The Quilt (49 page)

He gave me
a moment to absorb the gravity of the situation before continuing in his detached business-like voice.

“
I wish I could tell you more but all I know is her condition is listed as critical.  I am booking a seat on the first flight I can.  There will need to be practical arrangements made regarding her medical insurances. I think going over is the only way to make sure she is receiving the best care possible.”

“I want to
come as well.”

“
I think it is better if initially only I go.  I promise as soon as I have talked to the medical people responsible for her care and know exactly what the situation is I’ll ring you.  We can decide from there what the most sensible option is and when or if you should come over.”

I feel numb with shock.  Nothing is permanent. 

Talented, vibrant Sandy
, drained of her life by disease until she was nothing but a dry shell.  Becoming so exhausted that she had felt there was no option but to end it while she still had enough strength to decide the terms of her own death.

My
mother, bustling with energy and talent a few days ago has been living a lie.  She has been running on nervous energy and driving ambition and for what? She is now lying in a strange hospital in another country waiting for the man she is about to divorce to arrive. 

My
father, desperately trying to travel across the world so that he can sit beside a woman he no longer wishes to live with.  I imagine his handsome, distinguished face and wonder if he is riddled with guilt.  He should be.  I know his lips will be pressed into a thin determined line and he will be thinking about his clients, his schedule, meetings and court appearances.

I put my head in my hands and look at the person I have become.  I was engaged to a man that only wanted me after I had gone.  I was a caregiver, unable to make my friends life good enough for her to continue to want to live it. A daughter, too naive to notice her family security was based on a foundation of monetary success and that her parent’s personal fulfilment was nothing more than an illusion.

I glare at the two suitcases and the mismatched furniture in my rented flat. 
 

I am
a transient, about to pass through another town, make a new effort to establish friends and clientele. I will pick up those two suitcases and leave, but leave for what?  To become a carbon copy of my mother?  Like her, will I never take the time to stop and appreciate a precious moment or a special person?  Did I find my special person; the one I have frustrated and alienated with my inability to deviate from my path and driving ambition to succeed and succeed independently?  I burst into tears and cuddle a pillow until it becomes a soft wet mass in my hands.

The house is empty.  The Range Rover is parked at the front of the restaurant and the Harley is in the garage, shrouded in a soft mass of white fabric.  The doors are open to the pool area but Jess is not inside.  I stop and look at the view, I look at the white sails and I feel a calmness run through my veins.

The sound of music carries up from the bay and I gingerly pick my way down the track.  I wonder what happened to my lace panties and what happened to the stranger that was me in a more carefree time.

Paul is painting the boat shed.  He is dressed in faded ripped blue jeans and an old grey polo.  The chipped paint door that had once swung haphazardly on rusting hinges is now bright sky blue and the surround is a bold yellow. This scarred man understands, he is restoring someone else’s memories.

Jess looks up from her position in the sand near his feet.  She barks and then slinks apologetically in my direction when she recognises me.  Paul lo
oks at me indifferently and begins to clean his brushes.  I know that he is taking a moment to compose himself.

When he look
s at me again he searches my face and his brows knot in a frown.

“What is going on?”

He moves closer so that he is standing in front of me. I don’t meet his questioning eyes.  

“Something has happened to make me re-evaluate my priorities
.”

“Fuck
, Joanne, stop talking like a lawyer and tell me what is going on.”

I gulp and
start talking.  I am sitting beside Paul in the warm sand and listening to my own monotone voice.  Occasionally, he skims a shell across the water or stops me to ask a question.

I finish and fall silent.  I feel numb and he seems to understand.  Paul slowly gets up and extends his hand to me.   He then wraps me in his strong arms but his embrace is detached and I understand it is offered as support and comfort to a person in need.

“Do we need a truck to pick up your belongings
?”

I frown.

“I am not here to ask you to rescue me.”

“Now isn’t the time to discuss
that again Joanne.  You are due to vacate your flat in a few days.  Your career, personal circumstance and accommodation cannot be re-evaluated as you put it, until we know how serious your mother’s injuries are.  I have several spare rooms that you are welcome to use and that will give us all time to navigate the best way through this.”

I look down at my feet and try not to cry.

“I have two suitcases, a box and Critter.”

He
stares at me but doesn’t comment.

“I have never really settled anywhere
.”

I shrug.

“No one should live without a feeling of belonging.  What is the address?  I will go and pick everything up.   Have a shower and get some rest if you can.”

The gravel crunches under Paul’s tyres as he leaves.  A few minutes later Jean knocks and walks in.   She is carrying a plate of crisp thin pizza topped with lush tomatoes and handfuls of fresh green basil.  I recoil at the smell of food.

“I am sorry
, Joanne.   You should eat something.  Tomorrow will be the earliest you will get any news.”

Jean settles in
to the comfort of the huge leather lounge suite.  She picks up two small squares of fabric and begins to thread them together with perfect neat stitches.  She must feel me watching and looks over the top of her reading glasses.

“I will stay until Paul gets back if you don’t mind
.”

“Of course
, I don’t mind.  Is that a quilt?”

“Yes
, dear.  It is the story of the Clarke family.  It is very colourful.  Perhaps Paul will tell you about them one day.”

Jean returns to her stitching and I have a hot shower.  I allow the water to run in a continuous scalding river down my body. I wash my hair, put on the clean tee shirt Paul has left out for me and open the doors.  I inhale the salt, frangipani and the jasmine.   I lie down on the bed and fall into a deep exhausted and thankfully dreamless sleep. 

I wake up to find rays of sun are casting thin glowing lines across the fl
oor.  During the night Paul has put my pathetic two suitcases and one cardboard box into the room.  He has closed the door I had left open and pulled the curtains.  I find fresh juice in the fridge and a pile of flaky croissants and strawberry jam on the bench.

I read the
short note that tells me Paul is in the boatshed if I need him.  For the second time I look at his handwriting and wonder how a man of his build could have such dexterity.

In the bottom of one suitcase I locate a pair of denim cut off shorts
and pull on an old yellow tee shirt.  I cover my hair with a bandana and for a moment I am transported to another life.  A life of sweeping sea birds, jewel-coloured islands, a tiny wooden boat and an eccentric redheaded friend called Sandy.

“It needs red.”

Paul looks up and smiles at me with enough voltage to light up a small city.
  He indicates to an unopened can of paint.

“You slept well
.”

“Yes
, thank you.”

I
pick up a paint brush and begin to bring to life someone else’s memories.

It is four o’clock when my phone rings.  Paul and I look at each other and he moves close to me.

“Joanne
, it’s your father here.” 

He sounds exhausted
; his voice has no expression.

“How i
s she? Have you visited and has she said anything?”

“Are you alone Joanne or is there someone with you
?”

“There is someone here
.  But I wish you would stop asking me that.” 

Paul
puts his arm around my shoulders.

“It isn’t good news.  I have spoken
to the specialist team responsible for her care today.  Your mother has sustained serious, very serious, head injuries. She has numerous internal injuries and they are particularly concerned by the damage to her spleen and liver.”

He breath
es deeply and I lean into the strong arm that is around me.  I will myself to gain strength from him.  My father continues.

“B
oth her neck and back have multiple fractures.  It really is a miracle that she has survived so far.”

Again he hesitates and his voice is no longer selected from his
repertoire of rehearsed court deliveries.

“
If she was to recover she would certainly be a quadriplegic.  The extent of her head injuries alone is horrific.    They couldn’t offer any positive prognosis to give us hope.”

“I should come over
.”

“Joanne
, I really question the point of you doing that. There is no easy way of telling you this but I don’t think she would even know if you were here or not.  She is attached to machines and those machines are doing everything for her.”

I sob and collapse in
to Paul’s chest.

“You have given up your right to make decisions for my mother!”

My voice is pitched high and verging on hysterical.

Paul takes the phone from my hand and shakes his head. 

“That won’t help.”

“Mr Kyle
?”

“Who is this?”

Randal Kyle conveys his disapproval in an abrupt and unfriendly voice.

“Paul
Clarke.”

“Have we spoken before?”

“Yes, but this probably isn’t the time to explain.”

T
here was a moment’s silence.  Instinct told Paul that the incredibly efficient and sharp mind attached to the other end of this call was dredging through his neatly filed memories.  Paul waited patiently.  He understood the information they were about to discuss was highly personal.

“Ah
, yes, I remember.   Is Joanne alright?”

“No
, this has obviously been a shock.”

“For us all.  Unfortunately
, that isn’t the worst of it and Joanne will need to be told at an appropriate time.  Natalie won’t recover from these injuries.  The specialists have advised her life support be removed.”

Randal Kyle
sighed heavily.

“If there was any hope of recovery, any at all. 
But I think she has already gone.  All that is left is a corpse attached to the lights and machines that are keeping her going.  I believe there is no point in Joanne coming over.  She has been through enough hell and letting her see what I saw today isn’t going to achieve anything.”

“I think Jo
anne needs the time to make that choice.  She may need to come over, if not for her mother then for herself.”

“I truly believe you should convince her otherwise.  I don’t see any point whatsoever in prolonging this decision and my advice would be to let Natalie go
as soon as possible.  Preferably today.”

“Give Jo
anne a little time to think things through. She has every right to be involved.”

“I can’t stay up here indefinitely.  I realize it has only been a day.  But with things as grim as they are a day is enough.  Please get back to me as soon as possible.  It’s only fair that someone is with Natalie when
...”

H
e broke off the conversation as if trying to find the right words.

“You know what I mean.  She shouldn’t be alone when she is disconnected.  So I will wait for your call
.” 

He could have been discussing the future of
his share portfolio for all the emotion his comments had carried.  Maybe the practiced coolness required for his high profile his court appearances offered him the protection he needed today. Paul imagined talking to a complete stranger about ending a wife and mother’s life would be difficult for anyone.

“Warm type of person
, isn’t he?”

Joanne managed a weak smile
.