by Adrian White
“When your dad asked me to come here,” she said, “I think he thought I might be the only person who could understand you. And that if I could understand you, I might be able to persuade you to change your mind. Or that I’d be able to tell you something about myself that would make you feel you weren’t so alone, that you weren’t so uniquely on your own.
“He’s right about me,” said Katie, “but I think he’s wrong about what I can do for you. No one can help you but yourself, and if you don’t want to help yourself, then that’s an end to it. And it’s an end to you.”
Katie took a deep breath.
“If you can hear me, Katherine, if you can hear me and you want to listen, then this is what I want to say.
“Don’t live your life like me. I found a way through, but it’s not much of a way. I think it’s a coward’s way compared to what you’re doing.
“I could tell you all about myself, but I don’t think it would mean anything. I think you’d say it has nothing to do with you.
“And you’d be right.
“I could tell you all about myself, but I can’t remember most of what there is to tell.”
Katie could remember a woman holding her face between her hands, but she could only guess who that woman was.
“And isn’t that the point? That we’re like we are for reasons we don’t want to remember?
“So, no, Katherine,” she said. “Don’t live your life like me. I love your dad. I’ve always loved him, and I think I always will, but I’ll never be with him because I can’t let myself . . . I can’t let myself and it’s so crap – it’s just so crap, so please, don’t ever be like me.
“I wish you could hear me,” said Katie. “Whatever it is that’s wrong, I know you think there’s nothing that can put it right. It’s just that, well, it’s just that if I had the choice again, then . . . I don’t know. Twenty years spent on my own when someone could have loved me, if only I’d let him. Twenty years when someone might have allowed me to be me – when someone who didn’t know what it was they were offering, but were prepared to offer it anyway – maybe that was too good a thing to pass up on.
“And for what – so I could be on my own?
“For a reason I can’t remember?
“Not much of a trade, really; not much of an investment.”
There was a drop of moisture between the tips of Katie and Katherine’s fingers. Katie took away her hand and wiped her fingers on the bedclothes.
“I think you should do what’s right for you,” she said. “And if this is what’s right for you, then this is what you should do. But I wish it wasn’t. I wish you could get well – for yourself and for your dad and for your brothers – and for your mum. I wish we could get to meet and talk properly – I could tell you some things. I’d like to get to know the daughter of Nice Guy Mike, because if things had been different, that might have been my daughter too.
“I wish you could get well to see that this isn’t all there is, that there’ll be other days – better days.
“But I think I’m too late, and I’m sorry.”
Katie stood up. She leant into Katherine’s face and put her lips to Katherine’s cheek.
Goodbye,” she said.
Katie pulled away and stood up. She picked up her coat, returned the chair to the back wall, and left the room. As she walked down the corridor, her balance gave way. She leant on a handrail running along the length of the wall, and stopped for a second before recovering and walking on. She found her way to the hospital entrance and saw Mike, sat with his arms crossed and his legs outstretched on the far side of the hallway.
As he saw Katie approach, Mike unfolded his arms and sat up in the chair. He looked up at Katie.
“I’m so sorry, Mike,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
She sat down on the hard plastic chair next to him.
What could she say? Nothing, so she said nothing at all.
The sat like this, together in silence for almost five minutes.
“Will you stay in touch, do you think?” asked Mike eventually.
“I don’t know,” said Katie. “Whether that would be such a good idea or not, I mean.”
“Have you a phone number I can contact you on?” asked Mike. “A home number, or a mobile?”
“I don’t have a mobile,” said Katie, “and I think I’d rather contact you, if that’s okay? I know I can’t stop you phoning me at work, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“You’re going to disappear again, aren’t you?”
“Not necessarily, no,” said Katie. “Give me your mobile number – I’ll need to know about Katherine, at the very least.”
She took out a pen and a small black address book from her bag.
“Do you have many names listed in there?” asked Mike.
“Not so many, really,” she said. “Go on, what’s your number?”
She wrote it down, and put the pen and book away in her bag. It was time for her to leave.
“I’m going to take a cab to the airport,” she said.
“I don’t mind running you there,” said Mike, but they both knew he should go back in to Katherine.
“I’ll need some of your quaint English money, though,” said Katherine.
Mike took out his wallet and handed Katie a tenner.
Four nurses walked past, talking loudly, about to start their shift on the wards. Katie watched Mike watch them go by. The entrance hall was busy with friends and families visiting for the hour between seven and eight – lots of questions were being asked at reception and directions given. Katie looked at the faces – some were tired, some were worried, and some were relieved. Some, Katie could see, were overjoyed; people did get well here – that was the point of a hospital, right?
“What am I going to do?” asked Mike.
“Go back in to your daughter,” said Katie. “And trust that your love pulls her through.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“That’s not trusting, Mike; you have to believe it will. I think . . . ”
Katie hesitated before coming out with any inane platitudes.
“She’s very sick, Mike,” she said, “and I’m not sure there’s much you can do if Katherine doesn’t want to get better. I wish I could have come here and waved my magic wand, but I think you knew that wouldn’t happen. If the doctors can’t help her, I don’t see how I can. But I’m glad you brought me over.”
“I just feel so fucking useless,” said Mike.
“I know, I know,” said Katie, “but you do have the one thing that can help Katherine – you love your daughter. So go back in there and stay with her, and don’t leave her until she’s better; it’s all you can do.”
Mike looked up and across to the exit door of the hospital, not really seeing much through his tears.
“I don’t want to lose contact with you again,” he said. “I miss you; I miss having you around.”
Katie didn’t reply immediately.
“I don’t know, Mike,” she said. “This is difficult for me. Let me think about it, but I promise you – I’ll call. It’s just that – ”
“You can’t promise anything else for now?”
“That’s about how it is,” said Katie.
She stood to go.
“You’re always leaving me,” said Mike.
“I know,” said Katie. “It’s what I do.”
She reached down and touched the side of Mike’s face.
“Don’t give up hope,” said Katie. “You’re all she has, and she’s going to need you.”
She turned, and walked away towards the exit. Somebody called out to her across the floor.
“Katie.”
She looked up and saw Eugene; she recognised him immediately.
“Eugene,” she said.
He blushed. He wasn’t alone, but he left the woman he was with and walked over to where Katie waited by the door.
“I wondered why Mike wanted to see you again,” he said.
Eugene looked back to where Margaret waited in the middle of the entrance hall.
“Yes,” he said.
“She’s tiny,” said Katie.
“She’s tiny, but tough – I hope,” said Eugene. “Does this mean Mike’s in the hospital?”
Did Mike’s presence make this visit easier for Eugene, or harder? Katie didn’t know.
“He’s over there,” she said.
Mike had seen the three of them across the hallway, and was about to come over. It was time for Katie to leave.
“Eugene,” called Margaret.
Katie could see that Margaret was in some distress.
“Can you wait for me?” Eugene asked Katie.
“I have a plane to catch,” she said.
“I could drive you to the airport,” he suggested.
“I don’t think so,” said Katie.
“Eugene,” called Margaret again.
It wasn’t fair to leave Eugene to cope alone, but there was enough going on without Katie coming face to face with Margaret – it might undo everything.
“I have Mike’s number,” she said to Eugene. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Will you?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Katie. “Yes.”
She walked away. She knew she was being rude, but it was the right thing to do.
Outside, Katie saw the last cab pull away from the rank. She guessed there’d be another one on the way. She walked over to the rank, and waited.
“Come on,” she said, “come on.”
She had to get away from here. She watched as a cab arrived at the entrance to the hospital and dropped off a passenger – a woman, alone. The cab doubled back and drove up to where Katie waited.
“The airport, please,” she said, and the cab pulled away.
Katie enjoyed travelling alone, and the journey home to Dublin was easy. The short trip to Manchester – from the airport to Wythenshawe Hospital, and back again to the airport – meant something to Katie. It was her first time in Manchester for over twenty years. Nothing much had changed – newer roads, maybe, but that was all. It was a place like any other, and Katie’s world hadn’t stopped. She felt strong enough to maybe arrange a longer visit next time; to face up to whatever memories the city might hold for her.
It might be nice to try again – to be amongst friends like Eugene, and Mike maybe, if that was possible. Despite herself, Katie had friends – Carmel at work, for example – and she didn’t have to be as alone as she’d chosen to be.
Katie hoped she might get to know Katherine one day – it was unlikely, even if Katherine were to get well, but not impossible. Whatever chance Katherine had of recovering was with her parents’ help, and it looked as though Eugene was working to make that happen.
Pleasant thoughts like these made the journey pass quickly for Katie; it was one of the joys of travelling on her own. Perhaps the time was right to start planning a more serious journey; to rediscover the travel bug she’d lost over the past few years? Katie needed to loosen up a little; she was in danger of becoming stale if she didn’t.
Nothing much had changed in Dublin either – there was still no rail link from the airport to the city. Rather than take the Aircoach, Katie took a cab to Killester station, and caught the DART home to Monkstown. The track curved around the bay, with the dark of the sea on one side and the lights of the city on the other. It could have been beautiful, but it wasn’t. Katie sat in the bright carriage and thought about Dublin. It was obviously time for her to move on – start again some place else – but where could she go, and what could she do? Financially, anything was possible; but Katie wanted a life, a proper life, and not just this pretence of living.
She knew that no amount of yoga was ever going to rid her mind of Bruno. And no matter what she did to herself, she’d never cut away what had happened to her as a child. She’d always be the same Katie McGuire – there were some things she couldn’t change – but that wasn’t so bad, was it?
The train arrived at Monkstown. Katie walked up from the station to her home; she’d call Mike in the morning.