Chapter Nine
‘It’s a broken leg!’ Diane laughs, pointing at the cast on the bed before her. ‘It’s so stupid, it’s just my leg.’
‘Thank god!’ I shout, the relief flooding my body. Beside me, Zach reaches for my hand. ‘It’s OK,’ I turn to face him.
‘I know,’ he smiles, squeezing the hand he’s now holding as emotions zig-zag through me.
‘Your aunt is fine,’ a nurse smiles from across the room, as she approaches to adjust Diane’s drip.
‘It’s a broken leg!’ Celeste laughs and Diane is now laughing again, too.
‘It’s not funny, you guys,’ I frown. ‘I was really scared.’ They continue to laugh, hysterically now, as another voice chips in from behind me.
‘She’s OK?’ it says and I turn to find Daniel’s familiar figure.
‘Daniel!’ I can’t help the happiness in my voice. ‘You came!’
‘Of course I did!’ His puppy energy is palpable, even in a yellowing hospital room. ‘I had to be here for you.’ He grins. ‘I’m so glad Diane’s all right. And I still love you. Will you marry me, Ginny?’
I frown. ‘What? Are you serious?’ I realize I’m still holding Zach’s hand. Behind me, Celeste yells. ‘Say yes! For god’s sake, Ginny, say yes!’ On the bed, Diane is still laughing and now there’s another familiar person lying beside her. It’s the fortune teller.
‘Look who I found!’ says Diane through uncontrollable giggles.
‘Should I marry Daniel?’ I ask the big-haired woman, who looks back at me blankly. I realize it’s the nurse. The fortune teller was here, working as a nurse all along!
‘Maybe!’ she says. ‘Or maybe Zach’s your soulmate!’
I wake up with a start, disorientated and stiff. I’ve nodded off in my chair at work. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, but this is still next-level unprofessional.
‘Are you OK?’ Thankfully, it’s Toni who’s woken me up. She’s standing awkwardly in the doorway. ‘Sorry Gin, I know you’re knackered.’ She pauses. ‘It’s just that Zach’s here for your meeting.’
‘Right!’ My voice is croaky and I clear my throat, reaching for the glass of water on my desk. It’s warm. ‘I’m fine, I’ll be there in two seconds. Sorry.’
‘Don’t say sorry,’ she says quietly. Her eyebags are as deep and black as mine. ‘The dream again?’
‘Pretty much.’ I give her a small shrug and she nods, disappearing back out to the store front. I quickly pull out my compact and swipe at black mascara flecks. I briefly wonder how long it’s been since I bought a new mascara. This one is becoming increasingly flaky. Or maybe it’s because my eyes are so swollen.
I sit for another minute, breathing deeply, steeling myself. I grip the edge of the desk, thinking about the dream. It’s been waiting for me every night for two weeks and I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind.
Deep breaths, I tell myself, standing up and following Toni out.
‘Hi!’ I greet Zach from across the room with as much sincerity as I can muster. ‘Nice to see you!’
He turns, smiling warmly, and raises a hand in a small greeting.
‘Ginny,’ he replies, approaching with some formality. For a second, I think he will hug me, but instead we awkwardly shake hands.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I keep my voice breezy, checking the wall clock. ‘Our couple should be here any minute, but Toni can send them to join us in the back room.’
He nods. ‘A coffee would be great, thank you.’
When I bring it through to the office, our clients are already in there, chatting animatedly to Zach. I feel strangely glad we won’t be alone.
‘The future Mr and Mrs Broom!’ I greet them with delight. They came in a few days ago and were absolutely adorable. They’re not yet engaged – hence the need for a ring designer at Celeste’s Stones – but spent the whole time calling one another by their future married names. Maybe it should’ve been cheesy but I found it very sweet. It was a soothing, sweet balm on my anaesthetized wounds. And it felt better than the numbness of cold pain and grief.
I take a seat in front of the computer, diving straight into the conversation, my professional face firmly on. These two are doing everything together when it comes to the proposal. They’re getting each other personalized rings, planning a special trip back to Ireland where Mr Broom is from, and then they’re getting down on one knee for each other. It’s lovely. We look through slides on Zach’s iPad, discussing timeframes, and going over plans. The hour is through too quickly and Zach and I see them to the door, waving our goodbyes.
‘You’re so great with clients,’ Zach beams, as the door shuts behind them. ‘You really go above and beyond.’
‘That’s really nice,’ I say, feeling far away. ‘I’m so happy we’ve been able to get you on board. Everyone loves you. And your designs, of course. I think it’s really going to make a big difference to our business.’
‘Well it’s definitely making a big difference to mine!’ He gives a low laugh. ‘I’m so grateful.’
I feel robotic, as I reply, ‘I’m the grateful one!’
We head for the kitchen area in silence before he speaks again, this time in a softer voice.
‘How have things been?’ he asks and of course I knew this was coming. I hoped it wouldn’t but I knew it would. It had to.
I nod, swallowing hard, using all my energy to stay focused on this moment.
Focus on work. I’m at work. Now is not the time for emotion.
‘The funeral is next week,’ I tell him, breathing carefully. ‘Everything’s been so delayed because of the autopsy and my mum’s been in such a weird, detached state about everything, we just couldn’t get her to sign anything off. Toni and I have had to do quite a lot.’
He gives me a short nod, understanding. ‘I’m sorry, that’s really rough.’
I sigh deeply into my cheeks, his kindness reaching in and through past my numbness. ‘Life is shit sometimes, hey? But we’ll get through it. I miss her a lot.’ I pause to swallow the lump. ‘A lot. But I just wish I could help my mum right now. Or see a hint of her normal self still in there. She’s been so… silent.’
It’s been two weeks since my lovely Aunt Diane died.
She was already slipping away when we got to the hospital that night. We left Zach in AE reception with barely a thank you as Toni and I ran up and down corridors frantically looking for the right room, my stomach in the floor.
She wasn’t conscious when we finally found it, but I still didn’t understand how serious things were until I saw how white my mum’s face was. I’ve never seen her that colour. She’s usually Strictly dancer levels of orange.
Diane had a heart attack, the doctors explained. Which I’m still really, really struggling to understand. I stupidly thought only men had heart attacks.
Celeste said she’d been with Diane all week and she’d seemed OK. She’d been complaining recently about being tired and having indigestion, but that was all. That’s life, isn’t it? Nothing! It was nothing.
But the doctor said those are symptoms, and that women often experience heart attacks differently from men. All that stuff you hear shouted about – like pain in your left arm – doesn’t even usually apply to women. Heartburn and some tiredness; that’s like every day for a lot of people. How is anyone supposed to know to be worried?
The fourteen days since have felt blurry and out of focus. Nothing I do feels appropriate, but I do everything all the same. I go to work, I make food, I shower, I put the bins out, I debate with myself about putting the heating on because it’s unseasonably cold, despite only being the beginning of September. I continue to cry over Daniel and the loss of that life we were going to have.
Everything feels disrespectful to Diane and wrong, but life has continued to go on.
I’m still kinda numb – in shock I guess – and I can’t stop thinking about my mum. That afternoon in the hospital room, sitting in silence around Diane’s prone body, I kept looking over at Toni and thinking what it would mean to lose her. How much of an impact, a hole, it would leave in my life. You don’t lose sisters, I was thinking, waiting for Celeste to break down. But she didn’t.
To be honest, and I feel mean saying it, but in my grief, I thought she would be in howling hysterics, bringing the whole show to her doorstep and wailing for the seats at the back to applaud. But, as Toni and I wept silently and held Diane’s hand, Celeste just sort of shut down.
None of this horrible, painful time has been helped by the fact that I still had to move. I called the landlord the morning after we lost Diane and begged for an extra week or two. I’m ashamed to say that I cried down the phone, and it wasn’t even the grief, it was the humiliation of having to beg. But he was immovable. That husk of a human being had the gall to say my aunt dying wasn’t his problem.
And so, with help from Sonali, Myfanwy and Toni, plus half-hearted WhatsApp well-wishes from Emily, we moved all my stuff back to my mother’s house.
‘If there’s anything I can do…’ Zach offers lamely, putting a hand on my shoulder.
‘I appreciate it,’ I tell him, meaning it. Toni and I have had to carry everything for the last couple of weeks. It feels nice to have someone ask how I’m doing. ‘But what can anyone do?’
He doesn’t answer, which makes me sad. I hoped he’d have an answer.
What can anyone do?