by Dawson, H A
He looked to her, puzzled.
‘I can’t send her away. It’s Sarah.’
Chapter 30
The suitcase glared. It was a reminder of her past and her future, her limited possessions, her forgotten hopes, and her banished dreams. It was all she was worth, her entirety, squished into a couple of bags. It was everything.
Michelle leaned back into the middle of the sofa, a cushion pressing against a disconsolate ache in her abdomen, and stared at the sky visible above the net curtains and rooftops. The patches of blue widened and shrank, and fluffy balls of cloud drifted aimlessly, blocking out the dazzling sun. Then, without warning, the sun reappeared reasserting its sensuous warmth and brightening the room.
Lowering her head, she was haunted by visions of her past, from her regrets and mistakes to her weaknesses and cowardice. She relived the moment she had discovered she was not able to provide Brittany with a kidney; she remembered her first meeting with Scott Cole and ultimately his death; she recalled hearing the slamming of the prison cell door for the very first time.
Throughout the years, Michelle’s agony had been perpetual and her hollowness remained, never leaving her, never letting her forget all she had done wrong. If only she could have allowed herself to forget. If only she could have blanked out the pain.
It was forever real, and a tight sensation swelled in her abdomen, restricting her breathing and causing a feeling that she needed to belch. She held a hand to her burning throat and gulped for air.
Why had she not searched for courage or sought help? She should have realised the guilt would be everlasting and had been foolish, naïve, in her actions. She had even craved forgiveness, expecting her daughter to offer clemency, but it would not have been the correct response; she was evil, undeserving of such treatment.
Michelle’s gaze drifted to the armchair Brittany had occupied upon her last visit, and she searched for an imprint in the fabric and memories of the moment. Her daughter had looked to her out of her eye corner, her gaze unguarded and her expression happy. It was a moment to cherish, a moment she believed they may finally develop a loving mother-daughter relationship.
It had not lasted. Fighting her natural instincts, Brittany’s expression had hardened and she told Michelle of her father’s breakdown. Michelle knew Brittany had hoped to see the agony inscribed into her face, but in reality, it had done very little. What actually hurt was seeing the satisfaction in her daughter’s eyes as she recounted the moment.
Michelle had already had a suspicion of Gavin’s problems, and knew he had resigned from his job at the hospital. She had hoped he would have been stronger, more determined and resolute to stay with something he loved, but it was hardly unexpected. He was the only one that knew her secret, all of it, and it cost her, her marriage.
She could never love anyone else. He was her soul mate and it was meant to be a lifetime union. Her jaw clenched and his hands tightened into fists. He should have made an effort to understand, but he never had. At the time, she was furious that he was so unsupportive. Now, years on, she understood entirely.
She headed to a drawer, retrieved a notepad and a pen, and started to write. First, to Gavin, that would be the easiest, then to Brittany.
Words flowed. She told him she loved him and apologised for her lack of abilities and her mistakes. Then finally, she said she was putting everything right, and a trickle of pride entered her veins. It was the first she had felt for years, and it was invigorating.
The next letter was not so easy, and after writing an opening, telling Brittany how much she loved her, she stopped, and the pen hovered above the paper. Everything she considered writing sounded trite and artificial, and she sensed Brittany would cast it aside, disbelieving. A photograph of her precious daughter offered no inspiration, and her agony crystallised.
Alerted by a cacophony of voices coming from outside, she placed the pen onto the table and strode to the window. Just at the end of the street, near a crossroads, was a group of people and a car with a siren on the roof. It seemed as though someone had collapsed. Michelle lowered the net curtain and turned away.
Jolting as a thought bolted into her mind, she lifted the netting. There was a bag on the floor next to the woman. It was like Brittany’s, the same brown colour with a flap at the front, but she could not see its owner. Michelle’s heart hammered and her mouth dried. She strained her neck, left and right, searching for a better view between the bodies and the car. It was no use. With a sense of terror rising from her gut, she fled from the house.
‘Stand clear,’ the first responder said.
The people stepped back allowing Michelle a better look. It was Brittany, and they were restarting her heart with a defibrillator. A chill enveloped her. She watched in a daze, ignorant of the voices and the mumbled chatter, and held her hand to her mouth.
Brittany lay deathly still; her lips were pale, his skin tone ashen, and her hair swept back. Michelle urged her to fight, silently repeating her pleas as the medic persisted in trying to revive her. There was a splutter of breath, and the stony silence within the crowd was broken. Tears moistened Michelle’s face.
A siren sounded the ambulances arrival. She elbowed to the front, knelt down, and gripped her daughter’s hand. ‘You’ll be all right now.’
There was a flicker of recognition in Brittany’s eyes, a moment of appreciation. It was all the motivation Michelle needed to persist with her plan.
Accident and Emergency was a horrid place, where dread battled with hope, and anxieties conquered serenity. It was a turning point for so many, a day that could not be foreseen, where death lingered and lives were shattered, and all hope rested on the medics. Much could be lost, yet little could ever be gained. Only the lucky ones left in a better position, with an experience that created wisdom, and with a wisdom that would be cherished.
Michelle perched on the edge of a hard-backed seat and leaned forward, hands clasped. There was a quiet stillness in the air, as though a spoken word may provoke death or disease, and folks fidgeted, their gazes wandering, their eyes revealing a deep-seated fear.
She fiddled with a hangnail on her left forefinger, twisting it forward and backward, and withheld an urge to try to cut it off with her nails. Then she removed her red-rimmed glasses and brushed her fingers across her eyelids. Time was moving slowly, too slowly.
Double doors to her right were thrust open, and a team of paramedics wheeled in a patient on a bed. It was a young woman, or perhaps even a teenager, she couldn’t quite tell as blood was smeared down her face oozing from her head. Doctors and nurses appeared. They rushed her into a nearby room.
The door was shut. Glancing towards the blinds and straining her ears to listen for sounds, Michelle wondered what had just happened.
Another life had been turned upside down.
She shuffled on her seat and looked to the corridor where Brittany had been taken, and hoped and prayed. A heavy feeling expanded in her stomach. Michelle knew Brittany had not been taking sufficient care, she could see it in her face during her previous visit, and had to use all of her determination to stop herself from making comments that she felt sure would be misinterpreted. Yet saying nothing made it look as though she didn’t care at all. She should have been more assertive and made Brittany promise to eat better and rest more. She was still her mother. She may have been vacant for a few years, but that counted for nothing.
Nonetheless, Brittany was not a child, and she shouldn’t need instructions or guidance, and knew the situation regarding her health. During her early years, Michelle had spent hours reiterating the importance of self-care, from maintaining good hygiene to achieving a calm mental state. It could not have all been done in vain.
Maybe she had forgotten to take her medication. That must be it. At their previous visit, she had looked tired and had been a little tetchy, but she hadn’t seemed overly anxious. Nor had she persisted in questioning her about Scott Cole. She must have been getting the idea that the past was best forgotten.<
br />
A nurse appeared from the corridor and headed straight towards her.
‘Mrs Handley?’
She nodded.
‘Brittany is stable and her heart is beating for itself. She’ll have to stay in for a few days, and we’ll do more tests.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You can visit her. Second door on the right.’
Michelle mumbled her reply and, holding a static pose, watched her leave. It all seemed so straightforward for the nurse. Why would a mother not want to visit her daughter? Michelle was grateful Brittany was alive, but having a face-to-face conversation was another thing entirely.
Rooted to the seat, she fought her dilemma. Deep in her heart, she wanted nothing more than to rush in and give her a big hug. But what if as a result she lost her courage and backed out from her plan, her need to leave? If she stayed, she would be encouraged to provide a supportive role and that would not be easy. Watching Brittany undergo dialysis had not been comfortable the first time around, and certainly would not be again, not after all that had happened.
Brittany’s screaming complaints and awful temper were entrenched into Michelle’s mind. Her young, red, tear-stained face radiated heat as she was dragged or bribed to her sessions. Michelle could not understand it; other people had never found it so terrible and some even appeared to enjoy the quiet time. Driven by guilt, she feared Brittany’s reasons were deeper-rooted, and even wondered if she had overheard her hushed whispers with Gavin in the bedroom.
Michelle’s guilt burned as brightly now as it did then. She had always been the villain; the person who had to persuade her dialysis was necessary. Gavin would never have a bar of it, nor would he give her sympathy when she struggled to tolerate Brittany’s tantrums. It was always the same, and his steely look with tight, unyielding lips remained as vivid as ever.
‘Michelle?’
She looked up, it was Nurse Roberts.
‘Sorry about Brittany, I was passing through. Have you been told you can go in?’
‘I . . . I can’t.’
‘I’m sure she’d appreciate it.’
‘Did it happen because of her kidney?’
‘We’ll need to do a few more tests before we’re certain.’
‘But it could be?’
Nurse Roberts withheld her reply.
‘I can’t let her suffer.’ Michelle leapt to her feet. ‘I have to help her.’
‘But you are, by being here for her.’
‘But if it’s her kidney . . .’
‘Patients can live a normal life for years on dialysis.’
‘No. Not dialysis. She hated that.’
‘It doesn’t have to be intrusive.’
‘No. I have to help her . . . finally do the right thing.’ She rubbed her fingers, checked her fingernails for breaks, and told herself she must set her daughter free. She could not fail again. Not this time. Not now.
‘It might help to talk to someone about what you’re both going through,’ Nurse Roberts said.
Michelle frowned. ‘I can’t let her down again. I’m a freak . . . a coward. I can’t be there for her. It’s for her own good.’
‘No, you’re struggling. You’re both making adjustments. It’s a stressful time, for you both. Just hold her hand. Let her shed the odd tear if need be. Just be a good mother, as you always have been.’
Michelle averted her gaze and swallowed her wretchedness. If she had been a good mother Brittany wouldn’t have hired private investigators. She would be doing well and not continuously chasing elusive answers. It was no good for her. Not at all.
‘I know you’ll do what’s right,’ Nurse Roberts said.
‘I can’t let her down again. It’s all I’ve ever done. She’s going to have to learn to live without me.’
Nurse Roberts peered over her shoulder. Someone was signalling for her. ‘I’m sorry I’m going to have to dash. Dr O’Riordan needs me upstairs.’
Michelle wrapped her arms across her body, trapping her quivers.
‘Do you want me to take you in to see Brittany?’ she continued.
Was she going to insist? Fearful, Michelle leapt to her feet and scurried to the exit, stumbling on her painful foot. Glancing back, she noted Nurse Roberts’s perplexed expression. There was no time to stop and explain why she couldn’t visit her daughter. She had to take action whilst she had the courage. Then, and only then, could Brittany start a new life, freed of all burdens. Dr O’Riordan would understand.
She removed her phone from her pocket and sent him a text. He would help her. She was convinced.
Chapter 31
Frowning, Brittany stared at the woman in the next bed with a mole on her cheek and dark hairs above her upper lip. Her head was tilted back, her mouth was wide open, and her heavy nasal congestion strained every breath. Muttering in a low voice, Brittany willed the woman to awaken, and had to use every effort to resist jumping out of bed and forcing shut her mouth.
Clenching the sheet, Brittany’s frown lines deepened. Being in hospital was meant to be stress-free, and to give her body a chance to recuperate. It was anything but. If it wasn’t the snoring woman in the next bed irritating her, it was the cackling voice of the woman opposite, who was overly happy considering she was in hospital. Turning over, Brittany lifted the covers over her head and endured the claustrophobic warmth.
With memories of her childhood clouding her mind, it was difficult to see any positives with her stay. She despised the sight of the beds lined up against the wall, the medical sheet at the foot, and the individual curtains ready to eliminate the sight of prying eyes during treatment. The walls were white, non-descript and far too bland and there were no paintings or decorative objects to mull over. The ward needed a bit of colour, something to give it life, and the flowers and get-well cards did little to lift her spirits. Even some of the nurses were stern, and had a tone in their voice there made Brittany feel as though she was being a nuisance.
Lifting the covers away from her face, she reached into her drawer and looked to her mobile phone. It was switched on, but the sound was off. No one had called. She clutched it in her hand with her head slumped onto the pillow, and gazed through the window at the cloudy white sky. After a few moments, an airplane appeared. She followed its trail, and wondered where it was going. Fighting a moment of self-pity, she closed her eyes and told herself to enjoy the chance to sleep.
Michelle’s departure tore at Brittany’s heart, disrupting her ability to relax. More than likely, she had left by now, and had made no effort to say goodbye. Her gut twisted in agony. She shouldn’t be surprised, and she shouldn’t be wasting her emotions on her distress. Michelle had shown little care and understanding during the last twelve years and had not acted as a mother should. Her departure should have been predicted.
Having drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, Brittany awoke to the sound of voices. She glanced up. It was visiting time, and the solemn faces of the other patients faded as they were reunited with their families. A young man hugged the cackling woman, and a fat man with a permanent frown slumped on the chair beside the snoring woman. She greeted him with a grumble and a shuffle.
Brittany disappeared under the sheet wishing someone would encircle her bed with the curtain.
‘Brittany?’
It was Erin’s voice. She jerked herself upright and greeted her flatmate with a beaming smile.
‘How you doing?’ Erin asked.
‘I want to go home. I’m so bored.’
‘Any ideas when that’ll be?’
‘Another day or two. They say I need to rest.’
Erin pulled a chair towards the edge of the bed. ‘It’s great to see you looking so well. I wasn’t sure if you’d have visitors.’
Brittany looked away and clenched her hands.
‘Did you tell Jason what happened?’
‘He doesn’t need to know.’
‘I’m sure he’d like to. He could spare you five minutes.’
‘Et
han’s dying. I’m not going to take time away from him.’
‘Have you heard any more?’
‘No.’
‘Poor bloke.’
Erin reached for her ponytail and combed it with her fingers. ‘So what about you? Have they checked your kidney function?’
‘They’ve been doing tests. I haven’t heard anything yet.’ Her gaze flitted. ‘I’m not worried.’
Erin was staring and it was unsettling. Brittany had seen that look too often, when other people thought she was going to die. They should be more positive and filling her with confidence instead of making her fret. Why was she always the one that had to provide the optimism?
‘Have you heard from your mother?’
‘I doubt she cares.’
Erin reached for her hand. ‘I . . . I thought I should tell you. I saw her rushing away from casualty after your accident.’
‘What?’
‘It was definitely her. I’m sorry.’
Brittany tightened. ‘I felt her holding my hand. I thought it was a dream.’
‘Maybe she’ll come back.’
She’s leaving town . . . probably already gone.’
‘What?’
Brittany nodded. ‘Jason told me.’
‘Do you want me to see if check if she’s still there?’
‘No, it’s all right.’
‘It’s no problem.’
‘No. I’ve done enough begging. She knows where I am if she wants to see me.’
Erin’s expression was filled with sympathy, and her hand still rested in hers. Unable to tolerate her display, she wriggled free and turned away, looking to the snoring woman and her fat companion. They were bickering, and she was asking him in a resentful tone why he was visiting. ‘You should be grateful, woman,’ the man said.
Maybe there was truth in his statement.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Brittany said.
‘Any time.’
Brittany feigned a smile.
‘You don’t have to do this alone. There are times when we all need someone around.’
