by K. L. Slater
Dharval’s thirty years of service at the hospital carried great weight and brought with it a wealth of experience. But the man was like a dinosaur in the sea: so stuck in his ways, he’d need winching out. Team meetings were mind-numbingly boring and served little real purpose. If anyone mentioned new medical research or displayed outside-the-box thinking, their contributions were usually discounted from the off. To top it all, the department budget spend was totally lacking in innovation and desperate for a fresh approach to maximise funds.
Conversely, George was passionate about bringing all this to the table. But his hands were tied until Dharval had finally retired and he’d managed to win the promotion, which would be no mean feat given that he was the youngest candidate, with a wealth of talent and experience snapping at his heels.
That wasn’t the only problem facing him.
He slipped his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the list of at least a half-dozen unopened text messages she’d sent him so far that day. He pushed the device across the table out of reach and pulled in a deep breath in an effort to ease his tight chest.
What a day.
He sat there in the dark, staring through the glass doors at the lit pond beyond. Romy had begged for coloured lights out there, and he had indulged her. Now the dark pink and green gave the water an odd, ethereal glow.
It was only 5.30 p.m. and already black as night outside.
George sipped his drink slowly, allowing the astringent gin and the bitterness of the aromatic tonic water to swill over his tongue before swallowing.
Finally he’d made good on his promise to take Romy to Farmer’s adventure park, and the day had started well. It had taken a while, but slowly he’d realised that he was thinking less and less about work and the promotion and had actually begun to enjoy meandering around, observing the farm animals.
Even queuing for the small rides had been an unexpected pleasure, because listening to his daughter’s incessant chatter was a balm to his ever-racing thoughts.
But then the drama, as always, had found him, and on their way to the climbing frame, he’d stumbled upon the asthmatic boy.
George had done his job, done what any medic would do under the circumstances. Nothing more, nothing less.
The boy’s mother – he hadn’t caught her name, but had registered her attractiveness in a laid-back, natural sort of way – had been understandably grateful, making all sorts of wild claims that he’d saved her son’s life.
It might have looked that way, but truthfully, the body was astoundingly good at finding ways of staying alive, and as the boy had slipped towards unconsciousness, his throat would have most likely relaxed naturally and allowed in more air. Still, it would have been very frightening for him, and a terrifying experience for his mother, and George was pleased to have been of assistance. As a consultant surgeon, the patients he saw were mostly anaesthetised; aside from a five-minute bedside chat before an operation, carefully managed by his team, he rarely got to see any raw emotion.
It was refreshing, occasionally, to see people close up, and to be able to influence events to turn out well.
Romy had wanted to stay at the park, and he’d somehow managed another thirty minutes, but sadly, the day had been sabotaged. The ruminations and worries had found their way back in, and he’d tempted her away with the promise of a gift from Hamleys when he next visited London.
George often feared he was making a bit of a hash of being a father. It was increasingly hard to tick all the boxes knowing he could never plug the gigantic hole in Romy’s life that resulted from not having a mother.
He drained the gin and looked over longingly at the Sheraton drinks cabinet, its warm inlaid satinwood enticing him back. It had been in his late wife’s family for generations. Hand-made in the early 1800s, he thought he remembered Lucy telling him once.
But he would not be tempted to have another drink. He couldn’t afford to be off his game; there was too much at stake.
He sighed, put down his empty glass and pressed his head back into the soft padding of the armchair.
Things would resolve themselves in time, he felt sure.
He couldn’t imagine finding a partner again, someone who would willingly help him weather such a turbulent storm. In just a few weeks’ time it would be Christmas, and Romy would feel the absence of her mother even more keenly.
It had been a long time since he’d been able to talk things over with someone who cared enough to listen. Lately, the memory of Lucy seemed to slip a little further from his grasp each day.
Still, as he knew only too well, life could sometimes surprise you.
He could but hope.
Five
When we get back to the hospital reception with its wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, I see it is already dark outside.
After ordering an Uber, I text Steph and let her know that Kane has been given the all-clear, and say that we’ll be home soon. She loves using GIFs and sends back a funny one of a seal clapping excitedly.
I don’t know why I feel nervous about what happened today, as if this is all my fault. I packed Kane’s inhaler and that’s as much as any mother can do.
While we wait for the cab, I sit down on a comfy seat at the end of a row of chairs and park the wheelchair next to me. Within seconds, Kane falls fast asleep. His cheek presses against the side of the wheelchair, pulling his mouth at a funny angle. His eyelids are fluttering and his chest rises and falls dramatically. I wonder if he’s reliving the asthma attack. The tightness in his throat, the panic throbbing through his small body.
In his left hand he clutches the inhaler the hospital gave him. If one positive thing comes from today, I pray it will be that he’ll always remember to keep one with him from now on.
The attack has really taken it out of him, and I think it might be a couple of days before he’s completely back to normal. It’s likely I’ll keep him off school on Monday, just to make sure his energy levels are back up to where they need to be.
I look out of the large windows at an ambulance pulling up and its back doors flying open. My heart sinks as someone is rushed out on a stretcher to waiting medics.
I shiver, having been too close to disaster myself today. We started off at Farmer’s play park and ended up here at the hospital. I find reassurance in routine these days, I’ve spent enough time on the emotional rollercoaster to last me a lifetime. But the reality is, life can turn on the throw of a coin, and if it hadn’t been for George Mortimer… well, I’m absolutely certain things would have panned out very differently. In the worst way possible.
I sit back, stretching my aching neck this way and that as I look around the large reception space.
Nothing is ever still in this place. There are people coming and going all the time, the receptionists simultaneously talking on the phones while tapping at keyboards and then looking up to speak to people who approach the desk to ask a question.
It’s only just past teatime, but the light has already seeped from the dense, brooding sky that was threatening rain. I hate these dark winter nights. I think I miss Joel even more, if that were possible.
Just a few days ago, it was Bonfire Night. We attended an organised firework display at a local pub, the Griffin’s Claw, with Steph and Dave and my sons’ grandparents, Brenda and Leonard.
The boys dashed around in the freezing cold, scoffing mushy peas and pastel-pink marshmallows. Waving sparklers and writing their names in the air, they barely stood still for a second.
Ironically, despite the biting cold and the smoky atmosphere, Kane only needed a couple of puffs of his inhaler when the big bangers went off and filled the air with the caustic tang of gunpowder that caught in the back of our throats. Yet this morning, breathing in nothing but fresh air at the adventure park, his body all but shut down within minutes.
I check the location of the cab on my Uber app and find it’s still eight minutes away.
Instead of turning off the screen, my finger hovers abov
e the Facebook icon.
I’ve managed to keep away from her profile for the last two days. That’s got to be some kind of a record.
Steph once told me she’d read somewhere that if you persistently view someone’s Facebook profile, someone you aren’t yet connected to, you will eventually appear in their ‘suggested friends’ list that appears on the home page. So logically, you could consider the list to be a way to identify who is silently lurking. Who is viewing your photographs, reading your public posts.
This conversation was the incentive I needed to set up an anonymous profile in the name of Tana Philips, self-proclaimed fashion and beauty guru. Tana has a picture of glossy, sparkly lips as her cover photo, and a vintage Parisian Stockman mannequin as her profile image.
Tana is invaluable to me. She is Facebook friends with Daniela Frost – who accepted her friend request immediately.
It wasn’t difficult to mirror most of Daniela’s designer and stylist preferences in the new profile. The various pages Daniela followed were set to public view, so Tana liked those too, and I also managed to secure a couple of acceptances for my requests from her existing followers before I friend-requested Daniela herself.
It’s surprising how people so readily trust a stranger if a few of their online friends appear to ‘know’ them already.
My finger taps on the icon and my Facebook feed loads. I scroll down and spot four new photos that were posted just this morning.
This time Daniela is at a posh brasserie with friends. Close-ups of pale frothy lattes held by manicured fingers, and pains aux raisins, glossy with buttery glaze. Perfect bodies pose to their best advantage in each frame. Partial shots of whitened smiles and hair expensively tinted with warm caramel highlights nestle under the status: Breakfast to celebrate my move!
Last week there were shots at the gym capturing impressive evidence of the pressing of hefty weights by taut brown legs that already looked pretty much perfect. Maybe she’s celebrating losing another half a pound.
I’m suddenly aware of how tight the button on my jeans has become, pressing into the soft paunch of my stomach. I chose a baggy knitted sweater this morning rather than the fitted striped Joules top I wore to death last winter.
I glance at the screen again. Daniela’s life looks fabulous, but I’m not stupid. I know as well as the next person that all this social media stuff is staged, the shots cropped and airbrushed.
She’s probably got a miserable existence and has grown pale and flabby in real life. I allow myself a little smile at the spiteful thought, and then my satisfaction fades when I catch sight of her radiant face again.
How can she be so happy after what happened? After Joel’s death?
We are polar opposites in every way and it only makes me detest her more.
I press a button and the phone screen turns black. Like Steph says, I have to stop doing this. She has no power to take away our happy family memories unless I let her.
‘Cab for Hilton?’ a harassed, tubby man barks from the entrance.
‘Yes! Sorry!’ I push my phone guiltily into my handbag and gently rouse Kane from his nap by stroking his arm. I wheel his chair nearer to the door and help him to stand up.
‘Can you walk OK, sweetie?’ I ask him, and he nods, yawning.
He links his arm in mine and we step outside, our breath escaping like little warm clouds into the frosty air.
I’m so grateful I’m taking my son home. My boys are truly the only thing that matters; I’m so happy I have them back in my life. I don’t know why it even occurred to me to look online just now.
I resolve to delete my Facebook account when I get home.
Six
When the cab pulls up outside our small terraced house, I have to stop myself from groaning out loud.
‘Looks like Grandma and Grandad are already here to see you,’ I tell Kane when I spot the blue Volkswagen Golf parked outside. I hope I’ve managed to disguise the dread I feel inside.
Steph must have already alerted Brenda and Leonard to what happened at the park. An acrid taste fills my mouth and I swallow it down. They’re bound to worry, but I could really do without a houseful right now, or a hefty dose of Brenda’s advice.
I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m going to keep that uppermost in my mind. I’m doing my best with the boys and everything has been fine, until today,
I have my key at the ready, but the door springs open before my hand reaches the lock.
‘Here he is. Here’s our little warrior.’ Brenda pulls Kane towards her and envelops him in one of her pincer-like hugs, eyeing me over the top of his head. ‘I’ve just been saying to Len, there must be no feeling worse than being unable to get your breath.’
I stand like a spare part on the doorstep while I wait for Brenda to finish hugging my son.
‘Come on, lovey, let’s get you inside and get some nourishment inside you.’
The opposite of tall, sporty Harrison, Kane has a naturally slight build paired with a rather poor appetite. Call me paranoid, but I’ve always felt Brenda attributes this to a failure on my part to feed him up.
After taking a few steps inside, she turns back to me. ‘I see he has his inhaler after all. Steph seemed to think he hadn’t got it at the play park.’
‘The hospital gave him one.’ I burn with a quiet fury at Steph’s unlicensed blabbing. ‘I packed his in his rucksack, but he must have taken it out when—’
‘Invaluable to make those last-minute checks before leaving the house, I find.’ Brenda pulls Kane closer to her. ‘Still, he’s here now, and Grandma’s going to spoil him rotten until he feels better. Is that all right with you, my cherub?’
Kane grins and nods happily, lapping up the attention.
‘Here he is, our little champ!’ Leonard’s towering, lanky frame strides towards Kane and performs an impromptu shadow-boxing routine in front of him. ‘Fighting fit now, he is. Look at him! Told you they’d sort him out at the hospital, Harry boy, didn’t I?’
My elder son walks over and presses into my side, watching his brother warily. He seems to sense that any drama isn’t good when Brenda and Leonard get involved.
‘Will we have to go back and live with Grandma and Grandad, Mum?’ he’d once asked me when he’d got a lunchtime detention at school for playing the banned game, Bulldog, in the playground with a bunch of his friends.
I don’t know what he picked up, or what he overheard when he lived with his grandparents, but he seems to sense – just like I do – that they’re constantly hovering and watching. Waiting for me to put a step wrong.
I squeeze his shoulder. ‘Your brother is fine, sweetie. Have you been worried?’
He nods, and Kane ducks out of Brenda’s embrace and play-punches his brother in the stomach to show he’s back on top form. Then it’s smiles all round again.
Steph emerges from the hallway and I throw her a look.
‘Thanks for keeping your mum and dad informed,’ I say lightly. ‘I was going to call them later myself to explain what happened.’
‘Mum rang to see how the trip went and Harrison got to the phone first…’ Steph falters, and then shrugs. ‘I thought they ought to know anyway.’
‘Of course we needed to know,’ Brenda chips in. ‘You mustn’t be afraid of asking for our help. If you’d only called us when it happened, Darcy, we could have come straight to the park and been of some assistance.’
By doing what, exactly? I feel like snapping back at her, but I manage instead to stretch my face into some semblance of a smile.
It was so much easier, in the dark days after Joel died, for them all to have access to the house. That’s why I gave Brenda and Steph a spare key each. They were so good to me back then. Steph minded the boys regularly to give me some space, even doing the food shopping for a few weeks. Brenda would cook nourishing meals while Len ferried two-year-old Harrison back and forth to playgroup.
Then, when my life fell apart to the extent I could no longer carry out the
simplest day to day tasks, they applied, with my agreement, for custody of the boys until I had recovered.
There have only been a handful of occasions in the past few years when I’ve regretted parting with the spare keys, but today is definitely one of them.
But once you’ve given them out, it’s hard to ask for them back without causing offence.
‘Home-made shepherd’s pie and green beans for tea,’ Brenda announces. ‘How’s that sound?’
Kane looks at me.
‘Thanks, Brenda, but I’ve already promised him pizza and milkshake,’ I say regretfully. ‘You know, as a little treat. After the shock of it all.’
She looks at Len as if she’s hearing things before turning back to me. ‘He needs building up a bit, Darcy love. All that salt and sugar is no good for—’
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ Steph interrupts. ‘You and Dad can get off now. I’ll help Darcy sort the boys out. I’m sure they all just want to rest.’
I nod gratefully at her. ‘Kane fell asleep in the hospital while we waited for the cab, but I had to wake him,’ I say. ‘We’re shattered.’
‘But I wanted to hear all about it.’ Brenda frowns. ‘What they said at the hospital and who that doctor was who came so heroically to his rescue.’
‘Could we chat tomorrow?’ I say. ‘Come over for a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich with us in the morning, if you like.’
‘Fine.’ Brenda whisks off her apron and stuffs it into her bag.
‘Thanks for coming over.’ I follow them to the front door, overcompensating as usual. ‘Sorry. It’s just we’re all a bit tired and fractious, and—’
‘We’ll see you in the morning, then. It’s important we get to the bottom of what happened today so we can avoid it in the future.’
We? They’re my boys and my responsibility now.
Brenda glances back just before she gets into the car, and I see a look pass between her and Steph before she says, ‘I’ll leave you two to talk.’
Back in the kitchen I sort out the boys’ food and drinks while we sip our coffee and talk about what happened at the park. When I’ve finished busying around, I realise Steph has gone quiet and seems a bit on edge.