I slide my hand down to my stomach and wonder what it must be like to conceive a baby naturally, then I feel for the thumping heartbeat, the ten tiny fingers and the ten tiny toes. I close my eyes and pretend I know. The bond, though, between mother and baby does not swell. There is no umbilical cord, just an empty womb which will never hold love. A lone tear spills down my cheek and once again I stare at my own reflection. The face that stares back is lonely and sad.
In the bathroom, I switch on the shower and wait until white steam covers the glass before I climb inside the cubicle. Hot water splashes against my skin and the sensation sends shivers down my spine. As I wash away the grime and dirt of the day, Ally pushes her way into my thoughts. Flashbacks of what she said to me at the festival leave me cold: “It’s time he came back to where he belongs, to where we both belong”. Head down, I press my hands against the shower wall. I can still hear Ally scream “He’s always been mine”, and I let out a choking sob, afraid I’m about to lose my husband. “It was simple circumstances that tore us apart,” she now yells inside my head.
I switch off the shower and snatch a towel from the rail. As I rub myself dry, Ally’s sneering face is all the while in the forefront of my mind. When I finish, I throw the towel onto the floor and put on a set of warm pyjamas, then get into bed and switch off the light. I snuggle down and close my eyes. It’s like the night sky but without the stars. I refuse, though, to let Ally stay inside my head, but just as I’m dozing off, I hear a faint buzz and reach for my phone. One eye open, I press the button which lights up the screen. It’s a text message from Callum: “I tried to ring you, but it went straight to voicemail. I’ll try again in the morning”.
I place the phone back onto the bedside table. It’s too late to call him back now. I pull the covers over my head and turn over, my hand gliding across the spot where Callum should be.
Chapter 11
“Maddie, for Christ sake, will ye get up. Granda’s taken a turn for the worse and I need ye.”
I sit bolt upright, my eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s no one in my bedroom, so I hurry to the window, pull the net curtain aside and look out. Jamie’s there, gesturing for me to go to him, and so I scurry to the end of the bed and snatch my jeans. I dive to the wardrobe, grabbing the first things to hand: a thin blouse and a padded jacket. I tear off my nightclothes and push my arms through the sleeves, press my feet into the fur lined boots I wore the day before, and I’m down the stairs and out onto the drive.
“What’s happened?” I ask, pulling the jacket closer when the wind tries to tear if from my body.
“I dinnae know for sure. ’Twas my turn to get up with the fold this morning, and when I returned, granda was in the kitchen, sitting in his chair, clutching his chest.”
“Have you phoned for an ambulance?”
“Aye, but they said it could be over half an hour before they get here.”
“Then we have to take him ourselves. If he’s having chest pains, we can’t wait that long for them to arrive.”
We dash over to the farmhouse and into the kitchen.
A knot of fear twists in the pit of my stomach when I see granda slumped in one of the fireside chairs. His face is deathly pale and his lips are turning blue. I rush over and crouch down beside him.
“Oh, dear God. Granda, are you okay?” He mumbles something, but I can’t quite hear him, so I move a little closer and a wheeze escapes his lips.
“We need to loosen his shirt and trousers,” I say, reaching over him.
“Do ye know what to do,” Jamie asks, and I glance up to read his expression. He’s scared, just as I am.
“No, not really,” I confess. “But I did live with a foster family once who had an elderly grandmother with a history of heart problems.”
“I’m not dead yet,” granda finally rasps.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, unfastening his shirt buttons and pulling open the collar. “And, I’d like you to stay that way if you don’t mind.”
He tries to laugh but breaks out into a coughing fit. I unclip the belt on his trousers.
“Calm yourself and take a deep breath,” I say. “Tell me: did the doctor say you suffered from Angina?” to which he nods.
“Och, why didn’t ye tell me?” Jamie roars. “Ye shouldnae have kept something so serious to yourself.”
I give him a hard stare. “Not now, Jamie. Just go and fetch a glass of water, please,” and I turn back to face the old man as Jamie heads over to the sink, from where I hear the gurgle of running water.
I squeeze Alasdair’s hand. “Think. Did the doctor give you a spray or something to help overcome these attacks?”
Again, granda nods, and I instinctively thrust my hand inside his trouser pockets. My fingers fight through curled up pieces of twine and round sticky objects that make me squirm. I search thoroughly, but there’s no spray.
I try to quell the panic that’s rising in the pit of my stomach by taking a deep breath.
“Where did you put it?” I ask.
“Maybe it’s by my bed?” he rasps.
“Jamie!” I say, and he rushes over, thrusts a glass of water into my hand and dashes out through the kitchen door. I hear his boots on the stairs as I offer Alasdair the water, which he guzzles down, but it feels like an eternity before Jamie returns.
He slaps a red and white bottle into the palm of my hand and I quickly read the instructions, then rip off the cap. Alasdair opens his mouth and I press two squirts under his tongue.
Alasdair lets out a long sigh.
“Does that feel better?” I ask, but when he shakes his head, my eyes fix firmly on Jamie. “I think we may need aspirin. Do you have any?”
Jamie nods. “Aye, somewhere.”
“Then find it!”
He doesn’t hesitate and rushes over to the kitchen cupboards, opening and banging shut several doors in his search of the tablets.
“Here,” he eventually says and throws a small glass bottle towards me. I catch it and unscrew the cap, taking out a white tablet.
“The spray should have worked by now,” I explain. “I’ll have to give him the aspirin, but then we must get him straight to hospital.”
When I look back at Alasdair, I can see by the colour of his skin that he’s deteriorating. “Go and bring the car around to the door,” I say, “we need to get him there immediately.”
Jamie dives out of the kitchen. My attention remains with Alasdair. “Please, take the aspirin,” I urge, and I wait for him to open his mouth again. I press the tablet onto his tongue and he sips the last of the water.
“Don’t go to sleep,” I urge. “Jamie will be back with the car at any moment.”
There’s a rustle of noise and Jamie bursts into the room.
“The car’s outside,” he tells me.
“Good. Come on, granda, let’s get you out of this chair,” and I place a hand under his arm, to support him, but in a flash, Jamie gently pushes me aside and lifts granda into his arms, as though he weighs little more than a feather.
“Get the car door open,” he says, and I nod and dash outside and pull open the back door, Jamie close behind. He gently lays Alasdair onto the back seat and I slam the door once I’ve checked he’s comfortable, then run around to the other side and climb in next to him. There’s a tartan blanket on the floor, which I quickly unfold and place across his knees and up to his chest. Once I’ve fastened my seat belt I glance across to see granda’s closed his eyes. He lets out a sigh.
“Alasdair, wake up,” I say, giving him a gentle shake. “Please, don’t go to sleep.”
Jamie hits the accelerator and the car lurches forward. He spins the vehicle around and speeds off down the drive.
“Oh, my God. I think he’s unconscious,” I rasp, and Jamie presses the accelerator even harder.
“Is he still breathing?” he asks as we hit the main road. I stare at him through the rear-view mirror. His eyes are round with fear. I lick my lips, nervously.
“Maddie, are ye listening to me?”
I unfasten my seat belt and slide closer to Alasdair. Stroking his silver hair aside, I put my ear close to his lips, but then shake my head. “It’s no use. I can’t tell over the noise of the engine,” I cry out.
“Then take his pulse,” Jamie urges.
I lift his hand out from beneath the blanket. His wrist is limp and his pulse is weak when I find it, then a sob escapes my lips. “I think we’re going to lose him,” I cry.
“No, not if I’ve anything to do with it,” Jamie affirms. “The hospital isnae far. It’s just a few minutes away.”
He takes a sharp left and zig-zags around several parked cars, the hospital gates looming up ahead and the sign for A&E. He drives over the speedbumps, the exhaust scraping across their humps, hits the brakes, snaps on the handbrake, and jumps out of the car. He heads straight for Alasdair as I get out and dash around the car to help him.
There’s an ambulance sitting empty in a nearby bay, the driver just climbing inside, and Jamie shouts, “Can someone help us, please?” The man slams the door and rushes over.
“’Tis my granda,” Jamie tells him, “he needs urgent medical attention.”
The driver checks Alasdair’s pulse, looks into his eyes, and then puts his ear to his mouth. When he looks up, the seriousness of granda’s situation is written all over his face.
“Quick; lie him down on the floor,” and the second Alasdair’s body is on the ground, the paramedic begins administering CPR. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream as the stranger presses his hands onto the centre of granda’s chest.
“Go inside and get help,” the driver yells, and Jamie hurtles himself through the double doors.
In seconds a trolley is pushed out towards us and I hear someone shout “CRASH TEAM”, then there’s a flurry of activity as a stream of doctors and nurses dash to granda’s aid.
“Take him straight to resus,” a young Asian doctor says once granda’s secure, and he takes over the CPR as they rush the old man inside the building.
I can’t believe what’s happening as I rush in after them, tears flowing like a river down my face. I don’t know what to do, there are so many people around granda. I just stand, frozen to the spot, as the A&E department try to save Alasdair’s life. Then the trolley’s snatched from Jamie’s grasp and I watch it disappear down the corridor as the doctor shouts out vital lifesaving instructions.
“Wait,” Jamie cries, chasing after them, but a male nurse grabs him by the arm and pulls him back. “Please, try and stay calm,” he says. “Right now, he’s in the best possible hands.”
A set of double doors further down the corridor burst open and a nurse grabs the bottom of the trolley and pulls it inside. I glimpse an array of monitors and medical equipment, and I let out a sob. Then the doors close behind the trolley and I flick my gaze towards Jamie as he draws his hand to his mouth. He bites down on his fist, and for a second, I fear he’ll draw blood. I throw myself at him and grab his hand, and he turns to me and his face crumples. I fling my arms around his neck and pull him close.
“They’ll save him,” I insist, “they have to.” He slips his arms around my waist and pulls me closer still.
“I cannae lose him,” he whispers against my neck. “He’s all I have left.”
“You still have me,” I croak, and his grip tightens.
Someone coughs and my reaction is to pull away
“Excuse me, but if you wouldn’t mind helping us with the patient’s details?”
I wipe the stream of tears away from my cheeks by using the sleeve of my blouse and stare at the nurse: a man with dark hair, in his early twenties. He points to a couple of empty plastic chairs in the waiting area.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he says, gently, and once we sit down, he goes over to the reception desk and returns with a pile of forms to fill in. I take Jamie’s hand in mine. He’s shaking from head to toe, and I tighten my grip and give him my best impression of a reassuring smile.
“I’ll have to call Callum,” I say, once the nurse finishes gathering Alasdair’s details.
Jamie nods. “Aye, you’d best do it right away.”
“I’ll nip outside and do it now.”
He nods. “Sure, and while you’re doing that, I’ll go find a coffee machine.”
We both get up together and go our separate ways. I head outside and drag my mobile from the back pocket of my jeans to see I’ve three missed calls from Callum.
I hit his number.
“Hey, Maddie, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour.”
“Er, sorry, Callum. Something serious has happened.”
“What do you mean? Are you okay?”
I take a deep breath. “No, not really. I’m outside the local hospital. It’s granda. I think he’s suffered a heart attack.”
“He’s what?”
“It all happened so fast. He’s with the crash team now.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
I fight back my tears. “I honestly don’t know. He looked pretty sick when they took him inside.”
“Where’s Jamie?”
“He’s here. He was the one who found him slumped in his chair.”
I hear Callum suck in his breath. “Christ. Okay. I’m on my way. Just ring me if you hear something—anything.”
“Yes, I will,” and there’s a moment’s silence. “I love you,” I say, but he’s already gone.
I try and pull myself together as I go back inside. Jamie’s returned with the coffee.
“White, nae sugar,” he says as I approach. He offers me a paper cup and I take it from him.
“Has anyone been out to see you yet?” I ask.
Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, nae one.”
I go over to the receptionist to see if she can put our minds at rest.
“I’m sure someone will be out to see you as soon as they can,” she reassures me, then a nurse taps me on the shoulder and I almost jump out of my skin.
“Mrs McKinley?”
I nod profusely.
“If you would like to follow me, please.”
***
I find the small relatives’ room a little claustrophobic. There’s no window or natural light and the air is stale and lifeless. I leave the door ajar as I step out into the corridor. From where I’m standing, I can see around the ward and along to where Alasdair now lies in an induced coma. I’m so grateful he’s alive, but terrified he’s going to die. I can’t bear to see him lying there, so still and lifeless. He’s always been so robust, so hardworking and strongminded. To see him like this, helpless, weak and feeble, is more than I can stomach.
Long curtains hang around each of the beds. Some are pulled closed whilst others are used to separate each patient and give them a little privacy. Medical staff surround Alasdair’s bed, but no one has been able to give us any real answers. “He’s stable” the nurse had said when he came out of resus. “I hear he’s lucky to be alive,” the porter in the lift had said.
A flurry of movement catches my eye as the medical team begin to file away from his bed. The consultant is in deep discussions with two of his associates. I stare at the doctor who accompanied me and Jamie to the ward, but he simply walks on by. My gaze follows him, willing him to turn around and retrace his steps, but he carries on going, oblivious to our distress. When he disappears around a corner, I let out a disappointed sigh.
“Mr and Mrs McKinley?”
“Oh, no, I’m not—”
“Listen. You should both go home and try and get some rest.”
There’s the scrape of a chair along the floor and then Jamie’s voice fills the corridor.
“Can ye tell us how he’s doing?” he says. “Only no one’s given us any updates.”
I look at Jamie, but then flick my gaze towards the ITU nurse. Her mouth droops a little at one corner.
“I think the doctor explained to you why Mr McKinley, your grandfather, ha
s been given a paralytic drug,” she tells him.
We both shake our heads simultaneously. “No, actually; no one did,” I say.
She lifts an eyebrow and glances down to study the paperwork in her hands.
“Well, basically, your grandfather suffered a cardiac arrest. The drug has been administered because the consultant wants his body to rest. He’s also been placed on a ventilator and the drugs will help stop any discomfort. Due to the arrest, his brain needs to recover, and so we’re doing everything we can to reduce the risk of brain damage.”
“Does that mean he may be a vegetable?” I ask.
The nurse squeezes the top of my shoulder.
“I have to be honest; there’s always a risk, but so far he’s responded well to treatment, and as long as his vital signs remain stable, we’ll be weaning him off the ventilator tomorrow morning.”
An alarm sounds. It’s one of the machines attached to another patient, and a red light flashes at the nurses’ station. The nurse spins around to check someone is dealing with it. A tall woman, wearing sensible black shoes, hurries down the corridor and over to the bed. She checks the patient’s vital signs and then calmly switches off the alarm.
The staff nurse turns her attention back to us.
“Go home,” she says. “We’ll call you if there’s any change.”
I look at Jamie for guidance and he nods. “Okay, we’ll be back in the morning.”
The nurse smiles, and for the first time I realise she’s not as old as I at first thought. “I think that’s best,” she says. “Your grandfather needs lots of rest if he’s to recover.”
“Can we just sit with him for a moment?” Jamie asks. The nurse’s frown reappears, but she stands aside to allow us to pass.
“Just a few minutes,” she says. “Then it’s home for both of you.”
She leads us to granda’s bedside. The blinds are pulled down and bright streams of sunlight seep onto the bedclothes. Alasdair’s surrounded by lifesaving equipment and he’s hooked up to a multitude of grey wires and long plastic tubes. His eyes are closed and I’ve never seen him look so pale. There’s dark-grey smudges around his eye sockets and thin blue lines across his lids. His skin is chalk white.
Two Kinds Of Truth Page 17