Rick turned away. 'I'm going to find a doctor.'
There was no one at the nurses' station. He leaned forward, his elbows on the counter and closed his eyes. He thought of Deanna this morning when he went in to say goodbye. She'd been sitting up in bed reading. Her face looked lined and thin. It was the first time he'd noticed how much weight she'd lost.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. 'I hate you being ill.'
'Honey, I could use your support right now.' She reached for his hand. Hers was cold and clammy. 'Cuddle me, please.'
He wrapped his arms round her. It was like holding a bird. She rested her head against his shoulder and the fur of grey hair tickled his cheek. It was starting to grow back after the chemotherapy and was cropped short. Rick couldn't escape the thought of her long blonde hair. He saw its golden strands, smelled its freshly washed scent, felt its caress as it lay across his chest when they woke in the mornings. It had been so thick and glossy. When they first met he would brush it for her. Long sweeping strokes, feeling her head beneath his hands move backwards and forwards in time with each stroke. She would sit at the big mirror in their bedroom and watch his reflection as he stood over her, with her eyes following his movements. When he couldn't bear to wait another moment, he would lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed.
He felt someone touch his arm and opened his eyes. A woman in a white coat, stethoscope hanging from her neck, was standing next to him. She looked too young to be taking care of someone so precious.
'What's happening?' he asked. 'What's wrong with my wife?'
'The lung has filled with fluid,' the doctor explained, gazing at a point above Rick's head. 'It's the organ's reaction to the tumour, I'm afraid.'
'What tumour? She hasn't got a tumour in the lung. She's had breast cancer.' He turned to the nurse who'd appeared at the doctor's side. 'Can you get someone with some medical knowledge to speak to me?'
The nurse tightened her lips. 'Doctor Hansard is one of our senior registrars. She knows as much about your wife's case as anyone.'
'Perhaps I can explain.' The doctor spoke again. 'Unfortunately your wife has developed metastases…'
'Metastases?'
'Secondary tumours have formed in the lungs. We've been trying her on a different sort of chemotherapy—one where you don't lose your hair—but the fluid is not a good sign.'
'How long has she known?'
'She saw Mr James, the oncologist, just before Christmas. He explained it all to her then.'
Rick tried to take in the doctor's explanation of the treatment. The fluid would be drained off. She would have a full body scan. She should be able to come home in a couple of days if they were happy with her blood count and they'd start her on another course of chemotherapy. He couldn't stop thinking how Deanna had known even at Christmas and kept it to herself. That was typical. She wouldn't have wanted to spoil it for anyone else. She had done that for them, and then Alicia had ruined the day with her pigheaded selfishness. He turned away from the doctor.
Alicia was standing in the door of Deanna's room. 'What did she say?' Her face was the colour of chalk.
Rick looked at her as if she hadn't spoken. 'That stunt you pulled at Christmas. That's what's made your mother so ill.'
'Please don't say that, Dad.'
'I'm going to tell you once more, Alicia. You're to give that prat his marching orders.'
'I can't do that.' Alicia's eyes pleaded with him. 'How would you have liked it if Grandad had told you to give up Mum?'
Rick bunched his fists. His nails dug into his palms. She had gone too far this time. 'Don't you dare compare you and that rat to your mother and me!' He could see the bed over Alicia's shoulder. Deanna's body caused only a slight swell in the covers. Camilla was resting her head on the pillow next to her mother's.
Rick felt his heart contract. Supposing Deanna didn't get better? He had to get his princesses back together. He tried to grasp Alicia's hand. 'I'm asking you… if you won't do it for me or your sisters… do it for your mother.'
She snatched her hand away. 'Don't do this emotional blackmail kick, Dad. This is for you. Mum doesn't want me to give Gary up.'
'Of course she fucking does!' he shouted and he saw Camilla lift her head from the pillow and stare at him.
'It's a good job Mum can't hear you,' Alicia said. 'No wonder she's got cancer. It's the stress of living with you.'
Twenty-five
Rick clutched his head. 'I didn't realise I was such a monster.' He reached out for his whisky glass and drained the last bit.
'You're not, Dad.' Flavia put her hand on his shoulder.
'But suppose it's true what Alicia said. What if Mum's illness is all my fault?' It was one o'clock in the morning and they were sitting at the kitchen table. Flavia had made Camilla a mug of drinking chocolate and she'd gone up to bed.
'Of course it's not. You fly off the handle sometimes, but Mum adores you—you know she does.'
'What made Alicia say that?'
'Dad, I thought you were an intelligent man. Alicia's angry with you about Gary. And she's worried about Mum—you know how close they are.'
Of all his daughters, Rick knew Flavia least well. She was the quietest of the three and often pushed into the background, sandwiched between the volatile Alicia and Camilla who, as the baby, was fussed over. He'd been so besotted with Alicia that he hadn't taken much notice of Flavia. Now he realised how calm and reassuring her presence was, like Deanna's.
After Alicia stormed out, Rick had phoned Flavia. She came to the hospital by taxi and took control. They sat by Deanna's bed until the doctor arrived to set up the drain.
'There's nothing you can do,' the nurse said after a while. 'I should go home and get some rest.'
In the car Rick struggled to fit the key into the ignition. He jabbed at the hole, but the key refused to slide in. His head dropped on to the steering wheel. Flavia had got out of the passenger seat and come round to his door. She had prised his fingers from the keys. 'I'll drive, Dad. You look done in.'
'Did you know Alicia has been coming home to see your mother?' Rick asked.
Flavia nodded.
'Why didn't Deanna tell me?'
'What would you have done if she had?'
'Forbidden it.'
She smiled. 'That's why she didn't tell you.'
'Alicia hates me.' Rick reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink. It was the only way he'd get any sleep tonight. 'I only want what's best for her. I can't let her throw herself away on that lout.'
'You can't choose for us, Dad, however much you care. What are you going to do if you don't approve of my boyfriend?'
He looked up from his glass. 'I didn't know you had one.'
She laughed. 'I haven't. Too many essays for that. But one day I will, and you might not like him. Nor Camilla's. Are you going to fall out with all of us?'
When Rick finally steeled himself to go to bed, he rolled over on to Deanna's side. He burrowed into her pillow, savouring the hint of her perfume. But the more he tried to capture her, the more she receded. He turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He'd opened the curtains before he got into bed, and moonlight streamed into the room. He placed his palms together, matching fingertip with fingertip. He'd been going to church since his father died, but it was years since he had prayed and the gesture felt strange. There couldn't be a God. His mind told him that, but his heart urged him to try. He turned his eyes towards the fierce silver disk in the sky and began to talk: 'Dear God—please let my darling get better.' He felt self-conscious at first. Suppose Flavia or Camilla heard? But he forced himself to keep going. 'I'm no good without her. I mess up all the time and she helps me out of it. I promise I'll be different if you let her get better. I'll make it up with Alicia. I'll let her see that wretched boy if he means so much to her. I'll keep my temper. Anything, God, as long as Deanna gets better. I'll even let George have Dad's piano. Just let her get better.'
Rick push
ed open the door of Deanna's room the next day—thank God, his prayer had been answered. She was propped up against several pillows. Her face was unnaturally pale and her eyes were ringed with dark hollows, but the oxygen mask was gone, and she smiled as soon as she saw him. She held out her hand. 'Hi honey.'
Rick almost ran to her side. He slipped his arms under her shoulders so that he could pull her to him. He perched on the edge of the bed, cradling her against his chest. His chin rested on her head and the cropped hair scratched at his face. For once he didn't mind. He rocked to and fro, murmuring her name over and over again.
At last he eased her back on to the pillows. Her eyes, normally such a piercing blue, were faded, and her lips were dry and cracked. There were tears in her eyes, but she was still smiling. 'It's good to see you.'
'Good? It's fantastic!' He clasped both her hands in his. 'How are you feeling?'
'Better. Still got too many tubes.' She made a face at the array of equipment. 'But better.'
'You gave us a scare.'
'I'm sorry.'
'I've rung your parents.'
'How are they?'
'They're coming over. They're sorting out flights.'
'What about the girls?' she asked. The words were clearly an effort. A bubbling sound came from her chest as she spoke.
'I said I'd ring them with news as soon as I got here.' Rick glanced at his watch. 'They're at home. They weren't up to school.' He reached into his pocket. Deanna caught his wrist and glanced at the notice on the wall. 'No mobiles, darling.'
Instantly he felt his chest tighten. 'What do you take me for?' He stood up. 'I'm going outside. I'll be five minutes.'
'Give them my love,' Deanna called.
When he got back, he was full of apologies: 'I feel so tense.'
'I know.' Deanna stroked the back of his hand where it was resting on the bed. 'It's hard for all of us. Are the girls all right?'
'Relieved to hear you're so much better.' He drew up a chair to the side of the bed. 'Why didn't you tell me the cancer had spread?'
She shrugged and her nightdress slipped exposing her bony shoulder. 'You've got enough on your plate.'
'If you mean work, let me worry about that. You're my priority.'
She squeezed his hand. 'I'm glad. After Christmas… I did wonder. You've been kinda distant.' The two little furrows between her brows deepened. They looked as if they'd been there for some time, but Rick had only just noticed them. Her eyebrows had disappeared along with her hair. Now they were growing back, and he could see grey hairs coming through at the edges. He stared at the untidy straggle. Since Deanna's days as a model, she had been meticulous about such things, forever plucking and creaming, 'personal housekeeping' she called it. He never thought she needed to, but he enjoyed the idea that she worked hard to keep her golden lustre just for him. It hadn't done him any harm either to have such a beautiful woman on his arm.
He forced his attention back to what Deanna had been saying. He seemed to drift off from conversations all the time at the moment. You've been kinda distant, she'd said. It was probably the closest she'd ever come to complaining. 'It's Alicia,' he explained. 'When I think of my princess throwing herself away on that… that… there aren't the words to describe him. I'd kill him if I could get my hands on him.'
'Honey, I wish you wouldn't say such things.'
Deanna reached up to the locker beside her bed. She fumbled for the beaker. It was a blue plastic one, the sort with a lid and little holes to let the liquid out in drops. Rick remembered the girls having them when they were young. In fact Camilla had walked round with one permanently clamped to her lips for what seemed years. He'd complained to Deanna in the end. 'She'll be going to university with that in her mouth, if you're not careful.' He'd forgotten all about such beakers until that moment, when Deanna was forced to use one.
He recalled the previous night when he thought she might die. He'd have promised anything if only she could be all right. He felt embarrassed now even to remember that stupid prayer. Had he really said he would let Alicia see Gary if it meant so much to her? It must have been the whisky talking. He stroked Deanna's arm and she looked back at him with a wan smile.
'It's not nice talking like that about Gary,' she said.
'I'm sorry. It's you being in here. You know I'm hopeless without you.'
'Will you ring Alicia and tell her she can come in this afternoon?'
'Whatever you say, darling.'
'And I need her to be able to visit me at home when I get out.'
Rick took her hand and pressed it to his cheek. 'Anything, as long as you're happy.'
Deanna closed her eyes. 'I must sleep now.'
Rick planned to get home early that evening to be with Flavia and Camilla, but the meeting with the accountant dragged on. The verdict on his plans for expansion was more pessimistic than he'd anticipated and he was in a bad mood. He hadn't got round to ringing Alicia. It wasn't that he'd deliberately avoided it. There just wasn't a spare second. He thought about visiting Deanna again to say goodnight, but when he phoned the hospital as he was leaving the office, the nurse said Deanna was sleeping. He was dead tired himself and decided to head home.
The house was quiet when he arrived. A note on the kitchen table told him the girls had gone to bed and Mrs Crosby had left him some supper in the oven. Rick crossed to the dresser and pulled the bottle of whisky he'd started the night before towards him. He poured a large measure and tipping back his head, swallowed it in one go. The liquid burned the back of his throat. Without hesitating, he poured another, running his hand over his face. His skin felt rough and bristly. He pulled off his tie and slumped down on a chair. Putting his toe against his heel, he pushed off the shoe, then did the same with the other. The motor of the fridge whirred noisily and the ticking clock was relentless. He'd never noticed it before. He wished now he had called in at the hospital. He hated Deanna not being here.
Rick glanced across at the phone. The red light flashed. Perhaps she'd rung while he was on his way home and left a message. He needed to hear her voice. He pressed the retrieve button. There were two messages, but neither was from Deanna. The first was her parents. He listened to Bob's southern drawl. They'd got flights for the day after tomorrow. They'd arrive at Heathrow about six in the evening and then fly up to Newcastle. Would Rick be able to meet them? They'd like to go straight to the hospital.
Rick was fond of his in-laws. Roz fussed over him, treating him like the son she'd longed for, and Bob liked to talk business. To them, he was a successful entrepreneur who had given their daughter a good life. Not like his family, he thought, as the machine clicked on to the second message and his mother's insistent voice filled the kitchen. They saw him as a failure, and all because he couldn't play the wretched piano.
Eva's accent always seemed stronger on the telephone. She was worried, the message said. Rick poured himself a third measure of whisky as he half listened to his mother's concerns about the bungalow in Hexham. 'I got your letter. Is good, caro, that you want to take care of me, but is too soon after my Henry's death. Maybe… in a year or two…' Her voice tailed away. 'Don't be angry with your silly Mamma, mio gioiello.' The recording machine went silent.
Rick drained the glass and dialled his mother's number. She took an age to answer, and he sloshed more whisky into the glass while he waited.
'Hello.' She sounded breathless. 'Who is this?'
'It's Rick, Mum.'
'Oh, Ricardo. You give me fright. Is everything all right?'
'It's good. Everything's good.' He wouldn't tell her about Deanna, he decided. She'd be ringing every five minutes to see how she was. 'Sorry if it's late, but I've got your message about the bungalow.'
'The what?'
'The bungalow. You know the place I've bought for you up here.'
'I left you a message about that.'
'Yes, Mum, that's why I'm ringing.' Christ, what was the matter with the woman?
'It's all going to be f
ine. I don't want you to worry, Mum.'
'I'm not sure.'
'I'll come down in a week or two and explain everything to you. Okay?'
'Okay, caro.'
Rick went upstairs to his study, hesitating on the landing outside Flavia's room. He put his ear to the door. He wanted to go in and sit in the wicker chair at the foot of her bed. They could talk. She'd sit up in bed, hugging her knees. She reminded him more and more of Deanna. But her door was shut and he couldn't hear any sound.
He went to the study and sat at the computer. Some of the tension eased from his neck and shoulders as he felt the mouse nestling into his palm. He pointed the cursor at the email symbol. There were three new ones, all from his family. He was popular today. He clicked on the one from Grace.
Rick, I'm so sorry to hear about Deanna. Flavia emailed to say she'd been rushed to hospital. How is she? And how are you? I would have sent flowers, but I don't think they're allowed any more. Do give her my love. Let me know how things are, if you get the chance. Lots of love, Grace.
Rick was touched as he read his sister's words. Seven years older than her, he'd felt protective when she was young and he was glad that she was married and settled in Italy. He liked Franco. He admired his determination to make a go of his restaurant. If Deanna was well enough, he might take her to Ischia for a holiday this summer.
The second email was from Isabel.
Hi Rick, We need to talk. I went to see Mum today and she showed me your letter. She's terrified at the thought of moving up to Northumberland. She's lived in London ever since she came over from Italy and it doesn't seem right to uproot her. Can you come down for a few days to discuss it? Hope all is well with Deanna and the girls. Give them my love. Isabel.
Rick deleted the email. Isabel could be so annoying—even more than George, if that was possible. He'd seen the look she'd given him at Christmas when he mentioned buying a house up here for their mother. What gave her the right to know what was best for Eva? As if he didn't know his mother had lived in London ever since she arrived from Italy. That didn't mean she was better off there, did it?
The Piano Player's Son Page 18