The Goodbye Gift

by Amanda Brooke

  Helen was humming to herself as she made her way to the hospital pharmacy to pick up a prescription for one of her patients. Her steps were light as she swayed her hips to the beat of the music, but no matter how hard she tried to pretend she was carefree, she was far from happy. Her usual remedy of taking a look around the clinic and telling herself how fortunate she was hadn’t put so much as a dent in her despondency.

  She had never been a worrier and wasn’t used to the tightness she felt in her chest as she tried to form a psychic connection that would give her the first clue as to what might be happening in another Liverpool hospital. She imagined Julia and Paul sitting in a consulting room, gripping each other’s hand tightly as the consultant delivered his verdict. When no message came through, Helen was forced to take out her phone and let technology do what her nonexistent psychic powers could not, but then surprised herself by phoning someone else.

  ‘Hi, Phoebes.’

  ‘Any news?’ her friend asked nervously.

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’ Helen sighed as her pace slowed to a crawl. ‘All this waiting is killing me.’

  ‘Do you think Julia will get around to letting us know today?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a choice. I know there’s going to be a lot to take in and they’ll need time to digest all the information before they’re ready to start talking to anyone else about the delights of ovaries and sperm counts, but their appointment was at ten o’clock and if Julia hasn’t been in touch by lunchtime then I’m going to give her a ring.’

  ‘And you’ll let me know as soon as you’ve spoken to her?’

  ‘Yes, of course I will,’ Helen said. ‘Are you in work? It sounds quiet.’

  ‘I’m on paperwork duty today. Part of my new training,’ she muttered. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’ve just got a quiet five minutes picking up prescriptions.’

  Helen hadn’t spoken to Phoebe since the previous Saturday night. They had swapped the odd text message, tentatively testing the water with each other until Helen had been satisfied that she hadn’t pushed Phoebe too far. Now that she had that assurance, she decided to push again – just a little.

  ‘How are you feeling about everything? About Paul, I mean.’

  ‘I spoke to him yesterday.’

  ‘Oh,’ Helen said. She hadn’t wanted the remark to sound suspicious but what other reaction could Phoebe expect?

  ‘I phoned him to say I didn’t want any more driving lessons.’

  ‘Oh,’ Helen said again, still suspicious, ‘but they’d more or less come to a stop anyway, hadn’t they?’

  ‘They had,’ Phoebe said carefully, ‘but like I told you, Paul was feeling guilty and …’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘He was going to find a way of giving me lessons anyway.’

  ‘By going behind Julia’s back again?’ Helen said, surprised that she could feel any more shocked by Phoebe’s behaviour than she already was – or Paul’s, for that matter, which led to her next question. ‘You don’t think … I mean …’ She sighed as she tried to find a diplomatic way of speaking her mind, but she had no choice but to say it as it was. ‘You’ve admitted you were developing feelings for Paul and now you’ve done the right thing. You’ve put Julia and your friendship first, but what about Paul? Do you think he might have wanted to resurrect things, find a familiar port to escape a stormy marriage?’

  ‘He’s done nothing wrong! He loves Julia, we both know that.’

  A voice in Helen’s head told her to stop pushing now, but her mouth had its own ideas. ‘I’m sorry, Phoebe, but I disagree. He did do something wrong.’

  She heard Phoebe take a sharp intake of breath but before she could get the words out, there was the creak of a door and then a voice in the background said, ‘How are you getting on, Phoebe? If your hand’s still troubling you then you ought to go home.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Phoebe answered. ‘But if you can check some of the figures I’ve inputted later, that would be a help.’

  ‘Will do,’ the woman replied.

  When she heard the sound of the door closing again, Helen asked, ‘Who was that? What’s wrong with your hand?’

  ‘It was one of my managers, and I banged my hand on a door, that’s all.’

  ‘In the shop? I hope you’ve filled in the accident book.’

  ‘No, not here,’ Phoebe said. ‘It happened when I was leaving the library yesterday.’

  ‘How bad is it? I bet you haven’t complained to the library, have you?’ Helen asked. ‘I know what you’re like, you won’t want to make a fuss, but I can.’

  ‘Stop,’ Phoebe said and there was a distinctive catch in her voice. ‘Please, Helen, stop.’

  ‘Phoebe?’

  ‘Everyone keeps telling me to sue the council but I can’t because I made the story up. The truth is I was hurt in a bit of a scuffle yesterday.’

  Helen couldn’t help herself. She laughed. ‘You haven’t been fighting with the customers, have you?’

  ‘No, with Nan,’ replied an unamused Phoebe.

  She was most likely expecting more derision but Helen spoke softly when she asked, ‘Another one of her episodes?’

  ‘A bad one, Helen. It was horrible and I’m in agony, and what’s worse is that I feel so humiliated. I was beaten up by a pensioner and I can’t cope with her any more.’

  ‘This is exactly what your nan didn’t want you to go through. She might have had cold feet about going into the home, but she must see now how it’s affecting you.’

  ‘She doesn’t remember a thing about it. Like everyone else she thinks I hurt my hand at the library. She even told me off for breaking one of her ornaments when she was the one who threw it at me. I don’t know what to do, Helen. Even though she was back to her old self this morning, I’m scared to leave her on her own any more. And what happens when I can’t leave her? What will I do then?’

  ‘Oh, Phoebe, you have to tell her. I know I’m the first to complain about how overbearing she can be, but even I can accept that it’s only ever been because she’s so protective. Well, you need protecting now and there’s only one way she can help you.’

  ‘It would kill her if she knew what she was like when she gets confused.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, you can’t shield her from the inevitable. Did I just hear your manager say you could go home? Well, go home now, Phoebe Dodd, and tell your nan what she’s been putting you through.’

  ‘I can’t, not yet. I need time to prepare myself. Maybe at the weekend.’

  ‘OK, but make sure you do, Phoebe, because if you don’t, I will.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Phoebe said, her voice wet with tears. ‘Thank you for being such a good friend – I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Ending the call, Helen wondered if Phoebe would think her such a good friend if she knew she was partly responsible for her present heartache, but there was no point in looking back. What mattered now was what the future held for them all. They would get through their current trials and tribulations just as long as they stuck together.

  22

  The Accident

  When Anya arrived for duty at Warrington General the next day it felt as if she had never been away. She certainly didn’t feel as if she’d had a full night’s sleep, and even if Jacob hadn’t snuck into her bed at two o’clock in the morning, Anya wouldn’t have felt any more rested. She supposed she was lucky that her husband was still sleeping in the spare room and that for once it wasn’t the state of her marriage that had kept her mind turning through the night, but rather the traumas of the previous day. Every time she had closed her eyes she had flashbacks to the scene of the accident.

  Anya had thought her days of working in A & E were far behind her after transferring to the surgical ward eighteen months earlier, but when the call had come through for more emergency staff, she had volunteered without hesitation. She missed the drama and the challenges that came with emergency care, althou
gh not the accompanying shock and distress shared by patients, families and staff alike, but she was relieved it had been a temporary return and was looking forward to what she hoped would be a less eventful day on the ward. Her first task was to satisfy herself that her patients had made it safely through the night.

  ‘Any problems?’ she asked one of the night staff as soon as she came through the door.

  ‘It was a busy one, I’ll tell you that much. There were one or two who had us worried,’ her colleague said, ‘but we haven’t lost one – yet. Let’s grab a coffee and I’ll take you through the notes.’

  ‘I will. Can I just check on someone first?’

  Anya wasn’t sure why she had made such a strong connection with Julia Richardson. Perhaps it was because they were around the same age but there were other parallels too. The accident had been a random and devastating event, but her patient’s distress appeared to have roots that went back further than the crash itself, and that was why Anya found herself standing in front of her sleeping patient’s bed checking her notes.

  Julia had got through the night without incident, but Anya wouldn’t begin to relax until she was off IV meds and eating and drinking normally.

  ‘Hello again,’ Julia murmured as she peeled open her eyes. She still sounded a little woozy but at least she recognized Anya from the day before.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I think I should hurt more than I do.’

  ‘That’ll be the drugs. They’re doing their job.’

  ‘I don’t want any,’ Julia said. ‘I’d rather live with the pain.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t. Let’s just see how you get on today.’

  When Anya leaned over to straighten her pillows, Julia frowned. She was trying to focus on the gold pendant dangling from the nurse’s neck. ‘I must be hallucinating,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I should have taken that off.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be married much longer,’ Julia said, as if she knew the meaning behind Anya’s necklace which had been a Christmas present from her dad and matched the pendant he had commissioned for her mother in celebration of their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Her dad was still under the misconception that her own marriage would be blessed with the same longevity.

  ‘Your husband is desperate to see you,’ Anya told her.

  ‘I don’t care,’ Julia said.

  Anya was trying to hide her curiosity but Julia had seen it anyway and added, ‘Honestly, there’s no point. But what about my friends?’ Pursing her lips, Julia fought to correct herself. ‘My friend.’

  ‘Helen Butler?’ Anya guessed. It had been an image of the woman’s young daughter that had contributed to her restlessness the night before and she wondered how mother and daughter had fared through the night. ‘I saw her last night and she was stable, which is as good as the doctors can hope for right now while they wait for the swelling on her brain to reduce. I’ll check again for you just as soon as I can, but I do have news about someone else you were asking about yesterday.’

  ‘Phoebe?’

  Anya stepped back and invited Julia to follow her gaze. Phoebe Dodd was lying in the bed next to her, completely still with her eyes wide open. She had been listening to every word that had passed between them.

  Julia turned and lifted her head slightly so she could look at her. Phoebe was covered with cuts and abrasions, her left arm was in plaster, but to the untrained eye, she appeared to have come out of the accident relatively unscathed. Her visible injuries certainly didn’t explain the look of abject pain on her face.

  ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me, Phoebe?’ Julia asked.

  23

  The Elephant 7.30 p.m. Please come.

  It was late Saturday afternoon and Phoebe was in the kitchen, within shouting distance of her nan in case she was needed but not under her feet, which was how they had always preferred to live their lives together. She had just been wondering what to make for dinner when the idea for an emergency meeting struck her and she had sent the message before there was a chance to change her mind.

  Phoebe had spoken only briefly to Julia in the last few days, a five-minute conversation where Julia had offered only the salient facts. She had told Phoebe the results of the tests and said she and Paul needed time to digest the news and formulate a plan of action. Phoebe had been desperate to know more but even Helen had been unable to glean further detail. With nothing left to do but wait it out, Helen had redirected her focus on Phoebe’s issues, as was evident by the speed of her friend’s reply seconds later.

  Problems? I’ll be there! H x

  While waiting for Julia’s response, Phoebe checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. With the help of a minor adjustment to her fringe and carefully applied make-up, the injury to her forehead had been easily covered up. The worst of the bruising was on her back, and the only obvious sign that Phoebe had been in the wars at all was the damage to her hand. Her fingers weren’t as swollen as they had been, but the skin was broken in places and the rest a patchwork of bruising in varying shades of black, green and blue.

  Not that Phoebe had to disguise her injuries at home any more. Today had been one of her nan’s better days, or at least it was until her granddaughter had taken Helen’s advice and told her about the attack. Phoebe didn’t hold back on the detail and had even gone so far as showing Theresa the injuries to her back. Helen had been right: it was the only way to convince her nan that staying at home wasn’t in her granddaughter’s best interests, but the anguish Phoebe had caused by telling her nan the truth was almost as painful as the beating she had received.

  Theresa had been quiet ever since and when Phoebe went to check on her, she paused at the door. She doubted she would ever be able to walk into that room again without tensing in fear, but when she did step inside, she was glad to see clear recognition on Theresa’s face. Her grandmother’s favourite radio programme was playing in the background and she had been busily writing, using a lap tray balanced on her knee for support.

  ‘I’m going out for dinner, Nan, but I’ll make you something first. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not that hungry. I’ll heat up some soup when I’m ready.’

  ‘It’s no trouble; I’ll do it before I go,’ Phoebe said, choosing not to remind her nan that she couldn’t be trusted near the cooker or the microwave. ‘Just give me a shout when you’re hungry.’

  Phoebe had been about to turn and leave but her nan raised an eyebrow and drew her granddaughter’s gaze to the letter she had been writing.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a letter to myself.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Phoebe said. Her grandmother’s illness had led her to say and do some very odd things and Phoebe was prepared to add this to the list. But for once, Theresa was thinking more clearly than she had in weeks, if not months.

  ‘Don’t give me that look! I know what I’m doing. I’m going to keep this on the bureau over there and when I need to, I’m going to read it.’

  ‘Why? What does it say?’

  It looked as if Theresa was going to hand over the letter but she thought better of it and gave a short summation of its contents instead. ‘It tells me who I am for those times when I forget,’ she began, ‘and I don’t just mean the basic facts like my name and where I live. This tells me who Theresa Dodd is.’

  ‘And who are you, Nan?’ Phoebe asked with a note of challenge that she might not have used before the attack.

  Her grandmother scanned the contents of the letter and her voice was choked with the kind of emotion her written words were undoubtedly laced with. ‘I’m someone who has spent her entire life looking after her family and for the most part getting it wrong. I failed your mum, Phoebe, and it’s about time I admitted it. Eleanor was little more than a child when we realized she had an illness and I took it upon myself to look after her, to be her pillar of strength so she didn’t have to be for herself. I didn’t give her the chance to be
strong, to be a person in her own right, and no wonder she left. I smothered her and, in some respects, I’ve done the same to you. Only you’re not your mum, Phoebe. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for.’ She picked up the letter and it trembled in her hand. ‘I wrote this letter to remind me that I can’t fail you in the same way I failed my daughter.’

  Despite the outpouring of emotion, Phoebe couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. This wasn’t the solution she had been hoping for. ‘I know it’s a lovely idea, but when you have one of your episodes, Nan, I’m not sure you would be convinced by a letter, or even if you could manage to read it.’

  ‘It’s worth a try and I might not need it anyway. I want you to make the arrangements at the care home, Phoebe. Assuming they’ll still have me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘What I did to you was unforgivable. I’d rather die now than risk doing that again, and I rather think I might.’ Her voice had ebbed away to nothing but after taking a breath her next words would not be brokered with. ‘Eleanor ran away from me and I’m scared you might do the same. I’m a proud woman and sometimes that’s stopped me saying what needs to be said. I need you, Phoebe. You’re all I have and if you were to go, then there would be nothing left for me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave you,’ Phoebe answered, casting aside her previous temptation to do exactly that.

  ‘But I shouldn’t make it so hard for you to stay. Make the arrangements for next week and if I happen to be playing up when the time comes then show me this letter. If that fails, then when I’m able to listen again, I want you to tell me exactly what I was like, exactly, Phoebe. If I’m the kind of monster who could read this and not be moved, then you have my permission to use physical force.’ She was holding the letter so tightly now that it twisted in her hand. ‘From the look in your eye, I’d say you already know that’s what I am. Send me away, Phoebe. You have my blessing.’