Chapter 37
Phoebe and her father head back to the car park through the sand dunes, holding their shoes in their hands and with hair damp and salty from the sea. It had felt so good to swim together and then lie on the sand, warming up in the sun. At one point, Phoebe had glanced across at her father as he shielded his face from the sun with his hand, a smile spread across his face and his eyes half closed. And she’d thought how he didn’t look like Sad Dad, or even Normal Dad. He looked like Happy Dad.
Then his phone rang and he reached for it quickly. ‘Right,’ he said, letting out a sigh. ‘We’ll meet you there.’
Phoebe’s heart was hammering in her chest as he hung up and turned to her.
‘Your nan is awake. Come on, let’s go.’
Swimming is one thing, but Phoebe is not a runner. The last time she ran was probably as a kid when Seth chased her about with a toy tarantula, trying to scare her. But when they reach the hospital, she runs to her grandmother’s ward, ignoring the looks from passing nurses and doctors. As she runs, she remembers why she doesn’t do it, one arm held tightly over her chest because her bra absolutely does not offer enough support for this. But she doesn’t care.
She arrives at the ward a sweaty mess. She spots her mum first, sitting by the bedside with tears rolling down her face. But she’s smiling. Seth is there too, not in his suit like last time, but in his weekend gear of jeans and hoody. And then Phoebe sees her nan, propped up in bed and holding her mother’s hands, her eyes open and a faint smile on her face too.
‘Nan!’
Phoebe stumbles into the room, crouching down at the bedside and reaching for her grandmother’s free hand. She lifts it up to her mouth and kisses it, relieved to feel how warm it is. Her face looks tired, but she is here.
‘Are you OK? I’ve been so worried about you.’
Her nan goes to speak, but only a croak comes out. Phoebe’s mum hands her a cup of water and she takes a sip, her hand shaking slightly.
‘I was having the most lovely dream,’ she says once she’s finished, sounding more like herself now. ‘George Clooney was in it …’
The tension breaks and everyone laughs. Phoebe glances at her mum, though, and sees the tiredness and worry on her face.
The sound of the curtain around the bed drawing open announces the arrival of a doctor. She smiles at them all and glances down at her notes.
‘It’s good to see you awake, Mrs Trelawney. Now, I’m going to do a few tests and checks – why don’t you all go and get a cup of coffee? The machine stuff is pretty awful, I must admit, but there’s a Costa on the ground floor.’
Phoebe catches her mum glancing nervously at her nan. She steps round to the other side of the bed and wraps an arm around her mum’s shoulders. ‘Come on, Mum. The doctor’s got this.’
Her dad wraps an arm around her mum on the other side. She hesitates for a moment and then nods. ‘OK. Coffee sounds good. See you soon, Mum.’
‘We’ll be back in a bit, Nan. Love you.’
‘Love you too, pet.’
They find a table in the corner of the Costa with one armchair and two plastic seats. ‘You take that one, Mum,’ Phoebe says, leading her towards the comfier chair. She must be exhausted because she doesn’t protest. Instead, she sinks down into it, letting out a long sigh. Then she bursts into tears.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. This is ridiculous, she’s awake now and seems like she’s doing OK.’
‘It’s not ridiculous, Mum. It’s been a really worrying time. You’ve had a lot on your plate.’
Her mum wipes her face, quickly composing herself again. ‘I’m really glad you’re here, sweetheart.’ She reaches for Phoebe’s hand.
‘I’m glad I’m here too.’
As she squeezes her mother’s hand and her mum squeezes back, Phoebe thinks about all the years she’s been background-worrying about her father. Even though it’s been a long time since his last bad depressive spell, the possibility of another one has always hovered there in Phoebe’s mind. Maybe it’s partly why she’s always pushed herself so hard at work. Not just because she cares so deeply about her patients, but maybe, deep down, through some sense that if she dedicates her life to this it might repay the universe for making her dad better. But her mum, her lovely, sunny mum … She maybe hasn’t spent enough time thinking about how she’s doing.
‘I’ve got the week off work,’ she says now. ‘I can stay as long as you need me to. And after this, I want to get back to visit more often.’
‘Oh, love, I know you have so much going on with work, though … And with the break-up too, I’m sorry about that.’
‘But I want to have time for my family too.’ In spite of the awfulness of this trip, it’s been strangely nice too. The morning swim with her dad, even being here in this random Costa … She’s missed moments with her family.
They don’t say anything more, just sit drinking their coffees. Just being together. Sometimes that’s enough.
‘I should have a fall more often,’ her nan says later that afternoon when the whole family is gathered around her bedside. The doctor has reassured them that she’s doing well and should be able to go home in a couple of days. ‘It’s just so lovely to have you all here.’
‘You say it like we’re on holiday, Mum!’
‘Oh, you know what I mean. I’m just so glad you’re all here. And the doctor says I’m doing fine.’
‘Thank goodness your hip wasn’t broken, just bruised,’ says Phoebe’s dad.
‘Just like my ego after you poor things had to find me bloody starkers like that on the bathroom floor.’
Phoebe can’t help but laugh. She’s always thought her dry sense of humour – and her language – comes from her nan. It’s served her well in her job, when sometimes finding a way to laugh is the only way through.
A nurse pops in to check on her. ‘We’re just keeping an eye out for signs of concussion,’ she explains. ‘But we hope to be able to discharge you soon.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. It’s very comfortable here. Much better service than I get at home.’ She winks up at Phoebe’s mum, who rolls her eyes.
‘Please ignore my mother. She lives with us and we will be taking very good care of her. We’ve already ordered grab rails for the bathroom.’
Phoebe’s nan huffs. ‘Those are for old people!’
‘Or very youthful people who still manage to slip over in the bathroom and knock themselves unconscious,’ teases Seth.
‘OK, OK, I’ll do as I’m told. But if I have to have a walking stick, can we at least please dress it up a bit? Some ribbons, bit of colour maybe? I’ve seen some oldies in here walking around with the most awful grey plastic monstrosities and I’m having none of that.’
‘Mum!’
‘It’s OK, Nan,’ says Phoebe. ‘I can help with that. It will be fun.’
‘Thanks, pet,’ she says, giving her hand a little squeeze.
Phoebe squeezes back, already thinking about supplies she might get for the project. For a moment, thoughts of her life in Somerset come creeping back in. She wonders how Ben is doing and how her patients will manage next week when she’s not at work. Mel has reassured her it will be fine, but she still worries.
And there’s something else too: what will all this do to her chances of getting promoted? Mel was very kind and understanding, but will she really think Phoebe is ready for even more responsibility? And if she doesn’t, what does that mean for Phoebe’s future and her chances of staying in her home in Farleigh-on-Avon? It hits her, too, that with everything that’s been going on, she hasn’t even started to tackle the issue of her flat being completely void of furniture. She’s been meaning to see if she can find any freebies in local online groups, because there’s no way she could afford to refurnish her whole flat, but hasn’t had the time or energy. Her mind wanders to Luca then, reliving the moment when he pulled away from her and she felt like a huge idiot.
But then she forces herself to stop. None of that matters right now. Right now, she is here with her family. And for once, she is going to put thoughts of work and everything else aside and let herself be fully present.