Mum stirs. I look across at her, her face resting against her coat, which she’s made into a makeshift pillow. She looks exhausted. After seeing Dad, she hasn’t mentioned his injuries, choosing instead to fuss about missing the engineer who was due today to service the boiler, and a dentist appointment for Dad that she forgot to cancel.
I kept telling her it was fine, not to worry, it didn’t matter, but then I realized she needed to worry about that stuff. It was her way of coping. It stopped her worrying about the real stuff.
The door opens and a female patient enters in a dressing gown. I watch her softly padding towards me, wheeling a portable oxygen tank. She looks like a ghoul, with her pale face and sunken eyes. Even in her dressing gown, I can see she’s so very, very thin.
I smile warmly. ‘Hi.’
She looks at me hesitantly, then smiles back. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’ Her voice is raspy; she’s wearing a breathing tube.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s my dad. He was in a car accident. He was admitted this morning.’
‘Oh dear.’ She sits down next to me. Up close I can see the jutting of her cheekbones and the yellow of her eyes. ‘People drive too fast nowadays . . . not that I’m saying—’ she adds.
‘No.’ I shake my head again and there’s a pause. ‘Have you been here long?’ It’s a weird kind of small talk. We’re two strangers, but the situation is so intimate.
She nods. ‘Six weeks. It’s my lungs.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right, love.’ She smiles to reassure me, and I’m struck by how she’s trying to protect my feelings. ‘I’ve been admitted before, but this time . . .’ She shrugs her bony shoulders, then glances up at the TV screen. ‘Oh, I used to love these Busby Berkeley films!’ Her face lights up girlishly as she gestures to the dancing showgirls. ‘I used to watch them with my nan.’
We both gaze at the screen, watching them forming kaleidoscope patterns. Their legs kicking in perfect symmetry. Arms waving. Faces smiling. And for a while time seems to stand still, our thoughts taken away from the painful reality and absorbed by the magic of Hollywood.
‘Well, I’ll be going, love,’ she says eventually, getting up from the sofa. ‘I hope your dad’s all right.’
‘You too.’ I manage a smile.
Wrapping her dressing gown belt around her tiny waist, she gives me a haunted look; we both know she’s not going to be.
Afterwards I go to the bathroom. Washing my hands, I splash water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror. I’ve aged a hundred years. I dig out my phone. I haven’t looked at it all day. Gallows humour flickers. Having someone you love in intensive care is one way to limit your screen time.
There are a couple of missed calls from Edward, but he hasn’t left a voicemail. I look at my watch. It’s too late to call him back; he’ll be asleep.
I have a sudden urge to speak to someone. I can’t talk to Mum. I couldn’t talk to Rich. Everyone’s leaning on me, but who can I lean on? I just want someone to put their arms around me. Someone to tell me it’s going to be all right.
Oh God, I miss Ethan.
It’s like a wave rushing over me. I’ve not thought about him for months, deliberately at first, and now when he enters my mind it’s fleeting. But I’m suddenly desperate to hear his voice.
I dial his number before my rational mind can stop me. I know it off by heart.
I hear it ringing. My heart pounds. I’m about to hang up.
‘Nell?’
His voice, so familiar, sounds in the darkness.
‘Yeah, it’s me.’
Its effect is immediate. I close my eyes, pressing the lids tightly shut, but tears are already leaking down my cheeks.
‘Hey . . .’ There’s a pause. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Dad. He’s been in a terrible car accident. I’m at the hospital.’ It’s like opening a release valve. ‘Oh Ethan, I’m so scared of what’s going to happen—’
‘It’s going to be OK,’ he reassures me immediately.
‘But how do you know?’ I’ve been holding my body so rigid, trying to stave off the shock, but now I realize it’s shaking uncontrollably.
‘Because whatever happens, it will be OK. You’ll be OK.’
My teeth begin to chatter. But it’s not from cold; it’s with fear.
‘I can’t do this.’ I clench my jaw hard to try and stop it.
‘Is your brother there?’ Ethan tries to deflect my rising panic.
‘No—’ I break off. I don’t want to tell him about the baby. Not now. ‘I’m sorry . . . I should never have called.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
‘I just—’ But I can’t finish the sentence. I have no idea what I’m even thinking.
‘He’s going to pull through, you know. Your dad’s a fighter. Remember how he was when we first met? I was so scared.’
Through the panic a memory flickers. Mum and Dad flew over to visit and we all went out for dinner. Dad must have asked Ethan a hundred questions. It was more an interrogation than a meal at a sushi restaurant.
‘And he’s got you by his side, that’s quite something.’
I listen silently, pressing the phone to my ear, willing him to tell me something good.
‘I’ve thought about you, you know . . . I’ve missed you . . .’
I wipe away a tear that’s running down my cheek. I think about what happened between us, about the girl Liza saw him with. It seemed so important before, but now it all seems so trivial.
‘I moved to San Francisco when you left. I’m head chef at a new restaurant. I get to plan the whole menu – I do my puttanesca with olives and capers and parsley that you love.’
And I’m right back there again. Just Ethan and me.
‘That’s great . . .’
‘But anyway—’ He breaks off. ‘I didn’t mean to talk about my stuff. How’s your mum holding up?’
For a few brief moments I was somewhere else, away from all this.
‘She’s OK . . .’
There’s so much I want to say; I have no idea where to start.
‘Ethan, I—’
‘Nell, sorry, hang on a minute.’ On the other end of the line I hear muffled voices. ‘That was a delivery. I’m at the restaurant. It’s early but we’ve got a big lunch party coming in . . . what were you saying?’
But the moment’s gone. Whatever it was I was going to say has slipped through my fingers before I could catch it.
‘Oh, nothing . . .’
‘Look, I’m really sorry, I’m gonna have to go—’
‘Yeah, me too. Mum will be worried.’
‘Please send her my love, tell her I’m thinking about her . . . and your dad . . .’
‘I will.’ And now I’m back on autopilot.
‘You stay strong. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
I know he won’t, but it doesn’t matter.
‘Bye, Ethan.’
‘Bye, Nell.’
I hang up.
Afterwards I go back outside into the corridor. I need to head back to the patients’ lounge – Mum might be awake, she’ll be wondering where I am – but first I need a few minutes by myself. I don’t know what I was hoping for, ringing Ethan, but it’s left me feeling more alone than ever.
I start walking, pushing through fire doors, no direction in mind, when I see a sign for the hospital chapel. The door is open and I pause there. For once in my life I wish I was religious. That I could drop to my knees and pray to God and seek some kind of comfort. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, I can still remember the Lord’s Prayer from school assembly. Just as I can remember my dad’s reaction when he discovered I was having to recite the Lord’s Prayer. ‘She can decide what she wants to believe when she grows up,’ he’d gruffly told the headmaster. ‘You’re not deciding for her.’
Sniffing back tears, I smile at the memory. Mum was horrified; what would they say at parents’ evening? But Dad trusted
me to think for myself. He believed in me. He’s always believed in me, even when I haven’t believed in myself.
Turning away from the doorway, I rest wearily against the wall. I think about Dad. How since the day I was born, he’s been the one man in my life who’s always been there for me, never letting me down, loving me unconditionally, even during those teenage years of rows and shouting and slamming of doors.
Boyfriends have come and gone. Fiancés too. But not Dad. He’s always been protecting me, even from afar. Nothing bad could ever happen to me while he was alive, because he’s the net into which I can always fall. A world without him is unfathomable.
I slump to my haunches and bury my head in my hands. A howl, like an injured animal, echoes down the silent corridor, and I become aware of someone wailing with grief.
Then I realize it’s me.
The Next Morning
We finally left the hospital in the early hours. Mum had been there for over twenty-four hours and the doctors advised me to take her home in a cab to get some rest. It was hard leaving Dad behind, but even harder returning to an empty house. It felt weird without him being there, like a part of the house was missing. This is what it will be like if he doesn’t come home, I thought as we both went straight to bed, exhausted.
It’s not even light when we set off back to the hospital again. They’ve just called saying Dad’s taken a turn for the worse in the night. We need to be there. This time I’m driving Mum’s car and we sit in silence, the headlights picking out the cats’ eyes on the road. The doctors have told us we need to be prepared. But how can you ever prepare yourself for something like this?
Mum sits next to me in the passenger seat, hands in her lap, twisting her wedding ring. Fear has my chest in a vice as we pull into the car park. Because it’s so early, it’s almost empty as I head towards the entrance. I’m trying to be strong, but the truth is I’ve never been so scared. All I want to do is run away. But I can’t. I’ve got to get out of this car and walk into that hospital and face up to whatever it is that’s waiting for us.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I swing into the parking spot. For once the spaces are wide open. Except for one other car.
‘Well, we’re here,’ I say to Mum, straightening up and switching off the engine.
So this is it. Heart thumping, I reach for the car door and push it open. A sharp gust of wind blows in.
‘Nell!’
Someone calls my name and I whip around. And that’s when I see him, walking towards me.
‘Edward?’
I peer at him in the dawn light, in disbelief.
‘What are you doing here?’
He looks dishevelled, as if he’s slept in his car.
‘I got here as soon as I could.’
I almost weep with relief. I have never been so grateful to see anyone in my whole life.
‘But . . . how?’
‘I drove through the night. I was worried, I didn’t hear from you.’
My mind is grappling. ‘But how did you know where to find us?’
‘You told me the name of the hospital on the train, remember.’
Except I don’t. I don’t remember anything about that train ride.
‘And you just came?’
‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘I just came.’
And in that moment, I know I will love him forever for doing that. Not love in the romantic sense, but love in the true, deep sense of the word. Without even being asked, he’s driven through the night to be here for me. So I can lean on him when I need to lean on someone the most in my life. In the most desperate of times. When I thought I was alone. He was here. Waiting for me.
And if that’s not real love, I don’t know what is.
Inside the hospital we’re met by Mr Reynolds, who tells us an undetected tear has caused more internal bleeding and Dad needs urgent surgery. Mum signs the consent form and we spend the next three hours pacing corridors and drinking bad coffee. But this time it’s different. Edward is here and he’s the support against which both Mum and I lean. He doesn’t say much; he doesn’t need to. Just being here is enough.
After surgery, Dad is taken back to ICU. Mr Reynolds is grave but ‘cautiously optimistic’. I feel a tiny chink of light find its way into the darkness that has engulfed us for the past two days. We’re allowed to see him. Edward waits outside while Mum strokes Dad’s hair and I tell him he’s going to get better.
I don’t know if he can hear me, but just in case I tell him his favourite joke too, the one about the man at the bar and the talking peanuts. Dad loves that joke. Every time I see him he makes me tell it, even though he’s heard it a million times. But this time, when I deliver the punchline, there’s no laughter, just the sound of machines beeping in the silence. For a moment I gaze upon him, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall, before, leaning closer, I whisper in his ear.
‘You’ve got to get better, Dad. Who else is going to laugh at my jokes?’
Tea and Biscuits
‘Here we go.’
We’re back at home and I’m sitting in the living room with Edward as Mum appears with the tray of tea and biscuits. Earlier, when I introduced her to Edward, she was confused – my landlord? Driving all this way to see me? I think she was worried I was behind with the rent or something. But after I explained he was my friend and he’d come to lend his support, she was insistent he come back to the house.
Not that Edward would have put up much of a fight anyway. Unshaven, with heavy bags underneath his eyes, he looks in desperate need of my mum’s sofa.
‘So, are you staying for the weekend?’ she’s asking now, handing him a cup of tea. I notice she’s brought out the proper cups and saucers, and not the mugs with the funny slogans we usually drink out of.
‘I’m sure he’ll need to get back—’ I cut in quickly.
‘Actually, I don’t,’ he says, thanking Mum, who’s now offering him a chocolate biscuit. KitKats, no less. ‘I dropped Arthur off with Sophie and the boys when I went to pick up the car . . . Sophie’s my ex-wife,’ he adds, for Mum’s benefit. ‘Well, soon to be.’
Mum looks across at me and I shift in the armchair. Subtlety is not one of her qualities. Edward notices but pretends not to. Now I know how Lizzy Bennet must have felt.
‘What about her allergies?’ I ask.
‘I think she can handle a few sneezes for the weekend,’ he says, then turns to Mum. ‘To be honest, I think it’s more me she’s allergic to.’
Mum laughs at his joke. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smiling in days.
‘Well, you’re very welcome to stay. I can make up Richard’s room. They’re not arriving till Monday . . .’
My brother called earlier to say he was driving up with Nathalie and the new baby after the weekend. I’d been keeping him informed of what was going on, and he was as relieved as we were with the latest news about Dad.
‘Well, it is a long drive from London and I’ve never been to the Lake District before,’ Edward is saying now, looking at me.
I take another chocolate biscuit. ‘Well, that’s decided then.’
I’m grateful for:
So many things right now, but if there’s one thing life-and-death moments teach you, it’s not to give a fuck about how many KitKats you eat.*
The Weekend
It’s funny being a tourist in your own town. I take Edward on a tour of the area and show him all the famous bits. Wordsworth’s cottage, Beatrix Potter’s house, Grasmere’s famous gingerbread shop.
‘Whoa, this stuff’s delicious,’ he declares as he finishes off the last square. Having scoffed at me for raving about the best gingerbread in the world, he’s now sold. ‘Who knew?’ he says, going back into the shop for more.
Who knew indeed.
Who knew that I’d be coming downstairs in the morning to make coffee, to find Edward on a kitchen stool, clean-shaven after using one of my disposables, eating toast and chatting comfortably to ‘Carol’,
my mother, like he’s known her all his life.
Who knew that Dad’s waterproofs would fit him, and we’d hike Scafell Pike in the freezing horizontal rain and share a flask of hot tea at the summit, and I’d wonder why I never realized getting drenched could be so much fun.
Who knew that where I grew up and longed to escape from would feel so different now, and when Edward marvelled at how lucky I was to grow up in a place this beautiful, I’d nod my head proudly and agree.
Who knew so many things could change in the course of just a few days.
When it’s time to go back to the hospital, Edward insists on driving. The feminist within me tries to put up a fight, but Mum seems to take comfort in having Edward at the wheel, so I give in. Plus, to be honest, Edward’s car is much nicer than Mum’s ancient Ford Fiesta. Especially when I discover it has heated seats – which, frankly, when it’s two degrees outside, I’m totally happy to give up my feminist principles for.
On our second visit we’re called into Mr Reynolds’ office and told they’ve successfully brought Dad out of his induced coma, and all the signs are looking good. He’s been transferred to a general ward. Would we like to see him?
I let Mum go first. They might be my parents, but they were a couple of teenage sweethearts first, and they need some time alone. When I join them she’s stroking his hand, her face flushed with the kind of joy you don’t see often. It comes from the very real fear of thinking you might lose the most precious thing in the whole world. Of having peered into the abyss and being safe again.
I wouldn’t recommend it, but boy does it get your priorities straight.
‘Hello, Dad.’ I go to give him a kiss on his forehead. He’s surrounded by ‘Get Well’ cards, plus a large fruit basket that Ethan’s sent.
‘Nell, love.’ His eyes well up when he sees me, and that immediately sets me off.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I’ve just done ten rounds.’ He manages a groggy smile. ‘I was just telling your mother, I can’t remember anything about the accident—’
‘Just as well. You gave us all quite a shock.’
Confessions of a Forty Something F##k Up Page 32