He didn’t look angry. Even worse. He looked disappointed. Or tired. He got out a twenty pound note and a ten pound note and waved them at me, then got up wearily. ‘Here. Go on. Take it. I can’t be bothered arguing. You go and pay. Take the car keys and I’ll meet you at the car. I’ve just remembered a few things I need to get while I’m here. Light bulbs . . .’
I took the money and the keys, went to the till and paid for my purchases. Even with the amount he’d given me, I had to add what I had left of my pocket money to meet the cost. I felt cross with Dad. He can be such a stick in the mud sometimes. Cantankerous old bugger, I thought, as I put the paint in a bag and went out to the car. I was wrong at home earlier when I’d thought that he has a soft centre. He hasn’t. He’s just gone rotten inside.
Once I’d slammed the boot shut on the paint, sat down in the passenger seat and taken some deep breaths, I calmed down. Oops, I thought. Might have pushed my luck a bit there. I’m usually Goody Two Shoes with Dad. It’s the easiest way to be, but some other sub-personality had escaped and had her say. One with a very big mouth! I’ll have to think about giving her a name . . . Nesta. I laughed to myself, as she’s usually the one out of all of us who speaks before she thinks. I could call my inner-loud mouth Nesta mark two.
As I sat waiting in the car, I began to feel guilty about my outburst. Dad’s not so bad, really. Just a bit grumpy sometimes. Maybe I am too. Like father, like daughter. I decided that I would apologise when he got back to the car and make him a special tea tray with the ginger biscuits he likes when we got home.
Dad seemed to be taking ages, so I listened to the car radio for a while then continued concocting an apology in my head. After a while, my mobile rang.
‘Hello,’ said a male voice.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Who am I talking to?’
I recognised the voice as Ollie’s. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve just met a new character in my head. A very stroppy one.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Nest . . . no . . . I’ll call her Susie the strop queen, I think. Yeah. That fits. Who am I talking to?’
‘Er . . . Jock,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just finished a squash match so I guess it’s my sporty persona that’s predominant. Hey, do you think that if Jock had a surname, it would be Strap?’
‘Good one,’ I said. ‘I used to collect mad names and the books they’d written, like Chest Complaints by Ivor Tickliecoff. That sort of thing. Drink Problems by Imorf Mihead. Run to the Loo by Willie Makeit.’
Ollie cracked up laughing. ‘Hey, did you e-mail Leila your question?’
‘Yes, but she hasn’t answered yet.’
‘Where are you? I can hear traffic in the background. Sirens.’
‘Yeah,’ I said as the sirens got louder and an ambulance whizzed past. ‘I’m in the carpark at Homebase, waiting for Dad.’
‘Sounds like you’re in the middle of Piccadilly Circus.’
I turned to see what was going on and saw that the ambulance had stopped at the entrance. Men had got out of the back and were rushing into the store with a stretcher. ‘Guess someone’s taken ill,’ I said. ‘It’s like ER and they’re going in.’
‘You said your dad is a doctor, didn’t you?’ asked Ollie.
‘Yeah.’
‘So maybe he’s in there doing mouth to mouth and that thumping the chest thing they do . . .’
‘Yeah. Knowing Dad, he’ll be supervising everybody. I’d better go and haul him out or we’ll be here all night. Look, I’ll call you later, hey?’
‘Oh . . . OK.’
I cut Ollie off as I’d suddenly had a strange feeling that something was wrong. I got out of the car and ran back into the store to find Dad. To the right of the till, I could see the ambulance men bent over someone on a stretcher, giving them oxygen. I glanced at the people around. No sign of Dad. Maybe he hadn’t got involved after all.
I ran up and down a few aisles to see where he’d got to. Light bulbs, he’d said, but there was no sign of him in the electrical department. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Oh God, I thought, as I raced back to the front of the store. The paramedics were rushing to get someone into the ambulance. They looked very worried.
I chased after them to see who was on the stretcher, but the man carrying the rear part of it blocked my view.
I could see the patient’s shoes clear enough, though.
Expensive looking.
Black brogues.
Dad’s.
Waiting for Mum to arrive at the hospital.
Waiting for the doctors to tell me something. Anything.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting as people in white coats rushed in and out of the room where they’d taken Dad. A young doctor introduced himself as Dr Miller and asked me to wait outside. He directed me to a corner where there were four rows of orange plastic chairs.
I didn’t like the smell of the place, a mix between disinfectant and boiled vegetables. Not nice. I sat there for a while and tried to distract myself by looking through one of last year’s magazines that were in a well worn pile on the window ledge, but I couldn’t concentrate. The words seemed to swim in front of me. I wanted to phone my mates but I knew that mobiles aren’t allowed to be used in hospitals, and I didn’t want to go outside in case Mum arrived or Dr Miller came out. I thought about texting, but I wasn’t sure if that was allowed either and didn’t want to risk it. It would be too awful if I used my phone and it interfered with someone’s life support machine and they died as a result and then I’d be responsible for killing two people in here. I could have used the public phone at the end of the corridor, but I hadn’t got any change left. I’d spent it all on that stupid paint. All thoughts of decorating my room seemed a million miles away now. Irrelevant. A stupid idea. If it wasn’t for me pushing Dad to take me to Homebase, this might not have happened. Who would want a gorgeous bedroom and no dad? Oh God, I hope he’s OK, I thought for the hundredth time. I soooo wish I hadn’t said all those terrible things to him.
I remembered a poem that we did in school that starts: Time is too slow for those that wait. Tell me about it, I thought, as I got up and paced the corridor. I can’t stay here, I’m going mad, I decided, and set off for the escalator and down to the entrance on the ground floor to look for Mum.
An assortment of people flowed in and out the automatic doors. All ages. A bald man on crutches, a teenage girl with a broken arm, a pregnant lady, lots of old people. Outside, I could see people on the grass verge opposite having a sneaky fag and catching the last rays of sun. Inside, people were making enquiries at the information desk, and buying flowers, chocolates, books or magazines at the shop at the back. In and out, in and out people went. It felt unreal. Like a dream. Or nightmare. So many with an urgent look on their face, like me, concerned about a loved one. In a hurry to get somewhere. But where was Mum? Surely she should have been here by now, I thought as I checked my watch. Oh God, please don’t let anything have happened to her, too. Maybe I’d missed her and she was going up in the lift when I was going down the escalator.
I raced back up to the first floor, back to the rows of chairs where I’d been told to wait, but she wasn’t there. Just empty seats.
Back down the corridor.
Back down the escalator.
My jaw felt so tight. I cursed the fact that Mum didn’t have a mobile. No need, they both said. What do we need those newfangled things for, they’d asked. For times like this, I thought.
Back to the entrance.
An ambulance flew by and pulled up in the emergency bay. More people coming and going.
Where was Mum?
I was about to call Izzie when at last I saw Mum hurrying across the forecourt. Her face was drawn and anxious. I waved when I saw her and ran out to join her.
She gave me a brief hug as we both walked back inside. ‘Oh, TJ. Where is he? A and E?’
I motioned towards the escalator. ‘They rushed him through
upstairs. First floor. What did they tell you when they called?’
‘They didn’t really tell me a lot over the phone. Just to get here as quickly as I could,’ she said, as we stepped on to the escalator. ‘It took me forever to get here, and then the parking – it’s a disgrace. I’ve been driving round and round, and in the end I just had to leave it. Probably get clamped. What’s been happening?’
‘They haven’t told me anything – although when we got here, I think I heard one of them say that he might have had a stroke. What does that mean exactly? Will he be all right?’
Mum took a quick intake of breath. ‘I don’t know, TJ. Not until I’ve spoken with the doctors.’
We reached the top of the escalator and stepped off on to the first floor.
‘This way,’ I said, and led Mum back to where I had been waiting. I showed her the row of chairs. ‘They asked me to wait here.’
Mum looked around. It was clear she had no intention of sitting down and waiting. ‘Which room is he in?’ she asked.
I pointed to the room along the corridor. ‘In there. But they wouldn’t let me in.’
‘You stay here,’ she said. ‘I’ll find out what’s happening.’
I sank down on to one of the chairs while Mum charged along the corridor and knocked on the door I’d pointed out to her.
The door opened a crack. I heard hushed voices – Mum’s raised – then she disappeared inside.
Once again, I was on my own. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
My imagination went into an overdrive of scary scenarios: the doctors coming out and saying it was all over, nothing they could do. A funeral, Marie, Paul, Mum and I in black. A headstone saying R.Watts. Mum sleeping alone in their big, wide bed, their wardrobe of clothes, his side empty . . .
Stop it, I told myself, stop it, stop it. I could hardly breathe. He’ll be all right. He’s my dad. He’s always all right.
To stop myself thinking black thoughts, I got up and went into the Ladies by the escalator. I felt like crying and I felt like kicking something, both at the same time. Angry, mad, sad. I kicked the tiled wall by the sink.
‘Owwwwww!’ I cried, as bone met tile. It felt like I’d broken my toe.
I went and sat in a cubicle, reached for a tissue but no tears would come. I felt so alone and helpless and never more in need of my friends. Should I go outside and call Izzie, Lucy or Nesta, I asked myself. What could they say? What would I tell them? Plus, I didn’t want to wander too far in case Mum came out again. I still felt numb with disbelief that this could be happening. For the millionth squillionth time that evening, I played over in my head the argument I’d had with Dad in Homebase. Why had I said such terrible things? That I wished I had a different father. That I hated having my mates over when he was home. Awful things. I must have really hurt him. I hoped he knew I didn’t mean it. I wish I could tell Mum what I’d said and she could pat my hand and say, Oh TJ, you didn’t mean that, like she’d done a thousand times when I’d been letting off steam about him after he’d been grumpy. But he’d never had a stroke before. Was what I’d said the last straw for him? Was I to blame? I so wished I could talk to someone about it, one of my mates or Marie or Paul, but I didn’t know if I could bear to see or hear their reaction when I told them what I’d said. They’d try and cover it, but inside they’d be thinking, What a mean girl. All the things I was thinking myself.
I felt so ashamed. If people knew what I was really like, I thought, they’d hate me. Hannah would have understood. I thought about going outside and texting her, but decided against it until I had a clearer idea of what was happening. I didn’t want to freak her out. I still missed her. We often used to have a moan about our dads as hers was a headmaster and very strict with her. Funnily enough, though, she’d always got on with my dad and could say cheeky things to him that I’d never have got away with in a million years. But that was Hannah. She was so totally bonkers that everybody loved her, even my dad.
I got up, went over to the window and looked out at the evening sky.
How could it all have happened so quickly? One moment you’re shopping for paint, and the next your whole life might be altered for ever. My chest tightened with fear.
‘Dear God, this is TJ. If you’re up there, please, please let my dad live. Please don’t let what I said to him be the last words between us,’ I said to the sky.
Why am I talking to the sky? I wondered. Why would God be up there? They’ve sent rockets up far enough and they’ve never come back with any evidence of anything along those lines. There’s a sun and stars up there, other solar systems too, but no God and angels. And even if there was, how was he going to hear me from such a long way away. I decided to give it another go anyway.
‘Oh God. Are you there? Is anybody listening?’
If there is anyone out there, I thought, why should he listen to me? I’m in a hospital full of sick people and probably all their relatives and friends are praying, at this very moment, leaning out of the windows in the toilets dotted around the hospital on every floor. Please God help us, please God help my dad, my mum, my sister, daughter, son, brother, friend. Over and over again. But people get sick. And die. So if there is a God, why should he, she or it help me? Horrible me with the mean tongue. I wished Izzie was here. She thinks a lot about God and life and death and stuff. She might know who to pray to and what to say. If anyone had a hotline to anybody up there, it would be Iz.
I blew my nose and decided to go down and out into the forecourt to call her or Nesta or Lucy, but just as I stepped back into the corridor, I saw Mum come out of Dad’s room and look round for me. Her face was as white as the walls and as I raced down to join her, a thought flashed through my mind that Dad must have been mad to have suggested that I paint my room at home that colour. Such a reminder of illness and hospitals and doctors and worry. I’d have thought he’d have wanted to get away from it and flood his life outside with the brightest colours imaginable.
‘How is he?’ I asked.
Mum sat down heavily on one of the plastic chairs. She looked worn out. ‘They’ve confirmed that he’s had a stroke,’ she said. ‘They’re doing tests.’
‘What does having a stroke mean, exactly? Will he get better?’
‘TJ, stop asking that. We don’t know,’ snapped Mum, then took a deep breath. ‘No one knows at this stage. It depends how bad it was. Some people make full recoveries. Others don’t. It’s too early to tell, really.’ She reached out and put her hand over mine. ‘One thing we do know, though, and that is he’s a tough old bird.’
‘Worst case scenario,’ I said. This was a term I’d heard Mum use when talking to Dad about her patients. I knew she’d understand what I wanted to know.
‘Worst case? Hopefully it won’t come to worst case. Your father’s been an active man . . .’
‘Mum, I want to know. Nothing could be worse than what I’ve been sitting here imagining.’
‘I don’t want to alarm you, TJ. It’s too early to say anything for certain.’ She patted my knee. ‘One of us ought to give Marie and Paul an update. They’ll be worried as I let them know that Dad had been brought here before I left home. I’ll go and call them, then I’m going back in with your dad for a while. Why don’t you go and get both of us something to drink from that shop downstairs while I go and make the calls? I’m parched.’
I stood up and my legs felt wobbly, like someone had taken the bones out. I made myself take a deep breath. I have to keep it together, I thought, for Mum and for Dad. ‘OK. And Dad? Would he like anything? Shall I get him a cup of tea?’
Mum’s eyes misted over and she took my hand again. ‘Not at the moment, love. He’s not quite up to cups of tea yet. Maybe later.’
Seeing Mum’s eyes fill with tears made my eyes water, too. Up until then, I’d felt too numb. Not sure of what was going on. But seeing Mum’s reaction, I now knew.
It was really serious.
And it was all my fault.
Time is too sl
ow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love, time is eternity.
Henry Van Dyke (1852 –1933)
‘Don’t ask me,’ groaned Izzie, as we walked out arm in arm to the playground at lunch the following day. ‘I don’t know . . .’
‘But you’re always reading books about God and different religions and meditating . . .’ I said as we took up our positions on a bench, ready to take advantage of the early summer sun that we’d been having lately.
‘That’s because I’m looking for answers. And I’m looking for answers because I don’t have any,’ said Izzie.
Tell me about it, I thought. I had so many questions, and it felt weird to be at school when I knew that Dad was in the hospital and still in a serious condition. I wanted to be there with him. I was desperate to know that he was all right and then, when it was appropriate, to apologise for the awful things that I had said. I’d called Izzie, Lucy and Nesta when I’d got home and we’d talked for ages on the phone about what had happened. I told them everything and not one of them made me feel bad about what I’d said. All of them said over and over again that it wasn’t my fault. Izzie even offered to come over and sleep at my house, but I told her not to as it was so late. I didn’t sleep a wink – I kept thinking about Dad and felt exhausted when it was time to get up and go to school. Marie and Paul were at the hospital as they’d both driven through the night when they’d heard the news (Marie from Devon and Paul from Bristol), but Mum had insisted that I went to school and tried to carry on as normal. Normal. Hah! I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I felt like my brain was full of bubbles and my stomach full of knots.
Mates, Dates and Sizzling Summers Page 4