The Wish List Addiction

by Lindsey Paley

  “I know about Stanley. I’ve spoken to Max’s keyworker.” She pulled a face at the ridiculous label. “They’ve assured me they will supervise the ‘situation’ more closely. But he’s finished at the nursery now except for a few days next week, after which he starts reception class a week on Tuesday.

  “I agree, though. Max would love to start school here. The village school must be a heavenly place to learn. But Max’s dad, my ex, lives in London and I don’t want to prevent them from having a relationship by relocating here.”

  Max’s beaming face appeared at the worn old bench where they were chatting. “Remember you promised to take me to that Hadrian’s Wall, Josh! Next time we come? Will we see Scottish people climbing over it to get into England to steal our treasure?”

  “You never know, Max,” said Josh with a smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Hi, Claudia! Thanks for inviting us to dinner.” Rebecca hugged her steadfast friend before grabbing a seat at the family’s kitchen table, strewn with the detritus of childhood activities. “I couldn’t be hassled to cook tonight. Max and I visited Dad at St Oswald this afternoon. He’s so frail now. He usually manages to stay alert for our afternoon visits, but he fell asleep after just half an hour today— after berating me about still sticking it out in London with Max and my failure to find a decent guy to settle down with,” she added wryly.

  “I’m concerned about him, Claudia. When we return to London on Saturday, I won’t be able to get back up to Northumberland for a couple of weeks—need to get Max settled in at school. And I promised Lucinda I’d attend a networking event after my week’s leave, too. Deb wants to finalise her wedding shoe choices, narrowed down to three spectacular, but extortionately priced specimens. Nathan’s court hearing is next Tuesday and I promised to represent him. What if anything happens and I can’t get up here in time?”

  “Daisy and I will continue to visit him every day, Becky,” Claudia promised. “Despite your obsession with the sumptuous ‘Morningside Spa’, he’s being well cared for at St Oswald. Volunteers visit to read newspapers and books to them, and to offer a little help to those who need it to eat their meals. When I get this little one”—she jiggled Daisy on her lap—“off to school, I’m going to volunteer there.” She flicked back her shiny black hair and smiled at Rebecca’s permanently anxious face.

  The Scott household had decamped to the patio to enjoy the last rays of that day’s sunshine. The Wedgewood-blue wooden table was laid with white china plates awaiting the arrival of Paul to carve the roast leg of lamb, bedecked with copious branches of rosemary from Rebecca’s cottage garden. The delicious aroma wafted from the Aga to the back garden, making tummies rumble.

  “Harry’s desperate to see Max. Our rabbit was lonely and has a mate now—Mopsy and Graeme. Don’t ask! I think it’s the PE teacher at his school, but he insisted. What’s in a name! I’m surprised at Max cradling Graeme though. Thought he had an all-things-soft-and-fluffy phobia?”

  “Guess where we’ve been this afternoon?” Rebecca posed coyly. “To pet the farm animals at High Matfen Farm, next to the cottage. The farmer’s son stopped by earlier this morning—out strolling with his collie, he said. He invited Max to join in with rounding up the sheep. He wasn’t sure at first, but he soon got stuck in with Josh encouraging him. Did you know Rosemary Cottage was not named in honour of the herbs lining the garden path at all? It’s named after Josh’s mother, who tended and cherished the garden up until she passed away. The place cast its spell on her, too.”

  As Rebecca had anticipated, Claudia latched on immediately at the mention of a farmer’s son. “What’s he like? All rugged handsome features, outdoorsy with powerful flexed muscles from the hard, physical labour tending the fertile fields, but gentle and resourceful when tending more intimate fertile areas?” She swooned theatrically, taking a swig from her deep velvety Merlot.

  “Very funny, Claudia. But he’s okay, you know. Max achieved huge strides in conquering his fear. I’m so proud of him. Josh has promised him a ride on one of the horses next time. I’m not so sure about that though. They’re colossal—a head taller than me, but Josh could look them in the eye. Max is up for it, would you believe?”

  They wandered into the warmth of the kitchen to top up their glasses, settling into the more comfortable folds of the sofa, the news miming on the TV in the background whilst the children chased the rabbits around the garden, the occasional scream signaling all was well.

  The TV screen flashed live to a man balancing precariously on the top reaches of London’s Tower Bridge clad in a wizard costume, complete with striped scarf and black pointed hat.

  “Turn the sound up, Claudie, please.”

  The camera zoomed in to highlight a hand-drawn banner brandished by the protester—“F4J—SUPPORT A CHILD’S RIGHT TO SEE ITS FATHER!”

  “You know, I have a certain amount of sympathy for those guys. Remember Nathan in our office? He’s desperate to see his daughter, Millie. Hasn’t seen her since Christmas and that was only so his ex could collect Millie’s presents from him. Whenever Emma has a man in her life, she severs all contact with Nathan. But the worst thing is his mother is very ill. She lives in Edinburgh and would dearly love to see her only grandchild before she moves on to the festival in the sky. Nathan has coaxed, cajoled, pleaded, and begged Emma, but she either refuses or ignores him all together.

  “She’s currently enjoying the advances of a rugby-playing boyfriend who terrifies Nathan out of his wits, but he’s bravely agreed to start things moving on a legal basis. The first court appointment is listed for Tuesday next week. Lucinda has agreed to allow me to accompany him, to represent him at the hearing, as long as I work back the time I lose whilst out of the office.

  “But look at that guy, how desperate must he be to have contact with his children to don a costume and scale the Tower Bridge in the sure and certain knowledge he’ll get arrested and that in itself will be fuel for his ex to refuse contact.” Rebecca shook her head.

  “Then look at Bradley, not the slightest interest in forming a relationship with his son, never mind maintaining one! Nathan hates him with every bone in his body and he’s never laid eyes on him!” she added with a mirthless laugh.

  The phone buzzed in the hall.

  “Oh, that’ll be Paul. He must have been held up at work, he’s usually home by now. It seems you’ll be responsible for the carving tonight, Becky.” Claudia swished the air with an imaginary knife. “Can you look out on the kids? Round them up, hands scrubbed, for dinner.”

  Claudia was only absent a couple of minutes before returning to the kitchen, her pale face blanched further and shock etched across her dark features.

  “That was Jean Peters from St Oswald’s Lodge, Becky. Your mobile must be off. Your dad’s had another stroke. He’s on his way to the hospital now.” She laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Leave Max with us. You get off to the hospital. Are you okay to drive?”

  “Oh, erm, yes. Thanks, Claudia. I’ll ring.” And she shot off, kissing the top of Max’s head as she ran through the scarlet front door—sending up a prayer to the still clear, cerulean skies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The hospital was eerily silent at that time of night with none of the hustle and bustle of visiting time, which had ended an hour ago. Disoriented, Rebecca blinked, forcing her red-veined, tear-swollen eyes to become accustomed to the neon glare of the deserted corridors.

  She was the only person Dad had to support him in these worst of circumstances—alone in a strange, unfriendly, and frightening place. She needed to establish which ward he had been taken to, to be there for him, clasp his hand in hers, force her strength and vitality into his failing body, and comfort him as he had her over the years, throughout her appalling choices and awful decisions.

  One of the nursing staff directed her to a side ward where her father lay motionless, sleeping quietly against three puffed up pillows—a frail figu
re, a shadow of his former sturdy presence—hands folded neatly upon the starched cotton sheet, looking withered, sprinkled with age spots.

  Was the fact he’d been allocated his own side room an ominous sign? Her heart fluttered in her chest, a lump of panic forming like a recalcitrant pebble in her throat. She slumped into the brown leather visitor’s armchair adjacent to his bedside, drew his cool, smooth hand into hers, careful not to dislodge the IV line, and waited.

  She must have drifted to sleep, her head on her dad’s hand. It was six a.m. when she woke. The nursing staff was changing shift—just another day at the coalface of clinical care. She combed her fingers through her knotted hair, securing errant wisps behind her ears. Her father remained motionless, sleeping on peacefully, his life dependent on a multitude of wires and tubes.

  Deciding to search for coffee to inject life into her sluggish brain and freshen up before locating the doctor or nurse in charge, she unfurled her aching muscles. As she hadn’t been able to take everything in last night, only managing to nod blankly at Dr Patel, unable to register the simplest of explanations, she would seek reassurance from the new staff on duty. She had caught herself wishing Bradley was at her side, if only for the warmth and support of another human being.

  She remembered the doctor’s warning that her father had had a major stroke, and that as he hadn’t yet regained unconsciousness, the next forty-eight hours would be crucial. They were unable to give an accurate prognosis, but he was being carefully monitored.

  She resumed her lonely vigil at his bedside, gazing out the hospital window to the housing estate beyond. Lights popped on as the world resumed its daily routine, oblivious to the radiating sorrow from the hospital in their midst.

  If wishes were reality, George would rouse and pat her clammy hand—her dad from childhood—sturdy, down-to-earth, sensible, and the only person she could rely on to tell her the truth, to cut straight to the chase. This he had dispensed in her direction many times, but she had blithely ignored those pearls of wisdom she professed to cherish. He had counseled her to relocate back to Northumberland when she and Bradley separated, where they could have plugged the gap in each other’s lives, supporting each other, supporting Max.

  But she’d chosen Bradley’s non-existent relationship with Max over a loving relationship with his only grandfather. Once again, her choices had proved erroneous.

  George had endorsed her decision to purchase Rosemary Cottage, but had gently warned her that it was not guaranteed to produce her desired outcome. A mere building could not deliver a happy, loving family, no matter how beautiful the ivory roses draped around the door were. He had been right again.

  Her cluttered thoughts swirled around her befuddled, sleep-deprived brain as she slowly twisted her disheveled locks through her fingers, pulling harder, winding tighter. Without her dad in her life, she and Max had to face the world alone. The thought terrified Rebecca. Did she have the courage to take on the world for them both? She resumed her anxious prayers because she just wasn’t ready to be an orphan.

  The hospital existed in a time warp. She lost all track of time until mid-morning when she perceived a slight shake of her dad’s hand and heard a faint groan. She hurriedly gestured the duty nurse to his bedside.

  “How are you, Mr Phillips?” the stout nurse asked gently, checking his monitors.

  A faint squeeze of her hand signaled Rebecca to lean toward him. “Hi, Dad. It’s me. How are you feeling? You’re in the hospital, but you’re doing fine.” A blatant lie. His pale, watery eyes opened and his head rotated on the mountainous pillows to gaze at Rebecca, his beloved only child. Holding her anxious, green eyes with his own, he smiled. She had her mother’s eyes, she knew. His eyes closed slowly and once again he was motionless, tranquil.

  Rebecca maintained a constant stream of inconsequential chatter, hoping George could hear her, that he would open his eyes and smile at her again, but he made no further movement. At nine p.m., after Saturday’s visiting hours ended, the same sturdy nurse, still on her shift, ordered Rebecca home to get some rest. She promised a call if there were any developments.

  Reluctantly, Rebecca agreed. She had to explain to Max about Granddad and reassure him she was okay. A busy schedule had been organised by Claudia and Paul to distract him from the inevitable anxiety for his absent mum and ailing Granddad at the hospital, but he would be fretting for her return.

  * * *

  “Hi, Max sweetheart. Had fun with Harry and the rabbits today?” Rebecca stroked his tufted hair, overwhelmed with love for her child as he clutched the much-loved Harrods bear, apparently now named George.

  “Yes, Mum, but I worried all day about Granddad. Why is he at the hospital?”

  “He’s very poorly, Max. His heart is weak, but the doctors and nurses are looking after him really well. He’s in safe hands. Come and tell me about your day whilst we share a huge bubble bath.” She raised her eyes to Claudia’s.

  “I’ll get the bubbles started whilst Mum grabs a bowl of that hot minestrone soup.” She smiled, touching Rebecca’s shoulder.

  As she settled a cheerier Max into his Thomas & Friends inflatable bed, exhaustion and trauma, highlighted by the soft caress of the fragrant bath bubbles, threatened to overwhelm her.

  Rebecca returned to the kitchen where she slumped in the chair next to Claudia, hugging the remnants of a strong black filtered coffee, and trawled through the harrowing events of the last twenty-four hours.

  “Lucinda would only authorise one week’s leave during the summer break. I requested two so I could settle Max in at school, but was refused. I’m due back on Monday.”

  “She can hardly refuse you compassionate leave! Your father’s had a stroke, for goodness sake, lying unconscious in hospital. She’s the cat’s devil if she demands you return to work on Monday.”

  “I don’t have any choice. I can’t risk losing my job, Claudie, and you know why. I’d never be employed by another legal firm. Who would take me on when there are trainee solicitors scrabbling around like rats at a feast, prepared to work for peanuts to scale the first rung of the ladder? I’m still amazed that Lucinda agreed to offer me a position, considering the circumstances. I’ve got an appointment set up with Sam Russell, the girl I met at the golf club. She’s planning to instruct Baringer & Co to handle all her company’s commercial business. It’s a boost to our client base after we lost a host of clients when Claris Freeman decamped to Fallows & Co. I’m scheduled to meet her at three p.m. on Monday. I don’t want to let her down. She’s keen to get the business transactions moving.”

  “She’ll understand, Becky. She was a friend first, before a business client.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I have to stay in Northumberland, Claudie. Max has another week before he starts school. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to Dad while I was in London and I couldn’t get back here in time. Me and Max are all the family he has.” The tightly sealed floodgates burst open and tears coursed down her translucent cheeks, her bony shoulders quivering with debilitating grief. She was grateful Max was tucked up in bed, spared of the trauma of witnessing his mother’s defenses crumble.

  “Oh, what if we lose him, Claudie? Before I’ve been able to set everything right? The cottage, the care home, our relocation back up to Northumberland, the happy settled family he wanted so much for me and Max. I’ve failed him totally.”

  Claudia hugged Rebecca to her chest, shards of her mahogany hair mingling with Rebecca’s limp, dark auburn locks.

  “Look, Becky, your dad loves you and Max. Every time Daisy and I visit, he tells us how proud he is of what you have achieved and that he adores Max. You’re exhausted. Get some sleep. Here’s the duvet.” Claudia fussed around, tucking her in on their over-stuffed sofa. “It’s Sunday tomorrow. Paul will entertain the kids and I’ll come up to the hospital with you in the morning. Stop beating yourself up about the past—you can’t change it. Before we leave you’re going to contact Lucinda to request a week’
s compassionate leave.”

  “I don’t relish that call, but yes, I will. I owe it to Dad to stay as long as I can.”

  She didn’t expect sleep to arrive, preferring instead to rotate her numerous failures around in her mind, dissecting each one for maximum self-recrimination—a favoured pastime of hers. But as she’d only catnapped since Friday morning, she descended into the welcome oblivion sleep provided.

  * * *

  “Well, I am sorry to hear about your father, Rebecca. I hope he is receiving the appropriate care. However, I can only agree to two days compassionate leave. Company policy. I’ll expect you at your desk on Wednesday morning. You say your father is unaware of your presence and unable to communicate. In my view, it is a pretty pointless activity sitting in vigil by his bedside all day.”

  Rebecca disagreed but held back the negative comments that sprang to her mind. She craved the opportunity to stay with her father in Northumberland for as long as possible, but she needed her job at Baringer & Co to pay her rent and keep a roof over her and Max’s heads. She also had to consider Max’s wellbeing, slot him back into his routine for school the following week. In addition, she had Sam’s business issues to deal with. She was grateful for the trust Sam had placed in her professional abilities and determined not to fail her.

  The grant of two days leave meant she’d miss Nathan’s court appointment on Tuesday. She had promised him she would support him, but she’d be letting him down, too. And whilst Claudia didn’t mind in the slightest, she had trespassed on her hospitality and child care provision for too long. She couldn’t return to the cottage—it was too far away if she got an urgent call and had to rush to the hospital.

  “Thanks, Lucinda. I will see you on Wednesday. Before I go, one of my friends, Sam Russell of Exquisite Forest Company, is due in at three p.m. tomorrow to discuss the purchase of a warehouse in Manchester. I mentioned the matter to you last week. I can reschedule her appointment for Wednesday, if you wish.”