by Rhoda Baxter
‘It’s not the anxiety attack,’ she said. ‘Well, it was, but that was over pretty quickly. I think I just pushed myself a little bit too far then. I’ll have to be more careful in the future.’
‘Are you sure? Did you come off the medication before you were ready?’
Grace shook her head. The anti-depressants had made her tired and given her headaches. She was in no hurry to try them again. ‘No.’
‘Well something’s clearly bothering you. What is it?’ Margaret reached over with her good hand.
Grace sat on the side of the bed, taking Margaret’s hand in hers. ‘I’m not sure …’
Margaret fixed her with a thoughtful stare. ‘It may help to talk to someone. Pretend you’re telling your mother.’
‘I think my mother is the last person I’d want to talk to.’ She had always thought of herself as against adultery and now she’d nearly been complicit in it. She wondered what her mother would have said. Her mother, despite her rebellious marriage, had been very straight laced in some ways. Grace knew she would have been horrified.
Grace looked at Margaret’s brittle hand resting in hers. Perhaps it would help to share. There was no one else she could talk to, really. Apart from a counsellor. She realised she’d let herself drift out of wavelength with her friends. It had been imperceptibly slow at first. But over the years … She looked up. ‘I’m not sure where to start.’
‘How about the beginning? I hear that’s a very good place to start.’
She started with the meeting in the lift, where he’d turned down her request for help. When she’d finished Margaret said, ‘Phew. That’s the most exciting story I’ve heard all week. It’s better than all these soaps they keep showing on the television.’
Grace sniffed. ‘Thanks. I think.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Margaret, ‘Is why you’re so upset about it. Was it good?’
Grace was horrified and didn’t answer, but she could feel her face radiating heat.
‘I’ll take that to be a yes,’ said Margaret, in her matter of fact way. ‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘He’s married. I told you.’
‘Yes, but his wife’s as good as dead. He may as well have someone else in the meantime.’
‘Margaret!’
‘Besides, he’s the one who’s cheating on someone, not you. If he’s okay with it, then I’d just go with it. Oh, unless you think he’s just using you. What does he feel about it? Has he said anything?’
Grace shrugged. ‘He says he’s sorry.’
‘Bastard,’ said Margaret. ‘I hope you told him to boil his head.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Grace let go of Margaret’s hand to rub her eyes. ‘I suppose in a way, I’m glad that he’s thinking of Sally. He’d be a horrible person if he didn’t feel bad about cheating on her when she was lying there helpless. But … I don’t think I could see him again as just a friend. I can’t possibly compete with his perfect wife. He lost her the day they got married. On the happiest day of their life. I can’t compete with that.’ She sighed. ‘The worst of it is that I can’t keep avoiding him all the time. We’re both going to the fundraising ball in a few weeks. I’ll be forced to see him then.’
‘Oh Grace.’ Margaret’s thin hand clasped her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not surprised you’re upset if he used you like that.’
‘That’s the thing, I don’t think he used me.’ Grace sighed. ‘I think he was trying not to … I think he’s just trying to do the right thing. Whatever that is.’
‘You’re too good for him, darling,’ said Margaret.
Grace smiled. ‘It’s sweet of you to say that.’
‘Sweet, nothing. It’s the truth. I’ve known you for some time now Grace, and I count your mother as one of the best friends I’ve had in my later life. If I had a daughter, I would be proud and honoured to have one like you. And I do not say that lightly.’ For a moment Margaret’s headmistress voice came through.
Grace laughed. ‘Thank you. It means a lot.’ She slid off the bed and delved into her bag. ‘I’ve got a new book for you. Ready?’
‘Of course,’ said Margaret. She leaned back into her ‘listening’ pose. ‘Read on McDuff.’
Chapter Ten
Grace stopped by the main entrance to the hospice and peered outside. Rain poured from the low sky. Lightning flashed somewhere close by, illuminating the parked cars in glaring white. The thunderclap that followed made her jump. She really didn’t want to drive home in that. Turning around, she headed back into the hospice.
‘Did you decide against going out in that?’ asked the security guard as she went past. ‘Can’t say I blame you.’
‘I’m going to leave it a bit, see if it eases up,’ said Grace. She signed in again and took the lift, pressing Margaret’s floor without thinking. As the doors closed, she thought of meeting Peter a few weeks ago. How long ago that seemed!
She wondered if he was still there, visiting Sally. She longed to talk to him. A glance at her watch told her that he’d probably gone home. It was nearly past visiting hours. Suddenly, she wanted to see the woman who had caught his heart. She could never compare to Sally, but she had to know whom she had lost out to. She jabbed the button for Sally’s floor.
When the door opened, she stared at the lobby for a few seconds, psyching herself up to step through. As the doors started to close again, she leapt out. There was no point putting things off. If she chickened out now, she would spend the whole night thinking about it.
‘I’m here to see Sally Wesley,’ she said into the intercom. It sounded like a question, rather than a statement. There was a pause. Instead of buzzing her through, the nurse came to the door. She recognised her from when her father had been in intensive care.
‘Oh, hi Grace,’ she said. ‘Sorry, didn’t recognise you on the door cam.’ She gestured towards the CCTV camera. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘I was hoping to catch Peter Wesley, if he’s still around. It’s about … the abseil. And sponsorship.’ She wasn’t sure why she was making up such an elaborate cover story. Now the nurse would go looking for Peter. What would she say then?
The nurse gave her a knowing nod. ‘He’s around somewhere,’ she said. ‘We know who you are, so you may as well come in.’
They reached the nurse’s station and peered into Sally’s room. It was empty apart from the patient.
‘He’s probably just nipped to the common room to grab a cup of coffee,’ said the nurse.
A bell pinged and a red light came on above one of the rooms. The nurse sighed. ‘I’d best go see what that’s all about.’
‘I’ll wait here, until he comes back.’
The nurse bustled off, leaving Grace by herself at the nurse’s station, looking at the door to Sally’s room. There was no one around. She could go and have a look at Sally. Peering up and down the corridor and seeing no one, she quietly slipped inside.
Grace looked round the hospital room. It was gently lit with night lighting. You never got proper darkness in the hospital. This room had the same dimensions as the rooms in the floors above, but lacked a certain something. It looked more like a hospital room with the lino floor and a generic painting on the wall. This was a room for a patient. Not a resident. It smelled of disinfectant.
On the bed, Sally looked like she was sleeping. The sound of her breathing was just audible beneath the thrashing of rain on the window and the beep of the heart monitor. Grace peered at the dark hair, and the pale face under the tubing. So this was Peter’s wife.
There was a wedding photo in a silver frame on the bedside trolley. Grace picked it up. Peter was beaming in it, his face radiating happiness. Sally was smiling. Her hair, which must have been bleached to be blonde, was twisted up into an elaborate tiara and veil arrangement. She looked delight
ed with life. It was hard to believe it was the same person as the woman on the bed.
There was something familiar about Sally’s face. Grace frowned and tilted the photo toward the light to get a better look at it. She couldn’t place where she might have known her from. She replaced the photo and went to look at the real Sally again. A hand lay limp on the bed, the veins showing up blue against the white skin.
Without really understanding why, Grace touched the hand with her fingertips, half expecting it to be cold, like it was made of marble. She was almost surprised to find it warm.
‘Of course it’s warm, you idiot,’ she muttered to herself. ‘She’s not dead.’ Then, feeling self-conscious, she said to Sally ‘Hi Sally. Peter’s just gone out. He’ll be back in a minute.’
There was no response. Poor Sally was lying there, unable to move, and she had almost slept with her husband. Guilt churned through her. She took Sally’s hand in hers, feeling the weight of her palm against hers. A real weight, a real person. No longer just an abstract thought. ‘You must love him very much.’
A flash of lightning from outside cast the room into stark monochrome. The thunder was almost instantaneous. Grace turned. ‘That’s really close.’ They were the highest building in the area. ‘Thank goodness for lightning conductors.’
The next flash was blinding. There was a loud crack and the lights went out. There was no dramatic sputtering. Just light and noises and then, total darkness. Grace, half blinded by the lightning, had a moment of disorientation. The only thing real around her was Sally’s hand, held in hers. There was a sudden drop in temperature. She shivered.
The emergency lights came on, accompanied by a cacophony of beeps and bings and buzzers as the equipment came back online. Sally’s heart monitor started up again, the alarm keening urgently. Grace stepped towards the monitor. The trace had a short bit of flat line and was now back to normal. Grace turned back to the bed and gave a little shriek. There was someone standing right next to her. She dropped Sally’s hand and jumped back.
In the dim light, it was hard to see any detail, but the person appeared to be wearing a lot of pale clothes. Grace’s hand went to her mouth. The person said ‘What the bloody hell was that?’
The backup generators kicked in and the lights came back on. Out in the corridor footsteps pounded as staff and visitors went into action.
Grace sidled to the wall nearest the bed and turned on the light.
There was a woman, in full bridal dress, standing in the room. The woman looked around. ‘What the hell is this?’ She caught sight of Grace. ‘Who are you?’
Grace’s glance fell on the photo by the bed. Sally. She looked at the bride in the photo and the one standing there glaring at her. The dress was the same.
‘Sally?’
Sally took a step forward. ‘Look, who are you? Do I know you?’
Grace glanced at the area around Sally’s lap. Sally looked just like any other person, apart from the bride theme, except that she was standing in the middle of the bed. Not on the bed. In the middle of it. Grace leaned to the side to look underneath. The rest of the dress and Sally’s feet were there. She and the bed were occupying the same space.
Sally looked down too and let loose a string of expletives. She sprang away from the bed, patting her legs as though to check they were solid. ‘What the buggering hell is going on?’ When she looked up she looked frightened.
Grace steadied herself with her hands on the back of the chair. ‘I think,’ she said, carefully, ‘you’re a ghost of some sort.’ She didn’t believe in the supernatural. But it was hard to not believe in someone who was standing right in front of her, whilst lying in a coma at the same time. Ghost was the best explanation she could come up with.
‘A ghost? Don’t take the piss. I’m not dead.’ Sally looked around the room. ‘Where is this place? And who is that poor cow in … the …’ The sentence ground to a halt as she realised the implications. She walked over to the side of the bed and glared at the patient. ‘That’s not me.’
A thousand questions clamoured in Grace’s head. What had just happened? How was it possible? Was this woman dangerous? But as she watched Sally’s stricken face, she felt sorry for her. Seeing a ghost was probably nothing compared to the shock of thinking you were at your wedding and suddenly discovering that you were really in hospital in a coma.
‘You could check the chart at the end of the bed …’ she suggested.
Sally gave her a short glare and walked over to the end of the bed. ‘Sally Wesley?’ She opened her mouth.
‘You’re married to Peter Wesley,’ Grace said, partly for her own benefit.
The frown on Sally’s forehead deepened. She lowered herself into a chair on the other side of the room. Grace wondered if she would fall through it, but she didn’t. She put her head in her hand and was quiet for a moment.
‘So all that stuff, in the … nothingness. It was real. And now I’m here.’ Sally looked up. She gestured towards the silent figure on the bed. ‘But I’m also over there.’
Grace had to admire the way Sally was dealing with this. No tears. No hysterics. A bit of swearing, obviously, that was excusable in the circumstances. ‘Yes.’ After a moment she added. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why? Is it your fault?’ The eyes narrowed. Suddenly the face wasn’t so much pretty as scary. This was not a ghost to be on the wrong side of.
‘No. I’m just … sorry. It can’t be nice for you.’
‘No love, I’m in coma. Of course it’s not bloody nice for me.’
‘No need to snap at me. I just happened to be here when whatever just happened … happened.’
Sally paced back to the bed. ‘Shit. Where’s my hair gone?’ She reached up to touch her own blonde hair. ‘It looks like crap. All the blonde’s grown out. How did it get like that?’ She leaned forward. ‘And what the hell is going on with my skin. Jesus wept, it looks awful. Don’t they moisturise people in here?’
While Sally was examining her comatose self, Grace sidled to the door. She felt bad leaving Sally by herself, but the whole situation was just too weird. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but Sally appeared to be just that. There would be a rational explanation. Perhaps an electric shock from the lightning was making her hallucinate things.
‘And the eyebrows haven’t been done. Bloody hell.’
For a hallucination, Sally was certainly swearing a lot. Grace reached the door. Just as she was reaching for it, Peter flung it open, almost squashing her.
‘Is she okay?’ Peter rushed to the side of the bed. Sally looked up in surprise. Grace stood by the door and watched.
‘The alarm’s going off.’ He stared at the monitor. ‘Why is the alarm going off?’ He looked back at the pale figure on the bed. ‘She’s breathing. The heart rate looks fine. Why is the alarm going off?’ He looked straight at Grace, his eyes wide.
‘Probably because of the gap in the signal …’ said Grace. She hadn’t even noticed the alarm. Seeing a ghost would probably do that to a person. ‘You could press reset and see if it goes off again.’
‘Peter?’ said the other Sally. Her whole demeanour changed. Gone was the scowling angry woman. ‘Peter! Darling.’ She launched herself at him, running through the bed as though it wasn’t there. She flung her arms around Peter and fell right through him.
Peter gasped and shuddered. ‘Did the heating go down too?’ he said. ‘It’s freezing in here.’ Again, he looked at Grace.
Grace shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. It seems that Peter could not see Sally. Which made it even more likely that she was just imagining the ghost. What did she do about that? Would it go away once she’d had some sleep? Should she get psychiatric help? Perhaps the stresses of the past were catching up with her.
Peter seemed to register Grace’s presence for the first time. He frown
ed. ‘Grace? What are you doing here?’
Behind him Sally got to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on Grace. ‘Grace? So you’re Grace.’ She looked her up and down as though assessing her.
Grace opened the door and backed out. What had Peter said in front of Sally? Had he confessed what had happened?
Peter took a step towards her. ‘Grace? Are you okay?’
Sally moved forward too. Grace fled. A couple of nurses were rushing a bed towards the lift, so Grace ran in the other direction, down the corridor towards the stairs. At the door to the stairwell, she turned. Sally was standing outside her room, hammering on an invisible wall shouting. ‘Come back!’ Peter was behind her, standing in the door to Sally’s room, torn between confusion and concern for his comatose wife.
Grace raced down the stairs and out into the rain. When she got to her car, her hands shook so badly, it took her several goes to get the key in the lock. She got into the car and locked the door. Looking out into the rain, she couldn’t see anything. Grace sat rigid in her seat. She checked the rear view mirror. Nothing. Did figments of imagination have reflections? Slowly, she turned round in her seat and looked in the back. No one. She breathed out. Her heart was still pounding. She put her hands on the steering wheel. She had to calm down. A few more deep breaths and she felt steady enough to drive. She checked behind her one more time, flicked the wipers on to max speed and set off.
The car park was in front of the hospice. To leave, she had to pass by the entrance. Someone was standing there in the light. Grace’s heart picked up again when she spotted the white dress and the veil streaming out behind it. She would have to go past Sally. There was nothing for it. Hopefully, she’d get past before Sally realised it was her.
She neared the hospice, a cold sweat crept down her back. Sally’s head snapped up. Just as Grace’s car went past the entrance, Sally leapt into the road. There was no time to stop. Grace hit the brakes, but the car slid on the wet surface and right through Sally. Grace screamed. A blast of cold hit her as Sally passed through her. She looked over her shoulder to see Sally spin round and start after her. Grace put her foot back on the accelerator and sped away.
