There was a pause while the nurse looked at her, her pretty face thoughtful. ‘I’ll get you a chair,’ she said. And did, manoeuvring it until it was right against the bed. Then she turned back the bedclothes and removed the support. And Gemma saw the full extent of her injuries. The full, inescapable extent.
Her right leg was striped with stitches and the foot was encased in plaster just as she expected, but the lower part of her left leg was gone, ending below the knee in a bandaged stump. The shock of it was so searing that for a few seconds she just sat where she was and stared at it, feeling sick to the pit of her stomach. How could it be gone when she could feel her toes? It was worse than the nightmare. Perhaps she was still dreaming and it was a nightmare. ‘But I can feel it,’ she protested. ‘I can see it’s gone but I can feel it.’
‘It often happens,’ the nurse told her. ‘We don’t know why. Lots of amputees can feel their limbs. It goes off.’
Amputees, Gemma thought. The word was like a blow. That’s what I am now. An amputee. It sounded less than human. This is what I’m like now. This is what I look like and this is how I’m going to look from now on. Incomplete, deformed, hideous. She wanted to run away, to hide in a corner and cry and cry. But where could she hide in a hospital ward? And what would be the point of it if she did? All the crying in the world wouldn’t bring her leg back.
The nurse was removing the catheter and being brisk and practical about it. ‘Now then,’ she said, when it was done, ‘let’s see if we can get you into this chair. Take your time. It’s a bit tricky the first time you try it.’
It wasn’t just tricky. It was painful. As soon as Gemma bent her knees, the stump began to throb.
‘It always does that,’ the nurse explained, as Gemma winced. ‘It’s the force of gravity. It’ll go off.’
I wish she wouldn’t keep saying things’ll go off, Gemma thought. ‘So I should hope,’ she said grimly.
‘It adjusts after a day or so,’ the nurse reassured. ‘The first few days after any op are always the worst. Tell me when you’re ready.’
The pulse was dying away as she spoke. ‘Another minute,’ Gemma decided.
‘Now we get to the comedy bit,’ the nurse told her, picking up the drip. ‘It’s like carrying a coat-hanger around. Hold on and I’ll bring all this stuff round the other side.’ She was doing her best to distract her patient by making a joke of it.
But it horrified Gemma to be wheeled away, drip and all, with her stump propped before her on a special board. And the contortions she had to go through once she was in the toilet upset her terribly. By the time she got back to her bed again she was miserable and exhausted.
The nurse was still determined to be cheerful. ‘Now then,’ she said, arranging the bedclothes over the cradle, ‘you’ve got some visitors, if you’re up to it.’
It depended who they were.
‘One of them says he’s your boyfriend. Jerry, is it? And two girls from your flat.’
Yes, Gemma thought. It might be nice to see them. They were such fun and so full of life. They might be just what she needed.
They trooped into the ward, bearing flowers and magazines and a huge box of her favourite chocolates, tied with a red ribbon. Trudi had come straight, from the office in her serviceable black and white and Tracey had dressed up for the occasion in a flowing Laura Ashley skirt and a shawl and full make-up.
‘Your poor old thing,’ the two girls said, as they kissed her. ‘What a thing to happen! Are you all right? You look awful!’
Their good health and crashing lack of tact made her unexpectedly angry. ‘Well of course I look awful,’ she said. ‘What d’you expect? I’ve just had my leg cut off, for Christ’s sake.’
That embarrassed them, but only temporarily. ‘I brought you the latest Trollope,’ Trudi said, putting the paperback on the bedspread.
‘I don’t like Trollope.’
‘Don’t you?’ Tracey said, raising her eyebrows with surprise. ‘I thought everybody did. Oh well I’ll have it then.’
‘Do you mind?’ Trudi remonstrated, resting her weight on the bed to lean forward and grab the book. ‘I bought it. If she doesn’t want it, I’ll have it.’
They’re not going to quarrel over it, surely, Gemma thought. Not when I’m in this state. ‘Mind my legs!’ she warned.
Jerry was carrying a bundle of newspapers. ‘You were on the telly last night,’ he said. ‘Star of the show. Don’t suppose you saw it though, did you.’
Gemma made a grimace. ‘I was otherwise engaged.’
‘Right,’ he said, easily. ‘Right. Anyway you’re in all the papers this morning so you haven’t missed anything. Old Ma Edmunds brought hers up first thing to show us, fairly frothing. I was still in bed. She said I was a layabout. Probably right. Anyway I nipped out later on and bought the lot. Thought you’d like to see them.’ He dropped the wodge of papers on to the bed. ‘Great, eh?’
Gemma couldn’t see anything great about it, but she was certainly front-page news.
‘FEISTY HEROINE OF WANDSWORTH COMMON DISASTER,’ she read. The Chronicle had even got her name, ‘TWO-HOUR ORDEAL FOR PLUCKY GEMMA.’ And so had the Mirror, ‘GEMMA SMILES AS SHE IS PULLED FROM THE CRASH,’ their headline said, and they had a picture of her being carried off to the ambulance with an oxygen mask over her face, her head bandaged, her cheeks streaked with blood, the shredded arm of her leather jacket swinging below the blanket. It looked dreadful and yet she couldn’t help a feeling of pride. It was fame, of a sort, and God knows she’d earned it. She had been brave. She was being brave now. There had to be some consolation for all this.
‘Great, eh?’ Jerry repeated. ‘D’you want some choccies?’ He was busily opening the box. ‘What’s your fave?’
‘No thanks,’ Gemma said. ‘Actually I feel a bit sick.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I suppose you would. That’ll be the anaesthetic.’ Did he have to be quite so matter-of-fact about it? ‘How about you, Trace?’
Tracey chose an orange cream, Trudi a caramel. Soon all three of them were sitting by the bedside gobbling their way through the box, while they told Gemma how easy it had been to wangle time off to see her and regaled her with tales of all the ‘gross’ things that had happened to them the previous day. It was what they always did of an evening while they were eating their communal meal and they saw no incongruity in continuing the tradition that morning. But Gemma did. It was inappropriate and thoughtless. How shallow they are, she thought, listening to their prattle. How they mock people and how little they care. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before.
Finally they pulled their attention back to her.
‘How long are they going to keep you in?’ Tracey wanted to know.
Gemma hadn’t even thought about it. ‘I’ve no idea. Depends how quickly I recover, I suppose.’
‘They won’t let you back to the flat though, will they?’ Tracey said amiably. ‘Because of the stairs. I mean, you’ll never be able to manage the stairs, will you?’
Gemma was shocked by such a question. It sounded callous – and felt contrived, as if it was being asked for a purpose. But she answered it as honestly as she could. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be able to manage yet.’
‘Not two flights,’ Trudi said, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘Not with only one leg.’ The hair escaped from the temporary restriction of her earlobe and swung across her cheek again, as it always did. ‘I mean, think about it.’
I’d rather not, Gemma thought. It made her feel that life without her leg was going to be altogether too complicated and difficult.
‘The thing is,’ Tracey went on, adjusting her shawl, ‘we’ve been thinking, haven’t we, Jerry? And what we’ve been thinking is – well – as you’re not going to be able to come back – because of the stairs and everything – maybe we ought to find someone else to take your room. Sort of temporary or something like that. Course, we don’t want you to think we’re turning you out or anything. We wouldn’t d
o that, would we Jez. I mean, if you could manage it, we’d be … It’s just it’s the stairs – and the rent. Isn’t that right, Trudi?’
‘Shared between three,’ Trudi explained, attending to her hair again. ‘I mean it’s a lot of money shared between three, when you’ve been used to it being four.’
‘You need the rent,’ Gemma understood.
‘There’s no rush,’ Trudi said. ‘Only Jerry’s got this friend, haven’t you Jez?’
They don’t care about me at all, Gemma realised. They’re fair-weather friends and that’s all they’ve ever been. I just haven’t seen it until now. ‘When does he want to move in?’ she asked.
‘It’s a her, actually,’ Jerry admitted, rather shamefacedly. And hastened to justify himself. ‘She’s a laugh. You’d love her. We thought she’d be just the one.’
I’ve been replaced, Gemma thought. That’s how much I meant to him. That’s how much I meant to all of them. If she’d been on her feet – if she’d had feet – she would have walked away from them. ‘You’ll have to go now,’ she said. ‘I’m tired.’
Trudi persisted. ‘What about the flat?’
‘Do what you like with it,’ Gemma said, turning on her side. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, is it? Not now. You’ve made your decision.’ And she slithered down the bed, pulled the covers over her ears and closed her eyes. She wanted to weep and shout at them. How could they be so unkind?
‘That’s settled then is it?’ Trudi’s voice said from behind her. ‘See you later, then.’
Gemma didn’t bother to answer. She heard them make their exit, the tone of their voices light, cheerful, teasing, unchanged by what they’d just done to her, unmoved by what she’d just said, unaware of how much they’d just hurt her. We don’t want you to think we’re turning you out, she thought. But that’s exactly what they were doing. How could I have liked them? Any of them. Even for a minute. They’re shallow, selfish monsters. Not like Pippa. If she’d come to see me she’d have been quite different. Pippa had been the best friend she’d ever had and she missed her terribly. Oh Pippa! she mourned, as the tears pricked behind her eyelids, why did you have to go round the world? I need you here. Now. But what’s the good of even thinking about it? She’s not here. I’ve lost her. I’ve lost my leg and my job and my flat. Everything. Nothing will ever be the same again.
There was a rustle beside her bed. Somebody was behind her, bending towards her. Had one of them come back? Surely not. Hadn’t they done enough damage?
But it wasn’t either of the girls. Ringed fingers touched her hair, stroked it and withdrew. ‘Darling!’ a familiar voice said lovingly. ‘Are you awake?’
It was her mother, leaning across the bed to kiss her cheek, so that her beads swung and clinked across the straight stylish jacket of her best Chanel-style suit. She was wearing high heels and her blonde hair was immaculate, so she’d obviously come straight from the boutique. And her brown eyes were swimming with tears.
‘I got your message,’ she said, as Gemma struggled to sit up. ‘They rang from the hospital. It must have been just after you got here. Oh my darling, this is so awful!’ And she stretched out a hand to try and help.
Gemma shook it away. ‘I can manage,’ she said, hauling herself into a better position. She knew she was being ungracious but she couldn’t help it. She had to be independent.
‘I’ve been trying to see you for ages,’ her mother told her. ‘I came as soon as I got the phone call but you weren’t down from the operating theatre then. They let me have a peep at you yesterday evening but you were sound asleep. Dead to the world. Like a little baby. So I thought I’d pop in early this morning and I saw Sister that time, and she said to try during my lunch break. So here I am. Oh my poor dear darling. What can I say?’
‘I’m all right,’ Gemma said, making a bleak attempt to smile and failing. ‘Don’t fuss.’ It always took such an effort to cope with her mother, and she didn’t have the energy for it. Not now. Not after Trudi and Tracey. Just keep off the modelling career, she willed her dominating parent, and don’t run my life for me. I’ve got enough to cope with this morning without that.
Billie Goodeve put her shopping bag on the bed and began to unpack it. ‘I brought you some things. I didn’t know what you’d like so I thought grapes. Well they’re generally acceptable, aren’t they, and I don’t suppose the food is up to much. It never is in these places.’
‘I haven’t had any yet,’ Gemma said.
‘No, poor darling,’ Billie sympathised. ‘I don’t suppose you have. Now I’ve put some washing things in this little dolly-bag. Just necessities, soap and flannel, that sort of thing. Little box of tissues. I’ll put that on the cabinet shall I? And your hairbrush. The one you had when you were a little girl, d’you remember? You used to brush the cat with it, poor thing. I used to say leave it be, but would you? No you wouldn’t. You used to dress it up in your doll’s clothes – bonnet on its poor little head and everything. You said it was your baby. You used to take it for walks in the pram. D’you remember? Never knew a cat so long-suffering. And a nightie, look. I was going to pop round to your flat and get one for you there, then I remembered this one and I thought, it’s just the thing.’ She pulled a hideous piece of middle-aged silk from the shopping bag, like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat.
I wouldn’t be seen dead in it, Gemma thought, even if I very nearly was. And she wondered what had happened to her expensive clothes. Torn to shreds, probably. Didn’t they cut off her jeans? The memory of what happened at the accident was curiously jumbled. It was only the faces she could remember in any detail, the nice reassuring one with the white hair and the handsome one who said. ‘I don’t let my patients die.’
Her mother had finished unpacking and was arranging fruit in an old bowl on Gemma’s bedside table. ‘Now then, my darling,’ she said, ‘what else do you need?’
My leg, Gemma thought, but she tried to answer in the way her mother expected. ‘I can’t think of anything for the moment, thanks.’
‘Well if you do, get one of these nice nurses to give me a ring and I’ll see to it. I’m sure they won’t mind. You’re not to worry about a thing.’
The banality of the conversation was so irritating that Gemma had to turn her head away from it. I’ve lost my leg, she thought, and she tells me not to worry about a thing. But she held on to her control and didn’t complain.
‘Well that’s that then,’ her mother said, settling herself into the armchair beside the bed. ‘Now we must think about the future.’
That was too much. ‘Not now, Mother,’ Gemma begged. ‘Not yet. Leave it.’
‘We can’t leave it,’ her mother said. ‘I mean, there are things to be decided. You’ll have to tell them where you’re going when you leave here, for a start. They’ll want to know. And you can’t go back to the flat, can you? Tracey was telling me last night. Because of the stairs. So, I’ve thought it all out. You can come home with me. You can have your old room. I know we’re on the second floor but I’m sure we can manage the lift between us. Will they provide you with a wheelchair or will you have to buy your own? Not that it matters, because you’ve got insurance haven’t you?’
Gemma was beginning to feel dizzy. ‘What?’
‘Insurance. You told me. Remember? For being an actress. In case you got injured on stage. Little did they know!’
‘Look!’ Gemma said. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. Not now. I can’t take it. It’ll have to wait.’
‘Of course,’ her mother agreed affably. ‘I can understand that. Oh, it’s so unfair for this to happen to you. My poor baby!’
Gemma didn’t want this cloying sympathy either. ‘I’m twenty-one, Mother,’ she said. ‘Going on twenty-two.’
‘I know, I know,’ Billie crooned. ‘And now this. It’s iniquitous. But don’t you worry about a thing, darling. I’ll look after you.’
She was irritating Gemma so much that she simply had to speak up. ‘I don’t want to be
looked after,’ she said. ‘I can stand on my own two feet. Even if I’ve only got one.’ The irony of the joke pleased her.
But it was lost on her mother. ‘Of course,’ she agreed again, with happy insincerity. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’
Gemma rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘It’s no good talking to you,’ she complained. ‘You don’t listen to a word I’m saying. Read my lips. I don’t want to be looked after.’
‘You might not want it,’ Billie said, ‘but everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?’ It was breaking her heart to see her beautiful daughter reduced to such a state but they both had to accept it.
‘It hasn’t! I won’t let it!’
‘Oh come on, Gemma. Face facts. You’ll have to face them sooner or later. You’re … a … well you’re a cripple, darling, aren’t you really?’
‘I’m not! I won’t be! You’re not to say such a thing.’
Battle had been joined between them, as it so often was and although neither of them had intended it. ‘I have to, darling,’ Billie said, ‘it’s the truth. I mean, they’ll never take you on as a model now, not with one leg. And when I think what you were like when you were Miss Pears! Oh it’s so unfair!’
‘I knew we’d get round to this,’ Gemma said. ‘You can’t leave it alone, can you? I don’t want to be a model. I never have. I never will. I’ve told you over and over again.’
‘You were a model when you were four and you were Miss Pears,’ Billie insisted. ‘You couldn’t have had a better start than that. And then there was all the work you did for the catalogues. You were a wonderful little model. They all loved you. But what’s the good of talking about it now you’re crippled?’
That word again. It was like a sting. ‘I’m not crippled. How many more times? I’ve been in a rail crash, that’s what’s the matter with me. I’ve been in a rail crash and I’ve lost my leg because they had to cut me out of the wreckage. I’m lucky to be alive. I damn nearly wasn’t. They had to cut me out of the wreckage, don’t you understand?’
Gemma's Journey Page 4