Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats (13 page)

It might have been her imagination, but she felt that all eyes were on her, as though she was now somehow marked. Her fellow commuters, strangers on the train, people who worked in her building, it was as if they all knew that she had lost her child, were all snatching surreptitious glances, whispering behind cupped palms, or simply staring. She combed her fingers through her straightened hair and ran her middle finger around the outline of her lipstick as she felt the heat of their gaze.
I didn’t lose her. She got stolen from me. Sepsis took her. It wasn’t my fault. It really wasn’t. It could happen to anyone. It could happen to you.

Grace kept her eyes downcast and made her way into the Shultzheim Building, trying not to think of the person she had been when she left on that Friday night only a few weeks ago. It felt like another lifetime. It was another lifetime. She tried to remember what had filled her head before this grief filled every bit of her. She couldn’t.

Jayney ended her phone call the moment she saw Grace enter the office. Placing the receiver down, she stared at her friend, blinking, palms splayed on the desk as if unsure of what to say. Slowly she wandered over, enveloping Grace in a hug and talking while patting her back. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s lovely to see you, but what are you doing here? We weren’t expecting you for an age. What do you need? What can I get you?’

‘Nothing.’ Grace shrugged her friend free and tried out a smile, before making her way to her office.

Tucking her skirt under her thighs, she sat down, staring at the squares of paper that dotted her workspace. Handwritten notes covering minutiae – Tom had been right in that respect.
‘Like anyone gives a shit about fucking pretty pictures that sell things.’
What was it that had driven her to be the best at her job? What did it matter? What did any of it matter? The truth was it didn’t. Not really.

She stared at the noticeboard, where some of Chloe’s artwork was pinned along with a grainy printout of her beautiful face, taken by her dad on the swings. She was holding an ice cream with as much on her face and in her hair as she had eaten.
I think you’re at pre-school. I think that’s where you are today, and if I think that, I can carry on. Everything is just as it always was: you are at pre-school and I am at work. It’s just a normal day.

Jason entered Grace’s office as he knocked, a habit she found intensely irritating. It was bolshie and presumptive, a perfunctory knock that meant he was coming in regardless, an expression of the authority which he had snatched from her hands. She couldn’t count the number of times he’d strolled in and immediately offered ‘Sorry to interrupt’ as a kind of catch-all to excuse the inconvenience.

‘There you are, Grace.’

‘Yes, here I am. Who else were you expecting to find sitting behind my desk in my office?’

He smiled and was unusually hesitant as he took the chair on the client side of the desk. ‘How are you?’

Broken. I am broken.
‘I’m fine.’ She had no desire to share her innermost feelings with this man.

‘We were all so sorry to hear about Chloe. It’s honestly hard to know what to say. We are all so sad. It’s truly unbelievable.’ He shook his head.

She thought she saw a flicker of genuine emotion, possibly discomfort.

‘Thank you, Jason.’ She concentrated on not crying, not here, not in front of him. Never here or in front of him.

‘I thought the funeral was beautiful. It’s hard to find the positive about a day that was so very sad, but it was a lovely, moving service, Grace, conducted with…’ He struggled to find the word that conveyed his overriding feeling. ‘Dignity.’

She stared at him, wide eyed and silent. ‘Were you there?’ She’d had no idea.

‘Yes.’ He knitted his eyebrows, convinced that she’d seen him. ‘We all were.’

Grace took a deep breath. Rather than bring her comfort, this only served to make her feel exposed, vulnerable, as though the lines between her work and home life had been uncomfortably smudged. An event so personal, so upsetting, had been subject to the scrutiny of her colleagues, some of whom she merely nodded to at the water cooler. They didn’t know her, they hadn’t known Chloe, and yet they had seen her on that day, with her mind altered and her heart ripped open.

Jason coughed and shifted in the seat. ‘To tell you the truth, Grace, we are all rather worried about you.’

She wondered if he had been practising this speech.

He continued. ‘And frankly, no one was expecting to see you back at work so soon, although of course you’re welcome any time, if it helps.’

Grace snorted through her nose. ‘Welcome any time?’ He reminded her of one of her schoolmasters, writing her annual report and detailing her lack of ability. ‘You make it sound like I’m a guest! This is my job.’

Jason carried on, not allowing her derision to interrupt his flow. ‘Of course it’s your job.’ He nodded. ‘But we think it might be best if you took a bit more time. These things are so distressing and you might feel up to it one day and horrible the next.’

‘Yes. These things are distressing.’ She held his gaze, determined not to make it easy for him.

Jason rubbed his face, pushing his thumbs into his eye sockets to relieve some unseen pressure. His speech was quieter now, measured. He leant forward in the chair and placed his arms on her desk, his hands clasping each other in a sincere pose, imploring almost.

‘Grace, look, I’m not the baddy here. If you must know, I volunteered to come and talk to you because I thought it might be a tad easier coming from me because we’re friends.’

She noted his confused expression and saw that he was genuine in his assumption that they were friends. She nodded.

‘You shouldn’t be here. Forget the board, who are not only worried about productivity but also no doubt find the whole topic uncomfortable and unpalatable. You need to think about yourself, not them; you need to think about you and Tom. And you do need to take some time, Grace. You need to go and grieve and think about things and put some space between you and this place. If I were you, I’d bite their bloody hand off – paid time off to go and think. Please, forget the politics. I’m genuinely worried about you.’

She stared. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t remember anything, not even how I’m supposed to spend the day,’ she confessed.

‘I can’t even begin to imagine…’ he whispered, no doubt picturing a little one he loved.

Then you are very lucky.
‘Thank you, Jason.’ A trickle ran down the back of her throat; she had only recently learnt that you could cry on the inside.

‘How long do they want me gone for?’

He took a deep breath. ‘They have assumed that you will be non-operational for three months, but speaking off the record, I reckon you could push it to six.’

She was grateful for his honesty. ‘Have they got someone to take my clients?’

‘Yes, I think Roseanne has picked some up. And I’ll take the rest. I’ll caretaker them for you, ready for when you come back.’

Grace smiled. Roseanne – it figured. She was a climber, forever tapping into her phone, available at all hours. Tom’s words flew into her head. She coughed and began to clear her papers from her desk and stuff them into her rucksack. She felt, for want of a better word, frail. ‘Do me a favour, Jason.’

‘Yes, of course. Just name it, anything…’

‘Can you tell the board, thank you for their concern and that I will be back sooner rather than later.’

He smiled at her. ‘Will do.’ He meant it.

Ten minutes later, Grace stood on the grand marble steps in the dismal cold and allowed the warm fetid air from the passing traffic to waft over her. She was waiting for her pre-ordered taxi, booked on the company account as a gesture of goodwill.
Thanks a bloody bunch.
Grace felt her jaw tense. She felt embarrassed, having over the years seen people similarly signed off, nudged out of the door. The malingerers, the hypochondriacs, the weaklings, those who welcomed a bit of enforced R&R via the most spurious of ailments, ranging from frozen shoulders to anxiety over a long commute. She could never have imagined being among their ranks and yet here she was. She wondered if it was really necessary. Should she be at home? Wasn’t it best to try and distract herself with work? The doctor had written a prescription for sleeping pills and anti-depressants, saying that she’d been through a lot.
No shit, Sherlock.
The little tablets had become the foundation on which she balanced. Tiny, shiny stepping stones that led to where? Stability? Normality?
Here’s hoping…

Standing with her back to the building, she could feel the collective twitching of a hundred vertical blinds behind her back. What were they all looking for? Evidence of her ‘breakdown’, no doubt. She was sorely tempted to run up and down the street with her pants on her head but decided against it; she didn’t have the energy or the inclination when it came to it. Concentrating on the throng of people who crowded the pavement on the other side of the road, Grace was drawn to a glimpse of a pink wellington and a flash of pink raincoat. ‘Chloe?’ she called out.

Don’t be daft. Chloe is at pre-school and I am at work. It’s all okay. She is at pre-school and I am at work. I will see her when I get back. She’s at pre-school, probably sticking something onto a loo-roll tube or painting another picture – we need more space to hang them.
She smiled at the thought.

Jayney approached her cautiously, with the hesitation of one uncertain of the reception she might get. She edged forward with her head bowed and her body bent, as though trying not to wake her.

Grace noted her reticence, her odd stance, and it puzzled her.

‘Grace?’

‘Yes, Jayney?’

‘How are you doing?’ Her mouth curved into a smile, but her eyes remained fixed.

‘I’m doing fine.’ She nodded.
Chloe is at pre-school and I am at work. It’s a day like any other. That’s all. It’s all going to be okay.

‘We’re a bit worried about you.’ Jayney’s voice was soft; she studied Grace’s face as if looking for clues.

‘That’s what Jason said and I told him, there’s no need. I’ll be back sooner rather than later.’
We discussed it, Tom and I. I asked if it was a good idea, we didn’t want her to have sore throats and earaches and sleepless nights and painkillers, we discussed it as a couple. I wasn’t pushy, we agreed.

‘It’s just that…’ Jayney bit her bottom lip.

‘What is it, Jayney?’

‘You haven’t got any shoes on.’ Jayney pointed at Grace’s feet.

She looked down and saw her dirty, bare toes, wiggling them against the cold marble and feeling the winter chill for the first time. ‘I must have lost them.’ Grace felt confused; she ran her hand through her fringe, trying to remember, knowing she was wearing them when she left the house.

‘That’s okay, love, not to worry. You’ve got a pair upstairs under the desk. Let’s go back up and pop them on and you can take my coat so you don’t get cold.’

‘I don’t need your coat, Jayney!’ Grace shook her head.

‘I think you might, darling. It’s a chilly old day and… and…’

‘What?’ She felt quite confused, afraid and overwhelmed.

‘You’ve got your pyjama top on.’

Grace placed her hand at her throat and let her fingers run down the buttons.
How did that happen?
She stared at her friend.
It must be because I can’t think straight because Chloe died. She died, Jayney, but I can’t say it out loud, I can’t admit to you what’s happened, I can’t admit it to anyone, so I need to pretend.
‘I need to get home. Chloe is at pre-school today. And I need to get home now. Everything is okay, Jayney. Everything is okay.’

Jayney could only nod, placing a hand on her friend’s back, crying silently as she escorted her back up the steps to the office.

Healthcare professionals can do six simple things in the first hour that can
double
a patient’s chance of survival. These are known as the Sepsis Six

Tom answered the front door. Grace heard their voices from the kitchen, where she was sitting looking at facts about the disease that had taken her little girl. She was jotting down information in her notebook, still trying to make sense of things, often adding her own little comments. Hushed whispers floated in from the hallway. She closed her eyes and wished she were upstairs, hiding. She didn’t want to see anyone.

When her sister walked in, she was surprised at her appearance. Alice had lost a significant amount of weight in a short space of time. Her hair was now a dark auburn, making her skin look even paler, and dark circles lay beneath her eyes. She sat at the kitchen table with her hands in her lap; there was no extravagant gesture, no wave, not much sign of life. Every aspect of her was diminished.

Grace filled the kettle and took up the seat opposite her sister.

Alice looked up for the first time. ‘I could never have imagined not knowing what to say to you, but I really don’t. I feel like we’re strangers, and that’s just as upsetting as…’

‘Maybe we are a bit strange to each other at the moment. We’ve never had to deal with anything like this, that’s why. It all feels so surreal.’ Grace pulled her thick cardigan around her torso and stretched the sleeves down to cover her hands. ‘I lost the plot a couple of weeks ago – don’t know if Tom told you? I went into work in my pyjamas. Just wasn’t thinking straight. And apparently I was on the platform at the station shouting at Mr Mumble that he should stand up for himself and tell his mother he’s a grown man.’

‘Who’s Mr Mumble?’ Alice was confused.

‘Just some man on my commute, who it turns out is actually called Alan and was very sweet to me, apparently.’

Alice nodded uncomprehendingly, content to listen.

Grace carried on. ‘As I say, I totally lost the plot. I keep thinking that I might wake up soon or that someone will produce Chloe from behind a screen. Ta da! Like it’s all been some extravagant joke.’

They were silent for some seconds, both considering how to continue. Even saying her name felt like an enormous pressure.