‘That must be the first time Dad has enjoyed talking to a priest,’ Eliza said.
‘Desperate times and all that,’ Louise replied, leaning over towards Patience and rubbing her arm. ‘He owned up to something, too. He’s lost our savings, would you believe. All of them. That’s what he’s been hiding.’
Eliza tried to look surprised. ‘Oh crikey, Mum. That’s awful.’ She had never been a convincing actress, but it seemed that her mum was so distracted, she didn’t even notice.
‘I know. Or at least, I think I know. Given today and how Patience is, I’m not sure I care that much. After all of that angst about our finances, trying to get a job so that I could help, sleepless nights spent worrying – it’s only money, isn’t it?’
Mother and daughter looked at Patience, immobile and attached to myriad different machines.
‘Lots of money, though,’ said Eliza, quietly.
‘Yes. But we’ll manage. We have somewhere to live, and an income. I’m just relieved he’s finally being honest with me, really. For a while there I thought he had another woman.’
Eliza wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t comfortable, knowing so much detail about her parents’ private lives. They had never discussed their feelings for each other with her before, but she recognised that her mum’s admission marked a turning point; and, after all, she had been waiting for her parents to be honest with each other for decades.
‘I’m glad for you, Mum.’
They joined hands and sat in silence for a while, listening to Patience’s machine-assisted breaths. And then Eliza decided to just come out and say it, the proverbial elephant in the room.
‘Do you think she’s going to die?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ Louise replied after a pause, her voice a perpetual sigh. ‘I really don’t know.’
Eliza looked down at the floor for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath, her decision made.
‘Mum, can I have a minute? With Patience?’
Louise looked at her quizzically.
‘Of course, darling. Without me here?’
‘Yes, please,’ Eliza replied. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll only be a minute. I’ll come to get you if anything changes. But I just wanted to have a private chat with her, if that’s OK.’
‘Of course. I’ll just be outside.’
She placed her hand on her mother’s arm. ‘Thank you.’
When Louise had gone, Eliza looked around her, taking in the nurses who were looking after other patients, and the gaggles of relatives framing nearby beds. Craving privacy, she stood up and pulled the flimsy curtain around them. She knew that it would block no noise, but she felt better knowing that no one would be looking at her if – when – she cried.
‘Patience – P. It’s me,’ she said, drawing her chair as close to the bed as it would go. She rested her chin on the mattress just a few inches from her sister’s face. She watched her in silence for a minute, trying to focus on her golden hair, her porcelain skin and her luscious eyelashes, and doing her best to ignore the tubes, the mask, the machines. She wanted to remember her as she was, not like this.
‘Patience? Are you in there? Can you hear me?’
It’s a beautiful day. Summer’s early glory: the air smells sweet with honeysuckle and a host of butterflies are dancing in our garden. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, rocking. And she is jumping, jumping high in the air.
‘I don’t know if you can hear me, Patience, but I have some things I want to say.’
She lets out a shriek of glee, and cups her hands. Then she comes to sit down next to me.
‘Firstly, I want to say – I’m sorry I haven’t been that brilliant a sister. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’ve been resentful and distant and I haven’t been to see you nearly enough. But I wanted you to know, to really know, how much you mean to me.’
She leans towards me and holds her hands up so that they are level with my face. And then she opens them just a crack. A tiny crack, but it’s enough.
‘I don’t know how you feel about me at all, but you have been my constant, Patience. You have always been there, and I have needed you more than you know.’
The tortoiseshell butterfly which she’d been cocooning gently between her palms takes its chance and becomes airborne.
‘And the other thing, the major thing, is that I’m going to keep the baby, Patience. You’re going to be an auntie. And you’re going to be awesome at it. So keep fighting, my lovely sister. Keep fighting.’
As the butterfly makes its escape, it miscalculates its flight path and heads straight for my face.
‘Please don’t leave me. I need you. I can’t do this on my own.’
When it bumps into my nose, its wings tickle, and I begin to laugh; partly due to the strange sensation, but largely because she is laughing too, real belly laughs, and her joy makes me so happy. Then she drapes her arms around me, and we just sit there like that, laughing together. And I am happier than I have ever been.
Just as she had predicted, tears were now rolling down Eliza’s cheeks. Pregnancy had made her even more emotional than normal; her hormones were wreaking havoc. She reached into her pocket to retrieve a tissue, mopped them up, and then stood up to give Patience a kiss. It was difficult to find a piece of skin that wasn’t covered in a mask, surgical tape or tubes, but she eventually settled on her forehead.
‘You make sure you stay, now,’ she said, before turning and walking out of the ward in search of Louise.
When she eventually releases me, and then stands up and walks away, I wish with all my heart that I could reach out to her and bring her back.
*
‘Mum?’ Eliza had found Louise sitting on one of the benches in the corridor.
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
Eliza took a seat next to her mother.
‘How did it go?’ Louise asked.
‘Oh, you know,’ Eliza had to find her tissue once again, to wipe away some more tears. ‘As you’d expect.’
‘Yes.’ Louise reached out for Eliza’s hand.
‘And Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth earlier.’
‘Ah.’
‘Ed and I have broken up, that’s true. But also – there’s something else.’
She paused. Was she really going to say it this time? Yes. She was.
‘I’m having a baby, Mum.’
Louise gasped. She whipped her hand away from Eliza and used it to cover her face.
‘Mum, I’m so sorry. This isn’t the time to tell you about this, is it?’
‘No.’ Louise had now started to cry.
‘I’m so sorry. So sorry.’
Louise put her hands back in her lap and looked at her daughter, her eyes wide.
‘What on earth are you sorry for?’ she said, sounding like a schoolteacher chastising a naughty child.
‘For being a total mess,’ Eliza blurted out. ‘For not being the daughter I should be. The daughter you need.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Louise said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘You are my wonderful daughter, and you are everything I need.’
It was Eliza’s turn to cry now.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she said. ‘Oh, Mum.’
33
Patience
April
It is pitch black outside; the clouds are obliterating the moon. But in here, it is always twilight. The nurse’s station has a desk lamp which illuminates charts, notes, and the face of the ward sister. It’s casting shadows on the 2 a.m. creases on her face, making them look like crevices. The lamps above each bed are dimmed for night-time, but their white LED bulbs remain unforgiving, sending rays of bleached light onto the souls beneath.
Here is the realm of the hard, cold and functional; here is the realm of science and medicine, of evidence and analysis. It is not a place for dreams.
In each booth, green and blue lines on suspended screens undulat
e like mountain ranges and the bleeps that accompany them sound at their peaks and troughs, the human body writing its own music.
No one notices me watching them from up here. For you see, I’m light as air, a brief passing shadow, a veritable figment.
Beside my bed, Dad is sitting on a chair and leaning against the safety rails, his head in his hands, as if in prayer. He has not moved for some time now, but he occasionally lifts his head to check the screens overhead, which, like airport departure boards, rarely seem to change.
In a room just down the corridor, a woman lies sleeping on a sofa bed. It’s made up with hospital-issue sheets and pillows, but it’s not a hospital bed. It is hard, and the springs chime whenever the woman turns over. Eliza, her stomach now swelling daily, has wedged one of the pillows between her knees to help her sleep. There are threadbare curtains at the window which the streetlights are permeating easily, and a blue plastic chair sits next to it, clothes slung over its back. There’s a hook on the back of the door, and here hangs one threadbare white towel, barely large enough to reach around a small body. It is damp after use in the adjoining shower room, where one tiny tablet of soap was provided.
In the corridor outside, a young man sits slumped on a bench. Jimmy did not go home earlier when he had said goodnight; he found that he simply couldn’t. His guilt is overwhelming and he wants to be here until the bitter end. He owes her that, at least, he thinks. And he also needs – wants – to be there for Eliza. He has fallen asleep even in that uncomfortable position, and the zip of his leather jacket is now burning a brand onto his face.
Miles away, in a semi-detached house in Kidlington, Mum is also sitting slumped, but this time on a large, comfortable leather sofa. She has a pile of notes beside her, the spoils of a frenetic couple of hours spent searching the internet for answers. She has found none. She fell asleep only an hour ago, and Serena has draped a large, crocheted blanket over her and propped her head up with a pillow.
Let’s go back now into the ward, into my booth, and Dad with his head in his hands. Surrounded on all sides by banks of pillows and almost obliterated by the machines which are keeping me alive, my body lies there, sleeping. I am dreaming. In that dream I’m dancing, dancing madly, throwing my arms into the air and spinning with wild abandon, faster, and then faster. Now let’s go deeper inside; look, there’s my heart. Its chambers have been frantic, desperate to keep up the blood supply my body needs. The blood it dispatches is coursing through my veins and arteries, some of it becoming a tide that’s making its way inexorably to the surface, venting its heat into the air. And if we look even closer, we can make out my minuscule army of white blood cells which have been involved in a relentless battle for some days now. They are exhausted.
But they are not giving up. In my dream, I’m now dancing a waltz, its tempo a beating heart which gradually, almost imperceptibly, is starting to slow.
PART FOUR
34
Louise
June
The churchyard roses were in full bloom, spilling their scent on Louise as she walked up the path. Interspersed between the graves were lilac, hydrangeas, golden marigolds and blushing pink asters, all planted, no doubt, by green-fingered parishioners. Bees flew from one flower to the next, gorging on nectar and sharing the glory of a perfect English summer’s day.
Louise paused in front of one gravestone, dedicated to the memory of a woman who had died over a century ago, aged thirty-two, presumably in childbirth, for her baby had died a week later. He was buried with her. She said a silent prayer for a family she did not know, but for whom she now had a far greater empathy.
‘It’s time to go in now…’ Pete had placed his arm on the small of her back, guiding her in the direction of the church entrance. Louise walked through the porch of the stone-built Norman building, which still felt cool, despite the rising temperature outdoors. She took a seat near the front on the right-hand side and looked around her; the church was packed and there were even spare chairs lined up at the back for latecomers. All of a sudden, a hush descended.
‘She’s coming,’ several people near her muttered to their partners, the crowd standing up then and craning their necks to see.
Louise stood up then too, and her position giving her a clear view of Katy walking down the aisle on the arm of her father, Len. She was wearing a stunning, figure-hugging lace gown, and her beaming smile was aimed squarely at her husband-to-be, Matt, who was standing in front of the altar, hopping from foot to foot.
Following just behind her was Eliza, resplendent in a dress which had been adjusted several times in the past few months as her girth had expanded beyond expectation. Katy had not been bothered at all about the cost of the redesign, apparently; she had been a good friend to her daughter throughout her life, and for that Louise was incredibly grateful.
She had asked herself many times over the past few months why it had taken Eliza so long to tell her the truth, about both the failure of her relationship and the baby. It had been painful to admit to herself that it was absolutely, unequivocally, her fault. That was something she had started to work through with both her counsellor and her AA group; she had to learn to take responsibility for her own actions.
She acknowledged, now, that while showering attention on both of her girls, she had unknowingly smothered them. Her counsellor – a friendly, motherly Irish woman called Rosalie – had told her that she had to accept the anger she felt about the way her own life had turned out. If she did this, she said, she wouldn’t feel the need to impose her suppressed hopes and dreams on her children. She realised now that she’d invested far too much of herself in Eliza, had piled on far too many expectations, and, painful as it was, it was time to let them go. She’d surpassed them, anyway – she was a wonderful sister, a loving daughter, and she would be an excellent mother, she had no doubt.
Louise turned to her right and looked at Pete, who met her eye and reached for her hand. She took it gladly, sharing their mutual relief at being able to be here at all today, to actually have something positive to celebrate.
Patience’s hospitalisation had opened up a dark abyss for them all; time had stood still and they had all, at different points, worried that they would never find their way out of it. But it was also true that, facing their fears head-on and coming out the other side, had given them all a huge dose of perspective, and for that she was incredibly grateful.
She had realised that she’d lived without perspective for decades. She had been so caught up in the challenges of her life as a carer, as a mother of a disabled child, that she had been unable to look outside and think about what else mattered. Or didn’t matter, come to that.
The medication her GP had given her had been helping restore her mental health, too. It was anti-anxiety medication, designed to take the edge of her stress levels, which had been permanently raised for decades. She’d felt a bit groggy to start with, but the side effects had now subsided.
This medication and her tentative steps towards sobriety had forced her to face the reality of the situation she was in – and that wasn’t pleasant. As Serena had predicted, Louise had found their house unbearably silent after her friend had left, and she’d also realised that it wasn’t the physical emptiness that disturbed her most; it was the emotional emptiness.
She had thought that Pete had left her alone for all of that time, but in truth, he had been a constant friend, a constant reassurance, a constant sounding-board, even when he hadn’t physically been at home. And now that she was no longer self-medicating with alcohol, she had realised that she was left with a huge emotional void; trying to mend her relationship with Pete was something she hoped might fill it.
There was a long way to go. She was still processing the loss of their nest egg, for a start. But with the new perspective she now had, she could see Pete as a whole, as a good man who’d stood by them all. Her parents had been entirely wrong about him, she now realised. He was the kindest man she knew, far kinder than her own f
ather. And she knew that Pete’s own guilt about the loss of their savings was punishment enough. Adding her voice to that chorus would achieve nothing, and she had her own guilt to deal with, anyway. The only way to go was forwards – and the only way to do that was together.
She watched as Katy and Matt chuckled nervously while exchanging vows and rings, remembering her own wedding, which her parents had refused to attend. In the end, they’d got married at an ugly little church in Birmingham, which had bars at the windows and graffiti on the doors, instead of her father’s neat little Saxon parish church in Oxfordshire. She’d worn a hired wedding dress and carried a simple, hand-tied bouquet of lilies. She hadn’t cared at all, because her only focus had been the man waiting at the end of the aisle. Pete was the right man for her, she knew. They’d get through this.
It had taken her two decades to realise that her attempts at pleasing her parents were pointless. They had disapproved of their daughter’s relationship throughout, from the early days of the engagement onwards, on the basis that Pete was working class and, therefore, to quote her mother, ‘would not amount to anything’. They’d remained tacitly in touch, however, despite their refusal to attend their wedding, until things finally came to a head one appalling night in the late 1990s.
It was burned on Louise’s memory.
Eliza had come to her in great distress after finding out she had become pregnant following a brief liaison with a feckless boy from her school. She had told Louise that she wanted an abortion. Louise had not argued with her – she was fifteen and had clearly been taken advantage of. She had found a private clinic near Serena’s house, but she needed the money to pay for it. Louise wanted to pay, but she had a problem; if she took the money out of their joint account, Pete would ask what it was for. So, she decided to ask her mother for help instead.
Louise had approached her because she believed – hoped – that, as a fellow woman, she would see her granddaughter’s need and do the right thing, quietly. But she had been wrong. Instead, she had referred the matter to Louise’s father, who had refused any financial help whatsoever, before expounding on his moral views on the subject. He had shouted, as Louise was heading out of the door, that Eliza ‘must have become pregnant because she was clearly oversexed’.
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