complete stillness, it came.
The tsunami. A wall of it. Fists and hair and this terrible, terrible noise.
Whether Melissa had stood first or begun shouting first he would later not remember. All he remembered was the pounding against his own body. The fists and the kicks and the wailing sound.
On and on and on.
‘You are a fat, stinking liar.’ Kicking and screaming. And then throwing things. The doll. Her brush. Her toys. ‘You get out of my room.’ Throwing books and bags. And kicking at the doll’s house in the corner. Smash. Smash. And then physically trying to push him out of the room. ‘You get out of my room. I hate you,’ kicking really hard. ‘I am going to call Granny and we are going to get Mummy. Right this minute. Get out.’
Max tried to hold his daughter’s arms, to stop the thrashing but was afraid of hurting her.
‘I know, darling. I know. And I’m so very sorry, my darling.’
‘She is not in heaven.’
‘Melissa. Look at me, darling…’
‘She’s not.’
‘Melissa, please.’
‘We’re in the middle of a story. Look,’ she grabbed a book from beside her bed and opened it to show him the place – the bookmark – her eyes wide and pleading for this unfinished business to count.
She looked into his face for an age, tears now streaming down her own and then her arms were suddenly limp, the book falling to the ground. From the extremity of the violence to the horror of complete collapse. On the floor. As if all the muscles had suddenly stopped working.
Max in panic called out for his mother as he checked her breathing. Oh dear God, no. Leant his ear down to hear it. Her chest rising and falling. Good. Good. That’s it, Melissa. Breathe.
And now Max scooped her into his arms to hold her tight as she came to and his mother appeared in the doorway – lifting Melissa’s head gently into the crook of his arm like he did when she was really small.
‘Mummy didn’t finish the story.’ A convulsion of sobbing now – huge waves which made her whole chest and shoulders roll. Waves of utter wretchedness right through her little body.
* * *
Simple soda bread
1lb strong white flour
2 teaspoons bicarbonate of soda
One teaspoon salt
Around 14 fluid oz of buttermilk (I have also used live yoghurt)
* * *
Sift all the dry ingredients into a bowl, make a dip in the middle and pour in the buttermilk or yoghurt. Mix into soft dough and add a dash of milk if too dry. Tip onto floured board and knead for just a minute or so. Make into a rough round and cut a cross in the top. Bake in preheated oven at 200°C for around 40 minutes. You can add herbs and seeds, if you like.
So I have added an extra little recipe as an afterthought and OK, I admit soda bread is more scone than true bread but it is simple and very satisfying – and perfect when you are mad or sad, because even the simplest bread-making is so therapeutic. Do it when you need a lift and can’t think what else to do.
Now, my darling girl, it is time.
The lawyer will be here very soon to collect the book and I don’t know quite what I was expecting of this moment. Closure? Certainly some sense of peace. Some uplifting message to take you forward into the beautiful life that I wish for you.
Instead I find that I have rather messed up. And yes – things, as you now realise, have gone off piste. The results of my test are still not back so – here’s my thinking.
If there is time, I will try to contact the test labs and have an insert arranged for this book. That means we can rip out the ‘stuck pages’ and say no more about it.
But as things stand I must sign off to you with things rather up in the air.
And so – my beautiful one. When and if you have to read the ‘secret, stuck’ part try only to remember everything I have said to you before and to be as kind to me as you can.
Before that – lean in close and just listen.
I am not afraid, Melissa. Not for myself at all. I am not bitter and I am not angry any more. I am leaving you in the care of a man I love with all of my heart and who is genuinely the best person I have ever met. I know that he will keep you safe and love you always with every inch of his own heart. I am only sad that I will not see you grow, Melissa, and cannot be there for you.
Not enough days for us. Unfair. But know that every single one with you has been an absolute joy and I leave you more love than there are words to describe.
Try not to be sad – over me, at least. Be brave and be strong – and always as kind as you can.
I hope I have not left it too late to say goodbye to you properly and I hope you will forgive me for doing it this way.
Please know above all else that I could not be more proud of you. Any mistakes of mine which you must now judge were born of my flaws… and not a lack of love.
Go out there and have yourself a beautiful life.
My beautiful, beautiful girl.
Goodbye,
Your ever-loving mother x x x
* * *
Melissa was aware only of her shoulders moving and an absolute determination not to let any noise out of her mouth. This deep-rooted and certain fear that if she even dared to let it start…
She set the book aside on the floor and concentrated very hard. How long she struggled to maintain control was difficult to assess. She certainly wasn’t sure now that she was ready for the sealed pages.
Nearly a week now since she had cooked the meal for her father and still she had not brought herself to read it. Afraid.
So should she just forget it? Cut them out? Burn them? Walk away from it all. Sam. Marriage. Motherhood…
Melissa took out a tissue and blew her nose very hard. Right. She flipped through the book again just to triple check. No insert.
She stood up and went through to the en-suite bathroom to first splash water on her face and next to find nail scissors which she used very carefully to part the edges of the pages that her mother had stuck around three sides.
Eleanor had made it look like a mistake. Just two pages stuck together but she had actually sealed the double pages like an air mail envelope or pay slip. Just around the very rim. Melissa began carefully to cut around the edge, opening out the pages to find the familiar writing in fluid black ink confined to the centre of the pages.
The first part recapped, from her mother’s point of view, pretty much exactly what her father had told her over dinner. The falling out over the New York job. But now Melissa was thrown.
She had actually been sure the gene result would be here too. The bad news. Instead there was rambling and the evidence of tears which had blurred some of the ink.
* * *
Once your father left for New York, I was inconsolable, Melissa. I just could not believe he would go. Leave me. …
* * *
And then the shock.
Terrible, ugly words tumbling from the page.
Melissa put the boo
k down, no longer wanting to touch it.
No.
She pushed the bedside table on which she had placed it away from her. And then felt the sudden and absolute urge to smash something. She stood up and went over to the dressing table, sweeping her arm across the top so that all the bottles and perfume, the jewellery and the favourite ceramic bowls flew across towards the wall. And then she watched the mess of glass and fragments and golden liquid oozing down the wall.
It felt no better.
Melissa stood for a time very still, watching the pool of gold taking shape on the wooden floor, and when the feeling did not change knew that she had to go.
She needed to be in a car. Right now.
Yes.
She needed to be driving.
35
SAM – 2011
‘What do you mean she’s gone?’
‘Disappeared, Max. God knows where. Sent me just one short text. Said she needed some time out on her own and I was not to worry. Now she’s not answering her mobile.’
‘Jesus Christ. So what happened? You guys have a row?’
‘No, Max. No row. I went to work this morning. Melissa was supposed to go to that meeting about this new contract. I was expecting her home tonight to celebrate. Booked a restaurant. Instead I come home to find things all smashed up.’
‘What do you mean smashed up? You saying she’s been attacked? Dear God, have you called—’
‘No, no, Max. When I saw it, I thought that too – some burglary or something. But she did it herself. Said sorry in the text.’
‘Right. Shit,’ there was a pause. ‘We need to stay calm.’
‘Oh come on, Max. I can’t do calm. She didn’t even go to the meeting with the editor. What does it mean? Has she left me?’
Max said nothing.
Recipes for Melissa Page 20