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“Even better. I’m going to organise you a little bit of breakfast. And then maybe you feel like having a wash. Doctor B will be around later, and your mum will come in soon.”
“How long have I been here?”
He took her wrist in his hand and felt for her pulse. He looked at his watch. “You came in day before yesterday. So this is day three. You have meningitis, the scary, bad version, but you’re going to be fine. You’ll feel wobbly for a few days yet. You’re on antibiotics. We can stop the fluid if you’re drinking.”
“How long will I have to be here?”
He let her wrist go. “That’s up to Doctor, but if you get good rest, and we can get a handle on your symptoms, you might be able to be home at the end of a week, ten days maybe.”
Audrey coughed. That was too long. Mia was with Esther not Reece. What a disaster? “How did I get meningitis? God, could Mia have it too?”
“Mia’s on antibiotics, but she’s fine. No symptoms. It’s bacteria. You’ve come in contact with it somehow or it’s triggered in your body. Very unlucky.”
“Reece. Reece could be sick.”
“Doctor has him on treatment too.” Ronin put his hands on his hips. “And you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”
He was her nanny, but he wasn’t doing his job. “I...”
He smiled. “I’m joking, and I can see you’re too sick for jokes. It’s a terrible shock to wake up and know you’ve been missing in action. But your friends have been here, Merry and Joe and Les and your mother too. I’m sure Mia misses you terribly and you’ll feel better when you see her.”
When food arrived, Audrey picked at it. She had no appetite. She was no steadier on her legs than last night but it felt good to sit under the shower and brush her teeth. Her headache was no better either and the pins and needles in her legs were a constant ache.
When Doctor Barber arrived she asked Audrey dozens of questions, but said the crisis had passed.
“Everyone is different with meningitis. People tend to think of it as a disease kids get, but for adults the bacterial version you contracted is life threatening. The worst has passed for you now, but the headache and nausea, the pins and needles, it may take a while before you have permanent relief from that. And you may find new symptoms appear. But you’re young and healthy and there’s no reason why you won’t be fighting fit again soon.”
She could barely move her head without pain. “I need to be home. I can’t be here. I have a daughter.”
“You need to be kind to yourself, Audrey. I’ve met Mia, she’s very cute and she needs you long term. You can’t compromise that.”
Audrey clamped her lips tightly together. She felt the burn of tears build behind her eyes inside the broiling cauldron that was her head. She couldn’t control this like she did everything else in her life. It wasn’t like deciding to have a baby. She couldn’t change the direction or propose an alternative path or hire someone with the right skills. She couldn’t force the timeline or set a deadline, or check on her own progress on nanny cam. She was sick and alone and scared. She was crying in front of the doctor.
“Your emotions might be all over the place and that’s normal. You have one thing to focus on and that’s getting well, and that’s what Mia needs.”
“I’m sorry.” Audrey’s breath caught. She scrunched her face but the tears came anyway, flooding her eyes and pouring down her cheeks.
“I tell you what.” A box of tissues appeared. “I’m a single mother too. I have three boys.” Audrey choked on a sob. How did a doctor, a specialist, manage with three kids? She wasn’t going to be able to manage one. “I know what you’re thinking, that everything will fall apart without you, but you have to let your support network take over.” She couldn’t stop the pathetic noise she made, this kindness made it worse. “I know you’ve got one, every mother has. It’s their turn to care for you and Mia. In any case, I prescribe a good cry. Medically it will release an endorphin called leucine-enkephalin, designed to reduce pain. A good cry will make you feel better. And it’s exactly what I’d be doing too.”
She didn’t see the doctor leave, hear if she said anything else. Audrey rolled on her side and sobbed and it didn’t make her feel any better. She felt lost and confused and anxious about Mia. She was worried about what would happen at work. She was dreading having to deal with her mother. But most of all, most of all, she was pathetically craving Reece.
She hugged herself and pretended it was his long muscular arms around her, his broad house of a chest she relaxed into. His big hands that were unfathomably gentle soothing her. But he’d abandoned Mia and maybe he’d abandoned her as well. She sobbed until she was exhausted and slept and when she woke next her head still throbbed, like a construction gang worked in it, but she was better prepared to see Esther sitting by the bed.
She coughed. “Hello Mum.”
“Audrey. Goodness, what a drama.”
“Where’s Mia?”
Esther waved her hand in the direction of the corridor. “That lovely Merrill has her.”
“Is she all right? Is she—”
“She’s been, oh never mind.” Esther shook her head. “She’s a little child, terrible twos. They’re all difficult at that age.”
“She’s three, nearly four.”
“Don’t you worry. You just get better. We’ll manage somehow. That’s what people do. When did they tell you you’d be home? I need to tell your father when I’ll be home.”
