Chair legs scraped as Will pushed back from the table, but Tilda stopped him, gave him a smile that seemed to wash away his uncertainty. ‘I’ll do it. You two eat before you waste away.’
Her hands clenched into fists as she walked through to the living room, standing at Tom’s feet.
‘Dad.’
It was all she needed to say for him to close and fold his newspaper, to heave up out of the chair. He moved towards the kitchen but she took him by the shoulders and pointed him through to the playroom, nudging him forward. She stepped back to see through into the kitchen. ‘Mum? Can I talk to you? Just for a second.’
It took some cajoling, but she got them both into the playroom, pulling them closer so they stood next to each other, the three of them forming a huddle. This was no pep talk though, and Tilda lowered her voice, aiming for menace more than privacy.
‘If you two don’t want to talk to each other, that’s fine. But you will not put your grandkids in the same position you put me and Jack in. It may not seem like it—’ Anger caught in her throat and she swallowed it back. ‘Everything you make them do… I won’t let you screw with their heads like you did ours.’
Madge opened her mouth, but Tilda held a finger up to silence her. ‘This is Jack’s house now. And he’s too polite to say it—who knows where the hell he got that from—but if you can’t be civil, then you can’t stay. I don’t care if it is Christmas.’
She looked them each in the eye, holding their gaze just long enough to know they understood before she turned and left them standing there, mouths open. Back in the kitchen, Izzy was flipping the last piece of golden, buttery toast from the frypan while Jack took sausages off the grill plate. She planted a kiss on the top of Bea and Will’s heads as she passed by, thanked Izzy and Jack for going to the trouble of cooking, and was at the back door when Izzy stepped after her, ‘But you haven’t even—’
Tilda closed the door and ducked out into the rain. She jogged back to the cottage where she chucked a few things into her bag, searched out her keys and hoped her crappy old car hadn’t sunk too far into the soggy ground. Using her bag as an umbrella, she dashed over and dove into the car. With a hope and her fingers crossed, she started the engine and eased forward, the tyres slipping for a second and then gaining traction. She drove along the runnels made by Clare’s tyres, then followed the muddy tracks as they faded out on the asphalt of the main road.
32
THERE WERE PUDDLES and potholes and water everywhere. The wipers went crazy, flipping back and forth, clearing the windshield just enough to make the road visible every other moment. There wasn’t any traffic about. Tilda pulled up in the middle of the bridge to watch the frothing along beneath. The river bank closest to town was overflowing in parts, washing away in others. She drove into town, pulled in to the pub carpark and went around to the apartments at the back. Rain lashed across the windshield, and she could only just see the blurred outline of a building, bright rectangles of red doors, and Clare’s car parked out front of a ground-floor apartment.
Tilda had driven in without much thought of her destination. Now that she was here, she knew it was the wrong place. Clare had done the hard thing; she’d walked away before things got too messy. Telling herself she wasn’t chickening out, Tilda exited the carpark and headed further down the road.
It was pouring rain by the time she’d found a park where the gutter wasn’t completely swamped, and by the time she puddled-jumped her way to the ambulance bay she was completely soaked. The automatic doors greeted her with a soothing hush as she approached them, opening like arms held out ready for a hug. Even though she’d been banished, and it felt like she was coming back with her tail between her legs, Tilda had never been so glad to breathe in deep the sanitised scent of a hospital emergency department.
Bernie and James the intern were standing in a bay next to an empty bed, shoulder to shoulder as they studied a folder in James’s hands. They both looked up at the thunk of the doors closing behind Tilda.
‘Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.’ Bernie held her hand out, palm up, motioning to James. ‘Pay up.’
Miffed, James pulled out his wallet and slapped a tenner into Bernie’s hand. ‘Thanks a lot, Doc.’ He pulled a sour face and then walked away, hugging the folder to his chest as he disappeared out the doors leading to the rest of the hospital.
‘You’re dripping on the floor.’ Bernie tossed over a bed pad. It floated through the air and Tilda snatched at it, staring at it blankly until Bernie told her to stand on it. Doing as she was told, Tilda spread it on the floor and stood on it, staring back at Bernie who had a thoughtful squint to her eye. ‘No one else thought you’d last this long away from here.’
Tilda snorted. ‘Shouldn’t you have bet that I wouldn’t make it more than a day or two?’
Bernie perched on the side of the bed. ‘There was a factor I considered that no one else did.’
‘And that was?’
‘Clare.’
Tilda crossed her arms, feigning amusement, but her mind was processing a thousand things at once. ‘Are you saying she’s the reason I didn’t come in here begging and pleading to come back to work?’
‘Precisely. Once I heard she was back at the apartments—’
‘Wait. How do you know already?’
Bernie shrugged. ‘News travels fast.’
‘You mean gossip.’
‘Speaking of…’ Bernie edged forward along the bed, leaning her elbow on the foot guard. ‘Anything I should know?’
Anything Tilda could have told Bernie was now old news, and she didn’t want to talk about it, anyway. Bernie wasn’t having it though, whinging like a five-year-old. ‘Please. For once, I want to know something before Esme does… I won’t tell anyone anything. I swear.’
‘What about Phyl?’ Tilda smiled as Bernie rolled her eyes.
‘I swear I’ll only tell Phyl. But that’s it.’
Tilda used her feet to drag the soggy blue and white rectangle over to the end of the bed. ‘If I tell you something, will you let me stay?’
Bernie sidled up, all ears. Tilda motioned her closer. Closer. They were almost cheek to cheek. Tilda let the suspense build. The tension in Bernie’s body was fraught, her smirk of a smile growing and her eyes widening.
And then Tilda blew a raspberry.
Bernie all but deflated. ‘Real mature.’
Cracking up, Tilda laughed, doubling over.
‘You finished?’ Bernie wasn’t amused.
Tilda couldn’t help it, still laughing as she apologised. ‘I’m sorry.’ The muscles in her stomach were cramping and painful. But it was hard to stop. It was tired laughter, cathartic, a release, the kind that if left unchecked would turn into tears. After a bit the laughs came in fits and spurts, but she quickly got them under control when James walked back in.
Bernie sat up straighter, pretending not to be eager but hiding it poorly. James handed her a different folder than the one they’d been studying before, his back turned to Tilda as he whispered something in her ear. A sigh of relief and Bernie composed herself again, nodding her thanks to James before she sent him back to work.
‘Go home, Doc.’ Bernie tucked the folder in under her thigh, pinning it to the bed. ‘Better yet, put on your big girl pants and go find Clare.’
But Tilda wasn’t listening. Bernie was hiding something, she knew it. ‘What was that about?’
‘Nothing. A patient update. None of your concern.’
Tilda reached for the folder but Bernie swatted her hand away. Tilda tried again with the same result. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you hand it over.’
Bernie stared up at her and Tilda crossed her arms, ready to stand there all day. Calling her stubborn, along with a few other choice words, Bernie held out the folder. ‘Old man Cliff just got out of surgery. Flying colours. Nothing for you to worry about.’
Tilda’s bag dropped to the ground as she sunk down onto the bed. She flipped open the fold
er and rifled through Cliff’s chart, mumbling to herself. ‘Fell… broken collarbone… found unconscious…’ She read it cover to cover twice, memorising every little detail. There was a knot in her gut and it felt like someone was crushing her heart. The folder shook in her hands, her entire body shivering, and not because she was wet or cold. ‘How long was he lying there before Pete found him?’
The corner of Bernie’s mouth twitched.
‘How long?’
‘Not sure. Hours. Could have been overnight.’
Tilda slapped the folder shut and stood. ‘Post-op?’
‘Bed five—Wait.’ Bernie grabbed Tilda’s hand before she could move, picking up her bag and handing it over, taking the folder back. ‘Watch out for Doris.’
Tilda was halfway to the elevator when she remembered she was soaking wet. She hurried to the break room, changing into dry scrubs and dumping her stuff in her locker before taking the stairs two at a time up to the fourth floor.
33
TILDA SPENT THE rest of the morning at Cliff’s bedside. Although his surgery went smoothly, and despite her knowing that the complication of pneumonia meant he would be on a ventilator for longer than normal, she worried that he was taking so long to wake up. Sometime in the afternoon, orderlies came to transfer him down to a private room in a ward. Still he hadn’t woken.
For a bit it was just the two of them, and then doctors and nurses and visitors popped in and out to see how he was doing before going back to their day. Tilda couldn’t help but think, where were they when he needed them? Not just when he fell, when it took the postman delivering his mail the next day to find him. Where were they before?…
But the anger was at herself, mostly. She should have kept a closer eye on him, should have made him reconsider a nursing service. Hell, she should have done it herself, visited him every morning, afternoon, something. Instead, she spent all her time—
A knock on the door made her jump. Bernie walked in with a tray overloaded with cafeteria food. She sunk into the chair beside Tilda and sighed. ‘Stop beating yourself up.’
They were the only words spoken as they ate lunch, before Bernie was paged back to the emergency room. Tilda wasn’t even curious enough to ask what was incoming. She slid her chair over against the wall and fluffed up the pillow a nurse had brought in for her earlier. Curled up in a ball in the chair, the pillow pinned between her shoulder and the wall, Tilda dozed on and off, blinking her eyes open now and then to check the monitors, to see that nothing had changed.
Another knock woke her. Adrenalin surged through her body as she sat up in the chair, her eyes flicking straight to the bed. No change. Cliff was still out, only the soft rise of his chest. It was Jem standing in the doorway this time.
‘Thought I’d find you here.’
Tilda groaned as she stretched and yawned, limbs heavy. She blinked against the light streaming in the window. There was a break in the clouds and the rain had stopped. Jem sat down in the other chair, leaning over and grabbing at Tilda’s sleeve. ‘I see you still drool in your sleep.’
Tilda rolled her eyes and wiped at the corner of her mouth. ‘Yeah well. You snored.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘We’re waiting to see…’
Jem made a small noise as she settled further into the chair, stretched out her legs and crossed them at her ankles.
Tilda copied her. ‘Tell me something. Take my mind off…’
‘I don’t know if now’s the time, but things have been busy. I’ve been planning a big important wedding.’
‘Oh yeah? Who is it this time?’ Tilda racked her brain for the types of city clients Jem had had in the past. ‘Some rich business guy with too much money? Or some poncy abstract photographer who takes photos of cracks in footpaths and calls it high art?’
‘Mine, actually.’
Tilda couldn’t fathom it. Jem getting married was a no-brainer… but had it really been that long since they’d broken up, since she’d left? How the hell had Tilda not known? Where the hell had her head been? Buried in work, of course. She floundered for a moment and then stated the obvious. ‘You’re getting married.’
‘I wanted to talk to you about it at the lighting ceremony and then the other day, but I didn’t get a chance, or it wasn’t the right time… Pick your lame excuse, but I wanted to tell you before someone else did. Her name’s Brooke. She’s here, actually. In Ashton, not the hospital…’ Jem’s rambling petered out.
There was a moment of silence and then Tilda came to her senses, standing and pulling Jem into a hug. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Yeah well. It was bound to happen. I love weddings as much as you love hospitals.’
Tilda pulled back and saw the smirk on Jem’s face. Jokingly she pushed her away, sat back down in her seat. Cliff laid there still, no change, the monitors beeping and counting away.
Jem sat down too. ‘You and Cl—’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘We were just…’ Tilda avoided the word. ‘It was never gonna be a thing.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it wasn’t.’
Jem shifted to sit sideways in her chair. Tilda could feel Jem staring at her, waiting for a better reason. When Tilda didn’t give one, Jem sighed. ‘You went to the school fete and the Christmas tree lighting ceremony for the first time in over two decades. For her.’
Tilda opened her mouth, but Jem motioned for her to shut it. ‘Don’t argue with me.’ She waited to see if Tilda would speak, and then continued counting things off on her fingers. ‘You went yabbying. You went Christmas tree hunting. I mean, for crying out loud, you decorated the cottage! For her.’ She smiled at the frown on Tilda’s face. ‘Izzy filled me in.’
Tilda shifted in her chair. ‘Exactly how much did she tell you?’ Tilda lifted her eyebrow, but Jem just gave her a weird look. So not everything, Tilda guessed.
‘You’ve spent more time away from this hospital, and with your family, in the past few weeks than you have in years. All because of Clare… And you let her walk away.’ Jem turned to sit in her chair properly. ‘Idiot.’
‘I know.’ Tilda slumped, elbows on the arms of the chair and hands knotted under her chin. Their silence made the beeping that much louder, Cliff’s stillness that more still. ‘Can we talk about something else?’
‘Izzy also told me about you blowing up on your folks this morning. It’s about time.’
‘Izzy needs to find a new hobby, or she’ll end up like Esme.’
Jem glared sideways at Tilda. ‘She didn’t know what you said to them but they were on their best behaviour for breakfast.’
‘Too little, too late…’
‘She also told me—’
‘Seriously!?’ Tilda let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling, blocking out all view of the room. She ignored the niggle of curiosity at what else there was to tell.
‘Fine. Jack was surprised you didn’t remember, that’s all.’
‘Maybe I didn’t want to remember,’ Tilda mumbled at the ceiling, curiosity involuntarily sated.
‘You’re nothing like either of them. Just so you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Your parents.’
Tilda dragged her head forward and sat up.
‘I could see it, the whole time we were together. You were so afraid we’d end up like them, so you subconsciously kept us apart instead. Thought that if we never saw each other, then we wouldn’t end up—’
Tilda snorted. ‘Is this your new found soon-to-be-married wisdom?’
‘No. I’ve planned so many weddings they all blur into one as soon as they’re over. But I can tell, from the moment I meet the couple, whether it’ll last.’ Jem ignored Tilda’s groan. ‘Every couple argues, and people love each other in their own way. Sometimes in ways that makes no sense to the outside world. But it doesn’t mean much if they can’t stand being around each other, or if they don’t mind being apart.’
Til
da stared out the window, her mind moving between the greyness of the clouds and snippets of thought. A knot formed in her throat and she tried to swallow it. While they hadn’t been joined at the hip from the day they’d met, Tilda couldn’t think of a day or an activity when Clare hadn’t been there, when they didn’t see each other, speak, laugh, touch…
Lost in thought, Tilda almost didn’t hear the familiar footsteps out in the hallway. Before she could sit up, Doris was standing in the doorway, hands on hips with a stern stare sent Tilda’s way. Jem stirred in her chair. ‘I better go.’ She squeezed Tilda’s arm and adjusted Cliff’s blanket before ducking around Doris, leaving Tilda to face her alone.
‘It’s not what it looks like. I’m not here as a doctor, I’m here as a friend.’ Tilda swallowed hard on the last word.
Doris’s demeanour softened. ‘I know.’ Her hands dropped by her side as she walked over and sat in Jem’s vacated seat. ‘I wanted to give you some time, wanted to see how Cliff fared.’ She’d been staring at the foot of the bed and now turned to Tilda, smiling softly. ‘Before I came to kick you out.’
Tilda returned the smile, grateful. Doris gave her elbow a nudge. ‘There’s not much anyone can do for Cliff right now. It’s Christmas tomorrow. Go be with your family. I’ll stay here with him.’
‘Don’t you have somewhere to be too?’
Doris blinked away from Tilda’s gaze. Her quick smile didn’t reach her eyes, staring once again at the bed. ‘No.’
Tilda didn’t know much about Doris, other than she was a very private person, the only one spared from Esme’s gossip grapevine. She didn’t seem sad, or lonely. Just alone. And Tilda knew how that felt. ‘Can I stay just a little longer?’
‘Okay. But there’s a time limit before security comes to escort you out. I’ll get them to drive you all the way home if I have to.’ The stern look was back on Doris’s face, but it broke out into a smile as Tilda’s chuckle built up into laughter.
All She Wants Page 15