by Rosie Fiore
It wasn’t that she had lost an enormous amount of weight – she had lost some, but was still decidedly curvy. She was wearing a dress that accentuated the best aspects of her shape, not least her voluptuous bosom, and was nipped in to show her waist. She had lost the old-lady, mousy hairdo; instead, her hair was back to the bright blonde Esther remembered from childhood, and it had been blow-dried in soft waves rather than frozen in harsh curls. She had caught a little sun and had a slight tan and a healthy rosy glow to her cheeks. She still looked a little awkward and nervous, but the change in her clothes and hair had taken years off her.
‘Sally!’ Esther called, half-standing. She was conscious her voice was a little loud, but it was hard to know how to be heard above the music and hum of conversation.
Sally turned towards the voice, and when she saw Esther, her face lit up like a star. She seemed so genuinely happy, Esther felt embarrassed at how churlish she’d been about inviting her. Sally made her way across the courtyard and kissed Esther warmly.
‘You look absolutely fantastic!’ said Esther.
‘So do you!’ said Sally. ‘Summer must suit us.’
Michael stood up and Esther turned to introduce them. ‘This is…’ and for the first time, she heard herself say, ‘… my boyfriend, Michael. Michael, Sally.’
She sensed Michael glancing at her, surprised. They hadn’t had a conversation about the state of their relationship, nor had they agreed appropriate terms of address. For a minute she thought she might have upset him, but then she felt his hand warm on her back, and he held her waist firmly and drew her closer to him.
‘Nice to meet you, Sally,’ he said, extending his free hand to shake hers.
Sally stared at him, a little wide-eyed, and didn’t say anything for a second. There was a strange hiatus in the conversation, as if Sally had dropped an obvious cue to say something, and then she spoke.
‘This is a lovely venue,’ she said, looking around her. ‘Gosh, and they do lay on a good spread!’ Although she looked different, she had the same awkward manner and old-fashioned turn of phrase.
‘They certainly do!’
‘Have you had something to eat, Sally?’ asked Michael. ‘Let me take you on a tour of the finest canapés in north London. I could do with a plateful myself.’
While Michael and Sally were getting food, Lucie came over and slipped into the chair next to Esther.
‘Did you see Sally, Mum?’ she whispered. ‘She looks amazing!’
‘I did. What a transformation.’
‘She told me and Clara she’d had a whatchamacallit. A makeover.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. She went to some posh department store and got a personal shopper to help her choose new clothes and then someone to tell her what to do with her hair and redo her makeup and everything.’
‘They did a very good job.’ Esther looked over at Sally, who was smiling up at Michael. ‘She looks…’
‘Looks what?’
‘Like I imagined she would look when I knew her as a teenager, if that makes sense. She went through a lot, and it made her old before her time. Now she looks the way she should look. She looks her age.’
‘She looks better than her age,’ said Lucie. ‘She’s quite a babe.’
Later in the evening, Esther saw Sally on the dance floor, bouncing up and down, laughing and being swung around by Paul, who loved to dance. Tim came to sit beside her.
‘Your friend Sally’s a hoot,’ he said. ‘Where’s she been hiding?’
‘She’s the princess in the tower,’ Esther mumbled, by now definitely on the downward slope from tipsy to maudlin. ‘And now she’s letting down her hair.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The summer holidays finally came around and, predictably, the weather immediately changed for the worse. It seemed to rain night and day, and in the moments when it stopped, the sky was leaden and low. Lucie had a few days at home before she was to go up to Stephen’s, and her misery was palpable. Esther was working from home, and she seemed to spend all her time either creeping around to avoid Lucie’s sulks and wrath or cuddling her and soothing her sudden and unpredictable fits of crying and clinginess. She wanted so badly to tell her she didn’t have to go to her dad’s, but it wouldn’t be fair to do that. She had a responsibility to encourage a healthy relationship between Lucie and her father. And, on a purely selfish and practical note, she couldn’t afford to spend any more work days away from the university, especially as she and Michael were due to fly to Venice in a week’s time.
She knew Lucie had to go, but going to the station and putting her red-eyed, silent daughter onto the train was one of the hardest things she had ever done. She got back on the Tube to go to work and wedged herself into a seat by the door, beside the glass partition. Then she covered her face with her hands and allowed herself a few discreet tears. She felt hollow and awful.
That evening, Lucie rang and sounded a little more cheerful. It seemed Melissa had redecorated her bedroom, and she now had her own TV and DVD player. Esther was none too happy with this set-up, nor did she feel bribery was the best way for Stephen and Melissa to win Lucie over, but she held her tongue. She said a lot of warm and encouraging things, and promised to pack up some of Lucie’s favourite DVDs and post them up to Manchester that evening. Now that she knew Lucie was settled and happier, she found she didn’t like the quiet of the house, so, on impulse, she rang Michael. He was thrilled to hear from her, and within half an hour she was driving round the M25 to spend the evening – and the night – with him.
She took two days’ worth of clothing and went back to stay with Michael again the following evening. So, in all, it was forty-eight hours before she returned to her own house. It took her a good few hours before she noticed the blinking red light on the telephone handset. People seldom rang her on her landline, so she wasn’t in the habit of checking her messages. She picked up the phone, expecting a message from some cold-calling company, and was surprised to hear a clipped female voice saying, ‘If this is the home of Esther Hart, could you please call us with some urgency. This is the fourth message I’ve left. This is Sister Marilyn Brent. I’m calling from the Intensive Care Unit at Saint Mary’s Hospital on the Isle of Wight.’
Laura. Esther felt sick. She played the message again and jotted down the number and then dialled, her fingers shaking. She asked to be put through to the ICU, and the sister who answered the phone had the same clipped tones she had heard on the message.
‘Sister Brent? This is Esther Hart; I assume you’re calling about my mother, Laura Hart?’
‘We have been trying to reach you for two days. We only had a landline number for you on your mother’s medical records.’
‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been staying… away from home. What’s happened? Is she…?’
‘Your mother was brought in two days ago. When would you be able to get here?’
‘What happened?’
‘I’m afraid I’m unable to give detailed medical information over the phone.’ It was a stock response, but Esther could tell from the firmness of the tone that arguing would get her nowhere. She thought fast. She considered the time it would take her to get to Southampton and the frequency of the ferries. It was already 7 p.m. If she drove like the wind, she might catch a late-night one. The ferry journey was an hour, then a lightning-quick drive to the hospital… but would they let her in at midnight or 1 a.m.?
‘I can leave immediately,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Catch the last ferry…’
‘Er… I would…’ The sister paused on the other end of the phone. ‘I would get here as quickly as you can, but we don’t anticipate any change in her condition in the next twelve hours. Tomorrow morning would be fine.’
‘Would you let me in if I could get there tonight?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Esther ran upstairs, emptied the bag she’d brought back from Michael’s house and began to shove in a few thin
gs. She had no idea what to pack – no idea how long she would be away, or indeed what she would face when she got there. She packed a few pairs of jeans, boots and tops, as well as handfuls of underwear. As she raced back downstairs, she grabbed the hands-free kit for her mobile. She would let people know as she travelled, to save time.
She rang Stephen first. He was surprisingly kind and understanding. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I always liked Laura. She’s a tough old bird. Give her my best when you see her.’
‘I don’t know…’ said Esther, and for the first time she felt tears threaten. ‘I don’t know that I’ll be able to tell her anything. She’s in intensive care.’
‘What was it? A stroke?’
‘They didn’t say. They won’t, as you know, tell you anything over the phone.’
‘Well, let us know what’s going on as soon as you know.’
‘I will. And Stephen—’
‘I won’t tell Lucie any details. Just that she’s ill. Don’t worry.’
‘Thanks.’
She rang Michael, who immediately offered to get in his car and come and meet her.
‘Thanks, my lovely,’ she said, grateful for his immediate and unconditional support. ‘But I need to just get there and find out what’s going on. If it’s… appropriate for you to come, I’ll let you know.’
‘I’ll be waiting for your call. Ring anytime. Esther…’
‘Yes?’
He hesitated, and then seemed to think better of what he was going to say. ‘Lots of love, okay? Look after yourself.’
Her last call was to Regina, explaining where she was going and asking Regina to clear her diary for the next few days at least. ‘Will you be back before you go on holiday?’ Regina asked. Oh heavens. Holiday. She and Michael were due to fly to Venice in less than a week. It had gone right out of her head and, she realized, he had had the sensitivity not to mention it. Well, there was no point in worrying about it until she got to the hospital and found out what had happened.
‘I don’t know,’ she said shortly. ‘As soon as I know more, I’ll let you know. Right now, I just have to get there.’
‘Of course,’ Regina said, and then added uncharacteristically, ‘I’ll pray for her.’
The traffic was merciful and she got to Southampton in under two hours. She drove straight to the ferry terminal and was able to get a place on the next crossing. The forward movement of her journey had sustained her and kept the panic at bay, but once she was aboard the ferry, there was nothing to do. She could only sit for an hour. She went to the upstairs lounge and got a cup of coffee and a dry pastry. She sat staring at a television screen, seeing nothing. What had happened? She had spoken to Laura just that weekend. Or, wait… had she? She had been so busy getting Lucie ready for the trip, and Michael had stayed over on Friday night… Had she forgotten to ring her mum? She genuinely couldn’t remember. What if she hadn’t rung and that was the last time she could have spoken to her?
She jumped up and began to walk around the ship. She felt as if she were trying to will the ferry to go faster through her own motion, but it would not be hurried.
The moment the announcement came through that passengers could return to their vehicles, she headed down to her car and sat in it, seatbelt fastened, ready to go as soon as she could.
By the time she disembarked, it was after eleven and the roads were very quiet. She drove straight to the hospital. It was largely in darkness, but she managed to find her way to the Intensive Care Unit. She hesitated for a second, then reasoned that they would be used to late-night arrivals and rang the intercom beside the door. A quiet voice answered, and a nursing sister came to meet her.
‘I’m Laura Hart’s daughter,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve just heard and come down from London.’
‘There’s no one here who can give you much information,’ said the nurse gently. ‘If you come back in the morning, the doctors do their ward rounds at eight.’
Esther looked at her, stricken. ‘Please…’ she said, and was mortified to find her eyes filling with tears.
The nurse touched her arm lightly. ‘It must have been a big shock to you, and I know you’ve come a long way. You can come in and see her for a minute.’
Now she was there, walking through the door, Esther wanted to turn and run. The unit was dimly lit, and there was a symphony of bleeps and hums from machines and monitors. The nurse led her to a private room and stepped aside to let her enter.
It wasn’t Laura. Whoever the shrunken, wizened woman in the bed was, hooked up to wires and with her mouth open around the unfeasibly large tube of the ventilator, it wasn’t Laura. There was none of her fierce, crackling energy in the room.
She turned to look at the nurse. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
The nurse hesitated and then said quietly, ‘It really is best if you come back to talk to the doctors in the morning. Do you have somewhere to stay?’
She hadn’t even thought about that. Somehow she had imagined she would be sitting beside Laura’s bed all night, but that didn’t seem practical, and it didn’t look as if the nurse would allow it. A hotel? She’d never stayed in a hotel on the island – she wouldn’t even know where to find one, let alone one that would give her a room at midnight. Then she remembered. ‘I have my mum’s spare key on my key ring. I can go back to her house.’
She took one last look at the still figure in the bed. She wanted to touch her or kiss her, but she didn’t think she could bear to feel how unyielding and unresponsive Laura’s skin might be. ‘I’ll be back first thing,’ she said, and the nurse nodded. As she passed her, the nurse very gently touched her arm again. Esther wished she hadn’t. It made the tears spill over, and she could barely see as she left the hospital and made her way back to her car.
Her mother’s house, in nearby Wootton Bridge, was down a quiet side street. The house was in darkness when she pulled up outside. She had never been there when Laura wasn’t there.
As she walked up the path to the front door, she stumbled over a small object. It was so dark, she couldn’t see what it was, so she stepped around it and kept walking. Once she was a little closer, the motion sensor kicked in and the light above the door came on. She glanced back to see what she’d tripped on and saw that the path was strewn with leaves and clods of earth, and that the garden was choked with weeds. Her mother’s garden? It was almost unbelievable. She fumbled with the key and let herself into the house. It smelled dusty and undisturbed, with a faint undertone of real, sour-smelling dirt, as if it had not been cleaned for some time. She wandered from room to room, turning lights on, and indeed, the house did look neglected. Newspapers were piled high on the coffee table, there were dirty dishes in the kitchen and dust was thick on the shelves. She went up to her mother’s bedroom and saw that the bed was unmade. In all her life, she had never known Laura to leave her bed unmade. Was this where she had been found?
She felt so tired and overwhelmed with sadness, she didn’t know what to do. She went to the linen cupboard, found some bedclothes and made up a single bed in one of the spare rooms. She felt grubby from travelling so had a quick shower and got into bed. She was desperately tired, but sleep would not come. There were so many unanswered questions. She could see no connection between the Laura she had spoken to on the phone, who had been cheerful and positive as always, and the wretchedness she found in this house. What had been going on? And why had Laura not said anything to her?
After half an hour or so, she realized that she wasn’t going to doze off, so she got up and went back into her mother’s bedroom, looking for clues. The first thing she noticed was the absence of books. Laura’s bedside table had always groaned under a teetering pile of volumes – an eclectic mix of fiction and non-fiction. She usually had three or more books on the go and would mark her place with scraps of paper. Reference books, about gardening or cookery, would have a bristling fringe of the torn scraps. But now the bedside table was empty. There was a dusty glass, which Esther assum
ed had contained water, and that was all. Next, she went into the bathroom. The bathroom cabinet stood ajar; again, she assumed whoever had taken Laura to hospital had come in to get her toiletries and any medication. The cabinet was all but empty except for a tube of antiseptic cream and some plasters, and an empty pill bottle lying on its side. It had a prescription label. Esther picked it up. It was labelled ‘Madopar’, not a drug she was familiar with. She would have to google it.
It took a moment to type the name in, and the answer came back from the NHS site, listed under ‘Parkinson’s Disease Medicines and Drugs’. Good grief. Had Laura been diagnosed with Parkinson’s? Why hadn’t she said anything? And how had that led to her current condition? Esther didn’t know much about Parkinson’s, but she did know it was a degenerative disease characterized by tremors and a gradual restriction of movement. Laura couldn’t have been showing symptoms for long; it was just seven months since Esther had seen her, and she had been fine in December – if anything, more energetic and hearty than usual. Esther glanced at her watch. It was 2 a.m. She knew for certain that she wouldn’t be able to sleep; all she could do was wait until morning.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She wandered the house restlessly until, unable to bear the mess and neglect, she resolved to clean. She dusted, scrubbed and hoovered until the sun came up, but it was still only 5 a.m., far too early to go the hospital. Maybe she’d go for a run. But despite her nervous energy, she was shaky with exhaustion and misery, so that probably wasn’t a good idea. She made a cup of tea and sat down in a chair in the living room, planning just to rest for a couple of minutes. Some three hours later, she woke up to bright sunlight slanting through a gap in the curtains. She jumped up, looking around wildly, trying to make sense of the numbers on her watch. It took her a full thirty seconds to put together the time, the place and what she had to do. She tidied her hair and brushed her teeth and then set off for the hospital.
