The Sequin Star

by Belinda Murrell

  Down below, the foyer glittered with crystal chandeliers and gilded mirrors. Suddenly everyone stopped talking. Someone gasped. Ushers ran forward to help. Claire clattered down the stairs after her mother, her heart pounding. What happened to Nanna? Is she badly hurt?

  Mum knelt beside Nanna’s fallen body. There was a gash on the side of Nanna’s head where she’d hit the floor. Blood ran down her face and her mouth sagged open.

  ‘Mum, Mum,’ Claire’s mother begged. ‘Can you hear me?’

  There was no answer. Mum desperately searched for a pulse. Ushers and patrons had huddled around. Claire looked up, feeling helpless and claustrophobic. She suddenly hated all these people staring at Nanna.

  A woman in a green silk dress hurried over and knelt by Nanna’s side.

  ‘I’m a doctor,’ she explained. ‘Can everyone step back, please.’ She turned towards an usher. ‘Call an ambulance. Tell them to hurry.’

  The doctor checked Nanna’s breathing and pulse, then rolled her into the recovery position. Mum knelt down beside Nanna, holding her hand, her eyes bright with tears. Nanna finally moved and moaned.

  Claire exhaled raggedly. She dropped to her knees beside her mother, who hugged her tightly.

  ‘Will Nanna be all right?’ begged Claire.

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ Mum replied, but she couldn’t meet Claire’s eyes.

  ‘The ambulance will be here soon,’ the doctor assured Claire. ‘They’ll take your grandmother to hospital, where they can check her thoroughly and perhaps run some tests. They’ll be able to find out what the problem is. Does she have a history of fainting?’

  Mum shook her head. ‘No, never. She’s always been so healthy.’

  It seemed to take forever for the ambulance to arrive. Claire and her mother sat on the floor beside Nanna, Mum holding her suddenly frail-looking hand.

  The rest of the audience shuffled back inside the theatre for the second act. Claire could hear the orchestra music through the closed doors. Finally the ambulance crew arrived and loaded Nanna onto a stretcher. She was conscious but dazed and confused, unable to answer the questions the ambulance officer asked.

  The doctor smiled at Mum. ‘She’s in good hands now. Good luck. I hope everything is okay.’

  Mum’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Thank you so much for your help.’

  The doctor hurried into the theatre to watch the rest of the performance. Claire clung to her mother as they followed the stretcher out to the ambulance, where an emergency medical technician told them which hospital Nanna would be taken to. Mum calmed herself and rang Dad to let him know what had happened, then followed the ambulance.

  On the drive, Claire felt sick with worry. She thought about her grandmother, who had always simply been there for her, a rock that held the family in place. She suddenly realised that she had hardly seen Nanna in weeks. She had been so busy with school, ballet, homework and friends. When did Nanna suddenly become frail? What if Nanna didn’t get better?

  Dad was waiting for them at the hospital, and Claire flung herself into his arms. He held Mum close while she cried on his shoulder.

  It was a long night waiting under the bright fluorescent lights in Emergency. The waiting room was filled with injured and ill patients and their fearful families, while the hospital staff rushed about. Nanna, still incoherent, was finally admitted to a ward at about midnight.

  ‘The confusion is probably caused by the bump to her head,’ explained one of the young doctors. ‘But we will run some proper tests tomorrow. Why don’t you all go home, get some sleep and try not to worry too much?’

  Early the next morning, Mum rang the hospital and they warned her that Nanna would need to stay in for a few days. After the late, anxious night, Claire hadn’t wanted to go to school. She was keen to see Nanna in hospital and make sure she was all right.

  First, Claire and her mum drove to Nanna’s apartment in Greenwich to collect some belongings. Nanna lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a retirement village, which Mum always joked was more like a luxury resort, complete with swimming pool, landscaped gardens and a spacious reception lobby.

  The front door to the apartment creaked open as Mum unlocked it. Claire could smell the floral scent of Nanna’s favourite perfume, a mixture of jasmine and rose.

  Mum put a pile of mail on the spindly-legged table in the entrance hall.

  ‘I rang Nola and asked her not to come today,’ said Mum. Nola was the housekeeper, who came for a few hours each day to help Nanna with cooking and household chores.

  The apartment was elegant and spacious, with antique furniture and thick carpets underfoot. It was filled with treasures that Nanna and Grandpa had discovered on their travels overseas.

  Claire felt a pang as she walked down the hall. The apartment was so empty without Nanna. Her grandmother was always so full of life and witty conversation. Claire had always loved coming to visit her grandmother here when she was younger. Sometimes she had come during the holidays to stay in the tiny second bedroom, which Nanna used as a study. She hadn’t been for ages – Claire couldn’t think why she had stopped staying over.

  Mum opened the hall cupboard and took down a small suitcase. She headed into the master bedroom and put the suitcase on the bed with the lid open.

  ‘Nighties, underwear, dressing gown, slippers and toiletries,’ read Mum, checking her list. Mum opened a drawer and took out some nightdresses, which she laid in the suitcase.

  Claire opened an engraved silver box on the dressing table. It was filled with beautiful jewellery that glittered and sparkled in the sunlight. There was a thick rope of lustrous pearls. A large emerald ring with a matching necklace. Rubies, amethysts and sapphires in pendants, brooches, rings and earrings. Several gold bracelets. A diamond brooch.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mum. ‘I keep telling Nanna that she should store her jewellery in the safe. But she says she would never wear any of it if it was put away.’

  ‘Nanna has so much beautiful jewellery,’ said Claire. ‘Is it from when she was a Hollywood star?’

  Mum scooped up an amethyst ring and played with it between her fingers.

  Claire picked up the oval diamond brooch, held it up to the neck of her blue singlet top and examined her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table – pale skin, grey-blue eyes and long dark hair brushed back in a ponytail. The diamond brooch looked too precious to be worn by a slip of a girl.

  ‘Some of it, like that brooch, is family jewellery that belonged to my grandmother,’ Mum explained. She put the amethyst ring back in the box. ‘My dad’s family was very wealthy. Plus, Dad used to spoil her endlessly with gorgeous presents. He loved her very much.’

  Claire nodded as her heart grew heavy. Claire’s grandfather, Kit Hunter, had died a few years ago. He had been an old-fashioned gentleman, always impeccably dressed with charming manners and a ready smile.

  ‘I think we’d better take the jewellery home with us so I can lock it away somewhere safe. I don’t like leaving all these valuables lying around while no one’s here.’

  Claire added the brooch to the overflowing jewellery box, which Mum popped into her handbag.

  ‘I’ll get some toiletries from the bathroom cupboard,’ Mum said. ‘Why don’t you see if you can find some slippers and a dressing gown in the wardrobe?’

  Claire found the articles and packed them in the bag. ‘Got them,’ she called. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, that’s great. I’ll just be a moment,’ replied Mum as she rummaged in the bathroom cupboards.

  Claire wandered over to the window and looked out at the view of the harbour in the distance. On the window sill stood an old carved timber box. Impulsively, Claire lifted the lid.

  Inside was a jumble of miscellaneous items. Claire recognised her grandfather’s pipe, a scuffed cricket ball, some cufflinks, a few foreign coins, some string and a
fountain pen. A wave of nostalgia washed over Claire. It was a collection of her grandfather’s treasures.

  At the very bottom of the box something silver glittered. Claire dug down to see what it was.

  It was an old brooch, shaped like a star. The back was chipped so that brass showed through the silver plate. The front was made of tiny silver sequins and paste diamante ‘gems’. Several of the stones and sequins were missing. Claire turned the brooch over in her hand. She wondered what it was doing among her grandfather’s things. She thought about the cheap piece of costume jewellery compared to the expensive gems in her grandmother’s jewellery box. At that moment, Claire heard her mother coming in. Without thinking, she slammed the lid of the box and slipped the star brooch into her jeans pocket.

  Mum smiled as she packed the toiletry bag into the suitcase. ‘I think that’s everything,’ she said, zipping the bag closed. ‘Shall we go?’

  Claire felt her heart contract as she glanced around the room. She had a terrible foreboding that her grandmother may not come home again. ‘Do you think there’s anything terribly wrong with Nanna?’ asked Claire.

  Mum hugged her. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. Let’s go and take these things to the hospital. You can help me choose some gorgeous flowers.’

  In the hospital, Nanna was lying in bed with the guardrails up. She looked crumpled and bemused, and somehow much smaller than Claire remembered. Nanna stared at Claire, searching her face.

  ‘Claire?’ asked Nanna, groping weakly for her hand. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘Yes, Nanna,’ replied Claire, squeezing the wrinkled hand lying on the coverlet.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ said Nanna, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Where have you been? I thought you were all gone. Why did you leave me for so long?’

  ‘We . . . we were here with you last night,’ Claire stammered. ‘Remember, Nanna? We followed the ambulance to the hospital from the theatre.’

  Nanna shook her head, frowning. ‘No, no you weren’t.’

  Claire pulled back, glancing at her mother for help. Mum leant over and hugged Nanna.

  ‘Mum, you’ve hit your head. The doctor says you may have a little concussion.’

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded the suddenly querulous old woman. ‘Where’s Kit? They haven’t taken him again, have they? Or has his father forbidden him to come?’

  Claire and her mother exchanged alarmed glances. Had Nanna forgotten that her husband had died? Kit’s own father had been dead for decades.

  ‘I’m your daughter Libby,’ Mum explained patiently. ‘Dad . . . Dad’s not here right now . . .’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Nanna snapped. ‘I don’t know you . . . and I haven’t seen my sister Claire here for years. I don’t know why she let me think she was dead . . .’

  ‘Claire’s not your sister, Mum . . .’ Mum stood up, her lip trembling. She fought back the tears. ‘She’s your granddaughter.’

  A nurse bustled in, taking in the distress on everyone’s faces. ‘How are you feeling, Mrs Hunter? Perhaps it’s time for a little rest? Your family can come back and see you a little later.’

  Claire rose shakily to her feet. She wanted to scream and break something. How can this be happening? How can Nanna not know who we are? How can it be that yesterday Nanna was perfectly well, yet today she is like a muddled stranger? It’s not fair.

  Claire took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Bye, Nanna. I hope you feel better soon.’

  Her grandmother looked at her strangely. ‘I’m not Nanna – I’m Vivien Blake – no, Vivien Hunter.’

  Mum hugged Claire close and led her out of the room. ‘She’s just a little confused,’ Mum gabbled, trying to reassure them both. ‘She’ll be better soon.’

  Claire felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach. It was so unlike Nanna. She’d always been so articulate, so elegant. What if she didn’t get better?

  Memories crowded in from when she was younger, lovely recollections of cooking with her grandmother, snuggling up reading books, watching their favourite TV series together. Her grandparents had often looked after her, after school, on the days that Mum worked.

  She stuffed her hands in her pockets and felt a sharp prick in her finger. Then she remembered the shabby star brooch she had found among her grandfather’s things. A wave of guilt washed over her. She shouldn’t have taken it. Well, she didn’t mean to. She’d hid it almost by reflex.

  As Claire and her mother were leaving the hospital ward, a doctor walked towards them wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard. She referred to her notes then looked up, smiling at them.

  ‘Hello. Are you Mrs Stanton?’ she asked Claire’s mother, who nodded. ‘I’m Doctor Costa. I was one of the doctors who examined your mother when she first arrived.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll be all right, Dr Costa?’ asked Mum. ‘She’s very muddled and . . . a little forgetful.’

  A little forgetful, thought Claire. She doesn’t remember her own daughter!

  The doctor smiled reassuringly. ‘Your mother sustained a concussion and is suffering memory loss,’ confirmed Doctor Costa. ‘This is not unusual with people her age.’

  Claire’s mother took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  ‘Have you noticed her having any problems with memory recall lately?’ asked Dr Costa. ‘Or any other signs of behavioural changes?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but then again I seem to have problems remembering things myself,’ joked Mum.

  The doctor laughed. ‘That’s just being busy and tired.’

  Mum nodded with a wry smile. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘With your mother, the confusion could also be caused by any one of several health issues, such as infection, illness or hormone deficiencies, so we will need to run a series of tests,’ Doctor Costa explained. ‘She also seems fairly weak, so she may have been forgetting to eat properly.’

  The doctor checked her notes then looked seriously at them both.

  ‘I have to warn you that her symptoms could also be caused by various types of dementia, such as Alzheimer’s disease,’ Dr Costa explained. ‘Alzheimer’s is very common in people over the age of eighty-five.’

  Please, not Alzheimer’s disease, thought Claire. She remembered seeing a program on Alzheimer’s disease, which explained that as the brain cells died it caused increased memory loss and dramatic changes in behaviour.

  ‘When will we know?’ asked Mum. ‘Will she be in hospital long? When can we take her home?’

  The doctor frowned. ‘We will keep her in hospital for a few days while we run the tests and build up her strength. Her records show that, until now, she has been in excellent health for her age.’ She referred back to her notes. ‘I believe she has been living by herself in a retirement unit.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘She’s usually very fit and independent. She does have a housekeeper who comes in to help her for a few hours.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see how she goes, but you and your family might need to think about how you are going to care for her when she comes out. Clearly, she is in no state to live on her own at the moment.’

  Mum nodded, gripping Claire’s hand. ‘Thank you, Dr Costa.’

  The doctor smiled again. ‘Good day, Mrs Stanton. I’ll keep you up to date.’

  She walked away down the corridor. On the verge of tears, Mum turned to Claire and gave her a big, shuddering hug. Claire felt her stomach twist with anxiety.

  ‘Do you think Nanna could really have Alzheimer’s?’ Claire asked. ‘Do you think she will remember who we are?’

  Mum shook her head. ‘I don’t know, darling, but Nanna is in the best hospital. The staff will look after her, and hopefully we’ll find out more when they do those tests.’

  Claire and her mother began to walk towards the exit.

  ‘I’d better get to work,’ sa
id Mum with a sigh. ‘If I drop you at the bus stop, do you think you can catch a bus home?’

  Claire nodded. ‘I’ll be fine, Mum. I have some homework I should do. I’ll see you and Dad when you get home.’

  On the bus ride home, Claire couldn’t stop thinking about her grandmother, and she was still thinking about her when she jumped off the bus. She slipped her hand into her pocket and her fingers touched the silver star brooch.

  Claire waited on the sidewalk, lost in her own world. When the bus roared off, she stepped out to cross the road – straight into the path of an oncoming bicycle.

  Claire closed her eyes and felt the handlebars thud into her side, throwing her sideways. Her hand clutched the star brooch in her pocket. Something flew over the top of her. Her head slammed into the ground.

  Pain. Nausea. Darkness.

  3

  The Circus Lot

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried a voice. It was high-pitched with fright. ‘You shouldn’t be here. You could get killed.’

  Claire tried to open her eyes. Blinding light. Pain shot through her temple. She touched her head with her fingertips. It felt warm and sticky.

  ‘I say, are you all right?’ came the voice again, a bit softer this time. It was a girl’s voice. ‘You’re bleeding. Can you hear me?’

  Claire lay there, too dazed to speak. The ground beneath her cheek smelled of warm dirt and dried grass. She wriggled her toes and fingers. Everything seemed to be working.

  ‘Jem, Jem,’ yelled the girl. ‘Come and help me. A girl ran out in front of Elsie. I think she’s hurt. It’s a miracle she wasn’t trampled.’

  Claire moaned and opened her eyes. A face peered down at her. Actually, there were two faces. One had fair skin and hazel eyes, and was surrounded by wavy, black hair. The other was tiny and wizened.

  She closed her eyes again. It couldn’t be. She opened them again. It looked like there was a monkey peering down at her.