“Sorry, I was busy straightening my tie. What does it say then?”
“That's odder still, look.” She handed him the card.
Dear Jenny,
I'm sorry for writing out of the blue, but I didn't bring my address book with me, and yours is the only address I know by heart.
It's lovely here, so peaceful. Beautiful countryside from horizon to horizon. Every day is like a May morning, warm as toasted crumpets and smelling as fresh as wash day.
But what I'm writing for is to ask a favour. I 've come away without sorting things out. Would you feed the cat for me? He's always been such a comfort, he deserves to be looked after. And I forgot to cancel the papers and the milk.
Well that's all I wanted to say. I'm not sure how long I'll be away, it's hard to keep track of time here so I'll see you when I see you.
I know I can rely on you.
All my love
Mum.
“She's obviously just a bit dotty.” Paul said, handing back the postcard. “We've had the cat since she moved into the home, and she wouldn't have any papers or milk to cancel there, the staff sort that out. She's probably just got a bit disorientated, imagining she's in a hotel because it's not the bungalow she lived in for thirty years.”
“Well I'm worried about her. I mean we knew she wasn't really coping on her own, with cooking and things, but she still had all her marbles.”
“I'm sure everything's fine, but to put your mind at rest we can go over and visit this afternoon if you want, I should be finished by three today.”
“Well, I would feel happier if I could just see her.”
“That's settled then. Is that the phone? Could you get it love, I've just got to grab my briefcase, and then I should be off.”
“OK.”
Jenny picked up the phone in the sitting room.
“Hello?”
“Hello it's Mrs Davies, manager of Sunset View Residential Home, could I speak to Mrs Stroud?”
“Speaking.” Jenny replied.
“I'm afraid we have some rather disturbing news for you, are you sitting down?”
“Paul!” shouted Jenny, covering the receiver. “Don't go yet, I might need you.”
Perching on the edge of the sofa, she raised the phone again with a trembling hand. Paul rushed in, his forehead creased with concern.
“What's happened?” Jenny's voice was almost as shaky as her hand. Paul put a comforting arm around her shoulder.
“I'm afraid your mother is missing. Obviously as soon as we noticed we searched the buildings and grounds and sent staff out in to town to ask around ...”
“She's what?”
“I can understand what a shock this must be for you Mrs Stroud, but I can assure you everything is being done to have her safely back with us as soon as possible. The police have been informed and have got several officers out looking for her.
“How long has she been missing for god's sake?”
“Well obviously we didn't want to panic you until we were certain she couldn't be easily found within the grounds or local area and …”
“How long?” Jenny demanded. Paul squeezed her, anxiously listening in.
“It was first noticed yesterday evening when the staff were checking that all the residents were tucked up safely and medicated if required...”
“She's been missing all night?”
“As I said, we had to make sure we'd looked everywhere first, and obviously that was more difficult in the dark. We've been doing everything possible, even the local community have joined the search.”
“So everyone for miles around knows she's missing except us.” Jenny was shouting now, Paul gently took the receiver from her and gave her a hug.
“Now look here,” he spoke firmly into the phone. “My wife is clearly very distressed. From what I gather, her mother seems to have gone missing from your home. You'd better tell me everything, then we will be heading over immediately.”
“I'm extremely sorry for your wife's anguish Mr Stroud.” Mrs Davies continued. “The truth is that as soon as we discovered someone was missing a thorough search was carried out. When the day staff arrived for work this morning they were asked about your mother in law's movements yesterday, but it seems that there was a medical emergency with one of the other residents, so no one could be exactly sure at what point she had gone missing. No one could swear to having seen her at any point during the day, each assumed someone else had dealt with her so didn't raise any concerns.”
“So what you're saying is you've no idea how long she's been missing for...” Paul was yelling now.
“Please, Mr Stroud,” Mrs Davies asserted “keep calm, we are doing everything we can. And we can be absolutely certain she was here on the previous night when she was settled in as usual by the care-workers. It really isn't all that unusual for some of our more forgetful residents to go for a wander from time to time and usually they're picked up within a matter of minutes, hours at the most so...”
“So now you're telling me you're in the habit of losing residents. Well it's a shame you didn't mention that in the brochure. We'll be there in about forty minutes, and you'd better have some more information for us by then.” Paul slammed down the receiver without waiting for a response. Silent tears rolled down Jenny's cheeks.
“We'll find her love.” he said, let me just make a quick call to work and we'll get over there now. Someone else will have to deal with my appointments today.”
Minutes later they were in the car. They drove in silence Jenny's face taught, her eyes staring. Paul was at a loss for something to say. He gave her a few reassuring pats on the knee. They were about halfway there when Jenny's mobile started to ring. She frantically rummaged in her bag wondering why it was that whatever you wanted at any given time, that was always the thing that found it's way to the bottom.
At last!
“Hello, Mrs Stroud? This is Mrs Davies again. Please do not distress yourself any further. The police think they may have found your mother. They have taken her to St Mary's hospital so if you could possibly head there you'll be able to identify her.”
“Hospital?” Jenny replied. Is she seriously ill?”
“I'm afraid they didn't give me any information as to her condition. Will you be able to get there? We could get a member of staff to...”
“We're on our way now.” said Jenny sharply and hung up. She had no time for the incompetent Mrs Davies.
“Paul,”
“I heard, St Mary's?”
They turned round in the next side road and headed for the hospital. When they arrived a young looking police officer met them with a concerned smile.
“We've found an elderly lady who fit's the description of your mother.” she began. “she appears to have been brought in by an anonymous driver who found her at the roadside. I have to warn you she was unconscious when she was brought in; she's in a coma. When you are ready I will take you along to see if you can identify her.”
“I'm ready,” said Jenny with a shuddering sigh.
“If you're sure.”
As they entered the bay Jenny saw her mother's fragile form in the sunlight that streamed in through the window directly on to her hollowed cheeks.
“Mum...” she gasped rushing to her side. She stroked the wispy grey hairs off the woman's passive face and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Then taking an almost transparent looking hand in hers she stroked it gently.
Jenny was only vaguely aware of Paul and the police constable talking in the background; of people coming and going; of the light from the window fading and the shadows lengthening; of Paul mumbling something about drinks, food and hugging her tightly before fading away. Eventually she became conscious of a doctor making notes on a board at the foot of her mother's bed.
“How is she?” Jenny asked. “Will she recover? When can we take her home?”
“You're mother seems to have suffered a haematoma, a bleed in the brain.” the doctor began.
“She has fallen into a coma. It is difficult to say if she'll come round, and if she does, it's uncertain as to how well she'll recover, especially given her age. I'm afraid you must prepare yourself for the worst. If she does regain consciousness she could be severely disabled.”
Jenny made no response. What was there to say. Paul returned and took the doctor to one side speaking in lullaby tones.
The next day Jenny woke early to find her throat ached with the effort of not crying. She had agreed to take a sedative to help her sleep because her mind was so full of love and fear and anger that she couldn't make sense of anything. Paul still slept so she dressed quietly and, downstairs, reread the mysterious postcard that had arrived only the day before.
A holiday? She thought.
Then she knew what she had to do.
The drive to the hospital passed in a blur and she was by her mothers side again.
“Mum, you needn't worry about the cat, he'll have the very best care. You deserve a holiday somewhere beautiful. Stay as long as you like.” She kissed her mum and the old woman gave a last deep, peaceful sigh.
Great Expectations
I was stunned.
It seemed some distant part of me was aware that talking was still happening, but it was as if at a distance – through a sheet of soundproof glass. It was as if everything that I had known, had thought, had dared to dream, was behind that soundproof, sensation-proof glass. There was just me and that fact. Just three little words after which everything else had stopped. I think they must have given me something to make me sleep then, and in my cruel dreams everything was just as it had been before. Before those three words. But when I woke and saw Gary's worried face the hazy memory came flooding back into sharp focus. I think I had almost convinced myself that it had been a nightmare.
“Are you all right love?” he was saying. And I think I was answering that I was O.K. I think that's what my mouth was saying, but all my mind could think of was those three words that loomed over me like giant tombstones.
Severely brain damaged.
After twenty-six hours of difficult labour I had given birth to twin girls. I had carried them to term, everything should have been fine. But there had been a problem with the second one. A breach birth, and something about the cord being around her neck. It took longer than it should. I knew something was wrong when Gary handed our first beautiful daughter over to one of the nurses to clasp my hand with both of his and look anxiously into my eyes.
When our second daughter was delivered she was hurried straight off to a special care baby unit and that's when they said those words that stopped the world revolving and tore the sun out of the sky.
I tried to focus on Gary. He was trying to tell me about Annie, the first twin. How he had fed her her bottle and changed her nappy. How she had fallen asleep in his arms with her tiny hand curled around his little finger. How perfect she was in every way.
“What about Gemma?” I asked. We had chosen names for them weeks ago covering all the options for boys and girls. We had known we were having twins, but not that they would be identical. That seemed such a cruel word now.
“They're doing everything they can for her.” he said. It was hard to read the emotions in his voice. Was I imagining it? Was there an echo of a thought that it would be kinder if she had just been allowed to drift into eternal sleep? Was that his thought, or mine? Or a resonance of societies expectations. After all, we had one good one. Surely all our efforts should go into looking after her.
“I want to see her.” I said. I don't know why I didn't even seem to give more than a cursory glance at Annie. Perhaps it was just a mother's instinct that this one was all right.
Eventually I managed to persuade Gary to fetch a nurse and told her that I wanted to see Gemma. She reluctantly lead me to the special care baby unit, all the way trying to dampen any hopes or expectations I might have.
“She's got a feeding tube and a mask to help her breathe. I'm afraid it's going to look a bit scary. We weren't sure if she would make it through the night.” She left the rest hanging in the air unsaid.
When we got there she left us with the nurse on the unit, hurrying away from this uncomfortable situation.
“She's new on the ward,” the other nurse explained when she'd gone. “A lovely girl, but she's still got a lot to learn about the neonatal department.
“Now here's Gemma. Don't worry under all those wires and things. She's gorgeous. You can put your hand in there if you want to touch her. She's been a bit restless and it might help her settle.”
And so it did a little. She opened her eyes, seemed to stare straight into my soul, then closed them again.
“See, her heart beat is showing she's getting much calmer now.” the nurse encouraged. I looked up at Gary and he seemed to be looking anywhere but at Gemma.
After a while I could see he was becoming agitated and, worried Gemma and the other babies might become distressed, I left Gemma and we went back down to Annie, who was having her nappy changed by a nurse. She was crying.
“We should have been here with her,” Gary said in a tight lipped whisper as we approached.
“She's ready for her feed now.” She said. “Are you breast-feeding or do you want me to fetch a bottle?”
“I'll feed her myself.” I said and soon she was latched on and suckling greedily. Gary gradually unstiffened and became more his normal self.
“Mum's going to come up to see you this afternoon.” He said. “I hope you don't mind. Your mum wants to pop in later too. She couldn't get time off this afternoon so I expect she'll come with your dad this evening.”
“It's a shame your dad didn't live to see this day.”
“Yes,” Gary replied somberly “he'd have been so proud of Annie.”
“...and Gemma” I corrected, but he let the words float there unheeded.
At lunchtime Gary left to get some food. He wouldn't be back until later,
“...or maybe tomorrow.” he said. “We're going out to wet the babies head.” I wasn't sure if he was talking in the singular or plural, but I had a shrewd geuss.
I got a nurse to show me how to express milk for Gemma, but it would have to be given through the feeding tube. I asked if I could take Annie up to visit her, and to my surprise they thought it was a good idea. The nurse said she perked up the moment we came through the door.
And that's how Gary's Mum found us that afternoon. Me and Annie by Gemma's cotside.
“They're beautiful,” she said. “and don't worry, Gary will come round it'll just take time.”