AllFreeNovel
Share Us
two years and twenty-one days missing
chapter 60
alex
Harriet doesn’t come.
She doesn’t come when I tell her Mum is in a medically induced coma, fighting for her life. She doesn’t come when Mum’s organs start to fail, one by one: her kidneys, her liver, her heart. She doesn’t come when the doctors try a Hail Mary pass, obtaining an emergency licence from the General Medical Council to try a new drug that still hasn’t completed its clinical trials, but is showing promise.
She doesn’t even come when that fails, and Naomi Todd tells us there’s nothing more they can do.
Mum’s sister, Julie, has travelled twenty-six hours nonstop from New Zealand to be by her side. Her oldest friend, Sharon, whom she’s known since primary school, makes the long journey down from Newcastle. But for Harriet, it’stoo upsetting.
‘I couldn’t bear to see her like that,’ she says, when I phone again to tell her if she doesn’t comenow, it’ll be too late. ‘It’d break my heart, Alex. I’m not strong the way you are. I love Mum so much, watching her fade away would kill me.’
I ignore the implication that I must therefore love Mumless.
‘Dad wants us all to be together,’ I plead. ‘He’s needs you. He’s falling apart, Harry. He still refuses to accept this is really happening.’
‘I wouldn’t be any use,’ Harriet says. ‘It’s you Dad needs, not me. You know he relies on you.’
‘What about me?’ I say. ‘What ifIneed you?’
‘You don’t need anyone, Alex. You never have.’
The hospital has given us our own family suite now, the one they reserve for relatives when there’s no hope left. It has a bed made up with fresh sheets, a kitchenette, even a tiny shower. In the adjacent sitting room, there’s a sofa and a couple of armchairs, and a vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table:From the Friends of Mid-Surrey, a small card reads beside them. Despite all the thoughtful touches, grief and loss seep like moisture from the bland, beige walls.
Only two people are permitted in the ICU with Mum at any one time, so we take it in turns. We only leave her when the doctors come in to carry out more of their tests.
Dad is sitting on the sofa with Aunt Julie and Sharon, while I pace the room restlessly. I haven’t smoked since I was in college, but I itch for a cigarette now.
‘We’re going to have to get some sort of rota going,’ he says suddenly. ‘Once Mary comes out of hospital, she’s going to need to convalesce. I’m happy to do the lion’s share, but I don’t want her to get bored. We’ll need to keep her spirits up with visitors, once she’s up to having people over.’
My aunt and I exchange a look. My courage deserts me; I can’t be the one to tell my father that Mum’s not coming home.
‘Tony,’ my aunt says, gently. ‘I think you need to be prepared for the worst.’
‘I realise that,’ Dad says. ‘I know Mary could be in this coma quite a while. And Dr Todd’s told me she could have significant deficits when she wakes up. She’ll need rehab, and even then she might never get back to where she was. I know all that. But we’ll get her through it.’
He nods several times, as if to convince himself.
I sit down next to him. ‘Dad, she may not wake up,’ I say.
‘Of course she will. We just have to give it time,’ Dad says.
When Naomi Todd returns and tells us Mum’s near the end, Dad still refuses to accept it. Aunt Julie is the one who asks the parish priest at my parents’ local Catholic church, Father Jonathan, to come and give Mum the last rites.
It’s been less than forty-eight hours since Mum arrived in casualty.
Dad isn’t the only one who can’t get his head around what’s happening. I’m in the grip of emotional whip-lash: I’ve finally found my daughter, only to lose my mother.
I’m desperate to get back to Lottie, but I don’t even know if she’s still at the cottage. And I have no way of finding out: Jack’s on a fact-finding mission about climate change in Alaska, and won’t be home for another two days, and I haven’t even heard back from Quinn. I can’t call the police, who’ll either dismiss me as crazy, or blunder in to talk to the woman and send her running again the moment they leave. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this powerless.
The doctors have lifted the limit on who can be with Mum now, so we all gather at her bedside. Outside, it’s dark. The nurses have turned the lights down low and drawn the curtains around her bed.
Father Jonathan opens a small vessel of oil and anoints Mum’s forehead and hands with the sign of the cross.
‘Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit,’ he murmurs. ‘May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.’
