Never Leaves Me

by C J Morrow

  ‘No radio,’ Mum and I chorus.

  ‘Oh yes, it was playing all the time in the ward.’ She drags a chair up and plonks herself down, before rustling in her bag.

  ‘These are for you,’ she says, placing something on my lap and guiding my hands to it. ‘From Stephen.’

  I run my hands over the punnet on my lap. ‘Cherries. How did he know?’ Most people would send grapes or chocolate, I hate grapes and but I love cherries. I pinch my left eye open to look at the fruit, and I notice Mum and Sally exchange a silent look.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘What, darling?’

  ‘That look. Between you two.’

  ‘What look? Don’t be silly.’ Mum is not a very convincing liar. They both laugh, but they’re embarrassed, I can see it on their faces. ‘Why don’t you have one? We need to feed you up.’ Mum picks a cherry out and pushes it towards my mouth.

  ‘It’s all right, Stephen washed them,’ Sally says, seeing me hesitate.

  I bite into the cherry, letting my eyelid go so that I can retrieve the stone and stalk from my mouth.

  ‘Have another,’ Sally urges. And I do. In fact, I have several.

  ‘Be careful not to choke on them,’ Mum says as though I were a child, but I suppose she does have a point.

  Mum and Sally chat on, it’s normal conversation, nothing to do with me. I don’t join in but I’m enjoying hearing it. They talk about the dustbin collection, the price of parking, the state of the roads, in fact all the things our local Council are not doing properly. Then the conversation turns to Mum’s work. She’s a teaching assistant in a school. It’s the same primary school that I went to, with Stephen. Mads went too. Mum’s been there for years; she started when Mads was in year four.

  Mum had trained to be a teacher, but never finished her probationary year, mainly because she really didn’t like it. On the plus side, she did meet Dad during that unfinished year. She said she loved working with the children but couldn’t stand the form filling and the in-school politics. When Mads was old enough, Mum went back into a school because the hours suited better than the office job-share with Sally, but chose teaching assistant instead of teacher.

  ‘I’d have to retrain and I’d have to do the Newly Qualified Teacher year again and, really, I can’t be doing with any of it.’

  Teaching assistant suits her. She loves it. She’s good at it. She doesn’t have mountains of paperwork to do after school; there was enough of that in our house with Dad’s job.

  ‘They’re being a bit difficult now about how much time I’m having off,’ she tells Sally who tuts appropriately. ‘I think I might give it up.’ The last sentence is said so quietly that I think I’m not supposed to hear it.

  ‘Go back to work, Mum. You don’t need to come in here every day. You can pop by on the odd evening. I won’t be here much longer anyway. I’m sure.’ Am I?

  ‘Yes, but you’re going to need a lot of help when you get home.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I think I’ve stopped myself from thinking about that too much. I doubt Robin will want to wash and dress me and take me to the toilet. He’ll be happy bringing me cups of tea and cooking for me, but he won’t want to do the personal bit. And he’ll be twitchy about taking too much time off work. I don’t want to say this to Mum, she’ll be angry with him. ‘We’ll manage,’ I say, smiling and yawning.

  Sally takes this as her cue to leave. She’s kissing and hugging me and telling me that Stephen will get anything I want, I only have to ask.

  ‘Tell him thanks,’ I say, wondering whether Stephen really made that offer or if Sally is doing so on his behalf.

  After Sally’s gone, Mum and I sit in awkward silence for a minute or so. I’d be quite happy if Mum went too, I’m so tired and really wouldn’t mind getting back in bed.

  ‘Would you like me to help you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Back to bed.’

  Did I say that out loud, I didn’t think so? But she is my mum, maybe she’s just reading the signals.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Between us we stumble and fumble until I’m back under the covers. It’s only a few steps but it completely exhausts me. Mum pulls her chair up to the bed. I hear the pages of a book being turned. Not Pride and Prejudice again. No.

  ‘It just like when you were little and I used to read to you at bedtime.’ Mum’s voice has a faraway sound to it. ‘And Madeleine,’ she adds.

  ‘Yeah.’

  She pats my lap.

  ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of it, Mum.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What really happened to Mads. I don’t believe she killed herself. I won’t believe it.’

  Mum gasps. I hope she’s not crying. But I hear her sniff and I know she is.

  ‘Come here.’ I flap my arms in her direction and, after what seems like minutes, she leans in. I wrap her in my arms and hug her close and she hugs me back. After we’ve finished crying and hugging, I reiterate my promise. ‘I will find out. I will.’

  ‘You concentrate on getting better. That’s what you need to do.’ Mum pulls herself away from me.

  ‘Go home, Mum. I’m tired and I don’t want any more Pride and Prejudice.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Truly.’

  ‘Thank God for that, I bloody hate that book.’ My Mum rarely swears.

  ‘Then why did you bring it?’

  ‘I thought it was your favourite.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who brought the cherries?’ Robin wakes me from a deep, dreamless sleep. It’s the best sleep I can remember since this nightmare began, or at least until I became aware of it.

  ‘Stephen,’ I say without thinking.

  ‘He’s been here?’ His voice is raised in annoyance.

  ‘No. Sally brought them.’

  ‘Then why say Stephen did?’

  ‘I meant he sent them. With Sally.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  ‘Cos I like them.’

  ‘How does he know that?’

  ‘We’re old friends.’

  ‘Still, no need for him to do that.’

  ‘There wasn’t, but it’s nice of him. No one’s stopping you from bringing fruit or something. You haven’t yet.’ It suddenly dawns on me that he might have when I was unconscious. ‘Have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, feel free. Even Mum brought my clothes because you weren’t anywhere to be seen.’

  ‘I’ve been working. I told you. The bills don’t pay themselves.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. How did Mum get into the house? Were you there?’ My parents have never had a key to my home, even though I’ve always had a key to theirs. I once suggested to Robin that it might be a good idea, but he was adamant that only we should have keys.

  He doesn’t answer for a moment. Then mumbles. ‘I gave her a key.’ Well, that’s a step forward. They’ve hardly spoken for months, not since the last bust up over Mads revision. Dad had casually mentioned to me that, although her exams were months off, he was concerned that she might need some support with her revision and that he didn’t think he’d have the time. Mum didn’t entirely agree with him, she thought Mads would do well anyway. We’d just finished tea, Mum was clearing up and Mads was in the living room messaging her mates on her phone.

  ‘You,’ he said, emphasising the word, ‘know how it is and there are more distractions now than ever.’

  ‘But Mads is super bright and gets good grades.’ I’d almost laughed.

  ‘Yes, but… she’s at that age, easily distracted. And we think there’s a boy…’ Dad’s voice trailed away.

  ‘Maybe Robin could help her,’ I said.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ Mum said, turning around from stacking the dishwasher.

  Dad looked embarrassed. Mum was livid with anger.

  ‘Well, I only offered.’ Though I wished I hadn’t.

  Mum turned back to the dishwasher and continued to stack it, at the same time mana
ging to convey anger and irritation through her movements.

  I had to leave to pick Robin up not long after that, which was a relief. Foolishly I relayed the conversation to him in the car. He listened without commenting then pulled out his phone.

  ‘Mads. Hi,’ he said, ‘Is your Mum there?’

  ‘No. What are you doing?’ I flapped my hand towards his phone. He leant away from me.

  ‘Hi, Lyndsey. Just a word about my reputation.’

  I couldn’t hear Mum’s response but it sounded angry.

  ‘Yes. Well. Don’t go slagging me off to anyone. I have a good reputation, and if you go bad mouthing me everywhere, I won’t be able to keep your daughter in the luxury lifestyle she currently enjoys. Do you think nice houses pay for themselves?’

  I caught the tail end of Mum’s response because it was shouted. ‘Stay away from Madeleine.’

  He ended the call without further comment, stuffed his phone into his pocket and didn’t speak. I wanted to ask him about my contribution to our luxury lifestyle, since I was the higher earner, but I didn’t want to provoke a row. Over nothing really, just Mum’s sniping. I didn’t even know why she was being so nasty. It’s not as if Robin would steal Mads away and marry her, like he had me. That was one of Mum’s go-to arguments, whenever she was feeling mean about Robin; that he had stolen me from them. I always reminded her that I was an adult when we married and I had left willingly, more than willingly actually.

  ‘Were you there when Mum came around?’ I ask, imagining them choosing my clothes together, cooperating to help me as though I was a common cause uniting enemies.

  ‘No.’

  Okay, no cooperation then.

  ‘Was that by arrangement?’

  ‘No.’

  He sits in silence. So do I. I am tired and all I really want to do is drift back to sleep.

  ‘I hope Stephen isn’t planning on visiting you.’ Robin’s voice cuts in again.

  ‘What?’ I’m not telling him that I’ve told Sally he can’t come.

  ‘Just saying, I don’t want him here.’

  ‘Why not?’ I don’t know why he’s getting so irritated.

  ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘What? He’s an old friend. You know that.’

  ‘I don’t like the way he looks at you.’

  I sigh. And, for a second or two I’m pleased that I’ve been able to inhale enough air to make that sigh so loud.

  ‘Robin, he’s been in Canada for years. I can’t remember the last time I saw him.’

  ‘He was at Mads’s funeral.’

  ‘Oh yeah. I can’t remember.’ Although now that Robin has brought it up, something in my mind pings; a brief sensation of Stephen reaching for my hand as we stood looking at the flowers lined up at the crematorium. Or maybe that was Robin?

  ‘And he was about before that.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Does it really matter? Look, I’m tired. I expect that you could do with some rest too. Why don’t you go home and catch up on some sleep? You’ve spent nights and nights here. You can take a break now I’m getting better.’ I’m trying to be tactful; I want him to leave me alone. I feel an odd animosity towards Robin. I don’t quite know why, maybe I’m just picking up on his ire. He seems unduly, unreasonably jealous of Stephen.

  ‘I think I will.’ He sighs too. ‘Just make sure Stephen doesn’t come up here.’

  ‘Bye Robin. Have a good rest.’

  ‘Bye.’ There are no hugs, no kisses.

  ‘I can open my eye, look.’ I peer at Mum through my right eye. I’ve been practising all morning, after impressing the physio with my walking skills: two steps without the walker.

  Mum smiles. Her eyes tear up.

  ‘It’s still an effort and I have to concentrate. When I get tired it just closes again. But they’re very pleased with me.’

  ‘Well done. We’ll soon have you out of here.’

  ‘Still a lot of work to do.’ I laugh to hide my fear of leaving this place. I don’t know how Robin will cope with me unless I am fully back to normal.

  ‘I see you’ve eaten all the cherries.’

  ‘I so enjoyed them. Tell Stephen thanks.’

  ‘I will.’ I can see hesitation on her face. ‘He still wants to come and see you.’

  ‘Put him off, Mum.’ I’m about to add that Robin won’t like it but don’t.

  ‘I will, love. But he’s very concerned about you.’

  ‘Well you and Sally can fill him in. I’m sure he’s got better things to do than worry about me.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mum says quietly as she reaches into her bag.

  ‘Not Pride and Prejudice,’ I say a bit too quickly. I thought we’d dispensed with that yesterday.

  She laughs. ‘No. I’ve brought you some more fruit squash, you’re running out.’ She places a bottle of peach and passionfruit cordial on my table.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say a little sheepishly as I change the subject. ‘No Sally today?’

  ‘No, she’s house-hunting.’

  ‘She’s moving?’ This is a shock.

  ‘No. No. For Stephen. Well, with Stephen.’

  ‘Oh yeah. He’s not going back to Canada, is he? Has he sold his house then?

  ‘Yes. He got a call last night. So, he thought he’d start the process here. I think he’s a bit bored. He doesn’t start his new job for a week or two.’

  Stephen’s plans seem well along and I think of what Robin said about him being around before Mads’s funeral. Quite a bit before was what Robin said last night.

  ‘Mum, how long has Stephen been back?’

  ‘Six months.’

  ‘And has he been staying at Sally’s all that time?’

  ‘Of course. Why?’

  ‘Oh, just something . . .’ I let my voice trail away. I don’t want Mum thinking that Robin is paranoid about Stephen.

  ‘Have I seen much of him?’

  Mum doesn’t answer.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Um, wondering if I’d put enough money on the car park. It’s a one-hundred pound fine if you overstay. Isn’t that scandalous. It’s a hospital.’

  ‘Yeah. Disgraceful.’ I let my eye close, the effort of keeping it open is too much now.

  ‘So, you never answered my question. Have I seen much of Stephen since he’s been back?’

  ‘Um. A bit.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I don’t like the hesitation in Mum’s answers and I don’t believe her concerns about her car parking ticket for one minute.

  She doesn’t answer.

  ‘I think you’ve met up with him.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Just me and him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Without Robin?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Why did I do that?’

  ‘I don’t know darling, I wasn’t there.’ Mum’s tone is so evasive.

  I think about pressing her, about forcing more information from her because I can tell from her answers that she knows more than she is saying. But I don’t want to know. I am thinking the unthinkable and I don’t like it.

  The door bursts open and the smell of over-stewed meat wafts in.

  ‘Here’s your tea. Is it that time already? I’d better be off. Check that car park ticket and hope I don’t get a fine.’

  Her chair scrapes and she’s hugging me and rushing to get out.

  Robin’s timing is impeccable. He turns up after I’ve been washed and changed and tucked up in bed. Just as well, I wouldn’t want him to witness me going to the toilet; because I don’t have the strength or flexibility yet to wipe myself. He would be disgusted. And I would be embarrassed.

  His absence has given me plenty of time to think. Not that my thinking is clear; my memory is full of holes. According to the medical staff it will take a while and it
’s possible that I will always have gaps; there will always be parts of my life that I don’t remember. I’m beginning to suspect that all has not been well between me and Robin recently. I fear I may have sought solace in Stephen’s company. I hope that’s all I did.

  ‘Good day?’

  ‘Busy,’ Robin says. ‘What about you? Any visitors?’

  ‘Just Mum.’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘Yeah. Just her today.’

  ‘No more cherries?’

  ‘No. But I can open my eye now. Look.’ I blink my right eye open.

  ‘Oh yeah. Well done.’

  ‘Come around this side, I can’t see you from here. And I can’t turn my head very well, it’s so stiff and painful.’

  There’s a delay in his response.

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m looking a bit rough today.’

  ‘What. You never look rough.’ Even though I’m a little concerned by his comment I cannot believe his version of rough would match anyone else’s. And, certainly not mine. I’ve never seen Robin look rough, even when he had flu a couple of years ago he still managed to look gorgeous, sexy even, especially when he spoke, his voice gravelly and low. I was almost disappointed when it returned to normal. ‘Come on, move your chair round here and let me see you.’

  ‘I’d really rather not.’

  Now I’m alarmed. Robin is vain enough to know how good looking he is. He’s always groomed and dressed immaculately. He once told me it was his USP.

  He’d laughed at my ignorance when I said I didn’t know what that was.

  ‘Unique selling point,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, what makes me special. I look good.’

  ‘Well, yes, you do. Always. But I didn’t know it was a selling point. I didn’t know you were for sale.’

  We had giggled together, our heads touching and our breath mingling. We had only been married a month then.

  ‘Come on, Robin. You’re scaring me now.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ His voice does not sound convincing.

  Then I realise. Then it dawns on me. How could I be so stupid? I’ve been lying here for almost three weeks and the cause of that was a car accident. I always drive because that’s how we like it, and we were coming back from Mads’s funeral.