Chapter 38
Violet’s thin body was propped up by pillows as she lay on the hospital bed, and her breath came out in short, uneven gasps.
She was surrounded by a continuous beep from the heart monitor, which rang around her like a distant rhythm, as well as the sterile air of the room, combined with the slight scent of antiseptic that clung to the sheets and made her feel ill.
She was able to hear it, but it seemed to be very far away, as if it had lost its connection to her for some reason. Why couldn’t she get back?
A deep, unrelenting pressure caused her chest to ache with each and every breath that she took.
Her body was dying. This was it, the end, curtains, show’s over. For months she had been aware it was coming, and this was why she couldn’t go to a nursing home. She had to do things, set them right before she left. Now they were as right as they were going to be, she thought.
It was a strange feeling, this dying business. It sounded like there was a party happening in another room, talking and laughing and some music playing, but she was too drowsy to join. She didn’t mind. She had been to enough parties in her time; she was happy to lie here and listen for a while.
But it felt as though the world around her was slipping away from her, becoming something less concrete, or less certain. It was almost impossible to explain, just like a baby can’t explain what being born is like. It was the same thing, she realised.
She opened her eyes and the room flickered in and out of focus.
She saw that the bright lights of the hospital were gradually dimming, and in their place, she saw her cottage, so snug, so perfect, where she had spent most of her adult life.
There were the flowered curtains, the wooden beams, her armchair by the heater, the kitchen table, the initials carved into the wood, the windowsill where she had sat for countless mornings, watching the garden and its creatures.
She could see the garden as it used to be.
The flowers swaying in the breeze and the apple trees laden with fruit.
Martin was visible in the distance, standing just beyond the tree line.
He was there, hands in his pockets, smiling at her, waiting.
He had been waiting a long time, she thought.
She should apologise for living so long but then she wouldn’t have had all this time with Lily.
She smiled at him, and lifted her hand in a wave. ‘In a minute,’ she said to him.
His smile was clear, warm, and full of love. His body was blurry at the borders, but his smile was distinct.
‘Not long now,’ he called back to her, and his voice carried on a gentle breeze.
Nevertheless, there was something that prevented her from moving forward; it was something that bound her to the bed, to the hospital room, and to the world that she was leaving behind.
Lily.
Where is she? Is she still around? Violet’s eyelids opened with a flutter, and the harsh fluorescent lights came back into focus for a brief time.
The weight of the hospital bed pressing in around her caused her to feel chilled, and the place was too bright and too sterile for her convenience.
It became increasingly difficult for her to breathe as the agony in her chest became more intense. It was a heavy, persistent pressure.
‘Gran. I’m here.’
Even though it seemed like it was coming from a vast distance, Violet was drawn back to the present moment by the voice, though only for a brief moment.
When Violet slowly turned her head, her eyes were having trouble focusing, but she was able to see her granddaughter sitting by the bedside.
Her granddaughter’s face was pale, and her eyes were red from sobbing.
The hand that Lily was clutching was warm and steady, and it was gripping hers.
On the other side her son, such a good man, so much like his father.
The words ‘I’m here, Gran’ were spoken softly by Lily as she wrapped her fingers more tightly around Violet’s fragile hand. ‘Look, I’m right here.’
Violet felt a flood of warmth sweep over her as she heard the sound of her voice, which was so reassuring.
A brief moment later, she found herself back in the garden. Lily was there. She was young, laughing, singing, her curls tangled in the wind. She could hear her voice, no older than ten.
*
‘Gran! Listen to me sing.’
Violet flashed a grin in response to the recollection, but it was short and disappeared just as fast as it had appeared.
In its stead, the cottage vanished, and the hospital room was brought back into existence.
Now, the ache in her chest was intolerable, and her breathing was shallow, making it difficult for her to take a breath.
She needed something, and then she heard it.
Lily was singing once more, the final time. She listened, feeling her breathing slow down and the pain began to go. It was sweet relief, both the pain going and Lily’s singing.
The hospital room began to fade. She wasn’t there anymore. She was back at the cottage once more. Martin was standing at the window, and she was indeed at home. His hand was extended ahead of him, and his grin was filled with love and patience. He was getting closer.
‘It’s time to go,’ he said, his voice quiet but insistent to get his point across. ‘You’ve been here so long. You must be so tired.’
Violet smiled. ‘I am a little weary,’ she said and took his hand, and they opened the back door and walked out together.