‘That’s what’s horrendous about it.’ My grandmother’s tongue pokes out between her lips, and a rattle bounces around her chest. ‘They don’t bring you any.’
I stand straight and rigid. Hearing Nana’s hoarse attempts to converse hurts my heart. But at the same time, it’s so lovely to hear her speak at all.
‘Would you like some tea, Nana?’ I ask. ‘I can run down to the canteen and get some.’
My grandmother’s head moves slowly up and down.
‘That’s a yes,’ my mother says, confidently. ‘No milk. No sugar, right, Mom?’
‘Right.’ Nana gargles. ‘No ... sugar.’
‘Okay. No problem.’ I bounce enthusiastically. ‘I got it. No milk. No sugar. I’ll be really quick.’
I slap my hand over my mouth and close my eyes, hearing the rushed words pass my lips. Why did I say that? Am I so panicked that if I leave the room for more than a few minutes, Nana might not be there when I get back?
I glance at my mother. She has the same sense of urgency dancing in her glistening eyes.
‘Tea.’ I nod.
I fling open the door, and it hits off the wall with a loud bang. I leave it open behind me to let some light into that miserable room.
‘Ben,’ I say, physically bumping into my brother in the corridor.
Black circles cling to the space around his eyes, and his floppy chestnut hair is more messy than usual. I wonder how long he’s been out here pacing the floor.
‘Go see her,’ I say, tossing my head over my shoulder to glance back at the open door.
Ben scrunches his face and roughly stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets.
‘They’re moving her to the hospice later,’ I blurt.
Air catches in the back of Ben’s throat and makes him cough awkwardly.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘There wasn’t any other way to say it.’
‘She’ll hate that.’ Ben sours. ‘She needs to go home.’
I agree. Nana has spent all her life working the land. She’s not the type of woman to retreat to some hospital bed and slowly slip away pumped full of so many drugs she doesn’t even know her family is with her. My eyes drift towards the daylight streaming in through the large windows beside us. A huge, old chestnut tree takes pride of place in the centre of the hospital gardens. It reminds me of the wonky apple tree outside Nana’s house, and I have an idea.
‘Ben,’ I say sternly, dragging my brother’s hands out of his pockets and shoving them firmly by his sides to force him to straighten up and look at me. ‘Go to her. I know you’re scared. We all are. But there’s no second chances. If you miss out on this time with her, you will regret it for the rest of your life.’
Ben nods obediently, wearing his heartache on his sleeve.
‘I have to get some tea now. For Nana,’ I explain. ‘But I’ll need your help with something later, okay?’
Ben’s expression changes, and he looks at me the way he used to when we were kids. He knew I was up to something I shouldn’t be, and I was most likely going to get myself in trouble and drag him into it too.
‘Holly.’ He says my name firmly, cementing himself as the wise, older brother.
‘Trust me. This is a good idea.’ I twitch excitedly. ‘I gotta go.’
Twenty – Six
‘Three teas to take away, please?’ I say when I finally reach the front of the long canteen queue.
It’s horrendously stuffy in here. Three-quarters of the walls are floor-to-ceiling windows and none are open. Condensation trickles down the inside of the glass like sparkling treacle. Despite the cold wind outside, the low sun is blasting through the glass and giving the impression of a summer’s day. I’m way too hot, but I can’t take my coat off because I can’t carry it and manage a tray of takeaway cups at the same time.
I look around the seating area. Most seats are occupied. Every second person is wrapped up in a dressing gown and sipping some hot beverage as they chat to someone else at the same table wearing regular day clothes. My mind winds back to last year. That was Nana and me sitting at one of those round tables; chatting as if we didn’t have a care in the world. Nana was a patient after having her hip replaced. She wasn’t sick then. I had no idea that within twelve months, I would be back in this same, stuffy canteen under such different circumstances.
‘Milk?’ the girl at the checkout says, pulling me out of my daydreams.
I shake my head. ‘No. Thanks.’
I pay, take the paper tray of wobbly teas, and attempt to navigate the sea of people between me and the exit. But before I make it, the stifling heat and lack of fresh air gets the better of me and darkness creeps across my eyes as if someone is pulling down a blackout blind. I try desperately to seek out somewhere to sit, but I’m too weak and there’s no time. My eyes close.
When I open my eyes again, I’m flat on my back on the sticky canteen floor. There’s a puddle of tea brown liquid on the ground next to me, and the sleeve of my coat is soaking wet. I’ve spilt the tea. Several heads peer down at me as a group of people circle around me. They’re talking. Whether to each other or to me, I can’t tell. It’s all just a noisy blur. I can hear sound but not words. I slowly realise someone is sitting on the ground with me, cradling me. My head is in their lap, and they are stroking my hair. My eyes adjust to the light, and I slowly recognise their jeans and shoes. Nate.
I’m so relieved he’s here that, despite all the faces staring down at me, I start to cry. I cry because I’m embarrassed to have landed on the canteen floor in front of a nosy audience. I cry because my heart is breaking that I will have to say goodbye to Nana soon. And I cry because the man I love most in the world holds me in his arms right now, and all I want to do is turn around and hold him back and tell him that I wish I could fix our baby.
‘Excuse me? Excuse me?’ A female voice carries over the circle of onlookers. ‘Excuse me.’
She crouches beside me, and I smile as soon as I see her face. ‘Marcy.’
‘This will help,’ she says, lifting a glass of ice water to my dry lips.
I attempt to grasp the glass myself, a little embarrassed that Marcy is assisting me as if I am a toddler, but my hands are trembling and my ears are ringing, and I know I’d probably drop the glass if I held it independently.
I take small sips, and within seconds, I feel better. Nate tugs at my coat and manoeuvres me out of it. My body temperate quickly lowers, and I start to feel better.
‘Nana’s tea,’ I say, looking at the mess on the floor beside me.
‘We can get more tea, Holly. Don’t worry,’ Marcy says. ‘Let’s just get you off this cold floor for now. Are you okay to stand?’
The crowd around us parts and dissipates, obviously content that the height of the drama has passed.
Nate stands and helps me to my feet all at the same time. I flop against him, and he quickly slides his arm under my arm and around my back, propping me up. He’s much taller than I am, so it’s an awkward movement, but we manage to shuffle to the nearest empty seat together.
‘Did you bang your head?’ Marcy asks, crouching and peering into my eyes as if the answer to the universe’s questions are in my pupils.
‘Don’t think so,’ I groan, ‘but I’ve a horrible headache.’
‘That’ll be your blood pressure,’ Marcy explains.
‘She’s pregnant,’ Nate announces, worry lacing his tone.
Marcy nods knowingly, but she doesn’t say anything.
‘Is that why she fainted?’ Nate says. ‘Or stress. You’ve never fainted before, Hols. Never.’
‘Possibly,’ Marcy says breezily. ‘I wouldn’t worry, Nathan. Fainting in pregnancy is surprisingly common.’
I try to smile comfortingly at Nate, but I’m so wobbly I think I might slide off the chair if he took his hand off my shoulder. He can see through my façade. I recognise his expression. It’s the same way I’ve looked at my mother and grandmother recently.
‘I’ve a friend upstairs in the m
aternity department,’ Marcy continues, pretending to be oblivious to the worry etched into the lines of Nate’s forehead. ‘I’m going to give her a call and see if we can squeeze you in for a scan today, Holly. Just to make sure everything is okay.’
An awkward silence falls over Nate and I, but neither of us makes any effort to stop Marcy from making that call. And even though neither of us admits it out loud, I know we’re just as excited as the other for a sudden opportunity to see our baby on screen.
‘You hold onto her, Nate,’ Marcy instructs, passing Nate the glass of water. ‘I’ve no mobile coverage in here. I’ll go out into the hall and make that call.’
‘Thank you,’ Nate whispers calmly.
‘No problem,’ Marcy says, dragging her phone out of her handbag to wave it about over her head and try to get a signal. ‘I’ll grab some tea too. For Annie.’
‘Thank you,’ I breathe out, finally relaxing. ‘Thank you so much.’
I’m not just thanking Marcy for making a phone call. And as she looks over her shoulder to wink at me, I’m content that she knows exactly how far those two simple words stretch.
Twenty – Seven
Within twenty minutes, Nate, Marcy, and I are on the third floor in the maternity department. The waiting room seats are padded up here and make a welcome change from the horribly uncomfortable plastic ones outside Nana’s room downstairs.
My phone beeps loudly in my hand, and I read the incoming text from Ben. ‘Nana enjoyed her tea,’ I announce, content. ‘Oh no, hang on.’ My face falls. ‘Ben says she only had three teaspoons.’
‘That’s good, Holly,’ Marcy reassures. ‘That’s about all she can manage now. But I bet she enjoyed it.’
I twist my phone around and show Marcy the long line of smiley face emojis Ben sent in a follow-up message.
Nate’s glances over my shoulder. His stiff pose relaxes, and he nudges his arm against mine. ‘See. They’re all doing fine downstairs without you. So can you please stop worrying?’
I close my eyes, and my chin falls onto my chest. My mother is a worrier. She’ll be wondering where I am. I know she will. Maybe we should go back downstairs. We could be waiting here for hours. This is crazy.
‘Mom worries,’ I explain as if Nate doesn’t know. ‘She’s so stressed out. I hate seeing her like this.’
‘I didn’t tell her about your dizzy spell,’ Marcy interrupts. ‘I just passed Ben the tea and let your mother know I’m here if she needs me. She asked for you, of course.’
‘Oh.’ I stiffen. ‘What did you say?’
‘Just that you and Nate were going for a walk. Technically, it’s not a lie. We did walk from the canteen to the lift.’
‘And she believed you?’ I quiz.
‘Absolutely.’ Marcy plasters a huge, professional grin across her face. She doesn’t mean to indulge in the facial occupational habit, I know, but it’s second nature. She’s acclimatised to flashing teeth when nothing else can help.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
‘Miss Talbot,’ a nurse in green scrubs calls, appearing at the waiting room door with a chart in her hand.
‘That’s me,’ I say, wobbling as I stand.
Nate’s on his feet just as quickly as I am, and he cups my elbow firmly in case I fall. I won’t. I’m rested and less lightheaded now, but it’s nice to feel him hold me, so I don’t say anything.
‘This way, please,’ the nurse says, stretching her arm out to gesture down the corridor.
Marcy stays sitting.
‘Aren’t you coming?’ I ask, confused.
I’m not a patient in this hospital. I’m attending one of the large maternity-only hospitals in Dublin. I don’t know what to say to this doctor facing me down. I thought Marcy would do to the explaining.
‘It’s okay, Holly,’ Marcy assures, sensing my distress. ‘You don’t need me. I’d make a terrible midwife anyway. They have your name. You can fill them in on all the rest yourself.’
Nate’s hand lets go of my elbow, and it finds its way to the small of my back, gentling edging me forward.
‘Nathan Bradshaw,’ Nate says, stepping forward to shake the nurse’s hand as we reach her. ‘And this is Holly,’ he adds, smiling as his eyes fall to my barely there bump.
‘Good to meet you both,’ the young nurse with her hair tied back so tightly it pulls the skin of her forehead taunt, says firmly. ‘Marcy says you took a bad turn downstairs, Holly.’
I blush. ‘It was really hot in the canteen. I should have taken my coat off. Silly of me not to. I was rushing—’
‘Okay, let’s get your blood pressure checked,’ the nurse cuts off my rambling as she turns into a small room at the end of the corridor.
Nate and I follow.
A desk and chair are squashed in one corner. An open laptop hibernates in the centre of the desk, and a tower of charts is stacked one on top of the other next to it. I wonder if all those patients are waiting to be seen today. On the other side of the room, a narrow trolley type bed is pushed up against the wall. There’s barely enough room for the three of us to stand in the middle without brushing off each other. I thought the canteen was hot and stuffy, but it has nothing on this place. It’s positively stifling in here. There’s no window, and the florescent light makes me squint. This was a bad idea. I should really be downstairs with Nana. What if they come to move her to the hospice while I’m up here?
My palms start to sweat, and I can feel heat creep across my face, sweeping from the tops of my ears to meet like fire on the bridge of my nose.
‘Hop up here for me, Holly,’ the nurse says, patting the bed with her hand.
I sit in the centre and swing my legs anxiously back and forth. Nate’s face is just as flushed as I imagine mine to be. He stands at the head of the bed with his back pressed against the edge. He’s trying to keep out of the nurse’s way, but it’s almost impossible in the overly compact room. My bulky duffel coat is tucked against his chest and draped over his folded arms, taking up way too much space.
‘Excuse me,’ the nurse says, reaching around him to pull an old-school blood pressure monitor off the shelf.
Nate shuffles awkwardly and tries to get out of her way, but there really isn’t anywhere for him to go. His thighs press into my knees, almost dragging me off the bed. I can tell he’d rather be anywhere but here right now. I feel the same. This is all rather sudden and self-indulgent, and I wished we’d never come up here. I fainted because I’m stressed out and too hot. It’s nothing to do with being pregnant. I eye the door longingly and drag my gaze to the pile of charts on the desk. A long list of patients with actual appointments waits. This was a mistake. But we can’t leave now. It would be rude.
The nurse steps around Nate again. ‘Can you roll the sleeve of your jumper up please, Holly?’ she asks.
‘Sure.’ I nod.
She straps the black band around my upper arm. It’s cold.
‘Is that okay?’ She smiles. ‘Not too tight.’
‘It’s fine.’ I smile back. ‘I’m so sorry about all this fuss. I really am feeling much better now.’
‘It’s no trouble, honestly,’ she says, pumping the band until it pinches, and I feel like my arm might separate at the elbow from the pressure. ‘Marcy is a good friend. We do favours for each other all the time. Anyway, I’m on my break, so you’re not holding anyone up.’
She tilts her head towards the pile of charts, and I appreciate her efforts to put my conscience at ease. I can see why she and Marcy are friends.
‘Hmm,’ she says, staring at the stopwatch in her hand.
‘Hmm?’ Nate echoes, instantly on edge.
‘Holly, have you been experiencing headaches recently?’ the nurse asks.
I shrug. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘Any pressure behind the eyes, general feeling of unwell?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘My grandmother is sick, so I’ve been worried about her.’
‘Okay.’ She sighs and scrunche
s her nose.
‘Is something wrong?’ Nate asks, pulling himself upright, and I feel the bed move slightly when he stops leaning on it.
‘I was expecting your blood pressure to be low, Holly. Low blood pressure is a common cause of dizzy spells in the first trimester.’
‘I’m almost eighteen weeks now,’ I explain.
‘Okay.’ The nurse nods and pulls a new chart off a different, smaller pile on her desk. ‘Eighteen weeks,’ she repeats, writing it down.
‘But her blood pressure isn’t low?’ Nate says, guiding the conversation back to his concerns.
‘No,’ the nurse admits, scribbling my name on the front of the chart. ‘Holly ... Holly ...’
‘Holly Talbot,’ I say, feeling suddenly anxious.
‘Talbot,’ she says, sounding out the vowels as she writes. ‘Actually, Holly. Your blood pressure is rather high. Considerably higher than I was expecting or a level we’d be comfortable with at this stage of your pregnancy.’
‘But I’ve been really stressed. I’ve had so much going on,’ I say as if my high blood pressure is a failing, and I have to try to offer an explanation or defend myself.
I look at Nate for reassurance, but he looks stressed out. Or guilty. I suspect he’s thinking about Ibiza right now.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ the nurse says. ‘Something as simple as bed rest can do wonders for high blood pressure.’
Nate smiles, and I know the minute we leave, he is going to insist I go for a lie-down.
The nurse makes her way to the end of the bed and pulls a portable monitor around the side. Its cumbersome square shape with long legs and wobbly wheels looks like something straight out of Back to the Future. I’m expecting Marty McFly to come crashing through the wall in his DeLorean any second.
‘The screen isn’t great on this old thing,’ she admits, tapping it on top and it rattles comically. ‘But it’s the best I could get my hands on with short notice. Let’s see how your little one is getting on in there, shall we?’
I flinch, and a huge lump gathers in the back of my throat, and even though I cough to clear it, it still threatens to choke me. Nate is suddenly pale, and I wonder if he’s going to speak up. One of us should tell her not to do the scan. But we both remain mute as if we couldn’t speak even if we wanted.
When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss Page 20