Tom never wanted Chloe to feel the way that he had felt, never wanted her to feel she couldn’t be herself, speak her mind or ask for a hug if she needed it at the end of a tricky day. Her life would be very, very different. He would make sure of it.
‘Eat your biscuit!’ Chloe demanded, watching as her dad gingerly prodded the rather grey-looking pastry that was full of what looked like lumps of plastic and had a paperclip sticking from the top.
‘It looks lovely, Chlo, but I don’t want to spoil my tea, so I might save it and eat it later.’
Grace sat up straight and turned to her husband. ‘Nonsense! Don’t worry, Tom, your tea isn’t for ages. You can eat all of your cookie up and still have plenty of room for tea later.’
Chloe nodded in agreement.
Tom grimaced at his wife and narrowed his eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Well, okay, thank you for that. But I insist that we share it, half each. Half for Mummy and half for me, that’s fair, isn’t it, Chloe?’
‘No! It’s all for you, Daddy!’ Chloe shouted and pushed the biscuit towards her dad.
‘You heard the girl.’ Grace smiled and sank back against the cushions and folded her arms across her chest.
Tom rolled his eyes at his wife as he tentatively took a small bite from the edge of the cookie. Grace heard the crunch of grit between his teeth.
‘Oh, Chloe, this is delicious!’ he enthused.
‘Eat it all up!’ Chloe again pushed the plate towards her dad’s face.
‘Yes, Daddy, eat it all up!’ Grace echoed.
‘I certainly will. But I’m just going to make a nice cup of tea to drink with it.’
‘Make sure you bring your cookie back in here so we can watch you eat it. That’s the best bit!’ Grace laughed.
Tom disappeared towards the kitchen and his voice drifted back along the hallway. ‘I was going to get the lamb out of the freezer for you, but you can P-I-S-S-O-F-F.’ Tom spelt out the endearing phrase to his wife; that was the benefit of having a small child who was too young to spell.
Grace laughed, which made Chloe laugh too. ‘I love you, Chloe.’
‘Loveoo, Mummy.’
Grace swallowed. Hearing those words uttered by her child still had the power to melt her heart.
3
People suffering from sepsis sometimes pass no urine in a day
Grace, Chloe and Tom watched as the little car chugged into their driveway. Chloe was beside herself with excitement. She trotted alongside the green Austin A40 Cambridge and banged on the passenger window. In her hand she clutched the painting that she had made for her grandma, now slightly ripped where her fingers had pushed through the paper when it was sodden with wet paint, but her creation was no less beautiful for it.
Olive heaved herself out of the passenger seat in the rather ungainly manner typical of many women of her height and stature. She was as usual resplendent in many mismatched layers, topped today with a grey cashmere wool cardigan of indeterminate shape, which was fashionably draped over one shoulder and held in place with a large kilt pin. Three strings of green glass beads sat on her generous chest. Mac, her husband, elegantly unfurled his long legs and raised his arms over his head to crack his back after the rickety journey. The Austin certainly looked wonderful, but it lacked the modern upholstery and suspension that made long journeys comfortable. Mac was dressed as if he had just come from a cricket match, as usual paying no heed to the season or temperature, in cream slacks, straw panama hat and cricket jersey, with a striped tie loose at the open neck of his shirt. For him, whether it was November or indeed January was immaterial; in sartorial terms, it was permanently August.
‘Hello! Hello, my little darling!’ Olive beamed at her one and only grandchild as she scooped Chloe up into her arms and covered her freckly little face in kisses.
‘Yuck, Grandma, stop! I don’t like that! Have you got me some sweets?’
Olive roared with laughter at the unabashed frankness of her granddaughter. She reminded her so much of Alice at the same age. ‘I might just have, my darling. Let’s go and dig in my enormous bag…’
Chloe glanced back towards her grandpa. Though preoccupied with the promise of sweets, she called over her shoulder, ‘Hello, my grandpa!’ and waved her chubby hand in the air.
‘Hello, my little one!’ He smiled after her as she disappeared into the kitchen. It was what he had always called her, his little one, the littlest of his girls.
Mac walked forward and embraced his son-in-law and ruffled his hair, in the way that only an upright man in his eighties can do with true confidence.
‘How’s it going, son? Keeping chipper?’
‘Kind of, Mac. Bit nervous about tomorrow, but trying not to be. Don’t want Chlo to pick up on it, but I really don’t like the idea of her having an anaesthetic.’
‘So I gathered from your call. You’re doing the right thing, Tom; it’ll all be fine. The medics do this day in and day out and it’ll be great for Chloe to come out the other side, no more rotten sore throats.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Grace chipped in as she hugged her dad. The three of them followed Chloe and her grandma into the kitchen. ‘And if they offer to fix me with a quick onceover, I won’t say no! I’m knackered! The joys of parenthood, I guess. No chance of flopping on the sofa all weekend with Princess Pickle around.’ Grace yawned.
‘Ah, darling, that’s the kind of exhaustion your sister would envy.’ Mac sighed.
‘Oh, Dad, I know. Poor Alice!’ She wrinkled her nose with a mixture of guilt and empathy.
‘What will be, will be, darling.’ His words were as ever both soothing and authoritative.
Mac and Olive had made the journey from the coast to Bedfordshire in no time at all on this quiet Sunday in January. When Mac had retired, they’d swapped their house in the suburbs for a little haven in Brighton. They loved being close to the sea and yet were only a short train ride away from civilisation, as they now referred to the Big Smoke. Like many couples their age, they spent a great deal of time and energy thinking and talking about their children and grandchild. Grace and Alice knew with certainty that they only had to pick up the phone and their parents would be on their way or reaching for the chequebook, whichever was required, without comment, questions or conditions attached. It had always been that way.
‘Cup of tea, Olive?’ Tom asked as he filled the kettle.
‘Lovely.’ She nodded. Grace’s mum had set up base camp at the kitchen table. Her vast handbag and its contents spilled over the surface and one of her many scarves was now draped over the chair on which she sat. Olive didn’t merely arrive somewhere; she seemed to alter the environment, spreading her wares about her, as if she was running a market stall or holding court in a regal fashion with her favourite objects and courtiers in close proximity.
She was thoroughly engrossed in the painting with which she had been presented. ‘Well I never, my darling! I didn’t realise what a clever artist you were. This is a magnificent picture! Have you seen this, Grandpa?’ She held it up for Mac’s scrutiny.
‘Well I never!’ he gasped. ‘It’s very Jackson Pollock!’
‘Is that rhyming slang?’ Tom quipped.
‘Don’t be mean!’ Grace whispered through her laughter. ‘She’s a very talented artist.’
Chloe wriggled about on her grandma’s large lap, playing with her beads and trying to get comfortable.
‘Did you do this by yourself, Chloe?’ Olive marvelled.
‘Yes, I did and Daddy only helped me a little bit.’ Chloe pinched her thumb and forefinger together to emphasise her point.
Olive winked at Tom, who was busy making tea and artfully arranging homemade cookies on a plate.
Chloe continued. ‘It’s a picture of up my mouth and my tonsils.’
‘Well of course it is, I can see that!’ Olive feigned offence as she surveyed the grey-black blobs that were scattered over the page. She was mightily glad that she hadn’t tried to guess at the su
bject; she’d been veering towards flowers or possibly a cat.
‘I’m going to hostipal the day after today and they are coming out.’ Chloe again opened her mouth wide and pointed down her throat.
‘Yes, and you will feel so much better! Grandpa and I brought you a little something to take with you.’
Chloe clapped her hands with excitement as Olive reached into her bag and produced a tiny, black and white, bean-filled bear. ‘He’s a panda and he’s a doctor and so we thought he could show you the hospital and you could show him what’s going on.’
‘I can!’ Chloe beamed.
‘What do you say, Chlo?’ Grace prompted.
‘Thank you.’ Chloe threw her arms around her grandma’s neck and kissed her on the lips.
‘Are there spare kisses going? If so, I’m in the queue.’ Mac bent down as Chloe jumped from her gran’s lap and ran towards her grandpa, leaping into his arms with no regard for his age or frailty as she threw her arms around his neck.
Grace felt her eyes prick with tears at the wonderful exchange between her dad and her little girl, knowing she would never have been so demonstrative towards him; age and embarrassment held her back. It was lovely to see.
A car horn honked.
‘That’ll be Alice!’ Olive smiled, truly in her element when the whole family was together.
Chloe squirmed free from her grandad’s arms and ran towards the back door, where she pogoed up and down on the spot, waiting excitedly for her aunt. Alice was quite unlike her sister. She had always been shorter, plumper and more vivacious, very unselfish and in Grace’s eyes completely gorgeous. Where Grace would choose quiet sophistication and muted hues, Alice was gregarious; her colours of choice were red and orange. Grace’s boyish figure and dark, short hair were the envy of her sibling and similarly Grace jovially begrudged her sister’s confidence, which she was convinced came from having a more than ample bosom. She remembered trying on her younger sister’s bra as a teenager and marvelling at the empty pouches that mocked her reflection.
The two had a deep love for each other, and open and honest exchanges were commonplace. Olive was grateful for the relationship her girls had and believed it was their differences that allowed them to adore each other. Unlike with many siblings close in age, with Grace and Alice there had never been an element of competition; both had always been extremely happy about the other’s successes and confident that they didn’t have to fight for their parents’ attention. The hierarchy had been established a long time ago: their parents first and foremost adored each other, and the love that was left over was divided equally between their cherished girls.
Alice thundered into the room and leant over the table to hug her sister tightly, too tightly, before planting several kisses on her face; it was her way. Mac continually remarked on the fact that their youngest daughter had been born without the embarrassment gene.
‘Hi, everyone!’ She waved as she dumped several bags behind the door. ‘Gracie, you look hilarious, so grown up!’ Alice pinched the neck of her sister’s V-neck jersey.
Grace stared at her little sister’s jeans, which harboured several pockets of no apparent use, except perhaps to hold the odd paintbrush or tool; the jeans were also at least five sizes too big. Her hair was a tumbling mass of uncontrolled corkscrew twists, some falling over her face, others secured by a turquoise hairband. Her shoulder was bare where the hand-knitted jersey of multi-coloured wool had slipped away and on her feet were floral Doc Martens. All her fingers bar two sported a large Indian silver ring.
‘Yes, Alice, I know, it’s me that looks hilarious.’ She smiled at her sister.
‘I don’t mean it in a bad way – you just don’t look like anyone else I know. You look so professional, so serious and very capable! Like a proper grown-up. I love it!’ She clapped her hands in delight, reminding Grace of Chloe, whose natural exuberance she had inherited from her non-conformist aunt. God forbid she should ever confide the fact to Tom, who would be less than impressed that his daughter contained even a trace element of her whacky aunt and her alternative views.
‘Where’s my girl?’ Alice yelled.
‘Here I am!’ Chloe bounded up with her hand in the air.
Alice lifted her niece into her arms and swung her round, smothering her face with kisses.
‘Grandma got me a Dr Panda!’ Chloe held the toy millimetres from her aunt’s face, forcing her to pull her head back on her shoulders to see it properly.
‘Oh, he’s lovely! What’s he called?’
‘Dr Panda.’
‘Of course he is!’ Alice kissed her again.
‘And he’s coming to the hostipal with me.’ Chloe nodded.
‘Well, that’s a very good idea!’ Alice said. ‘I’m afraid I only bought sweets. Sorry.’
‘I love sweets!’ Chloe shouted.
‘No sweets until after lunch, Chlo.’ Grace smiled at her little girl.
‘Who fancies a walk in the garden?’ Mac’s voice cut through the cacophony.
‘Me! Me!’ Chloe ran towards her grandpa, gripping his hand as she dragged him towards the back door.
Alice sipped from the large glass of plonk that her brother-in-law had presented her with. ‘She seems quite unfazed about tomorrow.’
‘I think it’s because she doesn’t know what to expect,’ Tom said. ‘And it’s not as if she’ll be on her own at any point. We’ll stay with her until they put her under and then we’ll be there the second she wakes up.’
‘I think we’re more worried than she is,’ Grace admitted.
Olive sighed. ‘I remember you going into hospital when you were little, Grace, when you broke your arm. I was beside myself. But you took it in your stride, calmly. Daddy and I were absolute wrecks.’
‘Well, that’s Grace all over – Miss Calm Under Pressure 2015,’ Alice teased.
‘Bit like yourself then, Alice!’ Tom winked.
Olive and Grace both laughed loudly.
‘God, Tom, I wish,’ said Olive. ‘We’ve had two calls this month alone because of end-of-the-world events. One turned out to be a power cut and she’d run out of matches. I had to point out we were over an hour away and it would be far quicker for her to go to the shop! And the other was when she called me to ask if the ham in her fridge was off. I pointed out that yes, I do have a very keen sense of smell, but asking me to detect mouldy ham when I was fifty miles away was a bit of a stretch!’
‘I am here, you know, Mum!’ Alice shouted, delighted by the ribbing.
Grace pulled the lamb from the oven while Tom began to clear the table.
‘I’ll give you a hand, Tom.’ Olive began packing items away into her oversized handbag.
Grace set the meat to rest and reached for the gravy granules. ‘Cheating, I know, but who cares?’ She laughed and looked up at Alice, who was sipping her wine as she rested against the work surface. Grace was aghast to see the big fat tears that rolled down her sister’s face; she was making a sad little whimpering noise. It had to be said that her sister, for all her gorgeous sex appeal, was an ugly crier. Grace felt this was because, unlike most people, who generally disguised their emotional state in some way, either by covering their face, closing their eyes or hiding their distress in a tissue, Alice would simply let herself cry, childlike and unabashed, runny nose, funny noises and all.
‘Oh God, darling! Whatever’s the matter? We were only teasing! You know that. We love that you are dramatic and scatty. You’re our Alice! And we wouldn’t change a single thing about you.’ Grace pulled her sister towards her and gave her a big hug.
Alice pushed her away, shaking her head and swallowing her tears. ‘It’s not that.’ She sniffed.
‘What is it?’ Grace persisted, ripping off a couple of squares of kitchen roll and putting them into her sister’s hand. Placing her arm around her back, she could feel the bony knobs at the top of her spine through her jersey.
‘I’m sorry, Gracie. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, it’s
just all so bloody hopeless.’
‘Nothing is that hopeless. Tell me what’s wrong and we will fix it. That’s what big sisters do.’
She kissed the top of Alice’s head, inhaling her scent of coffee, patchouli and something akin to warm cookies. ‘Come on, let’s go to the lounge. Mum? Tom? Can you keep an eye here? We’re just going for a gossip.’
‘Oh, Alice darling!’ Olive saw her younger daughter’s tears. Her tone was resigned, telling Grace that whatever the issue was, their mum was already fully informed.
The two made their way onto the long, comfy sofa.
‘I need you to let go of me, Gracie. If you’re hugging me, I’ll just keep on crying.’
Grace loved her sister’s openness and simple logic: remove the safety blanket and she would toughen up, pronto.
‘Righto. I can hold your hand though, right? That won’t set you off?’ She was only half joking.
‘You can hold my hand, yes, that’s fine.’ Alice sniffed one last time.
Grace took her sister’s little hand and decided not to comment on the huge Indian silver rings that looked like they weighed down her arm, resplendent with skulls and what appeared to be snaking vines. ‘So, come on, spill.’
‘I just can’t get pregnant.’ Alice raised her hands and let them fall into her lap as her tears came again.
‘Oh, honey, you just have to keep trying. You know the score, relax, but keep trying.’
‘How can I relax when every time I’m at my most fertile I’m jumping on Patrick like he’s a bloody stud horse and hoping for the best. I had to call him back from the garden centre the other day and he actually huffed and said, “Just give me a minute, I’m looking for compost,” as if that was preferable!’
Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats Page 4