Breakfast at Sadie's

by Lee Weatherly

  ‘This is so awful!’ Aunt Leona chewed on a nail. ‘Oh my God – poor Celia, I hope she's OK – she looked dreadful, didn't she?’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, looking down.

  I felt like I might be ill, even though I hadn't eaten anything in hours. It was all so sickeningly familiar – the nurses rushing about, the antiseptic smell, the fear gnawing at my stomach. Dad had practically lived here when I was nine. I swallowed hard, staring down at an article about whether de-clawing cats was inhumane.

  ‘They've been an awfully long time with her, haven't they?’ Aunt Leona twisted around in her seat, frowning. ‘What do you think they're doing?’

  I turned a page and didn't answer.

  After a while, Aunt Leona took the hint and went off to the hospital shop, where she bought a proper magazine and some chocolate. She read the mag in silence, flipping through the glossy pages. She didn't offer to share the chocolate with me.

  Every hour or so, a nurse would pop along and thank us for being patient, and tell us they were still doing tests. Finally, when we had been there for over five hours and it was almost nine o’clock, a grey-haired nurse came and got us. ‘If you'll follow me, I'll take you in to see the doctor.’

  ‘Is she OK?’ cried Aunt Leona, jumping up.

  ‘The doctor will explain everything.’

  I put my magazine down and stood up. I felt light-headed, as if I were floating down the corridor after the nurse. Aunt Leona's face looked tense. She kept twisting a plait around her finger.

  We got to an office and the nurse showed us in. A brown-skinned man wearing a white coat stood up and offered his hand. ‘Hello, I'm Dr Sarjeem . . . please sit down.’

  I could barely look at him, I was so nervous. I huddled onto one of the chairs. I was still wearing my school uniform, and I smoothed my hands over my skirt. It was all crumpled and creased by then.

  Dr Sarjeem's chair squeaked a bit as he sat down and picked up a file. I could see Mum's name on it: Celia Pollock. I couldn't stop staring at it. It was like they had known she was coming.

  ‘You're Sadie?’ he asked, opening the file and smiling at me.

  I licked my lips, and nodded.

  ‘Right, Sadie. Well, I know how scared you must have been to see your mum collapse like that, but you were a very brave girl. You did the right thing to call the ambulance.’

  ‘I was the one who found her, actually . . .’ Aunt Leona reddened as Dr Sarjeem looked at her. ‘Sorry, I was just—’

  ‘Will she be OK?’ I blurted out.

  The top of Dr Sarjeem's head shone smooth and brown. He nodded. ‘Yes, we think so. But I'm afraid she's very ill.’

  My throat was like the beach, full of choking pebbles. ‘What— what's—?’

  ‘We've done some tests on her – an EMG, and a few others – and she has something called Guillain-Barré Syndrome. Or GBS for short.’

  Aunt Leona and I stared at each other. ‘What does that mean?’ I whispered.

  Dr Sarjeem leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘GBS is an acute autoimmune disease of the peripheral nerves – now, what that means in plain English is that the nerves in her arms and legs have become inflamed. We don't really know why this condition occurs, but the end result is that she's temporarily lost the use of her legs, and her arms will probably follow suit. She mentioned that she's been dropping things a lot recently—’

  ‘Yes, loads of glasses and things . . .’ I trailed off, feeling punched in the stomach. It's just carelessness, that's all.

  ‘What do you mean? She's paralysed?’ Aunt Leona's voice sounded too loud for the small office.

  Dr Sarjeem nodded. ‘Yes, that's right. GBS tends to go away on its own, but it can take some time, and of course good medical care helps.’

  ‘But – but it goes away? She'll be OK?’ My whole body held its breath.

  He smiled at me. ‘It's likely that she'll make a full recovery. It will just take time.’

  Oh, thank God. Oh, thank you, God. I slumped back in my seat.

  ‘So . . . how long?’ asked Aunt Leona, biting a nail.

  Dr Sarjeem turned to her. ‘I'm afraid we can't say exactly. It can go away in weeks, or in months. For most patients, though, around three months seems average.’

  Three months?

  ‘Can she come home?’ I asked.

  Dr Sarjeem's moustache moved as he gave me a sad smile. ‘No, I'm afraid not. Sometimes patients have a hard time breathing with the disease, so we need to keep her in hospital until she's well. But of course you can visit her. It's very helpful if you do, in fact.’

  Aunt Leona's mouth dropped open. ‘But – but she has a business! She can't just be in hospital for months at a time!’

  He frowned and picked up a pen with a slim brown hand, tapping it on his desk. ‘Well, these are details that will need to be worked out. It's very important that Mrs Pollock's mind is at ease while she's here. She shouldn't be worried about anything; this can affect how quickly she recovers.’

  I looked quickly at Aunt Leona. The relief I had felt just seconds ago faded. How could things be so normal yesterday, and so completely wrong now?

  Aunt Leona opened and closed her mouth. ‘But – but hang on, are you saying I should run her business? But I'm meant to be going on – I mean—’ She stopped, wings of red sweeping up her thin face.

  Dr Sarjeem stood up with a polite smile. ‘I do not know your situation, so I cannot say. But I do find that it is at times like this when family can be so helpful.’

  Isn't That Wonderful of Her?

  A different nurse led us briskly through a maze of corridors to see Mum. Our reflections wavered at our feet as we followed her. I walked tightly, holding onto myself. Aunt Leona's high-heeled sandals clicked against the floor like she was tap dancing, her face screwed up in a worried frown.

  When we got to Mum's room, she lay tucked up in a hospital bed, looking as pale as the sheets. I hugged her hard, and tried not to notice the weakness of her arms when she hugged me back.

  ‘Mum, are you OK?’

  She gave a sort of laugh and tried to tuck my hair behind my ear. I swallowed and squeezed her fingers.

  ‘Yes, I'm fine,’ she said. ‘Well, not fine, but it doesn't hurt at all. They say it doesn't, sometimes, with this . . . GBS, or whatever it is.’

  ‘I've never even heard of it,’ said Aunt Leona. She scraped a plastic chair over to Mum's bedside, and gave Mum a lopsided smile. ‘Trust you to be so original.’

  ‘Well, it wasn't on purpose,’ said Mum wryly. She patted the bed beside her, and I sat down, still holding her hand. It was such a relief to see her looking halfway normal, like she was just having a bit of a lie-down. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. OK, she'd be stuck here in bed for three months, but I'd come and see her every day. Everything would be fine.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked me.

  I had forgotten that food even existed. I shook my head. ‘No. I'm not hungry.’

  ‘We'll pick up something on the way home,’ said Aunt Leona. She fiddled with a bit of hair, rubbing her head. ‘Celia, um . . . not to worry you or anything, but what's going to happen with Grace's? The doctor said you could be in here for three months.’

  Mum hesitated, glancing at me. ‘Sadie, would you give us a few minutes while we talk?’

  I stood up slowly. ‘Where am I supposed to go?’

  Aunt Leona dug into her jeans pocket and handed me a pound coin. ‘Here, go and get me a coffee or something.’

  Ooh, I'd love to. I took the pound and left the room. But then once I got out in the hallway, I couldn't help myself. I leaned against the wall like I was waiting for someone, and listened to the voices drifting out from the open doorway.

  ‘So what's going to happen, then?’ said Aunt Leona.

  There was a sound like Mum shifting in bed. ‘Well . . . I was hoping that maybe you could stay at Grace's over the summer and take care of things for me. So that I won't have to close down the B&B until I'm
well, and Sadie has someone to stay with her.’

  I could practically hear Aunt Leona squirming. ‘Um, well . . . I want to help, Celia, of course I do, but – I mean, I have university, and – well, it's all sort of difficult right now.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Isn't there anyone else?’

  The selfish cow! It was all I could do not to rush back into the room and start shouting at her.

  Mum sounded taken aback. ‘No, not really – not with Frank gone. It's not like we have loads of relatives. Are you going back to university, then? You haven't mentioned it—’

  ‘Well, I was sort of planning to. And – well, it's completely petty, and not really an issue at all, but then there's the holiday with Ron—’

  ‘But you said you weren't going!’

  ‘Well, I know, but I thought I might. But like I said, that's totally, completely beside the point – university would really be the sticking point—’

  ‘Well, I don't really know what we're going to do otherwise.’

  Silence. My pulse beat against my neck.

  Mum's voice lowered. I strained to hear, my nails gouging against my palms. ‘Leona, listen – I know you have your own life, but . . . but I just barely manage to pay the mortgage as it is every month. I can't afford to close down while I'm ill; I'd have to refund money to dozens of people, and I just don't have it—’

  My stomach dipped. I had known we weren't rich, of course . . . but God. Were things really that bad?

  Aunt Leona's voice sounded like every word was being pulled out of her with a fishhook. ‘Oh, Celia, I'm sorry . . . I – well, of course I'll help. I'd be glad to.’

  She didn't sound glad.

  I heard Mum exhale. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But I don't know anything at all about it. Blimey, you're likely to go under altogether with me running things.’ She forced a laugh. ‘I don't even know why you do it; it's not like you enjoy it that much—’

  ‘I do it because it was Frank's,’ said Mum. ‘It's the house he grew up in.’

  I nodded in the hallway, my fists clenched.

  ‘Oh, Celia, it's just a house. You're always moaning about how much it costs to run; you'd probably be better off selling it anyway—’

  I saw a nurse heading towards me with a questioning look on her face, and I straightened up from the wall and walked quickly away. I found a coffee machine and bought the coffee for Aunt Leona (I didn't spit in it, but I wanted to), and took it back to Mum's room.

  ‘Sadie, Leona's agreed to take care of Grace's while I'm in here,’ said Mum, struggling to sit up. ‘Isn't that wonderful of her?’

  ‘Great,’ I said. I tried not to throw up when I saw Aunt Leona's humble, selfless smile.

  ‘Oh, well . . . anything to help,’ she said.

  Barf.

  Times Change

  When Aunt Leona and I got home, it was after eleven and the downstairs was completely quiet. Neither of us said anything as I shut the front door behind us, remembering to lock it up for the night. Dad had painted the door a shiny black, and the locks shone like gold against the dark wood.

  Aunt Leona sighed. ‘Right, well . . . is there anything we should be doing, for tomorrow?’

  My head was swimming as if I had just staggered off a fairground ride. I touched my forehead, trying to think. ‘Just the dining room, I guess. Mum will have done up the guest rooms already.’

  She looked relieved. ‘Oh, OK. Well, in that case, I'm going to go sort myself out.’ And she disappeared like a shot into our flat, her long hair streaming behind her.

  I stood alone in the front hallway, and felt like I had missed a step. Um, excuse me, what about the dining room?

  I pushed open the door to our flat. Aunt Leona had switched the TV on, and was busy grabbing up her bags and clothes and stuff, which were strewn all over the sofa and floor. She'd been sleeping on our sofa-bed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, staring at her.

  She kicked a high-heeled shoe aside, and looked at me in surprise. ‘Moving into Celia's room. There's no point my being cramped in here for the next three months, is there?’

  As she dragged armfuls of her clothes into Mum's room, I glanced over at the coffee table where Mum had been slumped just a few hours earlier. I gripped my elbows. ‘Look, what about the dining room? Are you going to help, or what?’

  She reappeared in Mum's doorway, twisting her long hair up in a bun. Her eyes widened. ‘But I thought that was your job.’

  ‘It's after eleven o’clock!’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked longingly at the TV. ‘Well, all right.’

  We went into the dining room. The bay window seemed to jump out at us when I switched on the light – a looming black square that swallowed everything. I quickly went over and shut the curtains.

  Aunt Leona was standing in the middle of the room as if she had never seen it before. ‘Um . . . what do we do first?’

  I slid open the heavy top drawer of the sideboard, and handed her a fresh pile of serviettes. ‘Here, you can start putting these out.’

  Pulling open the second drawer, I gathered up handfuls of silverware, clunking them into the wicker basket. When I turned round, Aunt Leona was folding each serviette into a hasty triangle, laying them down beside the placemats.

  ‘That's not—’ I stopped.

  Aunt Leona looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry. It's just that that's not how we usually do it.’ I started setting out the forks and knives, one on each side of a mat, with a spoon cresting the top.

  A line appeared between her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing; we just usually do it differently.’

  ‘How many ways can there be to fold a napkin, for God's sake?’

  I put the basket down on Table One with a clatter. ‘Look.’ Taking a serviette from her, I started to show her the swan shape. ‘You fold it here, and then again here, and then you turn it over, and—’

  She let out a short breath, like a laugh that didn't quite make it. ‘You're joking! I'm not doing all that, it'll take ages.’

  ‘Fine, OK.’ I turned away, and went back to the silverware. And maybe it was stupid, but my hands were shaking slightly as I laid down the forks and knives. Aunt Leona kept moving about the tables, leaving untidy cloth triangles beside each mat. Her mouth was a tight line.

  I wasn't going to do anything at first. It's not as though I cared that much about the dining room. I mean, I had only ever folded the stupid swans because Mum made me.

  But I felt like I was being smothered. I couldn't let the breakfast tables look like that, not with Mum lying in hospital. I put the basket down again.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Aunt Leona suddenly.

  ‘Nothing.’ I stared down at the emerging swan, not looking at her.

  ‘You're refolding the serviettes!’

  ‘Look, it's just – I know it's silly, but—’

  ‘I don't believe this! You're actually following along behind me and refolding all the serviettes I've done!’ Her face reddened, and her long hair looked wild about her face.

  ‘This is how Dad liked it, that's all.’

  She slapped down the rest of her serviettes. ‘Well, times change, don't they?’

  Tell me about it. I glared at her. ‘Look, why don't you finish doing the forks and knives and stuff, and I'll do this?’

  Aunt Leona snorted. ‘What, so you can come along behind me and redo all of that, too? Forget it! You can do it yourself, if you're so particular.’ She strode out of the room, banging the door shut behind her. The oval mirror that hung beside the sideboard shivered.

  It was almost midnight before I finished the tables.

  The Full English

  The next morning I woke up slowly, with a vague feeling of wrongness nagging at me like a sore tooth. My eyes flickered open, and I peered around my room, frowning. It all looked the same as usual – the bright yellow walls that Dad and I had painted, the posters of tennis stars on the walls. My tennis r
acket stood propped in the corner, gathering dust. I hardly ever played any more, now that Kate was gone.

  Suddenly there was a crash from the kitchen, as if a whole pile of pots and pans had hit the floor. ‘Bloody hell!’ cried Aunt Leona.

  What was wrong came smashing back down on me. I jumped out of bed, snatching up my blue-striped dressing gown. I could smell something burning as I ran down the corridor, and when I got to the kitchen I stopped short.

  Our old black saucepan lay upside-down on the floor. Aunt Leona squatted beside it, mopping at a mess of half-fried eggs with a tea towel. Except the tea towel just sort of smeared everything, sliming yolks and egg whites across the tiles like abstract art.

  ‘Oh! This stupid – stupid thing—’ Aunt Leona stood up and threw the dripping tea towel at the sink. It hit the side of the counter and slid down, leaving a trail of yellow goo.

  ‘I think you might, um . . . need a sponge for that . . .’ I trailed off. On the grill, a row of sausages spat viciously, their skins tight and black.

  Aunt Leona whirled round at me. ‘Don't say a word! Don't say a bloody word!’

  ‘I just meant—’

  ‘Shut up!’

  She grabbed up a sponge and started scrubbing the floor, working away at the tiles like she was trying to erase them. Taking a deep breath, I went over to the grill and picked up a fork. But before I could start turning the sausages, Aunt Leona jumped up and shoved me aside, her face red.

  ‘What are you doing? You don't think I can cook either?’

  ‘No! These are burning, that's all.’

  ‘They are not.’ She grabbed the fork from me and jabbed at the sausages, rolling them sideways. ‘They're just a bit crispy on top. They'll be fine.’

  I looked at the yellowing piece of paper my dad had taped over the hob. Fried bread, toast, 1 sausage, 2 eggs, 2 bacon, grilled tomato, mushrooms, hash browns, baked beans. I could see eggs, bread, bacon and sausage out on the counter, but there was no sign of the rest of the food.