Losing You (46 page)

‘Mrs Scott?’ a voice said quietly.

Emma lifted her gaze from Lauren’s face, and felt a
peculiar rushing sensation as she moved weightlessly from the world she’d just been in with Lauren, to the one they shared with everyone else. The unit sounded busy, she realised, in spite of the late hour, voices, comings and goings, the muted rhythm of machines hissing and bleeping, a strangely hypnotic chorus conducted by the always present, never visible hand of Fate.

‘Yes?’ Emma replied, her fingers still wrapped around Lauren’s in the hope of even the slightest tremor of a response. ‘Oh, it’s time to go,’ she said, realising it must be nine o’clock.

The nurse, whom Emma hadn’t seen before, glanced at Anna who’d been on duty since Emma had arrived, and said, ‘Dr Nelson wanted me to let you know that he’s here now and will be along shortly.’

Remembering that the consultant had left a message saying he wanted to see her if she came in today, Emma’s heart turned inside out as she returned her gaze to Lauren’s ghostly face. After the scene at the school earlier she knew she wasn’t up to coping with much more today, particularly if Yuri Nelson was going to revisit the subject of letting Lauren go. But there hadn’t been any further crises, and Farraday had said it would only become an issue if another drastic intervention was necessary.

Too exhausted to cry, in spite of the tears on her cheeks, she moved in closer to Lauren to brush her cheek with a kiss as she whispered goodnight.

Goodnight, Mum, love you
, Lauren replied.

If only, but Emma heard it anyway, because Lauren’s voice was as much a part of her as the chromosomes and genes she’d passed on to make her.

Finding another family in the waiting room, faces stricken, eyes widening with terror as the door opened, Emma quickly apologised and left. There was tragedy all around her; Death the silent stalker never left this place. How many times, she wondered, had it looked at Lauren? Was it waiting for her, even now?

As she stepped out into the corridor she saw Yuri Nelson coming towards her, and tried to evince some polite pleasure as she greeted him.

Making a better job of the same performance, he shook her hand warmly and would have steered her into the waiting room if she hadn’t explained why they couldn’t go in.

Understanding, he walked her on down the corridor, making small talk about the weather and some demonstration that had held him up getting here, until they reached the neuro X-ray centre where he took her into an empty office.

‘Shall we sit down?’ he suggested, his glasses turning opaque as they caught the light.

Doing as she was told, she watched him sit too, taking a chair the same side of the desk as her, not too close, but not too far either. Did it mean anything? She was willing him not to destroy the little straw of hope she was still grasping after the tremor her mother had felt, though she could feel it turning to dust.

‘We’re going to be moving Lauren to the high-dependency unit either tomorrow or Sunday,’ he told her, his grey eyes looking large and kind behind their thick, steel-rimmed lenses.

She started to reply and found she had to clear her throat. ‘Is that – is that good or bad?’ she asked croakily.

‘I guess you could say it’s good, in that she doesn’t need quite such intensive observation any more, so she’ll be sharing a nurse with another patient.’

Emma’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘And a room, or a cubicle?’ she said. She didn’t want Lauren’s privacy invaded; she needed to be alone with her daughter while she was here, but how could she expect such a luxury when they weren’t private, they were NHS?

‘It’ll depend on the occupancy rate when we make the transfer,’ he replied.

Realising she was being absurd about the privacy, that no matter who else was nearby no one could come between her and Lauren if she didn’t allow it, she asked, ‘So why have you decided to move her? She must be doing better if you feel she doesn’t need so much attention.’

He grimaced awkwardly. ‘It wouldn’t be right to give
you false hope at this stage, so I should say that this isn’t due so much to a change in her condition; it’s more an issue of space. As you know, we have urgent cases coming in all the time, and some, most, are now more pressing than Lauren’s.’

Emma could feel herself tensing. ‘I think what you’re really saying is that you’re pushing her aside in order to save money,’ she challenged.

‘I’m afraid budgets are always a concern,’ he admitted frankly, ‘but rest assured she’ll receive all the necessary care in the HDU, and if she does well there, we could soon be seeing our way to transferring her to the ward.’

‘But you’ll only do that if she’s showing some signs of improvement?’

‘If that happens then certainly she’ll be moved on to the ward; but even if she remains as she is we’ll probably decide that the requirement for intensive treatment has reduced sufficiently for her to ...’

‘Does Mr Farraday know about this?’

‘Of course. No decision would be taken without the full knowledge of her entire neurological team.’

Her voice sounded shrill and wavery as she said, ‘But the bottom line is you think she doesn’t stand a chance anyway, so there’s no point in wasting your resources?’

‘No, no, that certainly isn’t the case.’

She wanted to believe him, but it was hard. ‘You think I’m cruel for saying we must keep her alive, no matter what, don’t you?’ she cried desperately.

Taking both her hands in his, he said, ‘Please believe me when I tell you that there is no reason even to consider removing the intubation yet.’

‘Only another emergency would provoke that?’

‘Possibly, but as we’re not there and she’s been stable for the last few days, let’s try not to get into a hypothesis about something that might well not happen.’

‘But she’s brain-dead, a vegetable, she’ll never be normal again.’

‘Mrs Scott, all her brain scans show ...’

‘Nothing. You’re finding nothing.’

‘Please listen to me. None of us knows for sure what is happening in her brain, and nor will we until she comes round.’

‘And if she does, by then, it’ll be too late to let her go. She’ll be condemned to living in a body that won’t work, with a brain that can’t function, and it’ll be my fault for making you keep her alive.’

‘At this time,’ he said gently, ‘you are not being asked to make a decision, so you really can’t blame yourself for anything.’

Emma looked away, then dropped her head as she tried to make herself think. What would Will be asking if he were here? ‘If I object to you moving her,’ she said, turning back to him, ‘if I say that I want her to stay where she is ...’

‘The decision needs to be a medical one.’

‘Will you tell her father that? I need you to convince him, because I know he’ll say I’m not being strong enough, or taking proper care of her ...’

‘Of course I’ll speak to him. Will he be here at the weekend?’

‘He says he will.’

He was going to have a lot to take in, she was thinking grimly to herself when she finally went outside into the chill, damp night air to find her car. What with Phillip Leesom’s sudden ugly prominence in their lives, and now this, maybe it would be better if Will didn’t come. She really didn’t want to have to cope with his anger and accusations any more than she wanted to go on trying to cope with the way Lauren was.

But what choice did she have?

‘Emma, over here.’

Startled, she turned to see her mother standing beneath a lamp post, next to her Audi, and waving. ‘I thought you’d gone home,’ Emma said, when she reached her.

‘I went to pick up some groceries, then decided to come back and wait,’ Phyllis told her. ‘You looked so tired after your trip to London, and I was afraid it might not be easy to find a taxi when you finally left.’

Emma swallowed hard as she put a hand to her head. Of course, Polly had brought her here from the station, so why was she looking for her car?

‘Come on, let’s get you out of this drizzle,’ Phyllis said, going round to open the passenger door.

As she followed her, Emma said, ‘I’ve just been told they’re going to move her to the high-dependency unit.’

Her mother considered this, then nodded in a way that seemed approving. ‘I think we’ll take that as a good sign,’ she decided.

Emma watched her walk back round to the driver’s side and shake out her umbrella before getting in. ‘Thank you,’ she said in a whisper as her mother started to reverse the car out of the parking space.

Phyllis glanced at her. ‘What for?’ she asked, slipping the automatic into drive.

Emma struggled with her embarrassment. ‘For this,’ she answered with a shrug. ‘Coming back to wait for me, spending so much time with Lauren ...’ She wanted to add,
I’m not sure how I’d have got through the last couple of weeks without you
, but she couldn’t quite manage it. She and her mother didn’t normally go in for these kinds of chats.

Seeming embarrassed too, Phyllis said, ‘There’s no need to thank me.’

Emma closed her eyes as a swell of emotion filled her chest. She knew it was tiredness making her long for Berry so she could rest her head on her grandmother’s shoulder, and feel as though she wasn’t having to carry everything alone. Berry had other commitments to attend to now, though; Alfonso’s scare had weakened him and made him dependent in a way he’d never been before. Besides, she wasn’t alone, because her mother was here, and Emma was glad of it, she just couldn’t quite get a grip on it.

She wasn’t aware of building up to a question, or of any particular feelings attached to it when it came; she just seemed to be quiet one minute and the next she was asking, ‘Why have we never been close?’ It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, it had come up many times over the years, so
it wasn’t a great surprise when her mother didn’t answer. It hurt, though, a lot. ‘Did you hear me?’ Emma prompted, suddenly unwilling to let it go.

‘Yes, yes, I did, but I don’t think now is a good time to be having this conversation, do you? But I do think it’s something we should try to discuss when you’re not quite so tired.’

The fact that her mother was acknowledging there might be an issue was a first. In the past, she’d always told Emma to stop seeking attention, or making a fuss about nothing.

‘Does that mean you’re ready to admit that you don’t like me?’ Emma heard herself saying, and an absurd rush of tears swamped her eyes. How she loathed self-pity, but it seemed to be loving her right now.

‘I – I’ll admit nothing of the kind,’ Phyllis stammered awkwardly, ‘but I will agree that sometimes it might have ... Well, it might have seemed that way.’

Emma had to correct her. ‘Not sometimes, all the time.’

Phyllis cast her a glance, but the expected reprimand for exaggerating didn’t come.

Emma tried to say,
You really
don’t
like me, do you?
but her lips were clamped tightly shut, trying to hold back the emotions that were choking her. Her mother was right, now wasn’t the time to be having this conversation. They should revert to their usual banalities about the price of things now, or the changing weather, or what kind of bulbs Emma should plant with spring on its way. Mostly they talked about Lauren, of course, sharing memories of her childhood, spreading them out like a precious tapestry between them, something that held them together, but also kept them safely apart. They usually chose moments of joy and laughter: first smiles, first teeth, first steps, right through to the many prizes she’d won for music, dance and drama. Phyllis had been there for most of it, had even taken Lauren to her ballet lessons on Tuesdays and Fridays, and made costumes for the school plays she was in. She’d been involved in Lauren’s life in a way Emma couldn’t remember her ever being involved in hers.

A few nights ago they’d found themselves chuckling about the tube of suncream Lauren had swallowed, aged six, because it smelled of coconut; and later they’d recalled the passion she’d developed for a donkey in the field next to Phyllis’s house – the house where Emma had grown up. Emma often wondered if her mother had as many memories of her as a child as she did of Lauren, but she’d never asked, and tonight she didn’t want to know the answer.

‘Do you know what I wish?’ she said as they left the motorway to start across the city centre. ‘I really wish Dad was here. I’m not sure why, I just think he’d be able to make everything all right.’

Phyllis took a breath, but it was a moment before she said, ‘Yes, he had that way with him.’ A beat later she added, ‘Especially for you.’

Emma’s heart twisted as she turned in the darkness to look at her mother. It was almost forty years since her father had died, and this was the first time her mother had ever even indicated that she, Emma, might have been special to him.

She felt suddenly adrift, cut loose from who and where she was. She struggled for her next words, trying to pluck them from an overload of emotion, but they were drowning, drowning, drowning. She wanted so much to take this further, to find out what her mother was hiding, but she was being reminded of the time when she was five and had started diving lessons with the school. It had taken weeks for her to brave the climb on to the board, and when she’d finally managed it the teacher and the other children had all clapped and encouraged her to walk to the edge. Once there, she’d looked down at the water, and she’d really wanted to spring up and fly like a bird before plunging head first into the pool. She was certain if her father had been there to make sure she was safe she’d have done it, but he wasn’t, he’d died two years before, and she’d never found the courage to go any further.

This was how she felt now, afraid to go any further. She wanted life to stop, turn around and take her back to a
month ago when all she’d had to worry about was finding a job, and her dreams for Lauren were still shared by Lauren. She wouldn’t give up on those dreams, though, she couldn’t; there would be no point to anything if she did, and the tears running silently down her cheeks now were no more than tiredness, nothing at all to do with giving up.

Chapter Twenty-Four