CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dad is fairly cheerful about his impending operation, which makes it so much easier on us, although my stomach is in knots nonetheless.
We sit by his bed and chat about this and that, keeping it fairly light. And then the nurse comes to get him prepared for theatre and we kiss him and Mum and I retreat to a waiting room. Rich, as usual, is itching to be away.
The wait is agonising.
Dr Neville told us that the operation was a routine one, which gave us hope that it was likely to turn out okay for Dad. But nothing is ever certain.
Mum is quiet. She’s pretending to read a magazine but every few minutes, she lets it rest in her lap and stares into space. Or she stares down at the sapphire and diamond engagement ring and wedding band on her finger.
I don’t even pretend to read. I’m too aware of Mum and what she must be feeling to concentrate on much else. If this is devastating for me, how much worse is it for her?
When the surgeon comes into the waiting room, I leap up. My heart surges into my mouth then starts hammering so fast, I feel quite breathless.
This is it, then!
The news is good. The operation has gone according to plan and Dad is expected to make a full recovery. We’ll be able to go in and see him later when the anaesthetic has worn off.
I laugh with relief and start thanking the surgeon so profusely, the poor man looks mildly embarrassed.
Mum is silent, still sitting in her chair with the magazine on her knee.
The surgeon leaves and I sink back down into the chair next to Mum, feeling a weight rolling off my shoulders. Of course we’re not out of the woods yet with Dad, but the operation went well – and for now, that’s enough for me.
Beside me, Mum makes a funny little noise in her throat and I turn.
There’s a tortured look on her face, as if she’s trying hard to suppress her emotions but losing the battle.
My own eyes are wet with tears. ‘Let it go, Mum.’ I smile and draw her into a hug. ‘It’s allowed.’
At that, she gives a huge shuddery breath and relaxes her weight against me. And then she sobs her heart out, all the pent-up fear and anxiety since Dad got ill pouring out of her in a never-ending stream that’s now mixed with relief.
I cling on to her, letting my own tears flow unchecked.
Two words are running through my brain on repeat. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you . . .’ I’m not entirely sure who or what I’m grateful to – apart from the medical team, of course - but profoundly thankful is exactly what I am!
‘How would I have got through these last few days without you, Fen?’ Mum sobs, clinging to me tightly as if she’s never going to let me go. ‘You’ve been wonderful, love.’
‘It’s okay, Mum. It’s okay.’
At last her sobs die away and she sits up and blows her nose fiercely.
‘Sorry, love,’ she says, shaking her head.
‘Don’t apologise. You’ve been under the most horrible stress.’
She looks at me with a sad smile. ‘Actually, Fen, I want to apologise. I need to.’
‘What for?’ I stare at her in surprise.
She takes my hand in both of hers. ‘When you said what you did about me putting my trust in Rich and not you, I was shocked. And actually quite devastated. Because I think the absolute world of you, Fen, and I never in a million years would want you to think otherwise.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s fine, Mum, really . . . it was an argument about nothing.’
She sighs. ‘It wasn’t nothing and I’m really ashamed of myself.’
‘But there’s no need to be . . .’
‘Fen, let me speak. Allow me to feel ashamed.’ She gives a weary smile. ‘I’ve been guilty of trying to shake you out of your shyness . . . urging you to do things you didn’t want to do. Instead of letting you be who you are.’
I shrug. ‘We’re very different, Mum. I’ve always known that. You’re much more like Rich . . .’
She shakes her head. ‘No, Fen. I’m much more like you. And that’s been the problem.’
I stare at her. ‘What do you mean? I’m nothing like you. You’re confident and you’d never dream of letting anyone walk over you. You stand up for yourself and others and I wish I could be more like that.’
She smiles. ‘It’s just an act.’
‘What?’
‘It is. I know you’ll find it hard to believe but when I was younger I was painfully shy, and I was bullied at school because of it.’
‘Really?’ Is she just saying this to make me feel better about my own shyness? ‘But you never told me . . .’
‘No, I never told anyone. I put it behind me and tried to forget about it. It was a horrible period in my life. For a time I had no friends at school and I felt really alone. And then my mum – your lovely gran, bless her – told me her secret. That she was really shy deep down but she’d learned to put on an act and pretend she had confidence in herself. After a while of pretending, it started to feel real. So I decided that’s what I’d do. And to my surprise, it worked.’
I stare at her, trying to process all of this.
Mum was painfully shy, just like me?
I can hardly believe it.
‘I know.’ She laughs, reading my thoughts. ‘You’d never know it, would you? I’ve become so accomplished at acting like I’m never nervous or lacking in self-belief, that it might even have become real!’
I shake my head in disbelief.
‘Only your dad knows that I quake in my shoes before a big event like the Snow Ball. But I force myself to walk out there and hold my head high. And every time I do that, it feels like one in the eye for those horrible school bullies.’
‘Wow.’ I shake my head, trying to take all this in. ‘Rob told me about his way of feeling confident in a tricky situation. It’s pretty cool, actually. You get into the shoes of a super hero and feel the power.’
Mum nods. ‘He’s a wise boy. I like Rob a lot.’
‘Me, too.’ I find myself unexpectedly colouring up.
‘But anyway, when you turned out to be such a shy little thing, I felt so overwhelmingly protective of you. I was terrified you’d be bullied at school like I was. And so if I’ve tried to push you to do things you felt you couldn’t do, it was only because I hoped you would see that you really could succeed at whatever you put your mind to.’ She gazes at me mournfully. ‘Now, I realise I went about it in entirely the wrong way. My intentions were good, but all I managed to do was alienate you and make you think I wasn’t proud of you. Which by the way, I am. Hugely. I actually couldn’t be more proud of the way you’ve coped with your dad’s illness and looked after me and Rich at the same time.’
Tears are glistening in her eyes. ‘Ethan Fox is a fool, Fen. There’s someone out there who’s so much more worthy of you, my love.’
A painful lump rises in my throat and I suddenly feel that if the floodgates were to open now, I might never get them closed again.
Then we look at each other and we both laugh at once, defusing the tension and emotion.
‘Come on,’ says Mum cheerfully. ‘Let’s go and grab another of those foul coffees.’
‘Don’t knock it, Mum. It’s kept us going while we’ve been in here!’
She laughs. ‘True. But I definitely won’t miss it once your dad gets to go home.’
‘Let’s hope that’s very soon,’ I murmur, as we set off on the well-trodden route to the hospital café.