Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
‘Absolutely not!’
Rita’s voice boomed down the length of the ward. A couple of people in the adjoining beds smiled wryly at Jules and Carrie.
‘Perhaps we should wait,’ Carrie suggested, tugging at Jules’s sleeve, ‘or come back another time. You’ll come and visit me in the future. You can come and see her then and, in the meantime, you could always give her a call or write her a card.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Jules said, standing still. ‘I don’t want to bother her if she’s upset.’
Something nudged her in the small of her back and she took a step forwards.
‘Was that you?’ she asked Carrie.
‘Was that me what?’
‘Pushing me.’
Carrie lifted her hands in front of her.
‘Not unless I’ve got a third arm I don’t know about.’
‘It definitely felt as if someone pushed me.’
‘You’re imagining it,’ Carrie said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Alastair, you can’t make me.’ Rita’s voice reverberated. ‘I’m not listening to any more of this.’ She put her hands over her ears and began to sing in a wavery contralto. ‘Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bid’st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea.’
As she paused to take a deep gulp of the antiseptic air the whole ward burst into applause.
‘We really shouldn’t get involved,’ Carrie said.
‘No, we shouldn’t,’ Jules agreed before marching down the ward towards the end bed.
By the time they got there Rita was making a start on ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ and Alastair was raking his hands through his hair.
The doctor who stood hesitantly by the window was looking extremely stressed, but Jules suspected that was probably his default expression and not necessarily a reflection on Rita.
‘Mum, will you please stop singing?’ Alastair said in a raised voice. ‘You’ll end up being sectioned, not just sent into respite care.’
But Rita ignored him. She was sitting in the chair next to the bed, her leg propped up and her eyes cast down, the lids slightly red and puffy. On her lap lay an open prayer book. Jules wasn’t sure if she was clasping it for comfort or was ready to throw it at someone if they got too close.
‘Each little flower that opens
Each little bird that sings.’
Jules bent over and touched Rita’s shoulder. She looked up.
‘Oh, Jules. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? And Carrie, too. What a treat.’
Rita gave them both a wobbly smile.
‘We just came to see how you are,’ Jules said, perching on the side of the bed, briefly including the doctor and Alastair in her gaze.
‘I was all right,’ Rita said. ‘Looking forward to going home. The doctors and nurses say I’m doing well.’
‘Are you Rita’s daughter-in-law?’ the doctor asked Jules.
She opened her mouth to answer, but Rita got there first.
‘No, more’s the pity. I expect it’s because of her that you’re both plotting to put me into this home.’
‘We’re not plotting and it’s not a home, Mum,’ Alastair said, wearily. ‘It’s respite care. Just for a couple of weeks until you’re properly on the mend.’
‘And once I’m in there I’ll never come out,’ Rita replied vehemently.
‘I’ve seen it happen. My friend Valerie went into one of those places for two weeks because her family didn’t want to have to worry about her while they went swanning off on some long-haul holiday and two years’ later, she’s still there, poor soul.
You’re not doing that to me. When I leave here, I want to go home. ’
‘I’m sure no one has any intention of keeping you in there longer than necessary,’ the doctor began.
‘People are full of intentions,’ Rita interrupted, in a tearfully furious voice, ‘and they’re not always upfront about them.
“Be very careful, then, how you live – not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity,” Paul says in Ephesians and some people’s opportunities are other people’s disasters. ’
‘Mum,’ Alastair said, a desperate tone weakening his voice, ‘I really don’t see that you have any choice.’
He cast a sideways glance at Jules, his eyes looking for some support.
‘Too old to have a choice now, am I?’
Rita dabbed at her eyes with an overly damp tissue. Jules rummaged in her bag and found a clean one.
‘Here you are,’ she said.
‘Someone at least knows how to look after me,’ she said accusingly to Alastair.
‘You’ll need someone to look after you for a few weeks,’ the doctor said, ‘not just in the moment. You’ll need help getting around, in and out of bed, to the toilet, maybe cook some meals for you.’
‘I’ve got a freezer full of meals,’ Rita said. ‘Enough to keep me going and before you say anything I have a granddaughter and friends who will rally around and a daughter-in-law who can help out.’
‘Mum, I really don’t think it’s fair to expect Christabel…’
‘Not Christabel, Alastair. You must think I’m losing my marbles. I wouldn’t expect such a thing of her in a million years. No, Rosie, your brother’s wife, just in case you’d forgotten. They’re coming back from holiday in France to see me tomorrow. She won’t mind staying for a while.’
Alastair massaged his temples.
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been speaking to him regularly since this happened.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. If there’s one good thing to come out of this, it’s that you’re on speaking terms with your brother again. I was beginning to think that the next time you communicated would be at my funeral.’
Alastair rolled his eyes.
‘You’re a long way off that, Mum, and in case you didn’t know Rosie’s just got a new job. She can’t take time off now.’
Rita slapped her hand on the side of the chair, her wedding ring glinting under the glare of the hospital lights.
‘If your father knew what you were trying to do!’ she said. ‘Trying to force me out of my own home first and now put me in some care place where half of the residents probably don’t know their own name and can’t wipe their own bottoms.’
Tears were streaming down her face. Jules took hold of her hand.
‘Shh,’ she whispered.
‘Mum, this really isn’t like you,’ Alastair soothed.
‘It’s probably the painkillers,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll check she’s not having a reaction to them.’
‘I’m here,’ Rita said. ‘I’m not dead yet, although it would probably suit some people if I was.’
‘Rita,’ the doctor protested, ‘I don’t know where you’ve got all of these negative ideas from, but…’
‘It’s Mrs. Tompkins to you. All of this familiarity making it seem as if you’re on my side when you’re not. You’ll have to take me out of this bed kicking and screaming unless I know for sure that I’m going home and that’s not going to look good in the local paper, is it?’
She turned her head towards Alastair again.
‘Why can’t we have someone in to look after me? There are companies who specialise in this sort of thing.’
‘Do you know how much they cost?’ Alastair asked.
‘I’ve got a bit saved,’ Rita replied. ‘I was going to leave it to the grandchildren, but…’
She gulped and let out a huge sob.
Jules couldn’t bear it any longer. It really wasn’t her place, but who cared?
‘Rita, you really mustn’t upset yourself like this.’
She knelt down and handed her another tissue, saw the raw fear she was trying so hard to contain.
‘I’ve been upset ever since my George went.’
‘I know you have.’
Rita looked down at her, tears spilling on to capable hands which twisted and turned the tissue.
‘You understand me better than my own kith and kin.’
Something tickled Jules’s ear. She pushed her hair back. There was a little whoosh of air as if someone was breathing against the side of her face and then a voice, faint, but steady. Go on, it said. You know it’s the right thing to do. Jules shook her head.
‘That’s not true,’ she replied both to Rita and her brain, which was obviously playing tricks on her.
Rita completely covered her eyes with the tissue. She was silent for a few seconds apart from small involuntary sobs.
‘One of the nurses can give you the name of a couple of places we recommend,’ the doctor said to Alastair.
Something prodded Jules in her side.
‘Stop it!’ she said, surprising herself with the force of her voice.
Everyone looked at her expectantly.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘I’ll look after you, Rita.’
Carrie came and put her hand on Jules’ shoulder.
‘Jules, you can’t.’
‘Yes, I can,’ she replied, ‘at least for a couple of weeks.’
‘It will need someone with some knowledge,’ the doctor said.
‘I’m a midwife. I think I can cope.’
‘Oh, dearie,’ Rita said, moving the tissue so one eye was visible, ‘thank you, but no. I can’t let you do that.’
‘The occupational therapist estimates you’ll need someone on hand for four to six weeks, Mum,’ Alastair interrupted. ‘Two weeks isn’t long enough.’
‘But it will get Rita home,’ Jules said, ‘which is the most important thing for her recovery in my opinion and will give us time to sort something else out going forwards.’
‘I’m not sure your opinion counts,’ Alastair retorted.
‘Alastair!’ Rita admonished, suddenly sounding like her old self. ‘Where are your manners?’
‘I’m sorry if you think I over-stepped the mark,’ Jules said, ‘but studies have shown that following hip and knee replacements people recover more quickly at home.’
She looked to the doctor for support, and he nodded.
‘This may not be a knee replacement, but it’s still surgery and I think Rita has already shown that she would be much happier back at home. If you are happy in your environment and you have the right care, your body stands a much better chance of healing more quickly.’
‘You don’t need to worry, Alastair. I’m not going to take Jules up on her very generous offer,’ Rita said, suddenly looking totally defeated again.
Jules leaned in closer.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it wouldn’t be fair, lovey. You’re here to recover from your own problems, not take on all of mine.’