Out Late with Friends and Regrets (59 page)

“Take care.”

Never a taxi when you wanted one. She ran for a mini-cab she saw drop off a passenger, but it pulled away at speed. She spotted another, the driver enjoying a smoke by the wall, and hared over the road towards it as he ground the butt underfoot.

“Hey! Excuse me!” she shouted.

“Ring the office, love,” he called back, “bookings only.”

“It’s urgent!” she yelled, sprinting now, and thinking that if she could reach the car door and get in, he’d have to take her. He stepped between her and the passenger door as she stretched a hand to open it.

“Sorry, I’ve got a fare lined up in a few minutes. I’m sure nobody’s going to die in the meantime, are they?”

Fin thumped the roof of the vehicle in frustration.

“
They just fucking might, you moron!
” she screamed, then between sobs,“My friend’s been rushed into hospital with an aneurysm, and she’s in a very bad way!”

“Get in,” said the driver, swiftly eyeing the site of the thump as he opened the door for her, “Harford General? Four minutes, tops.”

Long, empty corridors. Squeaky vinyl flooring which gleamed like water. Shadowless lighting. And the smell, the hospital smell.

Like before. Like when Paul…

This was a body, on the bed.

A few minutes ago, a human being; now, a human … not being.
 
A corpse.

New situation.
 
No precedent.

Fiona shivered. She stared intently at the chest. It was still. How could it not be moving? Was that a tremor, a fluttering?
 
No.
 
Puzzling.

At 3.04 a.m. precisely (in some instinctive, banal impulse she had checked her watch), the nurse had touched her gently on the shoulder, and said “He’s gone, dear,” in a low voice both practised and compassionate.

Now Fiona had been left alone for a few minutes, to say goodbye to her husband of twenty years. Twenty years, of her thirty-seven.
 
The man who had filled her horizon, and often obscured the sun, since she was a schoolgirl.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling its coolness.
 
His face was now smooth and untroubled; the light brown hair wavy, boyish, one tendril stuck to his forehead with sweat. Would it spring away when it dried, she wondered?

“Goodbye, Paul,” she whispered, and kissed his lips.

She moved to the bottom of the bed, getting used to the sight of him in repose. Feeling estranged, embarrassed almost, after so many years, she muttered the Lord’s Prayer, and then a Hail Mary.

His death had been expected, of course. When the consultant had asked for a quiet word, she had floated, surreally becalmed, as she sat in his office. She had watched his mouth. Scan… large tumour in the brain…probably growing over a long period…coma… comfortable…

“He’s going to die, then.”
 
So easy for her to say. How difficult, on the other hand, for medical staff, to have to tell relatives that there was no hope of recovery for their loved ones. She should make it as easy as she could for him.

“How long, do you think?”

“Typically, a few days. Possibly a little longer.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Callaghan, but Paul was always against having his organs used. He had a dread of being cut. I carry a card myself, though.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hay, nobody will ask.”

“Not that his liver would be much good to you, I don’t suppose.” She smiled briefly to signal the joke.

Poor taste. How callous she must appear.

Paul was moved to a side room to die, and life assumed a new rhythm. Fiona began sleeping overnight in the easy chair next to the bed. In the morning she drove home, showered, breakfasted, checked the post, made phone calls, drove back to the hospital.
 
Sat with Paul. Ate in the cafeteria. Back to his room. Read books, sometimes aloud. Occasionally put the television on, the sound muted.
 
Spoke to him. Sometimes he moaned; sometimes he gasped, or ground his teeth. The specialist assured her that Paul was not in pain.

His tobacco-coloured urine crept at intervals along the catheter tube, and she would look away, feeling intrusive. The room’s particular smell of hygiene and waste clung to her, drew her back into his world, each time she returned from the outside .

She marvelled at the care lavished on him, and at the warm humanity of the nurses, male and female alike. They chatted to him as they worked, as if he could respond.

She had almost begun to believe he would wake.

But now the routine had been interrupted.
 
The cocoon that had wrapped them in this suspended state had split open; she must crawl out into the light, alone.

There was a movement behind the glass panel in the door.
 
The ward sister was looking to see if farewells were complete, so that she could take Fiona to the office to sign for her husband’s possessions.
 
Would she like to ring anyone? Did she need a taxi? No, thank you. She was given cards with telephone numbers she might find useful.

She drove home, and spent several hours changing the positions of all the furniture.
          

“Fin! Over here.”

Siobhan stood where a side corridor joined the main artery. Fin had almost walked past, caught in the numbness of retrospect.

“Come and sit down with me, Fin. Nothing’s happened since you rang. On your own?”

Siobhan’s skin was very pale. No make-up. She obviously hadn’t started getting ready when she heard.

“Yes. Ellie wanted to come with me, and so did Rachel, but I said no. Oh God, why
Rosie
, why
her
?”

“It’s still a mystery, why some people get cerebral aneurysms and most don’t. It’s not necessarily lifestyle related.”

“But people die. Of aneurysms.”

“So they do, Fin. But a lot don’t. At least they got her to hospital, which gives her a chance.”

Fin felt her face crumpling, as unmanageable sobs forced their way up. Siobhan put her arms round her, and Fin responded, clinging fiercely, and now quite unable to control the tears. There was comfort in just being held; Siobhan didn’t tell her it was OK; she didn’t say anything.

Finally Fin loosened her grip, groped for a tissue and wiped her eyes.

“Sorry, Siobhan,” she croaked.

“Come on. Sit down. Let’s get a coffee from the machine.”

They huddled over their paper cups, and Fin said, “I’ve been such an arse. I was so besotted with this girl I was seeing, I never even bothered keeping in touch. Rosie emailed me several times, and I kept thinking I’d answer later, when I even opened them, that is. What is the matter with me?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, too badly, Fin,” said Siobhan, “I was the very same. It’s a kind of selfish madness, when nobody else matters except the one you’re fixated on.”

“Oh yes. Yours was a doctor, wasn’t he?”

As Fin looked up, Siobhan stared at the opposite wall.

“
She
. Yes she was, one of the local GPs. My God, you should have seen the papers. That’s what made the divorce front page news. It was horrible, the stuff they made up, on top of the facts.”

“You- oh, I- Rosie never told me that.”

“I asked her not to.”

Siobhan smiled with half her mouth.

“I thought the madness was a one-off, temporary, specific. I thought a change of surroundings and a new job would help me get over it.”

“And did it?” asked Fin.

“Oh sure. I got over the affair itself quite soon. The publicity took a good while longer. And I don’t seem to have got over the lesbianism at all.”

Fin didn’t know what to say. But then Donal shuffled in. He wore battered trainers and a grubby boiler suit too small for his gangly frame. He must have been doing some Saturday maintenance jobs when his wife collapsed. His face was hollow with distress, and Fin’s heart went out to him.

“Fiona, oh, that’s so good of you to come,” he said, on seeing her.

“Donal, I-”

She went to him and put her arms around him; it seemed the right thing to do. He responded, drooping over her.

“How is she?” asked Siobhan. Donal looked around, as if seeking an alternative reality, and flopped down on a chair.

“The priest’s with her,” said Donal.

“Just in case,” said Siobhan, quickly.

“Yes. She said she’d take the Sacrament. And the surgeon’s come in, but they’re not going to operate until the full team’s here, first thing.”

“Can I – can we see her?” asked Fin, sitting next to him. He took her hand and held it, giving it a squeeze.

“I’m sure they’ll let you go in for a couple of minutes,” he said.

Siobhan, who had moved to the chair at his other side, said, “Yes, just a couple, Donal. We won’t keep you from her.”

There was a pause, then Fin asked, “What happened, Donal?”

“She was in the garden. I heard her scream. She’s not a screamer, Fiona, she never screams,” he replied, “she was lying on the ground, holding her head. I tried to pick her up, and she vomited. God, I’ve never been so scared. I just rang for an ambulance and told them what happened, and they were there almost before I’d called Siobhan.
She
knew at once, of course.”

“I didn’t know, but the symtoms were classic,” said Siobhan.

Donal sat back in the chair, leaning his head on the wall, and closed his eyes.

“
Please
, God,” he whispered.

Nobody spoke or moved for several minutes, and Fin began to shiver, despite the controlled hospital warmth. A nurse rounded the corner from the direction of the ward reception, and said, “You can go back in, Mr. Carty.”

She glanced at Fin and Siobhan, and added, “Other visitors one at a time, if you wouldn’t mind, and could you keep it short? She’s needing to rest.”

Donal got to his feet, then sat down again. He seemed to have lost control of his mouth, and it seemed as if he would cry. He turned to Fin and said, “You go on, Fin. I’ll just need
 
a moment… I’ll wait.”

“I won’t be long, I promise,” replied Fin, glad of the chance to move, as she followed the nurse, stopping at the dispenser to rub gel on her hands.

Rosemary, flat on her back without a pillow, looked old with pain.

“Rosie, I’m so, so sorry.”

There it was, that lovely generous smile, but in a wraithlike version which made Fin’s stomach twist.

“No need, honestly.”

“Making a complete bollocks of my love-life is no excuse for treating my best friend like shit.”

“Learning curve, my darling,” said Rosemary, “and don’t feel bad. I was so thrilled to hear from you. When you rang. Sorry about the party.”
 

Fin wanted to hug her, cry, feel nurtured. Instead she took Rosemary’s hand and kissed it.

“When this is over,” she said, “we’ll have to make up for it. I’ll take you out to dinner and give you a racy account of all my misdeeds.”

“I’ll need all the details. Want to know all the juicy bits.”

It was evident that Rosemary was struggling, trying to see beyond the pain, and the immediate, terrifying darkness between her and life afterwards.

“You’ll get the full, unexpurgated version, and I’ve got such a lot to tell you, Rosie. But I’d better let Siobhan come in, and obviously Donal needs to be with you.”

“Come and see me after.”

“Of course I will.”

            
Fin bent and kissed her mouth, very gently, and at the door she looked back once.