Patience

by Victoria Scott

  Eliza was standing on the front door mat, tensing her fists, looking like she might sprint off at any moment.

  ‘Where are we going in such a hurry?’

  ‘Hospital. Patience.’ There was a jagged edge to her words.

  ‘But she’s at Morton Lodge – she left hospital yesterday.’

  ‘Not any more. She’s heading back there in an ambulance right now. I’ve come to get you. I thought it was probably best if I drove.’ As soon as it had come out of her mouth, Eliza realised she shouldn’t have said it. But it was too late now.

  ‘I am not permanently drunk, Elizabeth, whatever your father has told you,’ said Louise, hastily putting on shoes and grabbing a coat to cover up her pyjamas.

  ‘I didn’t mean that, Mum. I just thought you’d be too panicked. Oh, Mum!’

  ‘OK. Tell me in the car,’ she said, searching for her handbag in circles, barely even looking in her panic. ‘Serena! We have to go to hospital!’ she shouted into the house. ‘Can you find me a few things to wear and bring them to me in a bit?’

  She found her bag and didn’t wait for an answer from her friend, instead running straight out of the house and into the car. Seconds later, Serena appeared at the door.

  ‘Of course!’ she shouted at Louise’s back, her concern registering in her voice. Eliza was still standing by the car, about to open the driver’s door. ‘Is it bad?’ Serena mouthed, both of them knowing what that meant.

  Eliza grimaced. ‘I’m not a doctor,’ she said quietly, ‘but Auntie Serena – I’m frightened.’

  *

  ‘Hello? Is that A & E? It’s Mrs Willow. My daughter Patience has just been brought in… Yes, in an ambulance… Can you tell me how she is? … Why not? I’m not asking for a full medical analysis, I just want to know if… Yes, I’m on my way in now… OK, OK, we’ll be there as soon as we can.’

  Eliza listened with increasing dread. The reception team obviously wouldn’t part with any information on the phone, never a good sign. When the call had finished, Louise sat silently on the passenger seat with her head in her hands.

  ‘We’ll be there soon, Mum. Really soon. Have you called Dad?’

  Her mum turned to look at her then. Her eyes were filling with tears.

  ‘This is my fault, Eliza. It’s my fault she did that trial. I can’t call him.’

  ‘Mum, you have to! He’s her dad.’

  ‘Can’t you? You’ve both been talking about me behind my back lately, so you’re clearly communicating.’

  ‘We are worried about you, Mum! It’s not a conspiracy. We care.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Louise reached down and retrieved a tissue from her handbag and began to dab her eyes. ‘Why are you here, anyway? Why were you visiting Patience so early in the morning? What on earth is going on?’

  Eliza took a deep breath. ‘I’ve taken a week off work and I came down to have a chat with you. About something. But it can wait. This is much more important.’

  Eliza hit the brakes as the car approached a notorious bottleneck on the ring road.

  ‘I knew there was something up with you and I’ve been so worried. You are so distracted and so thin. Eliza, please tell me what it is.’

  Eliza looked over at her mother in surprise.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d noticed.’

  ‘I always notice.’

  ‘But you’ve been so busy with Patience and all this stuff with Dad…’

  ‘You’re still my daughter, Eliza.’

  Now it was Eliza’s turn to cry. Not singular tears, but a whole river, interspersed with hungry gulps of air.

  ‘Jesus, Eliza, what is it? Pull over.’

  ‘We can’t, Mum, we’ve got to get there.’

  ‘A few minutes won’t make much difference. And you can’t drive in that state. Pull over here – there’s a lay-by.’

  Eliza brought the car to a stop where her mother had suggested. She unbuckled her seatbelt swiftly and descended into her mother’s arms, sobbing. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said, her whole body shaking as the tears fell. ‘Oh, Mum. I am so lonely.’

  ‘Shhhh, shhhh,’ said Louise, rubbing her daughter’s back, as she had done hundreds of times in Eliza’s childhood. ‘For heaven’s sake, tell me what this is all about.’

  ‘I can’t. We need to get there! Look, I’m OK now, I can drive, let’s go.’

  ‘No. Tell me. Now.’

  ‘You don’t need to hear this at the moment. Honestly. It can wait.’

  Louise raised an eyebrow. ‘Eliza, the wedding is off, isn’t it? You’ve broken up with him. Ed.’

  Eliza pulled herself up off her mother’s chest. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You haven’t mentioned it, or him, for months. I put two and two together.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘I didn’t want to add to your troubles.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For letting you down.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Now, let’s switch seats. I’m on the insurance so I’ll drive and you can tell me what on earth has been going on before we get there.’

  Eliza obeyed, her tears slowing. She could hardly believe that she had finally told her mum about the wedding and that the world was still turning. In fact, Louise appeared much calmer now, more focussed; not angry, or disappointed. Eliza was dumbfounded.

  ‘Why didn’t you want to tell me?’ Louise asked.

  ‘Because I knew you’d be disappointed. And then all of the stuff with the trial happened and Dad left and I just wanted to shield you from it all. I was hoping we’d get back together…’ Eliza looked down and squeezed her hands together, rotating her thumbs first forwards, then back.

  ‘But you didn’t. And I’m glad,’ said Louise after a pause, staring straight ahead.

  ‘You’re glad?’

  ‘I was happy that you were happy, of course, but I never warmed to him. He seemed cold. And not very kind. Kindness is the most important thing in a relationship, you know.’ Eliza was gaping at her mother. It had never occurred to her that her parents had their doubts about Ed. ‘Your dad is very kind. It’s one of the things I…’ she swallowed ‘… really like about him.’

  Eliza sighted the hospital sign straight ahead. ‘Turn in here, Mum,’ she said, pointing.

  ‘I know, Eliza,’ Lou replied wryly. ‘I’ve been here many more times than you!’

  *

  ‘Oh, fuck.’

  Patience was lying in a hospital bed flanked by medical equipment. She was wearing an oxygen mask, numerous lines criss-crossed her body, and monitors were issuing constant readouts on the activity of her heart, her oxygen levels and her blood pressure. Two nurses were working on her as they watched, noting down her readings and adjusting her machines.

  Eliza and Louise stood at the foot of the bed, taking in the full horror of the scene. There was no room for them to sit by her.

  ‘I know this looks really awful.’ They both looked at the doctor who had shown them in, a tidy, efficient-looking young woman who had identified herself as Dr Fanning, in a sort of trance. This simply could not be happening. ‘Patience was in a bad way when she came in,’ she continued. ‘She had a severe fever, her breathing was very shallow, and she seemed confused. She was making all kinds of noises which her carer – Jimmy? – said were unusual. She also vomited in the ambulance.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Eliza.

  ‘We’re carrying out some tests, but at the moment we’re working on the basis that Patience has an infection somewhere. A severe infection. We are concerned that it might be—’

  ‘An infection? So it’s not to do with the gene therapy?’ said Louise, interrupting.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ replied Dr Fanning, her eyes flaring, displaying her shock. ‘I didn’t know that she’d had such a procedure.’

  ‘A week ago,’ Louise replied quickly, as if by doing so she could somehow speed up her daughter’s recovery. ‘She’s one
of the participants in the first human trial for Rett syndrome. She only left hospital a couple of days ago. She had problems with her breathing, but it had improved enough for her to be able to go back to her care home.’

  ‘Then I must look into that. But at the moment, more than anything else there are very clear clinical signs of an infection, so we’ve started her on antibiotics. And we are concerned that this is sepsis. Do you know what that is?’

  Louise swallowed hard. ‘I do, yes. It’s blood poisoning, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s what happens sometimes when an infection runs riot inside someone’s body. It’s a very serious condition.’

  ‘It’s what killed Patrick,’ Louise said to Eliza. ‘I’ll call your dad.’

  31

  Pete

  April

  Patience was so pale, it appeared as if she was actually part of the white sheet which the nurses had draped over her and tucked in neatly at the corners. And if it hadn’t been for the reassuring beeping of the heart monitor and the gentle sigh of the ventilator, he’d have believed she was already dead.

  Pete knew all about sepsis. He and Lou had witnessed Serena go through that particular hell with Patrick a few years previously, so he knew what was coming. He drew closer to the bed, leaned over and kissed her cheek, feeling its warmth on his lips. Then he stroked her face with his right hand, tracing its contours: her mother’s nose, her father’s eyes, a mouth of her very own. Pete looked down and saw that her hands, usually clenched together in an irresistible embrace, were now lying singly either side of her torso. He held the hand nearest to him, noting how cold it was, how limp. She was not awake, and she was not aware. They had sedated her, and it was clear she was not feeling any pain. He was grateful for that.

  ‘Mr Willow?’ Pete turned round to see a female doctor in her forties, hair in a tight brown bun, standing next to him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We have some test results. Would you like me to wait for your wife to come back?’

  ‘Yes, definitely. Let me go out and call her; she just went for a walk.’

  Pete strode out into the corridor, took his phone out from his pocket and dialled Louise’s number.

  ‘Lou. It’s me. They’ve got results.’

  ‘See you in a minute.’

  He had arrived about forty-five minutes ago, having exceeded every speed limit on the roads between Birmingham and Oxford. He readily anticipated the speeding fines he’d be getting, and he absolutely did not care. Louise had met him in the corridor outside, her face puffy and red, her hair unbrushed and greasy, her pyjamas – a pair he’d bought her for Christmas about five years ago – askew. He had taken one look at her and swept her up into his arms and she had cried then, long and hard, against his chest. They had stood there like that for several minutes, neither of them in the least bit awkward. The bonds of a lifetime were, it seemed, automatic, and hard to break.

  While she was there, right there in his arms, she’d told him, in rushed, hushed tones, that Eliza had split up from Ed. That made two life-changing pieces of news in one morning and Pete could barely take even one of them in.

  His poor, lovely Eliza. When this was over, he decided he was going to try to talk to her about it. He knew he had often avoided talking about feelings, but now was perhaps the time to try, he thought. The poor thing must be heartbroken.

  They had gone in to see Patience then. Eliza had been there, talking to her, holding her hand. They had all made ridiculous small talk and pretended, within her earshot, that the sky was not about to fall in. And then he’d looked over at his wife and seen how utterly exhausted she was, how broken, and he’d suggested that she should go for a walk and leave them there, on duty.

  And now she was walking up the corridor carrying a white paper bag. When she reached him, she opened up the bag and revealed a giant bar of chocolate and a large bottle of mineral water. ‘For us,’ she said. ‘I think we need it. Serena has told me that I’m not allowed gin, so…’

  Pete appreciated her attempt at humour, and her choice of chocolate, which was his favourite. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for thinking of me.’

  Louise put her hand on his arm, and squeezed it gently. ‘And I wanted to ask you. Would you mind if we called the hospital chaplain? I know how you feel about church – but I – I would definitely feel happier if we had them here. For me, I suppose. Call it familiarity.’

  ‘Of course. It makes no difference to me,’ he had replied. His mum had not brought him up with any faith, and he had found Louise’s father’s vocation baffling, but if anything, he had missed the ritual of church after the big family falling out. It was at least a decade since he’d last said a prayer. He didn’t know whether his thoughts went to a higher being or whether they went no further than his own brain, but in any case, he had discovered praying had helped him arrange his myriad fears and hopes in some order. Lou had often looked across at him during services and assumed that his uncomfortable expression related to his feelings about her father and his faith, but they had more often related to his own dissatisfaction with himself. He was a shit provider, a shit father, a shit husband. If she was still alive, his mother, who had single-handedly raised two kids by herself in post-war slum housing in Birmingham, would think he had failed, he was convinced of that.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ he said, brushing his thoughts aside. Nothing ever came of self-pity. That had done him enough harm already.

  The doctor was waiting by Patience’s bed. Eliza was sitting nearby and stood up as she saw her parents approach. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Mrs Willow, I thought you’d all like to hear the results of some of the early tests. We think at this point that Patience’s infection may have started in her bladder. Her urine tests certainly show that there’s a very bad infection there now. And there’s scarring, so she may have had several of these before. Has she ever had one diagnosed?’

  ‘No,’ Louise answered. ‘No one has ever suggested it.’

  ‘Well, it can be very difficult to diagnose in people who are not able to articulate their own pain,’ replied the doctor.

  ‘So you think all of this started as a bladder infection? Cystitis?’ Louise said, unable to take on board that something so apparently minor could bring about something so catastrophic. ‘Nothing to do with the gene therapy trial?’

  ‘We can’t be absolutely certain, of course,’ the doctor replied, ‘but we think it unlikely. I’ve just spoken to Professor Larssen and he is devastated to hear about Patience’s condition. But he reaffirmed that this is not a likely side effect of the treatment she’s had. It might be just a very unfortunate coincidence, or it could be related to the catheter they inserted in the hospital during treatment.’

  ‘Right,’ said Pete. ‘How long would she have had to have it, to make it get so bad? Have the carers been missing signs?’

  ‘It might have started very recently, Mr Willow. It’s impossible to say. These things can take hold very quickly, particularly if someone’s had them before. And as for the sepsis – maybe the bacteria is particularly virulent, causing her immune system to go into overdrive? We’re not sure.’

  All four of them looked at Patience then, her mask-like face belying the epic battle going on inside her body. It didn’t matter how she’d got it, Pete realised now. All the blame in the world couldn’t make her better.

  ‘Is she going to die?’ Pete asked, suddenly remembering with crystal clarity the moment when Louise had put the same question to the consultant neurologist, all those years ago. He had been wrong, hadn’t he? So, doctors could be wrong.

  ‘It’s impossible to say, Mr Willow. We have only just started the antibiotics. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial. We will simply have to wait and see.’ She had moved on then, to see other critically ill patients, and left the three of them standing around the bed, like pallbearers.

  It was Serena, coming through the door, who had broken the unbearable silence they were all sharing. ‘I’ve brought
you some things, Lou,’ she’d said in the instant before she had fully taken in the tableau that lay on the other side of the room. When she had seen it, she put down the bag she’d packed and walked swiftly over to Patience’s bedside, collapsing into the chair next to it. Louise had followed her, knowing that she would sink further when she heard which particular foe Patience was having to fight.

  *

  Pete and Eliza decided to leave them for a while. Serena had always been so private about her grief, so outwardly strong, that it was a shock to see her dissolve so quickly. Louise had whispered her thanks to them when they announced that they were going to go in search of a hospital chaplain.

  ‘I think I saw a sign to the chapel this way,’ said Eliza, her voice lightening and her face brightening the further away they walked from ICU. Pete knew exactly how she felt. It was like being on an alien spaceship in there, entirely separate from the rest of the world, surrounded by technology you didn’t understand, people saying things you didn’t understand. Seeing ordinary people walking around the hospital, visiting relatives, buying newspapers, delivering flowers, gave him comfort.

  They found the chapel on the ground floor, tucked away behind the mortuary. Which was logical enough, he supposed. The relatives of those needing the latter would probably seek help from the former, if they had any faith at all. The chapel turned out to be a small room, no bigger than a living room, simply decorated with free-standing cushioned upright chairs and a small altar adorned with a simple wooden cross. There were windows along one side of the room looking out onto a well-tended garden full of wildflowers. There was no sign of the chaplain, but there was a contact number on a poster on the wall, so Pete texted it, asking them to come to visit Patience in ICU. Then he turned around, and saw his daughter kneeling in front of the altar, deep in thought. Or prayer. He hadn’t raised her to pray, but these were certainly desperate times. He’d take anything that worked, frankly. He sat down on the front row of seats while he waited for her to finish.

  ‘Sorry, Dad. I just thought… this might be a good time to ask for help.’