by Linda Huber
Upstairs, Bridie was kneeling up on the bed to see out of the window. The little face was flushed and Margie put a hand on the child’s forehead. Still hot. She’d been tossing and turning and talking in her sleep too, poor scrap that she was. That was what happened when you got wet through.
Margie frowned. Something else had happened to Bridie too, hadn’t it?
‘You said Mummy was here, I want her to come now. And my arm still hurts.’
The child’s voice was a shaky whine, and Margie tutted. ‘Enough of your nonsense. Mammy’s here looking after you – eat your breakfast, then you can have some more medicine. That’ll make you better.’
‘And then I can go home?’
‘And then you can go downstairs. Marmaduke and Socks and the rest are missing you. They’re all playing in the garden.’
Bridie slid back under the covers and accepted a piece of toast. ‘I don’t want to stay here. I want my real bed.’
The child was delirious. Margie fetched the Calpol, then her legs gave out and she plumped down on the bed. ‘This will make you better soon.’ She poured a generous spoonful of pink medicine into Bridie’s mouth. ‘Close your eyes, darlin’, and have a nice sleep.’
Love welled in her heart as she stroked the tousled dark curls from the child’s face. Her Bridie, fast asleep in her own bed, just as it should be. All the way across the Irish Sea, they’d come, she and Ned and their little ones. Full of hope, they’d been. Ned’s brother helped get them a nice place to live, and a job for Ned was on offer too. They’d never had a house like this before, with an upstairs and three bedrooms – rich as kings, they were. But it wasn’t Ireland, was it?
Memories of days gone by surged into Margie’s head. Going to the beach down Bantry Bay, her Ned teaching them all to swim and catch prawns – you didn’t get good prawns in Glasgow, not like the ones in Ireland. And all for free they were, too, not that it helped when Ned broke his leg and couldn’t fish any more. That was when they’d come here, and the first cats had arrived then too. Always enough for an extra mouth, she had. However many kits had been born in this house? And when Tabitha’s little ones arrived, the family would expand again. Margie beamed. Now she’d have a lie-down on her bed too, all this running up and down stairs was wearing her out.
The sun was high when Margie woke. She sat on the edge of the bed and stretched – many a long day since she’d had a nap like that, but it had done her good. Now to see what the girls and boys were doing.
She lurched to her feet, swaying for a moment before catching her balance. Her head still wasn’t right after that bang she’d given it. Her fingers strayed to the graze along her hairline; ooh, that hurt. Just as well she had the family; they kept her going, though money didn’t stretch far these days and Marmaduke was a fussy eater, always had been. And Tabitha with her kits should have the best too.
She wandered across the landing, glancing into the other room – oh! It was empty. Bridie… where was Bridie?
Two steps more and she knew. Her bad child was sitting halfway down the stairs, playing with Ermintrude. Always up for a game of ‘you pat me, I’ll pat you’, was Ermie. Bridie glanced up – good, the flush was gone, the medicine had worked. And so it should, for the money Margie’d paid for it. But sitting around half-naked wasn’t good for Bridie, was it?
‘Where are your trousers? Put them on and you can have some breakfast.’
Bridie’s bottom lip trembled. ‘I had breakfast before. I want to go home.’ She scrambled upstairs and into her room.
Margie waited, but a wail had her hurrying to help. Bridie was sitting on the floor, her trousers half over one leg, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘My arm hurts. I can’t get these on.’
‘Let me help you. We’ll put your bandage on again, shall we? It’s come loose.’
Her back twinged as she helped Bridie to her feet and on with the trousers. Neither of them was a hundred per cent after that soaking. Downstairs, she made Bridie sit on the sofa while she reapplied the bandage.
‘Better?’
Bridie sniffed. ‘A bit. When can I—’
‘You can sit here and play with the kits while I make lunch. Cheese on toast?’
Bridie nodded, and Margie went to shoo Ermie and Tabitha into the living room to keep the child company. The others were all outside, bless them. Back in the kitchen, she looked around for the cheese, and put two more slices of bread in the toaster. Lucky, they were. They had enough to eat. Hadn’t always been like that, back in Ireland, but in spite of what you heard everywhere, times were better now.
Humming, Margie sliced some cheddar and put it on the toast when it popped up. Under the grill for a bit – there! She called for Bridie.
The child sat at the table, her eyes wide and the little face sombre. But she ate her meal, and Margie gloried in the empty plate and glass. What a darlin’ she was.
‘We’ll have a rest on the sofa and I’ll tell you a story. Come on.’
Bridie gaped around the kitchen again, but she allowed Margie to lead her through to the living room. Most of the kits were milling around too, always the way when there was food on the go. Marmaduke was still out, mind you – he was a bit of a loner. Tabitha was too, usually, but today she was at home.
Margie settled Bridie on the sofa with Ermintrude on her lap, then went to make a cup of tea. She took it through to the living room, eight pairs of eyes – everyone except Marmaduke – turning to look at her when she went back in. Margie pushed Socks to the floor and took his place beside Bridie. Miffed, he stalked into the hallway and settled down there. That was Socks for you. Margie leaned back, rubbing her chest, oh, it was good to sit down. She’d just close her eyes for a few minutes.
The living room grew distant as she sat there, lost in her memories. Ned and the family… walks along the beach…
A bang came from outside and Margie snapped back to the present day. A story, that was what they needed.
‘Remember the beach at Bantry Bay? You loved running along the edge of the water, letting the waves chase your feet.’
Bridie’s face was clouded. ‘I was at the beach once. The water was cold.’
‘It always is, darlin’. And we found lots of sea shells, didn’t we, and put them all in your daddy’s pockets.’
‘Where are they now? And where’s Daddy?’
‘He’s away doing business, isn’t he?’
Bridie was staring. Margie coughed, then settled more comfortably into the sofa. It was good to rest, now and then. Life wasn’t easy. Topsy jumped up and settled on Margie’s lap. There, her and Bridie with cats on their laps, just as it should be. Sweet li’l Bridie. Margie bent sideways and kissed the dark curls beside her, pleased when Daisy jumped up too. All they needed was—
Margie laughed aloud. As if he’d heard her, Marmaduke set the kitchen window banging as he came inside and joined the family in the living room. Margie leaned back comfortably, crooning as she stroked the heads within reach. Her darlin’s. And they were all safe right here at home.
Chapter 8
A clanking noise was coming from the corridor outside her room. Sleep vanished and for half a second, confusion filled Daria before reality hit home. She moaned. Evie. She would never stop saying it and Evie would never answer.
Noah’s voice came from her left. ‘Wha—? Oh, you’re awake. Daria, I called your parents, love. They’ll be here tomorrow.’
He was in the chair by her bed – had he been there all night? His fingers scratched audibly across a two-day beard, and his sunken eyes told Daria he’d slept in fits too, if at all. She pushed herself up on one elbow to take stock. She still had a drip, and – she lifted the bedclothes to see underneath – the splint was still there, some kind of boot. But none of that mattered. Not her parents, not her leg, not Noah. Evie was gone.
A nurse bustled in. ‘Let’s get you up in a chair, shall we? If you’re drinking enough, we’ll take the drip down later and the physio will show you how to use your cru
tches.’
Anything to get out of here. But first she needed more information. ‘I want to talk to someone about Evie.’
Who’d been the last person to see her girl alive? A paramedic? Or had Evie died immediately? Daria rubbed her eyes. That little voice she’d heard… she knew her own child’s voice.
Noah gripped her hand. ‘Later, love.’
The nurse met his eyes, but didn’t look at Daria. ‘The doctor will be in to see you in an hour or two. They have rounds downstairs first, so it’ll be sometime after ten.’
Noah lifted his phone from where it was charging on the locker. ‘I’ll nip home for a shower, Dar. Love you.’
He barely glanced at her, though, and the nurse was bustling around with her head down. Daria gritted her teeth. They hadn’t told her everything yesterday; understandable when she was still groggy and ill from the anaesthetic. But today, she wanted answers.
It was nearer eleven when the senior doctor arrived, by which time Daria was ready to scream at him. Noah was back but had sunk into a depressed silence in his chair – not that she blamed him – communicating in grunts and monosyllables, wiping away tears every other minute. Daria’s tears wouldn’t come today. It was all too raw, too painful. Until she knew why and how Evie had died, she wouldn’t be able to start grieving.
The doctor shook hands with her, and Daria sat up straight. ‘Mr Evans’, his name badge read, so he must be a surgeon.
He sat down on the chair Noah had placed ready for him, one leg crossed over the other. ‘Let’s start with you, Daria. Your fibula – the thinner of the two bones in your lower leg – has been pinned. It was an uncomplicated break, you can be up on crutches straightaway, but you’ll have to keep the boot on for six weeks. We’ll check your wound tomorrow and if all’s well you can go home then.’
‘Thank you. I’d like to know about our daughter and – and what happened. No one has told me anything yet. Where is she? Can I see her?’
Mr Evans cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid not. She’s not here. I’m sorry.’
‘I—’ Daria broke off. If Evie was with an undertaker already, that was all the more reason to get out of here and go and see her baby for the last time.
She gazed from one man to the other. Noah was hunched over his knees, shoulders shaking, and Mr Evans was grim-faced. They still weren’t telling her something.
‘Tell me what happened!’ It was a scream from her soul.
Mr Evans took her hand. ‘You were thrown clear and were taken away first. I’m so sorry, but it was a terrible crash and Evie was – too badly injured.’
What did that mean, ‘too badly injured’? Daria pulled at Noah’s arm. ‘Did you see her?’
A shake of his head. Daria sat still, struggling to breathe. Nothing, nothing would ever hurt her again like this. Her baby had been so horribly injured they hadn’t even let Evie’s father see her. But it would be different at the undertaker’s; she would insist on seeing her child. And as Evie wasn’t in the hospital there was nothing more she could do here.
‘I want to go home. Right now. I’m discharging myself.’ She was not going to stay here with sympathetic eyes following her every move, eyes that had no idea what it was like to know that your child had been mutilated and disfigured…
Breathe, Daria.
They left the ward shortly after half past two, Daria having spent the past hour learning how to use her crutches and waiting for an appointment to see a doctor at the clinic the following day. She didn’t speak as they drove away from the hospital, and nor did Noah. What was there to say?
Their flat was in Albert Drive, in what had once been a lovely detached house and was now two roomy apartments. Millie and Roger, Noah’s parents, were waiting at the flat door as Daria sweated and thumped her way up the stairs on her elbow crutches. Tomorrow, Mum and Dad would be here too. A family in grief.
Millie’s eyes were red-rimmed as she hugged Daria. ‘Oh, love. Come in and sit down.’
Daria wiped her damp palms on her pullover, then rocked along the roomy hallway. It was the same flat she and Evie had left to go off on their happy holiday in Spain, but it would never be home again, would it? She eased down on the sofa and gaped around dumbly. The photos on the bookshelves, the sideboard, the window ledge, family snapshots of a small girl enjoying life – they were all that was left. And the big studio portrait on the wall where a fireplace had once been, with the three of them laughing at the camera and looking slightly artificial in the usual way of posed photos – it was unbearable. Evie’s little face was almost life-sized.
Roger perched on the edge of an armchair. ‘It’s true what they say, Daria, you never lose the love. We all have to hold onto that.’
What could anyone answer to that? Never losing the love might be true, but it didn’t help. ‘I want to see her. Mum will, too. We can go to the undertaker’s on Tuesday.’
Noah’s expression was agonised. ‘I – she – she’s already cremated, Daria. I made a mistake, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to... She was too – too injured.’
The world stopped turning. Daria could hardly breathe. This was unbelievable. ‘You mean, you told them to go ahead and—’
He thumped the arm of his chair with one hand. ‘No. I – didn’t mean to.’
That look he gave Millie and Rog then – what did it mean? Daria closed her eyes. Whatever had happened, it changed nothing. Evie was gone, with no goodbyes said.
Millie sat down beside her and took her hand.
‘Daria, love – what’s your last memory of Evie? The last picture of her in your head?’
Daria’s thoughts whirred through the taxi journey. Evie, excited to be going to Spain, that happy little face beaming up at her, those brightly shining eyes. Tears rose and escaped as Daria gripped the hand holding hers. Millie was right – this should be the last memory.
Day Four – Monday 20th April
Chapter 9
Saturday’s euphoria was still intact on Monday morning. Liane stretched luxuriously, glancing at the alarm on the bedside table. Twenty to eight – brilliant. Loads of time to have a leisurely ladies’ breakfast with her daughter before they headed over to the hospital for Frith’s eleven-thirty appointment. Life was good. Granted, pretty soon she would fall off this elation trip and start thinking, OMG what have I done? – but that day hadn’t come yet, though it might if she didn’t get an interview for the creche job. She’d managed to get hold of Steve, the A&E charge nurse, and Janine, the cardiac clinic receptionist, at the weekend, and both had promised her a glowing reference. The jury was still out about whether to ask Frith’s surgeon, that might be a bit too cheeky. Another possibility was the nurse at the local baby clinic. Frith didn’t go there any more, of course, but Sister Annie still took a keen interest and had made Liane promise to send clinic updates after each appointment.
The elation trip came to an early and abrupt end when she stepped into the shower and discovered it wasn’t providing water today. Bummer. No hot water was a regular occurrence, but no water at all was a new low. Liane made do with a lick and a promise at the basin, vowing to find a new flat as well as a new job as soon as was humanly possible. She could do Superwoman at the same time as Supermum, couldn’t she?
Frith was banging on the bathroom door. ‘I have to go!’
‘In you come. Toast or Coco Pops for breakfast?’
‘Toast and Coco Pops!’
Rejoicing, Liane pulled on jeans and the posh sweater she’d found at the local charity shop after Christmas, and went to lay the table. It wasn’t long since she’d had to bribe Frith into eating more than two mouthfuls of anything. Hearing her demand double rations was amazing.
‘Clinic this morning,’ she reminded her daughter when breakfast was over and the little girl was foraging around in her toy box. ‘Do you want to go early and have extra time to play in the waiting room?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Frith gave her a tiny smile. ‘And if other children have all the good
toys, can I play with your phone?’
Liane pretended to think. Like most kids, Frith would spend all day glued to a screen if she was allowed. The problem was, Liane’s phone had been the perfect distraction for a long time while Frith was poorly, and breaking the habit wasn’t easy.
‘All right. But no more than ten minutes. We’ll take them from your TV time today, so think hard if that’s what you really want.’
They set out at ten o’clock, Liane zipping her jacket – another charity shop find – right up to her chin, and Frith jamming on her green woolly hat with the enormous pom-pom. It was chilly for April, and oh, for her nice warm Fiat to take them to the hospital. Liane sighed. Her car had been the first thing she’d given up when Frith was born and it became clear she wasn’t going to be able to return to work any time soon. The second thing had been the West End flat. The third thing had been Tony.
The bus trundled across Glasgow South Side and deposited them right outside the Children’s Hospital. Frith grasped Liane’s hand as they walked to the entrance, craning her neck to get a better look at the high buildings.
‘Can we go up on the roof one day?’
‘Doubt it. We could go up to the top floor sometime and see what the view’s like.’ Liane dropped Frith’s hand when they were inside the children’s building. ‘Give me your jacket, love bug, it’s warm in here.’
Frith knew the way and skipped along in front to the cardiac clinic. Liane’s heart melted at the sight. Would she ever get used to having a well child? It was the best feeling ever. Thank you, Mr Wilson, and thank you Glasgow for having such a lovely big new hospital for children. The place was light, bright, airy and colourful, none of which was vitally important, of course, but they were very pleasant extras when you had to be here anyway. She slowed down at the corridor leading to the staff creche, but no, she wouldn’t look until she was sure she had an interview. No point tempting fate.
