Chapter Four
Four
I flipped the pillow onto the cold side and snuggled down into the duvet, glad to be back in my own bed.
Another half an hour wouldn’t hurt. Another hour wouldn’t hurt, either.
I could stay in here all day for all anyone cared – I had nothing to get up for.
I shut my eyes and tried to force more sleep, but it wouldn’t come, so I got up and made myself a coffee.
The familiar grind was comforting as I checked through my emails, filing the FYIs and red-flagging anything I needed to follow up on.
Twenty minutes later and I was still scrolling.
Right. Stop that. I’d take my vitamins, have a wee and then try and relax.
The carpet was soft on my feet as I wandered into the bathroom and threw the windows open.
Mum must have turned the heating up when she left, and the flat was sweltering.
I tipped Friday out of my pill box and plinked a Berocca in a glass of water.
Extra strength C, double D, magnesium and zinc, knocking them back one by one with the fluorescent fizz. My standard morning ritual.
And then I got back into bed. There was no point getting too pumped up when Antony had insisted there be no work contact until I got back.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. My body was pre-programmed to get going the second I opened my eyes and it was already nearly seven.
I was resting as agreed with Dr Fielding, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t read.
My phone pinged.
Mark: Hey. How’s the patient?
Finally. Ever the early riser. Another thing we had in common.
My heart flip-flopped at his name on the screen.
So, he did care. Well – he didn’t not care, which was almost the same thing.
He’d changed his profile picture to the one he was using on Tinder.
The whole time we were married he’d used our wedding photo and now it seemed to be a different photo every week.
Me: Feeling much better – thanks for speaking to Cheryl and the hospital.
Mark: Least I could do. Sorry I couldn’t swing by. Hope it wasn’t too serious.
Me: Me too. Doc said it could be heart-related, so I’ve been signed off work.
A slight play on the truth, but a little guilt trip wouldn’t hurt.
Mark: Shit, sorry to hear that. Want me to keep the dogs?
Me: No, no, I miss them! Dad will pick them up tomorrow as normal.
We’d been doing a week on week off trial with Twiggy and Dots, our two daxies, ever since we’d split, and Dad was officially obsessed. Having never been a ‘dog person’ he now much preferred them to Mum and me.
Mark: Great. Take care of yourself, OK?
Ugh. So polite and banal. All the best, Mark. Even a suggested heart condition didn’t get much of a response these days. My phone lit up again with his name. Hopefully something more caring and concerned.
Mark: Might also be worth updating your next of kin info when you get chance.
Charming. I puffed up the pillows and lay back with my coffee, looking around the bedroom.
It was not a pretty sight. The paint had been sparkling white when the tenants had moved in and was now a grubby, chewing-gum grey, with scuff marks where their furniture had been.
With marks on the carpet and a couple of cracked tiles, the flat was dog-eared and tired and needed a good tinkling.
I messaged Jimbo to get him over asap and immersed myself in the Farrow and Ball colour chart, trying to remember if it was Mole’s Breath or Pigeon we’d had in the kitchen.
No time like the present to kick off the refurb.
I could even pop down to B his stethoscope suckered to my chest. ‘It seems we need to shift my recommendation from advisory to mandatory,’ he said, firmly.
‘Your body is trying to tell you something and you really need to listen.’ My heart sank.
Either that or it was being dragged down by saturated fats.
I itched for the bacon and egg butty that was probably being pulled apart and enjoyed by foxes on my doorstep. Was this the kind of thing he meant?
‘You need to take some time to rest, or these episodes will keep happening. And I’ll be writing to your GP to say the same.’
‘Is this a diet and alcohol thing?’ I asked, just to be one hundred per cent clear.
‘Of course it is, Sara!’ Mum butted in. ‘You need to eat all your greens and drink lots of water. Live the life of a… of a goat!’
Dr. Fielding nearly smiled. ‘As I said before, your cholesterol is flagging as high, so it won’t hurt to look at clean eating, but it’s more holistic than that.’
‘You need to start looking after yourself, love,’ Dad added, gently. ‘This self-destruct mission has got to stop.’
‘Rest is key,’ Dr Fielding said. ‘Meditation. Fresh air. Water. These attacks are an outward symptom of inner chaos, so you need to concentrate on your wellness for a while. The effects of stress are reversible, but it will take a concerted effort on your part.’
I gulped and nodded. Dad was right – I had kind of let myself go.
Six months in my teenage bedroom filling up on home-cooked meals and takeaways hadn’t helped.
I’d been using all my energy to keep it together for work, and everything else had gone out the window.
In the early days, I’d just about managed to put my make-up on and brush my hair. It had all felt so pointless.
‘Half a goat is more than fine,’ Dr Fielding said, signing my discharge form with a squiggle. ‘Your GP will take it from here, but the taking care of yourself part is down to you.’