by Linda Huber
‘Blue or yellow?’ She held up two pairs in Frith’s size. ‘For dirty games in the garden.’
Steve was looking at his watch. ‘Why not just let her wear old things? You don’t need to keep washing them.’
Liane laughed. ‘That’s what Bridie does. She looks like a ragamuffin most days. But Frithy’s bursting out of all her old clothes this spring.’
Frith pointed to the blue dungarees. ‘I like these ones. Bridie’s things are all old, Mummy. So is everything in the house.’
‘Margie’s an old lady, honey pie. Old people have old things. I expect I’ll be the same one day.’
Steve took the trolley. ‘Ladies, I’m not rushing you, but I have to go.’
Liane thrust the blue dungarees into the trolley beside the mower. ‘We’re done.’
They were pulling up in front of the house again when a message pinged into Liane’s phone. Tony. She slid the phone back into her bag to deal with later, then kissed Steve goodbye.
Frith pulled a face at them. ‘Yuk! Can I go and see if Bridie’s out?’
Liane waved as Steve drove off, then grasped the lawnmower. ‘Don’t go into their garden, huh? We don’t want to disturb them if Bridie’s dad’s come back.’
Frith ran off, and Liane took the lawnmower round the back, then sat down on the bench to see what Tony had texted. Can’t manage weekend, will come over to see Frith Tues afternoon. Liane grimaced. He’d forgotten the ‘if that’s okay with you’ bit. Well, she’d see what Citizens Advice had to say on Monday. It was better to be armed for whatever arguments he was going to produce.
She was about to start the lawnmower when a thought struck. She ought to get in touch with Daria. Whatever was going on in the woman’s head, she had lost a child, and after living for years with that same fear at the front of her mind, if anyone could empathise, Liane could. A quick message would be best.
I was so sorry to hear about your daughter last night. Take care of yourself. She hesitated, then added a kiss and tapped send. A few seconds later, her phone rang.
‘Thanks for your message, Liane. I’m sorry again about losing Frith that day.’
‘Frithy’s fine. You must have been under a tremendous strain – you still must be.’
‘It’s – awful. I think that’s why I needed the contact with people who didn’t know. Frith’s such a lovely girl, and the way she’s so enthusiastic about everything – that was Evie all over. But I should have told you.’
Liane’s mind raced. ‘Would you like to come round for a coffee and a chat sometime? Frith enjoyed being with you too until Tony showed up.’
‘I’d like that. Thank you for being so understanding.’
Liane tapped her fingers on the lawnmower. ‘How about tomorrow afternoon?’
Daria agreed, and they organised a time. Liane ended the call and went back to the lawnmower. She’d have a quick dash up and down with this and – ah. Now she remembered, Daria wasn’t what you’d call mobile at the moment, was she? It might be better if she went to Daria tomorrow. Liane pulled out her phone again. But no, she would leave it up to Daria to suggest a change of venue, if she wanted one. No point in being over-complicated.
Day Thirty-One – Sunday 17th May
Chapter 36
It was ridiculous to be so nervous about going for coffee with an old school friend. Daria hopped over to her case and fished for a clean pullover. She’d been at Kit’s for almost a week, and Noah was still blaming her for Evie’s death. They were going to meet at the flat on Wednesday, with Millie there too, to talk things over again. Daria was still hoping he’d agree to bereavement counselling. Their marriage wasn’t going to survive unless Noah came to terms with their loss and ‘forgave’ her for doing something that was risky, yes, but not illegal. Would she ever forgive herself?
The street was quiet when the taxi pulled up at Liane’s a few minutes before half past two. Frith came running down the side of the house as Daria paid and got out.
‘You’re lucky – I hardly ever get to go in a taxi! Can I try your crutches later?’ Frith jumped up and down beside her on the pavement.
Steve joined them. ‘Taxis are an overrated pastime, kid. Hi, Daria – looks like you’re walking better. Liane’s in the garden, come on round.’ He led the way up the side path.
Liane was setting out coffee things on a table on the patio. She pulled out a garden chair at the top of the table. ‘Hello! Good to see you, Daria.’
So, they were pretending everything was okay between them – at least while Frith was here. Daria sat, put her leg up on the offered stool and handed the crutches to Frith, who hopped up and down, clutching the handpieces.
‘We made lemon drizzle cake. Mummy squeezed the lemons and I made holes in the cake to pour the juice into!’
Daria managed a smile. ‘That sounds yummy.’ What wouldn’t she give to have Evie hopping up and down on crutches right now?
‘I wanted my friend Bridie to come for cake too.’ Frith handed the crutches back and slid onto the bench.
Liane poured coffee from a thermos jug. ‘If Bridie’s dad’s here, they could have gone out for the day.’
Frith pouted. ‘Bridie had a 99 with my daddy and me once.’
Liane ruffled the little girl’s hair. ‘You see your daddy pretty often, though. Bridie hasn’t seen hers for a while, so I expect they want some time together just the two of them.’
Frith heaved a sigh, then came to lean on Daria’s chair. ‘My daddy plays the guitar, you know. When I’m bigger I can go to his concerts, can’t I, Mummy?’
‘Yup. You’ll be a teenager in no time, don’t worry.’
Steve handed round cake, and Daria sat trying to control her breathing as Frith attacked her slice. She cleared her throat and leaned back, searching for something to say. A black cat with white feet was strolling towards them from the bottom of the jungle.
‘Is that one of the cats you told me about, Frith?’
Frith bounced in her chair. ‘That’s Socks!’
The child chattered on, and Daria’s discomfort abated. They were making her feel like a normal person – kind of them, when you considered how she’d lost Frith instead of keeping her safe at home that day. Frith ran off to see if her friend was out as soon as she had finished her cake, and Daria gazed after her.
‘More coffee?’ Liane gave the jug a shake. ‘I’ll make some fresh.’
She hurried inside, and Steve followed with the milk jug. Were they whispering about her in there? Daria didn’t move. They came back seconds later, so maybe they weren’t.
Liane perched on the edge of her chair. ‘Coffee in two minutes. Daria, were you—’
‘Mummy! Bridie has to stay in her garden because her daddy’s not there yet. Can I take some milk to put in the den for when Tabitha comes home? We still haven’t found her.’ Frith tore up the garden and stood bobbing on her toes beside Liane, hands clasped in front of her.
‘Cats shouldn’t drink milk, honey pie, it isn’t good for them. But you can take some leftover chicken from lunchtime. Bring it back if Tabitha hasn’t eaten it by tea time, though. It’ll go bad, and we don’t want to give her a sore tummy, do we?’
The two of them vanished inside, and Steve winked at Daria. ‘I have a feeling Tabitha may very sensibly have left the building to have her kittens in peace and quiet, you know.’
Daria laughed aloud – how shocking that she could laugh still and mean it. She relaxed as Frith sped off with some chicken on a saucer.
Liane poured fresh coffee. ‘If Tabitha gets to eat that chicken it’ll be a miracle. I hope we don’t have all the other cats queuing on the doorstep wanting more.’ She slid another slice of cake onto Daria’s plate. ‘No arguments. You need feeding up.’
Daria wielded her fork. The cake was oozing lemony sweetness. Normally she’d have been delighted to have more, but today it was hard to get it past her throat.
Liane lifted her own fork. ‘Kit said you were staying with her, Daria?
Are you coping okay? Sorry, that’s a stupid question.’
Daria fixed her eyes on her plate. ‘Noah and I are having – problems. We decided some space was the best way. I’m seeing him on Wednesday.’
Steve gave her arm a squeeze. ‘What you’re going through is the worst possible thing for a couple. If being apart is right for you now, that’s what you should do.’
‘Listen to him.’ Liane nodded at Daria. ‘He knows what he’s talking about. He was in charge of the ward when Frithy was so ill – I lost count of the number of stressed-out parents I saw quarrelling because it was all just too hard.’
‘I’d never have thought Noah and I would end up like this.’ Daria took a sip of coffee.
Steve passed her a tissue. ‘Have you done anything about bereavement counselling?’
‘We’re – I’m thinking about it.’
‘Mummy! The cats all want Tabitha’s chicken! Bridie’s guarding it. I’m going to the loo!’ Frith raced straight past.
Liane and Steve were hiding smiles, and Daria slid up her sleeve to see the time. After half past three; she would stay a little longer and then go back to Kit’s. This was harder than she’d expected.
Frith returned, and Liane caught the little girl’s arm on her way past. ‘Are you being good? Is Bridie’s dad there yet?’
‘No – she says he’ll be here soon with her mum. Can I have—’
‘No more chicken, Scooby Doo. The cats get plenty of food from Margie, don’t they?’
‘Bridie fed them today. She gave them water, too.’
‘Good that Bridie’s big enough to help. I’ll call you in a bit, huh?’
Frith vanished into the bushes, and Daria sat forward in her chair. ‘I’ll order my taxi for four o’clock, if that’s okay?’
It was time to leave these kind people in peace to laugh together when they wanted to. Two hours of her company was enough.
‘You don’t need to rush. Whatever’s best for you,’ said Liane. ‘I know it’s hard to get comfy at other people’s places when you’re on crutches.’
Daria smiled in reply and tapped to connect to the taxi company. Her leg was an excuse, and they all knew that.
Liane pushed her chair back. ‘I’ll wrap you a couple of slices of cake to take back to Kit’s, shall I?’ She vanished inside.
Steve gave Daria an encouraging smile. ‘Where does Kit live?’
He was good at bridging awkward gaps in the conversation. They chatted about life in the West End in comparison to life south of the Clyde until Liane was back with a package wrapped in tinfoil.
‘Excuse the non-environmentally-friendly wrapping. I’ve run out of greaseproof paper.’
‘I can reuse it.’ And now it was empty words to fill the time. Daria accepted the cake.
They chatted about nothing for a few minutes, then Daria got to her feet and took hold of her crutches. ‘I’d better get round to the front for the taxi. It’s been lovely to see you – thank you so much, Liane. And Steve.’
Liane stood up. ‘I’ll call Frithy to say goodbye before you go.’ She took a few steps down the garden. ‘Frith!’
Daria limped across the patio to the side path. Sitting in a garden chair for so long hadn’t been such a good idea; she had pins and needles in her bad leg.
Liane put a hand on her back as she wobbled. ‘Careful.’ She looked behind her. ‘Frith!’
No answer came. Liane grimaced.
‘I’ll leave her, if you don’t mind. If Bridie’s parents have arrived, they might be in the middle of hellos over there.’
They walked to the front of the house, where Liane gave her a careful hug. ‘We’ll do this again, Daria. We can take Frithy out sometime too. It won’t be long before you’re properly mobile.’
‘I’d like that. Say goodbye to her from me.’
And here was the taxi. Daria got in, waved as they drove off, then leaned back with her eyes shut. Her friendship with Liane seemed to have survived, but oh, what a tough visit that had been.
Chapter 37
Margie stumbled from the living room into the kitchen. Every bone in her body was aching, and her head was throbbing like the engines on a ferry. What had Bridie done with the Calpol? And where was the child? It was almost four o’clock. She’d be wanting her tea soon. Margie pushed the dirty lunch plates to one side and leaned on the table. Oh, this cough was making her so weak. Nice steady breaths, Margie. Take your time.
Ah – there was the Calpol by the sink. A good dose and she’d be better for a while. The kits needed to be fed, too.
Margie swallowed several measures of Calpol then shook cat food into the empty bowls. As much landed on the floor as in the bowls, but the kits would take care of that. She filled a glass with water and took it through to the sofa to drink. The photos of the family were on the coffee table, and she sat leafing through them. Her world. Bridie and Maeve and…
‘Aiden? Sam?’ Her voice quavered through the empty house. The boys weren’t here; they should all be here. But Daisy was coming to sit beside her, li’l darlin’ she was. Margie fussed over the cat, then leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Something was wrong today; her head wasn’t working properly. She had to find something. What did she have to find again? Margie tottered through to the kitchen. She’d have more Calpol, that would help.
Five minutes calling round the house and garden was enough to show her that Bridie wasn’t at home. Only the kits came running when Margie opened the back door, all except Tabitha. Dear Lord, Bridie must be out looking for Tabby-puss. She’d go and search for the pair of them right now, yes.
Margie swallowed the last aspirin along with some more Calpol. Her head was still swimming, but it was a much more comfortable sensation now, as if she’d been drinking champagne. That Bridie, what a rascal she was! She’d been watching her brothers and copying their wild ways. But they wouldn’t be far off; they never were, and it was a lovely afternoon for a walk. She’d find them, Bridie and Maeve and the boys. Down the path, out of the gate. Some seagulls on a roof across the road were crying like they used to in Ireland. She would go to the corner and see if the girls and boys were there.
Margie arrived at the corner then scurried on, and on, searching city street after city street as the afternoon gave way to evening. And on, and on. It seemed so easy today; that would be the Bridie’s pink medicine. Bless the child. Remember the summer evenings when the family had played on the beach until all hours? Glasgow was even lighter; at midsummer you could sit out in the daylight until almost midnight. It wasn’t daylight now, though, shadows were falling and it was harder to see up the streets she was passing. Margie stopped and leaned on a lamp post. What was she – ah, yes. Bridie, what a li’l rascal she was. Always hiding. Margie drifted along the road, past a pub on the corner and… dear Lord – where was she? Look at these rowdies. Who did they think they were, laughing at her like that? She dodged into a tenement entrance and waited until they’d poured themselves into the pub she’d passed.
Stopping had taken all her energy away, somehow. Margie leaned against the wall. The dim light in the entrance was comforting, and she was tired, so, so tired, and her chest hurt, everything was hurting and Bridie was gone. Margie pushed away from the wall. She had to find Bridie. Two steps and oh, the whole world was swirling around her.
The voice came from far away but it was kindly, a woman’s. ‘Steady, hen, have a seat here.’
Several firm hands gripped Margie’s arms and pushed her down until she was sitting on a step, leaning sideways against a wall. The street had gone all swimmy, and four blurred shadows were bending over her.
A man’s voice came. ‘Has she been drinking?’
‘Can’t smell anything – not booze anyway. Where does it hurt, hen?’
Margie gripped her chest. Bridie…
The man again. ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’
No, no.
‘Ambulance… Yes… It’s an old woman collapsed in the street outside The Hog in P
alace Road… Sort of half-conscious, clutching her chest… She’s in a bit of a state, can’t stand up… Okay.’
She had to find Bridie. Margie yanked her arm away from the hand still holding it, but all she managed was a pathetic little flap. What was happening to her?
‘An ambulance is on its way, love. They’ll have you right in no time.’
Two men’s voices started a muttered conversation. Margie strained her ears to hear, but the words meant nothing. The woman beside her patted her shoulder now and again. Margie fought the descending fog. Was this a stroke? No – she could feel her hands and feet. Her heart? But there wasn’t any pain, just this fog everywhere.
Sirens swooped up, and new voices were talking over her head. Margie allowed dimness to slide into nothingness.
The beeping woke her, and she reached out – why was it so bright here? They should turn those lights off; she couldn’t see a thing.
A girl’s voice. ‘Hello! You’re in hospital, my love, can you tell me your name? Steve – she’s awake.’
Someone was wiping her face with a cold cloth. Margie jerked her head away – but this was better. She could see again, though everything was still blurry.
‘Where are my girls? Where’s Aiden?’
A young man and an even younger woman were bending over her.
The man spoke. ‘I’m going to have a quick look in your eyes. What’s your name?’
A bright light shone briefly in each eye, and Margie tried to turn her head to the side.
The man clicked off his torch and took her hand. ‘You’re in the short-term admission ward at A&E. I’m Steve, I’m the head nurse here. Your heart was a bit irregular but we’re helping you now. What’s your name?’
Margie pressed her lips together. There was no getting away from busybodies today.
The girl was speaking again. ‘Is Aiden your son?’
