22
The doctor checks my dad’s vitals and tells us he was lucky my mother immediately called the ambulance and they managed to get him to the hospital before any permanent damage was done. To our relief, she also informs us that we are to expect a full recovery, even though a change of diet and lifestyle will be needed.
After the doctor has gone, my mother wipes away a stray tear with her pink-shellac nail. She tries to hide it, adding more firmly, ‘If you ask me, she was too young to be a doctor. Maybe we should ask for an older doctor that is bound to be…’ She leans over my dad’s bed to me and finishes with, ‘…more experienced.’
She’s been gripping my dad’s hand for the last two minutes. I know she’s coping the only way she knows how to, so I let her say her bit even though I don’t think antagonising the people who saved my dad’s life is the right course of action. At the thought, my mind goes quiet. He could have died today.
‘Has he woken up at all since he collapsed?’ My eyes flash towards his jaw where stubble has started to dot his usually smooth face. Mother calls it grey whiskers, like a cat’s. She hates my dad’s stubble with a passion and always bugs him to shave, but when I watch her absentmindedly stroke his cheek, I think it’s the last thing on her mind now.
‘He was awake when we got him in, but then they gave him some sedatives and told me he was unlikely to wake up until much later.’
We stay by his bed for an hour or maybe longer. I can’t tell because every minute seems to be dragging on, time only separated by the faint beeping of all the machines surrounding us. I’ve never realised how a hospital is just a jungle of white noise and whispered prayers. Dad’s own machine is so loud in my ears it feels almost static. With every beep, it builds this electric current in my body until it’s almost painful. Until I can’t take it any more.
‘It’s my fault he had a heart attack.’ I drag the confession out. At first, I can’t seem to look at my mother, but eventually, I tell myself to be brave and force myself to meet her eyes.
My mother’s make-up-free eyes crinkle at the edges as she frowns. She looks suddenly so much older.
‘No, it’s not. It’s because he’s eaten a sausage roll every day for lunch for the last ten years and because the only exercise he does is walk to his local newsagents.’ Her tone doesn’t allow for any arguments.
‘The things I said last week,’ I start, and I grip the scratchy linen covering my dad’s bed for support. I haven’t found the courage to touch him yet, scared he might not feel the same and even more scared he might. This is the hardest conversation I’ve ever had with my mother, but I force myself to carry on. ‘I’ve never wanted you to find out the way you did. I’m sorry.’
‘I didn’t,’ my mother says steadily. She elaborates. ‘I mean I didn’t find out like that.’
I sit up on the uncomfortable chair because I don’t follow.
She takes a long, exhausted breath before she explains, ‘Your father confided in me after he finished the affair. I’ve known for years. I’m sorry that I let you think you had to keep the secret from me for so long so you wouldn’t hurt my feelings. I didn’t know you knew.’ She averts her gaze, obviously embarrassed to discuss her love life with me.
‘But.’ I pause and start again. ‘I don’t understand. You forgave him?’ My voice is full of disbelief. I let my hands slide off the bed cover and into my lap, fingers lacing tightly.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I was so angry at him. Your father has made many mistakes in his life, and that particular mistake almost broke us. We weren’t happy at that point in our lives, but he’s been a great husband and dad most of our marriage. It was the hardest decision I have ever made.’
An uncomfortable feeling starts building in my stomach, and my thoughts are confirmed when she leans in and strokes my hair. ‘You were always so dependent on your father when you were little, and even as a young woman you adored him. We never had that, and I didn’t want to break that special connection for something that had nothing to do with you. I never had what you did with my father. A big part of me still loved him even after he did what he did. He’s got a lot to atone for, so he’s not allowed to leave me quite yet. I don’t allow it. Why do you think he stands visitors at our weekly roast dinners? He calls it the Suitors’ Sunday.’ She cackles and the sound surprises me so much I jolt in my seat. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mother amused.
Despite her usually perfect hair dishevelled and her cheeks sallow, she’s never looked so perfect to me. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. I know we don’t often see eye to eye and will probably argue at least one more time by the end of today, but love rushes through my veins, spreading warmth into every nook and cranny of my chilled body.
‘I know that life with me has never been easy. I’m sorry for being so forceful about Aaron. I just wanted you to be happy. I cannot believe that he’s turned out to be such a turd,’ my mother says crossly. I gurgle-laugh, and my nose starts running; my mother never swears.
She carries on with her confession. ‘I was certain I pushed you away. Suddenly, you decided to move out and go to a university across the country. You rarely visit. Of course, it all makes perfect sense now.’ Sadness sweeps across her features in a tidal wave.
‘I couldn’t stand the sight of Dad pretending everything was OK. I had to get out of the house. I’m sorry. It was never your fault.’ I admit reluctantly, ‘Even though I’ve always thought that you were embarrassed by me. You always wanted to change things about me.’ I never considered how my decisions would affect my mother.
‘Don’t be daft.’ She stands up and moves her chair next to mine with a loud scrape. She squeezes my hands in my lap, her eyes turning shiny. ‘I love you greatly, and I’m so proud of everything you’ve achieved single-handedly in life. Apart from that god-awful studio flat of yours, and I wish you sometimes put more care into what you wear. You look like a Victorian schoolteacher today.’ She peers down at my stripy blue-and-white blouse with a bow at the neck and vintage skirt disapprovingly. I’m proud of her description because that’s what I was aiming for.
‘Mother,’ I interject, but amusement colours my voice.
Her eyes turn serious again. ‘I’ve never wanted you to leave. Why do you think I’ve kept your room the same?’ There’s a beat of silence between us before she carries on. ‘I’ve always hoped that if I kept your room the same, you’d stay more often. I’ve even moved my Peloton to your room so I could be surrounded by your things when I’m there. I miss you every day.’
Everything I thought I knew about my mother is wrong. I wrap my arm around her, and she drops her head to my shoulder. For a moment, we’re silent.
She whispers into my hair, ‘Now. When are you going to tell me who that young man that accompanied you here was?’ My eyes roll without volition, and I let go of her.
‘Nobody,’ I say automatically.
She lifts her head. ‘Nobody wouldn’t give you such an embrace. I wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘Alex.’ I breathe his name out like a secret.
‘I thought I recognised him. I’ve always thought he was a good boy, taking care of his mum the way he did,’ she surprises me by saying. Who is this person who’s replaced my mother? I’m about to initiate an interrogation, but she’s faster. ‘Don’t you think I didn’t use to keep tabs on people my daughter saw?’ She explains, ‘Most mothers at your high schools were such gossipers. That boy wasn’t dealt much luck, but I’m glad he’s turned out right.’
‘Mother,’ I start.
She tsks . ‘I know. I’m not meddling. You’ve got your life to live.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Isn’t it always?’ Who knew my mother would be full of wise proverbs? All hell indeed must have broken loose.
Before I have a chance to react, a female nurse with blonde hair and grown-out brown roots comes over and checks on my dad. She tells us she doesn’t expect any changes by the end of today and encourages us to go home, get some rest and come back tomorrow. She also informs my mother, who I can see is getting ready for a tirade, that if anything happens, they’ll call.
‘Of course, nothing is going to happen until something does. I didn’t expect my husband to have a heart attack in the middle of a rerun of an old Countdown episode. If I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t be here, but six feet under. I’m not going anywhere,’ my mother says as soon as the poor woman stops talking.
Over her shoulder, I give the nurse an apologetic look and mouth sorry . I guess my mother is still my mother. Stubborn as a mule.
When I’m readying to stay with her, she shakes her head vigorously. ‘Don’t be silly. There’s no point in you staying here.’ She huffs. ‘To only be uncomfortable on these frankly hideous chairs. I think this place needs some sprucing up.’
I’m ready to jump in, but she’s quicker.
‘But you could pop to the house tomorrow and bring me a few things to cheer things up around here, maybe a chair cushion so these plastic contraptions are a degree more comfortable.’ I don’t realise I’m shaking my head in disbelief until I get a crick in my neck. Not even a hospital can tame my mother’s spirit.
When I’m about to leave, I finally find it in myself to grip my dad’s hand. I study my small hand wrapped around his. They’re the same shape despite my dad’s hand being bigger and hairier.
‘Don’t be angry with him on my behalf,’ my mother pleads.
I only nod because no matter what, we still have a difficult conversation ahead of us. I lean to kiss her cheek, and she squeezes my shoulder as I let go. I leave her among the beeping machines.
When I walk along the corridor back to the reception, I dial Catherine’s number. As soon as she picks up, she says, ‘Lydia is here with me on the speakerphone.’ Her voice is loaded with questions, but neither she nor Lydia says a word, waiting for me to speak.
‘He’s going to be OK.’ I start crying again, but I’m not sure why. Is it relief? Residual anger release? Who knows. But now the dam has been broken, I cannot seem to stop.
‘Oh, Hols,’ Lydia whispers.
‘We love you,’ Catherine chimes.
‘I wish I was there right now because I would give you one of those god-awful squeeze-the-life-out-of-you kind of hugs that you hate so much,’ Lydia announces solemnly, and I cry-laugh. I love my friends so much.
I retell everything that has happened, getting a lift, my dad being stable and finish on my conversation with my mother. They both listen patiently, not interrupting once. That makes me think of Vicky who surely by now would have been on her fourth or fifth interruption. I make a mental note to message her later because I don’t feel like I have enough energy for that task right now. It passes fleetingly through my mind that it’s not precisely healthy to be mentally fortifying myself to tell a friend my dad is in hospital, but not all friends can be Lydia and Catherine.
‘Do you need anything, Hols? I’ve only had a small glass of wine, so I’m good to give you a lift wherever you need. We can swing by your mum’s if she needs anything. I bet she’s itching for her make-up bag by now,’ Lydia says in a business-like manner. I love her for all her practicality and non-judgment. My mother is my mother after all and my dad having a heart attack is not going to change her.
I hear a person pulling themselves to their feet and gathering their stuff on the other end of the line like they’re ready to leave.
‘I might need a lift home if you don’t mind. I’d take a taxi, but I doubt there’s enough money in my bank account to buy a loaf of bread and a tin of baked beans. I can take the bus to school tomorrow and get my car.’
Apart from a few nurses rushing past me in the opposite direction, the corridor is almost empty, my booted feet making squeaky sounds as they peel off the rubber flooring. I see the reception from a distance; a few potted palm trees that I missed are brightening the space that otherwise looks like the inside of a busy train station with all the stairs and blue railings.
I abruptly stop, and an older couple bump into me as they pass. I apologise, but my eyes are trained on the figure just outside the automatic doors. ‘Alex.’
‘Should I head out?’ Lydia asks, the jingle of keys being picked up sounding in the background. Then the line goes silent. ‘Come again?’
I hide behind the closest potted plant and nearly poke myself in the eye. ‘He’s still here,’ I say urgently into the phone. I don’t know why I’m whispering, but I can’t stop myself. A middle-aged man dressed in a hospital-issue dressing gown sitting on the nearest bench gives me a funny look, but I ignore him and continue hiding.
I shouldn’t have worried about Alex spotting me because he’s pacing up and down the front entrance and talking to someone on the phone. My heart makes a strange leap at the thought of him waiting all this time, like when you jump but realise there isn’t any solid ground to land on.
Whoever he’s talking to is making him frown. He hangs up and rubs his face, combing through his fiery hair.
‘Did Alex give you a lift?’ Catherine’s voice comes out uneven.
‘That school of yours is truly devoted to their staff,’ Lydia observes. I detect a trace of amusement in her voice.
‘Didn’t I say Alex was the one to drive me here?’ I ask with confusion.
‘No, you only said you got a lift ,’ Lydia offers pointedly.
I tell them about how he delivered the message, and then, after feeding me, gave me a lift.
Silence follows.
‘Hello?’ I check the line but nothing.
‘How long have you been in the hospital?’ Catherine finally asks.
I check my watch; it’s five past four. ‘An hour and a half,’ I answer uncertainly.
‘He surely was an arsehole ten years ago, but he’s turned out OK. It’s understandable you’re still into him,’ Lydia remarks dryly.
‘I’m not still into him.’ I trail off because I know this is a moot point now. I slide a look in the direction of the guy in the dressing gown. He’s now crunching on salt and vinegar crisps while unashamedly eavesdropping on my conversation. I try to move out of his earshot.
Lydia sounds determined. ‘Maybe you should stop overthinking it and just give him a second chance. Jump his bones and see what happens next. You’ll both feel better after. You two have this suppressed sexual tension vibe and it’s been killing me.’ I appreciate her straightforwardness but can’t fathom why she’s so pro-Alex.
Catherine surprises me by saying, ‘Whatever you want, Holly. You decide where this goes. Just make sure that you want it for the right reasons and not because of what’s happened to your dad.’
I peek from behind the palm tree and catch Alex turning, ready to go. I’ve never been more uncertain of what to do in my life.
‘I asked Jane for a different mentor. Finally, I was done with him.’ I’m not convincing anybody here. ‘He doesn’t know what he wants, and frankly, I have no freaking clue what I want. This is not going to end well.’
Alex starts walking away.
‘He’s leaving. I don’t know what to do.’ I panic.
I can just about hear Lydia’s haunted voice, a surprisingly good imitation of Gary Oldman, ‘I did my waiting! Twelve years of it!’ Catherine must give her a look because Lydia grumbles and stops.
I realise I don’t want him to leave.
‘I have to go,’ I say as a goodbye and hang up.