Bad Mothers Brilliant Lovers

by Wendy Perriam

  ‘So what has your famous Andrew decided – to pack you all off to a boot-camp?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Mum. In any case, he didn’t decide. He just tried to focus my mind and asked me all these questions, first to find out what I didn’t want, and then to discover what might appeal. And when I told him how much I loved ice-skating—’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ her mother interrupted. ‘If you hadn’t broken up with that dishy Xavier chap, you two could have been the next Torvill and Dean.’

  ‘Mum, you hated Xavier! You didn’t even like his name!’

  ‘Well, what kind of name is Xavier, for heaven’s sake? Why couldn’t his parents have given him an English name?’

  ‘Because they happened to be Spanish. And, as for us being the next Torvill and Dean, you said any bloke that skated was probably a poof.’

  ‘I never said any such thing.’

  She had learned, long ago, that it was too exhausting to argue every point with her mother. And anyway, her thoughts had zeroed in on Xavier: one of her first boyfriends and a Bohemian, artistic type – even a bit of a dropout – but far more spontaneous and devil-may-care than Andrew. No, that was unfair to her fiancé. A devil-may-care dropout would hardly ensure that the mortgage and the bills were paid, and was bound to be a feckless sort of dad, whereas she could rely on Andrew to draw up a fool-proof spreadsheet for the children’s every need. He’d know exactly when their vaccinations were due, their eye-tests, dental check-ups, and all the other minutiae of parenthood. And he would research the best schools in the area: entry requirements, curricula, calibre and number of their staff. Besides, she could be the artistic one. Opposites attracted, so people always said.

  And he was definitely supportive of her work and her ambitions, had even offered to help finance her own online magazine, should she wish to launch one, and agreed they would put off having a family until she had notched up some achievements. She was, in fact, keen to be a mother – a loving and uncritical one, she hoped – but, at twenty-two, she could afford to devote a few years, first, to establishing herself.

  ‘You’re miles away,’ her mother complained, draining her cappuccino with a slurp. ‘You were telling me about Xavier.’

  ‘I wasn’t, Mum. I was explaining about my hen night.’ She needed all her concentration to avoid losing her temper, or bursting into tears – her customary reaction whenever she met her mother. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘Ice-skating,’ her mother snapped, apparently every bit as irritable.

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, Andrew asked whether the other girls could skate and, when I told him they could, he spent ages researching all the ice-rinks in or close to London. He eventually suggested we went to the one at Somerset House, because they’re putting on a super-special light-show, this year, and you can book various all-in packages, to include canapés and cocktails, or cup-cakes and hot chocolate, as well as entry to the rink, and skatehire and what-have-you. And, would you believe, he went ahead and booked the most expensive package for the lot of us and footed the whole bill.’

  Her mother used a moistened finger to mop up the last fragments of her cake. ‘So when’s it’s going to be?’

  ‘Well, I was hoping to have it at least a couple of weeks before the wedding, but Nathalie’s not back from Paris till the eighth of December, so we had no choice but to arrange it for the ninth.’

  ‘All I can say is, rather you than me! I can’t think of anything worse than tearing round some rackety public rink in the freezing cold.’

  ‘It’s lucky you won’t be coming, then.’ Couldn’t her mum say even one nice thing about Andrew’s generosity? After all, it wasn’t just the hen night he was financing, but almost the entire cost of the wedding. Most mothers-of-the-bride shouldered such costs themselves, often risking hardship in the process, yet her mum simply accepted her good fortune as her natural, inalienable right. But then her mother had always found fault and, if her future son-in-law was Jesus Christ Himself, He would be criticized as badly dressed, low-born, eccentric and a leftie. ‘Actually, I ought to make a move now. I’ve masses to do back home.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can call it “home”, Lynne, when it’s Andrew’s place, not yours.’

  ‘I’ve told you twenty times, we share it.’

  ‘Well, I dread to think what your father would say – moving in with a bloke you barely know, and before you’re married.’

  ‘Look, Dad’s not likely to show up again in either of our lives, so we hardly need to fret about it.’

  ‘I wonder if I should try to track him down.’ Her mother wiped a smear of buttercream from her mouth and sat musing on the problem. ‘I mean, if he knows you’re getting married, he might want to walk you down the aisle.’

  The very prospect made her blanch. If her father was invited, the whole wedding could be wrecked. There would be shamingly public rows between him and her mum and, if they both got drunk, she could well imagine the consequences: fisticuffs, smashed glasses, the other guests upset and scandalized. She felt a sudden desperate longing to return to Andrew – safe, dependable Andrew, who gave her a sense of security and peace. Kicking back her chair, she sprang abruptly to her feet and grabbed her coat and bag. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I have to go. I’ll ring you later, OK? But, whatever you do, don’t breathe a word to Dad about the wedding.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lynne, but you don’t have any choice.’

  Mr Vishwa, the orthopaedic surgeon, was a small, stocky man with sallow skin and dark circles under his eyes – exhausted, Lynne assumed, by long hours and interrupted sleep, but that was no excuse for his brusque, officious tone.

  ‘As my colleague’s told you already,’ he said, impatiently, ‘you’ll have to postpone your wedding and that’s an end to it.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she repeated, desperate at the prospect. ‘It’s absolutely essential that—’

  ‘No more argument.’ The surgeon ran a weary hand through his lank black hair. ‘As I’ve tried to explain, this is a compound fracture, which means the skin is broken, as well as the bones – and that’s more serious. It also means you’re at risk of infection, so – let me reiterate – there’s no way you can go anywhere tomorrow.’

  ‘But everything’s arranged,’ she said, blinking back the tears. After months of meticulous planning, how could she shrug off such a large and special wedding as if it were no more than a missed lunch-date or forgotten dental appointment? ‘Couldn’t I use crutches?’ she pleaded, ‘or a walking-frame or something?’

  ‘Look here,’ he said, with an irritated frown, ‘you’ve broken both the bones in your lower leg, the tibia and the fibula. The tibia is the weight-bearing bone, so if you think you can go gallivanting off the very next day after surgery, you’re seriously mistaken. I’m sorry,’ he added, glancing at his watch. ‘I’m needed in theatre, so I’ll leave you with Nurse Bella, OK?’ And, with a final curt nod, he strode out of the ward.

  The nurse, a much kinder soul, squeezed her hand in sympathy. ‘I can understand how awful you must feel, Lynne, having to postpone your Big Day. It really is a terrible shame.’

  Lynne clutched her fingers, like a life-raft, glad of any anchor after the last nightmarish ten hours or so of pain, shock and crushing disappointment. ‘Are you sure the doctor’s right?’ she asked, hoping even now for a reprieve.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid he is. And Mr Vishwa is extremely good, you know, so you’re in the best of hands. But, you see, he says you fell very awkwardly and that makes the fracture more difficult to treat.’

  ‘Well, this stupid man crashed into me, full-force – a young tearaway speeding round like a maniac and showing off to his mates. They shouldn’t have allowed him on the ice rink at all.’

  ‘He certainly sounds a menace, but try not to brood on it. The anaesthetist has signed you up for a pre-med, which will make you nice and sleepy before you’re taken down to theatre. I’m going to fetch that now, Lynne, so I’d like you to do your best to relax.’

  R
elaxation was impossible, with her mind continually circling back to the whole grim scenario: the head-on collision and her total inability to get up from the ice, the other girls all clustering round in consternation, Vanessa accompanying her in the ambulance, its shrilling sirens an expression of the searing pain. Then the wait in A & E for a member of the orthopaedic team to put in an appearance, while she lay in a curtained-off cubicle, with a harassed male nurse, Raj, popping in and out whenever he could spare the time. She had tried to get hold of Andrew, but he must have switched off his phone and gone to bed, knowing she’d arranged to stay the night with Vanessa and wouldn’t be back till late.

  It was her mother who had phoned, instead, having been informed as next-of-kin. Then, half an hour later, she had arrived at A & E, by cab, sweeping in like a prima donna and imperiously sending Vanessa home. Hardly any help, in fact, since the latter’s sympathetic calmness was now replaced by remonstrations, as her mum wailed about the perils of skating and how she’d warned her daughter all along not to go near an ice-rink.

  Raj had finally persuaded her to leave, for the sake of everyone’s sanity – although there was still little peace and quiet, due to various disturbances outside the cubicle. Some odious drunk was effing and blinding at one of the staff; a shrill-voiced patient kept complaining about the endless delay, and a quarrel was in full conflagration between a vituperative couple, each blaming the other for their car-crash.

  It had been almost a relief to be admitted to this, the orthopaedic ward, where at least the other patients were largely quiet or sedated. And when the staff changed over at 7.30 this morning, Nurse Bella had come on duty and been a gentle, soothing presence ever since.

  And here she was, approaching once more – with, presumably, the pre-med. She placed the paper cup of pills on the locker, then drew the curtains round the bed, and passed Lynne a half-glassful of water. ‘Seeing as you’re nil by mouth, drink just a tiny sip or two to get these down, OK? Oh, and by the way, your fiancé rang again. He sounds a really lovely fellow, so, while you’re lying here, why don’t you fix your mind on him, rather than on the accident, and think how grand it’ll be when you’re fully recovered and standing there beside him at the altar, as he slips the ring on your finger… .’

  And, despite her utter misery and her growing apprehension about the imminent surgery, she made a valiant effort to do exactly that.

  ‘A visitor for you, Lynne.’ A different nurse ushered Andrew in – an Andrew half-hidden by a large, cellophane-wrapped bouquet of scarlet roses and white Madonna lilies.

  ‘Oh, they’re gorgeous!’ Lynne exclaimed, as he laid them beside her on the bed.

  He kissed her, tenderly, although the expression on his face was one of deep dismay, as he surveyed the rigid plaster cast encasing her leg from knee to foot; the leg itself propped up on a pillow. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, with obvious concern, glancing next at the drip in her arm, and the cardboard vomit-bowl, placed strategically nearby.

  ‘Not brilliant. A bit woozy from the operation and still in shock, I suspect.’ Indeed, she seemed to have lost all track of time and had to rely on clues, such as the black, uncurtained window further down the ward, to deduce it must be evening. ‘And, of course,’ she added, ‘I’m absolutely gutted about having to postpone the wedding,’

  He pulled up a chair beside the bed, took her hand in his and gently stroked the fingers. ‘Actually, I’m sure we can go ahead – that’s what I’m here to discuss, darling. Even if you’re on crutches or whatever, we’ll find a way, don’t worry.’

  She stared at him, aghast. ‘But, Andrew, the surgeon says it’s out of the question. I begged and pleaded – you know that – even said you’d carry me up the aisle, but he was absolutely adamant. I’m not allowed to move, and that’s that.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand, my sweet.’ Andrew’s anodyne tone was an irritant on this occasion. ‘I hope you explained to him that tomorrow’s sequence of numbers won’t happen again for another ninety years?’

  ‘He’s an extremely busy man, Andrew, so I imagine he has more important things on his mind.’

  Her sarcasm was lost on him, since he continued in the same vein. ‘And, in another ninety years, we’ll both be dead, so this is our one-and-only chance.’

  ‘Well, if you want to kill me sooner than that,’ she said, with an unconvincing laugh, ‘you’re certainly going about it the right way. They’ve put a rod in my leg and I can’t put any weight on it at all. I may be stuck here a whole week, or even longer, so if you imagine I can just jump out of bed tomorrow… .’

  ‘Lynne, I couldn’t bear the slightest harm to come to you – that goes without saying. But you need to bear in mind that doctors always err on the side of caution, just to cover their backs and avoid the threat of being sued.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. Could he really be willing to disobey the surgeon’s orders, risk her future health and mobility, for the sake of a sequence of numbers, however unparalleled, mysterious or unique?

  He was now holding her hand so tightly, his harsh grip hurt. ‘I’ve cancelled the honeymoon, of course, and the reception. When we spoke on the phone, there simply wasn’t time to tell you anything in detail, but you can rest assured that’s all taken care of. Fortunately I had good insurance cover on both, so we won’t lose out financially. We’ll just rearrange them for later, as soon as you’re well enough to cope. But, as for the legal ceremony, it’s essential we complete that tomorrow – no other day will do. OK, you say you’re not allowed to move, but that doesn’t rule out a wedding, you know. According to my researches, we can get married in hospital.’

  ‘Andrew,’ she expostulated, ‘not only are you ignoring how bloody awful I feel, but I can’t think of anything worse than getting married here! What sort of a wedding would it be, with me lying all trussed up and doped to the gills with painkillers? And, anyway none of my friends would—’

  ‘We’ll invite them,’ he interrupted, his voice more urgent now.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ she shouted. ‘Nathalie and Vanessa have already contacted everyone and told them the whole thing’s off. Couldn’t you at least have consulted me first, before going ahead with your own private plans?’

  ‘It was impossible to speak to you again. I must have rung a good half-dozen times, but the nurses said you were sleeping or sedated or whatever.’

  ‘Well, that’s hardly surprising, when I’d just had major surgery. I’m not free to chat whenever I choose, as if I’ve come here for a holiday or something. And, in any case, even if I did get permission to get married from my hospital bed, the nurses would hardly welcome a great crowd of people disturbing the other patients on the ward. Can’t you see, some of them are extremely old?’

  She realized, to her embarrassment, that she was disturbing them already, by yelling so aggressively at Andrew. The wizened old woman opposite was staring, aghast, at the pair of them, and the poor balding lady in the adjoining bed, who’d been crying off and on all night, looked close to tears again. Both of them had broken various limbs and their pain and discomfort was doubtless worse than hers, considering their age – late eighties, if not older, she’d guess. ‘Look, I don’t want to argue any more.’ She made a deliberate effort to lower her voice. ‘I’m dead-beat as it is, so I just don’t have the energy. I only had the op this morning and it’s left me pretty limp. And last night I hardly slept a wink, despite the pills they dished out. What you don’t seem to grasp, Andrew, is that this whole thing has been hell on earth – especially my desperate disappointment about the wedding.’

  ‘But, that’s exactly why I want to go ahead with it. I’m just as appalled as you are about the prospect of a postponement – and not only because of the special date, but because I love you, darling, so I can’t wait for us to be officially married. Even if you can’t invite your friends, we can still have the legal ceremony here – keep it very brief and low-key, so it doesn’t tire you out. And, then, once you’re fully
mobile, we can have a second ceremony and re-enact our vows, with everybody present. I’m sure the vicar will be more than happy to let us re-book the church, and you can wear your long, white dress and have your four bridesmaids, exactly as you planned.’

  ‘But it won’t be the same, whatever you say. And, anyway, you’re not even listening, Andrew. I’ve told you loud and clear, I don’t want to be married in a hospital ward.’

  ‘There’s no other way, Lynne. Tomorrow is our once-in-a-lifetime chance.’

  ‘Yes, so you’ve told me endlessly – which means that sequence of numbers is more important to you than I am.’ How could so cavalier an attitude square with his declaration of love? Clearly, he hadn’t the faintest notion how totally exhausted she was, craving only to shut her eyes and rest, not engage in protracted argument.

  ‘Of course it’s not more important, but what you don’t understand—’

  ‘I’m not sure I even want to understand.’ Her voice was rising to an anguished wail.

  The nurse came bustling over, having just finished checking the patient opposite. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘You two are making a hell of a lot of noise.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Andrew said, with a reassuring smile, trying to pacify the woman with his customary old-school charm.

  ‘Will you please go,’ Lynne begged him. She’d had more than enough of his charm, enough of his treacherously persuasive tactics. How could he ride rough-shod over her wishes, flout the doctors’ orders, refuse even to consider her basic physical capacities?