by Eva Woods
Now Rosie struggled again. The memory was fracturing around her. She didn’t want to relive this. She didn’t want this to have happened. ‘Please, Petey. I don’t want to … I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t watch you. I was … I was only little but it’s no excuse. Oh God. I’m so sorry. Please don’t make me watch it again.’
Something was happening. Her chest was burning, she couldn’t breathe. Her dream body felt heavy, aching with pain, like her real body. The green grass, the bright day, her mother’s screams, it was all dissolving. She looked down and Petey was no longer at her side. The real one or the one in her memory. Gone. The last time she’d ever seen him. ‘Please,’ she said, but she didn’t know who to, and she was wrenched into the light.
Daisy
Routine was a strange thing. For three years now, Daisy had walked up the stairs to her office every single day at eight a.m., keyed in the code to the door, walked past Reception to her desk. But somehow, today, going in so late, in her jeans and trainers, she saw it all with fresh eyes. The dust on the computer screens, the way her colleagues hunched, bleary-eyed, at their desks. Mai trying to retouch her make-up without anyone seeing – she’d probably been here all night again. The stale recycled air, the hermetically sealed windows over a city she never got to experience, the strip lighting. Why had she spent so much of her life here?
‘Daisy!’ Maura was beckoning from her office. She wore a black Prada suit and heels so high they made her knees buckle. Two other people were there too, a rectangular middle-aged woman and a slightly younger, almost spherical guy. New clients, Daisy assumed. ‘There you are! This is Anthea and Derek from Flush With Success. They make loo seats. Very exciting.’
‘Right, hi. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, I’ve been dealing with a family emergency.’
Maura forced a caring expression onto her immobile face. ‘That’s right, how is …?’
‘Rosie. She’s … I don’t know.’
‘We used to have a Rosie with us, didn’t we, Derek?’ said the rectangular woman. ‘Terribly flighty girl, didn’t last five minutes. Rather left us in the lurch. Still, it showed me what I could accomplish by myself. Now I run the company, and Derek here’s my partner. In more ways than one.’ She brandished her left hand, wedding ring sparkling. ‘Probably not the same Rosie, though.’
‘No. Maura, can I …?’ Daisy beckoned to her boss, who came out and shut the glass door behind her. Instantly her frozen smile melted.
‘Where the hell have you been? I was about to send out a search party.’
‘I’m sorry. I was … it’s been a strange day. I had things to do.’
‘Yes, well, I need you here. Mai’s lost the report on the server. Can you redo it?’
Daisy blinked. ‘My sister’s in a coma. I haven’t been thinking about the report.’
Maura frowned, deep furrows appearing in her Botoxed forehead. There was no facial toxin powerful enough to compete with the stress of this place. ‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Daisy. The report is your job.’
‘But … it’s a family emergency!’
‘Yes, and I gave you two days off for it, and she’s not dying, is she?’
‘Well, we hope not, but—’
‘Exactly. There are limits to how much slack I can cut you. I was back in here myself the day after I had the twins.’
Yes, and you almost passed out in a meeting with a light bulb manufacturer. Suddenly she saw herself in ten years’ time, in Maura’s place. Not having slept properly in decades; seeing her kids, if she found time to have any, for half an hour each night. Commuting, eating Pret sandwiches at her desk, sucking up to rich tossers who wanted her to sort out the mess they’d made with their greed and carelessness. She drew in a deep breath, from the very soles of her (sensible, flat) shoes to the top of her head. ‘I can’t do this,’ she heard herself say.
Maura was already on her BlackBerry, checking emails, not a second to spare. ‘The report? You must remember some of what you wrote.’
‘Not the stupid report … any of this. My sister almost died, Maura. She still might not wake up, or be able to walk or talk or …’
Maura massaged her temples. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I need that report, and it’s your job to provide it. I don’t think I’m asking too much here, Daisy.’
‘It’s not my job.’
‘What? Of course it is!’
‘No, it’s not, because …’ Daisy took off her lanyard with her security pass. ‘I quit, Maura.’
Finally some expression came to Maura’s motionless face. ‘You can’t quit! People don’t quit! If you’ve got another job lined up you still need to work your notice, do a hand-over …’
‘I don’t have another job lined up.’
‘Well, you won’t get a reference if you walk out now. You’ll be finished in law.’
‘I …’ She should care. She’d studied for years for this, gone to law school, clawed her way up, practically slept at the office. Her entire life, the wedding, the house, the astronomical mortgage, was based around keeping this job. It was terror of losing it all that got her up at six every day, sent her trotting to the packed train in painful shoes, kept her here long past dark every night. But Rosie had almost died. And that was all Daisy could think of. That if she spent any more time here, she might die too. ‘I … I’m sorry, Maura. Bye.’
Rosie
Back in the room. Rosie had a glimpse of the bright hospital room around her, and her mother’s face, older and lined in fear, hovering in the background, then suddenly she was choking, a line of burning pain down her throat into her lungs. Help. Help! I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe! The pain spread around her neck and shoulders, choking her in a band of redhot agony. A small detached part of her thought: Well, this is interesting; this is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. Worse than knocking out my tooth on my roller skates (when was that?). Worse than chopping my finger off that time. Worse than losing Luke …
But she didn’t have time to dwell on that, because she was dying. She couldn’t breathe and she was going to die. She could see her mother’s mouth open, screaming, but not hear any sound, and then a team were through the door with a crash cart, paddles and latex gloves and lots of controlled, directed panic. The last thing Rosie saw before she blacked out was the ceiling above her, its damp stains like the drifting continents of the world.
Daisy
Daisy saw Adam right away as she tinkled open the door of the café, with its old-fashioned bell. He was clearing up for the day, humming along to the radio, which was playing a Bruno Mars song. There was something so neat about him, from the tips of his blue Converse to the top of his shiny black head. Not tall, but if they were standing opposite each other he’d have a few inches on her … Hastily, she switched the thought off as he came towards her. He was always moving, drumming his fingers, whipping dishes away, foaming milk. This boss of his ought to know what an asset he had.
He saw her. ‘Hey! I hoped you’d come back. I kept you the last slice of Battenberg.’
‘Oh! Thank you.’ How kind he was, she thought, taking the brown paper bag.
‘Any luck?’
‘Well, depends what you mean by luck.’ She thought of the whole jumbled mass of clues. Rosie, calling everyone she knew. Rosie, out in the early-morning light, scarcely dressed. Rosie, her affair with Luke, the secrets she kept from her family. Stepping in front of that bus. ‘I think, maybe … she was trying to … that she did do it. What we thought.’ As she said it, unable to speak the actual word, tears rose up in her throat in a gasping sob. ‘Oh! I can’t … I just can’t take it in. But her life was such a mess, and no one was there for her, and the bus … they saw her walk in front … and … I think we have to accept it. Oh God, I just keep thinking what I could have done differently. Taken her call. Rung her. Or just anything really, anything at all.’
He looked at her so kindly it broke her heart further. ‘We’re not responsible for other people�
�s lives, Daisy. Only our own. I know it hurts, finding out all of this, but Rosie was on her own path. You can’t know what was in her heart.’
She wiped her face, trying to get herself under control. ‘Maybe. Anyway, I don’t know what will happen now. If she wakes up, I guess we have to try to help her, as much as we can. Sort this mess out. If that’s even possible.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s late. I better go back. I just wanted to say thank you. You’ve helped me get through these few days. It would have been hell otherwise. I hope your boss knows they’re lucky to have you.’
Adam smiled. ‘You didn’t spot it?’
‘Spot what?’
‘The name. Over the door. I’m the boss, Daisy – I own the place.’
‘Oh! God, I’m sorry, I didn’t twig at all. It’s a brilliant café, I … I’ll tell everyone to come and buy your cakes.’
‘Daisy?’ He was scratching his head awkwardly.
‘Yeah?’
‘I know this isn’t really the time – in fact, it’s the worst possible time really – but if you ever need to talk, maybe you can give me a call sometime? Or maybe we can meet up?’
‘Oh? Er …’
‘As soon as you walked in here the other day, I wanted to ask you out. A walk and a pint maybe. Or coffee, even though I spend the whole day making coffee and I can’t even look at it outside of work or I want to throw up. Anything, really. I work here about twenty hours a day but maybe we can find some time. Three in the morning or something. When I do the market run. No pressure. I just … I want to know what happens. How you are.’
For a moment, she teetered on the edge. On the one hand, being single again, moving out of the house, finding somewhere to live. Maybe having to stay in a nasty flat like Rosie’s. No wedding, no house in Guildford with a garage and three bedrooms. Cancelling everything, having to tell her friends. The future wiped out. Life would be changed for ever. Her mother would be devastated.
But on the other hand, she’d probably get over it.
‘The thing, is, Adam …’ Absently, she pushed back her hair with her left hand, the one with the sparkling ring, and he clocked it.
His face changed. ‘Oh my God. I didn’t notice. I’m so sorry.’
‘What? Oh, no, no …’
‘What a numpty, eh? I thought maybe you were … but I got it wrong. Jesus. Sorry.’
‘Adam, you didn’t get it wrong. I am engaged, yes. Though maybe not for much longer. I have some things to sort out.’
‘I haven’t got it totally wrong?’
‘Not … totally, no.’
‘Oh.’ The air had lightened between them. But … she still had to sort things out with Gary! Her sister was still in a coma! Now was not the time for this. ‘Um, do you mind if I just … let you know? See how things go?’
‘Of course! God, terrible timing, I know. I was just worried you’d step out the door and I’d never see you again. I only seem to meet people when their lives are falling apart, you see.’
‘I have a feeling mine might be falling apart for a while yet. In a good way, if there is such a thing.’
‘So …’
Just then, Daisy’s phone rang. She pulled it out absently, not thinking about hospitals and medicines and death, but about the smell of coffee and the icing on cupcakes and the smile on Adam’s face, which he was doing his best to suppress but not quite managing it. ‘Mum? Mum, slow down, I can’t …’
Daisy listened to what she was saying. She straightened up so quickly she knocked against a table and the cups on it almost fell. ‘I’m coming. I’m not far.’ She began hunting for her purse.
‘What is it?’ Adam was at her elbow, helping while she groped her arms into her coat.
‘It’s my sister, she, she, I don’t know but something’s happened. Some kind of crash. How much do I—’
‘It’s fine, Daisy. Just go!’
Rosie
The room again. But it was a different room, with brighter lights right above her, blinding like when you step into the spotlight on a stage. Her happy place, as she’d always thought of it, where she could be herself by being someone else. This wasn’t a stage, but it was a kind of theatre. Here there was a smell of disinfectant and the noise of people coming and going, voices in the shadows around her. She could feel things happening to her body, something being rolled onto her legs – tights? – and a cap onto her hair, and then someone’s gentle hand picking up hers and a voice saying, ‘Rosie? I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can you’ll feel a small prick now.’ How kind, to talk to her like she was still awake and functioning. The anaesthetist. The last one to touch you before you went under, sinking in the dark waters. And she felt it, quick and sharp, into her hand. ‘If you can, Rosie, start to count.’
Other voices. ‘She’s been non-responsive for ten minutes now.’
‘We better get in there and see what’s happening. There may be a bleed.’
‘… George assisting?’
‘… in my parking space, really unacceptable …’
Rosie clung terrified to these scraps of the world, knowing she was about to be wiped out. She might die in this surgery, whatever it was, and never be able to say sorry to her mother or Daisy and all the people she’d ever loved, and Luke, oh Luke, are we over? Will I never see you again?
She felt a small hand in hers, and knew it was not real. ‘Petey,’ she croaked. There he was, her brother, in the same clothes he’d worn that day he’d drowned in the stream. In a few inches of water, on a bright sunny day, because she’d taken her eyes off him just for a minute. They hadn’t even known he could toddle so fast. Petey didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He just looked at her, with his calm blue eyes, and squeezed her hand tight. He’d be where she was going. She knew that. ‘Please … look after me?’
Everything was fading, breaking up. The world that had hurt her so much, the beautiful life she’d kicked to pieces, and how ironic, she could see now how good it had been, standing up on dusty stages, drinking coffee in her bed in the mornings, lying on the grass on sunny days, the faces of the people she loved, her sister, her parents, her friends, and Luke, always Luke. So this is how it feels. If only I’d known.
But no one can ever know until it happens. Otherwise we’d never get a thing done, poleaxed every minute by how beautiful our lives are, and how very short.
‘I love you. I love you!’ She forced the words through her dry lips, even though no sound came out, right before the anaesthetic kicked in and Rosie Cooke was switched off like a light bulb.
Daisy
She reached the room as Rosie was being wheeled out, gasping for breath, having raced up five flights of stairs to the ward. Rosie was pale and floppy on the bed, the doctors pushing her to the lift and one running with her IV. ‘What happened?’
‘There’s something wrong with her brain.’ Her mother was wringing her hands. ‘It’s swelling or bleeding or something in her skull, and she’s not getting any air. They have to operate! Cutting into her brain! Oh God.’
‘Will she be …?’ The word OK stuck in her throat. You weren’t OK by very definition if you were being wheeled off for brain surgery, and the nurses and doctors were actually running with you, clearing the corridors and heading for the lifts up to the operating rooms.
‘It’s very bad, Daisy. I just wish … I wish she could have woken up, even for a moment, so I could tell her I love her!’ And their mother burst into loud, undignified tears.
Daisy watched for a moment, awkward. Then she went to her bag – she was the kind of person who always had tissues, of course. ‘Here, Mum.’
Her mother pressed the balsam tissue to her face, shoulders shaking. ‘It’s my fault. I didn’t even call her to see if she was OK. I was just so angry with her, and now look. I’m a terrible mother. It wasn’t her fault what happened, not at all. She was only little. It was my fault, all mine. Oh, Rosie.’
Daisy reached around to pat her mother’s shoulder. There was a lot to unpack i
n that. Where to start? ‘Come on, Mum, don’t cry.’
Just then they heard the sound of running feet in the corridor, and a man burst into the room. Fair-haired, in a navy knitted jumper, his blue eyes wild and staring. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, I was looking for Rosie Cooke.’ He took in the tears, the empty space where the bed had been. Daisy saw it in his eyes as clearly as if he’d spoken: She’s dead.
He stumbled back. ‘Oh God. Am I …?’
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘You’re Luke.’
Rosie
Awake. Somewhere. Not hospital. Not the world, maybe. Somewhere … beyond. In between.
Rosie was only aware of a bright white light, so harsh and pure it hurt her eyes. She could see nothing, hear nothing. But suddenly she could remember … everything.
24 October 2017 (Two days ago)
Mel. Angie. Serge. Dave. Caz. Ingrid. Mum. Daisy. Dad. Carole. Mr Malcolm. Ella. Luke.
Rosie stared at the list she’d been up all night writing. A lot of names. A lot of people she’d wronged, that she needed to say sorry to. In the weeks since she’d quit her job and that disastrous visit to Luke’s house, she’d at first spent a lot of time sitting in the flat feeling sorry for herself. Wishing she could speak to her family, too proud to call them first. Brooding over her life – all the turning points, all the wrong choices, all the places things had gone wrong. Falling out with Caz, and Angie, and Ingrid. Letting Luke go – time after time. Screaming at her mother and sister. Sleeping with a married man. Messing up, again and again.
She hadn’t been sleeping. All night she would lie awake listening to voices and traffic from the road outside, until the window behind her cheap gauzy curtains lightened to grey and the birds started up. The doctor had given her pills, but she’d stopped taking them, hating the feeling of wading through treacle. So they’d stockpiled. The silver packet was sitting on the table in front of her alongside the piece of paper with the names on it.
