Chapter 17
17
‘A nd that’s why they gave me the hysterectomy. They said I had no choice. That at my age…’ Caro stopped talking and sat very still, the last words she’d spoken visible as the vapour trail from an aeroplane. At my age …
Caro eased back in her chair, her hands spread along its tastefully upholstered arms. Along with the bed, side table and washbasin, the chair was the only furniture in this private room her mother had been moved to. It was spacious and clean, with a window that mostly overlooked adjoining roofs, but also included a triangle of blue sky. The walls were a soft white, the floor a smooth vinyl that squeaked under pressure. All in all, a huge improvement from the understaffed ICU ward. So, along with the private nurse she’d hired to fill in the gaps, Caro had done as much as she could. Not that her mother was aware. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if her mother never opened her eyes again (which she wasn’t expected to) – she would still have spent the money. It was the least she could do.
‘I know,’ she whispered, ‘you know all this already, don’t you?’
All around the air was vibrant with the sounds of life support machines. In the midst of them, her mother lay silent as the grave, her face whiter than the pillow upon which it lay, her mouth forced into a silent and gaping O by a clear breathing tube.
‘There isn’t anyone else though.’ Caro turned the corner of her mouth up in a wry smile. ‘Kay was ringing every day at one point, but she’s got problems of her own and I had to tell her. I’m fine. And Helen?’ Caro looked off to the side, her eyes briefly closing. She tried again. ‘I… It doesn't compare to what she went through, I know that. She had to deliver Daniel, and I can’t imagine…’
The IV monitor bleeped.
Caro stared at it. ‘I just can’t do comparisons,’ she said finally. ‘Even if they’re only in my head.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘But I'm not fine, Mum. I just can’t find a way of saying that. Do you understand?’ she whispered, and looking back up at the monitor, gave a weak smile. ‘One for yes, Mum?’
The machine stayed silent.
Slowly she got to her feet, linked her hands together and stretched them forward. She was stiff, from sitting too long in the hospital chair, and from sleeping in her mother’s bed, which was so much softer than her own. Nearly forty-five minutes she’d been here. Plus two hours yesterday, without a flicker of a response. She went across to the bed and re-tucked the corner of an already neatly tucked sheet into place. ‘You always liked Kay, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘I remember you saying so on the drive home from graduation.’ Caro leaned forward to push thin grey strands from her mother’s liver-spotted forehead. ‘In fact,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper, ‘Kay’s mum was about the only person you spoke to all day.’ The sheet fixed, her mother’s hair smoothed, Caro stood looking down at her. ‘I do know you were very impressed with her being a deputy head, but…’ She sighed. ‘She has dementia now, Mum. She’s going into a nursing home. Today I think. Or yesterday? I should call,’ she murmured, looking out of the window and the thought slipped away as swiftly as it had arisen.
From the outside corridor the sound of footsteps slapped past, and she turned in time to see, through the small glass window, the blue shoulders of a passing nurse. She walked back to the chair and sat down again, chin resting in the palm of her hand. This was what she mostly remembered from her own stay in hospital. The uniforms. Blue scrubs, white coats, green masks, the rub of disposable gloves. Squeaked on, squeaked off, clang of the bin as they were thrown in. She leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘I remember the doctor saying, the worst of it is over now. ’ And from underneath quizzically raised brows, Caro looked at her mother. ‘What do you think of that, Mum? The worst of it is over. What a funny thing to say.’
The room hummed back its ICU tune.
Again she shook her head. ‘I knew she was wrong, but I didn’t say anything. The worst of it is over? It hadn’t even begun. I knew that. It hadn’t…’ And her hand flew to her mouth, made a fist and stayed there. ‘Sorry,’ she blinked, her voice splintering. ‘I'm so sorry that you found out like that, Mum. I wouldn’t have had them call you… if I’d known. If… But I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t find a way of…’ A sob forced itself out from behind her fist, and then another and another. Shoulders rising and falling, Caro shook her head furiously. ‘I told myself I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of you. I promised myself that. I did.’
Moments passed. Moments spaced and counted by the rhythmic mechanical suck of air and high-pitched, precision-coded chimes.
Eventually her sobs faded and her fist relaxed and she leaned over to smooth out non-existent creases in her trousers. ‘Anyway,’ and she heaved a breath in. ‘That’s all for me to work out and if… Well, if you wake up, I will explain it. I promise that too because Kay’s mum doesn’t even recognise her any more and Helen’s mum died five years ago and…’
Caro leaned back in the chair and turned to the window. This was a promise she would keep. If her mother ever woke up, she would find a way of talking to her. Because if there was anything at all to be salvaged from this, she knew she must find it. Outside, a flock of birds flew past. A small V-shape, black specks, with one lone speck, some distance behind, struggling to keep up. Caro watched. The V disappeared, so only the straggler was left in sight, its jagged flight path a sign, she imagined, of panic. How easy, she thought, it is to get lost. How easy to be lost. ‘Do you remember,’ she murmured, ‘that hat Helen's mum wore to graduation?’ She was still watching the window, the small patch of blue, the lone and lonely bird. And as if Helen’s mother’s long-ago hat was up there in the sky, Caro smiled. ‘It was rose pink, with a matching feather. I remember it well.’
Turning back to her mother, she continued. ‘In fact there are a few things I remember about that day. The hat. Dad, stubbing his cigarette out on the grass outside the marquee. And you, Mum. You, standing on the steps outside the main hall. I was a little bit behind and I’m sure you didn’t realise I was there, because I heard you. You said, I wonder if I could have done something like this? You said it out loud, even though you were talking to yourself. I was closer than you knew, and I should have answered, but I didn’t. I was too embarrassed. By everything. Your outfit. Dad throwing his stub like that, the way you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, mingle. Helen’s mum was like the queen. Floating around the quadrangle in that hat, talking to all the professors, while you and Dad sat at that table by the stone lion. Three statues. You, Dad and the lion. Except you moved your hand to cover your mouth every time you took a bite of sandwich. Champagne and strawberries, pavlova, scones, vol au vents , pastries… and you managed half a ham sandwich. Everything was a source of embarrassment for you. And me. But the thing was, I was graduating with a better degree than Helen. Not as good as Kay, but better than Helen and we didn’t need to be embarrassed. About anything.’ As suddenly as she’d started, Caro stopped talking. In her lap her hands had curled to fists. She sat up and put her hands to her face. It was soaking wet. ‘Why?’ she whispered, looking at her mother's pale immobile face, ‘ why were we always so embarrassed by ourselves?’