While I Was Sleeping

by Dani Atkins

  ‘I do still want you to help me,’ I said, my guilt making me sound over-enthusiastic. ‘It’s just that right now Hope’s so upset about Chloe being in hospital, I’d worry that if she saw me getting a room ready for her here, she’ll think her mother is never coming back.’

  Mitch’s smile was slow and understanding. ‘You’re her mother,’ he corrected loyally, pinning his colours firmly to the Team Maddie mast.

  ‘We both are,’ I answered, knowing the only team who could win this particular contest would be the one that pulled with the other side, instead of against it.

  I wasn’t sure if it was lingering pangs of guilt or the desire for companionship which made me suddenly call out as he was walking away. ‘Look, if you’re not busy tonight, why don’t you come over for a drink and we could discuss . . . match pots, or . . . whatever.’ If he’d needed proof of my ignorance of all things DIY, I’d clearly given it to him. ‘Ryan usually picks up Chloe by seven o’clock, so if you got here around eight?’

  ‘That sounds good,’ Mitch said, looking surprised by my unexpected invitation. That made two of us. At the last moment I suddenly worried I might be sending out the wrong signals. ‘Nothing fancy. Just a casual friendly drink. Don’t worry about getting dressed up or anything.’

  Mitch’s golden brown eyes twinkled, and all at once he looked much more teddy than grizzly bear. ‘You neither.’ There was definitely a hint of mischief in his eyes and voice.

  After he’d gone, I leant back on the front door for several minutes, rewinding our parting words through my head, as though deciphering code. Was that flirting, or was that just being funny? I’d been out of the game for so long, I could no longer tell the difference.

  ‘Why don’t I treat us all to burgers tonight? There’s a new place that’s just opened on the High Street.’ Ryan had arrived half an hour earlier than usual to collect Hope, before I’d begun cooking or cremating a meal for her.

  ‘Yes, burgers!’ exclaimed Hope delightedly.

  Ryan pulled his daughter against him, and I saw the deep lines of strain etched beside his mouth ease slightly. He’d come straight from the hospital and looked in need of some decompression time. I was itching to ask what had happened during his visit, but with Hope standing right beside him, my tongue was silenced.

  ‘What do you say, Maddie? Do you still like burgers?’ There was no faulting his memory of my love of junk food.

  ‘Does a bear—’ I broke off suddenly, and not just because the rest of that sentence contained language I should definitely not be using in front of Hope. I broke off because the image of a bear suddenly reminded me that I had plans for the evening.

  ‘I’m sorry Ryan, but I can’t. I’ve made other arrangements for tonight.’ There was a curiosity in his gaze that rankled a little. I was entitled to a life of my own; friendships of my own; ones that had nothing to do with him. His right to know the details about my social life had long since passed its expiration date.

  ‘You can’t cancel them?’ he asked.

  Hope looked up at me pleadingly, and I almost wavered, because I knew she wanted me to join them – and I did want to. But then a snapshot memory flashed in my head of Mitch’s face, anticipating rejection.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t. Not tonight.’

  He brought sunflowers again. And I smiled, because who can’t help but smile at a giant of a man who awkwardly hands you a large bunch of oversized yellow-faced blooms.

  Some decisions, the type that seem like such a good idea in the small hours of the night, don’t sound quite so wonderful when the sun rises the following day. Similarly, the kind you reach after drinking more wine than your body has consumed in years are equally untrustworthy.

  I didn’t rush things. I drank hot strong black coffee, nibbled on toast and stayed longer than usual under the flat’s surprisingly efficient shower, waiting for the idea to be washed out of my head and swirl away down the drain. But instead it stuck. I couldn’t even remember if the suggestion had been mine or Mitch’s, I realised as I briskly rubbed myself dry.

  We’d talked for hours. I’d always known Mitch was a good listener, but last night I discovered that he was also insightful and perceptive. Perhaps it’s easier to see past all the obstacles and objections when you’re not emotionally involved. Admittedly, after three glasses of wine my thinking was a bit fuzzy around the edges, while Mitch, who appeared to have the constitution of a small rhinoceros, didn’t seem affected at all.

  ‘You need to go to the hospital,’ I remember him saying.

  ‘Why? I’m perfectly okay,’ I told him, and then felt extremely foolish when I saw his face split into a wide grin. I noticed he didn’t replenish my glass quite so much after that.

  ‘You and Chloe need to talk . . . without Ryan being there,’ he advised. ‘After all, you both only want what’s best for Hope.’

  I nodded vigorously, waited a moment for the room to stop bobbing up and down, before saying: ‘We do. But it’s not possible because I have to look after Hope each day, and Ryan’s there in the evenings. Plus, the hospital is miles away,’ I added, aware that I was now throwing pretty pathetic spanners into the works, to get me out of doing something I didn’t want to do.

  ‘I could always drive you there,’ Mitch offered.

  In the end I decided not to rush my decision. I would sit on it, like a hen on an egg, and let events unfold as they would. But before I’d finished dressing, my phone had pinged with an incoming message. I perched on the side of my bed to read the first text Ryan had ever sent me that didn’t have a kiss at the end of it. It was brisk and to the point, curt even, in a way that was so unfamiliar, it jarred. The essence of the message was that Hope was attending a classmate’s birthday party after school that day, which he would collect her from. My services were therefore not required, which left my afternoon unexpectedly free. I tried not to see it as a sign. It was merely a coincidence.

  I tidied the lounge, clearing away the wine glasses and empty bottles, and spent quite some time pummelling the Mitch-sized dent out of the worn sofa cushions. As I repeatedly struck the upholstery, my thoughts kept circling and then returning to visiting Chloe at the hospital. I knew from Ryan she hadn’t wanted visitors, and that her closest friend, an old work colleague, had moved abroad several years ago. So why would she want to see me? The answer was obvious: she wouldn’t.

  The decision was finally made when the postman dropped the mail through my front door. There were a couple of bills, which I put to the bottom of the pile, and turned instead to an A5 brown envelope with DVLA stamped on the postmark. I knew what it was before I pulled out the contents. My driving licence had finally been returned, with all of the restrictions my condition had imposed removed. I now had the means to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

  I looked upwards, addressing my comment to the ceiling. ‘Okay, Universe, I get it. That’s enough signs. I’ll go to the damn hospital.’ I’m not sure if the universe heard me, or if my words were only picked up by the people who lived in the flat above, but it didn’t much matter. Today I would visit Chloe.

  Hiring a car for the week was surprisingly easy. The guy in the rental office was a bit sleazy and kept smiling and winking at me as we went through the paperwork, in a way I doubt he’d have done if Mitch had been beside me. It was only as I slid into the driver’s seat, and breathed in that freshly valeted new car smell, that I realised how odd it was that Mitch was the person who’d come to mind, rather than Ryan.

  I stopped only once on my journey, pulling into the car park of a large shopping centre. There was a huge branch of Boots which had everything I wanted, and twenty minutes and two laden carrier bags later, I was back on the road to visit the sick bed of the woman who I now knew had visited me a great many times when our roles were reversed. Serendipity felt like an improbably strong elastic band, continually pulling our lives together.

  She was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the fine drizzle tha
t threatened to turn into a downpour at any moment. Her shoulders were slumped and her hair looked in need of brushing – maybe washing too, if I was being brutally honest. A nurse had directed me to her bed, but to reach it I’d had to pass several other bays. There was a man in one, shouting out belligerently, and in another an elderly gentleman who either didn’t know, or care, that his bottom was on display to anyone who happened to be walking past. A strident alarm began to sound from the far end of the ward and a nurse ran past me, her flat sensible shoes slapping on the linoleum. Ryan was right; this wasn’t a place that Hope should visit.

  I cleared my throat awkwardly, but I was pretty sure she must have heard the sound of my footsteps as I entered her bay. ‘Hello, Maddie,’ she said quietly, startling me, for she hadn’t yet turned around. I stepped closer to her bed and saw my silhouette reflected in the glass of the window. She turned her head, very slowly, as though afraid to jar anything within it.

  I should have known better than to gasp. I’d seen photographs of how I’d looked after the accident: bruised and battered, my skin a rainbow of blues, greys and purples; colours nature had never intended it to be. It was probably extremely uncool of me to inhale sharply in shock when I saw the thick band of bruises which circled Chloe’s throat like a scarf.

  Her fingers went to her neck, and the pretty diamond ring on her left hand twinkled incongruously against the discoloured skin. ‘They went in through the jugular,’ she said, her voice flat and tired. My eyes went to the small white wound dressing, which showed up even more vividly against the grey bruises. ‘I look like someone tried to strangle me,’ Chloe said.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down without waiting for an invitation, because I was fairly certain one wasn’t going to be forthcoming. ‘More like you’ve been attacked by a very inept vampire,’ I countered.

  Her lips twisted into a fleeting smile, as though they’d almost forgotten how to do it. ‘What are you doing here, Maddie?’

  ‘Hope has a party after school today, so I don’t need—’ Chloe shook her head and I realised she was probably perfectly aware of Hope’s social diary, which was far busier than my own had ever been. ‘I brought some things you might need,’ I said, not wanting to launch straight into the purpose of my visit. Chloe glanced down briefly at the carrier bags I’d placed on the bed beside her, but she didn’t delve into them.

  ‘Thank you. But whatever I need, Ryan has brought in.’

  I counted to ten and bit my lip to make sure my instinctive retort didn’t accidentally come bursting out of my mouth. ‘Not everything you need,’ I contradicted. Chloe looked briefly at the bags once more, but I shook my head. ‘Ryan hasn’t brought you Hope.’

  Chloe sighed, and a look of irritation passed over her face. She really didn’t want me there, and if truth be told I didn’t want to be there either. But what either of us wanted faded into insignificance weighed up against what Hope needed, and that was to see Chloe, the only mother she’d ever known.

  ‘Hope isn’t doing very well. She needs to see you.’ Chloe opened her mouth to reply, but I jumped in before she could speak. ‘And don’t tell me she can do that via a phone or a laptop, because I’ve already heard that shit from Ryan.’

  Chloe looked at me for a long moment, blinking slowly. ‘Do you swear like that in front of Hope?’

  ‘All the fucking time,’ I replied, adopting a taunting tone to match the challenging gleam in my eye. ‘In fact, if you don’t step in pretty soon, she’ll be cursing like a marine by the time you see her next.’

  I hadn’t expected to make her laugh, and I didn’t know what to do with that small victory, except to forge ahead with my mission. ‘I know that you’re both worried about how she’ll react. I know what happened when she was younger, but she’s suffering right now. She needs to feel your arms around her.’ I gave a small sound, like a defeated laugh. ‘And mine just won’t do.’

  Chloe’s eyes went to the other beds in her bay. The one directly opposite her held a middle-aged woman who appeared to be in a comatose state; to her left was a teenager whose head was swathed in bandages. The third bed, the one next to Chloe’s, was stripped bare.

  ‘The woman in that bed died this morning.’

  I stared at the stripped mattress, and for the first time wondered if I was making a mistake here.

  ‘Hope can’t visit me on this ward. It would terrify her.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Chloe’s head jerked up in surprise.

  ‘But in the hospital foyer there are several shops, a café and two fast-food outlets,’ I said, itemising everything I’d noted on my quick reconnoitre before searching for the neurology ward. ‘She could visit you there.’

  The important part of winning any argument is to know when you should simply stop talking to let the other person take it all in. When I felt enough time had passed, I pressed on: ‘You could sign yourself out of the ward and meet us down there tomorrow afternoon.’

  I knew she was going to say yes even before she did. I could see it in the light that suddenly switched back on in her eyes as the idea found a place to settle and grow. ‘Do they let you just sign out of a ward?’

  ‘Hell, yeah,’ I said with the cockiness of an old-time lag. ‘I used to do it all the time.’

  Once, a long time ago, I’d been within days of pledging my love and loyalty to a man who ultimately had heard those promises from another woman. What neither of us could ever have imagined was that a day would come when we would find ourselves working together to conceal something from him.

  ‘Ryan will never say yes to this,’ Chloe had said, slowly shaking her head.

  ‘That’s why we won’t tell him, until after Hope’s visit. Once he realises he was wrong, he’ll understand why we did it.’

  ‘And if we’re wrong?’

  ‘We’re not.’

  Chloe scrutinised my face carefully, feature by feature. ‘Are you actively trying to get us divorced?’

  ‘Now, there’s a thought,’ I said, giving her a fleeting flash of a grin.

  The visiting session wasn’t due to end for quite some time, but I felt as if my visit had reached its natural conclusion. I got to my feet and wound my long red cashmere scarf around my neck as I slipped on my coat.

  ‘Thank you for bringing these,’ Chloe said, finally looking inside the carrier bags which I’d filled with pampering products, cosmetics and all the things I remember longing visitors would bring me in hospital, rather than the ubiquitous bags of grapes. She pulled out a pack of velvet-soft loo roll, a set of razors, and a manicure kit. ‘You know your stuff,’ she admitted, fingering a box set of shower gel and body lotion in the fragrance I remembered she’d worn for years. ‘They might not get used for a while, though. I’m not allowed to shower by myself, and the nurses have been too busy over the last few days to help me. And strangely, Ryan’s not allowed in the ladies’ bathroom!’

  ‘They’ll keep,’ I said.

  I’d got as far as saying goodbye. I was almost out of the bay when I stopped suddenly, hesitated for a moment and then pivoted on my heel. I strode back quickly to the bed before I changed my mind. ‘Grab your toiletry bag.’

  Chloe looked startled and then, as she realised my intention, slightly horrified. But I could hardly back out now. ‘This is already the freakiest situation in the entire world, so we might as well go all the way. Come on. I’m going to help you shower.’

  Chapter 18

  Chloe

  I don’t make friends easily or quickly. I’ve known some of the mothers at the school for over three years, since Hope’s first day in the nursery class, and I still wouldn’t call them good friends. Ever since Sally and Bob had moved to France to run their holiday letting business in the Dordogne, I hadn’t bothered filling the best friend vacancy in my life. You don’t have to when you end up married to the perfect candidate for the role.

  So I wasn’t looking for a new friend, and if I was, the very last person I would have picked would ha
ve been Maddie. I still wasn’t entirely sure I could trust her, which made agreeing to stand naked and vulnerable in front of her in a hospital bathroom even more remarkable. I’ve always been the kind of person who’d rather queue for ages for a cubicle than use a communal changing room. There’s always been a shyness in me that only ever disappears completely when my clothes hit our bedroom floor, and Ryan reaches out for me with the light of desire burning like a flame in his eyes.

  In the thousands of times he’d seen me naked, I’d never once compared my body to the woman he’d made love to before me. But I did that day. To be fair, Maddie had been remarkably professional and matter-of-fact about the whole thing. I suppose she’d been on the other side of the fence enough times for it not to feel so strange to her.

  When a moment of sudden giddiness had had me clutching at the plastic shower curtain, Maddie had quickly grabbed a nearby stool and plonked it onto the shower tray. It felt weird to be sitting under the torrent falling onto my head, and then downright unsettling when I blinked the water from my eyes and saw Maddie pulling off her own jumper before reaching for the bottle of luxury shampoo she’d bought me.

  ‘You’re not coming in here, are you?’ I asked, practically having to sit on my hands to stop them instinctively covering my nakedness.

  She laughed, and I wondered what Ryan would say if he could see us both right this minute, before deciding I really didn’t want to know the answer to that one.

  ‘No, I just don’t see how I’m going to be able to shampoo your hair without getting my sleeves wet,’ she explained.

  I hated being so weak that even lifting my arms above my head was presently beyond me. ‘You’ll get stronger,’ she assured me, as she worked the rich lather through my hair with remarkable gentleness. ‘When I first woke up from the coma, I was as weak as a kitten.’

  That evening, when Ryan bent down to kiss me, I saw his nose twitching appreciatively at the cocktail of aromas that clung to me like a cloud. ‘Hmm, you smell good,’ he murmured, bending down and gently nuzzling my neck. He leant back and looked at me curiously. ‘Have you washed your hair?’