Cuckoo (23 page)
The consultant stood and looked at the chart. Rose wondered if perhaps she might have turned a little invisible over the course of the morning.
‘And this is the mother?’ the consultant finally said to the nurse.
‘Rose Cunningham,’ Rose said, getting up and extending her hand. She suddenly remembered she had to be in charge here, for Flossie’s sake as well as for her own dignity.
‘Hello. Well – ah – Flossie here has had a lucky escape,’ the consultant said.
Rose wondered if that was an accusation.
‘Mrs Cunningham’s house guest left her anti-depressants within reach of the child,’ the nurse said.
If the nurse felt compelled to step in and defend like that, then Rose thought she might have been right about the accusation.
‘It’s all looking good, Mrs Cunningham,’ the consultant said. ‘We’re going to try to get Flossie off the ventilator today, and her bloods are looking fairly clean, so we’ll review the dialysis in a day or two.’
A day or two – that sounded such a long time.
‘Do you have any questions?’ the consultant asked.
‘Um, I don’t think so,’ Rose mumbled. Her mind was blank. She was sure there was something she needed to ask. Possibly it would come to mind later. If so, she would write it down for the next time.
A little while later, Rose was leaning over Flossie, willing her to get better, when she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned and there was Gareth.
‘It’s been a long night,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘How’s my girl?’ He leaned over and touched Flossie’s cheek.
‘She’s doing well, they say,’ Rose said, and repeated what she thought the consultant had said.
‘How long are we looking at till we can get her home?’ Gareth said.
Rose kicked herself. That was what she should have asked the consultant.
‘I don’t know.’
‘We all want you both back,’ he said. He went and found a spare chair and brought it over to sit down beside Rose. He took her hand.
‘So?’ Rose said. ‘How did it go with Polly?’
‘I’ve never seen her like she was last night,’ Gareth said. ‘I think I finally glimpsed the human being in her.’
‘Is that a good sign?’
‘I hadn’t processed just how much you mean to her,’ he said. ‘She begged me to forgive her. She’s destroyed.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Look, Rose. Here’s how it is. As far as I can see, even without taking Polly into account, it would be terrible for all of us if she went. You’d never forgive me, I’d feel guilty, and it would be the worst thing ever for the boys. I’ve even had Anna on my case this morning.’
‘Do you believe it was an accident?’ Rose asked.
‘Do you know what? I think I do. She was stupid and careless – those are her words, not mine. She swears it will never happen again. And, you know, I can’t get that day at the castle out of my head. How much fun it was, how things were looking so good – before it all happened, I mean.’
Rose was taken aback. Gareth’s conversion had been so sudden, so complete, that she couldn’t help wondering what Polly had said or done to change him. Rose knew from experience that a few tears worked very well at focusing his attention. She wished that she had seen what had happened between them. But that was beside the point. What was important was that things were going to be all right.
‘Thank you!’ she said, and put her arms round him.
‘Now all we’ve got to think about is our Flossie getting better,’ he said, turning back to the baby in the box.
Twenty
The following days seemed to compress into the grey fabric of the curtains around Flossie’s little station. Rose wasn’t sure in fact if it was days or weeks that passed. The routines of doctors’ visits, nurses’ checks and cups of tea should have helped mark the time, but they didn’t. Rose developed a theory that they put tranquillisers in the urn that the WRVS trundled round. Keep everyone calm, keep the lids on.
She tried to share this idea – half – joke, half-conspiracy theory – with the women on either side of her, but they just stared at her as if she were some sort of lunatic. It came to a point where she began to feel like an alien in that room. The others talked easily among themselves, with their backs turned to Rose. Perhaps it was a class thing. Perhaps it was because they were all neat and well-groomed – Rose couldn’t find it within herself to drag a comb through her hair, let alone trowel on the slap like the other women. Or, possibly, wind had got to them of the reason why Flossie was in there, and they disapproved of Rose for being a careless mother. Whatever it was, she felt a bit of a freak. It brought back memories of other times in hospital, times at school – times she thought she had succeeded in forgetting.
There was one moment only when she felt a common bond with the others. On the second day of their stay, a baby in the room died. It wasn’t unexpected: sustained only by a battery of machines, the half-formed scrap had never really stood a chance.
Rose heard the consultant gently tell the defeated parents that there was no hope. She got their consent to remove the wires and tubes that had connected their child to this world.
The mother howled. She had barely been into her pregnancy when the baby had fallen out of her. There had never been much hope. Nevertheless, her devastation was equal to that which Rose knew she would feel if the unthinkable happened to Flossie. Loss, as Rose knew only too well, is the worst sort of despair. Particularly – and this is where her heart contracted so badly that she thought she might fall to the ground – when it concerned a child, a baby, that you would never have the chance to truly hold, to love, to know.
The nurses guided the parents away. Bereaved, the sobbing woman and her grey ghost of a husband had gone in an instant from being permanent residents to having no reason to be there. The whole room joined together in a silent prayer of thanks that it was happening to someone else. Every adult pair of eyes watched the deposed parents make their fragile exit.
Gareth visited twice a day. Once in the morning and once in the evening, when he brought Anna, Nico and Yannis with him. Fascinated by the machinery and other accessories of infant medical care, the boys had shown none of Anna’s initial reticence. They dove in, asking questions, trying things out and creating their own brand of hubbub around Flossie’s station. The nurses had to ask them to be quieter more than once. After their visit, the Sister had a quiet word with Rose: they really only liked one sibling at a time in Blue Ward, so could her sons please come separately in the future.
Polly didn’t come while Flossie was in her induced sleep. She couldn’t get in by herself because she was one of those people who, incredibly to Rose, had managed to survive well into adult life without ever learning to drive. Or swim, come to that – despite having spent a large proportion of her years living within sight of the sea. She had joked when younger that she had an inner life to maintain: the acquiring of mere practical skills was an annoying distraction.
But Polly didn’t visit with the others, either. When Gareth came in the morning, it was too early, way before she woke up, but Rose didn’t really understand why she couldn’t come in for the evening.
‘She’s ashamed,’ Gareth said. ‘And we have to remember that, on top of all this, she is still dealing with Christos dying. She sends her love, though, you know.’
‘Yep,’ Rose said.
The other visitor was Kate, who came in daily. There were messages from Simon and a couple of the other parents at the school, but no one else was allowed to visit. Only immediate family were allowed in Blue Ward, to keep the risk of infection down.
Gareth brought in tasty food for Rose to eat. He had always been a good cook, but had stood aside for Rose since the children had been born. His current return to the kitchen accentuated her feeling of powerlessness: she was so out of the picture, she couldn’t even fill her family’s stomachs. Instead, Gareth got stuck in there, making samosas, little pasties, tabbouleh – all sorts of pizzas and tortillas and pies. Loads of pies, like a good American boy. But Rose was thankful for the cleverly designed portable snacks he brought in. It kept her away from the hideous gloop that passed for food in the hospital canteen.
When he turned up on the ward, all the other women turned their heads to look at him. Their faces registered mild amusement, as if he were part of the Joke of Rose. The first time he left some food, Rose had offered it around but had been turned down. One woman even grimaced at the mini-pasty she had been offered, as if it might in some way harm her.
Gareth also brought in a bottle of Laphroaig, which he and Rose sipped as they sat watching Floss. On the second night, he brought a bottle of Rioja for Rose to enjoy after he had gone. Rose wasn’t going to offer that around. In fact, she detected an air of disapproval, as she sat there with her wine. But after the second glass, she didn’t care. How else was she supposed to get through having a sick baby?
Flossie began to look stronger. On her fourth day on Blue Ward, they unhooked her dialysis and took away her airline.
‘She’s breathing beautifully,’ a young, dimpled Polish nurse beamed.
Rose wondered at what a strange, sad thing it was, to celebrate the fact that your child can breathe on her own.
Flossie’s colour returned from a rashed-over pallor to a more general, healthy pink tinge. Her grip got stronger by the hour, and her eyelids fluttered from time to time. They seemed less translucent, somehow; more as if they were housing something concrete, durable.
Rose reported these developments to the nurses and doctors, who continued to work from their own, less subjective, charts and measurements. They must have found hope there, though, because gradually the sedative was reduced.
On the sixth day, they woke Floss up and let Rose hold her and put her to her breast. Rose wept and wept as she felt the familiar pulling on her nipple, the gasping and breathing. Flossie couldn’t at first settle into a rhythm, but it came back, and with it, the hope of a future; a promise that things would get better and go back to normal.
Flossie was moved from the plastic box into a little cot. This was more, Rose suspected, for psychological rather than practical reasons. It signified that she was out of the woods, that soon they would be able to go back home.
That was the day that Gareth brought Polly in. He guided her across the ward, his hand on her back, as if he were pushing her slightly, as if she were a little reluctant to enter. She moved up to Rose, her head bowed, as an errant child might approach her Headmistress. Rose surveyed her, holding the moment. She thought Polly looked a little better than she had when she had stepped off the plane. Gareth’s cooking must be doing her good.
‘I’m going to leave you guys alone for a bit,’ he said, stepping back. ‘I’ve just got to go to Waitrose, pick up a few things.’
He kissed them both – Rose on the mouth and Polly on the cheek – then he left. Polly watched him go, then turned to Rose.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t come before,’ she said.
‘Gareth told me.’
‘I just had real difficulty getting my head round everything.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
Polly went over to Flossie’s cot. ‘She looks so much better. Like she’s just sleeping.’
‘She is just sleeping,’ Rose said.
Polly leaned over and stroked Flossie’s cheek. Rose was surprised by the violence of her urge to pull that hand away from her baby and repel its owner from the cot. It took all of her strength to resist it.
‘Hello, Flossie,’ Polly whispered, and two long dark hairs drifted from her head down to rest on Flossie’s face. Rose leaned over and picked them out. Polly looked up at her.
‘Rose, I’m really, really sorry, you know. I’m such an idiot.’
‘Can we move on from apologising?’ Rose said. She didn’t think she could bear much more of it.
Polly grasped Rose’s hands in hers and held them tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘Thank you,’ she said after some time. She looked up. There were tears in her eyes.
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