Now they waited for a fourth operation, one that would finally put right what was wrong once and for all.
Rachel took a long breath and called down to her mother. “Hey, fat arse! How about a cup of tea up here?”
“Who are you calling ‘fat arse’? You skinny runt!” Came the quick retort. “I’ve seen more meat on a spare-rib at the Summer Palace!”
Rachel chuckled. She put the book down on the dressing table next to her bed and took off her glasses. She looked towards the door and waited. She could hear her mother coming up the stairs already. Jibes about her size were guaranteed to get her mother’s attention. She would reply in kind, exaggerating Rachel’s slimmer look by comparing her to anything from a string bean to a brain on a stick. It wasn’t that her mother was very big, really, just pleasantly plump, as Gina would say.
“You’re only jealous,” Rachel said when she heard her mother reach the top of the stairs.
Gina came through the door and looked at her daughter stretched out on the bed. Rachel was wearing her favourite tatty old pair of jeans and a blue jumper. Her feet were bare.
“Revenge!” Gina announced and pounced on Rachel’s bare feet, tickling them madly.
Rachel kicked her feet and began laughing. “No, Mum! Not my feet!” she cried out. “You know I’m dead ticklish there!”
“Not until you give in!” her mother insisted.
“I give in! I give in!”
Gina relented and sat on the side of the bed next to her daughter. “You’re right,” she said. “I am jealous. I only have to look at a plate of chips and I put on two stone! And me running up and down the stairs every five minutes! You, you eat like a pig, laze about all day, and you can still hide in the shadow of a stick insect!”
Rachel laughed. “The trouble with you, Mum,” she said. “Is that you never stop at just looking at that plate of chips.”
“A woman’s got to eat you know.”
“And drink,” Rachel added.
Gina held up her finger. “Tea!” she said. “I’ll go and put the kettle on.” She started to get up.
“I’ll come down, Mum.”
“No, you stay here and read your book. I’ll bring it up to you.”
“No, I want to come down and sit in the kitchen with you.”
“You’ll get tired and out of breath.”
“Shut up and help me up!” Rachel insisted and swung her legs off the bed.
Gina relented. “Oh, alright,” she said, and she put her arm around her daughter’s waist and began to help Rachel to her feet. “But if you begin to feel too tired, I’m going to carry you right back up here and put you straight to bed.”
“I think I was a lot smaller the last time you gave me a piggy-back, Mum.” Rachel put her arm around her mother’s shoulder and stood up. She was taller than her mother, and definitely thinner, but the similarity between them was obvious in their faces. Rachel’s hair, eyes and nose were definitely inherited from her mother. Pictures of Gina when she was younger and thinner could easily be confused for Rachel. But now Gina’s hair was much shorter, and her face rounder. They had taken two steps towards the door together when the telephone rang.
They both froze and stared towards the door, listening to the ringing sound. For the past few months they had both dreaded and hoped that the telephone would ring. Whenever it did, and it wasn’t Rachel’s doctor, they would feel downhearted, but also a little bit relieved.
Gina spoke first. “Why didn’t you wait until I was naked with one foot in the bath, like last time?” she said to the telephone. She sighed. “Wait here, Rachel, and I’ll go and see who it is.” She helped Rachel sit down on the bed before hurrying downstairs.
Rachel swung her legs back onto the bed and drew them up to her chest. She hugged them with both hands and rested the side of her head on her knees. She sat there on the bed, all alone, waiting, listening.
Gina stood in front of the hall mirror and stared at her reflection. She didn’t feel any different, and if she sucked her cheeks in, she didn’t look much different either. Maybe this year she would lose some weight. If everything went okay. She took a deep breath and picked up the telephone. “Hello?” she said.
“Hello? Gina?” said a familiar voice. “It’s Dr Jones. We’ve got one.”
Chapter Six
Bad News
“Have you had a break-in, sir?” PC Roberts asked Alex Williams as they all stood in the wreckage of the drawing room together.
WPC Foster glared at her colleague. Now was not the time, she thought. But he did have a point. The drawing room was littered with broken china, and two of the chairs had been over-turned. Mr Williams himself also looked a little dishevelled. He had quite a bad cut on his forehead, which he dabbed constantly with a bloodstained handkerchief. And he was obviously angry and upset about something. And the room didn’t get into this state on it’s own, either. If it wasn’t a break-in, then it had to be an argument, a bad one, and probably with his wife. This was going to be even harder than she had first thought.
“Did I call you about any damn break-in?” Alex snapped back at them both.
“No sir,” Jill Foster replied quickly. She wanted to get their visit back onto the right path, but her eyes were caught by the picture hanging on the wall above the fireplace behind Alex. It was a large portrait of a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and she was immediately struck by the age difference. Alex Williams was still a strikingly attractive man, but he was in his middle to late forties, whereas his wife had been only twenty-eight. Then she remembered from the information that she had been given that Williams had been married before. Why was it that the more successful men became, the younger their wives got?
“As I said at the door, sir,” she continued, tearing her eyes away from the painting. “It’s to do with your wife–”
“I know, I know!” Alex interrupted, his voice still angry. “Speeding again! As usual! How fast was she going this time?”
“It’s much more serious than that, sir. I think it would be better if you sat down.”
“She hasn’t gone and ran someone over has she?” For the first time since they ad arrived, Alex’s voice sounded less angry and more concerned.
“There has been an accident, sir.”
Alex slowly lowered is hand from the cut on his head and looked more closely at the sad expression on the young policewoman’s face.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, as the purpose of their visit finally dawned on him. And then he did sit down. “Oh God...”
Chapter Seven
Last Minute Jitters
Dr Philip Jones smiled when he saw Rachel and her mother coming down the corridor together. Rachel was in a wheelchair that her mother had insisted on pushing. The porter who was supposed to push it for her had given up halfway down the corridor, and had decided to take Gina’s advice and had gone to do something more useful instead.
Dr Jones greeted them both. “Hello, Gina, Rachel.” He squatted down next to the wheelchair and held Rachel’s hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.
Rachel took off her glasses. “Scared,” she replied. “Like usual.”
“She’s fine, Dr Jones,” Gina said quickly. “A little tired, maybe. But apart from that, she’s fine.”
Dr Jones grinned at Rachel and squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be alright, Rachel. Just you wait and see. By this time tomorrow, you’re going to feel like a new woman!”
“I hope so, Dr Jones,” Rachel replied. “I can’t help it, you know? I think if my heart was okay, I’d probably run away.”
“Don’t be silly!” Gina scolded her daughter. “This is going to make you well, and it’s not like you haven’t been through this before. You’re just being a big baby!”
“I am not!” Rachel protested. “The other operations weren’t the same. This time they’re going to replace the whole damn thing. Of course I’m scared. You’d be, too, if you were in my place.”
Even though there were two nurses ready to help, Gina insisted on getting her daughter undressed and into bed herself. One of the nurses tried to help, but spent most of her time keeping out of Gina’s way. The other nurse just smiled and stood by, holding on to the clothes Gina had thrust into her hands after she had first snatched the gown she was carrying. Dr Jones and the nurse smiled at one another as Gina fussed over her daughter.
Nurse Julia Kaye had seen all this before, of course. She had been here on the numerous occasions that Rachel had been in for tests and examinations. It was always the same. If you protested or got in the way, Gina would mow you down like a bulldozer.
Rachel was soon in bed, and everything was tidied away.
“Everybody out,” Dr Jones announced. “I’d like to examine my patient without an audience if you please.”
“I suppose you mean me?” Gina said, hands on hips.
Nurse Kaye put her arm around Gina, and said, “Why don’t we go and get a drink for you and Rachel while Dr Jones is examining your daughter?”
Gina gave her that ‘don’t mess with me’ look, and said, “I can manage on my own, if you don’t mind.” She brushed aside Nurse Kaye’s arm and turned back to Rachel. “Will you be alright, sweetheart?” she asked.
“Yes, Mum. I’ll be fine.”
Gina kissed Rachel on the forehead before heading for the door. There she paused and glanced at Dr Jones, saying, “I know when I’m not wanted.” Then she went out.
Nurse Kaye smiled at Rachel as she followed Gina out the door. Now Dr Jones and Rachel were left alone together, and he began to examine her, placing his stethoscope against her chest, listening to her heart.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked her.
Rachel looked down at the large scars on her chest from previous operations. They started just below her neck, went down between her breasts, and all the way to her midriff.
“I’m not a big baby, am I, Doctor?” she asked him. “I mean, still living at home with my Mum, and everything?”
“Of course you’re not a baby.”
“But I’m twenty-four! I should be working and living on my own, not still at home with my Mum. It’s not right.” Rachel clutched her glasses in both hands, her head down.
Dr Jones could see that Rachel was worried about the operation, but there was more to it than that. He took the stethoscope from his ears and sat down on the bed beside her. “Rachel,” he said. “This operation is going to give you the chance to live your life just like everybody else. You’ll be able to do what you want. Travel to other places and see some of the world. You could get married and have children. And yes, you can work for a living and get your own place. It’s just what you’ve been waiting for. But remember, nothing’s compulsory. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And whatever you do decide to do, your mother is still going to love you.”
“But we’ve been so close!” Rachel exclaimed. “If this operation finally works, what’s that going to do to us both? What am I supposed to do? Say ‘thank you very much’ and walk out?”
“You love your mother, don’t you?”
“Yes of course I do. She’s done everything for me over the years. I couldn’t ask for a better mother. We share everything. We even cry watching the same weepy movies.”
“Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you? Because we both know that Gina loves you like mad. And there’s no way that your relationship is going to end with this operation, Rachel. It might change a little in time, but that’s only natural. And remember, you’re not going to wake up as superwoman, ready to fly off into the sunset. It is going to take time for you to recover, and to work out what you want to do. And if there’s one thing that’s certain, your mother will be there to help you through it.”
Rachel put her glasses back on and gave Dr Jones a wry smile. “I am a big baby,” she said. “Scared of being healthy, and what it will mean.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have snapped at Mum like that in the corridor. I didn’t really mean it, but this operation isn’t like the other ones, is it? I’m going to have someone else’s...you know...inside me. It is sort of scary.”
Dr Jones became a little more concerned. He had explained all the ramifications of having a heart transplant to Rachel many times before. She knew everything she needed to know, and more. She knew what they were going to do, how long it would take, and what could possibly go wrong, both during, and after, the surgery. But knowing about it all, understanding it all, that was one thing. Actually going through with it was another.
“I asked you before if you had changed your mind. You haven’t have you?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just last minute jitters, that’s all. I suppose I sort of feel sorry for my old heart, too. It’s done it’s best for twenty-four years, and now I’m going to evict it and put another one in it’s place. And I just can’t quite get used to the idea that by tomorrow, someone else’s...” she paused and looked down at her scarred chest, and then continued, sheepishly, “I just don’t know how it’s going to feel.”
“It’s going to feel fine!” Dr Jones replied. He stroked her hair and smiled at her. “By tomorrow it’s going to be all over and done with. And you can start planning what you’re going to do with your life at last. It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”
“But I don’t even know what I want to do. It’s always been so pie in the sky. And as for getting married and having children, who’s going to look at me?”
“Lots of people. You’re far too beautiful for your own good!”
“Yeah, until I take my blouse off! Then it’s like a blue movie version of ‘Phantom of the Opera!’”
Dr Jones laughed. Just then, Nurse Kaye returned pushing a trolley with equipment and monitors on it. “Your mother’s on her way back with two cups of tea,” she announced. Other nurses followed her in with more equipment, and the room started to get busy again.
Dr Jones waved his finger at Rachel as he got up from the bed. “Only a couple of sips for you,” he said.
“I know,” was the reluctant reply.
“And as for boyfriends,” Dr Jones added. “If they can’t love your scars along with the rest of you, then kick ‘em out, I say!”
Now it was Rachel’s turn to laugh. Gina came through the door. There was another man with her. Rachel recognised him immediately. She knew him quite well. Mr Ronald Bloomfield was his name. He was a nice man, really. But the sight of him frightened her, and the laughter and the smile faded from her face. She could feel her heart trying to climb into her stomach, as if it were trying to hide, to get away. Mr Ronald Bloomfield was the surgeon who was going to perform the transplant.
Chapter Eight
The Identification
Alex Williams covered his eyes as the police car drove through the city streets towards Manchester Royal Infirmary. The news of Sarah’s death had practically killed him, too. The argument that they had had before she left was bad enough. But to know, now, that when she had fled from the house in tears and anger, was the last time that he would see her, that had broken him completely.
He had collapsed when they had told him. He just slumped to the floor and cried. The two police officers had to pick him up. They had been worried about him, and had wanted to call a doctor. The woman police officer had then suggested that it would be better if they put off the ordeal of identifying the body until he was feeling more capable. But when he heard that, Alex had revived almost instantly. He didn’t want to wait for any doctor. He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to be close to his wife again, the need to see her drivi
ng him on. He had to see her again, to touch her, just one more time.
Now he just sat in the back seat of the police car, head down, his hands over his eyes.
WPC Foster looked over her shoulder at Alex. “We’re nearly there, sir,” she said softly.
Alex said nothing.
WPC Foster glanced at her partner. PC Roberts just shrugged his shoulders and kept driving. She looked back at Alex. At least he had stopped crying, she thought.
They drove on in silence, and soon they were at the hospital.
“We’re there now, sir,” WPC Foster said. She opened the door and got out, and then reached in to take Alex’s hands from over his face. He looked surprised, stunned. Gently, she helped him out of the car.
It was all a blur to Alex. The journey to Manchester, arriving at the hospital, getting out of the car, and walking along the corridors, everything. He was aware of people, and of the bright lights and the noise. But he couldn’t quite focus on them. The sounds of voices were distant and echoed, and the faces of people seemed distorted. He was in a dream, a nightmare.
He was standing in a room with WPC Foster and another man in a white coat. He felt sort of cold. In front of him was a long table with a white sheet over it. There was someone lying on the table underneath the sheet. His heart began beating like mad, and he swallowed loudly.
“Take your time, sir,” WPC Foster said.
The man in the white coat drew back the sheet to reveal the head and shoulders of a young woman underneath. She had blonde hair, and there were bruises and contusions on her face and forehead. Both her lips were split, and her nose looked like it was broken. She looked very sad, and white, and still.
Alex took a deep breath and sighed. “That’s not Sarah,” he said. “That’s not my wife.”
An Affair of the Heart Page 2