The Sisters (12 page)

‘I know that, Sal. In fact I know that better than anybody. Fuck it, I’ll even do a reality show if I have to, if it means that I’ll get my name back out there.’

Sal looked at Lucinda quizzically. Instinctively he knew that her words weren’t fed by some burning desire to reignite her passion for music.

‘It’s a different world out there, Lulu. It’s harsh. I’m trying to find space for talented artists who are competing with robots produced from the talent show factory and singers who think that they’re being artistic because they go on stage and perform in their knickers whilst they’re groped by a dwarf in a gimp outfit.’

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘Clearly you don’t watch MTV love,’ Sal said as he stuffed a chip into his mouth.

THE PAIN started in the middle of his back towards the left and then hit a nerve, which caused a sharp shooting pain to travel down his left leg. This caused Richard to jump out of his sleep and reach for the nearest thing to him, which was his wife’s right arm. He couldn’t breathe and he was scared now that he could feel the warm breath of death on his neck. Yes he believed in God and he wanted to believe that there was an afterlife but he couldn’t recall the last time that he’d entered a church of his own accord, without it being for a wedding, christening or more often than not recently, a funeral. As the pain gripped him again the thought ran through his mind that this could be it. As if a light has just been switched off and a room had been plunged into darkness.

‘What the…’ Felicia shouted out with the shock of being abruptly woken up out of her deep sleep by her husband’s right arm involuntarily slapping her in the face. ‘Oh my God Richard. Richard what’s wrong?’ He couldn’t answer as his face contorted into a grimace of pain and sweat began to emerge from every pore of his body. Felicia pulled back the sheets and saw that his t-shirt was drenched in sweat. She scrambled out of bed, grabbed the phone on the bedside table and dialled 999.

Felicia sat in the ambulance and watched her husband wither with pain with an oxygen mask on his face. The painkiller that they had given him whilst they were in the house was having no effect, so they’d given him a shot of morphine. After a few minutes Richard began to calm down, giving Felicia the opportunity to hold onto his hand. The last time she had been in an ambulance she couldn’t have told you if up was down or down was up as she was gripped by wave after wave of contractions as her waters had broken in Columbia Road flower market with a young Beatrice at her side. The journey to Guys Hospital seemed to take an eternity but in reality it was less than fifteen minutes. As soon as they arrived, she’d been ushered to a waiting area with uncomfortable red, metal chairs whilst they rushed Richard to the urgent care unit. It was only when the double doors opened half an hour later and Jessica walked through that Felicia even remembered that she’d called her.

‘Oh Jess, you didn’t have to come down here,’ Felicia said in a quiet voice. ‘I shouldn’t have called you.’

‘Don’t be silly, mum. I wasn’t going to leave you here on your own.’

‘I would have been fine. Anyway, I’m not the one who needs to be fussed over,’ Felicia said as she pulled her own cardigan tighter around her and became aware that she was sitting in a hospital waiting area in her pyjamas and the trainers that she usually wore to do the gardening.

‘So what happened? How is he?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know that he was in any pain when we went to bed last night. But you know your father. His leg would have to be hanging off before he’d consider even taking a bloody pain killer…but one minute I’m asleep and the next thing I know your dad has slapped me in the face and he’s screaming in pain.’

‘What do you mean he slapped you?’ Jessica had never known there to be any sort of violence between her parents. Of course there had been arguments. Her mother’s voice usually overpowered her husband’s, and on a few occasions Richard had stormed out and spent the night on his sister’s sofa, but there had never been violence.

‘Jessica, don’t be ridiculous. How could you even think such a thing? It wasn’t like that. Your dad just thrashed out with the pain. And he was in so much pain, Jess.’ For the first time, Jessica saw the years etched in her mother’s face. Her eyes were swollen from a lack of sleep and the tears that she’d shed whilst she was waiting for news of his husband. ‘I shouldn’t have called you. I should have known that you would have come here and you have enough on your plate. I know how busy you’ve been.’

‘Mum, please, don’t worry about it.’

‘Did Andrew drive you?’

Felicia didn’t notice her daughter flinch at the sound of her estranged husband’s name.

‘No. There’s no point of both of us being here.’ The truth was that she had called, texted and emailed him. Whether it was out of pride or misplaced obligation she’d persevered for almost two weeks but he hadn’t replied. Not once. She’d even lied to Lena, telling her that he’d gone away on a last minute golfing holiday for two weeks. If Lena had been paying any attention then she would have realised that Andrew should have returned home yesterday. Jessica had become the sort of woman that she despised. She’d never been the sort of woman who chased. But now she wanted to know what her husband was doing and whom he was doing it with. She had no control over the answers and it’d become quite obvious that he wasn’t prepared to give her any.

‘Mrs. LeSoeur?’ Both women’s heads turned in the same direction at the sound of their name. ‘How is he?’ Felicia asked as she reached for her daughter’s hand as Dr. Simpson walked towards them.

‘He’s comfortable. We’ve given him morphine to address the pain he was experiencing and we’ve started him on a course of antibiotics.’

‘But he couldn’t breathe.’

‘His lungs are fine. There are no issues there. As far as we can tell the cancer hasn’t spread to his lungs or any of his other organs. He has the beginnings of a viral infection but we suspect the breathlessness was caused by anxiety.’

‘Anxiety?’ said Jessica. ‘You’re saying that my dad had a panic attack? He doesn’t do panic. Not my dad.’

‘How could that be anxiety? He couldn’t breathe,’ Felicia said, talking over her daughter. The doctor took a step back.

‘It’s not unusual for patients to experience panic. I suspect that a diagnosis like this would be difficult for him to get his head around.’

Felicia stared at the doctor not convinced by what he was saying. Anyway, he looked far too young to be talking to her about her husband.

‘We’re going to keep him overnight,’ the doctor said, looking at his watch. ‘Sorry, for the rest of the day and if there are no other issues he can go home tomorrow.’

‘No other issues? He has cancer, not an ingrown toenail,’ said Felicia sarcastically. ‘Can I see him?’

‘Of course you can. He’s asleep at the moment and we’re obviously monitoring him so don’t be alarmed by what you see.’ Felicia didn’t thank the doctor as she walked around him and through the double doors.

‘You’re more than welcome to go in also,’ Dr. Simpson said to Jessica.

‘I will, thank you but I wanted to ask you something first. You said that the cancer hasn’t spread to his other organs. That’s good news, isn’t it?’

‘In the sense that the cancer has slowed down its growth, yes. But it’s still aggressive and without treatment it’ll undoubtedly cause your father to deteriorate. Obviously, if he was to embark on a course of chemotherapy and radiotherapy…’

‘What do you mean
if
he was to embark? Hasn’t he already started?’

Doctor Simpson knew he’d gone a step too far but the long working hours had pushed protocol to the recesses of his brain. He’d been up for 36 hours straight and he could feel the burning sensation of tiredness. ‘I’ve been working with Dr. Marcus, who is…’

‘I know who he is,’ Jessica replied abruptly.

‘And your dad hasn’t started…well to be exact, he hasn’t made a decision about whether he wants to start treatment. I can’t say anymore than that. In fact, I shouldn’t even have told you that,’ the doctor said embarrassingly, scratching his head.

The brief silence was broken by the beeps of Dr. Simpson’s mobile phone. He mumbled his apologies again, jogged down the corridor, and disappeared around the corner. Jessica didn’t know what to do with the news she’d just heard. It was all too much for her and she wanted to scream, but as she looked down at her leggings with the dried paint on them any screaming would most likely result in her being carted off to the psychiatric ward. There was so much going on and she was starting to feel that familiar sense of unfairness rising through her body. It was too much responsibility for her and she didn’t know why it had all landed at her feet. No one wanted to spend money on long distance calls to the States so her mother had taken to calling Jessica when there was something on her chest or when she simply wanted to rant about her father’s inability to return home after a night out with her uncle in a sober state. Even Beatrice and Emma had started coming to her when they wanted to talk, complain or wanted advice. It angered her that Lucinda’s departure had meant that all of the responsibility had been dumped on her.

‘Do you know, when I first met your dad I thought he was the most ignorant and annoying man on the planet. He hassled me for weeks until I agreed to go out with him and he was always doing something: playing football, basketball, badminton. I thought that when we had you girls he’d slow down. Girls are safe, I thought. They don’t want to hang upside down on monkey bars or hurtle down hills on their bikes, but that didn’t happen at all. He was still running around after you four. Now look at him,’ Felicia said as she stood over her husband’s bed and rested her hand on his forehead. His forehead was the only place not covered by tubes or wires. His breathing had regulated, and his blood pressure and heartbeat were now stable. But the machines still beeped in a rhythm that was not yet comforting.

‘Why hasn’t dad started his treatment?’ Jessica asked as she stood by the door.

Felicia kept her eyes focused on her husband, too embarrassed to look at Jessica.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him,’ she said softly. ‘I want him to fight not just lie there and do nothing. He’s never just done nothing.’

‘When he gets home we’ll talk to him. Maybe we can get Lucinda to pay privately. She might as well do something useful.’

‘We’re not burdening your sister with paying for treatment.’

‘How’s paying for dad’s treatment burdening her? She’s loaded. Let her take responsibility for once. You’ve always…’

‘Jessica, stop! Not now and not here,’ Felicia hissed at her daughter. ‘Maybe you should go home. I’ll stay. I’m not leaving him alone to wake up in a strange hospital bed.’

Jessica walked out of the hospital building and took a deep breath forcing her to embrace that moment of calmness before London became fully awake. The city hadn’t yet warmed up and there was still a chill in the air despite the sun rising hazily above her and the birds cheerily singing their song. She walked in the direction of the multi-storey car park not noticing that Dr. Simpsons had hurriedly hidden the cigarette behind his back when she’d walked past.

I’m always alone
, she said to herself as she opened her car and sat down. As she put the key into the ignition the radio came on. All of the presets were talk radio. She’d stopped listening to music stations a long time ago. Her anger had made her so resentful and bitter about the artists who dared to grace her radio with their sometimes not so dulcet tones. They had literally been on the edge of greatness. That was what the music journalists were saying before Lucinda decided to leave. The abandonment had ruined everything. Jessica had texted Beatrice before she left for the hospital and there were now four missed calls from her. She hated herself even more for being disappointed that the missed calls weren’t from Andrew. She had pretended that their marriage was perfect and had done nothing to stop it from completely falling apart. In the privacy of her car, she could admit that. Even with a wedding ring on his finger he’d still behaved like a single man. He went on holiday without her. He hardly consulted her on anything from the purchase of his Porsche to the installation of the plantation shutters, and as for sex Jessica couldn’t remember when she had last initiated it but that had never stopped him from taking it.

‘SO YOU want to die? Is that what you really want?’

‘Well, if you keep carrying on like this, I may not make it to the end of the week.’

‘Stop it. Just stop it. For once will you take things seriously instead of making stupid jokes?’ shouted Felicia.

Richard didn’t answer as he stood in the middle of their bedroom and peeled off the blue t-shirt that he’d been wearing when the pain had taken him. The stale smell of sweat ran into his nostrils as he pulled the t-shirt over his face and threw it in the direction of the clothesbasket in the corner of the room. He missed.

‘So, is that what you want? To die?’ Felicia said again.

‘Of course, I don’t want to die,’ Richard resignedly said as he sat down on the old armchair next to the bedside table. It felt as though the cancer had picked up an oyster card and was on a fast train round his body.

‘You’re going to start the treatment,’ Felicia said defiantly.

‘Shouldn’t that be my decision to make?’

‘No. You can’t be trusted with something this important.’

‘Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your students, Fliss,’ said Richard. But there was no fight in his voice.

‘I’m going to make something for you to eat. Maybe you should rest or think about what you’re doing with your life. At least what remains of it.’ She walked out of the room leaving Richard alone in their bedroom. He didn’t even remember his wife repeatedly asking him what was wrong or telling him that she was going to call for an ambulance. He didn’t recall the paramedics coming into his bedroom or when they inserted an IV into his left arm or placed the oxygen mask over his face. At some point he must have blacked out. That was the only explanation for it. It wasn’t as though he had just dozed off. It had been so easy to let the blackness sweep over him. As he sat in the chair he wondered if death would come over him so quickly and just as sweetly.