by Eva Woods
Daisy rested her head against the wall, the dingy beige colour of it. Someone had come in to empty the bin, a grey-haired woman in an orange tabard. ‘Mind if I get past you there, darlin’?’
‘Oh! Yes, sorry.’ She shuffled her chair, distracted. The small room with its old chairs, out-of-date magazines and posters about health scares was where they were going to live out the most significant moments of their family’s history. She had a feeling that, bland as it was, she was going to be remembering it for the rest of her life.
‘Don’t you worry,’ said the woman from the doorway – a cleaner, Daisy assumed, given she was flicking a duster half-heartedly over the chairs. ‘She’s going to be just fine. I know it. She’s got people taking care of her. On this side and the other.’
Daisy looked up – what did she mean? – but the woman was already gone.
Rosie
Oh, her life. If only she’d known. It had been so beautiful. She could see that now her memories were back. Swinging between her parents’ arms, Daisy a baby in her mum’s tummy. Daisy a red bundle in a blanket, Rosie clambering on the hospital bed to see her new sister. Long car trips on holiday, inventing an elaborate game of I Spy crossed with wink murder. Primary school, and having the same Sesame Street lunchbox as Mel, sharing Monster Munch with her (Mel was only allowed carrot sticks). Teenagers, her and Angie, dancing round the room to the Spice Girls, practising dance routines. Rosie belting out the final song in the school production of Blood Brothers, the audience leaping to their feet in applause, Mr Malcolm in the wings with tears in his eyes, looking down to see both her parents there, proud faces smiling up. Her mother, a young woman, dancing her round and round the kitchen to Kylie Minogue, her red hair flying. Petey, his soft warm body snuggled up to hers in an armchair as she read him a story, Where’s Spot? University, dancing like mad with Ingrid to S Club 7, jumping up and down, sweaty and joyful, flinging their arms around each other. She and Caz sitting at their cheap dining table, rings from red wine glasses all over it, the clock showing three a.m. and still so much to say to each other. And Luke, so many memories of Luke. Pressing her lips to his neck, the pulse of his blood. The smell of his skin on that beach, hot sand under her bare feet. Oh, Luke. And everyone. Her parents and Daisy and Caz and Ingrid and Angie and Mel and everyone she’d ever known. Everyone.
‘My life,’ she gasped. ‘It was … it was so good. Why didn’t I see? Why couldn’t I?’
‘No one can, darling,’ Grandma said in her ear. ‘Not till they’re lying where you’re lying. That’s the heartbreak of it.’
‘I wish I could tell them. I wish I could go back, do more with it. Make some kind of difference to the world.’
‘Oh, pet, you did make a difference. Don’t you see? That’s what all this is for.’
‘What?’
‘All these memories. These lives you touched and you don’t even know it. Angie, she’d have married that Bryn if it weren’t for you. He’d have beaten her black and blue. You stopped that.’
‘Not on purpose!’
‘But even so. You made a difference.’
Darryl’s voice said, ‘Ingrid, that posh bird, she married your ex, and they’ve got two kids now. That would never have happened if not for you.’
‘Oh … wouldn’t it?’ Her head was spinning.
Mr Malcolm. ‘And your friend Caz, she only got that breakthrough role in the first place because you showed her the audition ad and ran lines with her, do you remember?’
‘Oh … maybe.’ Too many memories, exploding like a kaleidoscope. She couldn’t grasp them, hold them in her hands.
Melissa now. ‘Ella, she only came to the UK because she met Luke, because he was heartbroken over you. Her life’s different because of you, Ro-Ro.’
‘But my family, my parents … what I did to them … Petey would be alive if not for me!’
Grandma said, ‘Petey would never have been born if not for you, love. Your dad didn’t want a third, but your mum was so happy … she loved having you and Daisy so much, she wanted another, and you kept asking for a little brother. Remember?’
‘Er … I don’t know …’
‘And if it weren’t for Petey, your dad wouldn’t have left, and Carole’s life would be different too. Scarlett wouldn’t be here. And think of all the things that kid’s going to do with her life. Rule the world, most likely. All because of you. That’s what you learn when you pass over, darling. None of us can exist without each other. And that’s the truth.’
‘But … what will happen now? Am I dying?’
‘We can’t say, pet.’
‘I don’t want to die! I know I thought about it, but I didn’t. I decided to try and make things better instead. I was trying to come back from it, from rock bottom.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure, I’m sure! I want my life back, crappy and broken and messy as it is. I want to fix things. I want … Please, I want to see Luke again, and my parents, and my sister – both my sisters … Please. Please. I don’t want them thinking I tried to kill myself. I want to tell them what really happened. I want to go back.’
But maybe it was too late?
Daisy
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
Gary looked different somehow. Usually he wore his tie tight to his neck, so close it looked like it was cutting off his air supply, and he never took his suit jacket off if anyone could see. But now he sat in the hospital waiting room, in his shirt-sleeves, tie hanging loose, shirt crumpled, a paper cup in his hands and something resting on the seat beside him in a paper bag. ‘Where’ve you been? Is that … cake?’
He shrugged. ‘I … thought one bit wouldn’t do any harm. Went to that café you’re always in.’
‘Oh yeah, it’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Best Bakewell tart I ever had.’ Gary sighed. ‘Then I just walked about a bit. Thinking about – you know. Everything. Am I allowed to ask how she is?’
‘She got through surgery. Now we just have to wait and see if she wakes up.’
‘Oh.’ He screwed up his face. ‘You know, I never understood it, how things were with you and Rosie. I never had anyone else growing up, just Mum and Dad.’ An adored only child born late to his parents, both now dead, Gary didn’t have much by way of family. It was perhaps one of the reasons he’d inserted himself so cosily into hers.
‘She’s my sister, Gar. It doesn’t matter what she does, or how badly she behaves. If she’s sick I come running. If she needs a kidney I’ll be, like, slice here. That’s just how it works. And you don’t have the right to come between us. No one does.’
‘I know that. I’m sorry for what I said about her. It was out of line.’ He heaved another deep sigh. ‘I’ve been put on disciplinary by Mr Cardew.’
‘God! Why?’
‘For taking the day off. He said only blood relatives, and even then they’d have to be at death’s door.’
‘She’s in a coma! That place.’
‘I know. But it’s a good job. Good money.’
‘That isn’t everything.’
He looked sadly at his hands. He had cake crumbs on his shirt. ‘Daise, what are we going to do? This wedding, it’s costing a fortune.’
‘I …’ Daisy sat down. It was now or never. Life or death. Stick or twist. ‘Gar, I’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh, Daise, no …’
‘Just let me say it.’
‘Do you have to? Please don’t.’
‘Seeing Rosie like this, almost losing her … it’s made me think. What are we doing? The way we live … up before dawn, on the train, back after dark, spending the weekends going to B&Q and painting the living room … we’re young. There’re so many things we haven’t done. Why are we in such a rush?’
‘You don’t want to get married any more.’
She opened her mouth to say of course she did, she just wanted to talk about it, but instead she said: ‘No. I don’t.’
‘Not to me.’
‘Not to anyone. For a while, anyway. I’m only thirty.’
‘Do you love me, Daisy?’ It wasn’t something they asked each other, or said very often outside of Facebook.
‘I … of course I’ll always love you in a way, Gar. But – don’t you think there must be more to life than this? Going to bed at nine with our pyjamas on, making sure to put on hand cream, floss our teeth, moisturise?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with flossing! It’s important to look after your gums.’
She put a hand on his arm, felt him sag. ‘I know it is. But … other things are important too. Like joy. Like love. Like … honesty. And I think, honestly, we’re not in love with each other. Maybe we never were. I think we both just wanted that life. House, marriage, car, NutriBullet … all of that.’
Gary was quivering. She thought he might be about to cry. ‘What will we do?’
Daisy sighed. ‘I guess … I’ll find somewhere to stay for a while. Maybe at Rosie’s, if she’s recovering. She’ll need someone to cover the rent.’ The idea was already there in her head, as if someone had dropped it there.
‘You said it was a fleapit!’
‘Well, it’s been having some home improvements, as it happens.’
‘You’ve got it all planned out, I see,’ Gary said sadly.
‘Not really. You just … you get a lot of clarity when someone might die.’
‘We’ll call the wedding off?’
‘I think we better. It wouldn’t be right, not with things how they are.’
‘We’ll lose the deposits.’
‘I know. That just … can’t be helped.’
He heaved another sigh. ‘I’ll have to update the spreadsheet.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Gary got to his feet, brushing crumbs off himself. ‘I know you think I don’t care, but … will you let me know how it goes, with Rosie? I’m not sure it’s right for me to be here if … well. But I do care. I hope she gets better. I should have been nicer to her.’
She stood up too. Incredibly, it seemed they were going to part like this, after so many years, in the waiting room of the hospital. All those nights she’d lain awake wondering if Gary was the one for her, realising how trapped she was with the wedding and the mortgage, and here it was just falling apart quietly, like a tapped Chocolate Orange. How easy things were, when you held them up against life and death. Against the battle Rosie was fighting, behind that door.
It was a shame she wasn’t awake, really. Daisy was sure her sister would be happy to find out she and Gary were over.
Running feet. Her mother in the doorway, face ashen. ‘Daisy. Come now.’
Rosie
Was this Heaven? Would she get in, after all the terrible things she’d done, the people she’d let down? Did she even believe in Heaven? It was certainly white, filled with a light so strong it hurt her eyes. Hands were holding hers, one on either side, and she no longer felt any pain in her head or lungs. Was this it? The peaceful end Darryl had talked about?
‘Grandma?’ she tried. Nothing. No ghostly visitors were with her now. Instead, she heard another voice, a young woman’s voice. It was Zara, the doctor.
‘Rosie? We’ve taken you off the ventilator, and we’re going to see if you can breathe on your own, OK? We’ll try three times and if she can’t breathe we’ll … well, then we have to make some decisions.’
This was it. They’d patched up the bleed in her brain, but more damage might have been done. They were testing her, to see if there was any hope of her surviving. If she didn’t manage to wake up now, that might be the end of her. Come on, Rosie, breathe. Breathe! Just a little thing. Just in and out. Do it!
Daisy
She would not have believed that every moment in her life, everything she’d ever gone through or thought or felt, could come to this: standing at a hospital bed, watching as doctors disconnected her sister’s breathing tube. Rosie’s face was pale and slack, her hands lying limp by her side. The polish on her nails was chipped. Daisy wished she’d thought to repaint them. Just one small act for her sister, to try to show her love, the pointless overflowing love that would have nowhere to go if Rosie did not manage to breathe.
The machines began to beep, and Daisy heard her mother sob, and grim-faced and efficient Zara plugged the breathing tube back in. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll try two more times.’
Rosie
I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! I can’t—
The clutching panic eased as the blonde doctor hooked her up again and Rosie choked, and sucked in life-giving air. Was this it? If she couldn’t breathe on her own, would she be like this for ever, trapped in her wasting body? Or would they just let her go, convinced she wasn’t in there any more? She had two more chances to wake up, to come back to herself. To give her life, flawed as it was, one more try. Please. Please, let me live. But she didn’t even know who she was talking to.
Daisy
Again, the disconnection of the tube, the agonised wait, the ticking of the clock. Watching Rosie’s face turn blue and her chest stay stubbornly still, and the beeping and shrieking of the machines, and the reconnection, the calming.
‘That didn’t work either, I’m afraid,’ said the doctor. ‘We’ll try again. One more time.’
And if that didn’t work? Then what? She thought of everything she’d learned about her sister, the pain and loss she’d gone through, the unhappiness, her lonely life. Was it right to do this? Poke her full of tubes and needles, use machines to keep her heart pumping? Was it selfish to want her back, so they could try again with the mess they’d all made of loving her?
‘Third attempt. Here we go.’
Rosie
Come on, Rosie. This is your last chance. When they switched the machine off, it was terrifying, like plunging her head beneath the waves. But she had to do it. She had to show she was alive. Not just that. That she wanted to live, to make her life better, to change things. To try again.
‘Here we go, Rosie,’ said the doctor in her calm professional voice. ‘When I disconnect the tube, try your best to breathe for us.’
Panic. Choking. Fear. Breathe, Rosie, breathe. The simplest act, one she’d never even thought about before all this. Just the rising and falling of your chest. Nothing really, but everything too. Life. Hope. Because she wanted it, with all its pain and suffering and regret. She wanted her life back.
Taking everything she had, every ounce of sadness and hope and love, Rosie Cooke opened her mouth, and breathed in life.
Around her, everyone jumped back in shock.
‘Did she …?’
‘Was that …?’
‘Rosie! Rosie, can you hear us?’
She flickered her eyelids experimentally – working. Light filtered in.
‘Rosie! You’re awake!’ Faces beaming down at her, full of love. Was she dead? Being welcomed to the afterlife? She was pretty sure, however, that they would not play One Direction in Heaven.
‘Scarlett, turn the music off!’
‘It helped her wake up!’
‘Well, maybe, but we have to be very quiet and gentle now. Rosie, love, are you there?’ On one side, her mother, tears streaking her make-up. On the other her father, who looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Past them, there was Daisy, weeping, taking off her glasses to wipe them on her jumper. Carole, with her arms round a beaming Scarlett, who was holding her phone aloft. Her family. All around her. Also there was a tall grey-haired man with a kind face, who she didn’t recognise. He had his arm around her mother. That was strange.
‘Darling, do you know us?’
Come on, head. Just a little nod. Just for me?
‘Oh, Mike. She knows us! She knows us!’ Was she dreaming? Were her parents crying in each other’s arms? Was her mother reaching out to bring Carole in, and the mysterious grey-haired man? Was Daisy stroking Scarlett’s hair, who was looking baffled at the emotion all around her?
‘Why’s everyone crying? Rosie woke up, didn’t
she? She’s OK?’
Her mother answered, finally speaking to Scarlett in kind, loving tones. ‘Sweetheart, we’re just happy. Because Rosie has come back to us, and we love her very much.’
Rosie nodded her head again, and slowly, like a dead weight, it responded. The effort left her exhausted, falling back on the bed, but finally she felt like she was driving her body again. Like she was back in it, not adrift in her mind somewhere. The real world seemed concrete, full of sharp edges and bright colours, no longer covered in that fine veil that seemed to separate her from the living. She was back.
Her parents drew away, tidying themselves up, sniffing and straightening, as if embarrassed at their spontaneous display of emotion. ‘Darling,’ said her mother tentatively, ‘there’s someone else here to see you. If you feel up to it?’
Rosie knew she looked a wreck. Her lips felt cracked and sore from the breathing tube, she hadn’t washed in days, and her skin would be pasty and slack from lying in this bed.
There was someone in the door. Broad shoulders filling it. Light surrounding his fair hair like a halo. He was crying again. So sad they had made each other, both of them, but so happy too. Was that what love was? Going through the wringer for someone? He stepped into the room, coming closer, as if not sure she was really there.
‘Hi, Rosie,’ he said, swallowing down his tears to smile at her, like the sun coming out. ‘It’s you. It’s really you.’ He came towards her, clutching her hand in his big warm one. She felt a pulse between his thumb and forefinger. The life running through him. And she was alive too. And that meant anything was possible.
Rosie tried her hardest. Come on, hand, please work. I promise I’ll stop biting my nails and use lotion and get manicures all the time from now on. Just one tiny squeeze? Please?
And, gathering all her strength, all the force of her love for him, she put all her might into it and managed to give his hand the faintest squeeze. It wasn’t much. Barely there at all. But to Rosie, it was everything.
