13
“You’ve got to be joking...” I growled as I turned the key in the ignition of the Astra for the fourth time. In return, I received the exact same response that I did the first three attempts. Nothing.
Even with my limited knowledge of cars and how they worked, I had a sense that this wasn’t a case of me needing a simple jump-start, but a brand-new battery or worse.
“Bloody hell, this is all I need,” I muttered, fighting the desire to punch the steering wheel. So much for a stress-free afternoon.
That photograph of Clara Cooper I’d seen had very quickly put an end to my intentions of a chilled-out bath and, when I’d gotten out of the water, I was relieved to find that at least my phone was still working, even though I’d shattered the protective glass. Add the cost (and hassle) of a replacement to my never-ending list of expenses and I was just about ready to throw back my head and scream.
And now this. The useless piece of junk on which I’d recently shelled out a small fortune to keep on the road, and which was the necessary lifeline between me and the hospital, had gone and died a death.
Honest to God, how much more was I supposed to take?
I flung open the driver’s door, got out of the car and wrenched my handbag out behind me, thinking about my options or lack thereof. I needed to get back to my daughter, and since my vehicle now seemed useless...
Extracting my newly cracked phone from my handbag as I walked back into the house, I made a quick call to arrange a tow from the local mechanic, and then maybe I could see about taking a taxi.
But the fare for the twenty-odd miles to the hospital in Dublin would be extortionate, probably enough to clear me out for the rest of the month. To say nothing of how I could possibly afford the return journey.
“Dammit!” I cried, dropping my phone on the kitchen table and plopping myself down in a chair. Why did everything have to be so hard? Couldn’t the luck gods even glance—never mind smile—at me for just one day?
I had really been teetering on the brink lately, especially when they’d put Rosie on the ventilator. For her sake, I knew I had to stay strong and get through it, but now it felt as if every day seemed to present a new roadblock. I had never felt more defeated in my whole life.
If only a light at the end of the tunnel would present itself, I thought. Just the tiniest ray of hope, that’s all I need, I swear.
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door and I raised my head, following the sound. Looking down at the time on my phone, I realized only a few minutes had passed since I called for the mechanic.
“Well, that was fast,” I muttered as I walked out to answer the knock. Perhaps luck was smiling on me, after all. Even if it was just in the form of a speedy mechanic.
But when I opened the door, I didn’t find a guy with a tow truck on the doorstep ready to assist. Instead, Christine Campbell’s smiling face greeted me.
“I was driving past and was surprised to see your car,” she said by way of a hello. “I didn’t think you ever left the hospital. How’s she today? Is she off the ventilator?”
I opened the door wide and granted her entry. “Yesterday, yes. Lucy insisted I come home for a few hours while she’s stable. But my car seems to be protesting—it obviously doesn’t want to go back.” I filled her in on the fact that I was waiting for a tow while also trying to figure out how to get back to Dublin without the use of just my own two legs.
“Maybe it’s good that I was passing, then. I can give you a lift up, of course.”
I exhaled. “I can’t tell you how much I would appreciate that.”
Within the next few minutes, the mechanic duly arrived and made preparations to tow my old banger to his workshop in the town, while I braced myself to receive news of how much I owed to get it running again.
Though what was another bill at this point? I thought ruefully as I left my phone number for him to reach me.
As if on cue, my phone rang just as I was getting into Christine’s bright yellow Beetle and, immediately recognizing the number, I grimaced. Work.
“I’m sorry but I need to take this,” I told her, creating some distance for privacy. “I’ll just be a sec.”
Christine looked curious but nodded without further comment. Good—I didn’t want to have to explain myself to her just then.
I already knew I’d have enough explaining to do to my employer.
“Hello, Jennifer.” I rubbed my neck, readying myself for the discussion that was to come. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you back...”
“Don’t worry, I completely understand and I can only imagine. How is...everything?”
“I’m still not really sure, truth be told. She’s improving a little but very slowly...”
I waited for Jennifer to continue, knowing that this was work-related and not a social call. A respectful beat passed between us, and then she began. “Look, I really am sorry to have to put work stuff on you now—I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment. But do you think that we can chat?”
“Of course.” I knew that I would have to address my absenteeism from Glencree at some point. Obviously that time was now.
I had used up my five days’ compassionate leave as well as all of my remaining paid holiday time about a week ago. A couple of my coworkers at the clinic, sweethearts that they are, had pooled together and offered to exchange some of their own paid leave to help with Rosie’s cause. It was something that I never in my wildest dreams expected—nor wanted to accept—but the gesture was so lovely it had moved me to tears, and I would go to the ends of the earth to make it up to them. But now I guessed that all my paid options, statutory or otherwise, had well and truly dried up, which was why Jennifer was making the call.
“Like I said, Kate, I hate to have to raise it at a time like this—”
“But you’re obliged to. I know.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “And I’m assuming I’ve well and truly blown through all my holidays by now?”
Jennifer sighed. “Sadly, yes. So the next step—as I’m sure you’re already aware yourself—is your Parental Leave entitlement. From an HR point of view, Kate, it’s my duty to outline that you are entitled to eighteen weeks’ unpaid leave to tend to your daughter. That basically means you are guaranteed the ability to return to your position at the end of that term under the same pay and conditions. However, if you need longer than the statutory eighteen weeks, the Health Service Executive is not required to guarantee your position or conditions, and reserves the right to fill your position if you choose not to return at the end of the period. Needless to say, I’m only mentioning this if the worst comes to the worst, which I’m sure...”
She trailed off then, obviously uncomfortable, and I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I was familiar with the Parental Leave Act, basically a form of caregiver’s leave. It’s the same statutory protection that afforded me to take maternity leave after I had Rosie and return to my post at the same rate of pay. While I was grateful for its existence, I seriously hoped that I wouldn’t need even another week, let alone eighteen, but until the doctors gave Rosie the all clear, I had no way of knowing when I could return. It was a fair proposal, and a welcome one in terms of a weight off my mind regarding work obligations—aside from the fact that during that time I wouldn’t be earning a cent.
“Thanks for clarifying, Jennifer. I appreciate it and, yes, hopefully I won’t need to take the full period.”
“No problem, take as much time as you need. I’ll post out the paperwork today for you to sign, too. No rush—get it back to me whenever you can. And, needless to say, we’re all thinking of you and Rosie and hope she’s on the mend soon.”
“Me, too. Thanks, Jennifer,” I said, appreciating her words, but already I was doing the calculations in my head.
Eighteen weeks—almost five months with no money coming in. I thought about the car, the rent on the house and my rapidly growing pile of bills—all taken against my conversely declining bank balance...
And once again I wanted to lie down and cry.
“What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face?” I asked, sitting back into Christine’s car.
She said nothing, but as we drove off I had the distinct sensation that I was being sized up somehow. There was something about her that was inherently catlike—especially when she peered down at you through those glasses—and I wondered if she was now regarding me like the proverbial canary.
“Actually, I was just wondering if you had given any more thought to what we talked about at the hospital before. About the Coopers?”
I swallowed hard. That simply wasn’t going to happen. Regardless of the fact that I seriously doubted that I had any kind of legal case against the Coopers, to answer that kind of thing just wasn’t me. And notwithstanding that, how would blame and recriminations help my daughter in any way?
Christine was still waiting for an answer.
“Honestly? I think the very idea is ludicrous.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I held up a hand and continued on, stopping her. “I know what you are going to say, and, yes, maybe if Clara hadn’t contracted measles or Madeleine hadn’t sent her to school while she was infectious, Rosie and I wouldn’t be in this situation. But these things happen—bad luck happens. And the very idea of going after a fellow parent, a fellow neighbor, for recompense...it’s the last thing I’d consider. It’s not the kind of thing I’d ever even think about. So while I know you’re mad at the Coopers, and I appreciate your reasoning, I really would prefer not to discuss it anymore.”
In my brief time dealing with Christine, I’d discovered that one of the best ways to get her to stop talking about any topic was to say that you agreed with her.
It didn’t work this time.
“It’s not just my reasoning, though. I’ve spoken to Declan—my cousin—about it again since, and the more he thinks about it, the more he feels it’s a clear-cut case of willful negligence. I’m sorry, Kate, but I think you aren’t fully considering the extent of what this has done to you, and to Rosie. Obviously you’re not working at the moment, I’m guessing the rent on the house isn’t cheap, and now with the car breaking down, too... I’m sure the bills are piling up.”
Christine easily rattled off all the very issues I’d just been worrying about, as if she’d been privy to my thoughts. Or had she in fact been eavesdropping on my call from Jennifer?
I wanted to argue her point and opened my mouth briefly to counter, but then realized I couldn’t. Yes, my financial situation looked pretty bleak at the moment. But I did have a little savings (originally set aside for a birthday weekend away for Rosie) to at least cover the rent for this month and the next. I could keep going for that long, surely?
She would be on the mend soon and I’d be back to work in no time. And say what you want about the Irish health-care system, but it was a huge relief to know that at least I didn’t have to worry about the cost of Rosie’s medical care. Mercifully, the state would cover that.
“That might be so,” I admitted, “but I certainly don’t need handouts, if that’s what you’re suggesting. People were kind enough when Greg died and I’m not going to be the town tragic case who’s always looking for charity. Whatever happens—well, I’ll just have to work it out.”
My stomach churned, though, when I realized just how naive and simplistic that sounded. How was it going to work out? How exactly? And what would happen if, God forbid, poor Rosie didn’t get better soon?
The very thought broke me, and the dam of emotion that I’d been holding back these last couple of weeks while trying to keep it together for my daughter’s sake burst with a vengeance.
I put my head in my hands.
“Oh, God, Christine, I’m so afraid.” The admission, out loud, startled me. Up until then, I had only admitted it to myself in the hospital when no one else was around—which often felt like all the time.
I sat back in my seat and stared out the windshield as she drove. “You’re right; every time I pick up the mail, there are more bills—electricity, insurance and now the car. And it’s just... I wish I could see a positive end in sight for Rosie, but, in truth, I have no idea if or when she’ll be home. Please understand I appreciate you and Lucy and everything that you guys do, and have done for me since I moved here, but I have never in my life felt more alone.”
Christine reached across and took my hand in hers, and I appreciated this small dose of human contact. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.
“It’s OK to be scared, Kate. It is. I can’t imagine the way you feel. I would be devastated if anything happened to my three.” She squeezed my hand. “But you also can’t allow yourself to be taken advantage of.”
Her tone was still soft, but there was resolve behind her words. And I felt something stir within myself. Was that what was happening to me? Had I been made into a victim? Was I completely subject to the whims of the universe throwing whatever shit it wanted to at me?
“Is that what you think?” I asked quietly. Christine’s question now made me wonder how other people were actually viewing me. Usually I didn’t care. But this was different. Was that all people thought I was? A hapless victim?
Christine considered my query and I could tell she was weighing up the right words to use. She took a careful breath and said, “I think that other people’s actions—or inactions rather—have impacted your and certainly your family’s life, for the negative. And I believe that those same people don’t understand the enormous damage their reckless decisions have caused...”
She let her words trail off, and I once again considered all that had happened. Two children, both unvaccinated. One for health reasons, the other by choice. Two sick little girls. One who’d recovered, seemingly effortlessly. Another still fighting pneumonia in the hospital.
And then there was me. I’d been forced to essentially give up work, had a mountain of bills the size of Everest to pay and was only weeks away from being penniless. Even my shitty car—my only form of transport to my sick daughter twenty miles away—wouldn’t play ball for me.
None of this would have happened if Rosie hadn’t gotten sick, would it?
My mind suddenly flashed to that photo of Clara I’d seen on Madeleine Cooper’s social media earlier. Thanks to the fact that her daughter had sailed through her illness, there was a woman who was back to normal and had the time to put up pictures and write chatty posts online.
Whereas I barely had the wherewithal to brush my teeth...
I suddenly felt like screaming and pulling my hair out. The stir of such emotion in me made my heart pump furiously and it felt as though it was the first time in weeks that particular organ had beat with determination.
And Christine seemed to sense the change.
“Please, let me introduce you to my cousin, Kate,” she said, her eyes steady on me. “I really think Declan might be—”
But the remainder of her words were cut off by the urgent ringing of my phone, and my heart sank to the depths of my stomach when I realized it was Lucy from the hospital.
It dropped to my feet when I heard her tone. “Kate, sweetheart,” my friend said, and though she tried her best to hide it, I sensed panic dripping from every word, “Rosie’s had an episode and the doctors are with her now. You really need to get back.”