by Rosie Green
‘He’s always had a fear of hospitals, bless him,’ murmurs Mum. ‘Ever since he had to have that operation on his sinuses when he was little.’
It flashes across my mind to wonder why Mum can’t see my fears in the same understanding light. But I feel too scared right now to waste time on such thoughts. Rich is Mum’s favourite. Always has been. Always will be. But that’s probably because she and Rich are quite similar personalities. I’ve never doubted that Mum loves me . . .
I pull a couple of chairs over to the bed and Mum sits down and ever so gently touches Dad’s hand. I sit down next to her and we just watch him. It’s like we’re willing him to keep breathing in and out.
In that moment, if I could give my dad my healthy heart, I swear I would . . .
Dr Neville arrives a minute later and tells us - in a low, rumbling voice that I sometimes have to strain to hear - that Dad has suffered a heart attack and is critically ill. The objective now is to stabilise him. Only then will they be able to proceed with an operation called angioplasty, which opens a blocked artery, followed by the insertion of a stent to keep the artery open. He says it all in a straightforward, matter-of-fact way that’s both calming and reassuring. Dad’s life is in his hands, along with the surgeon who will perform the operation. It seems odd that we’re putting our faith in total strangers to save Dad’s life.
Like me, Mum is hanging onto Dr Neville’s every word, .
Before he leaves, he says the thing no one ever wants to hear: ‘The next twenty-four hours will be critical.’
Mum glances fearfully at me and I smile, feigning a confidence I really don’t feel. ‘Dad’s tough. He’ll get through this no bother.’
It suddenly occurs to me that I should let Rob know what’s happening to Dad. It was so good of him to collect me from the hotel and drive me here. After discovering Ethan and Cressida in a passionate clinch on the dance floor, I was in no fit state to get anywhere on my own steam. Thank goodness for Rob.
I feel ashamed when I think that I didn’t even look for him at the Snow Ball. My whole focus was on Ethan. I wasn’t really aware of anyone else.
More fool me.
Tears well up but I open my eyes wide and blink fast to defeat them. I can’t let Mum see me fall apart. I’ve got to stay strong for her.
Dad is my focus now. Not a cheating, lying scumbag like Ethan Fox . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next few days are truly the worst of my life.
Staying strong for Mum seems almost impossible when Dad is lying in that hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, fighting for his life. But in a funny way, taking charge, staying with Mum and keeping up a dialogue with the doctor on her behalf, is probably what’s keeping me from breaking down completely.
My brother is having a very hard time dealing with Dad’s illness. I can tell he’s totally out of his comfort zone. Rich can normally rely on his impeccable logic and considerable brain to solve any problems that come his way – one of the reasons he’s a first rate barrister.
But in this, I sense he feels completely powerless.
So the next day, after we’ve all spent a rough night trying to sleep in hard hospital chairs and Rich has gone to get coffee, I suggest to Mum that we should task my brother with looking after things at home. She instantly agrees.
‘We need someone there to answer the phone and let people know what’s happening,’ she says, squeezing his hand, and Rich downs his drink and escapes with obvious relief, telling us to let him know the instant anything changes.
So then it’s just Mum and me. And our vigil at Dad’s bedside.
He seems very sleepy and disorientated, presumably from the drugs, but the nurse tells us that’s quite normal and that chatting to him is a good thing. So after that, Mum keeps leaning forward and talking in little cheerful bursts, telling him about anything and everything. In between, we take it in turns to wander to the little café.
I munch crisps without tasting them and drink bad coffee after bad coffee. But I need the escape. Listening to the edge of desperation in Mum’s tone when she’s talking to Dad is exhausting.
Mum herself looks as if she’s aged twenty years. But when I suggest she go home and get some sleep while I stay here with Dad, she’s adamant she’s not leaving his side. I try to imagine how I’d feel if my husband of more than thirty years were gravely ill and might not make it through the night – and I conclude that nothing would shift me from this seat, barring perhaps an earthquake.
Towards evening, I get back from a joyless wander round the endless hospital corridors and find that Mum has fallen asleep in the chair, her head flung back at an awkward angle.
I take a spare pillow and carefully lift her head against it so she looks more comfortable. ‘Thank you, love,’ she murmurs, reaching for my hand, before sliding back into sleep.
I sit down next to her. Dad is still sleeping.
Flowers have started to arrive for Dad and they really brighten up the little cubicle. There’s a huge bunch of roses and gypsophila from Jaz and Ellie, and I texted them both to thank them on behalf of Dad. Jaz phoned me to find out how he was and she said if there was anything she could do – or if I just needed to talk – I had to phone her immediately. In contrast, Ellie sent me a short, fairly stiff text to say she was really sorry about Dad and that obviously I’d need to take time off work and that was absolutely fine. She signed it: Best wishes, Ellie.
My heart twisted when I read the ‘best wishes’ bit. The lack of kisses, which Ellie always puts at the end of her texts, let me know in no uncertain terms that while she might feel for me with Dad being ill, that didn’t mean she’d forgiven me.
They say bad luck arrives in threes – and that’s what seems to be happening. First I lose my best friend. Then I find out that Ethan – who I’ve idolised – is a total scumbag. And now Dad . . .
With Mum asleep, my mind starts to wander – and even though Ethan is the very last person I want to waste my time reflecting on, it’s inevitable he should push his way into my thoughts.
A vivid memory of walking into the party at The Swan Hotel slips into my mind: Ethan and Cressida wrapped around each other. I didn’t even think Ethan particularly liked Cressida, but I guess deception becomes a way of life for someone like him.
I think of Alicia. She was clearly deceived by his charms just like me. Only she – poor girl - went and married him! And now Ethan’s trying to delete her from his life, refusing to pay her the money he owes her and denying that the baby on the way is his! I suppose so he can continue living his shallow life of fast cars and adoring women.
I remember how Ellie was suspicious of him. Did she sense deep down that Ethan was too charming for his own good? I smile bitterly to myself. She was right to be annoyed when he didn’t pay me back that time he ‘forgot his wallet’. He kept promising he’d reimburse me but he never did . . .
I feel so stupidly gullible and pathetic. I was just one of his adoring women, seeing only the image he chose to portray of himself – and not the actual man. I placed Ethan high up on a pedestal. Just like I always did with my childhood crushes.
In my imagination, he was the real life version of the dashing fictional hero I’d always longed to meet . . . when all the time he was nothing but a despicable, lying, self-centred waste of space sort of a man!
I suppose my limited experience of relationships and my subsequent naivety meant I was always going to be easy prey for an unscrupulous guy like him. I’m only glad I didn’t succumb when he tried to lure me upstairs to my bedroom at the Snow Ball!
Tears well up and start trickling down, the salt stinging my face. I really believed Ethan when he said I was special. I wonder how many other women have been deceived by his lies?
Dad shifts in the bed and I’m instantly on high alert. But he settles back down, still lost to the world.
A great wave of grief rolls over me.
I can’t lose Dad.
We’ve had
a special bond my whole life, and the thought of him no longer being there fills me with such a terrible panic, I struggle to breathe properly.
Dad understands me better than anyone else I know. We laugh at the same things, enjoy picking over the absurdities of life together, and I’ve taken his lovely big bear hugs totally for granted all this time, never imagining that one day, I’d have to do without them.
I gaze at his hand, studying the age spots and the veins as I never have before. Right now, he’s too weak to even squeeze my hand. Is this the beginning of the end? Because if it is and he’s not going to come through this, I don’t know how I’ll cope.
And what about Mum . . . ?
*****
I must have fallen into an exhausted sleep at last because when I wake, my neck hurts and I’m so stiff, I can barely get up from the chair.
Mum’s sitting forward, holding Dad’s hand, and when she sees I’m awake, she smiles.
She looks different, somehow. More hopeful . . .
‘He woke up, love. We had a bit of a chat but he’s gone back to sleep. The doctor says it’s a good sign.’
My heart lifts.
If only he can continue to improve, he’ll be able to have the life-saving operation . . .
By the time Rich comes in towards lunchtime, Dad’s awake and managing to sit up. He’s still incredibly weak but the talk now is of when he’ll have his operation, not if.
Dad makes a joke about Rich and his loathing of hospitals – and it feels so good to laugh and to see Mum with hope in her eyes at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
With Dad improving, Mum and I finally decide to go home and get some proper sleep.
Rich comes to collect Mum and me from the hospital in the early afternoon. We kiss Dad goodbye, laughingly tell him to go easy on the nurses, and promise to return the following morning. We’re silent on the drive back, exhausted physically and mentally from the constant worry and lack of sleep over the past few days.
At home, I make Mum’s favourite pasta carbonara and we eat it, the three of us, sitting companionably close at the kitchen table. The chat is surprisingly upbeat. I think we’re all just so relieved that Dad can now have the necessary operation and that we’ve been given a reprieve from the unremitting anxiety. It feels precious, this familial bond, united as we are in our fervent hopes for Dad to make a full recovery.
Afterwards, when I tell Mum she needs to sleep, she doesn’t put up a fight. She gets up from the table, takes Rich’s face in her hands and kisses him on the forehead, then she does the same with me. Then she walks out of the kitchen, a wan smile on her face.
I take her up a cup of tea and she’s already in bed with her glasses on, looking at the messages on her phone.
She glances at the tea. ‘Thank you, Fen. You’re spoiling me. I can’t remember the last time I went to bed at four in the afternoon.’
‘Of course you don’t. Because you never do, Mum. You’re forever on the go. But this time, I insist!’
She looks up at me in surprise. Then she smiles. ‘Yes, boss.’
*****
The following day when we go in to see Dad, he’s sitting up in bed, looking much more like his old self. And the doctor has some good news – Dad’s operation has been scheduled for the following morning.
If all goes according to plan, we’ll be able to go in and see him in the afternoon.
It’s such a relief to know he’s making progress. I know we’re not out of the woods by a long chalk. We still have the operation to get through; the anxious wait to hear if it’s been a success. But I’m feeling chirpy enough to call Jaz to tell her the latest.
Jaz is really pleased. But then she says she has news of her own.
‘I applied for a job as a tour guide with the National Trust,’ she says, mentioning one of their larger properties fifty miles or so from Sunnybrook. ‘And they’ve offered me the job. They want me to start in January.’
‘What? Jaz, you’re joking, aren’t you?’ To say I’m flabbergasted would be an understatement.
‘No, I’m not joking. I’m perfectly serious.’
‘But you never mentioned it to us.’
‘That’s because I didn’t think I’d get the job.’
‘So why did you apply?’
‘I don’t know,’ she wails. ‘Well, I do. I was really fed up with Harry for organising that holiday with his mates. To be fair, they’d decided to go to Ibiza, the three of them, before Harry and I even met. But it wasn’t just the holiday.’ She sighs. ‘I saw the ad and I thought, “Why not? I’ve got nothing to lose.” I never thought I’d actually get the job.’
‘But you’re not going to take it, are you?’
Jaz sighs. ‘I think I might. Harry won’t be bothered.’
‘Of course he will! And what about us? Me and Ellie? We’d miss you so much. You can’t leave!’
She heaves another sigh. ‘It’s a big step up in salary. And I think it’ll be really interesting.’
‘Are you sure you’re not just doing it to spite Harry?’ I ask. ‘Listen, I’m coming over. We need to talk about this.’
‘I’m at the café, covering while Ellie takes her mum out for the day.’
‘That’s okay, then. She . . . she’s not due back, is she?’ I can’t face running into Ellie and getting the cold shoulder from her again. That would knock me right back down again – just when there appears to be a little chink of light with Dad.
‘No, no. You’re safe for at least a couple of hours. Come on over.’
*****
‘Is Zak collecting Maisie from school?’ I ask, when I walk into the café.
Jaz looks up from the counter, where she’s transferring sultana scones from a plastic box to a serving platter, and shakes her head.
‘Zak has meetings with his agent and publisher in London today but he and Sophie are taking Maisie to some theme park tomorrow. So Sophie’s collecting Maisie from school and they’re meeting Zak at The Gables Hotel and staying overnight.’
‘Hmm. Sophie got her way, then.’
Jaz looks at me questioningly.
I shrug. ‘Zak didn’t want to stay overnight. I heard him say so. He was no doubt thinking of Ellie. But I guess that woman can be very persuasive.’
‘Wouldn’t trust her an inch with a man of mine in a hotel overnight. No wonder Ellie’s worried.’ Jaz glances out of the window and her face falls. ‘Uh-oh. Speak of the devil.’
The door opens and in walks Sophie, followed by Maisie looking pale and clutching her stomach.
‘Bit of a hiccup, I’m afraid,’ says Sophie airily. ‘Maisie isn’t feeling well, so I’m abandoning the theme park idea.’
‘Oh, poor you,’ says Jaz, going over to Maisie. ‘Does your tummy hurt, love?’
Maisie nods sorrowfully.
‘I wonder what caused that?’ I muse aloud.
‘I had ice-cream,’ she says.
‘Yes, but it would have been lactose-free,’ says Jaz, glancing at Sophie for confirmation.
Sophie nods quickly. ‘Of course.’
‘Perhaps you should go upstairs with Jaz,’ I suggest to Maisie. ‘You could get tucked up on the sofa under a cosy blanket and watch your favourite film. What do you think?’
Maisie perks up a little and says she’d like that.
‘Oh, would you mind?’ says Sophie. ‘It’s just I can’t really stay. I’ve been trying to get hold of Zak to tell him about the change of plan, but his phone must have died because I can’t get through. He’s probably on his way to the hotel by now.’ She glances at her watch as if she’s itching to leave.
‘I’ll look after the café for a bit if you want to go upstairs with Maisie,’ I tell Jaz.
‘Right, well, I’ll shoot off, then.’ Sophie, looking relieved, heads for the door.
‘Hang on. So are you going to meet Zak at the hotel on your own, Sophie?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘Well, it would be a shame for him to go all that way for not
hing, wouldn’t it? See ya!’ And she disappears.
Jaz puts her arm around Maisie and says, ‘Why don’t you go upstairs to the flat and get into your jim-jams and I’ll come up in a minute.’
Maisie nods and pulls her doll out of her pocket, cuddling it as she walks out. Some paper that looks like her ice-cream wrapper falls out of her pocket onto the floor.
I stare after Sophie as she drives off, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Clearly, Jaz is thinking the same because she mutters, ‘That creature is scheming to get Zak alone in that hotel, if you ask me.’
‘She couldn’t magic up a stomach upset for Maisie, though,’ I say doubtfully.
Jaz, heading for the stairs, stoops to pick up the paper Maisie dropped.
‘Maybe she could,’ she says slowly, gazing at the wrapper.
She turns and hands it to me with a stunned expression. ‘Sophie knows damn well Maisie is lactose-intolerant.’
I stare at the ice-cream wrapper in disbelief. ‘So why the bloody hell has she bought her a cow’s milk dairy ice-cream?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jaz and I stare at each other in horro.
‘She wouldn’t have done it deliberately, would she? Given her an ordinary ice-cream, knowing it would make Maisie ill?’ says Jaz, wide-eyed.
I sigh and shake my head. ‘Maybe Ellie was right, after all. As unbelievably wicked as it sounds, maybe Sophie is just using Maisie to get Zak back? Thinking about it, she looked guilty as anything when you asked her if she’d given Maisie a lactose-free ice-cream.’
‘And now she has Zak all to herself,’ mutters Jaz. ‘I bet she was lying about not being able to get through to him on the phone. So now he’s heading for the hotel thinking everything is fine.’
I nod. ‘While Sophie’s planning who knows what! To persuade him to have dinner there, I bet. Then goodness knows what else . . .’
‘What do we do? Shall I phone Ellie and tell her?’ says Jaz. ‘I don’t have Zak’s number.’
‘Do we really need to worry Ellie while she’s out with her mum?’