Chapter 55
Nancy sat silently in the ward next to Danny’s empty bed. In her hand she held a small rubber in the shape of a pink and blue striped cow. Joe had brought it in last week when they had still thought Danny might be getting better.
Lily, he explained, had bought the rubber from the farm gift shop just before she had disappeared. She’d been trying to get to London to visit Danny and give it to him as a present. Poor mite had had it clutched in her cold hand when they’d discovered her on the canal boat.
Nancy now swallowed back the sobs in her throat at the thought of Lily, who had been used as a pawn in some celebrity game. Even so, she had a sneaking sympathy for Dilly Dalung, who had evidently shared her own concerns about child security.
But at least Lily was still alive and healthy, while her son was, at this minute, undergoing another transfusion, this time receiving a complete stranger’s bone marrow.
‘Hello, dear.’
Nancy didn’t even look up. No prizes for knowing it was Patricia, who took it in turns with her own mother to come in on a daily basis. They had organised a rota, they told her rather smugly. One would visit and the other would stay at home in Corrytown to tidy up.
‘Is Danny still having his confusion?’
Transfusion, you silly woman, she wanted to snap.
Stop muddling your words up.
She nodded.
‘And are you all right?’
How could any mother be all right, in the circumstances? The older woman was taking her hand and stroking it rhythmically, just like she had stroked Danny’s before he’d gone into theatre. ‘You know, dear, that we haven’t always seen eye to eye, and I will confess that I didn’t immediately think you were right for my son.’
You don’t say.
‘But I can see that I was wrong. I’ve watched you both over the last few weeks and seen how close you are now.’
There was the sound of the old woman blowing her nose. Nancy really didn’t want to look up. She just wanted to concentrate on the rubber. It might be her last link to Danny.
‘Do you see this?’ Nancy stared at the cow, which was grinning at her. ‘Danny refused to let go of it, right up to when he had his anaesthetic. His friend Lily bought it for him.’
Patricia blew her nose again. ‘So sweet.’
‘Danny has two good friends,’ continued Nancy slowly. ‘Lily and Billy. Both have their problems, but Danny’s were different.’
Patricia’s hand continued stroking hers. ‘He has been rather too much of a mummy’s boy, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Nancy’s first instinct was to deny it, but she knew deep down that Patricia had a point. ‘That’s because of Sam and me. We were the problem. Neither of us were good at coping with the responsibility of a child – or each other.’
Her fingers tightened over the rubber so her nails dug into it. ‘I tell you this, Patricia. If my prayers work and Danny gets through this, I’m not going to be a fussy mother ever again. I’m going to let him have his own life without worrying so much, and I’m going to do something for myself so I’m a more interesting person.’
Patricia nodded in agreement. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, I’ve always thought that was important in a marriage. An interesting wife will keep her husband interested too.’
Nancy jumped up off her chair. ‘That’s not the point. Don’t you get it? If Danny survives, I’m going to make myself a more exciting person for me , in order to let him be his own man. I’ve realised now. It’s not healthy to live my life around being a mother.’ She glanced towards the bed previously occupied by the daughter of the woman in pink slippers. The poor woman had quietly and tearfully gone home now, without her daughter. ‘And if Danny doesn’t survive, I’m still going to do the same thing. Just for me.’
That night, long after Patricia had gone, leaving a box of home-made chocolate-chip cookies that she couldn’t eat, the doctor came.
Sam was there by then and they sat, holding hands, as he gave them the news.
A week later, Nancy and her mother were in Joe’s flat, tidying everything up before Nancy and Sam returned home. As Christabel had said, it was a good deal cleaner than it had been. ‘Not that your Mr Balls is a dirty man,’ she added hastily. ‘Indeed, those piles of music magazines by his bed have been filed carefully in chronological order. Did you notice that?’ She nodded approvingly. ‘Shows a very orderly mind, in my opinion.’
As a thank-you, they had filled Joe’s fridge with all kinds of nutritious goodies. When they’d arrived it had been totally empty, apart from an eye-cooling pack in the freezer. ‘Rather strange, don’t you think?’ Christabel had said. ‘Not really the kind of thing you’d expect from a man. Maybe he’s not that way inclined, if you know what I mean.’ She threw the pack into the bin before Nancy could stop her.
Nancy had chosen to ignore the innuendo. Frankly, she didn’t care if Joe was gay or not. All she knew was that it had been very kind of him to lend them his apartment. He must be looking forward to getting back to it now they no longer needed it.
‘By the way,’ said her mother as she put away the Hoover, ‘I’ve found this amazing book in the hospital charity shop. It’s called The Joy of Living and trust me, Nancy, it really helps to put life in perspective. I’ll lend it to you if you like.’
Please, Nancy wanted to say. The last week had all been too much; she needed time to think now. Time alone.
Her American parenting magazine had, by some freak coincidence, run a piece on post-traumatic stress.
It had been accompanied by haunting interviews with a mother whose eight-year-old son had died of cancer, and a dad whose ten-year-old daughter had survived the disease. The man still got stressed because of the ‘what might have beens’.
One of the signs of PTS, as it was called, was a reluctance to speak. So too was not being able to form words properly. Sam said his mother had started getting her words wrong after his father had walked out unexpectedly. Nancy resolved to be more accepting of the woman in future.
‘Sorry, dear,’ said Christabel, as though reading her mind. ‘Am I talking too much again?’
Stepping towards her, she gave Nancy a big hug. Nancy felt as though she was being suffocated. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful but she really wished her mother would go home now, to her real home in the States, and let her get on with her own life. Maybe, she thought with a jolt, that was how Danny had felt when she kept hanging behind at playgroup instead of leaving him to have fun with his friends.
‘Hadn’t you better get going now, dear?’ Her mother spoke gently, as though she was a child, which made Nancy feel suffocated all over again.
‘I’ll go in my own time, thanks.’
Christabel looked hurt. ‘Up to you, dear. I’ll be getting off now myself, if it’s all the same to you. Patricia and I have arranged to meet back in Corrytown. See you later. And don’t worry about dinner; we’ve got that under control!’
Nancy stood at the window of Joe’s sitting room overlooking a narrow street with cars parked on either side, displaying permits. Three streets away, she could see the market where she’d bought some fresh oranges that morning, and a cake from the bakery over the road. If she stood here for ever, she could freeze her life so that nothing would ever go wrong again.
On the other hand, her life might never go right if she didn’t allow it to move, taking her along for the ride. There was, after all, that ad for Birkbeck College that she’d seen on the Tube today. It was offering exactly the kinds of courses she could be interested in if she made herself move on.
The question was, could she?
Her pocket began to hum with the vibration of her mobile, but she ignored it. It stopped and then rang again. Sam’s signal. She picked it up.
‘Nance? We’re almost ready. Are you coming over now?’