Swimming Pool Sunday

by Madeleine Wickham

  Barnaby tried to give a jovial smile and failed.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m eating fine.’

  ‘Just for the company, then?’

  ‘To be honest, Ursula,’ said Barnaby, ‘I’m not much good in company at the moment. It’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll head back to the hospital.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ursula in slightly crestfallen tones. ‘I understand,’ Barnaby took her hand.

  ‘I’m very grateful for the offer,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got to be with Katie. She might …’ He swallowed. ‘She might wake up any minute.’

  ‘We’ll pray that she does,’ said Ursula fervently.

  ‘Yes, I know you will,’ said Barnaby, and he squeezed her hand. ‘I know you will.’

  Chapter Seven

  Three days later, Barnaby woke early, with a start. He immediately sat up with a beating heart, hoping that he had been woken up by the sound of the telephone ringing. But the phone beside his bed was silent. Another night had passed with no summons to the hospital; no joyful announcement that Katie had woken up. His excitement subsiding, Barnaby got out of bed, padded into his little kitchen and put the kettle on to boil.

  Since moving out of Larch Tree Cottage, Barnaby had been renting a tiny ground-floor flat in the new development on the other side of Melbrook. There was only one bedroom and no space for the girls to play when they came to visit, but it was all he could afford, on top of supporting Louise and the girls.

  Now he looked around morosely. He suddenly felt weary and depressed. Every night, since the accident, he had fallen into bed hoping, like a child on Christmas Eve, that by the time he woke up, something would have happened. Katie would have woken, smiled, perhaps even asked for him …

  And every morning he awoke to find no news. No change. She was still stable, the nurses would tell him. No, they couldn’t say when she might wake up. No, they couldn’t say what damage her injuries might have done. It was early days, they kept saying. All they could do was wait and see.

  Until now, Barnaby had quietly obeyed the nurses; had agreed with them that there was no point in thinking the worst; had avoided probing them for the alarming thoughts he could see behind their eyes. Like a coward, what they didn’t want to tell him he hadn’t wanted to know. But today he did want to know, he suddenly thought, pouring boiling water onto a tea-bag. Today, at the meeting with the consultant, he would demand some answers. He would write out a list of questions and ask them, and would keep asking them until he found out what he wanted to know.

  He sat down with his cup of tea and shuffled through the pile of letters he had opened the night before. Many were cards for Katie; letters of concern and sympathy – as though she were dead, he thought savagely to himself. Why was everyone being so bloody gloomy about it? She was going to get better. She was.

  At the bottom of the pile were all the other letters. Day-to-day correspondence, mostly bills. Since moving out of Larch Tree Cottage, the bills had been coming thick and fast, like angry rain. There seemed no end to them; no controlling them. Every time Barnaby thought he’d managed to work out a monthly budget, something else came along to surprise him. This week it had been the bill for servicing Louise’s car – £300, out of the blue. He was going to have to dip into his savings again.

  Why was life suddenly so much more expensive? Living together with Louise in Larch Tree Cottage, his salary had seemed ample for all their needs; now it seemed stretched beyond endurance. None of his sums seemed to add up; however careful he was, at the end of every month he found himself with an overdraft. Despite the fact that he was living in the cheapest accommodation he had been able to find; despite the fact that he’d cut back on practically everything that wasn’t essential.

  Of course it was his duty to support Louise and the girls, he thought dejectedly to himself, taking a sip of tea and pushing the bill from the garage underneath the pile of cards. They were dependent on him. It was only right. But did that mean he was never going to be able to afford a life of his own?

  At ten to eleven, a nurse came over to Katie’s bed and tapped Louise on the shoulder.

  ‘Yes?’ She turned, startled.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the nurse. ‘Didn’t mean to alarm you. I just thought I’d remind you that you’ve got a meeting with the consultant at eleven. Just in case …’ she paused tactfully, ‘… in case you wanted to comb your hair or pop to the loo or anything.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Louise dully. ‘Yes, thank you. I expect I look dreadful.’ She paused. ‘Not that it matters what I look like,’ she added, slowly getting to her feet. ‘I mean, the doctor won’t care what I look like, and I shouldn’t think Barnaby will, either.’

  Since Monday, Louise had barely talked to Barnaby. She had barely talked to anyone, except the nurses and the odd doctor and, of course, all day long, Katie. She spent hours at a time wearily staring at Katie’s little face; uttering encouraging words; peering in exhausted desperation for some kind of response. And when there was none she found herself irrationally beginning to doubt her own powers of communication. Sometimes she felt as though she were retreating into a detached light-headed world of her own, in which only she and her own whirling thoughts existed; in which she had been sitting by the same bed for an eternity, staring at Katie’s face, willing her to wake up.

  On the locker beside Katie’s bed was a notebook, which one of the nurses had given to Louise, suggesting she keep a journal of Katie’s progress, and of her own thoughts and emotions. So far it was empty. Louise’s thoughts were too wild and random to be written down. When she slept, her head filled with dark menacing dreams, which lingered on, like looming shadows, after she woke. Her mind felt stretched; wrung out like an old cloth. Sometimes she thought she might open her mouth and find she had forgotten how to speak.

  She hadn’t been able to bring herself to attend the church service on Monday evening. The official reason was that Katie might wake up while she wasn’t there, but the real reason was that she wasn’t sure she could face it. She shuddered as she imagined sitting there, under the glare of all those curious eyes – benevolent and sympathetic, maybe, but curious too, without a doubt. Somehow forcing herself to tell people again and again how Katie was doing; somehow managing to express a suitable gratitude for everyone’s interest. Hearing, out loud, the prayers for Katie; trying not to crumble; trying not to cry; trying not to break down completely.

  And then there had been the matter of Hugh and Ursula. They had helped to organize the service; if she’d gone to it, she would have seen them; she would have had to talk to them. Louise closed her eyes briefly. She didn’t know what to think about Hugh and Ursula; she couldn’t think about them rationally; couldn’t dissociate them from the accident; from the malevolent nightmares still looming in her mind. Sometimes, as she sat, endlessly replaying the accident in her mind, she would begin to shake with a black nauseous hatred for them; a hatred for their stupid swimming-pool and evil dangerous diving-board. And she would feel a desperate need for them – someone – to be punished for what had happened to Katie. But then something would click in her mind and she would suddenly have an image of a benign smiling Ursula; a kindly Hugh. Old friends of the family, who loved Katie; who would never want to harm her. Tears would well up in her eyes, and suddenly the idea of taking them to court would seem ridiculous, unthinkable.

  To Cassian, however, it didn’t seem unthinkable at all. As Louise walked along the corridor to the Ladies, swaying slightly with tiredness, she thought about Cassian’s proposal. He really seemed to think they had a case. He’d explained it all carefully to her, the night after Barnaby’s outburst, and then had sat back, and in a smooth voice, said, ‘It’s your decision. I won’t say another word about it if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘No,’ Louise faltered. ‘It’s all very interesting. I’ll speak to Barnaby, I don’t think he understands properly.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Cassian had replied. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t
understand.’ He looked at her hard. ‘I won’t say this again,’ he said, ‘but I think that you and Barnaby should see it as your duty to Katie to take the Delaneys to court.’ Then he looked away. ‘You owe it to your little girl,’ he said in a softer voice. And Louise, strung up and weary, had felt tears trickling down her face, and a sudden conviction that Cassian was right; that he was Katie’s saviour; that he was prepared to go into battle on her behalf.

  Barnaby arrived at the hospital a few minutes early for the meeting, and went straight to Katie’s ward. Louise wasn’t sitting beside her bed, and Barnaby felt an immediate, unreasonable wave of anger, and a faint sense of relief. He would have a few moments alone with Katie; would be able to talk to her naturally without Louise standing by and watching, making him feel stupid. He had hardly spoken to Louise since the row in the cafeteria. On the few occasions that they had met beside Katie’s bed, they had exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, just in case she could hear them; otherwise Louise seemed almost to be avoiding him.

  ‘Katie,’ he said in a low voice, taking her pale little hand carefully, without dislodging the plastic tube taped to it. ‘Katie, it’s Daddy. Katie, you’re going to be fine. Soon you’ll wake up and you’ll be able to come home …’He broke off. She would be going home to Louise, of course, to Larch Tree Cottage; not home to him.

  ‘Barnaby!’ A voice from behind made him jump. He turned to see Louise standing by Katie’s curtain rail. She looked pale and exhausted.

  ‘Hello, Louise,’ said Barnaby. He suddenly felt stilted and unnatural. ‘Has anything …’ He glanced at Katie. ‘Have there been any developments?’

  ‘No,’ said Louise shortly. ‘Nothing.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’d better go.’

  The meeting was with the same consultant with round spectacles who had spoken to them in the waiting-room, plus Janine, the nurse who had special responsibility for Katie. Barnaby watched as Louise greeted the consultant with a tremulous smile, then sat down next to Janine and began to talk to her in a familiar undertone, as though they were old friends; as though they were keeping some sort of secret together. Without meaning to, he suddenly said, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Louise.

  ‘Was it about Katie? Is there something I should know?’ persisted Barnaby. He tried to smile pleasantly at Janine, but he could feel his face turning red, his breath coming more quickly.

  ‘I was asking Janine for some painkillers, actually,’ said Louise curtly. ‘I’ve got a splitting headache.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Barnaby. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he added, but Louise had looked away.

  The consultant cleared his throat, shuffled the papers in front of him and then looked up.

  ‘I’m glad you could both come in today,’ he said. ‘We feel it’s very useful to have regular meetings with the parents of children in our wards, to update you on any progress, explain what’s happening and give you a chance to ask any questions.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘In Katie’s case, it’s still very early days, and as I’m sure you’re both aware, there’s little we can do other than monitor her very carefully and wait until she begins to regain consciousness. We are keeping a very close eye on her, and if there’s any change in her condition, we’ll let you know immediately.’

  ‘When do you think …’ began Barnaby. Everyone looked at him and he gave an awkward cough. ‘When do you think she’ll wake up?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s very difficult to tell,’ said the consultant.

  ‘You must have some idea,’ said Barnaby. ‘In a week? In a month? In a year?’ The consultant sighed.

  ‘I don’t want to appear difficult,’ he said, ‘but we really don’t think it’s a good idea to try and get into predictions.’ He smiled kindly at Barnaby. ‘Katie will wake up when she’s ready.’

  ‘But you must at least …’ began Barnaby. Louise interrupted him.

  ‘Barnaby, leave it!’ she said. ‘They don’t know, OK? We just have to wait.’

  ‘It may seem to you as though we’re hiding something,’ said the consultant earnestly, ‘but I can assure you, we’re not. When it comes to a head injury, very little is certain.’ He looked at Barnaby. ‘It really is best to try to keep an open mind. Don’t build up any kind of expectations at the moment, just take each day as it comes. And when Katie does regain consciousness, a lot of things should become clearer.’

  There was a short silence, during which an unarticulated panic began to grow inside Barnaby. What was going to become clearer? What weren’t they telling him?

  ‘She will be OK, though,’ he said suddenly, in a voice made belligerent through alarm. ‘I mean, you said she wasn’t paralysed. She will be able to walk and everything? And talk properly? She won’t be a vegetable?’

  ‘Barnaby!’ exclaimed Louise.

  ‘Well, what’s going to become clearer? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Mr Kember,’ said the consultant soothingly, ‘obviously you’re very concerned for your daughter.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Barnaby roughly, ‘I am. And I want to know what she’s going to be like when she wakes up.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ said the consultant. ‘We all do. However, at the moment, there’s very little we can tell you.’

  ‘But you’ve done tests, haven’t you?’ cried Barnaby. ‘You’ve done scans and things.’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ said the consultant patiently, ‘but a scan can’t tell us everything.’

  ‘What can’t it tell you? What might be wrong with her?’

  ‘Barnaby,’ cried Louise suddenly, in a taut voice, ‘why can’t you just leave it alone? Why can’t you just wait and see, like everyone else?’

  ‘I just want to know!’ said Barnaby. ‘I want to know what might be wrong with Katie! You must have some idea,’ he insisted to the consultant. ‘I mean, other people must have had injuries like Katie’s. Can’t you tell us what happened to them?’ The consultant sighed. He picked up his silver ball-point pen and began to trace inkless circles on the top of his folder.

  ‘Damage to the brain can have many different consequences,’ he said. ‘Many victims will, for example, suffer a certain confusion when they wake up; what we call post-traumatic amnesia.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Barnaby. ‘A bit of confusion?’

  ‘Well, no, not always,’ said the consultant. ‘There may perhaps be problems with … well, with speech, for instance. Or there may be some form of post-traumatic epilepsy, or changes in personality. But until Katie wakes up …’

  ‘What about walking?’ said Barnaby. There was a pause. The consultant began to examine the cap of his pen.

  ‘There may initially be problems with balance and co-ordination, yes,’ he said eventually. ‘Some patients have to learn how to walk again. But only some,’ he added firmly. ‘And in most cases rehabilitation is a tremendous help.’

  ‘I see,’ said Barnaby, trying to stay calm. He felt as though all his worst fears had been confirmed, as though he was finally being let into a secret which everyone else had known about for days.

  ‘If Katie did need rehabilitation,’ said Louise in a shaky voice, ‘would that happen here?’

  ‘No, probably at Forest Lodge. It’s a rehab centre near here.’

  ‘Does it …’ began Louise.

  ‘Forest Lodge?’ interrupted Barnaby. He felt a cold trickle run down his spine. ‘That place on the hill? With all the children in wheelchairs?’

  ‘I don’t think they’re all in wheelchairs,’ said the consultant gently. He looked at Louise. ‘It’s quite a famous centre, you know. You’re lucky to be living so close to it.’

  ‘Lucky,’ echoed Barnaby bleakly.

  ‘But it’s very early days to be thinking of anything like that,’ said the consultant briskly. ‘At the moment we must concentrate on bringing Katie round.’ He smiled at Louise. ‘I gather her classmates made a tape for her; that kind of thing always helps.’

  �
�Oh, good.’ Louise flushed slightly. ‘There was just one other thing,’ she said, not looking at Barnaby. ‘If we needed medical reports for a … for a court case, would you be able to give them to us?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said the consultant. ‘We’re quite used to that, aren’t we, Janine?’ He looked at the nurse, who nodded.

  ‘Oh, sure,’ she said. ‘Will you be going to court, then?’

  ‘No,’ said Barnaby, scowling at Louise. ‘We won’t.’ Louise ignored him.

  ‘We might,’ she said.

  The consultant looked from one to another.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ he said, ‘but I’ve seen quite a lot of parents in your situation, and I’d say that if you do decide to go to court, you should really try to agree to do it together.’ He frowned. ‘The whole thing can get pretty stressful, as it is, not to mention expensive.’

  ‘Well, that wouldn’t actually be a problem,’ said Louise, flushing slightly. ‘My … my father’s very generously agreed to help us out with the legal fees. And, of course, if we win costs, it won’t actually …’ She was interrupted by Barnaby.

  ‘Are you telling me that your father thinks we should sue?’ His voice was outraged. ‘I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it!’

  Louise’s eyes flashed angrily at him.

  ‘You don’t believe he would put his granddaughter before anything else,’ she hissed. ‘His own flesh and blood. Is that so strange to you? Because if it is, Barnaby, it says more about you …’

  ‘Ahem.’ The consultant politely cleared his throat, and Louise stopped abruptly, mid-flow.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Do carry on.’

  ‘Perhaps we should agree’, said the consultant, ‘to bring this meeting to an end. Just remember, whatever you decide to do, we’ll try and help.’ He smiled at Louise and got up. ‘We’ll have another meeting soon. Meanwhile, do ask Janine if there’s anything you’d like to know.’