by Clare Ashton
Abby skipped through the sitting area and wove past the small kitchen island and opened the door.
“Celia?” she said, surprised.
“Well hello dear,” the old woman said, squinting up at her. She was sitting on the stone door step, cradling her knees to her chest.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I’ve come to visit you.”
“How… how did you get here?”
“Desmond,” they chorused.
“How long have you been sitting there?” Abby said, concerned about the woman’s old bones on the cold step.
“About an hour I think.”
“Why didn’t you–”
“Phone? Message? Perhaps knock on the door?” Celia’s smile hinted at irritation, but mainly amusement.
“Oh,” said Abby. “I’m so sorry. Come in. Please come in.”
“Thank buggery for that.” Celia chuckled. She needed a great deal of aid to stand.
“Let me get you a cup of tea,” Abby said, feeling ten tons of guilt.
“That would be lovely,” Celia said, leaning on Abby. “But first I need a wee.”
Abby sniggered. “Sorry.” She escorted Celia towards the small loo tucked beneath the stairs. “I’m really sorry.”
Chapter 8.
While Celia weed and the kettle boiled, Abby peeped at her phone on the kitchen top, even though the only person from whom she hid her interest was herself. No messages.
It was probably best Jude hadn’t sent anything. It meant she hadn’t noticed Abby leaving in tears and was cosied up in pre-wedding bliss with Bill, which of course was the worst thing in the world.
Abby slapped her hands over her face as if to stop the vision of her friend with her beloved, and groaned, a long low rumble. She felt stupid. Of course Jude was getting married. And equally of course it would be to Bill, who’d she’d been shacked up with for five years. Really, what else had she expected?
“Stupid,” she muttered. “I can’t expect her to be around forever.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
Abby uncovered her eyes to find Celia hobbling towards her. Abby blushed and stretched for a couple of mugs from the cupboard.
“Tea?” Abby tried to say lightly, although she overpitched it an octave. “Or coffee?”
“Oh.” Celia peered over half-moon glasses. “So we’re not talking about it, are we?”
Abby stared at the two white mugs, very much aware Celia was giving her a hard stare.
“Is that a tea?” Abby ventured.
Celia snorted. “That’ll be a ‘yes, we’re avoiding it’.” She took a deep breath and let it rasp out her nostrils for what seemed like a good minute. “You’re all good at that aren’t you. Richard, you and Jude. Quietly carrying on without talking about what’s wrong. Then there’s Maggie and Eli who won’t shut up about it.”
Abby continued to stare then offered, “So, tea.” And she slid out a pot to warm.
Celia chuckled. “As you wish.”
Abby filled the pot, arranged cups and milk on a tray and they shuffled out to the courtyard garden. The sun was still warming the two Victorian iron chairs and table, although Maximillian had abandoned his spot leaving a mat of white hair.
Celia wiped her hand across the table top. “That contemptuous little feline still visiting then?” She examined a wedge of white fluff before chopping it to the ground between her palms.
Abby nodded with a resigned smile.
“Always the way.” Celia chuckled. “I’m sure those creatures are bloody-minded. They insist on leaping on the person it seems most likely to vex.”
Celia slumped onto a chair with a wince, then relaxed. “Ah. I do love this little spot you have hidden out here. For a start, it means I can do this.” She delved into her purse. “Do you mind?” She held up an expertly rolled spliff.
Abby shook her head. “No, I don’t.” Despite never having being stoned, she’d always enjoyed the smell. “Let me bake some cookies next time though, so you don’t have to smoke it.”
Celia smiled, “Always the doctor. Always the carer.”
“Where did you get it?” Abby asked.
“Scraggs did a drop for me behind Spar.”
“You’ve got a dedicated dealer?”
“Oh yes, dear. It’s the best way for a reliable score.”
Abby couldn’t help giggling at Celia’s posh street talk.
“He’s very affordable and dependable,” Celia replied. “Grows his own particularly mellow variety which doesn’t make me too silly. He’s carved out a niche as responsible supplier to the over-sixties. An admirable young business man.”
Abby giggled again, half in incredulity, half in amusement. “He is still a dealer.”
Celia lit the end, circling the flame like a pro until it smouldered at the optimum rate. “You’re right of course. But my idea of who the good and bad guys are is very much in flux. He relieves my physical pain and many a disturbed young person’s mental state. You find solace and generosity in surprising places these days.”
Abby didn’t argue. With many falling through the gaps in social security and waiting on endless lists for the NHS, she’d stopped judging the actions of people who fell through the net long ago. Besides, it wasn’t in her nature.
“In any case, I might not need it too much longer.”
“What?” Abby stared at Celia.
“I know this isn’t the best timing.” Celia put down her spliff to smoulder over the edge of the table. “I didn’t want you to fret so I’ve avoided telling you.” She took Abby’s hand. “My operation’s come through. This time next week my old hip joint will be a shiny titanium one.” She smiled at Abby, not letting her eyes drift for a second.
“Oh good.”
Hip operations were safe. Abby knew the statistics by heart. But this was Celia and she squeezed the old woman’s hands out of reflex, for her own comfort more than the older woman’s.
Celia studied her over her glasses.
“Which day?” Abby struggled to say.
“Monday. First thing in the morning.”
“That soon?”
“Richard’s going to give me a lift. Maggie offered, but I’d rather make it to hospital in one piece before losing the bit that’s faulty,”
“Good, good.”
Those statistics, those safe stats, they were just for living through the operation.
“Richard said he would stay all day. That way Maggie can’t insist on visiting straight away because she won’t have the car.”
“Yeah. Plan. Good plan.”
And safe meant only so far as a general anaesthetic was safe. And Celia was no spring chicken. Abby’s breath stuttered.
“I should be in recovery for a few days before returning home…”
And that was before any post-surgery complications. Blood clots. Deep-vein thrombosis. Infection, that was possible. Chances were small, but Abby always let her patients know it was a possibility. And if recovery wasn’t perfect, and the stay was extended, what then? Any long stay in hospital and the stats started to climb. And winter was coming and pneumonia and seasonal viruses were starting to rear their little microbial heads.
“Are you all right, dear?” Celia’s voice was distant.
Shit. Abby’s throat squeezed tight. She rasped in short, sharp breaths.
“Monday, you say. Richard… Car….”
“Abby?” came Celia’s quiet voice.
Celia could die. This time next week, the world could be missing this lovely woman. As well as losing Jude to married bliss, Celia could be gone too. Forever.
“Fine…”
It’ll be fine, Abby tried to say, as if to one of her patients. The risks are tiny. It’s an operation carried out a hundred times a day. But not on Celia. Not precious Celia. Abby’s heart thumped in her chest. Her breathing was ragged. Darkness closed around her.
This time on Monday, Celia could be dead on a trolley.
When Abby tried to speak only a strangled noise came out. The weight of it all. The crushing weight of it. She stumbled from her chair, not knowing where she was going and feeling for the door.
Blood pulsed hot in her ears. Her vision blurred. Knees thudded to the floor and her arms instinctively wrapped around her as everything collapsed in on itself. She closed her eyes and curled into a ball. All she could hear were her desperate breaths and her heart beating so hard it rocked her entire body. She almost welcomed the shutdown into black.
That her mouth was furry was the first conscious thought. Abby opened her eyes and deduced the fuzzy sensation likely a product of her lips splayed on the rug.
“Oh,” she groaned. She pulled her legs to her chest and rolled her face from the carpet. She remained in a foetal position, too leaden to move further.
She was no longer distressed. An exhausted calm usually followed the attacks, and she was happy to remain there.
“Bugger it,” she heard Celia sigh. “I had an inkling you wouldn’t take it too well. Although my dear, I’m sure you can see the irony of shuffling off this mortal coil in a panic attack due to the fear of me dying.”
Abby chuckled. She turned her head to see Celia leaning against the back door frame, sunlight blazing through tendrils of smoke from her spliff.
Celia gave her a sad smile. “It’s why I put it off for so long, until the worst possible moment it turns out.”
“Jude…” was all Abby managed to say, and she let her head fall back onto the rug.
“I know, dear.”
Abby felt the warmth of Celia’s hand on her back. She closed her eyes and her pulse continued to rock her body in a steady rhythm.
“How long, dear girl?” Celia rubbed her back. “How long has this been going on?”
For how long had she loved Jude? Honestly she didn’t know.
“Not right away.” Abby curled tighter into a ball. It seemed easier to talk that way. “Although, I found her striking from the start. I’d seen her around university. You couldn’t miss her. She was this six foot Amazonian striding around college. She already wore her jersey dresses, leggings and long leather boots but with a biker jacket from her boyfriend, Dan.”
“I remember,” Celia chuckled.
“I can see her now, walking beneath the arch into the quad, sweeping an armful of hair over her shoulder, sun-streaked locks drifting over her face.”
“You sound as if you were already smitten.”
“Who knows,” Abby said with a sad laugh. “The first time we talked was in the leisure centre changing rooms. I bumped into her, and that’s when I was struck by how beautiful she was. All the elements were there: those smoky green eyes, the long straight nose, full lips. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, when she smiles all her kindness and intelligence shines through. It sparkles in her eyes, in the creases at their corners. I admit, all I could do was stare.”
Abby was being honest. That was the first time she’d appreciated the full glory of Jude. She left out that Jude was topless at the time. Honesty had its limits when talking to a relative.
But in love. Deeply in love? Abby knew to the second when she fell all the way down, too far to ever come back.
“When Mum...” Abby trailed off. She breathed quickly, although she didn’t feel the sharp pain of the memory as she sometimes did. She was exhausted and numb from the panic attack.
“When the hospital phoned to say Mum had been taken in.”
They’d been friends by then. Jude and Abby had formed an easy friendship in the first year at university, both medics in the same lectures, lab sessions and tutorials. They arrived at a party in halls, Abby with her girlfriend of a few months on her arm and Jude with her fifth-year medic boyfriend, when Abby received the phone call. She couldn’t hear the nurse at first and sought quiet on the halls of residence lawn. It was night and she stood cloaked in darkness, stunned by the news.
A drunken driver’s car had mounted the pavement, hit two pedestrians, one her mother. Her friend had died at the scene and her mother was in ICU. Could she please come to Guys, London?
“It hit me like a train,” Abby whispered to Celia. “Except I was still standing and it kept hitting me, over and over.”
She didn’t know how long she stayed frozen to the spot after the nurse had rung off. She stared into darkness, people passing arm in arm and laughing and carrying bottles to the party.
“Hey, Abby?” Jen, her girlfriend, yelled. “You coming in?” She ran up behind Abby and grabbed her arm. “Jesus, what’s up?”
“Mum,” Abby croaked. “Mum’s been in an accident. I need to see her. I don’t know how to get there.”
“Whoa, is it bad?” Jen stepped away as if knocked back.
Yes, it was. But she didn’t know how to explain.
“You two coming in?” she heard Jude shout. Neither replied. Jude came over, perhaps alarmed at her girlfriend’s pale face.
“Hey, what’s up?” Jude said gently. She came close, holding Abby’s arms and peering into her eyes. It was somehow easier to explain to Jude than her non-medic girlfriend.
“Mum’s been knocked down,” Abby said, her voice trembling. “Friend’s dead. In and out of consciousness. Had surgery, still unstable. I need to see her.”
The shocking news had the opposite effect on Jude to Abby’s girlfriend. She clutched Abby close in a fierce embrace, pulling her under her chin. Abby held her tight. All her terror was squeezed into that hug as she gripped handfuls of Jude’s clothes.
“Dan,” Jude shouted over her shoulder. “We’ve got to get Abby to London. Her mum’s been in an accident.”
Abby heard him running across the lawn and his shocked face appeared beside her.
“Abby I’m so sorry. But…shit,” he stared at Jude, “I downed a triple vodka before we came out.” He looked horrified at his timing.
“Lend me your keys. Phone your insurance. I’ll pay you back.”
“OK, OK.” He fumbled in his jeans pocket. “It’s probably got enough petrol.”
“I’ll sort that out,” Jude said, energised, calm and effective, just like she’d be through hospital training.
“Are you coming?” Abby couldn’t see her girlfriend from Jude’s embrace. All she heard was Jen mumble her deliberation.
Jude wasn’t rude, although she didn’t hesitate either. “OK, we’ll let you know how things go.” And Jude took Abby’s hand and led her into the night.
Abby didn’t remember much about the journey, only a single impression of staring at her phone willing it to stay silent. Jude drove like a maniac for once in her life, all the while holding Abby’s hand. Beyond that, a sensation of being rigid in panic was all Abby could recall.
She stared at her phone while Jude marched her through the streets and into the hospital reception. It rang as they arrived at the ward. Abby and Jude froze.
“No,” Jude whispered.
Abby looked up to see the nurse on reception, her mouth open, face pale and phone receiver to her ear. She stared at Abby and replaced the phone and the ringing in Abby’s hands stopped.
“Oh, Abby,” Jude whispered. It’s one of the few times she’d known Jude lose control.
The dead phone in Abby’s palms blurred. She heard footsteps, then another hand led her to a seat.
It was quiet for a Friday evening, and they let her sit with her mother. Abby held her hand, the one cleaned only of mud from the verge rather than blood.
“I’m sorry, Mum,” she whispered, holding her mother’s fingers to her cheek, the tears flowing freely. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time.”
Chapter 9.
“I was wondering if that was when you fell for her,” Celia said.
Abby heaved herself up, shuffled her bottom to the wall and snuggled next to Celia.
“I think it was the beginning. But I didn’t realise until later.”
Celia put her hand on Abby’s knee and gave it a squeeze, encouraging her to continue.
“I was a mess afterwards.” Abby shook her head. “You didn’t see it, but I wanted to give up university and stay in Mum’s flat.”
She and Jude had returned there after the hospital, Abby sleeping curled up in her mother’s bed, T-shirt cradled to her face. Abby slept most of the weekend, Jude bringing her cups of tea and the odd value biscuit her mother kept in a tin.
She remembered Jude looking at the photos on the walls of the one-room lounge and kitchen – a blurred picture of Abby as a baby, first day at school, together on their one foreign trip to Spain, like sisters on the beach. The last was of Abby beneath the halls of residence archway, a snapshot taken on her mum’s camera, the first she’d been able to afford.
“I don’t want to go back,” Abby said. “I want to stay here.”
“We can stay all weekend,” Jude said quietly. “Dan doesn’t need his car until Monday.”
“Afterwards I mean. I can’t leave.” Abby looked around the flat, the walls bare apart from the photos. “This is all I have of her.”
Jude held Abby to her chest. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’ve been checking your mum’s bills on the fridge and everything’s paid until the end of the month. You don’t have to decide yet.”
Jude held her close for a long time before saying, “I only met your mum a few times, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any parent prouder than when she took you to university.”
Abby smiled despite herself. They’d travel up on the bus together each term, Abby and her mother, carrying two bags containing nearly all Abby’s possessions. The last time her mother had taken the picture which hung on the wall. “Look at you, my girl,” her mother had said. “My little Abby at university.”
“If you want to stay here,” Jude continued, “you wouldn’t be letting her down. If you want to sleep for the rest of the year, you still wouldn’t be letting her down. Because your mum loved you and would have wished you comforted any way possible.” And Jude squeezed her tighter. “But I would be letting her down, if I didn’t help you.”
