Chapter 25
JUDITH
Sheila’s words keep going over and over in my mind. The woman who died from anaphylactic shock on Lizzie’s school trip all those years ago must have been George’s wife.
It is too much of a coincidence for it not to be.
Then another thought occurs to me. What if Lizzie’s peanut butter sandwiches had been the cause of the poor woman’s fatal allergic reaction? I know that they didn’t go to the same school but they might have sat at the same table.
It’s a big if. Surely there would have been other children with peanut butter sandwiches, or a peanut snack bar.
Poor Lizzie had been so traumatised, she’d actually witnessed the poor woman die.
If she even suspected that it was her sandwiches that caused it, it would destroy her.
As it was she refused to eat peanut butter ever again.
I think she had it in her head that she might have a bad reaction like that too, although I tried to reassure her that eating peanuts could only kill you if you were allergic to them, but she still refused.
Wouldn’t even let me have peanut butter in the house.
And still won’t have it in her house. That was the start of her anxiety problems.
They got worse when she became a teacher and a child in her class suffered an anaphylactic shock too.
She saved him, but it seemed to push her over the edge.
She had a total nervous breakdown and never returned to teaching in a classroom.
Even now, her anxiety is always hovering in the background, ready to rear its head when there’s any setback or problem. Poor Lizzie lives on her nerves.
My phone rings. It’s George, checking up on me again. The sound of his voice always cheers me up.
‘Hello, darling, how are you feeling today?’
‘Much better,’ I tell him. ‘I think I’m over the bug now and Alison has got me some different painkillers. We think the co-codamol doesn’t agree with me.’
‘Perfect. I’ve messaged Alison to let her know I’m bringing some lamb chops home for tea. We’ll soon have you on your feet again.’
He knows that I love lamb. ‘Thank you, darling.’
We chat for a while and then George has to go as a customer has come in.
‘Do you want a cuppa, Mum? And shall we sit out in the garden for a bit?’ Alison asks.
‘That sounds a good idea,’ I reply. I reach for the wheeled walker which is placed by the bed and she rushes over to help me.
I shake my head. ‘Please let me do it. I’m sure I can manage. And if I can’t, I’ll ask you for help, I promise. I have to try to be independent.’
She nods and steps back. ‘Of course.’
I carefully make my way out into the garden – Alison rushing to open the back door for me, as I’d have struggled to open it by myself.
I manage to get over to the table by myself, though, and sit down on one of the chairs.
It’s a warm day, clear blue sky and it feels good to be outside.
I’m getting better, getting stronger. I’m not going to let this ankle defeat me.
‘Here you are, Mum. Two sugars and milky, just as you like it.’ Alison puts my mug down in front of me and sits opposite me, still holding her mug. ‘Isn’t it a gorgeous day?’
‘It certainly is.’ I pick up my tea and sip it, my mind still going over what Sheila had told me.
It must have been so awful for Alison and Kenny to see their mother die like that, goodness Lizzie was traumatised enough!
George – and Sheila – had obviously handled the situation really well and given them a lot of support.
I wonder whether to mention it to Alison, to let her know that Lizzie had been on the same school trip, and how badly it had affected her to witness her poor mother’s death.
But I don’t want to bring it all up again, it must be such a painful memory for them all.
It was twenty-five years ago, and everyone has changed so much, no wonder they didn’t recognise each other.
Lizzie has black hair now, she always hated being auburn, and Alison looks totally different from the photos George has shown me of them all when they were younger.
Then an image of Lizzie having the panic attack at our wedding flashes across my mind. Had Lizzie somehow recognised Alison? Was that what had triggered her anxiety?
My hand shakes a bit, slopping tea out. I put the mug down on the table.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’
‘Oh yes, just a bit clumsy,’ I reply. How can I tell her that I’m worried that Lizzie might have recognised her, and about the consequences if she has? There is no telling what Lizzie will do when she crashes.