Be Careful What You Wish For (40 page)

Her graciousness catches me by surprise.

‘But I need to apologise to you too.’

She’s gazing at her coffee, deep in thought. ‘I’m guilty too. I’ve been jealous of the close relationship you have with Lionel. I don’t have that with my children. Annabel and I—’ She runs her top teeth over her bottom lip, which still bears the traces of frosted-pink lipstick. ‘Well, let’s just say we don’t understand each other like you two do.’

We both smile, despite ourselves.

‘And I’m jealous that you remind him of Julia . . .’

‘Mum?’ I whisper quietly.

‘I know it’s wicked of me,’ she confesses, ‘to be envious of my husband’s daughter because she looks like her mother, to feel threatened because she’s a constant reminder of his first wife . . .’ Her eyes fill and she looks up at me, her face white and pinched. ‘I’m a bad person.’

I’ve never thought of it from her perspective, but now suddenly I’m seeing just how difficult it’s been for her. Instinctively I reach out and squeeze her hand, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve ever touched her with affection. ‘You’re a good person, Rosemary, a really good one,’ I say reassuringly. And I’m not just saying it. I mean it. She is. All these years and I just never realised it.

‘Am I?’ A tear rolls down the side of her nose and splashes into her coffee.

‘Well, either that or we’re both horrible.’ I shrug, and a smile breaks through her tears.

‘I never tried to replace Julia,’ she says quietly.

‘I know,’ I nod, wondering why we didn’t have this conversation a long time ago.

‘I never could and I never wanted to. Just like Lionel could never replace Lawrence, my first husband.’ She looks at me, and for the first time I see real fear. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose someone so dear to me again. I love your father so much, Heather. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’ Her voice trembles and bowing her head she breaks down and sobs.

And now it’s up to me to be strong, I tell myself, because even though I echo that same thought in my mind, I know Lionel wouldn’t want us to cry for him. If he were here now he’d wrap us both in his arms and make us feel better. But he can’t at the moment so it’s my turn.

I hold Rosemary close – because that’s what dad would want . . . and I want it too.

It’s a long night. Eventually Rosemary drifts off but I can’t sleep and just sit there, drinking coffee and flicking through old magazines.

After a few hours I need to stretch my legs and go outside. It’s still warm, and there’s a stillness you don’t get in London. A calm that makes you believe everyone and everything is sleeping and you’re the only person awake in the whole world. In the car park, I see a couple of people huddled close, smoking. It’s a few of the nurses and I hesitate for a moment. Under the circumstances, I shouldn’t even be thinking of it, but I walk up to them anyway: ‘Would you have a spare cigarette?’

They stop talking, and one of the nurses looks at me sympathetically. I haven’t seen a mirror, but I must look like I feel. ‘I shouldn’t really . . .’ She offers me a Silk Cut Ultra Low. ‘Just don’t tell anyone.’

‘I won’t, promise.’ Smiling gratefully I accept a light and walk to where the car park meets open fields. I take a drag of the cigarette and tilt my face up to the sky. There’s a full moon, glowing milky white in the darkness. I gaze at it and can’t help wondering if Gabe is looking at it too. In Edinburgh. I let out a deep sigh. I want to call him and tell him what’s happened with my father.

But I can’t.

Sadness aches and dropping the unsmoked cigarette on the ground I squash it with my boot. It tasted horrible anyway.

I don’t know how long I stay outside – I lose track of time – but when I go back in Rosemary is still dozing. Curled up across three plastic chairs, she’s using her handbag as a pillow. I spread her jacket over her as a makeshift blanket. I’m tired too now. I sit on the last remaining seat next to her, lean my head against the fire extinguisher and think about my father, just a few metres away. I tell myself that he’s going to make a full recovery and live to be a hundred, but it’s hard. Like the doctor said, he’s not out of danger yet.

Rosemary lets out a quiet moan, and I glance down at her. For the first time I feel bonded to her by our love for Lionel. It brings a strange comfort. Because, as hard and painful as it is to think about it, if we have to say goodbye, at least we’ll say it together. And with my eyelids weighing heavy, I close my eyes and surrender myself to sleep.

 

I
wake up with a start. Where am I? I sit bolt upright. Then it punches me like a fist in the stomach.
Dad.

Rosemary is still asleep, as I stagger to my feet. What time is it? The clock on the wall reads just after six. I’ve been asleep for hours.

The hospital is still quiet and, as I hurry down the corridor towards Intensive Care, I don’t see anyone. Even the nurses who were sitting outside on Reception have gone. I glance at the windows, but I can’t see through the blinds. With no one around to stop me, I push open the door.

Inside, the room’s dimly lit and silent but for the sound of the heart monitor beeping rhythmically. A wave of relief sweeps over me.

Honestly, it’s as basic as that.

Breathing deeply, I approach the bed quietly so as not to wake him. I reach out to stroke his hand, then snatch mine away.

It’s not my father.

My stomach freefalls. A much younger man is lying in my father’s bed. I notice the thick blue tattoo of a bird etched on the side of his neck, a pulse beating, the pallor of his skin. All in a fraction of a second as the ground tips under me.

‘Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.’

I whirl round to see two nurses.

‘Where’s my dad?’ I cry desperately. ‘What’s happened to him? What have you done with him?’ My mind’s spinning, and as they rush towards me I’m gasping for breath. Now they’re holding me and trying to comfort me but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I can’t hear anything but the howl inside my head. Because I know.

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ I gasp. ‘He’s dead . . . he’s dead . . .’

They lead me, stumbling, out of the room, supporting me as I flop like a rag doll.

‘Miss Hamilton, it’s Mr Bradley . . . Miss Hamilton, you have to listen to me . . .’

A man in a white coat looms over me but I can’t focus. Darkness is closing in from around the edges and everything is receding.

‘We needed the bed for an emergency in the middle of the night. Your father has been moved to the coronary unit. He’s doing fine. He’s awake and asking for you . . .’

And then everything goes black.

‘Did I give you two a bit of a shock?’

It’s later. Rosemary and I are sitting at either side of Lionel’s bed each holding one of his hands.

‘I think it was Heather who gave us a shock.’ Rosemary smiles. My cheeks redden. How embarrassing – flipping out like that and fainting at Mr Bradley’s feet. I feel like a complete moron.

Then I look at my father. Never forget, Heather. You came this close –
this close
– to losing him.

Apparently Lionel can’t remember anything after the first heart-attack and it’s been something of a shock for him to discover that not only is he in hospital, but that he’s undergone heart surgery. Much less dramatic, but momentous in its own way, is the change in the relationship between Rosemary and me.

‘Just look, here I am with the two beautiful women in my life.’ He smiles approvingly. ‘I’ll have to do this again.’

‘Oh, no, you won’t,’ scolds Rosemary. ‘And to make sure, Ed is going to be staying with us. I just had a message. He’s arriving this afternoon.’

‘With a nutritionist friend from LA,’ I add.

Lionel manages a grimace.

‘You heard what the doctor said. It’s very important you stick to this diet. No cheese, no wine . . .’

‘No fun,’ he whimpers.

‘Lionel, you’re not going to make me a widow for the second time,’ warns Rosemary, in a voice that makes even me a little scared.

‘Me? Disobey doctor’s orders? I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He puckers his lips for a kiss.

‘You’ve had a heart-attack, you need to rest.’

‘I want a kiss, my dear, not a sexual marathon.’

Rosemary blushes, and I stand up. ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.’ Once I would have felt resentful, but now I feel a warm sense of contentment and pressing my lips lightly to my father’s whiskery cheek, I whisper. ‘See you later, alligator.’

And, smiling, he whispers right back, ‘In a while, crocodile.’

I spend the next few days at the cottage. Ed duly arrives with his nutritionist friend, a woman named Miranda whom he met at university and who now runs successful practices in London and Los Angeles. She’s here for a whirlwind twenty-four hours, meeting Lionel and his doctors, drawing up detailed diet plans and nutritious low-fat recipes, which she pins all over the small oak kitchen as if she’s wallpapering a room.

Lionel is discharged at the weekend. I can call him Lionel again now, as he’s definitely back to being Lionel. Bushy-faced, loud-voiced and larger than life – though soon to be sixty pounds lighter, if Miranda has anything to do with it. And I think he will be. Despite his jokes and bravado, he’s had a shock. Every so often I hear a tremble in his voice and when Rosemary orders him to eat up his grilled chicken breast and steamed curly kale, he gets on with it like an obedient child, without so much as a whinge for a glass of pinot noir.

I’m more than happy. And it’s on afternoons sitting outside on the lawn with Lionel, Ed and Rosemary, laughing at some crappy joke or other, I think of how I got my wish – and with it, much more than I could have ever imagined.

‘So, how’s that young American chap getting on?’

We’ve just finished another healthy picnic lunch when Lionel brings up the subject of Gabe. Honestly, I swear my father’s a bloody mind-reader.

‘Er, he’s moved out,’ I say, as casually as I can, but it’s as if I’ve been stung.

The past few days have revolved round Lionel, getting everything ready at the house for his homecoming, including moving his bed downstairs, and making sure he gets his medication at the right times. We’ve all been so busy with him that we haven’t been able to think of anything else.

Except that’s not true. I can be falling asleep at night, or loading the dishwasher, or sitting on the grass with the sun on my face when my mind drifts to Gabe. Like some bizarre cerebral homing pigeon.

‘He’s gone up to the Edinburgh Festival,’ I add, feeling as if I have to offer an explanation. Even if it’s not the full story.

Lionel beams at the thought of all those thespians, artists and musicians. ‘Are you going to go up and see his show?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, right.’ He raises his eyebrows.

There’s a pause and I can feel looks flying round the garden. ‘What?’ I demand hotly.

‘Nothing, sis,’ says Ed evenly and smirks into his mobile. Since his return from America he’s been constantly on the phone to Lou. It’s only a few weeks now until the baby’s due, and Lionel’s brush with death has made him realise what’s important in life. And it’s not football.

‘Oh, we don’t want to talk about some boring old festival, do we?’ pooh-poohs Rosemary. ‘Tell us all about that high-society wedding.’

I smile gratefully at her attempt to rescue me, but I’ve been trying not to think about Lady Charlotte’s wedding. ‘It’s this weekend at Shillingham Abbey.’ My mind throws up an image of Daniel, all done up in his top hat and tails. I block it out. I haven’t told them the groom is my ex. In fact, apart from Jess, I haven’t told a soul. I couldn’t bear all the sympathetic glances, and are-you-all-rights because I am all right with it.

‘Oooh, just think of all the celebrities who’ll be there . . .’ Rosemary’s eyes betray an excited gleam. Then she takes a sharp breath. ‘Do you think the Royal Family will go?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. If they do, Brian will think he’s died and gone to heaven.

‘So, when will you be heading back for it?’ Lionel looks over at me expectantly over his glass of Evian.

Oh, shite. How do I tell them I’m unemployed? I try to think of how to explain things then realising I can’t, say simply, ‘I’m not.’

‘You’re not?’ gasps Rosemary.

I shake my head and glance at Lionel, who’s studying me carefully.

‘I’m going to be all right,’ he says quietly.

‘I know you are.’ I feel guilty for not telling him the real reason why I’m not assisting Brian at this wedding. But I just can’t. They’d never understand.
I
don’t even understand.

‘I don’t need three nurses. I have Rosemary and your brother.’

‘And Miranda,’ says Ed, who’s still on the phone with Lou. ‘She’s in constant touch with your progress via email. Talking of which, she wants you to send her a detailed plan of everything you ate today.’

‘There’s plenty of people here to spoil my fun.’ Lionel smiles. ‘You must go.’

I feel stuck. I’m not worried about leaving Lionel. The doctors are delighted with the progress he’s making and I know he doesn’t need me to mollycoddle him – Ed and Rosemary are more than enough. I glance at the two of them and feel almost sorry for him. But I can’t just call Brian and ask for my old job back. And anyway he’s probably got himself another assistant by now.

‘Why don’t you call Brian?’ suggests Rosemary.

I look at her with surprise. I’ve mentioned Brian over the years but she never appeared to pay much attention. ‘Maybe I will,’ I murmur.

‘You can borrow my mobile,’ pipes up Ed, who all of a sudden has finished his call.

I’m suspicious. Since when has he ever offered to lend me his mobile?

Then I catch sight of Lionel who’s got that guilty schoolboy look, and get a sneaky feeling that this has been planned. ‘Is this a plot to get rid of me?’ I take the phone from Ed.