‘Mind if I join you for lunch?’ you say, and my heart sinks.
44
My eyes snap open. Someone has a hold of my foot. I try to kick out, my body slick with sweat, but I can’t move my legs. My heart leaps into my mouth until I realise it’s only the sheets tangled around my ankles. Leaning forward, I pull myself free and I sit up, breathing in slowly and deeply until my pulse begins to slow. I’m OK. I’m safe. But there’s a shuffling from the lounge and panic takes a hold of me again until I remember he’s still here. Sam.
There’s a creaking on the other side of the wall as Sam shifts on the sofa again, and I slot my hand between the spindles on my headboard and press my palm against the cool plaster that separates us.
‘Morning.’ Sam pads into the kitchen, feet bare and hair sticking up at all angles. He picks up the kettle and shakes it from side to side before taking it over to the sink and swooshing on the tap. I turn over the new mind map I have drawn, face down on the table in front of me, and cradle my now cold mug of coffee. I’ve been up for hours, sifting through my suspicions. Too scared to fall back to sleep. Who left the warning on my fridge? Will they come back? Caffeine jitters through my veins and I fidget in my seat.
‘You look shattered.’ Sam pulls a chair out and I momentarily close my eyes as the legs screech against the floor. ‘Look, Jen. We need to talk. Properly.’ I stiffen at his words and stand up, and something flashes across his face that could be hurt or irritation.
‘It’s not the right time, Sam.’ Whether he wants to talk about the breakin or the baby I don’t know. ‘I need to get ready for the hospital.’
‘How are you feeling about the biopsy today?’ The look of sympathy in his face makes my throat grow hot.
‘Fine.’ But my voice is too bright, and as I stand under the hot pins of the shower I turn the water pressure higher so he can’t hear me cry.
I can’t remember ever feeling quite so tired. There is a humming in my head and I probably shouldn’t be at work, but Dad’s not picking me up for the hospital until 11.30 a.m. After Sam left for work the flat felt dark and empty and I was jumping at the slightest sound and I didn’t want to stay there alone. But now I’m here, it’s a huge effort to smile at the customers, to reassure them their pets are going to be fine even though I don’t always believe that. Bad things happen.
The surgery door pushes open and the sudden breeze lifts the papers from the reception desk. I slap one hand on top of them before they blow away. The delivery driver wedges the door open and hefts brown cardboard boxes from the back of his van, stacking them in the corner of the waiting room.
‘That’s the last one.’ The driver thrusts a clipboard under my nose and I scrawl my name on his delivery sheet.
‘Goodness,’ Linda says. ‘What are all these?’
‘The drug order.’ But I’ve never seen this much arrive before.
The boxes feel like lead weights as I force one exhausted foot in front of the other until we’ve carried them all through to the stockroom. Linda slices through packing tape with a pair of scissors and we kneel on the floor unpacking the contents. As we finish Linda sits back on her heels.
‘Jenna, there’s three times the amount we need here.’ Her voice is terse. ‘I really think you should consider taking some time off. I’m worried…’
‘I’m fine. It’s probably a mistake at the warehouse. I’m sure I emailed through a repeat of last week’s order.’ I scrunch my face up trying to remember, but my mind is full of dark holes. If I’m honest I don’t even remember placing the order at all. ‘I’ll fetch the delivery note from my desk.’
In reception the phone is ringing, a dog is yapping, urine drips from a cat carrier and the smell is strong and sour. I don’t know what to do first. I’m barely holding it together.
‘Jenna!’ Mrs Bainbridge’s anguished cry jars me from my thoughts. She’s staggered through the door. Tears torrenting down cheeks that are grey with worry. Casper is cradled in her arms. I shudder at the sight of the Jack Russell but he’s still. Too still. Ignoring my rolling anxiety, I force myself to take him from her and as I look down at his mouth lolling open, his pig pink tongue and needle-sharp teeth, he begins to swim out of focus.
‘What’s happened?’
Linda’s voice snaps me from my daze and I gratefully pass Casper over to her. Despite being small he felt like a dead weight in my arms.
‘He was like this in his basket this morning. The kitchen was a mess. Covered in diarrhoea. Is he going to die?’ Her voice is tremulous.
‘We’ll do what we can.’
I follow Linda into the treatment room and she lays him on the bench. ‘Are you OK for a minute? I need to finish up with the rabbit next door?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. I’m shattered but I function on automatic pilot as I insert a cannula into the vein in Casper’s leg before hooking him up to a drip. I attach the plastic bag of fluids, squeezing gently until liquid travels down the tube. I call Mrs Bainbridge through. Her lip quivers when she sees him.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘We’re not sure until we’ve run some tests. He’s critical but stable now. As soon as you’ve signed the consent form we’ll take some bloods.’ Mrs Bainbridge’s hand trembles as she takes the pen I offer. Her signature is barely legible. I lead her back to reception. ‘It could take a while. You’re probably better off waiting at home.’
‘I want to stay.’
We are still waiting for the results of the tests nearly an hour later. I’ve made her three cups of milky tea that she sips while I hold her other hand, stroking the dry, liver-spotted skin with my thumb.
‘It shouldn’t be too much longer,’ I say, conscious that I need to go soon for my appointment. I’m worried about leaving her.
‘Can I see him?’
‘Let me check.’ I pat her hand.
In his kennel Casper is lying on his side, legs rigid, unseeing eyes glassy.
‘Crash box!’ I call, although I know from looking at him it is too late.
Footsteps pound into the room. When I turn around Linda, Kelly and Rachel are standing silently behind me.
‘He…’ I gesture towards the dog. ‘Poor Mrs Bainbridge. Poor Casper.’ His beady eyes seem to watch me and I drape a sheet over his motionless body. As I stand up again I notice Kelly picking something up from behind the sink.
‘Jenna?’ says Kelly. Her cold, hard stare chills me.
‘What?’
‘I found these.’ She unclasps her hand and there are two empty vials of insulin. ‘You’re the first person to use this room today. Did you spike Casper’s drip? Cause him to fit?’
‘Of course not.’ I swallow hard. Why is everyone glaring at me?
‘It’s no secret you’re scared of him,’ ‘Kelly says.
‘I wouldn’t do this.’ I gesture towards him with my hand.
I wait for Linda or Rachel to stick up for me, but they don’t.
‘We’ll run some more bloods,’ Linda says frowning.
‘It wasn’t me.’ I’m stricken at the thought I could make such a stupid mistake. Except how can it be a mistake? There’s no way insulin should have been anywhere near the drip. It was deliberate. I’m tired and confused but even factoring in the cloudiness my medication causes, I wouldn’t have done this. I just wouldn’t. I tally up the things that have gone wrong since I returned to work. Missing orders. Over orders. Wrong doses. Anger builds and I’m swathed in a fog of fury as suddenly everything falls into place.
‘It was you.’ I jab Kelly in the chest with my finger and she staggers back. ‘Trying to make me look bad. Lose my job so you could have it. You… you fucking bitch.’ I shove her. Her head thwacks against the wall and her eyes widen with shock and pain. I spring towards her but Rachel grabs my arm, fingers digging hard into my wrist.
‘Stop it, Jenna. Kelly wouldn’t do that.’
Shaking Rachel free I round on her. ‘Was it you then? You were on the computer on Sunday when I arrived.
Have you been messing with my orders?’ I’m out of control, I know, but I can’t calm down. ‘It’s no secret you’re broke. With your drunk dad and brother to support. If I was sacked you’d get to keep the senior position’s wages. Or is it Sam you’re after?’ He’s told me about your cosy conversations behind my back.’ Words pour from my lips, toxic and acerbic, as anger bubbles in my chest like acid.
‘Thanks, friend. I’ve been the one covering up your mistakes.’
I open my mouth to respond but Linda speaks. Low and quiet.
‘I think it would be best if you went home, Jenna.’
‘Linda, you surely can’t believe I’ve done this? You’ve known me for years.’
‘I don’t know what to think, but I’ve a surgery full of patients, a dead dog to explain, and my nurses screaming at each other. I’ll talk to you all when you’ve calmed down and we have Casper’s blood results, but in the meantime, Jenna, in light of your attack on Kelly, I’d like you to leave.’
‘I want to be the one to break it to Mrs Bainbridge.’ I know how upset she’ll be.
Linda glances at Kelly. She’s clutching the back of her skull with her hands. I didn’t push her that hard.
‘You can go out the back way,’ Linda says.
‘Fine.’ I shove the door open. It bangs against the wall, and after grabbing my bag, I storm out of the fire door.
I walk briskly at first but gradually the waves of adrenaline recede and my pace slows. Have I lost my job? Anxiety rises, harder and faster this time. Have I lost Rachel? There’s nothing as corrosive as suspicion. It’s eating away at me from the inside out. Rachel wouldn’t have done this. Would she? But mistrust gnaws at the pit of my stomach. Rachel didn’t deny it, did she? But then another thought occurs, slamming into my chest, stopping me in my tracks. What if it was me? There’s no denying how many things have slipped my mind lately. I press the heels of my hands against my forehead, fingertips digging into my scalp as I try to reconstruct the last hour, but from the moment Casper came in everything is hazy like it happened long ago. I’m sure there was just saline in Casper’s drip but I can’t be absolutely certain. Right now I feel as though I can’t trust anyone. Not even myself.
45
I’m waiting on the corner at 11.30, out of sight of the surgery, when Dad’s car pulls over. I’d thought Mum was meeting us at the hospital but she waves at me from the passenger seat and I’m touched they’ve set aside their differences to both support me today. I climb into the back, wrapping myself in the musty red plaid blanket Dad always carries ‘in case of emergency’ and it’s like wrapping myself in comfort. I could be small again, strapped in the back of the car, Dad crunching a sherbet lemon; Mum telling him he’s going the wrong way.
We all walk into the hospital shoulder to shoulder and I feel a rush of gratitude there are two people I can still depend on. The waiting room is hot and quiet, save the distant rattle of a trolley. We pump antibacterial gel into our palms and I grimace as it stings the paper cut I’ve got. Perched on hard orange seats I ignore the out of date magazines piled on the table and ask: ‘Well? Are you two…?’
They glance at each other, and for a split second I wonder if I’ve got it wrong but Dad takes Mum’s hand and says: ‘Yes. We had a good talk after all that business with Harry and we’re trying again.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say and I mean it.
‘We’ve booked an appointment with a therapist like your Vanessa, to talk things through,’ he says.
‘You’re going to talk about your feelings with a stranger?’ Dad can’t even ask directions from a stranger when he’s lost.
‘Whatever it takes, Jen.’
I burst into tears. Hot, noisy tears.
‘Jenna? Darling. I thought you’d be pleased?’ Mum fishes a tissue from her bag.
‘I am.’ I blow my nose. ‘It’s nice to hear of something good. It’s just everything’s been so awful lately, so hard and I think… I think I’ve lost my job.’
‘Why?’ Mum’s voice is sharp.
‘I’ve been making so many mistakes. Ordering too much stock. Giving out the wrong medication. There has been a complaint of me being rude to customers. I don’t remember doing most of it. The medication makes my mind fuzzy sometimes. It’s hard to concentrate. This morning…’ I wipe my eyes. ‘Casper died and Kelly found a vial of insulin next to his drip. She accused me of spiking it deliberately.’
‘Oh, Jenna.’ Dad squeezes my hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘But, Dad, I accused Kelly of doing it. I thought she was after my job and when she denied it… I accused Rachel. I said she wanted me sacked so she could take over the senior position for the money. I said some awful things about her family. God knows it probably was me who mixed insulin with the saline. I’m so bloody tired. I really don’t know what I’m doing at the moment.’
‘I don’t think it was you for a second.’ Dad passes me a clean tissue.
‘You don’t know that. I completely forgot to call by your house the other day, didn’t I, Dad, to pick those books up for Linda? And I didn’t ring you, Mum, like I’d promised. I’m forgetting things all the time. Messing up. Poor Casper.’ I blow my nose.
Mum and Dad exchange a look.
‘See even you two think I’m useless.’ A fresh bout of tears washes over me.
‘For God’s sake, Ken. Tell her,’ Mum snaps.
‘Tell me what?’
Dad stands and paces the corridor.
‘If you don’t, I will,’ Mum says.
‘Jenna.’ Dad crouches down in front of me and takes my hands in his, as though he’s about to give me terrible news.
‘When you were ill…’ He swallows and looks away as if ordering his words before he continues. ‘It was hard. For everyone. I felt so helpless not being able to help you and I needed someone to talk to. Linda has always been such a good friend, but one night I made a massive, massive mistake.’ He bites his lower lip. ‘Let’s just say Linda and I, well, we got too friendly.’
At first I don’t realise what he’s implying and I look questioningly at Mum but she won’t meet my eye. And then I know. ‘You slept with Linda?’ I yank my hands away. ‘How could you? What about Mum? John? He’s your friend!’ It explains why Dad stopped golfing with John so suddenly.
‘I’m not proud of what I did. The hurt I caused. It was a moment of madness but, well… it got more complicated than that. Linda wanted more. She hadn’t been happy with John for years. I told her she and I were a silly mistake. She didn’t like that, though she had to accept it, but she wanted a clean break. No more us all being friends. She didn’t want to be around you.’
‘That’s why you and Mum were against me going back. You weren’t worried about me getting an infection from the animals at all.’
‘Darling, we were. Of course we were,’ Mum says. ‘But…’
‘And Linda. She’s always asking if I’m up to working there. Telling me she’ll understand if I leave.’
‘Of course she couldn’t just sack you. How would she have explained that to John? And she wouldn’t want to appear heartless in front of everyone. Not after your surgery. I think she’s been doing these things out of spite. Hoping you’d leave or she’d have a proper reason to dismiss you.’
‘And you let me go back to work there?’ I’m glaring at Mum now and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I can’t believe this. How did Mum stand me working for her? But I think of the way she’s tried to push me in different directions since my op, to gently persuade me to think of other things to do.
Mum expels a long juddering breath. ‘It was an extreme situation. Your Dad and Linda were a one-off. A mistake, and you’d lost so much already. Sam, the baby, your health. Your job was the one thing you were clinging on to. I couldn’t be responsible for taking that away from you too.’
‘You’ve lied to me.’ I stand as the nurse approaches and, as much as I’m dreading what’s to come, it’s a relief t
o follow her down the winding corridors. I don’t once look back at my parents.
I’m taken to change into a hospital gown and one of the ties at the back is missing and I hold it together as I shuffle forwards, conscious that my bottom is visible for all to see. I’m glad I’ve worn my biggest pair of pants today.
Dr Kapur is pleased to see me; he always greets me as though I’m his favourite patient and, despite knowing what’s to come, it’s good to see him too. He’s become such a huge part of my life, it’s almost like seeing an old friend. I climb onto the narrow trolley and cling on tightly as the nurse works her foot up and down on a pump. I rise higher and higher and each jerk upwards makes my muscles tense as I try not to tumble to the floor.
I fall silent and try to quell my rising panic as Dr Kapur fills the silence with tales of his twin daughters who have recently started school. The first time I had a biopsy I thought it was a joke that a piece of my heart needed to be extracted and tested and I’d nervously laughed as Dr Kapur told me this would take place under local anaesthetic, not a general, but he was deadly serious. I had lain on the cold, hard trolley staring at the bright lights shining from the stark white ceiling and tried to relax. I had believed Dr Kapur’s soothing words that I would barely feel a thing. A catheter was threaded through the veins in my neck to reach my heart, and when the grabbing device extracted a piece of living tissue the slight tug he said I would feel was a sharp yank. Tears sprang to my eyes as a piece of my heart was snatched away and I felt as though I was falling down a rabbit hole.
This time I’m having an angiogram too. I screw my eyes tightly closed and try to transport myself somewhere else as my groin area is shaved and I tense as the sharp point of the needle enters this tender area. The background sound of the radio, the soft Irish lilt of the nurse, fades away and I’m breathing deeply. Forcing my body to relax until, despite being semi-aware of what’s happening around me, I’m drifting, floating, soaring into a memory that instantly terrifies me.
46
Jets of water pelt from the shower masking my voice as I press myself against the cold blue tiles in the bathroom, one hand clamped over my ear, as I strain to hear the voice on the other end of the phone. My voice, low at first, gets louder and louder as I fight to make myself heard.
The Gift Page 19
