Miriam's Talisman (7 page)

‘Hey, you don't think he's after your money, do you?' she said.

‘Course not. Don't be daft. It's just…you have to be sure, don't you? Not just about him, but about myself, too. At the moment I'm not even sure who I am.'

‘That's hardly surprising with everything that's happened. How long have you known him now? Must be about a year since Cindy's party.'

‘Yes, I suppose it must be. It just all seems to have happened so fast. Remember how I'd barely met him when he was claiming he was in love with me and deciding we should get married? Before I knew what was happening, it was all settled.'

‘Are you saying that's not what you want?'

‘No, of course it's what I want. Paul's very kind and thoughtful. He'll make a wonderful doctor.'

‘Why, are you planning on getting sick?'

‘No, silly. No, it's just…well, it's me really. He's very open and straightforward, that's what I like about him. I thought that I could share in it. As if being paired off with someone would allow you automatic access to his finer qualities, like holding a joint bank account. But it doesn't seem to be working out like that. Instead I seem to be tying myself into even more complicated knots and end up feeling guilty whenever I'm with him.'

‘Sounds to me as if you need more time to sort yourself
out. There's no rush, is there? You're already in the middle of one emotional crisis, not the best time to be making lifelong decisions. Wait till things settle down again, then you two need to do some talking. But not now.'

‘Yes, you're probably right.'

She stood up and moved to the light switch.

‘What you need now is some sleep.'

Alone in the dark I snuggled down into the warmth of the quilt and at last felt that heaviness which presages a natural, deep sleep. I became aware of a dull throbbing in my hand, the one that gripped the talisman, as my own heartbeat was amplified and echoed back to me. It was a slow, steady rhythm and my fingers tingled slightly on the cool metal. It must be nearly twenty-four hours now that I had worn it. I was back in that sterile room with its chipped plaster walls and all-invasive hospital stench.

I sit by her bedside, our hands entwined and laid to rest upon stiff, white cotton. She drifts in and out of sleep. I try to talk in the hope that she can hear and understand, but I'm sure only the empty walls are listening and, although I must keep trying, I only feel foolish. Now she is muttering, tossing her head from side to side, her fingers rigid and clasping at air. Her breathing is laboured, despite the oxygen mask. I stroke her forehead and whisper
.

‘Hush, hush now.'

Her voice is louder, but still I can't make any sense of the words. It's as if she's talking with someone else, a private conversation wavering on the edge of argument, one from
which I'm excluded. There's no one else in the room. She must be delirious and I don't know how to console her
.

‘Hush now. Hannah's been here with you. She'll be back soon. We're all taking care of you. Paul's helping. He knows what to do.'

She shakes her head violently and pushes me away, but now she's looking at me. When she speaks I can hear her clearly
.

‘You don't know what love is, child. You know nothing of it.'

Suddenly she finds strength and I'm dismayed as she struggles to pull herself upright. The little mask on her face slips sideways and one of the tubes in her hand flies adrift as she gropes for the chain around her neck. Red lights flash on the machine next to the bed and an alarm sounds somewhere outside the room. But Miriam clasps my wrist, her nails tearing into my skin
.

‘You must take it,' she gasps. ‘ Take it now.'

‘I don't understand. Please lie still. Nurse! Nurse! Please help me!'

‘Listen to me. You have to take it now. Put it on. Now, while we still have time.'

She is tugging at the chain. There is a rush of movement as the door swings open and a nurse is at the bedside
.

‘ Take it, will you! Put it on!'

And I do. I take it. Just to pacify her, I tell myself. But it's more than that. Light dances off the knots and twists of bright silver and I need to put my hands over it. While the nurse holds Miriam's hand and juggles with the tubes and needles, I slip the chain from Miriam and lift it over my own head
.

‘Never take it off.'

‘You must lie down. You have to rest.' I clasp her free hand
.

‘Never give it back. Promise me!'

‘Yes, yes, I promise. Please, you must lie still.'

And then there's another nurse and they are lifting her gently back into place and uttering soothing words. Her mouth is again covered, so I can't be sure. But she repeats it over and over again
.

‘If you give it back, you will lose him…you will lose him.'

In the warmth of my bed, the talisman throbbed in my hand, still echoing my heartbeat as if it held her life within it. I clung to it as I sank down into sleep, and as I drifted away my heart kept time with the gentle, constant rhythm of beating wings.

W
HEN
I
WAS VERY YOUNG
someone gave me a kaleidoscope. A birthday present, I think it was, just a little something extra. But I was…what? ‘Enthralled' would be a good word. I would sit for hours, turning the kaleidoscope slowly, slowly, holding it up towards the light. The picture made by the little spangles and slivers of coloured glass was like a stained-glass window, only the image was whatever I imagined it to be. And only I could see it. And it existed for only that moment. Because as soon as the tube was moved, all the pieces slid about and the pattern disintegrated, only to be replaced by a new and maybe even more glorious configuration. My brother said that the mathematical odds of the same pattern forming twice were nearly impossible. I would try to see pictures so that I could paint them later—fairy castles and mosaic floors and jewelled crowns. But, just when I thought I knew the shape, something would jog the tube and the coloured splinters would shift, so very slightly, and everything would change.

And that's what it's been like ever since Miriam died. The world I had known keeps shifting and changing. One
brightly coloured word, one sliver of fact, and everything slides sideways and it all looks different. It's only been a few weeks; I can almost count the days. And every day something else has shifted and changed and the past is no longer what I thought it was. I don't know what's real any more.

The next morning I woke late, thick and groggy with sleep. For a moment I couldn't remember what had happened the day before. Then suddenly it slammed into me: the hospital, Miriam, the cottage. It was like being hit by a truck.

I knew it wouldn't be long before my mother came looking for me, so I thought I'd get it over with and telephone her first. She said to come around, she'd make us some lunch. I said OK, I'd be there at eleven. It was ten minutes to, and already the aroma of fresh coffee hung in the porch. Was Hannah as nervous about this meeting as I was? Apparently we were both eager to get it over and done with. I knew that preparations would have been made in anticipation of my arrival. A tray would be set with matching cups, milk jug and sugar bowl (even though neither of us took sugar), and a plate of biscuits, neatly arranged on a white china plate where they would remain uneaten. Lunch would have been prepared in advance, and all kitchen surfaces would have been wiped clean and the cloth folded into four and draped over the taps.

Distorted by the glass panel, Hannah came towards me, a dark and undulating shape that took form as she walked down the hall. The front door opened and Hannah stepped back to allow me in. There was an awkward pause
while we both worked out how to embrace. Somehow the protocol of bereavement demanded we should share this unaccustomed intimacy. It was stiff and formal. I felt thankful once it was over and I could follow her down the hall.

‘I was so relieved when you phoned,' she said. ‘We were all worried about you yesterday. No one seemed to know where you were.'

I was about to apologise, which was my usual response to any uncomfortable situation. This time I held back. Perhaps Miriam's death had created a watershed in our relationship and one of us had to change. I was going to say nothing. Then I noticed how pale her face was, her eyes red and swollen. She had been crying. I had been so absorbed in my own grief that I had forgotten the enormity of hers. I suddenly felt I should be protecting her.

‘I just needed some time on my own. I'm fine, really.'

‘Well, I'm sure this whole business has been a strain on us all.'

Whole business, I thought, whole business? That's the way you describe the death of your mother? I followed her through to the sitting room. She was wearing black, a neatly cut suit, probably one she wore at the office, but it was discreet and appropriate for the circumstances. I had given no thought to wearing mourning and immediately felt self-conscious in my old denim jeans. I had slipped the piece of silver jewellery inside my sweatshirt. This was going to be difficult enough without flaunting Miriam's generosity.

‘I rang Dad this morning,' I said, ‘told him what's happened. I didn't know if he would want to attend the
funeral. Of course it's a long way for them to come. Still, I thought he should be asked. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it?'

‘Yes, it was the right thing to do. But of course he won't come, not all the way from Cornwall. Or if he does let's hope he doesn't bring that woman with him. David arrived this morning. He'll be around for a few days. He's staying with friends in town, but I asked him to join us for lunch.'

My heart sank. I'd wanted to choose the right moment, hoped that we would have time to talk later, but I would have to do it now, before David arrived, before I was outnumbered.