If You Knew Her Page 20

  Today is a quiet day, a sluggish Sunday, a little heavy. Everyone prays for Sundays to be like this as most senior staff are at home, eating roasts, glugging back the red wine.

  Ellen was wheeled away for the last time a few days ago, off to an old peoples’ home, Alice said. It’s a strange, lonely thought to think she could die and even though we’d spent weeks side by side, I’d never know.

  George Peters has been moved to another ward. His wife Celia kissed all the nurses before they left. It’s the first time I’ve been on 9B with two beds free – it’s just me and Cassie – and I wonder if patients who would’ve been here have been moved to other wards … if the hospital are trying to protect Cassie from the reporters. Small mercies. The Jensens haven’t been in today yet so there’s less coming and going and Alice is in a quiet mood, moving slowly, which is good because she’ll be more likely to catch me.

  She checks Cassie’s curtain is closed before she sits in my chair. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t need to. She looks at me, the skin under her eyes the colour of heavy rain clouds. She’s thinking about Cassie, I can tell. She’s always thinking about Cassie. I wish she’d think more about herself, about her own health for once. But maybe, maybe soon I’ll be able to help her. I’ll tell her about the woman, get her to call the police, sort this Cassie mess out and I know this is my moment! This is the moment I tell her she was right to trust her instincts, that I am here, that I’ve been here all along; I blink!

  Come on, Alice.

  But she doesn’t see because she’s looking down at her hands and telling me about Officer Brooks, about how she took the letter she found to her. Alice kneads her hands as she tells me that Brooks implied the letter doesn’t change anything, she says they knew Cassie and Jack had their troubles. They all think Jonny’s the cause. His alibi still mustn’t have come good for him. Alice’s bottom lip is livid, sore, the colour of raw meat as she pulls it through her teeth. She hasn’t told anyone else about the letter; she thinks no one will listen. I know how that feels, to know and be silent.

  See me.

  She’s looking up at me now and I know I don’t have long so I call on every cell in my body to rally and join in the effort and I blink!

  She stands up like she’s been electrocuted.

  ‘Frank?’ Her face is above mine and I can see that sweet little gap and her dimple, and I think I’ve got enough in my energy reserves to give it another shot so I do, I blink again. Fireworks explode and a tiny brass band starts marching in my head because she’s grinning down at me. She’s laughing now!

  ‘You blinked, Frank! You blinked!’, and she’s stroking my face and calling to Mary and it’s like something celestial has awoken in me because for the first time in months I’ve sent a message, a tiny telegram to the world, that I still exist! I’m here!

  Mary’s little face appears next to Alice and she asks me to blink again and I do, and Mary says, ‘Oh, Frank, you absolute winner, Frank,’ and she puts her arm around Alice who’s still stroking my cheek and smiling at me in a way that looks like tears are close behind.

  ‘Can you try one more time, Frank?’

  And like the star in the football team I go for a hattrick. My vision goes black but something’s wrong; my eyelids are too heavy. I’ve lost the controls; I can’t open them. They’re frozen shut and I scream around my body, like some crazed insect trapped in a jar because the moment’s gone and I can’t see Alice smile or hear Mary call me a ‘winner’ again. I’m in black, and I can feel their disappointment on my face, like sunburn. It doesn’t last too long, though, because Alice is talking about getting me a scan today, while Sharma’s on leave. They hurry away to call radiography and to find out which registrar is on duty.

  I realise I’ve been so focused on someone seeing me blink, I hadn’t thought too much about what would happen immediately after: scans, tests, more prodding and poking. How long will it be before I can tell them about the woman? How long will it be before I can thank Alice for everything? How long before I can hug my Luce again? I know enough now to know it won’t be like the films. If the blinking is anything to go by, my rehabilitation will be slow, painful and appallingly frustrating, and the first step is a scan. I’m not sure I’m ready, but all of a sudden I hear her voice again – ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ – and it dawns on me that this woman, whoever she is, is in some way my redemption. I’ll work even harder to get better, and won’t rest until I can tell the world about her … about what she did to Cassie and her baby. Perhaps that’ll even the scale, the bad I’ve done finally balanced with this new good. Perhaps I would finally forgive my own fuckups?

  Clipped footsteps interrupt my thoughts and suddenly, without warning, my eyelids are peeled back like skin on a lychee and a piercing light is shone straight into my pupil.

  I can’t see him but a gentle male voice with a French accent tells me, ‘Mr Ashcroft, I am Matthieu Baret, the registrar on duty today.’

  Matthieu releases the eyelid and goes straight on to the left, colours flash within my head like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Then Matthieu asks me to blink, which seems a bit rich after he’d been pulling back my eyelids like he was trying to peel them off my face, but to my astonishment and with relatively little effort, I blink. For a moment I see that Matthieu is a slightly overweight but kindly looking black man, that Alice and Mary are grinning at me from behind him. Matthieu knocks me about a bit to check my reflexes and he’s telling Alice and Mary to book me in for a PET with CAT scan, which sounds reassuringly thorough. Before he leaves he leans in close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my skin.

  ‘Mr Ashcroft,’ he says in an overly loud voice, as if speaking to a five-year-old, ‘if you can hear me, you should know you are in hospital. You’ve been in a coma. You are safe and we will look after you.’

  My fillings rattle as his voice booms around my head, and then I feel him move away towards Alice and Mary.

  ‘Well, let’s hope some of the 9B magic rubs off on the rest of the hospital.’ He chuckles and Alice laughs with him just so he’s not laughing alone.

  The call from radiography comes in sooner than they thought as there’s been a cancellation. I don’t dwell on why someone’s appointment was cancelled; no time to think, no chance of clinging to my bed covers.

  They use a hoist to get me out of bed, and like a grotesque sculpture, I’m craned onto a portable bed. Alice guides my tracheotomy trunk and Mary is on the IV and heart monitor, a complicated tangle of tubes.

  I haven’t left the ward in months; a perky-looking elderly woman twists in her wheelchair to look at me as we pass each other in the corridor. Her mouth hangs open when she sees me, a mixture of curiosity and horror filling her face, clear as if the very words were tattooed on her wrinkly skin. I decide I don’t want to see any more and shut my eyes.

  An hour or so later, and I’m back in bed, my eyelids slide open a little way, I haven’t blinked since before my scan, Alice told me Lucy was on her way so I’ve been saving my energy for her.

  I hear my girl approach and I think, this is it! This is when Luce will believe in me again.

  My curtain rattles back and Lucy comes into view, her hair is pulled back from her face, and her cheeks are flushed. She says, ‘Dad!’, and I blink and immediately she starts crying.

  Oh, Luce, don’t cry! This is good! Look, watch!

  I blink again and I start doing a little jig inside because she’s laughing more than crying now. She clutches my hand and kisses it and I wish I could laugh and cry with her but I can only blink, which makes her hang her head over me. She leans forward, her face towards mine, and a couple of her tears fall onto my cheek, as though she knew what I was thinking and she’s crying for me.

  Alice appears behind Lucy and puts her hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

  ‘Remember what I told you, Lucy. Only time will tell and we still need to get the scans back.’

  Lucy sits up and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. All the c
rying has made her irises an even richer brown.

  ‘Blink if you can hear me, Dad,’ she whispers close to my ear.

  I blink. It’s a good one – purposeful and complete – and Lucy splutters a wet, teary laugh, and Lucy turns to check Alice is still there, that she’s seeing it as well.

  ‘You’ve been here all along, haven’t you, Dad?’, and I blink again, for yes.

  Lucy’s bubbling over with questions now. We strike a deal: one blink for ‘yes’, and two for ‘no’. I can’t tell her I haven’t tried a two-blink blink yet.

  ‘Are you in pain, Dad?’ Lucy asks, and I’m about to blink once for yes, even though I’m not, because it might encourage Alice to get the morphine out, but my eyelids have turned to stone. I strain, quivering inside with the effort, but it’s no good. Show’s over for the day; my eyes clamp shut. I’m glad I don’t have to see the disappointment on Lucy’s face.

  ‘He’s probably exhausted,’ Alice says gently. ‘It’s been a huge day. He’ll just need to rest until tomorrow.’

  After a pause, Lucy asks, ‘Can I sit with him for a bit?’

  ‘Of course, take as long as you like.’

  Alice walks away and Lucy’s soft hand spoons the back of my rigid claw.

  Lucy moves close to my ear, her voice warm little puffs on my cheek. When she was small, she used to wake me up like this. She’d come over to my side of the bed and whisper so as not to disturb Ange. Her breath would tickle my ear as she told me she had a surprise for me in the kitchen, and I absolutely had to get up straight away so as not to miss it.

  ‘I’m here, Dad,’ she says now. ‘I’m not going to leave you for so long again. I promise. You’re going to get better, Dad, I know you are. One day, you’re going to walk out of this place and I’m going to be right by your side cheering you along and we’re going to go home, Dad. We’re going to go home.’

  I’ll try, Luce, I’ll try to make you proud of me.

  For the first time I see it; I can see us, hand in hand, walking out of here. I can feel the rush of fresh air on my face as the hospital doors finally slide open to spit me out. Still closed, I feel my eyes start to burn as something crests, breaches from my right eye, spilling fatly onto my cheek. It traces a wet line down my face. I haven’t cried in years, but, hey, from today, I’m a whole new me.

  18

  Cassie

  She opens her eyes; she must have fallen asleep with the bedside light still on. Her mum’s diary from Mexico – full of adventures involving peyote and hitch-hiking in a goat truck to the Yucatan – lies splayed open on the top of the bed. Through the half-closed curtains Cassie can tell it’s very early; the day’s still inky with newness, and Cassie’s eyelids feel too big, swollen in their sockets. The pain wasn’t what Cassie expected. She thought she’d be livid with it, but the betrayal turned out to be more subtle, a gummy tumour of disappointment she still carries around everywhere.

  She pulls herself up to sit, and Maisie stirs in her basket and lifts her little grey head towards Cassie, her coarse beard stroking the basket the rescue centre said she’d slept in all her life.

  Her eyebrows see-saw at Cassie. ‘Do what you like, but don’t think I’m getting up yet,’ she seems to say, and with a little sigh she falls back on her side.

  Cassie had thought about telling Jonny about Nicky and Jack last week when he’d driven her to the dog rescue centre to collect Maisie. Jonny had asked about Jack’s change of heart in getting a dog, Cassie had thought about telling Jonny the truth, that Maisie is a symbol of Jack’s guilt, his olive branch, but instead she’d shrugged his question away. It hadn’t felt the right time to tell him about Jack and Nicky when Jonny had been away for the last month in London trying to appease Lorna for a final time. Lorna had been back to her delusional tricks, turning up at Jonny’s old office again, demanding to know what happened between Jonny and his poor colleague. Apparently the colleague had tendered her resignation as a result, which Lorna had taken to be proof of her guilt. Jonny had started divorce proceedings the next day in the hope it might shock Lorna into getting some proper help.

  Awful as it is to admit, it was a relief for Cassie to hear someone else’s problems, to pause momentarily the video in her mind of the two of them on the sofa.

  Without warning, the spare room door opens and Cassie listens as the hallway floorboards creak under Jack’s weight as he goes to the bathroom. He always wakes at 6 a.m., even on Sundays. He’s been home, sleeping in the spare room for two weeks now. He said he couldn’t justify work paying for a hotel room for any longer than three days. There’s a brief silence as he pees before the toilet flushes and the floorboards creak again as he goes back to bed.

  Even though he wouldn’t be able to hear her, Cassie holds her breath. She promised they’d finally talk today – that she’d listen to what Jack has to say without shouting at him, or slamming the door – but she wants the morning to steady herself first.

  Maisie paddles her legs in her basket, lost already in a dream. Cassie lifts herself out of bed and pulls on her jeans and a grey cashmere jumper Charlotte gave her, saying it was too small for her. She uses a hairband to pull her hair into a messy bun. She’s decided to grow it long again, like she had it before she met Jack, and she glances down at the little dog and wonders whether Maisie’s dreaming about running towards something or whether the little dog dreams of running away.

  The shed smells different now that November has arrived; the summer stuffiness has been replaced by the sorrowful, earthy smell of damp leaves. Cassie puts Maisie on the floor and offers her a cushion so she can carry on sleeping, but Maisie stands rigid in the middle of the shed, back slightly raised, her tail stiff and unwagging, her eyebrows plump with confusion.

  Cassie flicks the two floor lights in the shed and turns the blow heater on, just for a few minutes.

  ‘Go on, Maisie,’ Cassie says, looking at the cushion, before finally the little dog, nails clicking against the wood chip floor – the dog equivalent of walking on tiptoes – moves slowly over to her temporary bed.

  Cassie blows into her hands as she sits on the swivel chair – Mike’s old office chair – and looks at the thirty-odd canvases that fill the room like a colourful crowd. Two days ago she pulled them out of the attic where Jack stored them and arranged them in the shed. They’re all her mum’s work, an assortment of different-sized canvases, and they all feature Cassie in some way. Cassie standing tiny next to a London bus; Cassie about five years old in a ballet tutu; a still life of Cassie’s crumpled Doc Martens, titled, ‘Cas’s boots’. About half of them feature a figure in a dun-coloured coat, looking at Cassie. She used to think he looked sinister, but now she can see her mum painted him with love, a single black line for his gently smiling mouth. Maybe at some point April tried to tell Cassie who he was, but Cassie probably just skipped away, consumed by her own life. There were so many things she’d never know.

  Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She looks at it. It’s another message from Nicky. A familiar hollow feeling, like grief, settles over her, before she shakes it away and deletes Nicky’s message without looking at it and turns her phone off. She knows it’ll be just like the emails and the voicemails, begging Cassie to speak to her, to let her explain. Cassie only replied once requesting Nicky delete her number, not contact her again, but she doesn’t even respect Cassie enough to do that.

  She’ll go into town next week to change her number, and she should set herself up a new email too; the first few steps towards the new Cassie, even though she doesn’t know herself yet who that person might be.

  She stands and lifts her own easel into the middle of the space; she sketched in pencil some of the outlines yesterday on the large white canvas. She’ll paint what she sees before her, a little homage to her mum’s work, to their life together, and a preparation for the new life she’ll share with her tiny secret.

  Maisie starts to gently snore. Cassie moves quickly as she prepares her paints; she doesn’t want to think
too much. After smearing the tip in a violent red, she picks up her paintbrush and starts to paint great slicing cuts across the canvas.

  She doesn’t know how long she’s been painting for when Maisie lifts her head towards the door and a soft, brief knock follows.

  ‘Cas?’

  Cassie rests her paintbrush. The door starts to open slowly and she says, ‘Give me a sec.’ She stands quickly, and the feet of the easel judder as she slides it against the floor so it faces away from the door. It feels too intimate now for Jack to see what she’s painting.

  He’s nudged the door open a few inches and a cafetière of Guinness-black coffee floats around the door.

  ‘I thought you might like one of these.’

  She pulls the door open. Jack, in his dark-blue bathrobe, lowers his arm holding the coffee. She blinks at him, aware suddenly that her eyes still feel pillowy, her face swollen from another sleepless night. She pulls her hair out of its little bun, and nods. He’s slightly more bristled than normal – he reminds her of someone but she can’t quite think who – but apart from the stubble, he looks just the same, as though the last three weeks haven’t happened at all. He hands her a mug, half full with warmed (not hot!) milk, just the way she likes it. They don’t say anything as she holds the mug and he pours her coffee.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says then.

  ‘How’s it going in here?’ he asks. He glances over her shoulder; she used to love showing him her work.

  ‘Yeah, fine, fine.’

  He nods, and his eyes dart back to her, his head dropping a little, like a wilting flower.

  ‘Cas, I was hoping we could talk this morning if that’s OK with you?’

  She winces. She wishes she could turn off Jack and his pleas for forgiveness, cut him out of her life, just like she has with Nicky. She knows the chat she’s promised him will fix the mood for the whole day, that it’ll be almost impossible for her to get her head back into this sweet numb space.