CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next few days are truly the worst of my life.
Staying strong for Mum seems almost impossible when Dad is lying in that hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, fighting for his life. But in a funny way, taking charge, staying with Mum and keeping up a dialogue with the doctor on her behalf, is probably what’s keeping me from breaking down completely.
My brother is having a very hard time dealing with Dad’s illness. I can tell he’s totally out of his comfort zone. Rich can normally rely on his impeccable logic and considerable brain to solve any problems that come his way – one of the reasons he’s a first rate barrister.
But in this, I sense he feels completely powerless.
So the next day, after we’ve all spent a rough night trying to sleep in hard hospital chairs and Rich has gone to get coffee, I suggest to Mum that we should task my brother with looking after things at home. She instantly agrees.
‘We need someone there to answer the phone and let people know what’s happening,’ she says, squeezing his hand, and Rich downs his drink and escapes with obvious relief, telling us to let him know the instant anything changes.
So then it’s just Mum and me. And our vigil at Dad’s bedside.
He seems very sleepy and disorientated, presumably from the drugs, but the nurse tells us that’s quite normal and that chatting to him is a good thing. So after that, Mum keeps leaning forward and talking in little cheerful bursts, telling him about anything and everything. In between, we take it in turns to wander to the little café.
I munch crisps without tasting them and drink bad coffee after bad coffee. But I need the escape. Listening to the edge of desperation in Mum’s tone when she’s talking to Dad is exhausting.
Mum herself looks as if she’s aged twenty years. But when I suggest she go home and get some sleep while I stay here with Dad, she’s adamant she’s not leaving his side. I try to imagine how I’d feel if my husband of more than thirty years were gravely ill and might not make it through the night – and I conclude that nothing would shift me from this seat, barring perhaps an earthquake.
Towards evening, I get back from a joyless wander round the endless hospital corridors and find that Mum has fallen asleep in the chair, her head flung back at an awkward angle.
I take a spare pillow and carefully lift her head against it so she looks more comfortable. ‘Thank you, love,’ she murmurs, reaching for my hand, before sliding back into sleep.
I sit down next to her. Dad is still sleeping.
Flowers have started to arrive for Dad and they really brighten up the little cubicle. There’s a huge bunch of roses and gypsophila from Jaz and Ellie, and I texted them both to thank them on behalf of Dad. Jaz phoned me to find out how he was and she said if there was anything she could do – or if I just needed to talk – I had to phone her immediately. In contrast, Ellie sent me a short, fairly stiff text to say she was really sorry about Dad and that obviously I’d need to take time off work and that was absolutely fine. She signed it: Best wishes, Ellie.
My heart twisted when I read the ‘best wishes’ bit. The lack of kisses, which Ellie always puts at the end of her texts, let me know in no uncertain terms that while she might feel for me with Dad being ill, that didn’t mean she’d forgiven me.
They say bad luck arrives in threes – and that’s what seems to be happening. First I lose my best friend. Then I find out that Ethan – who I’ve idolised – is a total scumbag. And now Dad . . .
With Mum asleep, my mind starts to wander – and even though Ethan is the very last person I want to waste my time reflecting on, it’s inevitable he should push his way into my thoughts.
A vivid memory of walking into the party at The Swan Hotel slips into my mind: Ethan and Cressida wrapped around each other. I didn’t even think Ethan particularly liked Cressida, but I guess deception becomes a way of life for someone like him.
I think of Alicia. She was clearly deceived by his charms just like me. Only she – poor girl - went and married him! And now Ethan’s trying to delete her from his life, refusing to pay her the money he owes her and denying that the baby on the way is his! I suppose so he can continue living his shallow life of fast cars and adoring women.
I remember how Ellie was suspicious of him. Did she sense deep down that Ethan was too charming for his own good? I smile bitterly to myself. She was right to be annoyed when he didn’t pay me back that time he ‘forgot his wallet’. He kept promising he’d reimburse me but he never did . . .
I feel so stupidly gullible and pathetic. I was just one of his adoring women, seeing only the image he chose to portray of himself – and not the actual man. I placed Ethan high up on a pedestal. Just like I always did with my childhood crushes.
In my imagination, he was the real life version of the dashing fictional hero I’d always longed to meet . . . when all the time he was nothing but a despicable, lying, self-centred waste of space sort of a man!
I suppose my limited experience of relationships and my subsequent naivety meant I was always going to be easy prey for an unscrupulous guy like him. I’m only glad I didn’t succumb when he tried to lure me upstairs to my bedroom at the Snow Ball!
Tears well up and start trickling down, the salt stinging my face. I really believed Ethan when he said I was special. I wonder how many other women have been deceived by his lies?
Dad shifts in the bed and I’m instantly on high alert. But he settles back down, still lost to the world.
A great wave of grief rolls over me.
I can’t lose Dad.
We’ve had a special bond my whole life, and the thought of him no longer being there fills me with such a terrible panic, I struggle to breathe properly.
Dad understands me better than anyone else I know. We laugh at the same things, enjoy picking over the absurdities of life together, and I’ve taken his lovely big bear hugs totally for granted all this time, never imagining that one day, I’d have to do without them.
I gaze at his hand, studying the age spots and the veins as I never have before. Right now, he’s too weak to even squeeze my hand. Is this the beginning of the end? Because if it is and he’s not going to come through this, I don’t know how I’ll cope.
And what about Mum . . . ?
*****
I must have fallen into an exhausted sleep at last because when I wake, my neck hurts and I’m so stiff, I can barely get up from the chair.
Mum’s sitting forward, holding Dad’s hand, and when she sees I’m awake, she smiles.
She looks different, somehow. More hopeful . . .
‘He woke up, love. We had a bit of a chat but he’s gone back to sleep. The doctor says it’s a good sign.’
My heart lifts.
If only he can continue to improve, he’ll be able to have the life-saving operation . . .
By the time Rich comes in towards lunchtime, Dad’s awake and managing to sit up. He’s still incredibly weak but the talk now is of when he’ll have his operation, not if.
Dad makes a joke about Rich and his loathing of hospitals – and it feels so good to laugh and to see Mum with hope in her eyes at last.