All of Me (9 page)

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, perfectly straightforward procedure. We were lucky to catch it in time.’

‘Will it return?’

‘Will what return?’

‘The ulcer.’

The consultant stared at Mum like she was mad. She wondered if they were speaking about the same patient.

‘Jim Noble,’ she said. ‘You just operated on him. You took out a stomach ulcer.’

The consultant stared at Mum and said, ‘My dear woman, your husband didn’t have an ulcer. He has cancer. We’ve just removed three-quarters of his stomach.’

Cancer? Dad hadn’t told anyone. God knows what the consultant thought but Mum felt such an idiot.
Typical of him, though,
she must have thought.
Always keeping secrets.

Dad was put onto a ward with the other people who’d had similar operations. He was only forty-two and the youngest one there by several decades. Mum hated going to visit him. One day she came back and said one of the old boys who’d had the same op as Dad had died in the night. The next day she said another one had gone. Then a third.

‘I think we’re going to have to prepare for the worst,’ she said. She burst out crying, joined soon after by Lorraine. Later Mum told me, ‘You never cried. You were always so hard.’

But Dad was a fighter. They might have been dropping like flies around him but he plugged away. After a few weeks the doctors said he could come home. The next thing I knew, he was back in the lounge, because he was too weak to climb the stairs every day. But at least he wasn’t angry any more. We could cook without listening to him screaming about the smells wafting in.

For a while things were back to normal. Then one day Lorraine arrived and announced she’d left her husband. He’d cheated on her. They were over. There was no way back. I didn’t want to give up my room but she refused to go in with Nan. Everyone else agreed.

‘It’s not right for a married woman.’

I wasn’t too happy about that but generally Lorraine and I had never been closer. Five years is a huge gap when one of you is interested in boys and the other is still playing with dolls. By the time Lorraine had moved back in we were both old enough to get along. The older we got, the less important the gap seemed.

Friday nights were important times for Lorraine and Mum. That was Mum’s night out with the girls and once Lorraine was back, she started going out with her as well. At fourteen, I was too young so I stayed in with Nan. Sometimes we played games, sometimes we listened to the radio or watched television if Dad didn’t mind our being in the front room with him.

One Saturday Dad had felt strong enough to leave the house, although his bed was still set up in the front room. Mum and Lorraine were out for a good time as usual. Nan and I were talking when the phone went.

‘Who’s ringing at this time?’ she said as I went to answer. ‘Give them a piece of my mind.’

I picked up and said, ‘Hello?’

For the next minute I just listened as an hysterical Lorraine screamed down the phone. I managed to pick out bits and pieces.

‘Mum’s been run over! You’ve got to come down. Don’t tell Nan. Whatever you do, don’t let her worry.’

So many instructions I barely had time to respond. Then the line went dead.

I went back to Nan.

‘Who was that?’ she asked.

‘Oh, it was Lorraine,’ I said. That was the easy part.

‘What does she want at this time?’

‘Mum’s fallen over. She’s drunk. Lorraine wants me to go and help her back.’

‘That girl,’ Nan tutted. ‘I’m not waiting up to see this.’

I grabbed my coat and ran out the door. It was a five-minute run from our house. Mum, Lorraine and a man friend had been crossing the road at the roundabout joining the A23. A car had come bombing around the corner while they were all mid-crossing. Lorraine had been last in the line so she was just scraped. The man was knocked clean over and Mum, who’d been furthest into the road, was slammed onto the hood. Lorraine said that was the only reason the driver stopped, because he couldn’t see anything with Mum filling the windshield.

I didn’t know any of this as I tore along the pavement. All I knew from Lorraine’s message was that things were bad. Terrible even. But nothing prepared me for the sight of dozens of flashing blue lights dominating the night sky. Police cars and ambulances were completely blocking the road. Vehicles were backed up in both directions as cops tried to keep the traffic flowing. A small crowd of people had gathered around the scene. As I fought my way through, I saw Lorraine sitting with a blanket round her. A policeman was talking to her. But where was Mum?

Then I saw her and my heart sank.

She was lying in the road, exactly as she’d landed. Two medics were checking her. They were talking anxiously. But worst of all, I could see a policeman crouching down, shuffling around her like a crab. He was marking her outline on the road.

I thought they only did that for dead bodies.

Then the other shoe dropped.

Oh God!

Lorraine saw me, then we forced our way over to Mum. She was out of it, completely unconscious.

She’s not going to make it.

We shoved past the medics and I sighed with relief when I saw Mum’s eyes flicker open. When she saw us she said, ‘My pilot light is going out.’

What a time to be thinking about the cooker,
I thought. But at least she was alive.

She said it again. ‘My pilot light is going out.’

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ Lorraine assured her. ‘I’ll light it when I get home.’

But Mum wouldn’t stop. That’s all she could manage to say in her weak, pathetic little voice. ‘My pilot light is going out. My pilot light is going out.’

Then she passed out again and I thought we’d lost her for good.

I stared at Lorraine.
What do we do now?

Suddenly, there was a twitch and Mum came back. And what did she say?

‘My pilot light is going out.’

As petrified as I was, I struggled to keep a straight face. It was so bizarre. Mum was flitting in and out of consciousness and all she could think about was that.

It was only afterwards we worked out what she meant. Mum was dying. She could see that. Death was claiming her and in her mind she could see her life force being snuffed out. She wasn’t worried about the cooker at all. She was talking about herself, about her own pilot light.

It seemed to take an age to move Mum into the ambulance. Seeing that police outline made me feel sick. They obviously thought her pilot light was going out for good. Lorraine went to the hospital but I went back home. The next thing I remember is Lorraine coming home the next morning, ashen.

‘Mum’s serious but stable,’ she explained, tears flowing. ‘They don’t know if she’ll make it.’

It was a horrible time. We had to tell Nan of course and she was devastated. You feel so helpless when someone is in hospital.

Life had to go on as much as possible. Dad made me go to school. Afterwards I set off to visit Mum in hospital. On the way I saw our neighbour. Her face fell when she spotted me.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about your mum.’

I nodded. ‘Thanks.’ What else was there to say?

‘You must let me know when the funeral is.’

Funeral?

‘Mum’s not dead.’

The neighbour was shocked.

‘But …’

‘What have you heard?’ I demanded. But the woman clammed up.

I ran off, distraught. Had something happened to Mum while I was at school? Or had she died and I’d just not remembered? That could happen. That would be normal for me. Why hadn’t they told me?

By the time I reached the hospital I was a wreck. I felt the nurses’ eyes burning into me as I ran up the corridor and braced myself for the worst. Any minute now one of them would take me aside.

But there was Mum. There’d been no change. The neighbour had been wrong.

I’ve never been so relieved.

It turned out the whole neighbourhood was buzzing with the news that Dorothy Noble had been killed that night. I suppose enough people had seen the accident scene. You know how rumours build in small communities. When the police have drawn an outline around your body, that’s never a good sign. But I wish people had done some research rather than leaping to conclusions. I lost count of the times I was commiserated with because of my mother. Even though I knew the truth, every time it happened I couldn’t help worrying that this time they might be right – and I’d just forgotten.

I did my best to visit Mum most days. At first I couldn’t believe it was her in that bed. She had more bandages than an Egyptian mummy. When they started to come off I saw her skin was black and blue. She was in a really bad way.

I went in one day and got as far as the ward double-doors. I remember pushing them open and that’s it. I didn’t think about it again until later that night. We were having dinner when Nan asked, ‘Did you see your mother today?’

I can’t remember!

‘I think so,’ I said.

‘Well, did you or didn’t you?’

I literally don’t know.

‘Yes, of course I did.’

But really I had no idea. I’d opened the ward doors but did I go in?

A couple of days later it was Mum’s turn to confuse me. As usual I’d gone directly to the hospital from school. As I skipped into the ward Mum smiled weakly.

‘Did you forget something?’

‘No, why?’

‘Well, what have you come back for? I only said goodbye to you five minutes ago.’

What on Earth’s she talking about?

‘I’ve just got here,’ I insisted indignantly.

‘If you say so,’ Mum said with the weariness of someone used to her daughter’s tall stories. I knew that tone. She used it on me all the time.

‘Only kidding,’ I bluffed. ‘I just wondered if you wanted me to bring anything tomorrow.’

And that was how I got away with it.

A few days later it was even weirder. Mum greeted me this time with, ‘Hello, stranger.’

‘Hello,’ I said, oblivious to the sarcasm.

‘Did you have something better to do yesterday?’

Mum claimed she hadn’t seen me for two days, whereas I knew full well I hadn’t missed an afternoon visit that week. Monday, Tuesday and now Wednesday – I’d been in every day.
Mum must just be tired,
I thought.

And then, on my way out, I noticed the nurses’ board in the corridor. Thursday was written at the top of the board. I wondered whether I should point out their mistake. For some reason I didn’t bother.

No wonder Mum’s confused, though.

The doctors were happy with Mum’s recovery. For her, though, it wasn’t happening quickly enough. Against medical advice she discharged herself and got a taxi home. It caught everyone off guard. With Mum on crutches there was no way she could make the stairs. But Dad was still sleeping in the front room. After some argument he transferred all his stuff upstairs and Mum took up camp in his place.

It wasn’t perfect but she was home and she was alive.

It had been the worst year of my life. Probably the worst for any of us – and it was about to get worse. First Lorraine’s marriage had broken up, Dad had got cancer and Mum had been in intensive care for a fortnight after being run over on a night out. And then there was Nan. We’d barely got over the other events when I came home from school to see an ambulance pulling away from near our house. My first thought was Mum. Had she had a setback? Inside I found a note. Nan had had a stroke. She was going to the hospital for a check-up. She should be all right.

Should?

I wasn’t even sure what a stroke was. I certainly couldn’t face anything happening to Nan. I hadn’t really thought of it before but she was my bedrock.

Before I knew it Nan was home and apparently with no side effects. She’d had a ‘funny turn’ as she called it but she was on the mend now.

‘Don’t worry yourself about me.’

It was hard not to. In fact, when I went over the year’s events I realised I’d actually been the lucky one. Sure, I’d had to endure a hideous run of events but what family doesn’t go through a period like that every so often? Each instance was unpleasant, yes, but not really out of the ordinary. And, on the bright side, at least I seemed to be all right.

So why did I wake up one morning to find my stomach had just been pumped?

CHAPTER FIVE

There’s no helping you

‘Hello, Samaritans. Who am I speaking to?’

The voice was calm, reassuring and friendly.

‘Hello?’ it repeated. ‘I’m Sam. You don’t have to tell me your name. How are you feeling today?’

Rebecca shook as she clutched the handset tightly. Her knuckles were white with effort, as though if she let go of the phone she would drown. In a way she would.