Chapter 34
SOUP OF THE DAY
Becca
When my phone wakes me, my first feeling is sheer panic. It fades as soon as I see it is my alarm sounding and not Conal or Adam calling to summon me back to the hospital.
I have slept for three hours and my plan now is to get a quick shower, grab a sandwich and head back to the hospital.
Three hours isn’t much sleep as things go, but it has been remarkably refreshing, or maybe it’s the relief that my mother has made it through the night that has me feeling relatively upbeat.
As I sit up, Daniel jumps onto the bed, keen to get some much-needed attention.
The poor critter was practically crossing his legs by the time Ruairi and I had got home earlier.
I had taken him outside and he had done the longest wee I have ever had the misfortune to witness before coming back in, eating a fresh bowl of food in all of two minutes, looking to go back outside for a poo and finally climbing up on my bed and cuddling me until I fell asleep. It didn’t take me long, in fairness.
Now Daniel is pressing his body up against mine and booping my face with his cold, wet nose.
‘I know, pup,’ I soothe. ‘It must’ve been scary for you left here all night, but Granny was sick and I had to be with her.’
Daniel looks at me, his dark brown eyes so expressive that I would almost swear he understands exactly what I’m saying and exactly how emotionally fragile I am right now. ‘I won’t leave you again though,’ I assure him. ‘Well, not overnight anyway. Conal is going to come and take you to see Lazlo.’
At the mention of Lazlo’s name, those ridiculous spaniel ears shoot up and his tail starts to wag furiously. He is easily appeased, I think.
I check my phone for messages. Both Adam and Conal have sent texts telling me Mum is okay.
Adam has even sent a picture of my mother, awake but pale and with the traces of her facial weakness all too obvious, trying to smile at the camera.
He has written she was awake very briefly but went back to sleep quickly.
He told her I was coming back and that I loved her very much, and again I am so grateful for my son.
There’s a message from Saul asking if he should come home for the weekend. He is a little on edge and would love to see his granny. I’m in such an emotional state that I tell him of course he should, and what’s more I’ll pay for his flights.
There is a message from Niamh asking me to update her when I can, and another from Laura sending her love and asking me if there is anything she can do to help.
Both girls have also sent messages to the group chat discussing whether or not they should visit the hospital.
Niamh offers to make a lasagne to save me cooking as I run back and forth to see mum.
It’s what Niamh does best in a crisis. She feeds people.
No sooner has an ambulance been called, or an undertaker summoned, and she is browning mince in a pan and chopping onions.
Her lasagne has become such a feature of crises over the years that even the mention of it these days is enough to trigger PTSD.
I have to read Laura’s message a couple of times for it to make sense.
Laura
I have no kitchen, but can definitely send a takeout for you all. The last thing you need to be worrying about at the moment is getting food sorted.
No kitchen? Since when did Laura not have a kitchen? I’m confused. It seems she only sent that message in the last ten minutes, and Niamh must be in class right now because if she wasn’t, there would absolutely be a ‘what are you on about?’ message already.
I’m going to have to take the lead on this.
Becks
First of all, thanks girls. You are very good. Second of all @Laura – what do you mean you have no kitchen at the moment? You have a very lovely kitchen! I am jealous of it. You have an island and everything!
I hit send and will her to reply immediately as I get out of bed and start pulling together everything I need to get dressed after my shower. It’s quite comforting actually to know that even when I am in full-blown crisis mode, my innate nosiness and thirst for gossip can still triumph.
My phone screen illuminates but it is not Laura. It’s an email from Karl – one filled with such an exceptional overuse of exclamation marks that it feels as if it is actually screaming at me.
Hey everyone!
I hope you enjoyed your first session with Just Sing! We loved having you as part of our Just Sing! family!
We believe that every voice is a voice worth hearing! As long as you are enjoying yourself you will be welcome at Just Sing!
I have attached a breakdown of our fees and conditions and I really hope we will see you again! We have more Whitney to learn and we really hope that the somebody you want to dance with is us!
In singing,
Karl!
I can imagine his boundless enthusiasm, his raised eyebrows and his slightly camp over-the-top manner, which reminds me of Dale Winton, the former presenter of Supermarket Sweep.
And much like Dale Winton, I can’t decide whether Karl is exactly the kind of person I want on my team or if he could well fall into the category of the most annoying man in the entire universe.
I think it might be the former, but I am well aware I am acutely sleep deprived and emotionally wrung out right now.
I don’t have the time or energy to run through a full Karl pros and cons list; I only have the time and energy to get myself ready to go back to the hospital, and to see Laura’s explanation for her no-kitchen bombshell.
My screen stays dark and I get in the shower, revelling in washing off the smell of the hospital and the stink of the dried-in sweat from my hours in the Room of Doom. I dread to think how badly I smelled before this.
Fragrant and feeling a little rejuvenated, I get out of the shower, dry off, throw on some clothes and then practically break my ankle trying to get to my phone when it lights up again and I see Laura’s name flash on the screen.
Nothing that has happened, or that could happen, could prepare me for what I see on the screen.
Laura
I’ve walked out. Told them I quit. Am holed up in the Waterfoot Hotel but that information is confidential and you better not tell anyone, especially not Aidan.
I see three dots on the screen indicating that Niamh is writing a reply.
My own fingers are flying over the screen typing my own message.
Well, I say fingers, but really I mean my pointer finger on my right hand.
I have yet to migrate to using my thumbs like the young ones, much to Adam and Saul’s amusement.
But regardless, I tap.
Becks
What? Why? When? Are you okay? Are they okay?
My message only just appears before Niamh’s does.
Niamh
Well, girl. I for one bloody LOVE IT! It’s about time you stood your ground!
I want to ask what ground. I didn’t really think there was ground to be stood.
I mean, Aidan and Laura are like most couples – they have their ups and downs, and the last year since Kitty died has been difficult.
But she has walked out? And she wrote ‘them’, which implies she walked out on Robyn too.
I wonder if my mother might not be the only one to have a stroke.
Either I have – and it has wiped some pretty epic-level knowledge of a marriage in free fall – or Laura has and she was walked out on her family for no reason.
Or maybe there is a reason – after all, Niamh and I have both had our midlife crises over the past year.
Maybe it was only ever a matter of time before Laura did.
And maybe it’s a bloody wonder she hasn’t before now, given what she has been through with Kitty’s illness and death.
Haven’t I wanted to run away from it all over the last twenty-four hours?
I knew I couldn’t though – and I didn’t really want to leave my mother – I just wanted to dissociate from the whole experience.
Laura
I’m fine. And I assume they’re fine. I’ve just been thinking a lot lately – and thinking of what I want to put up with and what I don’t.
But never mind my drama. Becca, how is your mum really?
How are you? I’m just heading into another lecture but let me know. And I mean it – takeaways can be on me!
I am floored. And a little impressed. And a lot guilty.
Laura really has been thinking a lot of things through this past week.
She’s been thinking about her friendships and what we mean to her, and what she means to us.
And her marriage… I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems I’ve never sat down and talked to her about this.
Has Niamh known, I wonder. She seemed a bit more clued in with her ‘bloody love its’ than I was.
God, maybe I’m just a very shit friend. And a shit daughter. And a shit girlfriend.
A knock on my bedroom door pulls me out of my self-pity.
It’s Ruairi. He has showered and appears to be dressed in a pair of Adam’s joggers and a hoodie.
It’s very disarming. I am not used to seeing my brother outside of his solicitor’s suit, or his posh look of chinos and a sweater on his days off.
He does not do casual. I can’t remember the last time I saw him in a pair of jeans let alone a pair of joggers. Not even when he was Adam’s age.
It gives him a vulnerable appearance that almost makes me forget what a complete pain in the arse he is most of the time.
‘Adam said I could change into some of his things,’ he says by way of an explanation. ‘I’ve made some soup and sandwiches downstairs if you want to grab some lunch before we head back to the hospital.’
‘That sounds great,’ I say. ‘I’m impressed. I didn’t know you knew how to use a tin opener.’
He gives me a death stare which reminds me of many, many interesting exchanges in our teenage years and leaves to go back down the stairs.
When I join him, I am surprised to see bowls of chunky leek and potato soup on the table, with toasted cheese sandwiches.